Exploiting Erasmus : The Erasmian Legacy and Religious Change in Early Modern England [1 ed.] 9781442688056, 9780802099006

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EXPLOITING ERASMUS: THE ERASMIAN LEGACY AND RELIGIOUS CHANGE IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND

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Exploiting Erasmus The Erasmian Legacy and Religious Change in Early Modern England

GREGORY D. DODDS

U N I V E R S I T Y O F TO R O N TO P R E S S Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2009 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in Canada ISBN 978-0-8020-9900-6

Printed on acid-free paper Erasmus Studies Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Dodds, Gregory D. Exploiting Erasmus: the Erasmian legacy and religious change in early modern England / Gregory D. Dodds. (Erasmus studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8020-9900-6 1. Erasmus, Desiderius, d. 1536 – Influence. 2. Erasmus, Desiderius, d. 1536 – Criticism and interpretation – History – 16th century. 3. Erasmus, Desiderius, d. 1536 – Criticism and interpretation – History – 17th century. 4. Religious thought – England – 16th century. 5. Religious thought – England – 17th century. 6. Great Britain – History – Elizabeth, 1558–1603. 7. Great Britain – History – Stuarts, 1603–1714. 8. England – Church history – 16th century. 9. England – Church history – 17th century. I. Title. II. Series. B785.E64D63 2008

199'.492

C2008-906132-2

This book has been published with the aid of a grant from Walla Walla University and the Lindgren Family Foundation. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

FOR AMY

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Contents

Acknowledgments / ix Introduction / xi 1 The Englishing of the Paraphrases / 3 2 Theology and Rhetoric in the English Paraphrases / 27 3 Transmitting Erasmus in Elizabethan England / 61 4 The Erasmian Perspective in the Elizabethan Church / 93 5 The Malleable Erasmus, 1603–1649 / 125 6 Constructing the Moderate Middle in Early Stuart England / 159 7 Erasmian Rhetoric and Religious War / 201 8 The Erasmian Legacy to 1689 / 227 Notes / 269 Bibliography / 359 Index / 395

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Acknowledgments

I could not have written this book without the support, assistance, and advice generously extended by family, friends, colleagues, and institutions. Without financial support from Walla Walla University and the Lindgren Family Foundation this book would not be possible. Walla Walla University funded several research trips and provided a sabbatical at a critical time in the writings process. I deeply appreciate the financial support of Paul and Terry Lindgren and the Lindgren Family Foundation. Over a decade ago they provided money for a scholarship that helped me go to graduate school. They have now helped bring a research dream that began back then to fruition. Academic research and writing is a collaborative endeavour. My work would be far inferior without all the conversations and discussions with colleagues at conferences, in libraries, and over dinner. I particularly want to thank John Craig, Lori Anne Ferrell, Constance Jordan, and Pamela Smith for reading portions of the manuscript and providing detailed suggestions for improvement. Ferrell’s mentorship and advice over many years have been invaluable. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Jane Phillips, Mark Vessey, and the reviewers and editors at the University of Toronto Press for their insightful and thorough reading of the manuscript. Phillips’s eye for detail and editing skills have saved me much embarrassment. More important, her friendship and encouragement helped in more ways than she knows. My copy editor at the University of Toronto Press, Miriam Skey, is simply brilliant. I am in awe of her meticulous attention to detail. I also greatly appreciate the professionalism and kindness of Ron Schoeffel at the University of Toronto Press. He has been at the

x Acknowledgments

heart of Erasmus publishing for many years and is deeply appreciated. The help provided by Travis Sondefur, James Pardee, Teri Zipf, and Ryan Cushman was crucial. I very much appreciate Nikolas Peterson’s assistance with the index. I would also like to thank those who asked difficult questions and gave helpful suggestions at numerous conferences on both sides of the Atlantic. Of course, all errors that remain are my own. I have also relied heavily on the resources of numerous libraries. Librarians and specialists helped track down references, guided me to sources, and made my research much more productive. In particular, major portions of my research were completed with the help of professionals at the Bodleian Library in Oxford, the British Library in London, the Huntington Library in San Marino, CA, Honnold Library in Claremont, CA, Penrose Library in Walla Walla, WA, and Peterson Memorial Library in College Place, WA. My colleagues in the department of history and philosophy at Walla Walla University deserve special recognition. Terrie Aamodt, Montgomery Buell, Linda Emmerson, and Terry Gottschall: thank you. Your unstinting support and friendship create an environment that helps make my work as historian and teacher a pleasure. I am also thankful for two former teachers, Roland Blaich and Harry Leonard, who introduced me to the early modern world. Finally, my biggest acknowledgment is to my family. My parents, Larry and Jane, are amazing examples of true love and encouragement. Daughters Emma and Eleanor wonder where the pictures are in this book. Years from now, if they open these pages, they should know that this book was written around them: sometimes there was a bottle in one hand, sometimes they were sleeping on my lap while I worked, and many times they helped me stay healthy by enticing me to work a little less and play a little more. Children take much of our energy, but they also inspire us to do our best. Most importantly, I thank my wife, Amy, who has read, reread, and helped edit everything in this book. Without her constant love and support this book would never have happened. It is for her.

Introduction

Desiderius Erasmus was arguably the most widely read author in early sixteenth-century Europe. As that century progressed, however, the strife of the Reformation sidelined Erasmus’ vision of moderate and peaceful Catholic reform. Protestants began to mistrust him for his loyalty to the Roman Church and his writings were placed on the Index of Prohibited Books by Pope Paul IV. Religious warfare made his calls for peace seem quaint, naive, and uncommitted to true Christianity. He was not completely marginalized, however, and especially in England continued to have a fair amount of influence. Roland Bainton was not inaccurate when he said that ‘England was the land where the influence of Erasmus was paramount at his death.’1 Erasmus spent at least six years in England and it was while on his first sojourn there that he determined to use his scholarly talents for the renewal of Christianity. While in England he was inspired by, and then impressed, men such as John Colet, Thomas More, Cardinal Wolsey, Richard Foxe, and the future archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. Colet became convinced that Erasmus’ scholarship and Christian vision would reform and revitalize Christianity, declaring in 1516 that ‘the name of Erasmus shall never perish.’2 Over the following two decades, Erasmus’ writings were translated and read at court, in the universities, from the pulpit, and by a growing literate public.3 His texts were so pervasive during this period that James McConica has suggested that the English Reformation was fundamentally Erasmian in nature.4 While most historians of the English Reformation have not agreed with the strength of this assessment, McConica did demonstrate that Erasmus and his writings were

xii Introduction

highly significant throughout the first half of the sixteenth century. In 1548, Erasmus became an official part of the English Reformation when, in a royal injunction, Edward VI ordered the English translation of Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament placed in every church throughout the kingdom.5 The royal injunction also stated that clergy under the degree of B.D. were to ‘diligently study’ the Paraphrases. The story of Erasmus in England generally ends on this high note. Yet, while this was indeed the apex of Erasmus’ influence in England, his legacy remained an active component of English religious culture.6 There is another well-known episode of Erasmian influence in early modern England. Prior to and during the English civil war in the 1640s, a small group of men, centred around the 2nd earl of Falkland at Great Tew, portrayed themselves as the intellectual descendants of Erasmus.7 In 1643 Falkland stated that ‘Erasmus is now generallie disavowed as no Catholicke, and given to us (whom wee accept as a great present).’8 Writing against Catholicism one hundred and seven years after Erasmus’ death, and shortly before his own on a battlefield of the English civil war, Falkland happily claimed Erasmus for the English church.9 He did so for a very particular reason. Falkland believed that the violent antagonisms within the English church and state were the result of an abandonment of the Erasmian principles of unity, peace, and tolerance.10 True Christianity, according to Falkland, was unified, non-dogmatic, and theologically flexible. Falkland wrote against Catholics in order to define his perspective of English religion and to defend against accusations that opponents of Calvinist theology were crypto-Catholics.11 According to Falkland, the true church, like Erasmus himself, had ‘suffered, and long by the Bigotts of both Parties.’12 Falkland was deliberately attempting to carve out a space for the English church between, in his view, the extremes of Catholicism and Calvinism.13 For Falkland, and a long line of English writers who attempted to reposition the location of the moderate middle, Erasmus represented, or could be used to represent, moderate and peaceful English Christianity. When civil war came, Falkland was prepared to fight and die for this peaceful vision of a moderate English church. We know that Erasmus was widely read in the first half of the sixteenth century and was again looked to by a few antiCalvinists ninety years later. What we know little about is what happened during the intervening years. The chapters that follow

Introduction xiii

demonstrate that Falkland’s polemical use of Erasmus was far from unusual; it was, in fact, part of the long and complicated history of Erasmus’ interaction with religious thought and culture in England. It was not just anti-Puritan Arminians such as Falkland who used Erasmian texts, rhetoric, and theology. Erasmus’ name and writings were routinely inserted into English religious controversies by those supporting religious and political conformity, by Puritans marketing Puritan social reform, by anti-Calvinists, and by moderate Calvinists seeking to silence anti-Calvinists. By using the term ‘exploited’ in the title of this book I am not suggesting that, in most cases, English authors were deliberately misrepresenting Erasmus or his writings, but rather that they found Erasmus highly useful. Though manipulation and rewriting of his texts was common, English readers read Erasmus carefully and understood his religious vision, theological methodology, and rhetorical style. There is no simple story of Erasmus’ influence in England. In fact, the use of Erasmus, in most cases, had far less to do with an Erasmian influence than with how writers felt they could exploit the stature and memory of Erasmus to further their own agendas. Attempting to trace influence, whether literary, political, or theological, is notoriously difficult and this is especially true for Erasmus’ influence in England. Nevertheless, by examining Erasmus’ religious legacy in England from the mid-sixteenth century to the era of the Restoration in the seventeenth century, it is possible not only to expand our knowledge of Erasmus and English humanism, but also to reshape how we understand the controversies and violence that characterized early modern English religion. This book is about the legacy of Erasmus in England from the reign of Elizabeth I through the era of the English civil war and Restoration. I have chosen the word ‘legacy’ with care. It is a necessarily indistinct and broad word, and a word which points to more than the analysis of Erasmus’ direct influence or the reception and manipulation of his texts and ideas. This study is about all those things. It is also, however, about English religious culture and the significance of Erasmian styles of religious discourse. This book not only examines whether those reading and using Erasmus in England were faithful to his original thought and writings, but, more important, seeks to ascertain how and why late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century English men

xiv Introduction

and women exploited his name, texts, and thought. Not only does this enhance our understanding of Erasmus and his significance, but it also helps explain the evolution of religious conflict, thought, and rhetoric in England. The study of Erasmus’ legacy thus becomes a unique and useful lens for investigating English religious culture. I will not be using the term ‘Erasmian’ to denote a person, a group of ‘Erasmians,’ or a concept such as ‘Erasmianism.’ In examining the influence of Erasmus in Germany during the 1530s, James Estes has created a useful guide for the term ‘Erasmian,’ which can mean both ‘(1) the direct and substantial influence of Erasmus’ ideas and (2) the congeniality of his views to the aims, needs, and predispositions …’ He went on to say that it is ‘not essential’ that the thought of those described as Erasmian ‘be precisely identical to that of Erasmus himself but only that it involve the conscious and consistent development of ideas taken from him, adapted to local circumstances, and used in pursuit of goals that he had enunciated.’14 Estes’ definition is helpful where direct influence can be traced, but as we move further into the sixteenth and then into the seventeenth century, it becomes increasingly important to be careful about arguments regarding Erasmian influence. In this book I use two additional definitions of the term ‘Erasmian.’ Erasmian can refer to Erasmian texts, including both publications and translations of Erasmus’ writings. I also use it to refer to specific aspects of Erasmus’ ideology and methodologies that are echoed in the writings of later English authors. This final definition does not denote influence, but it is part of the history of the Erasmian legacy.15 While much of Erasmus’ actual influence must remain something of a mystery, the study of his legacy opens up fascinating windows into early modern English religion. In 1969, C.R. Thompson wrote an extended essay that outlined the influence of Erasmus through the sixteenth century and then called for more research on the reception of Erasmus.16 Over a decade later, in 1983, E.J. Devereux published a detailed bibliography of English translations of Erasmus’ writings up to 1700, with the specific objective of facilitating just such a study.17 Referring to Devereux’s work, Anne O’Donnell wrote that ‘although we have James K. McConica’s excellent book on Erasmian influence in earlier sixteenth-century England, we still need a thorough examination of the rest of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, especially in the fields of religion, education, and literature. Professor

Introduction xv

Devereux’s extensive survey of the vernacular tradition should encourage and expedite the completion of a much needed Erasmus and England.’18 No such work was forthcoming and in 2002 Mark Vessey and John Craig, in a volume of studies that developed out of a 1999 conference on Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament, again called for further research on the significance of Erasmus in England. At the conclusion of his essay, which focused on the widespread distribution of Erasmus’ Paraphrases in English parishes, Craig wrote that ‘if the weight of the evidence indicates that the “Protestant” Erasmus of the English Paraphrases was indeed a durable presence in the parishes, there is all the more reason to ask what wider influence the work may have exerted in the English church and in English society as a whole.’19 There are a handful of books and articles that touch on Erasmus’ long-term legacy. Craig’s essay on the Paraphrases is an obvious example. Articles by Douglas Parker and Erika Rummel look at the reception in the sixteenth century of Erasmus’ Enchiridion Militis Christiani and Adagia respectively.20 There are also two relatively recent books that examine aspects of Erasmus’ influence on Shakespeare.21 The only broader assessment of the Erasmian aspects within English culture after 1550 is Margo Todd’s Christian Humanism and the Puritan Social Order. Todd connected research on the importance of Erasmus in university education to Puritan social practices and agendas. Her study, however, was deliberately limited to social ideology and did not address Erasmus’ theological influence. Acknowledging this, Todd noted that ‘the impact of Erasmian humanism on English protestant theology is a promising field for further investigation. But the scope of this study is limited to the continuity of humanism in puritan social thought; the question of theological interaction between humanism and Puritanism must be left to other investigators.’22 This book will demonstrate that Erasmus’ theological influence went well beyond Puritan circles and was perhaps most significant for those who opposed Puritanism. It has now been forty years since Thompson first called for an extended study of Erasmus in England. Do we still need such a book? Limited, although not exhaustive, studies of his educational legacy and literary influence have helped. What we still need, perhaps now more than ever given the historiographical reshaping of early modern English religion over the past couple of decades, is a focused appraisal of Erasmus’ religious and theological legacy in

xvi Introduction

England. How was Erasmus interpreted and used? Were his ideas, as interpreted, significant in the development of English religious culture? Given the large number of authors, editors, and translators who used Erasmus in diverse ways and for drastically differing purposes, the answers to these questions are unsurprisingly complex and multivalent. In general, however, Erasmus served as a counterpoint in English religious thought as first Protestantism and then Calvinism came to dominate English religion.23 The exploration of Erasmus’ English legacy provides a critical new angle for rethinking such significant topics as the theology and rhetoric of English Protestantism, the rise of anti-Calvinism and Arminianism, the religious politics leading to the English civil war, and the emergence of the Latitudinarians during the Restoration, as well as more general issues of conformity, tolerance, war, and peace. Throughout this study, I pay close attention to the way Erasmus’ writings were transmitted to an English-speaking audience.24 Erasmus himself once wrote that no book is ever finished.25 Not only can further revision improve the syntax and argument of a text, but it can also adapt a text to changing contexts. Where scholars once sought to find the final, authoritative version of an author’s work, we now recognize the value of textual indeterminacy. Such lack of fixity opens up fascinating biographical and cultural avenues for exploration and analysis.26 The revision of early modern texts, though, did not end with the author’s death, and, given his own editorial work, Erasmus would not have been surprised to learn that new authors and editors would transform his texts to serve their own social, political, and religious contexts. The extent of the changes, however, likely would have shocked him. The first two chapters in this book describe the printing, distribution, and text of the English translation of Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament. It was primarily this publication that set the stage for Erasmus’ legacy in Elizabethan and Stuart England.27 Chapter one examines the distribution and construction of the English Paraphrases and suggests that the popularity of Erasmus was both useful and problematic for English Protestants, especially Calvinists. In chapter 2 I analyse the theology and rhetoric contained in the English translation. It was Erasmus’ theology, as found in this English translation, coupled with interpretations of Erasmus by his English editors, that provided a foundation for the utilization of Erasmus’ texts and ideas in Elizabethan

Introduction xvii

England. This is most clearly witnessed in the development of anti-Presbyterianism and the rhetoric of conformity. Chapters 3 and 4 focus on the use of Erasmian texts and theological rhetoric during the reign of Elizabeth I. During her reign, the theological language of peace, unity, and consensus, which echoed Erasmian texts printed in England, became intrinsic components of English religious polemic and helped shape the vocabulary of English Protestantism. Perhaps most important, Erasmus’ texts stressed a proper understanding and usage of adiaphora, or matters of theological indifference in determining an individual’s salvation or damnation.28 This particular aspect of Erasmian rhetoric became an important part of the Elizabethan church’s attempt to define itself in opposition to Rome while simultaneously attempting to marginalize Presbyterians and others who sought a ‘root and branch’ reformation of the English religion. It was also during Elizabeth’s reign that Calvinist critics, including Cecil and Hooker, developed a number of Erasmian concepts in their attempts to resist the establishment of Calvinist orthodoxy within the English church. The thought of Hooker and other anti-Presbyterians would become much more significant in the seventeenth century.29 Chapter 5 moves into the reign of James I and Charles I and examines the transmission of Erasmian texts and references to Erasmus by early Stuart authors. More so than during the Elizabethan era, English translators and authors reinterpreted and manipulated Erasmus’ image and texts to correspond with a wide variety of religious and political agendas. As with the earlier Paraphrases, the printing, translating, and heavy editing of Erasmian texts reveals a Protestant culture that wanted to use Erasmus but was highly uncomfortable with his theology. Chapter 6 moves to a broader analysis of the use and adaptation of Erasmian rhetoric in early Stuart England. A significant number of authors, from wildly varying points of view and while engaged in increasingly bitter polemical battles, specifically linked ideas related to conformity, peace, tolerance, and the via media to Erasmus. Erasmianism certainly no longer represented a stable religious position, but his religious style and language had become an intrinsic part of the debates. In the past several decades there has been a substantial amount of research, writing, and academic debate regarding the rise of Arminianism and the origins of the English civil war.30

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Introduction

The study of Erasmus’ English legacy helps bring additional clarity to these issues. Chapter 7 looks at the connections between Erasmian theology, as transmitted through English culture, and the rise of antipredestinarian English Arminianism. Based on the discussion from previous chapters and the nature of early Arminian rhetoric, I argue that Erasmian theology and rhetoric were always a subtext or counterpoint within the dominant Calvinist culture of Elizabeth’s and James’ reigns and that what was new about Arminianism was its name and dramatically increased power under Charles I and Archbishop Laud. It is also important, however, to make very careful distinctions between English Erasmianism, English Arminianism, and the Laudianism of Charles I’s reign.31 In fact, none of these groups really existed as coherent classifications of people or theology. Rather, each represented overlapping styles of religious thought and discourse.32 While Erasmus was obviously not a primary factor in the outbreak of the English civil war, it is possible to gain a better understanding of the origins of that conflict by examining how a number of authors, such as Falkland and Prynne, adopted or rejected Erasmian religious frameworks and perspectives. Two of the most important historical debates in early modern English studies revolve around the progress of England’s long Reformation and the causes of the English civil war. The study of Erasmus’ legacy provides additional evidence that there are no simple answers to these questions. Rather than over-simplifying and over-schematizing English religious culture we would do well to remember the words of Henry Parker in 1641, ‘Some men divide generally all Protestants into Puritans, and Antipuritans, but I shall admit of subdivisions in both, for all men are not alike, which either affect or disaffect, either Puritans or Antipuritans.’33 In regards to the civil war, people became alienated from the crown and from the English episcopal church and fought, on both sides, for a huge diversity of reasons. As in modern politics and social relationships, personal loyalties and animosities undoubtedly played a pivotal role. Using Erasmus’ legacy as a lens for looking at English religious culture complicates the picture by opening up important cultural processes that help explain the development of conformist and anti-Calvinist thought and rhetoric. Significant portions of chapters 6 and 7 focus on the importance for English religious culture of particular ‘Erasmian’ modes

Introduction xix

of thought and rhetoric. It is, of course, true that neither the ideas of conformity, peace, tolerance, and moderation, nor the language and methodology of theological uncertainty were unique to Erasmus. However, mapping out the direct usage of Erasmus and paying attention to ‘Erasmian’ modes of thought and expression provides a unique window for exploring and rethinking the complexities of the long English Reformation. The point, therefore, is not that certain rhetorical and theological ways of thinking and writing were, in all cases, influenced by Erasmus, but that they can be better located as part of an Erasmian tradition than by any other demarcation and that examining connections to Erasmian thought and texts provides a novel methodology for reinterpreting the fundamental divisions within English religion. This, combined with the fact that so many authors cited Erasmus, relied on his scholarship, and restructured his writings, provides a compelling argument for Erasmus’ long term importance in England. I use the term ‘legacy’ rather than ‘influence’ for precisely these reasons. In chapter 8 we look at the use of Erasmus during the Interregnum and Restoration. There is a decrease in Erasmian publications and citations of Erasmus during the Interregnum. With the Restoration, however, Erasmus’ reputation experienced a rebirth, especially among Latitudinarians, who saw Erasmus’ Paraphrases as justification for their non-Calvinist history of the English church. In 1679, one of the most widely read and influential Latitudinarians, Edward Stillingfleet, wrote: In Edw. 6.’s time, and Q. Elizabeths, when it was settled on the principles it now stands, there was no such regard had to Luther, or Calvin, as to Erasmus and Melancthon, whose learning and moderation were in greater esteem here, than the fiery spirits of the other. From hence, things were carryed with greater temper, the Church settled with a succession of Bishops; the Liturgie reformed according to the ancient Models; some decent ceremonies retained, without the follies and superstitions which were before practised: and to prevent the extravagancies of the people in the interpreting of Scripture, the most excellent Paraphrase of Erasmus was translated into English and set up in Churches; and to this day, Erasmus is in far greater esteem among the Divines of our Church, than either Luther, or Calvin.34

xx Introduction

For Stillingfleet, Erasmus was a perfect, and useful, example of a Christianity that was non-dogmatic, episcopal, conformist, and neither Catholic nor Puritan. Through the later Stuarts, Erasmus remained a part of the debate over the identity of the Church of England. In 1689, following the overthrow of James II in 1688, Protestant non-conformity became legal. The Glorious Revolution resulted in, and was the result of, the rhetorical and ideological collapse of a universal, unified, moderate, and national Church of England that required conformity. Much of Erasmus’ thought was driven by his vision of peace and unity within a single Christian church. England had separated from Catholicism, but the general approach to religious unity was the same – just set within the bounds of England. The official acceptance of separation by dissenters from the Church of England after 1689 exposed the fiction of English, and British, unity. The dream of religious unity was over, as was an era of Erasmian rhetoric, ideology, and exploitation.

EXPLOITING ERASMUS: THE ERASMIAN LEGACY AND RELIGIOUS CHANGE IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND

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ONE

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

One of the most interesting and unlikely books to emerge from the English Reformation was the English translation of Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament. The Paraphrases, along with the Bible, the Book of Homilies, and the Book of Common Prayer, became a required text of the evolving English church. It is, of course, hardly surprising that Erasmus was a popular author in the midsixteenth century. What is unusual is that a Catholic author, whose theology was far different from the Protestantism of Luther or Calvin, became an official part of the English Reformation under Edward VI and again during the reign of Elizabeth I. In fact, English editors recognized the divergence in Erasmus’ thought and voiced concern about both Erasmus and his theology in the introductions to the English edition of the Paraphrases. I suggest in this and the following chapters that Erasmus did not represent mainstream English Protestantism, but rather that his legacy became a counterpoint to the emerging dominance of Calvinist theology within English religious culture. Even so, the popularity and influence of Erasmus should not be easily dismissed. While Erasmus remained a widely read author long after the publication of the Paraphrases, the royally enforced distribution of the Paraphrases does represent the high point for Erasmus’ direct influence in England. It is, after all, easier to sell books when the government requires that people buy them. Those Paraphrases, however, continued to play a role in the development of English religion. How England came to require the printing and purchase of the first volume of the two-volume set of the English Paraphrases is adequately covered by a number of authors who have evaluated Erasmus’ influence from the time of his first English

4

Exploiting Erasmus

sojourn in 1499 through the reign of Edward VI.1 The most important work on early English Erasmianism is James McConica’s English Humanists and Reformation Politics, which details Erasmus’ profound influence on English religion and politics. Subsequent histories of the period, however, have almost completely ignored McConica’s work. While it is no longer possible to classify the English Reformation as quintessentially Erasmian, as McConica came close to doing, ignoring the interplay of Erasmian texts and ideas within the emerging struggle between Calvinism and Catholicism is a serious omission. What scholarly analyses there are of Erasmus’ influence in England nearly all conclude with the printing of the Paraphrases. Yet, the printing of such a text does not just point to the fulfilment of early Tudor Erasmianism; it also suggests that this text may have contributed to the development of English religious culture long after the accession of Mary I.2 Any assessment of Erasmus’ legacy in Elizabethan and Stuart England must therefore begin with a study of the purpose, structure, and usage of the English Paraphrases. Where the next chapter examines the translation and content of the English Paraphrases, the focus here is on the story of the English text – its creation, distribution, use, and purpose. After introducing the genre, nature, and content of the Paraphrases, this chapter examines the production of the text and the royal injunctions that attempted to ensure a large readership for the text.3 While we will never know how many people actually read the Paraphrases, there is ample evidence that the Paraphrases occupied an important position within officially driven reform initiatives, that both volumes were widely distributed, and, anecdotally, that they were highly valued and read. We will then take a closer look at Nicholas Udall, the driving force behind the first volume of the Paraphrases, and at the various introductions provided by Udall and the other editors and translators. It was in these introductions that those responsible for the English publication could comment on Erasmus and his place within the post-Catholic English church. These introductions were far from consistent in their appraisal of both Erasmus and his theology and demonstrate the difficulty of using Erasmus as an authoritative author for English Protestantism. Erasmus began work in 1514 on a paraphrase of Paul’s letter to the Romans.4 Over the next two decades he paraphrased the

The Englishing of the Paraphrases 5

entire New Testament, except for the Revelation of John, and substantially revised a number of the earlier books, with Romans undergoing four revisions. Such revisions were not unusual for Erasmus, who continually brought out new editions of his works and once said that ‘no book is so complete that it cannot be improved.’5 For many scholars of the Reformation, Erasmus’ Paraphrases do not seem as important as his Latin and Greek translations of the New Testament, Colloquies, Praise of Folly, Adages, or even his polemical writings. As a result, Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament are often overlooked in interpretations of his life, thought, and influence. Yet, as Roland Bainton once said of them, ‘The whole of Erasmus is here.’6 And Erasmus himself said, referring to the work of writing the Paraphrases, ‘Here I am in my own field.’7 They were built on the foundation of his New Testament scholarship, suffused with theological insights from his patristic work, and focused by the pastoral vision of works like the Enchiridion. There are even echoes of the Colloquies in his narrative structures. Nicholas Udall, making a salesman’s pitch for the Paraphrases, stated that as Erasmus ‘dooeth in all his weorkes excelle and passe the moste parte of all other writers: so in this weorke of the paraphrase upon the newe testamente he passeth himself.’8 Despite Udall’s enthusiasm, it is true that no other work by Erasmus contained as comprehensively his humanistic vision for a reformed Christianity. Even more important, after going through seven Latin editions and numerous revisions between 1521 and 1543 it was the Paraphrases that became a legislated part of the English Reformation in 1547 and again in 1559 at the beginning of Elizabeth’s reign.9 Paraphrasing was not an entirely new concept. There are a few examples from classical Greece and Rome and a few of medieval paraphrases of biblical passages. Erasmus, however, was the first to create a full and expanded paraphrase of the New Testament and certainly the first to do so in the era of the printing press. Hilmar Pabel writes that ‘in the Paraphrases, Erasmus created a new genre of literature, one that conveyed afresh the narrative and teaching of sacrae litterae according to the principles of Erasmian theology and rhetoric.’10 The Paraphrases of Erasmus heralded a new era of biblical interpretation and literary production.11 But what role did Erasmus see for the Paraphrases? Mark Vessey provides an excellent summation:

6

Exploiting Erasmus

As a series of evangelical orations, Erasmus’ Paraphrases … are a natural embodiment of their author’s intent to make the Word of God effective in his own age: only if the gospel were heard again in its most persuasive form, the humanist rhetorician believed, could it move human beings to the life of Christ-like piety in which their salvation lay. At the same time, the Paraphrases are unmistakably the product of a highly evolved and rapidly developing textual and typographic culture. Virtual scripts for preaching rather than transcripts of sermons actually preached, they are the work of a man who was making the printing press his pulpit and who would always rely on others to give physical voice to the gospel message as he phrased it.12 It is important to remember that the Paraphrases were designed to persuade readers to imitate the life of Christ. They were sermons that were not concerned so much with doctrine as with inspiring lives of piety. With the publication and widespread use of the Paraphrases in English parishes, Erasmus’ pastoral intention for the Paraphrases became a reality. Erasmus envisioned a broad general Latinate readership for the Paraphrases that did not have the theological background of trained clergy.13 Of course, there were many clergy who also lacked an adequate understanding of the Bible and, similar to the fifteenth-century Biblia pauperum praedicatorum or ‘poor man’s’ Bible, the Paraphrases were to serve as a crutch for the less welleducated clergy.14 Such a purpose was certainly behind the royal injunction that all clergy study the Paraphrases and have access to the Paraphrases in both Latin and English. Despite the general audience Erasmus targeted, the Paraphrases were hardly simplistic narratives of the New Testament and, in a literary sense, combined elements of biblical translation, commentary, and fiction.15 Erasmus’ basic concept was to create a commentary that was accessible to the general reader.16 A paraphrase was, according to Erasmus, ‘a kinde of commentarie.’17 He then joined this new form of commentary with a fictional style that elaborated on the text of the New Testament. As Nicholas Udall wrote in the introduction to the English Paraphrases, a paraphrase was the presentation of a text to make it ‘open, clere, plain, and familiar, whiche otherwyse should perchaunce seme bare, unfruictefull, hard, straunge, rough, obscure, and dark.’18 In England the uncensored

The Englishing of the Paraphrases 7

reading of scripture was still seen as potentially dangerous. How would people know how to interpret difficult passages? An English translation of the Paraphrases was viewed as a partial answer for this problem. As the next chapter will illustrate, however, Erasmus was not entirely comfortable with the notion that a paraphrase would clear up the ‘dark places’ in scripture. Erasmus believed that areas of dispute over difficult doctrines would remain because God designed them to be mysterious. Unlike most modern paraphrases, which are sentence-by-sentence paraphrases of the biblical text, Erasmus added setting, detail, and conversation to enliven the original. The Paraphrases were far more than a simple rewording of scripture; they were an artistic achievement in a typically Erasmian style and encapsulated Erasmus’ philosophia Christi. Though certainly meant to educate, Erasmus ultimately wanted his audience to find enjoyment and spiritual blessing through the reading of the Paraphrases. p r i n ti n g a n d u t i li z i n g t h e e n g l i s h p a r a p h r a s e s The English editors, translators, and legislators of the Paraphrases may have believed readers would find pleasure and spiritual profit in them, but they were not willing to leave the readership of the Paraphrases to chance or fancy. A series of Edwardian and Elizabethan injunctions dictated the printing and distribution of the Paraphrases. How did the crown and religious leaders attempt to utilize Erasmus’ text, how successful were they, and how were the Paraphrases used after their enforced distribution? In a sense, what follows is the physical story of the Paraphrases. In the 1540s, under the patronage of Catherine Parr, a number of English scholars began translating Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament. The conservative retrenchment of Henry VIII’s later years, led by Gardiner and Bonner, however, delayed their publication until after Henry’s death. The reign of Edward VI brought with it a new cadre of religious leaders who were determined to bring the ‘Word’ to the English people. At the forefront of this movement was the now emboldened archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. James K. McConica has argued that Erasmianism reached its high-water mark in Henry VIII’s reign, but was then gradually subverted by the more overt Protestantism of Edward VI’s rule.19 For McConica, the English Paraphrases were part of Henry VIII’s final settlement and, though

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printed after Henry’s death under the direction of the queen dowager, they were increasingly out of step with the Calvinist ascendancy during Edward’s reign.20 John N. Wall, Jr, however, saw the publication of the Paraphrases during Edward’s reign as signifying the ‘fulfillment rather than a retreat from the goals of the Erasmian humanists active under Henry VIII.’21 The notion of classifying English writers as ‘Erasmian’ in either the reign of Henry or his son is problematic, something that Wall later addressed. After again stressing the influence of Erasmus on Cranmer and his associates, Wall provides the following nuanced interpretation of Erasmus’ influence: This is not, of course, to suggest that there was a specifically ‘Erasmian’ party in early Tudor England, but to argue that whatever ‘humanism’ was in northern Europe in the early sixteenth century, it was a highly complex and multi-faceted phenomenon, and that Erasmus was, at least for English humanists, a major and influential spokesman for at least some aspects of it. Instead of thinking of an ‘Erasmian’ party, we might instead want to envision a community of men with shared educational backgrounds, shared goals, and shared methodology, for which Erasmus loomed as the most articulate spokesman.22 As we shall see, McConica is correct that there was marked reserve towards Erasmus by Edwardian Calvinists. It also is difficult, however, to find any English Protestant, Catholic, or humanist who fully shared Erasmus’ goals and methodology. Even Cranmer, who knew Erasmus and kept money flowing to him from a Canterbury pension until Erasmus’ death in 1536, was certainly not in theological agreement with Erasmus.23 At one time he had agreed with Erasmus that some spiritual freedom resided within the human soul. In the margins of Cranmer’s copy of Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio, Cranmer noted with approval Erasmus’ arguments against Luther’s belief in predestination.24 Diarmaid MacCulloch points out, however, that Cranmer later changed his mind. The early Cranmer’s ‘reverent agnosticism on the deepest meaning of Scripture (echoed in his other marginalia on the book), his relaxed attitude to the question of justification … are all far from his later thought.’25 Over time Cranmer abandoned an Erasmian theological model in favour of

The Englishing of the Paraphrases 9

a Calvinist understanding of faith, grace, predestination, and the church. Despite Cranmer’s theological shift towards Calvinism, it is still noteworthy that in 1550 the only texts by a modern author that made the archbishop’s list of necessary books for the Cathedral Library at Canterbury were ones penned by Erasmus.26 Even though Cranmer moved away from Erasmus’ theological thought he continued to share Erasmus’ vision for the Bible becoming part of everyday life and supported the enforced distribution of the English Paraphrases throughout the kingdom. The Paraphrases were part of an aggressive push for further reformation within the English church by Cranmer and other likeminded individuals. The introduction to the Paraphrases made this quite clear. In his preface to Edward VI, Nicholas Udall, using standard Protestant rhetoric, contrasted a religion based on scripture with the errors of Roman Catholicism. He asked: Untill the Bible and other good traictises for the explanacion of the same wer in Christian regions turned and sette foorth in the vulgare languages: what kynde of idolatrie, supersticion, poperie, errour, ignoraunce, or countrefaict religion dyd not reigne? As long as the candelelight of the ghospell was kept hidden under the bushel: what kyng, what Prince, what countrey, what people did not the blynd popishe guides lede …?27 There was no mention in the introduction that Erasmus supported the institution of the papacy and was himself considered a ‘popish guide’ by, among others, Martin Luther. Luther, who was highly critical of the Paraphrases, wrote to Oecolampadius that he wished Erasmus ‘would restrain himself from dealing with Holy Scripture and writing his Paraphrases, for he is not up to this task; he takes the time of readers in vain, and he hinders them in studying Scripture.’28 Luther’s numerous condemnations of Erasmus makes Erasmus’ inclusion as part of the official English Reformation all the more interesting. Udall’s introduction was completely silent on Luther while attempting to transform Erasmus into a leading figure of the Reformation. For the purpose of truly reforming English religion, Udall argued that ‘not any one booke, whom for this purpose so briefly, piththily, syncerely, and familiarly expoundyng the newe testamente, I maie justely compare, or at leste wyse preferre to this present Paraphrase of Erasmus.’29

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Exploiting Erasmus

This was Cranmer’s humanist vision of reform come to fruition. Cranmer and Udall were willing to overlook Erasmus’ Catholicism in their determination to bring the scriptures to the English people. On 31 July 1547 Edward VI published his Injunctions, which decreed that the Great Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, the Book of Homilies, and the Paraphrases of Erasmus should be placed in churches throughout the kingdom.30 Cranmer’s ultimate goal for the Paraphrases was the education of the common people. The parish priest was to place the Paraphrases ‘in some conveniente place … whereas their Parishioners maye moste commodiously resorte unto the same, and reade the same.’31 The Paraphrases were also required reading for clergy who were below the degree of Bachelor of Divinity. Interestingly, they were to study both the Latin and English versions of the Paraphrases. According to Miles Coverdale, the clergy were ‘bounden by the kynges Maiesties most gracious iniunctions to have provided by a daye lymited for his owne study and erudicion the whole Paraphrase of D. Erasmus upon the newe testamente both in Latine and Englishe.’32 That they were required reading in both Latin and English is important for gauging which ‘Erasmus’ readers in England were exposed to. That the Latin Paraphrases were readily available meant that clergy could compare, for example, Erasmus’ original paraphrase of predestination in Romans with William Tyndale’s translation. Of course, it is likely that the vast majority of English readers in the century following the original Injunctions, including the clergy, were far more familiar with the English version than the Latin original. Nevertheless, access to the original Latin did, perhaps, limit the licence taken by the translators. The English Paraphrases went through a number of printings between 31 July 1548 and 1552. They came in two volumes: the first contained the Gospels and Acts of the Apostles; the second, the rest of the New Testament. The paraphrase on Revelation, however, was not the work of Erasmus, who doubted its authenticity and, more importantly, believed the book unparaphrasable.33 The second volume was not specifically called for by the 1547 Injunctions and it was not as widely distributed – although it is worth pointing out that English clergy, if not the laity, still had access to it, especially at the universities. Somewhere between 20,000 and 30,000 copies of the first volume were printed and about 6,000 of the second volume.34 There are also numerous

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

11

parish accounts that record the purchase of the Paraphrases. A 1552 inventory of London churches recorded that fifty out of eightyfour parishes owned a copy.35 This was not full compliance, but 65 per cent is still significant. Such an inventory was designed to put further pressure on churches to obey the injunctions.36 The death of Edward VI was a serious blow to the Protestant faction behind the 1547 Injunctions. Mary I was determined to return the English church to Catholicism and Edward and Cranmer’s vision for further reformation began to go up in smoke, quite literally in the case of Cranmer himself. Yet, despite the widespread prohibition of Protestant literature during Mary’s reign, Erasmus’ Paraphrases survived in many parishes.37 Mary’s archbishop, Stephen Gardiner, was certainly opposed to them. For Gardiner, as for many devout Catholics, Erasmus was the instigator of the Reformation and a sceptic who questioned the doctrines and practices of the church. Where Protestants tried to ignore Erasmus’ Catholicism, many Catholics sought to repudiate him.38 It was precisely this ambiguous position between Catholicism and Protestantism that continued to make Erasmus’ ideas of particular importance as the English church evolved through Elizabeth’s reign. During Edward’s reign, Stephen Gardiner wrote a series of letters from prison deploring the publication of the Paraphrases. He accused Erasmus of heretical leanings and saw passages in the Paraphrases that brought into question the authority of princes.39 More important, according to Gardiner, was the shoddiness of the translation, which was so bad he surmised that the translators had been asleep.40 Gardiner was perhaps less appalled by the translations than by the introductory material supplied by Nicholas Udall and the other translators. It was in the introductions, rather than in the Erasmian text, that Catholicism was so vigorously condemned. After all, Gardiner certainly knew that Mary I had earlier translated portions of the paraphrase on the Gospel of John. Encouraged by Catherine Parr, Mary began that translation under the supervision of her personal Catholic chaplain, Francis Malet, who completed it after Mary became ill.41 It is impossible to know how much of the translating work was done by Mary and how much by Malet.42 Udall claimed in his introduction to the Paraphrases that, in the case of Mary Tudor’s translation, he did little more than basic editing. ‘In John,’ he wrote, ‘I have in manier dooen nothyng at al saving only placed the texte, and

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Exploiting Erasmus

divided the paraphrase, because I knew the translatours therof, with whose exquisite dooynges I might not without the cryme of great arrogancie and presumpcion bee buisie to entremedle.’43 Mary’s translation of John was perhaps one reason Gardiner chose not to challenge the Paraphrases; there were certainly more pressing problems for him to deal with.44 During Mary’s reign, some Catholic leaders found it worthwhile, or at least expedient, to ignore Erasmus’ reform agenda while simultaneously stressing his loyalty to the Catholic Church. Erasmus was simply too widely read, with too many admirers, to be thoroughly controlled or censored by one or another of the parties striving for control of English religion. Perhaps most significant for English Catholics was Erasmus’ close relationship with Thomas More, who was rehabilitated as a Catholic martyr during the reign of Mary I. No longer was More depicted as the persecutor of reformers and a stubborn papist who stood between Henry VIII and the reformation of the church. Thomas More, now, stood for everything that was good in English Catholicism. He represented faith, determination, intellectual excellence, moderate pious reform, and martyrdom. Since many people closely associated More and Erasmus it may not have been possible to condemn Erasmus while lauding More. Thus, even while Erasmus’ works were viciously attacked and censored on the Continent, they continued to be widely printed and read in England. Clearly the vagaries of international printing, especially controls placed on it, played a central role in the strength of Erasmus’ English legacy and his diminishing influence in most of the rest of Europe. Even though Pope Paul IV put all of Erasmus’ writings on the Index librorum prohibitorum in 1559, English Catholics, especially Mary’s cousin Reginald Pole, who was at the Council of Trent, respected Erasmus’ unique combination of humanism and Catholicism and specificly relied on Erasmus for the official English interpretation of the Eucharist.45 Erasmus’ Paraphrases certainly did not receive the same official endorsement that they had during Edward and Elizabeth’s reigns, but there also was no dedicated attempt to destroy his influence.46 The reign of Elizabeth I had brought with it a renewed impetus to get the Paraphrases into the hands of both clergy and laity. In her 1559 Injunctions Elizabeth reissued the decree that the Paraphrases be exhibited in all parish churches. The visitation articles also stipulated that all clergy below the degree of Masters of Arts

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

13

had to acquire a personal copy of the Paraphrases.47 Elizabeth’s orders were followed, but not universally. For example, in Kent, one of the most ‘Reformed’ counties of the 1560s, forty out of 169 parishes did not possess both the Bible and the Paraphrases in 1569.48 Some of these forty would have been missing both books, some the Paraphrases, and a few the Bible. Even if we conservatively estimate that all forty parishes did not have the Paraphrases, it is still notable that 75 per cent of the parishes in Kent owned an exhibition copy of the text.49 During the 1569 visitation, Archbishop Parker ordered those parishes that still lacked the Paraphrases to purchase them. Such instructions were repeated, in various dioceses, seven times between 1569 and 1599.50 In 1583, however, the patent for the printing of the Paraphrases was given up by Christopher Barker, the Queen’s Printer.51 Apparently, there was no longer any demand for further editions. This could mean either that the Paraphrases were no longer of interest to English readers, or that the magnitude of the first print runs filled demand sufficiently for decades to come. It also indicates that the injunctions were no longer being enforced and indeed, in 1591 Henry Barrow mentioned the injunctions regarding the Paraphrases in a list of Elizabethan articles and injunctions that the bishops were no longer enforcing.52 Barrow’s point was that the episcopal clergy were failing to support and further the reformation in England. He accused the clergy of being more interested in every parish having correct clerical vestments than good books for parishioners to read. In 1610, during James’ reign, Richard Bancroft, archbishop of Canterbury, recalled that ‘in the late queenes tyme of worthy memory, every parish was driven to buy Erasmus Paraphrase uppon the Newe Testament.’53 Ian Green suggests that paraphrases in general lost favour during Elizabeth’s reign. This is hardly surprising as English men and women gained greater familiarity with the New Testament itself. Green does note, however, that Erasmus’ paraphrase on the New Testament and Beza’s on the Psalms were still being sold in 1595. It is unclear whether these were used books or ones left unsold from mid-century.54 We do know that there was a brisk trade in second-hand books in Elizabethan and early Stuart England. It is also important to be cautious about linking early modern sales with readership. Asking whether a book is read is a different question from asking how well it sold.55 For many sixteenth-century books, sales may indeed indicate influence. The Paraphrases,

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Exploiting Erasmus

however, were a distinct case, given their official publication and the very public nature of their distribution. Most books, when purchased, went into private or semi-private collections. The Paraphrases were public and, in some cases, available for centuries after being purchased by a parish church and publicly displayed. Parish churches thus performed the function of early public libraries for laity who increasingly looked for truth in the written word. E.J. Devereux writes that, despite the limited number of editions of the Paraphrases and the near impossibility in determining their readership, ‘it is probable that the Paraphrases were in fact widely read and had a considerable influence on religious thought in sixteenth century England.’56 Even more strongly, John Craig writes that ‘parochial evidence’ suggests ‘the Paraphrases was widely purchased and used, that it was instrumental in making the New Testament in English available and known to clergy and people, and that it was the chief means by which Erasmus was claimed for the English reformed church.’57 For the early part of Elizabeth’s reign the Paraphrases belong on a very short list of the most theologically significant texts – though perhaps not as influential as Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion or, later, Foxe’s Acts and Monuments. It is interesting, however, that we do know of one parish that, lacking a required copy of the Paraphrases, indicated they would settle for ‘the boke of Martirs and Mar. Calvins institutions yf the Paraphrases cannot be had.’58 The Paraphrases of Erasmus on the New Testament undoubtedly became a part of the fabric of English religious culture. They were printed and distributed throughout England, all clergy were supposed to read them, and the vision of Edwardian and Elizabethan reformers was that average parishioners would linger after the service to study them. While the Bible might seem difficult and obscure, the Paraphrases were intended to open a new narrative to the English people. The information we have points to the cultural importance of the Paraphrases; yet, ascertaining specifically what role they played in the religious life of average English churchgoers is quite difficult. Did parishioners read them? Did parish priests consult them when preparing a sermon? Were the Paraphrases read in churches? In Edward’s reign we at least know the answer to the last question. A 1551 Dutch travel journal recorded that ‘the regular church service usually consists of a chapter or two from the English Bible and

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

15

the Paraphrase of Erasmus in English translation.’59 Such practices did not disappear. Years later, during Elizabeth’s reign, Francis Drake had a passage of the Paraphrases read for morning worships on his voyage around the globe.60 There are also numerous references to the Paraphrases in Elizabethan and early Stuart texts, including, for example, John Jewel’s use of the second volume of the Paraphrases.61 As we shall see in later chapters, English authors often cited the Paraphrases.62 Whether or not it was common in Elizabethan England to read from the Paraphrases, we can be certain in this at least: the Paraphrases were widely dispersed and represent the core of Erasmus’ theological thought distilled in accessible language for the masses.63 framing of the paraphrases The Englishing of Erasmus’ Paraphrases required more than translating, printing, and ordering churches and clergy to purchase them; it also required a new framework of English introductions to help readers understand the text. The English Paraphrases were designed to help English men and women better understand the Bible by providing clarity for a difficult text.64 Ironically, the two volumes that eventually made their way through English presses were never simple narratives of the New Testament, but incorporated many types of texts, several levels of interpretation, and a number of distinct and, at times, contradictory agendas. At the centre, of course, was Erasmus’ interpretation of the New Testament, which Nicholas Udall stated was itself ‘in manier a full librarie of all good divinitee bookes.’65 Interspersed throughout this core text, Erasmus’ own prefaces introduced each New Testament book and sought to focus readers on specific ideas and themes.66 Surrounding Erasmus’ words, and providing a final layer of interpretation for English readers, were the numerous introductions by English editors and translators. English readers thus had to navigate through at least four textual layers: the English introductions, Erasmus’ prefaces, Erasmus’ paraphrase, and, of course, the original text behind the paraphrases, the New Testament. Much of the Protestant Reformation was based on the belief that once people had the Bible they would recognize truth. Many also believed that the open Bible would bring unity, both cultural and theological. Obviously, neither clarity nor unity became a

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Exploiting Erasmus

reality and the Paraphrases are a perfect example of the textual problems facing a text-based reform movement. How were the Paraphrases and Erasmus understood by English readers? Though such a question will never be answered fully, we can examine how those who produced the English text – Nicholas Udall, Thomas Key, Miles Coverdale, and John Olde – wanted readers to understand Erasmus and his Paraphrases.67 Religious texts in sixteenth century England nearly always contained introductions designed to prepare readers properly to understand the text. These introductions provided the appropriate theological lens for the audience, which was doubly important for the English editors and publishers of his texts given the Catholicism of the author. The introductions in the Paraphrases, however, were not consistent either in their portrayal of Erasmus or in their vision for English Protestantism; and, at times, were pointedly hostile to Erasmus, his theology, and the Paraphrases themselves. The Erasmus they presented to English readers was thus complex, highly constructed, and ultimately rather ambiguous. Various commentators, including James McConica, John King, and John Craig, have noted the difference between the first volume and the more Calvinist, or ‘reformed,’ second volume. No study, however, has yet focused on the English introductions, especially with an eye towards the image of Erasmus they created, or sought to create, for English readers in the later half of the sixteenth century. The extraordinary lengths to which Udall went to Protestantize Erasmus and the more critical approach taken by the editors and translators of the second volume both demonstrate the uneasy fit between Erasmus and Protestant theology and politics. Rather than make him their own, they instead created a highly ambiguous image of Erasmus and formed a publication that would eventually serve as a challenge to English Calvinism.68 Before turning to the individual introductions it is important to take a closer look at Nicholas Udall. While many people were involved in the project of translating, publishing, and legislating the Paraphrases, Nicholas Udall was particularly responsible for the final content, structure, and English introductions in the first volume. When he organized and participated in the translation and publication of the Paraphrases Nicholas Udall was a wellknown supporter of the Henrican Reformation. Even as early as the 1520s, he was suspected of Lutheran tendencies as a fellow of Oxford’s Corpus Christi College.69 It is important to note that

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

17

Corpus Christi was viewed as a humanist centre whose founder, Richard Foxe, was friends with both Erasmus and Thomas More. Erasmus was personally enthusiastic about the new foundation.70 It is undoubtedly to this education that we can trace Udall’s devotion to Erasmus. Like many others seeking reform, Udall was delighted by the rise of Anne Boleyn and Henry’s subsequent break from Rome. He was officially involved with the coronation of Queen Anne in 1533, for which he composed numerous poems, and, perhaps as a reward, was appointed headmaster at Eton in 1534.71 He later had to answer slanderous accusations before the Privy Council and subsequently lost his position at Eton and nearly went to prison. He was accused of sodomizing and beating his students. Alan Stewart argues that these accusations were unlikely to be true; not only because the court did not take them seriously, but also because the real problem some had with Udall was his humanistic, rather than scholastic, approach to teaching. He was abusing his students with classical authors and corrupting their young minds with the pagans.72 William Edgerton has a simpler answer: the court scribe mistakenly transcribed ‘buggery’ for ‘burglary.’73 This would make some sense given that he was officially dismissed from Eton for involvement with the theft of stolen plate and silver images. He was almost immediately employed by Catherine Parr, who supported him financially when he began working on translating the Paraphrases.74 Udall was the natural person to translate the Paraphrases not only because he was well known for his humanist pedagogy at Eton, but because he already had experience translating Erasmus, having published an English edition of Erasmus’ Apophthegmata in 1542. Until the end of Henry’s reign and throughout that of Edward VI, Udall was closely associated with the Protestant reformers. Like Erasmus, however, Udall was not willing to destroy himself over theological distinctions and managed to adapt to Mary I’s Catholic court, where he even had his plays performed for the queen.75 Despite being removed as rector of Calborne and as canon of Windsor, both financially advantageous positions, Udall’s secure standing at the Catholic court is also apparent from Archbishop Stephen Gardiner’s bequest of forty marks to him in 1555, despite earlier disputes between them during Edward’s reign and the fact that Udall was modestly recompensed for his losses by being appointed master at St Peter’s Grammar School at Westminster Abbey.76 As we shall see, Udall’s introductions to the Paraphrases

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did not condemn Catholicism wholesale, especially what he saw as true non-papal Catholicism; coupled with his later activities at Mary’s court, this may suggest a moderate Erasmianism which was quite comfortable in the Catholic Church while simultaneously pushing for a text-based reformation within that universal Christian body. Perhaps this is another reason why the Paraphrases were not purged during Mary’s reign. While Udall was able to survive in Mary’s England, he wrote the introductions to the Paraphrases prior to the death of Edward VI, whom he saw as another young Josiah who would lead the kingdom into a full reformation. Udall developed two overarching themes in his introductions. First, he sought to reiterate the sanctity of royal authority for the English Reformation. And second, he made a strong case for the centrality of the Paraphrases in the reformation process. Although Udall gave a very Protestant introduction to Erasmus’ text and avoided discussing Erasmus’ support of the papacy and the Catholic Church, he also used Erasmus to frame the English Reformation as part of an authentic Christianity sought by monarchs and theologians, both Catholic and Protestant, throughout Christendom. From Udall’s perspective, the English Reformation was neither innovative nor exceptional, but part of a much longer and larger movement to reform the universal church and reconnect it with its apostolic roots. In his introductory letter dedicated to Edward VI, Udall included the standard Protestant interpretations of Christian history. Rome was Babylon and the centuries of rule under the papacy represented the Babylonian Captivity of true Christianity. The great sin of the papacy was to set itself over kings and emperors. True, reformed Christianity came from godly kings. Udall presented King John as an antipapal hero who ‘attempted to vanquishe’ the papacy from the land, but was defeated.77 It was not until Henry VIII and his son Edward VI that freedom from papal blasphemy and ambition was able to take root in England. According to Udall, ‘This dragon besydes the monstreous hissyng of his curses and excommunicacions, and besydes the contagious infeccion of Idolatrie and supersticion … enwrapped and drouned all Christendome in blyndenesse and errour.’78 Perhaps Udall hoped that all the abuse he was heaping on papal Catholicism would mask, or at least divert attention away from, the fact that the very text he was introducing was written by a Catholic priest – one who was even offered a cardinal’s hat by Pope Paul III in 1535.79

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After establishing England’s true religious history and the evils of Catholicism, Udall discussed Erasmus directly and connected the Paraphrases to the ongoing progress of the Reformation. English people now had free access to the Bible ‘sette foorth in the Englishe toungue, and to bee sette up in everie churche where it might bee read of his people.’80 And, helping them understand the Bible would be the Paraphrases, with their expanded and readable format of the New Testament narratives. Udall wrote that Erasmus was a man of ‘excellente witte, of muche studie, of exquisite learnyng, of profound knowelage, of an exact iudgemente, of notable diligence, of woorthie and famous industrie, of singular peinfulnesse, of incomparable memorie, and of an unestunable zele towardes the settyng furth of Christes moste holy ghospell.’81 Even more important, Erasmus did all of this with prudence, circumspection, and a temperate style. Udall also wanted readers of the Paraphrases to understand that Erasmus based his narrative on the scholarly underpinnings of ‘all the good Doctours of the churche, that ever wrote.’82 The Paraphrases were not just one man’s interpretation or, even worse, a novel interpretation. Rather, Erasmus’ ideas were based on the ancient and true understanding of the church fathers before ‘papisticall tradicions had founde a waie to crepe in.’83 In essence, Udall was arguing that Erasmus represented the best of traditional prepapal Catholic Christianity – a Catholicism that Udall and others were rhetorically attempting to restore. If approached with the correct frame of mind, which Udall attempted to provide, Erasmus could prove a very useful tool in this process. The Paraphrases could also help in another way. The Bible had been restored, but that did not mean people would know how to read it properly. Erasmus’ Paraphrases solved this problem by giving the English people a readable and, more important, a reliable interpretation of scripture. Udall was certainly not alone in these sentiments. The entire project was predicated on the belief that English men and women needed to be introduced carefully to the Bible. The elite assumption that the Bible was dangerous in the hands of the common people had not completely disappeared and while the English Reformation gave people the Bible, it still tried to shape, via the Paraphrases and other mandated texts, how people read it. A particularly interesting aspect of Udall’s rhetoric is his treatment of those critical or hostile towards Erasmus. Udall was, of

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course, aware that Erasmus had enemies. During his life Erasmus had not only incurred the wrath of scholastic theologians and other conservative elements within the Catholic Church, but also the enmity of the reformers.84 Luther had not tried to hide his loathing of Erasmus following their acrimonious debate over the nature of the human will. John Calvin had also directly challenged Erasmus’ theology in his Institutes of the Christian Religion. Just as Udall glossed over Erasmus’ Catholicism he also pointedly ignored Erasmus’ conflicts with Protestant reformers.85 It may say something about Udall’s own religious sentiments that neither Luther nor Calvin was mentioned in the introductions and that Udall ridiculed any enemy of Erasmus as an enemy of the gospel. According to Udall, if any persones bee enemies to Erasmus wrytyng it procedeth more of their envie, of their unquietnesse of mynde, and of their hatred against the light and grace of the ghospell clerely now arisyng and plenteously spreding it selfe abrode, then of any faulte or iust deserte in Erasmus. Who so wyncheth and kicketh at the gospell, in dede cannot but spurne at Erasmus: who hath with incomparable studie and travaill shewed himself a diligent labourer in Christes vineyearde. And truely whomesoeuer I perceive to bee an eagre adversarie to Erasmus wrytynges, I (as my poore iudgemente ledeth me) cannot but suppose the same to bee an indurate enemie to the ghospell, whiche Erasmus doeth according to the measure and porcion of his talente feithfully labour to sette foorth and promote.86 Educated readers would certainly have been aware of Luther’s vitriolic condemnation of Erasmus and perhaps wondered what exactly Udall was getting at. While Udall was perhaps also thinking of Gardiner and other leading English Catholics who condemned Erasmus, he was clearly giving an explicit warning to his readers, both Catholic and reformed, not to challenge Erasmus or the officially sanctioned English Paraphrases.87 After assuring readers that the English translation was a faithful rendering of Erasmus’ words, Udall turned his attention to the Paraphrases themselves. As he had in the letter to the ‘christian reader,’ Udall’s letter to Queen Catherine discussed

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

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the purpose of the Paraphrases. In a very Erasmian manner, he wrote that the Paraphrases were for the use and commoditee of suche people, as with an earneste zele and with devout studie, dooe houngre and thirst [for] the simple and plain knowlage of Goddes woorde: not for contencious bableyng, but for innocent livyng: not to bee curious serchers of the high misteries, but to be feithful executours and dooers of God’s biddynges.88 And, in his letter to the ‘Christian reader,’ in addition to an attempt at casting Erasmus as a Protestant Reformer, Udall focused on Erasmus’ high standing throughout Christendom. He wrote: Whosoever doeth not hate the light of the ghospell: whosoever is in his herte a favourer of the trueth, and of the kinges Maiesties moste godly procedyinges: hath no lesse cause but to enbrace Erasmus, whose doctrine the most and best parte of all Christian Royalmes and universities hath evermore allowed and judged to be consonaunt to the trueth.89 Would Udall’s approach in these introductions have raised doubts in the minds of some English Protestants about Erasmus’ doctrines? After all, Erasmus could hardly have gained the support of other Christian realms and universities if he supported a doctrine such as predestination. Would such doubts have been confirmed by Erasmus’ paraphrases? It is, of course, impossible to answer the first question. The second, however, is easier. Erasmus’ paraphrases, even in English translation, did interpret key doctrines, such as predestination, in a manner that was inconsistent with Luther, Calvin, and other reformers’ understanding of such key soteriological issues as grace, justification, atonement, and salvation. Udall, it would seem, while certainly antagonistic towards the papacy and the Catholic Church, was perhaps more of an Erasmian theological frame of mind. What really mattered was reading the Bible, reforming one’s own life, being obedient to the state, and avoiding dogmatic assertions on mysteries that only God could understand. It was therefore perfectly consistent, from Udall’s perspective, to paint Erasmus in a very Protestant light while at the same time applauding the fact that he was

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approved by universities and royal courts throughout Europe. Udall’s selective vision apparently failed to notice that by 1548, Erasmus was no longer held in high esteem at major European universities or royal courts. Nonetheless, the ultimate point that Udall was making for readers in all three of his introductory letters was that reformed English religion was not an innovation, that Erasmus was a leading antipapal reformer, and that his Paraphrases were the perfect texts for simultaneously spreading the gospel and destroying English Catholicism.90 Thomas Key, the translator of Mark, picked up a similar theme to Udall’s in his introductory letter to Queen Catherine Parr. Reading the Bible and obeying the king were the correct paths to true Christianity. He compared Henry VIII to King Josiah since, just as Josiah reformed the kingdom of Judah, Henry reformed the Church of England by giving the holy scriptures to the English people. Truth was hidden as long as the English people did not have access to the Bible. With the Bible and now the Paraphrases, Key believed truth would reign in England. The foolishness of people ‘ascribyng any part of their salvacion unto theyr owne workes and deservinges’ would be replaced by faith in Christ.91 According to Key, true Christianity was characterized by two observable things: first, open reading of scripture; and second, obedience to the prince.92 Key hardly even mentioned Erasmus in his letter, but he made absolutely certain that readers remembered the central elements of the royally driven English Reformation. Udall similarly argued that English men and women were subject to the monarch in religious matters. The Paraphrases, wrote Udall, supported conformity and obedience. They ‘teacheth none other doctrine but peace, humilitee, subieccion, and so muche obedience to the Princes and Magistrates.’93 The danger of the Bible was that people would use it to dispute with each other – to be ‘troubleous talkers of the Byble’ and ‘curious disputers in the ghospel.’94 The Paraphrases would help resolve this problem, according to Udall, by presenting English men and women with Erasmus’ clear, humble, and peaceful reading of the New Testament. Coverdale and his colleagues, who produced the second volume, were not, like Udall, interested in making Erasmus or his Paraphrases their own, but were highly critical of both Erasmus and his Paraphrases and were thus, at least to some degree, engaged in subverting the very work they were engaged in producing – something which raises rather intriguing questions about

The Englishing of the Paraphrases

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the chaotic nature of Edwardian religious reform and the role of the printing industry. Miles Coverdale, the editor of the second volume, and the translator of the paraphrases on Romans, Corinthians, and Galatians, was much more concerned than Udall with Erasmus’ theology and problematic relationship with the Reformation.95 It is particularly notable that Coverdale chose to include William Tyndale’s prologue to Romans, which was based on Luther’s famous preface of the same book. One can only assume that Coverdale was well aware of the irony, and perhaps humour, in having Luther provide the lens for readers of Erasmus’ paraphrase on Romans. Tyndale’s prologue focused on the doctrine of predestination to the extent that readers could not have helped but recognize the divergence from Erasmus’ free will text that followed.96 The most telling point in this introduction was when Tyndale pointedly challenged Erasmus’ well-known free will metaphor of the apple tree. In the conclusion to De Libero Arbitrio, Erasmus suggested that God’s offer of salvation to humanity was similar to a father who helps his son, who cannot yet walk unaided, to walk to an apple. The father then puts the apple into the child’s hand. The child could never have got the apple by himself, but he did have to try to walk and had to accept the apple; free will still played a central role, even though grace accomplished everything.97 Countering this parable, Tyndale wrote, ‘Where Goddes spirite is not, there can be no good workes, even as where an appel tre is not, there can growe no apples, but there is unbelefe, the devels spirite and evyll workes.’98 The next several pages of the prologue laud the wonderful work of God’s predestination. Given the obvious disconnect between Tyndale and Erasmus it is ironic, though not entirely surprising, that Coverdale positioned Tyndale’s diatribe on predestination back to back with Erasmus’ far different interpretation of Romans.99 Such introductions could critique, but not hide the fact that the very texts they were introducing not only did not support predestination, but provided a non-Calvinist theological model for English readers. John Olde translated the rest of the epistles, except for Revelation, and like Coverdale he had doubts about Erasmus’ theology.100 Erasmus, wrote Olde, was helpful at plucking ‘awaye erronyous opynyons, if he be redde with advised iudgement.’101 Rather than stress correct doctrines to counteract the incorrect doctrines found in the text, as Coverdale had done, Olde sought to distance himself and his readers from Erasmus altogether.

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Olde wrote, ‘Erasmus in these epistles is a ready strong interpretour in many necessary places: in all I am not hable to affirme, knowing that he in his life tyme, was a manne subiecte to infirmitie and imperfeccion … A man he was, and might bothe be deceaved and deceave.’102 Such a statement becomes less surprising when one realizes that one of the books Olde was introducing was Erasmus’ paraphrase on James, in which Erasmus unequivocally stressed the necessity of good works for salvation. Luther had, of course, once called James ‘an epistle of straw’ and insisted that it ‘has nothing of the nature of the gospel about it.’103 The Calvinist Olde made it clear to readers of the Paraphrases that not only might Erasmus have been deceived, but he might also be deceiving them.104 While Udall, both in the 1548/9 edition and even more so in the 1552 edition, did not openly contend with any of the theology in Erasmus’ Paraphrases and instead smoothed over all possible discrepancies between Erasmus and the Protestant Reformation, Miles Coverdale and John Olde, in the second volume, were much more ambivalent about their task. Udall responded to criticism of Erasmus and the possible marginalization of Erasmus by strengthening the ‘Protestantism’ of his introductions, retranslating a few passages, writing a new preface, and criticizing opponents of Erasmus and the Paraphrases. John Craig suggests that the ‘publication and revision of the Paraphrases under Edward VI was a deliberate attempt to co-opt Erasmus as chief spokesman of the evangelical reformed movement in England.’105 Certainly, this is what Udall wanted, but his strong support for Erasmus also suggests that he was trying to steer England away from Calvinism. It also seems that Calvinists Coverdale and Olde wanted to make sure that Erasmus was not an unquestioned authority within the English church. Rather than creating a unified, reformed usage of Erasmus, Udall’s 1552 edition actually highlights the difficulty of using Erasmus in England and reveals the deep fractures between Erasmian and reformed theology. The disparity between the two volumes and Udall’s continued insistence on Erasmus as the model for English religion both suggest a divergence among Edwardian reformers over which form of Protestantism should become the new core of English religious culture. While the editors and publishers of the second volume apparently felt that Erasmus’ Paraphrases would be of value for English readers, they also revealed that, no matter how much

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Udall tried, Erasmus’ theology was, and would remain, a challenge for reformed English Protestantism. The Paraphrases themselves thus expose a fissure within English Protestantism. Had Edward’s government been less chaotic and more unified and disciplined the Paraphrases perhaps never would have ended up as required reading. Ultimately, as I shall discuss in later chapters, the theology in the Paraphrases fit much better with the religious objectives and sentiments of Elizabeth I. Ultimately, Udall’s initial claim, that the Paraphrases would help English readers ‘easily atteigne to the clere understandyng of the ghospell,’ seems rather humorous given the extent and nature of the introductions required to sufficiently Protestantize Erasmus’ text.106 The Bible was not clear enough and therefore the Paraphrases were necessary. The Paraphrases themselves, however, also were not clear enough, but needed extensive introductions to properly frame, interpret, and critique the narratives. Then, complicating the publication even more, the introductions were far from unified in their portrayal of both Erasmus and the text itself. Textual layer upon textual layer – these introductions to the Paraphrases are the perfect example of the complexity facing those who sought to use authoritative figures and texts to control and shape the English Reformation. The huge increase in printed texts in early modern Europe did not necessarily create greater access to truth, but rather a greater variety of opinions and competing ideas about truth. Elizabeth Eisenstein has argued that printing brought ‘fixity’ to texts.107 Adrian Johns, however, appropriately points out that ‘an apparently authoritative text, however “fixed,” could not compel uniformity in the cultures of its reception. In practice, rather the reverse seems to have happened. Local cultures created their own meanings with and for such objects.’108 This is precisely what happened to Erasmian texts in early modern England. Where a text like the Paraphrases was meant to bring clarity to the New Testament, it had the potential to accomplish the exact opposite. The English edition of the Paraphrases was simultaneously the product of English culture and part of the creation of that culture. They could be read in a number of ways. As Johns understands, an increase in information (texts) makes it all the more difficult to establish certainty. Referring to individuals such as Nicholas Udall, Johns writes, ‘Those faced with using the press to create and sustain knowledge thus found themselves confronting a culture characterized

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by nothing so much as indeterminacy.’109 The introductions by the English editors therefore provide an important perspective on how Udall and his associates attempted to make the English Paraphrases fit the ongoing Protestantization of the English church. If Erasmus had any lasting importance in England it was not manifested in a straightforward response to his texts, but always through intermediaries who subjectively shaped, transformed, and reinterpreted him and his works. If we want to understand the historical ‘meaning’ of Erasmus, we must step outside of his texts and examine the subtexts of meaning provided by those who decided he could be useful. What we discover, in the case of England, is not the ‘true’ Erasmus, but a variety of ‘real’ English Erasmuses – and at least one of these Erasmuses was a potentially subversive theological force as Elizabeth’s reign progressed and England moved towards a Calvinist consensus.

TWO

Theology and Rhetoric in the English Paraphrases

Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament were unique texts in Elizabethan England. As outlined in the previous chapter, the Paraphrases went through a large print run, were widely distributed, and were mandated for churches and clergy by numerous Edwardian and Elizabethan injunctions. There is no doubt that they were eventually of lesser consequence in Elizabeth’s England than Foxe’s Acts and Monuments, Calvin’s Institutes, and ultimately, William Perkins’ theological treatises. Yet, on a second tier, Erasmus’ writings remained quite popular throughout the sixteenth century and it is particularly problematic to overlook the significance of the English translation of his Paraphrases, as do nearly all historical studies of Elizabethan religious culture. Before moving in the next chapter to a discussion of Erasmus’ legacy during Elizabeth’s reign, this chapter examines the translated words of Erasmus in the two volumes of the English Paraphrases. After reading through the new English introductions by Udall, Coverdale, and some of the other translators, what did English readers find in the Paraphrases themselves? In the Paraphrases Erasmus’ authorial purpose, arguments, and theology were submerged within a narrative format that suggested it was simply restating scripture in a more straightforward manner. The Colloquies are another example of Erasmus’ narrative skills, but in that text he was not so audacious as to narrate the New Testament itself. Despite Erasmus’ smooth narrative flow, English readers certainly would have been able to ascertain his theological thought on a wide variety of doctrines and approaches to scripture and some also would have realized that much of Erasmus’ thought was substantively different from the Calvinism that was gradually

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gaining dominance in Elizabethan England. It has been suggested that Erasmus’ humanist thought gradually merged with Lutheran and Calvinist ideas to form a uniquely English form of Protestantism. Margo Todd defined Erasmianism as a foundation for Puritan social thought.1 James McConica portrayed an English Protestantism built on an Erasmian base. According to McConica, ‘The main current of English thought has been revealed as continuously Erasmian, shaping under Edward VI into a moderate Protestantism, a shift recorded for all time in the great monument of English Erasmian reform, the official translation of the Paraphrases on the New Testament.’2 However, while the Paraphrases in some ways suggested Protestant interpretations of scripture, they also contained theology that was antithetical to the Calvinist brand of English Protestantism that became the consensus religion of the English people during the reign of Elizabeth I. On a wide variety of issues, including predestination, the role of church and state, the role of dogma in distinguishing heresy from heterodoxy, and a vision of what a reformed church would look like, Erasmus and Calvin were incompatible.3 Erasmus’ legacy, however, provided an alternative intellectual framework that would eventually contribute to a powerful anti-Calvinist movement. The Paraphrases represented a lifetime of work and encompassed the breadth of Erasmus’ theological thought.4 For this reason, as well as the nature of their official publication, the two volumes of the Paraphrases form the baseline for evaluating Erasmus’ influence in England and, as such, an analysis of their theological content is essential. Though other texts certainly played a role, it was the English Paraphrases that crafted an image of Erasmus for generations. In the previous chapter we looked at the introductions to the Paraphrases provided by the English editors and translators. These introductions were significantly different in focus and tone from the prefaces Erasmus wrote for each of his paraphrases – nearly all of which were included in the English production. After an examination of these Erasmian prefaces, the bulk of this chapter is devoted to the content of the translated paraphrases. e r a s m u s ’ pr e fac e s Erasmus’ prefaces directly preceded the paraphrase and followed the dedicatory letters by Udall, Coverdale, and the other

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translators. As discussed in the previous chapter, the introductions by Udall attempted to convince English readers that Erasmus was a guide for true reform and an enemy of the papacy. Udall and Coverdale, in the second volume, saw the Paraphrases as texts that could drive forward the reformation of the English church. In sometimes divergent ways, they attempted to Protestantize Erasmus and to position the Paraphrases as antipapal propaganda. The sentiments expressed in these introductions differed dramatically from Erasmus’ own vision for the Paraphrases as explicated in his prefaces. Erasmus’ were, unsurprisingly, not antipapal, but primarily focused on fostering personal piety, which would then contribute to a moderate and judicious reform of the universal church. Erasmus’ emphasis was on peace, unity, and piety. His goal was for the Bible, with some help from his Paraphrases, to serve as a unifying text for all of Christendom, not as justification for rebellion from the Roman church. Why were Erasmus’ prefaces included? The answer is almost certainly a result of the type of reformation that was taking place in England. Udall’s introductions leave little doubt that Udall was a strong advocate of monarchical control of the English church and Erasmus’ prefaces provided, at least on the surface, the perfect texts to support such a reformation. Erasmus dedicated each of his four Gospel paraphrases to a different European monarch: Matthew to the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, Mark to Francis I of France, Luke to Henry VIII of England, and John to Archduke Ferdinand of Austria. Erasmus’ dedicatory letter to Pope Clement VII prefacing his paraphrase on Acts of the Apostles was, unsurprisingly, dropped from the English volume, an omission that was noticed by readers in Elizabethan England.5 The inclusion of Erasmus’ dedicatory epistles helped Udall and the publishers of the English Paraphrases support the fiction that Erasmus and his theology supported monarchical control of the church and was thus part of antipapal Catholicism – a reformed Christianity that was part of ‘the most and best parte of all Christian Royalmes and universities.’6 Erasmus therefore represented an authentic Christianity that was not an English innovation. It was a Christianity that had always existed but that papal power had usurped from the rightful rulers of the land. In this version of England’s Christian history, Henry and Edward’s return to spiritual power reestablished the correct order of things, an order that

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Erasmus’ Paraphrases, both in their theological content and introductory framework, appeared to support. Despite the skilful framing of the Paraphrases by Udall and the other translators, it is readily apparent that Erasmus’ dedicatory letters were far different in content and tone. Udall and the other editors of the Paraphrases were not unaware of this and took a few liberties with the text of Erasmus’ prefaces. In addition to dropping the letter to Pope Clement, Udall also sanitized problematic portions in Erasmus’ letter to Francis I at the beginning of the Gospel of Mark. In this letter Erasmus upheld Saint Thomas Becket as an example of when ranking clergy should stand up to monarchs who attempted to control the church.7 This was a problem for the editors of the Paraphrases. Not only did Udall’s introductions tell a different story about the English monarchy’s centuries-long struggle against the papacy, but Henry VIII had actually declared Becket a traitor in 1538 and torn down his shrine at Canterbury Cathedral.8 Not surprisingly, this section was expunged from the first volume of the English Paraphrases. Another example in the preface to Mark is informative for both what was altered and what was allowed to remain in the text. The English translation of one of Erasmus’ most specific passages about the authority of the pope stated: Some there be whiche extend the bishoppe of Romes dominion euen unto hell or purgatory: other some geue him imperye and power ouer the Aungels: And so farre am I from enuiyng him this preeminente authoritie, that I would wishe him to haue a great deale more, but yet would I defyse withal, that the worlde might once fele this his power good and holsome in settyng christian princes at one, & in conseruyng the same in peace and amitie, whiche haue a long season with no lesse dishonoure, then slaughter and effusion of Christian bloud warred one against an other to the utter decay of Christes religion.9 In this passage, the ‘bishoppe of Rome’ has replaced Erasmus’ original reference to the ‘Roman pontiff.’10 The editors, in this case, however, chose to include a passage that not only was clearly about the authority of the pope, but also suggested that if the pope was using his full authority he would keep kings from going to war. So, while Erasmus was mildly reprimanding the

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papacy for not promoting peace, he was also implying a relationship between kings and Rome, secular and spiritual authority, that was antithetical to the reality of the royal supremacy in England.11 Most of the editorial alterations and omissions in the English Paraphrases are found in the translations of Erasmus’ prefaces rather than in the paraphrases. This is certainly because the prefaces, unlike the paraphrases, discussed contemporary society and history. The discussion that follows focuses on the translated words of Erasmus in the English Paraphrases and the Erasmianism that flowed from the English texts rather than on a detailed analysis of how the texts were translated. Despite the changes made by the editors, Erasmus’ introductions were carefully translated and it would not have escaped the astute reader that in his prefaces Erasmus had a distinct agenda of his own. Erasmus did indeed dedicate each of his Gospel paraphrases to a different European ruler.12 He did so, however, not to say that princes should be the heads of regional churches, as suggested by Udall, but to encourage each to support the internal reformation of the entire church under the direction of the papacy. In the years following his 1524 break with Luther, when he either wrote or revised the New Testament Paraphrases, Erasmus consistently supported the right of the papacy to exist and lead a reformation of the church. Where Udall’s introductions stressed the authenticity of the English Reformation, Erasmus’ introductory letters focused on the need for Christian princes to support peace and religious unity. Erasmus was particularly adamant in exhorting princes to abandon war as a means of dealing with disputes. Princes should especially refrain from listening to evil counsellors who pushed for war. He wrote to Francis I of France, ‘In myne opinion no kynde of people is more pernicious to the common weale then suche as put into princes heades those thinges that may styrre and move them to warre.’13 Erasmus then turned to a more delicate subject – the relationship between church and state. Udall made it expressly clear that monarchs had every right to be the head of the church. Erasmus, however, argued that princes and bishops had different roles to play and that they should not infringe on the responsibilities of the other.14 Bishops and leaders of the church had no right to wage war since the sword that was given to princes was for the ‘defence and confirmacion of the publike tranquillitie, and not to bolster and mainteine therwith theyr owne ambiciousnes.’15 Erasmus was

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always clear that the clergy must not wage war. The English translation of the preface to Mark stated that ‘Christ would have Peter to have no weapon save the sweord of the gospel.’16 Echoing a well-established medieval tradition, Erasmus saw the spiritual church and the temporal government of a prince as occupying two separate kingdoms: ‘There are two manier of sweordes, and like wyse two manier of kyngdomes.’17 Each of these kingdoms had its unique duties and responsibilities; both were to serve the people. Yet Erasmus bemoaned the fact that clergy continually meddled in affairs of state while princes routinely bothered the peaceful administration of the church. Unfortunately, when ‘eche one a desire to entermeddle with that, whiche in no wyse appertaineth unto theyr vocacion, it commeth to passe that neither of them both do mainteine theyr owne dignitie accordyngly nor yet conserve the publike tranquillitie neither.’18 It is not surprising that in writing a letter to a powerful king and seeking that king’s support, Erasmus chose not to criticize monarchs for the troubles in the church, but rather to aim his most pointed attacks against priests and bishops. These clergy, according to Erasmus, were not content with being simple pastors of the people and instead presented themselves as powerful and wealthy rulers. Not only had these clergymen forgotten the example of Christ, but they also were infringing on the dignity and power of the secular monarch. Erasmus saved a few words of warning for princes as well. Temporal rulers could do great mischief to religion and had at times persecuted true Christians. Erasmus provided the example of Herod’s execution of John the Baptist to demonstrate that sometimes bishops had to stand up to tyrannical monarchs and condemn their behaviour. Bishop Ambrose actually had to suspend Emperor Theodosius from the church until he repented of his cruel treatment of the Thessalonians.19 Erasmus’ ultimate point to Francis I was that true peace and tranquility would descend upon Europe and the church when clergy and princes lived godly lives focusing on their separate spheres while mutually supporting the other. A prince, however, did have a very significant role in the church and in Erasmus’ hopes for reform.20 While Erasmus believed that the Paraphrases would help all levels of society read and understand the Bible, it was not coincidental that he dedicated each of the Gospel paraphrases to the four most powerful monarchs in Europe. If he could convince princes, both secular

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and sacred, to lead godly lives, then a reformation of the church would naturally result.21 Erasmus wrote to Archduke Ferdinand in his preface to John: ‘I deame that where the evangelicall and heavenly philosophie, is thought to be to all, of the highest, lowest, and middel estate, wonderful profitable, yet it is to none more necessarie, then to the supreme heades and powers of the world.’22 Inspired to godly living and peace by reading the scriptures, princes would lead by example and defend the gospel against those who attempted to destroy Christian concord. In the dedication to Matthew, he told Charles V that some say ‘the Emperour is not a teacher of the gospel, but the defendoure of it. I graunt that. But in the meane whyle mete it is, not to be ignoraunt what maner thyng it is, for which one taketh armoure to defende it.’23 Strong leadership from princes would encourage reform of Christendom while maintaining peace. Peace between Christian countries and peace within the church was a recurring theme in Erasmus’ four prefaces. He lectured each monarch in turn about the evils of war, even the most just, and the holiness of peace. To Francis I, he wrote that ‘among all the evils that mannes life is vexed or troubled withal, there is none whereof more mischief and hurte ensueth, then of battaile, the whiche yet doeth muche more mischief unto mennes maners, then it doeth unto theyr substaunce or bodies.’24 War naturally destroyed men’s bodies, but, even worse, it destroyed the minds of those who fought and survived. Society could cope with burying dead bodies; society could not function well when the minds of the living were damaged.25 Erasmus’ exhortations to peace suffused all four of his prefaces dedicated to royal princes. The English Paraphrases thus included one of the first eloquent published appeals for peace in the English language.26 Peace was a central element of Erasmus’ theology.27 It was, for Erasmus, a fundamental Christian doctrine – one of the few he did not classify as adiaphora, or inessential for salvation. Gradually peace and consensus became the core of Erasmus’ theological ideas and he structured his theological methodology and rhetoric around them.28 He hoped that readers of the Paraphrases would interpret the New Testament narrative through the rhetorical framework of peace, unity, and consensus.29 Initially, the prefaces of Udall and Erasmus appear contradictory, with Udall legitimizing Christian division and Erasmus pleading for unity, but in time English theological authors and authorities would use much the

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same approach as Erasmus’ call to peace in their attempts to unify and maintain English religion under royal control. The English church may have started as an act of rebellion, but it was not long before it had to ward off internal innovations in the name of peace, concord, and, ironically, tradition. The language of peace and unity had always been part of Christian rhetoric, but during the period from Elizabeth to the civil war it was used by the government as part of a particular religious agenda. As the next several chapters will elucidate, the rhetoric of peace was a primary tool of the government against Puritans who sought a more aggressive reformation within the English church. Udall’s prefaces also diverged from Erasmus’ in a more crucial way. As discussed in the previous chapter, Udall understood that giving the Bible to average English men and women was potentially dangerous. Scripture could be confusing without a guide, which the Paraphrases provided by presenting scripture in a narrative style that everyone could understand. Udall believed that scripture contained truth and that the Paraphrases would provide a sure path to correct doctrine and correct religious practice.30 Erasmus presented a different picture in his preface to Matthew. First, Erasmus was not nearly as optimistic about the ability of the Paraphrases to make the Bible clear. And second, more fundamentally, Erasmus believed that the Bible was not just apparently unclear, but purposely obtuse. Most Protestants believed that with enough study they could find the correct interpretation of scripture. Erasmus contended, however, in the preface to Matthew, that many doctrines of the Bible were hidden and mysterious, not because they were difficult to interpret, but because the very words in the Bible were not meant to be fully understood.31 In some cases, the theological questions were simply beyond the comprehension of human minds. In other cases, God sought to unfold truth slowly for the believer as faith gradually developed.32 This was a fairly typical elite opinion and in line with Catholic rejections of sola scriptura. The Catholic Church, however, used such logic to support tradition and the right of the papacy to establish doctrine. Erasmus’ ultimate purpose was to suggest that since the Bible was often unclear, doctrines and theological interpretation should be approached with humility. Christians should maintain an adiaphoric flexibility in most areas of belief. Erasmus’ approach was thus a challenge to dogmatic theology, whether stemming from Protestant sola scriptura or

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Catholic tradition. A paraphrase could not make difficult scriptural passages clear because they were fundamentally unclear.33 Moreover, this was true not only for some of the more theological portions of the New Testament, such as Romans, but also for the central figure of the New Testament, Jesus Christ. Referring to Christ’s dissimulation, Erasmus wrote, ‘Jesus doeth so entermedle and temper his talke, that me semeth his will and pleasure was, to be darke and not understanded, not onely to the Apostles, but also unto us all. There be also certayne places (as I thinke) almost unpossible to be expounded.’34 Erasmus would go into more detail on these mysteries in his discussion of predestination in the paraphrase on Romans. For Erasmus, the ultimate point of the entire Christian life, attaining salvation at the Day of Judgment, was a hidden realm of God’s omniscient rule, which God had purposefully kept hidden from human inquisitors. There simply were mysteries that human beings were not meant to understand. According to the English translation of Erasmus, the authors of the New Testament and the early church fathers were all careful not to question too deeply into doctrines concerning the mysteries of God. In the English preface to the Gospel of John, Erasmus wrote, ‘For in other matters also the olde auncient auctours as ofte as they make mencion of heavenly thinges, do use to speak both very seldome and very reverently thereof, beyng more copious in suche thynges as dooe more profite and appertain to godly livyng.’35 Godly living was far more important to Erasmus than doctrinal clarity. Erasmus’ theological methodology was based on a division between practice and dogma. Christian practice was clear: a pious life inspired by and modelled on the lives of Christ and his apostles. This was what Erasmus termed the ‘philosophy of Christ.’ Dogma was to be limited to a few key doctrines that supported Christian practice, with the rest left as adiaphora. How God judged human beings was one of these areas Erasmus prudently chose to consider divinely mysterious and therefore adiaphoric. As portrayed in the English translation, what was important for Erasmus was living a good Christian life, which incidentally demanded that human beings believe they had a limited amount of free will. Erasmus even got to the point where he could say in his preface to Mark, ‘For I do not here esteme christen menne by the articles of the fayth whiche we professe with mouth, but theyr maniers and lyving.’36 True Christians, in Erasmus’ view, did not

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disrupt the unity of the church over differences in doctrinal theology. In fact, Erasmus based his belief in free will, not on doctrinal arguments, but on the absence of doctrinal clarity.37 On many ‘doctrinal’ matters, Erasmus believed that scripture was not definitive. He stated explicitly, in his preface to John, that he was basing his paraphrases on the best patristic commentaries, but he then went on to declare that even the church fathers disagreed with each other. There was no one correct doctrinal interpretation of scripture and readers should not hope to find it in his paraphrases. At the end of his preface to John, Erasmus wrote: The catholike fathers wer inforced more precisely to discusse certain thynges as touching the same matters, where as they would rather not have medled with the diffinicion of suche matters, whiche both doeth greatly passé the capacitie of mans wittes, and cannot be determined without great daunger and peril … I wyll put the reader to acknowledge, that in this presente Paraphrase I folowe the mynde of moste allowed old autours, but not in every place, neither in every thyng: for they themselfes do often discent among themselfes, yet do I alway syncerely and faithfully declare and bryng forth that the whiche me thinketh is the moste true sence and meanyng, for as muche as I did perceive that the olde auctours contending against the opinion of heretickes, have wrasted sum places, sumthyng violentely to their purpose, yet it is not my mynde that any man geve more credence to this my paraphrase, then he would give to a commentary, if I had written one upon it, notwithstandyng a Paraphrase is a kynd of a commentarie.38 If the ancient church fathers did not agree, then not only did Erasmus have latitude to provide his own interpretations of scriptural passages, but it also indicated that unified interpretation was not necessary for Christian unity.39 The Paraphrases, which by definition were designed to be more accessible than the original texts, would not bring light to all the dark places of scripture. This was how Erasmus framed the very texts that Udall hoped would bring clarity and doctrinal reform to England! More directly than in any other work translated into English in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the prefaces to the Paraphrases displayed Erasmus’ theological methodology and style

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for English readers. It was a methodology that reflected a particular view of scripture. Erasmus saw the biblical text not as a guide to detailed doctrinal knowledge, but as a guide to living a godly life. Erasmus had no intention of clarifying all doctrinal dark places in scripture. His paraphrases were designed to bring clarity regarding the philosophy of Christ.40 They were a narrative story of Christ’s life and the beginnings of the Christian church. Erasmus wrote the Paraphrases to provide a readable guide to living for Christians not accustomed to the syntax and style of the Greek and Latin New Testament and he hoped to inspire his readers to live as Christ lived and to live in peace and unity with other Christians.41 For him, living in peace and unity necessitated prudent conformity with the established church.42 This contrasted markedly with Udall’s prefaces where the very purpose of presenting the Bible in a readable format was to stimulate doctrinal reformation based on an antipapal reading of the New Testament. Readers may or may not have noticed this disparity, but for attentive readers it was there both in the prefaces and the paraphrases themselves. Erasmus’ theological methodology was neither Catholic nor Protestant, but part of a position that had first emerged in a pre-confessional era prior to the divisions and fears sparked by Luther’s popularity. English religious authors, as they strove to create various ‘middle ways’ between ever-shifting extremes of sectarianism and Catholicism, would return to and build upon this Erasmian theological perspective. Erasmus would also provide a rhetorical model for those who later sought to challenge English Calvinism while still avoiding association with postTridentine Catholicism. While the Paraphrases contained much of Erasmus’ life work, his own voice was somewhat hidden from the reader’s view. It was in his introductions to the Paraphrases that generations of English readers learned about Erasmus’ humanist ideas for reform and his theological ideas and methodology. reading the paraphrases Despite all the textual layers present in the English Paraphrases, the primary text remained Erasmus’ New Testament narratives. While there are a number of studies dealing with Erasmus’ Paraphrases, they are devoted to analyses of Erasmus’ original Latin text.43 What did they say in English? What English words were used? What did they say in relation to the major theological and

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political issues facing post-Reformation English society? What follows is not an appraisal of Erasmus and his ideas, per se, but rather an analysis of the printed words found in the English Paraphrases. This study will not attempt to examine the entire scope of Erasmus’ religious thought in the Paraphrases; such an extended analysis would be interesting, but quite long and not entirely germane to determining Erasmus’ unique contribution to English religious culture.44 While drawing on Erasmus’ thought throughout the Paraphrases, special attention is given to the Gospels and the book of Romans. The Gospels are obviously important and located within the widely distributed first volume. Romans also is significant given its centrality for Protestant theology. It additionally held a special position as the first paraphrase in the second volume. The following analysis of the English Paraphrases focuses on two central thematic aspects, both of which became deeply contested ideological battlefields in England over the next hundred years. First, we will examine the ‘moderate’ rhetoric of peace, order, and religious reform in the English Paraphrases. As following chapters will detail, rhetoric strikingly similar to Erasmus’ in the Paraphrases, and sometimes specifically referring to Erasmus and the Paraphrases, contributed to the formation of theological and political fault lines in Elizabethan and early-Stuart England. Second, Erasmus’ approach to the issue of predestination in the Paraphrases clearly provided English readers with a soteriological alternative to English Calvinism. Taken together these two elements helped establish an ‘Erasmian’ mode, or style, of religious discourse in the English language. These were also issues that threatened to tear apart the English church. o r d e r a n d r e f o r m i n g t h e c h u rc h Erasmus repeatedly sought to make two overarching points regarding the universal Christian church: it needed to be reformed and it should not be torn apart. How to accomplish these two, sometimes contradictory, goals drove much of Erasmus’ writing, the Paraphrases being no exception. Erasmus consistently maintained that the only possible method for achieving both objectives was a gradual and moderate move away from doctrinal controversy and towards a non-dogmatic piety based on the reading of ancient texts, especially the Bible. At all times in this process, personal opinion needed to bow before order, unity, and peaceful

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coexistence among Christians.45 Personal beliefs did not need to be abandoned; they simply needed to be kept prudently private. Erasmus’ desire for unity and concord, however, did not result in an absence of criticism of the church. At one point in his paraphrase on Mark, he broke away from the narrative and rhetorically asked, ‘What would he [Christ] nowe do if he sawe his spouse the churche … so to be arayed, polluted, and defiled with all manoure of fylthynesse, and that by the very bishops the rulers of the same?’46 Erasmus’ point was that the church was in dire need of reform, but, unlike Luther and Calvin, he insisted that corruption in the church did not mean that Antichrist inhabited the Catholic Church or that it was not a true Christian church.47 Erasmus had two answers to such assertions, both of which contrasted sharply with the introductions to the Paraphrases provided by the English editors. First, for many Protestants, Antichrist preached false doctrine and was thus associated with the papacy; for Erasmus there was no single Antichrist, either in the form of a person or an institution, but the enemies of Christ appeared wherever lack of love between Christians created dissension and threatened unity. The English translation of Erasmus’ paraphrase from 1 John 2 read: ‘Christe hath nothing a doe with this worlde, and he that glueth himself unto it, repugneth agaynste Christ, and playeth Antichrist.’48 This followed a long passage that cast as an antichrist anyone who behaved in an unchristian manner, especially those who were unjust. The English translation continued: ‘Thys is the summe of Christen iustice … that you shoulde with lovynge one an other declare youre selves to be the sonnes of God, and the disciples of Christ.’49 Erasmus then called for Christian action, rather than statements of belief: ‘Let us not love one another in wordes onely. Let the love be in the hearte, rather than in the tongue: and let it expresse it selfe in dedes, rather than in speaking.’50 This echoed his words in the preface to Mark where he explicitly stated that he judged Christians by their ‘maniers and lyving’ rather than the faith they claimed with their mouths.51 In an increasingly doctrinal age, Erasmus presented an alternative, non-dogmatic mode of Christian epistemology. Erasmus also addressed the possibility of the Christian church fracturing into a large number of groups, orders, sects, and churches. How could there be any unity in the church when Christians with one set of beliefs declared their beliefs true and all others heretical? As expected, Erasmus supported the universality of

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the church in the Paraphrases. Perhaps more interesting, however, was his assertion that there could be many ‘true’ churches within one universal Christian body. ‘The shyppe that Christ (as pertainyng to the body) is caried in, is one,’ he wrote, ‘but she hath mo accompaniyng her. There is one catholike or universal churche, and again there be many churches. Christ is lykewise in them all: And as many as do cleave unto the same head, be one congregation. No ship is drowned that foloweth Christ.’52 This topic would engender a great deal of interest in Elizabethan and early Stuart England. What was a true church and were Catholics still a part of it? If so, what did that say about what the English church should or could become? For many Puritans, including Presbyterians, the Roman church was irredeemably corrupt, while the English church was still in much need of further reformation. For those more episcopally inclined, the Church of Rome was sometimes portrayed as a true, though inferior, Christian church. This more ecumenical attitude, within the context of fractured Christianity in Western Europe, was most articulately expressed in the writings of Erasmus as he sought to balance the need for reform with the need for unity and conformity in the face of everincreasing separatism. In the Paraphrases Erasmus quite clearly maintained that there were many churches and, so long as they had Christ as their head, they were all true; it was a sentiment that would be resurrected by many later English writers as they sought to justify the existence of an episcopal English church and to discourage the non-conformist and separatist tendencies of English Puritanism.53 One of Erasmus’ favourite scriptural passages was the parable of the tares in Matthew 13.54 Jesus’ parable said that the weeds should be left with the wheat until the harvest. Erasmus interpreted this, in the English Paraphrases, as ‘the tyme of harvest is the ende of the world. The harvest folkes be the angels. In the meane season therfore the ill mengled with the good muste be suffered, when they be suffered with lesse daunger and peril, than they be taken away.’55 During the ‘mean season,’ or middle pathway between mortality and eternity, it was too dangerous for the church to attempt to remove the tares from the wheat. If they did so, peace and unity would be destroyed. Erasmus used this parable to argue that the official government of the church should not persecute heterodox groups. The tares must be left with the wheat. This would appear to be a strong statement for, at

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the least, grudging tolerance within the body of the church. Nevertheless, it was not just a statement directed at the wheat, who were supposed to put up with the tares. He was also telling the ‘tares’ that they could not leave the church. It is a typical Erasmian argument that was designed to support unity by condemning separatist tendencies, which resulted when Christians, whether in the majority or minority, attempted to form purified Christian communities.56 By the second half of the sixteenth century it is readily apparent that Erasmus’ religious thought did not fall into clear Protestant or Catholic categories. It is far too easy, then, to locate Erasmus in a middle position, or via media, between Catholics and Protestants. This was of course true in a sense.57 Nevertheless, the middle position Erasmus constructed is best viewed, not as a middle point, but as a middle pathway, trajectory, or ‘meane season’ that was moving from one point to another. For Erasmus, this middle pathway primarily represented the transitory position of humanity between mortality and immortality. It was also, however, a general principle that could apply to reformation, knowledge, and rhetoric, the art of persuasion. Prudence, accommodation, and gradualism characterized Erasmus’ understanding of the Christian life, both personally and corporately.58 The individual Christian was on a pathway that extended down to hell and up to heaven, although neither could actually be reached in this lifetime. Through individual choices human beings could move towards either higher things or lower things.59 Choice was the critical element on this theological pathway, but not all individuals were at the same level, making the same choices. Christ, in Erasmus’ Paraphrases, understood this and developed a pedagogical method that corresponded to human beings moving along the path towards salvation. Erasmus’ Jesus held back the deepest mysteries of religion and accommodated his teaching in order to slowly reveal himself to his audience.60 Erasmus’ rhetoric of the ‘gradual’ unfolding of truth was a common feature throughout the various paraphrases.61 A prime example in the English translation is found in the paraphrase on the third chapter of John. Erasmus added this commentary to the passage, ‘But Jesus doeth neither reprove Nicodemus unperfit opinion concernyng him, neyther doeth he forthwith boast of his own greatnes: but with gentle and frendly behaviour, little by little bringeth him that is so apte, and easy to be taught, unto further

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knowledge of more secret misteries of the evangelical doctrine.’62 As Jane Phillips has noted, ‘Such gradualism is a consistent and pronounced feature of Jesus’ pedagogical methods as they are presented throughout the paraphrase.’63 Erasmus believed the church should adopt the same gradual approach. By moving slowly, the church would gradually reform itself and allow for progressive improvement without loss of unity and peace. Erasmus was extremely wary of any reform initiative that challenged the authority of princes, governments, or the church hierarchy.64 Part of the reason for Erasmus’ reliance on church authority and tradition was to solve the Christian sceptics’ epistemological problem with uncertainty, doubt, and probability. He wrote, ‘I specifically exempt from uncertainty … what has been revealed in sacred scripture and has been handed down by the authority of the church.’65 Thus, as Erika Rummel has shown, ‘Erasmus modified, or rather Christianized, the classical model … Erasmus, the Christian sceptic, overcomes the limitations of a purely rational approach and converts probability into certainty by using church authority as a criterion. Once again he couples this authority with tradition and consensus.’66 It was through church consensus that Christians found stability, security, peace, and unity. A rejection of that consensus brought the destruction of the greatest Christian truths: peace, love, and unity. Erasmus’ paraphrase on Romans 13 stipulated that even if Christians were persecuted they must bear it and not rise up in revolt.67 He summed up his call for order with the following statement, which surely met with the approval of the English monarchy: ‘Every common weale is mayntayned with an order, nor maye the same under the pretence of religion be disquieted.’68 Religion was not a valid motive for societal rebellion. Nevertheless, Erasmus was convinced that perhaps the most deadly assault on peace and order came from preachers who dealt with controversial doctrines and attacked other Christians over theological disagreements. As part of a discussion on the wickedness of the tongue in the paraphrase on James, Erasmus wrote, ‘Many tymes also out of one pulpit, begynnyng with the praysyng of God, they burst out in to the slanderyng of their neyghbour, and infect the myndes of the multitude.’69 Erasmus supported a free exchange of ideas within universities and in private. The public forum, however, was not the place for such discussion, which could infect ‘the myndes of the multitude.’ Such engagement by the

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masses would only encourage doctrinal disunity and destroy peace and charity in the process. Erasmus’ opposition to common people participating in, or even being privy to, theological disputation, is not only found in the Paraphrases, but also in De Libero Arbitrio, along with numerous letters and polemical treatises. In his Discussion of Free Will, Erasmus wrote that ‘it might perhaps be permissible to treat such subjects in scholarly discussion, or in the theological schools, though not even there would I consider it expedient unless done with moderation; but to act out such matters before all and sundry like plays in a theatre seems to me not merely pointless but even destructive. I would therefore be happier convincing my readers not to waste their time or talents in labyrinths of this kind than I would be refuting or confirming Luther’s teachings.’70 Erasmus’ stand on the curtailment of public discussion of controversial points, especially those regarding the process of salvation, was not far different from the attempts by the English church to prohibit preaching on predestination during the reigns of Elizabeth, James, and Charles. As part of his emphasis on pax et concordia as fundamental Christian doctrines, Erasmus stipulated that authorities, within both the church and the state, had an obligation to maintain order. Without order there could be no peace. In his paraphrase on Ephesians 6, Erasmus first warned those with power to avoid tyranny: ‘Let autoritie be governed by charitie, that in any wyse it practise no tirannie.’71 The next sentence, however, addressed the people: ‘And on the other side, let reverent feare holde under the lower sort, so as through to much sufferaunce they waxe not rebellious. For there can no concorde nor quietnes possibly be, where all is havocke without ordre.’72 Public and religious order was essential and the ‘lower sort’ had to submit to authorities even if those in power were evil.73 It was precisely this rhetoric that English monarchs and bishops used to attack Presbyterians, separatists, and other zealous Puritans. Erasmus suggested that peace, concord, unity, and order were all based on love. The English translation of his paraphrase on Colossians 3 stated: But above all other garmentes especially apparel your selfes with christian charitie, who is so farre from hurtyng any man, that it laboreth to do every man good, yea to do good for evil. This is the perfite and most sure bonde, wherwith the body of Christ is ioyned together, and the membres

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abide fast, whiche would els fal on sonder. With charitie wyl folow peace and concorde, not the comen peace whiche men speake of, but suche as is made and mainteined by the mightie power of Christ, stedfastly. Let her always in your heartes wynne and have the upper hande, let her against malice, pride, wrath, and contencion, have the victory. For God hath called you to concorde, and hath for that purpose reconciled you all unto him, and made you as it were, one body, to the entent that ye like membres of one body, should among yourselfes be of one mynde.74 Order within the church, in Erasmus’ mind, required unity.75 But how could Christians be unified when there were so many different beliefs within even relatively small Christian groups? Erasmus provided a clear answer in his preface to Romans, where he declared that Christians would remain unified by ‘avoydyng hyghnes of mynde, of bearyng with sumtimes the weakenes of suche, as are not yet fully learned, of nouryshyng mutuall concorde, throughe eche ones diligent service towarde another, of suffering in some poyntes evyll rulers and ungodlye byshoppes, leste by resistence the common order myght be disquieted and troubled.’76 Like Erasmus, later English conformists described dissenters as high-minded. This translation by Coverdale slightly modified Erasmus’ original by inserting the words ‘in some points’ into Erasmus’ text.77 Where Erasmus was adamant that rulers should not be resisted, Coverdale left the possibility open. Erasmus’ argument was clear, nonetheless; the combination of humility, gradualism, peace, and concord would create a more perfect Christian society. Erasmus had another answer, however, for how Christians could remain unified. Along with humility went tolerance of those who held different beliefs.78 Erasmus’ paraphrase on Romans 14 and 15 contained some of his most powerful rhetoric on the correlation between peace, tolerance, and the true Christian life. Yet, we must remember that the rhetoric of tolerance was itself neither neutral nor moderate, but rather a polemical aspect of Erasmus’ concerted attack on those with a rigid approach to dogmatic truth over Christian charity and unity.79 He wrote: ‘But to thentent that peace and concorde may among you be maintained and stedfastly abyde, certaine thinges must be wynked at, some thinges must be suffered, and some thinges must gently be

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taken.’80 Such tolerance, in the sense of accepting theological diversity as a necessary evil, would ‘preserveth the felowship of this our comon life.’81 At the very heart of Erasmus’ rhetoric was the belief that peace and concord were the central components of Christianity. Such antidogma was itself a theological assertion of a different sort and, if not a doctrinal belief, it was a belief about doctrine. In his paraphrase on Romans 15 Erasmus stated: The general rule and summe of your profession is peace and concorde. And therfore beseche I god the authour of pacience, and hym, whiche by his secrete wrytynges encourageth us to sufferaunce … that ye be in one mynde and consent knyt together, therin folowing the example of Jesus Christe, who nothyng somuche praysed unto us, as mutuall love and concorde.82 The original text of Romans did not state that peace and concord were the sum of Christianity. Erasmus’ rhetoric crafted peace and concord into the greatest Christian obligations, linked them to tolerance or ‘sufferance,’ and then assailed those who did not go along with this Christian order. His target was anyone who spread contention, created factions, or was generally deemed seditious.83 In drawing his long discussion of peace, tolerance, and order to a close, Erasmus reiterated that God despised and abandoned ‘proud and sedicious persons,’ but was ‘gotten and kept’ by those who practiced ‘mutual consent and agrement.’84 Erasmus presented a clear dichotomy between peaceful true Christians and the contentious false Christians. He also wrote, ‘We therfore, that are spiritual, leavyng suche contenciouse disputacions let us folow suche thynges, as make to peace, suche thynges, as nouryshe concorde, suche thinges, as encrease mutuall love … This is the chiefe and principall poynte of our religion.’85 Where many Christians drew a line between us, who had true doctrine, and them, who had false doctrine, Erasmus drew a line between us, who maintained Christian order, and them, who used doctrine to destroy order and peace. In both cases, a line was drawn that divided Christians into antagonistic groups. This would become the rhetorical paradigm used by conformists in Elizabethan and Stuart England. Except for a few, non-adiaphoric core tenets of the Christian faith, doctrinal issues, while important, were secondary to peace, unity, order, and practical conformity.86

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r e c e i v i n g s a lvat i o n Despite his insistence on peaceful order and the avoidance of contention, Erasmus was well aware that he could not avoid the fundamental controversies raging within Christianity over the process of salvation. For English men and women in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, gaining eternal salvation was an overarching preoccupation that influenced nearly every aspect of their lives. All other religious issues, concepts, and practices were interconnected with ideology regarding salvation. Men and women from all levels of society were obsessed with the afterlife – an obsession that ultimately guided political policy, both foreign and domestic. In his narrative interpretations on the New Testament Erasmus generally followed the thought of the Greek, over the Latin, Apostolic fathers. His favourites were Origen and Chrysostom, who insisted on both human responsibility in the plan of salvation and Christ’s gradual unfolding of truth to his disciples and the world.87 In fact, while Augustine was referred to at times, his absence from key doctrinal texts is telling, especially in passages where Erasmus was discussing the process of salvation.88 The central discussion regarding how human beings were saved is found in the second volume of Erasmus’ Paraphrases, most notably in Romans, but also in Galatians and James. The Gospel narratives in the first volume, however, also contained abundant examples of Erasmus’ underlying commitment to free will theology. At the very beginning of his paraphrase on the Gospel of Mark, Erasmus presented his notion of universal grace. Salvation was available to anyone who chose to believe. He told his readers that Jesus Christ ‘for our salvacion came downe from heaven, and toke upon hym our corruptible fleshe, to thintent that he being giltlesse, and without all sinne, might by his passion and death, freely geve innocencie and life to all that beleve his promises, and put theyr whole affiaunce in hym.’89 Erasmus later had Christ bluntly state: ‘For I dyed for all men, and lykewyse for all men have I rysen agayne … This waye is open for every man to go to salvacion by: but it is but one waye onely.’90 It is this issue of limited or universal grace that stood at the heart of the English controversies over God’s predestination of the human race. Either Christ’s death was sufficient for all humanity and human beings then opted, through some combination of belief, faith, and

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actions, to take advantage of that free, universal grace, or, as maintained by English Calvinists, Christ’s sacrifice only provided grace to those God had already predestined for salvation.91 In the English translation of the Paraphrases grace was universal and individual choices helped determine who received grace and who did not.92 Erasmus was less consistent on how people received grace. In Mark he provided two basic criteria: people should ‘beleve his promises’ and place their ‘whole affiaunce in hym.’93 In the paraphrase on Mark Erasmus defined this combination of belief and trust as faith and then stated that salvation came ‘through faythe only, freely to release all mennes offenses.’94 Elsewhere, Erasmus downplayed the role of belief and instead stressed godly living. Like Luther, Erasmus believed in sola fides, but unlike Luther he interpreted it within a free will scenario of universal grace.95 For Luther, Calvin, and many of their theological descendants, predestination was liberating. No longer did human beings have to agonize over whether or not they were doing enough good works or having enough faith. God had predestined them and they were saved. Those who believed in free will did not have this comfort and worried they could lose the grace they had attained through faith. Erasmus, again paraphrasing Mark, wrote, ‘Thou muste enforce thy self with thy utter endeavor to get victory … Thou muste alwayes fyght, to thentente thou mayest alwayes gette victory. For this battayle shall not ende before thou make an ende of thy lyfe.’96 Salvation came to those who chose to have faith and then persevered to the end. How could human beings possibly ‘endeavor to get the victory’ and know that they were winning the battle? Jesus, in the English translation, tells an audience, ‘You must only do your endevoyr accordyng to the power that God hath geven you … Let no man be his owne judge, but do what he can: and then remitte the whole judgement unto God.’97 According to Erasmus’ English Paraphrases, people should try to do what they could and then faithfully trust in God for the rest. Human choice in the process of salvation was a theme to which Erasmus returned repeatedly in his paraphrases. Taking the story of the blind man whom Jesus healed, Erasmus used this healing as a metaphor of free grace and then demanded a choice by his readers. After addressing the blind man in the third person, Erasmus had Jesus address the reader directly: ‘Light is geven the frely: thy blindnes is taken away for naught.

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Afterward thou art left to thyne owne arbitrement, whether thou wylt use the gift of God aright, or no. Thou art not compelled to folow: thou hast onely power geven the to see Jesus: go now whither the wilt, but at thyne owne aventure.’98 In the Paraphrases, the physical blindness that was healed represented the spiritual blindness that all people experienced before faith opened their eyes to the truth. Once truth was recognized through faith, an individual response was necessary. There are literally hundreds of other passages from Erasmus’ paraphrases that elucidate his belief in human agency in the process of salvation. As I pointed out in the last chapter, however, Erasmus’ actual beliefs are only half the picture. Erasmus’ theological methodology shaped his theological and philosophical approach to life, the church, and the individual’s quest for eternal life. This methodology stressed that while a minimal core of belief was essential, most doctrines were not terribly important and a simple faith was far superior to an over-zealous faith, which sought to inappropriately delve into the mysteries and secrets of God.99 This sceptical an approach, naturally, left space for the moderate reform Erasmus envisioned while more or less subtly attacking the increasing doctrinal rigidity of conservative Catholics and Protestants. Erasmus based his belief in free will on the probability that it was true within the context of the mystery and ultimate incomprehensible nature of God’s omniscience and omnipotence.100 Since ultimate knowledge was impossible, Erasmus determined that absolute belief on the subject was not essential, an adiaphoron, for salvation. Given that it was an indifferent doctrine, it was prudent to believe that human beings were not fatalistically determined to heaven or hell. More important, for Erasmus, the purpose of theological language was not to prove a truth as one would in a court of law, but rather to evoke ‘spiritual change and moral progress in persons.’101 The beginning to the Gospel of John provided Erasmus with the perfect rhetorical opportunity to elaborate on the mystery of Christianity’s deepest secrets and the superiority of a simple faith that avoided too much curiosity into the hidden inner workings of salvation. Routinely throughout the New Testament Paraphrases, Erasmus’ text retained only a tangential connection with the original biblical text he was, ostensibly, paraphrasing. Such is the case at the beginning of John, where, before he began any discussion of the Word being with God and then coming to earth in physical form, he

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exhorted his readers regarding the deep mysteries of Christianity. The English text stated that to ‘serche the knowleage of Goddes nature with mans reason, is presumptuous boldnes: to speake of those thynges that cannot be expressed with woordes, is madnes: to geve judgement thereof, is wickednes.’102 After arguing that ‘christen wysedome’ and ‘true religion’ were found in a ‘pure herte’ and simple faith, Erasmus again warned his readers that the ‘serche of godly causes with mans reasons ferther then these thynges, is a certain perilous and wicked boldnes.’103 The more virulently Erasmus attacked the wickedness of ‘presumptuous boldness,’ the more powerful his argument for a simple faith became. The pious alternative was a rather vaguely defined combination of simple faith and pious living. Mark Vessey writes that ‘for Erasmus, the “shortest way” is identical with the “narrow way” leading to salvation and the business of the evangelical expositor is to help his hearers or readers find it.’104 Erasmus made the point in his Paraphrases that God would not require complex human reasoning for human beings to gain salvation. What was necessary for salvation was simple and obvious in scripture. Anything that was controversial was therefore an adiaphoron – its very complexity made it indifferent. According to the English translation: More full knowlage of the divine nature is reserved in the world to cum for theym, whiche have purged the iyes of theyr herte here, through godlynes of innocent lyfe … And in the meane tyme it is enough for to attaine eternall salvacion, to believe those thynges of God, whiche he did openly set foorth of himself in holy scripture.105 A few sentences later Erasmus summed up the holy life of the humble Christian: To beleve these thynges simplye and truely is christen wysdome: to reverence these thynges with a pure herte, is true religion: By these thynges to go forward unto the meditacion of heavenly lyfe, is godlines: to continue and persever in these thynges, is victory: to have had the victory by these thynges, is the hole summe of felicitie.106 This was Erasmus’ philosophia Christi. Although no specific doctrines were even mentioned in the passage, and perhaps precisely

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because of that fact, it is clear that Erasmus’ ultimate theological methodology was essentially rhetorical in nature. Erasmus used words, in this case a narrative elaboration on the New Testament, not as a means to instil correct doctrinal truth in the mind of his reader, but rather to encourage an enduring and unfolding process of ‘meditacion of heavenly lyfe.’ Any attempt to define controversial doctrines and make them determine an individual’s eternal salvation or membership in a church body was an attack on what he believed was the open and simple philosophy of living and believing evidenced in the life of Christ. While Erasmus was opposed to establishing absolute dogma regarding God’s nature or the plan of salvation, he was far more interested in persuading people to believe in the uncomplicated message of the gospel, which, in the English Paraphrases, was presented as simple faith in Jesus Christ and a devoted attempt at living a pious life. ‘The holy goste,’ according to Erasmus, ‘did not open all thynges to them, but those thynges only, whiche helped forwarde the persuasion and belief of the evangelicall doctrine and salvacion of mankinde.’107 He then continued, ‘The heavenly father hath opened unto us so muche of godly thynges by his sonne, as he hath willed to be sufficient for the obtayning of our salvacion.’108 Simply put, if it was not obvious then it was not a fundamental doctrine. What was important was personal choice and belief in the simple truths of God, hence the need for persuasion and the importance of rhetoric.109 Throughout the English Paraphrases, the voice of Erasmus firmly upheld the notion that human beings had free will and that their choices played a role in their own eternal destiny. As everyone in sixteenth and seventeenth century England knew, however, the controversy between free will and predestination hinged on Paul’s epistle to the Christian church at Rome. Erasmus first published his Latin Paraphrase on Romans in 1517. In this, and subsequent editions, he downplayed Paul’s rather direct language regarding predestination and election. His paraphrase built on the exegetical interpretations of Origen, Pelagius, and Jerome, rather than on those of Augustine. However, as the conflict over predestination increasingly looked like it might tear the church apart, Erasmus adjusted his paraphrase. In his 1532 edition, Erasmus chose language that could have been more acceptable to a Protestant audience.110 Erasmus had, previously, shied away from any reading of these verses that suggested human beings were predestined and had

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no free will. In his 1532 edition, Erasmus still chose not to use the Latin word praedestinavit, ‘predestined,’ but he did add the word praefinivit ‘predetermined,’ which the Collected Works of Erasmus translates as ‘determined.’111 The CWE translation reads as follows: We need not fear that we may be overcome by the magnitude of evils and fail, for we consider it most certain that no matter which of these evils befalls the pious, all things turn out for the good; so great is the favour of God toward those whom he has chosen by his fixed will and plan and has called into this happiness. Ours is the attempt but the outcome depends on the decree of God. Those whom God has chosen have not been chosen at random. He knew those who belong to him long before he called them. He not only knew those whom he called, but by an unalterable decision, he had determined that they would be grafted into the body of Jesus his Son and be transformed into his likeness … To make firm our faith that he will bring to completion what he has once begun, God has now called through the gospel (and not in vain) those whom, before the beginning of time, he had known and chosen.112 In earlier editions of the paraphrase, Erasmus did not elaborate too much on the basic biblical text and avoided any rendering that could appear to support predestination. In the 1532 edition, Erasmus sounded almost predestinarian in his commentary. On verse 29, he wrote, ‘Ours is the attempt but the outcome depends on the decree of God.’ Continuing into verse 30, he was even more direct: ‘He knew those who belong to him long before he called them,’ and he called them by ‘an unalterable decision.’ Finally, going far beyond the biblical text, Erasmus told his readers that God ‘had known and chosen’ his elect ‘before the beginning of time.’ Erasmus hoped that this reading of Romans could be accepted by those who professed a belief in predestination. Nine years after the publication of De Libero Arbitrio Erasmus still believed that differences over the doctrine of predestination and election should not be a dividing point within the church.113 While Erasmus adhered to a free will interpretation, he also consistently maintained that the issue was ultimately mysterious and should be considered an adiaphoron. He therefore provided a paraphrase of Romans that was purposefully ambiguous.

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Did Erasmus move away from his earlier insistence on the importance of free will? After all, perhaps more tellingly than his predestinarian gloss of Romans 8 was his elimination of a very pointed rumination on free will in Romans 9. In earlier editions, the vague and possibly predestinarian texts of Romans 8 were followed directly by a paraphrase arguing for the importance of free will. The paraphrase on Romans points to two aspects of Erasmus’ theological thought. First, his inclusion of ‘determined’ language did not reflect a move to predestination theology, but rather the understanding that God’s eternal decree was determined by God’s foreknowledge of future human actions. This would be the precise position articulated by Dutch Remonstrants and some English Arminians in the early seventeenth century. Erasmus used the language of election and predestination without abandoning his belief in human responsibility. While his 1532 edition of Romans shifted away from free will rhetoric, the rest of his Paraphrases retained clear free will interpretations. And second, the adaptations reflect the continuing refinement of his theological methodology as he responded to the context of deepening divisions and controversies within the church. His paraphrase on Romans was not a repudiation of his earlier sentiments, but rather a literary attempt at creating a neutral space where Protestants and Catholics could find common rhetorical ground. Individual beliefs might differ, but Erasmus hoped to fashion a shared theological vocabulary that could unite the church.114 Erasmus’ shift to the use of the word praefinivit, while a change from 1517, was consistent with his argument in De Libero Arbitrio. In that diatribe Erasmus insisted that God’s knowledge of the identity of the elect was determined by his foreknowledge and, thus, predetermined because God had this knowledge before he created the world. In the 1524 text, Erasmus wrote, ‘Foreknowledge is not the cause of events, for even we are in the position of foreknowing many events, but they do not happen because we foreknow them; rather we foreknow them because they are going to happen: so an eclipse of the sun does not happen because the astrologers predict it, rather they predict it because it is going to happen.’115 Erasmus’ language in his paraphrase on Romans is a clear example of the difference between his beliefs and his theological methodology, a methodology which could appear at times to be working against his beliefs. While Erasmus himself felt free will was an integral part of Christian theology, he was much

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more concerned with maintaining the peace and unity of the church. It should not be overlooked, however, that this rhetorical methodology, by necessity, was a direct challenge to those who tried to unambiguously define Christian dogmas. Moderate rhetoric was highly polemical – a theme we will return to in later chapters. The English Paraphrases of 1549 followed Erasmus’ 1532 edition of the paraphrase on Romans. Also, around that same time, Erasmus’ Latin Paraphrases were republished in England. Like the English translation, the Latin edition of Romans was based on his final 1532 edition. The 1549 English translation, while not using either the word predestined or predetermined/determined, does retain the sense of Erasmus’ rhetorical compromise: Suche is gods faver towardes them, whom he hath of purpose chosen out, and called to this welthy lyfe. Endevour must we, and do what in us lyeth, but thende of al hangeth of gods ordinaunce, God without counsel or unadvisedly choseth none, but wel knoweth al such, as are his, long before he cal them. And not only knoweth them, whom he calleth, but had also even at the same tyme surely purposed with himselfe to grafte and plante them into the bodye of his sonne Jesus … And to put us in assuraunce lykewyse, that god wyll fully perfourme the thyng, which he once purposed, moreover, whom before al tyme he knew and had chosen out.116 While Erasmus prudently chose to believe in free will, his paraphrase on Romans 8 used language that could be read in a predestinarian manner. The English translation was fairly direct: ‘Thende of al hangeth of gods ordinaunce.’ God will save those ‘whom before al tyme he knew and had chosen out.’ In England, Erasmus’ hopes for rhetorical unity did not materialize. English Calvinists eventually repudiated language that was either ambiguous or was based on God’s foreknowledge. It would be Elizabethan and early Stuart anti-Calvinists who developed Erasmus’ language, not as a compromise, but as a theological and methodological alternative to Calvinism. The English translation of the paraphrase on Romans maintained this carefully nuanced Erasmian interpretation. At the beginning of his paraphrase on Romans, and before he got to the

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central texts dealing with predestination, Erasmus stressed the importance of active faith and godly life. Paraphrasing Romans 2, he wrote that God will ‘as mennes desertes be, gyve rewarde, to some lyfe everlastyng, to them (I saye) whiche havyng a confidence in the promyses of the ghospel, continewe styll in godly lyfe.’117 Two key elements of Erasmus’ thought were present in this sentence: first, a reward, which implied contingency; and second, an ongoing godly life, which stressed the mandatory nature of perseverance. In his paraphrase on chapter 5, Erasmus maintained that this eternal reward was available to everyone: ‘By the offence of one man, syn came into the worlde, by meane wherof all became thrall unto death: so through the righteousnes of one, whiche is derived into al suche, as beleve and submyt themselfe unto the kyngdom of lyfe, are all men of god made righteouse and partakers of the kyngdom of life.’118 The kingdom of life was available to all who believed and submitted themselves. This was markedly different from the theology of English Calvinism, in which Christ did not die for everyone, but only for the elect. Similarly, in his paraphrase on Galatians, Erasmus stated that Christ wanted to save everyone and that the Spirit gently encouraged a choice for salvation: ‘Christes spirite, forasmuche as it desyreth al mens salvacion, with meke and gentle meanes calleth men to amendement.’119 Salvation was a possibility for everyone, not just the preordained elect. The English Paraphrases presented a scenario where people could choose a trajectory towards or away from salvation. The paraphrase on Romans 6 stated, ‘Ye knowe both kindes of service. Now is it partly in your powers to chose whiche ye wyll, for both together ye can not.’120 A prime example of Erasmus’ ambiguous use of language is found in his paraphrase on Romans 8 where Erasmus told his audience that ‘all hangs with God’s ordinance,’ but he prefaced this predetermined assertion by insisting that individuals must ‘endevour’ and do as much as they could on their own.121 These statements were then followed by a description of God’s prior knowledge of those he would choose to be righteous and ‘plante them into the bodye of his sonne Jesus.’122 Erasmus’ language in this paraphrase leaves it completely open whether election was based on God’s foreknowledge of free human choices or God’s arbitrary decision that was not determined by future human activity. The most important point, however, is that Erasmus chose

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language which, like Paul’s original text, could be read in a number of different ways. Erasmus even suggested that Paul’s original text was poorly written, and that Paul’s lack of clarity and poor linguistic skills contributed to the intractable nature of the controversies surrounding predestination.123 Again, as I pointed out earlier, such ambiguity was part of Erasmus’ rhetorical methodology, which suggested that the doctrine of predestination was open to interpretation and was therefore not central to Christian belief.124 In his paraphrase on Romans 9, Erasmus dealt with the problem posed by God predestining Esau and Jacob and the election of Israel. Understanding that this was a key argument for predestination, Erasmus also brought up the other stories of God ‘hardening’ Pharaoh’s heart and of God as a potter who shaped the human clay. While he placed nearly everything in God’s control, Erasmus left open a small window for human choice and responsibility: ‘God doeth not so harden mens heartes, that therby men are caused to discredite the gospel of Christ, but suche as through malice and stubbernes refuse to beleve.’125 Concluding his very carefully worded paraphrase on Romans 8, Erasmus wrote, ‘God abhorreth suche as are high minded, and geueth him selfe and his righteousness, to suche as are sobre and lowly.’126 We will see the words ‘high minded’ show up repeatedly in the writings of Elizabethan and early-Stuart authors and almost always within the context of a critique of either the doctrine of predestination or the public discussion of the issue. While links of influence are always tenuous when no sources are cited, it is not improbable to see the officially disseminated and popular English Paraphrases as a rhetorical precursor. Erasmus continues in Romans 11 with the following statement: But into this secrete pointe happely I entre more deapely, than is mete for any manne to do among men. But am with consideracion of the unspeakable way and counsel of God, as one astonned, that whereas I cannot expresse the same this exclamacion make I, O the depenes of the most aboundaunt and overflowyng wysedom of God, how unable are mens wyttes to searche out and conceive his iudgementes, how unmete are mens wittes to fynde out his wayes? For who ever knewe the minde of the Lord, or who was at any tyme his counsailour?127

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Erasmus believed the plan of salvation was, ultimately, beyond human understanding. This was then reinforced in the conclusion to the English translation of Romans 11: In suche sort provideth God for our salvacion, by suche meanes in dede, as mennes wittes are not able to finde out, but yet so wel, that it cannot be amended: in suche condicion his pleasure is, we should of his benefite be partakers, that for the same we should for no parte therof thanke our selves. If any evil be, for that we thanke our selfe. All the goodnes that ever is, of him commeth it, as from a fountaine, by him as author are all thinges geven, in him be they, as keper and defender of his giftes, because no manne should of this praise presumptuously take upon him any parte.128 Here in his paraphrase on Romans, as in De Libero Arbitrio, Erasmus stressed that all goodness and grace came from God. Nothing human beings did deserved salvation. As did Luther and Calvin, Erasmus believed that human works did not justify them before God – grace was a gift from God. Where Erasmus differed with them was in his attempt to retain free will as the human acceptance of God’s grace.129 This acceptance then played out in a visible sense through a life of good works. Good works did not save, but they were the outward marks of a life dedicated to accepting God’s freely offered grace. Through a combination of adiaphoric rhetoric and the paradoxical acceptance of both sola gratia and free will, Erasmus found himself in an isolated and rather unique position as the Reformation unfolded. Nevertheless, it was this theological argument that found its way into one of the official texts of the Elizabethan Reformation and undoubtedly laid the seeds for remarkably similar religious ideology in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. One of the primary methods that Erasmus employed to emphasize certain religious points was to minimize his paraphrase in some areas while elaborating at length in others places. In Romans, Erasmus’ paraphrase on chapter 8 did not add much, in terms of length, to Paul’s original text. His paraphrase on Paul’s call for humility before God’s hidden wisdom, conversely, was longer, clearer, and more powerfully written. In contrast to the paraphrase on Romans, which was only moderately expanded in terms of length from the original text, Erasmus’ paraphrase on

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James often ran to several pages for each paragraph. Erasmus’ rhetoric of piety, love, and the godly Christian life was on full display in the paraphrase of James. He wrote: ‘That whiche Christe taught, muste bee expressed in outwarde maners: That whiche he did, must bee folowed of us to the uttermoste of our possible powers.’130 Imitation was the true mark of a Christian, not an abstract and idle profession of faith. ‘Is it to be thought, that the only profession of faythe, is ynough of it selfe to obteyne salvacion?’ he asked. ‘What is faythe without charytye? Charitie is a lyvely thing; it ceasseth not, it is not idle, it expresseth it selfe with good dedes dooing, wheresoever it is present.’131 In the paraphrase on 1 John 1 Erasmus stated that ‘it is not the profession that maketh a true membre of Christe, but the imitacion.’132 Erasmus also repeatedly connected love with salvation. On James 2 he wrote, ‘The lawe of the Gospell is the lawe of love: and what soever is done contrary to it, although it be not forbydden by speciall name, yet it is synne … The totall Summe of all the whole lawe is conteyned in the love of God and of the neighbour, who soever he be that swarveth from charitie, which is the rote of all the whole lawe, he hathe doubtles broken the whole lawe.’133 After elaborating at length on the well-known text linking faith, hope, and love in Corinthians 13, Erasmus wrote, ‘These thre gyftes excell al other, but yet among these is charitie chiefe, whom we ought eyther to thanke for our hope and faith, or at leastwise without whom these are not to salvacion effectual.’134 No Calvinist ever would have said that love and good works were ‘to salvacion effectual.’ Also differing from English Calvinists, the English Paraphrases taught that grace could be lost: ‘Forasmuche than as God hathe endued us with thys honour frely, it remayneth, that we conforme oure selves lyke unto hys bounteous goodnes to the uttermost of our power againe: we are frely admitted unto this felicity, but we might fall from it agayne for all that through our owne fault, onles we studie to kepe through godly forcastes, that which is frely geven.’135 One of the primary complaints Erasmus had against predestinarian theology was that it claimed faith as an imparted indicator of election and relegated works to a secondary and insignificant role. He called such faith ‘idle.’ Simply stating a belief was worthless since ‘fayre wordes’ would not help a neighbour in distress, whom Christians ‘ought to holpen with dede.’136 Christ’s life was governed by charity and Christians were not Christians, according to

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Erasmus, if they did not imitate Christ’s love.137 According to Erasmus, faith without charity was dead and charity ‘bringeth salvacion.’138 By the time Erasmus had reached the end of James he was ready to declare: ‘Beholde, the iudge standeth at the doore, the rewardes are in a readynes for everyone accordinge to the desertes of hys lyfe paste.’139 In Romans, based on his understanding of prudence (both judicum and consilium) Erasmus employed ambiguous language regarding free grace and free will in the goal of maintaining, or reestablishing, Christian pax et concordia. In James, he unambiguously declared that works based on love were a necessary part of Christian salvation. Did English readers realize that Erasmus’ theological thought, particularly regarding predestination and grace, differed sharply from orthodox Calvinism? And, did readers continue to remember Erasmus’ theological positions as the decades flowed by? John Plaifere, writing one hundred years after the first publication of the Paraphrases in England, associated the theology contained within the Paraphrases with a non-Calvinist understanding of universal grace and human free will. In his tract, Appello Evangelium, Plaifere argued that the leaders of the Edwardian Reformation were not exclusively Calvinist, precisely because the Paraphrases were an official part of that Reformation. Since the Paraphrases supported free will and were officially legislated, it was obvious to Plaifere that predestination was not an intrinsic part of English Protestantism. He wrote: They caused to be translated into English Erasmus paraphrase on the Gospels, and injoyn’d them to be studyed by Priests, and to lye ready in Churches for all men to reade, and as it were to drinke in the Doctrine of Scriptures according to Erasmus his interpretation, whose writings which way they goe in those controversies all men well know that have read them.140 Plaifere, as late as the mid-seventeenth century, was still familiar with the Paraphrases and understood that Erasmus represented a free will position against the strict predestinarianism of Luther, Calvin, and, later, English Puritans. His statement also hinted that he was not alone in his knowledge of Erasmus and his influence. The popular Paraphrases, which had been openly available to both clergy and laity for a century, meant that Erasmus’ theological

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position ‘all men well know that have read them.’ Nor was Plaifere the only author to make this argument. A similar view of the Paraphrases was first expressed by Thomas Bilson in 1604.141 It became a particularly popular argument for Arminians during the Interregnum and Restoration, as evidenced in the writings of Peter Heylyn, Thomas Pierce, and Edward Stillingfleet, among others.142 The official injunctions by both Edward VI and Elizabeth I, declaring that all churches and clergy were to purchase Erasmus’ Paraphrases, dispersed Erasmus’ theology and interpretation of the New Testament throughout England. The Paraphrases themselves presented distinctive Erasmian theological doctrines and rhetorical methodologies that were at odds with parts of the Protestant Reformation, in general, and with English Calvinism, in particular. These differences were then accentuated by the new English introductions discussed in the previous chapter. Erasmus’ correlation of order, unity, and peace with moderate reform and anti-predestinarian rhetoric became integral components of English religious discourse and thus are the context for any examination of Erasmus’ legacy in Elizabethan England and beyond.

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THREE

Transmitting Erasmus in Elizabethan England

In 1559 Thomas Paynell published The Complaint of Peace, a translation of Erasmus’ Querela Pacis. In the introduction, Paynell wrote that ‘Erasimus Roterodamus, one of the excelenste Clerkes of oure tyme, perceyvynge and felynge the worlde to be waueryng, troublesome, unquiet, and euery where bended and inclined to warre and myscheyfe, coulde not temper hymselfe, nor yet his penne, but neades he must write unto the worlde this true and eloquent complaint the whiche I haue translated and dedicated unto youre Lorshyp, as unto a father and a supporter of peace, & quietnes, intytuled the complaynte of Peace.’1 The world undoubtedly did seem to be wavering, troublesome, and unquiet to Paynell in 1559. The religion of the English church was far from decided and peace was certainly tenuous. After Henry VIII’s death, Edward VI pushed England towards Protestantism under the guidance of Archbishop Cranmer and John Dudley, the first duke of Northumberland. Edward was a dedicated young monarch, surrounded by people telling him he was a new Josiah, who saw it as his sacred duty to reform the English church. Aggressive attempts were made to reform the country, but Edward simply did not live long enough to realize the complete destruction of Catholicism or to see Protestantism become an intrinsic part of English religious culture. Mary I was just as determined to revert the English church back to Catholicism, but failed herself to live long enough to consolidate the Catholic revival. When Elizabeth came to the throne in 1558, everyone knew she leaned towards Protestantism – after all, Catholics considered her a bastard – but what no one knew was how Protestant England would become.2 As Christopher Haigh has said,

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‘England had blundering Reformations, which most did not understand, which few wanted, and which no one knew had come to stay.’3 Elizabeth did not bring peace and quiet to England; she brought uncertainty. Following any change of monarch there was a period of adjustment for the kingdom that was not always easy or peaceful. Feelings of unease were especially strong following the religious pendulum swings of Edward VI and Mary I. It is not surprising, therefore, that Thomas Paynell greeted Elizabeth’s accession by publishing an English edition of Erasmus’ The Complaint of Peace. This was a semi-official text printed by the Queen’s printer, John Cawood, to coincide with the beginning of Elizabeth’s reign.4 The topic was peace and religious unity, both of which were important to Elizabeth – her survival depended on them. In reality, the text was not directed at Elizabeth, but rather at the people of England and Catholic lords who might fear a return to Edwardian style reformation.5 It was for this purpose that Paynell dedicated his tract to Viscount Montagu, one of the leading Catholic lords, who symbolized a very real danger to Elizabeth. Though probably not because of Paynell’s text, Montagu did remain loyal to Elizabeth, even taking strong action against the Spanish in 1588. Choosing a text to mark Elizabeth’s coronation also required a particular degree of caution. Perhaps Paynell felt safest translating and publishing a text by Erasmus who occupied a rather ambiguous position between Catholicism and Protestantism. A text by nearly any other Catholic author would have been unacceptable, but so would texts by leading reformed Protestants, such as those by John Calvin or John Knox, both of whom were strongly disliked by Elizabeth.6 John Knox had already caused potential unrest by publishing, just before Elizabeth came to the throne, the ill-timed First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women and Elizabeth placed some of the blame for the treatise on Calvin. From this point forward Elizabeth was open to antiCalvinist thought. Extreme care was thus taken by the Queen’s printer in choosing the appropriate texts to coincide with her coronation. It is also true that, if what was required was an authoritative treatise on peace, Erasmus’ text provided the most forceful and eloquent denunciation of violence, especially in the name of religion. Furthermore, while condemned by Catholics as well as Lutherans and Calvinists, Erasmian texts had already played a central role in the English Reformation and were still quite popular.

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Erasmus, who advocated moderate reform and personal piety based on biblical models while abhorring any sort of political or popular subversion, was thus a fitting author for the new queen. Apparently, Erasmian publications like Paynell’s met with royal approval since it was not long before Elizabeth renewed and expanded the Edwardian legislation that Erasmus’ Paraphrases be distributed throughout England. The Elizabethan church also put out a number of guides to private devotions, which included some of Erasmus’ prayers. Collections containing Erasmian prayers appeared in 1559, 1560, 1564, and in ‘Queen Elizabeth’s Prayer Book’ of 1578.7 These manuals were republished numerous times.8 This chapter and the one that follows examine Erasmus’ Elizabethan legacy. In exploring this legacy, there are four overarching questions that need careful attention: which texts by Erasmus were available in England; what ideas were transmitted in these texts; how did English authors mention, cite, and use Erasmus; and, what role did an Erasmian perspective play in Elizabethan religious discourse and culture? Although there naturally will be some overlap in analysing these aspects of his legacy, this chapter addresses the first three questions and the direct transmission of Erasmian texts and ideas in Elizabethan England, while the next chapter focuses on the more theoretical discussion of the meaning and importance of Erasmian thought during the Elizabethan era. e r a s m i a n te x t s i n e l i z a b e t h a n e n g l a n d As discussed in the preceding chapter, Erasmus’ Paraphrases established his importance early in Elizabeth’s reign, but his legacy can also be examined in a wide variety of other printed works. During the last half of the sixteenth century, English presses published numerous Erasmian texts. In addition, a number of English authors began to use Erasmian ideas and methodologies in their attempts to create a viable religious culture for the church in England. Numerous editions of Erasmus’ writings made his theological thought, which included his thought and vocabulary regarding order, unity, pious works, and human free will, widely available to English readers. Conversely, we find examples of Catholics and Puritans who were highly critical of both Erasmus and his standing in England. During the first two decades of Elizabeth’s reign, Erasmus’ popularity remained strong, with numerous publications of Erasmian texts and citations of Erasmus

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in religious treatises. Naturally, as time passed Erasmus’ popularity waned. It is also interesting that as Calvinism came to dominate English religious thought Erasmus was still routinely cited, but with less positive adjectives, and his views increasingly came under attack. Although Erasmus’ works were published at a higher rate both before and after Elizabeth’s reign, there were a number of important Latin and English editions of various works. Latin publications of Erasmian works included De Duplici Copia (1569, 1573), Familiarium colloquiorum (1571), De Civilitate (1578), Apophthegmata (1596), and Epitome colloquiorum (1602). While many individuals and institutions undoubtedly owned editions of Erasmus that were published outside England, the 1571 London edition of the Familiarium colloquiorum points to a demand for more copies of the Colloquies than were then available for students and the increasingly literate English public. The Colloquies were so popular that the records of an Edinburgh bookseller reveal that in 1577 he had 625 copies of the Colloquies in stock.9 The Latin editions of Erasmus were clearly designed for educational use. Aiming at a broader audience, English translations of Erasmus’ works appeared in The Complaint of Peace (1559), The Civilitie of Childhood (1560), two English editions of the Enchiridion Militis Christiani (1561, 1576), Udall’s translation of the Apophthegmes (1564), Leigh’s A modest meane to mariage (1568), the Adages (1569), Hake’s A Touchstone (1574), and In Praise of Folly (1577).10 While it is impossible to ascertain how widely these works were read and what influence they had, the number of published texts, and the fact that these came on the heels of the Paraphrases, certainly points to a religious culture that was clearly familiar with the writings and thought of Erasmus. This list of publications tells another story as well. With the exception of the Apophthegmata and Colloquia of 1596 and 1602, which were mainly aimed at school curriculums, all of Erasmus’ texts, both in Latin and English, were published before 1580. There were then no English publications of Erasmus until 1606. It is possible that after 1580 English readers simply lost interest in Erasmus or that Erasmian texts already in circulation were adequate to satisfy what interest there was. There is another possibility, however. As we saw in the Paraphrases, Erasmian theology, especially his soteriology, was incongruous with English Calvinism. As English religious culture became increasingly

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Calvinist, to the point of approaching a Calvinist consensus by the 1580s, it is not surprising that Erasmus’ ideas failed to appeal to a large enough reading public to justify more editions of his works.11 Erasmus’ name, however, did not fade away completely with the rise of Calvinism. While some referred to his writings to support their own ideas, others attacked his views and, calling him a semi-Pelagian, considered him heretical. There are a couple of studies that give further evidence of his continued popularity and cultural importance. Margo Todd has carefully examined university notebooks at Oxford and Cambridge and discovered widespread reading of Erasmus.12 As she has shown, these notebooks are significant since they are the only record of what students were reading at Oxford and Cambridge. She writes, ‘The bulk of the actual curriculum, then, went beyond the statutory requirements, and its contents, methods and goals can only be determined from student notebooks and tutorial directives.’13 Todd analysed the notebooks of dozens of members of Oxford and Cambridge colleges, especially those by Puritan authors such as John Rainolds, Anthony Parker, Arthur Hildersham, Samuel Ward, Richard Morton, Alexander Cooke, Simonds D’Ewes, William Sancroft, and Thomas Brathwaite, among others.14 The notebooks span the last half of the sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth century. Todd notes that references in the notebooks to great Protestant figures such as ‘Calvin, Beza, Bullinger, Musculus, Oecolampadius, Jewel, Humphrey and Rainolds … are legion.’15 However, a second tier of citations also appeared in the notebooks and these included Petrarch, Thomas More, Erasmus, and the ancients, especially Seneca, Cicero, Juvenal, and Lucian. Protestant readers in England were most appreciative of Erasmus’ philological contributions to textual analysis of biblical and ancient texts. Not surprisingly, the notebooks also mentioned the Paraphrases.16 These notebooks provide a window into the reading world of English university students in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.17 In the next chapter, we will look more closely at the problematic correlation of Erasmianism, humanism, and Puritanism in early modern England. Todd also examined the book inventories at both Oxford and Cambridge and discovered ‘perhaps the most remarkable indicators of the Erasmianism of Elizabethan curriculum.’18 Eighty-four per cent of the eighty-one Oxford lists from 1558 to 1603 contained at least one work by Erasmus. At Cambridge, during the

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same period, 66 per cent contained works by Erasmus.19 According to Todd, Erasmus appears on the lists more than any other author. Erika Rummel’s examination of Oxford household inventories is also impressive. She found that more than half of the inventories listed works by Erasmus.20 Scholars generally owned a few to a dozen works by Erasmus as part of libraries containing a few hundred titles. Even more impressive was that ‘the total possessions of one Thomas Morgan “of Glocester Haule” (d. 1570) consisted of a bed with bolster, sheet, and cover; a chest; and three books – all Erasmian, it appears.’21 Statistical analysis by Åke Bergval on Cambridge book inventories, which have been collected and published by Elisabeth Leedham-Green, reveals a similar preponderance of Erasmian texts. Bergval isolated 176 inventories from the sixteenth century and discovered that 73 per cent owned a book by Erasmus. After Erasmus came Cicero and Aristotle. The fourth most popular author was Melancthon, whose texts were owned by 50 per cent of the inventories.22 Another large project by R. J. Fehrenbach and Leedham-Green, listing books held in private libraries, also demonstrates the popularity of Erasmian texts. For example, the library of Thomas Tatham, a fellow of Merton College, Oxford, included 361 texts, of which eleven were penned by Erasmus.23 Fifteen of Thomas Day’s 137 books were by Erasmus.24 Such collections of Erasmian texts were not unusual. Of the 150 book lists included in the six volumes of Fehrenbach and Leedham-Green’s study, 88 were from owners who either died or were born during the reign of Elizabeth I. Excluding works edited by Erasmus, 69 of these 88 inventories, or 74 per cent, contained at least one work by Erasmus. Studies of private and public inventories and the direct references to Erasmus in student notebooks demonstrate the importance of Erasmus for English readers. Todd is correct that ‘graduates of the arts and divinity courses of Cambridge and Oxford were well prepared to disseminate the humanist evangel in Elizabethan and early Stuart England. Whether self-consciously Erasmian or not, they had been exposed to the key documents of Christian humanist ideology, and the reform-minded among them did not come away unaffected.’25 I will demonstrate in this and the following chapters that it was not only the ‘reformminded’ who were exposed to Erasmian ideas, but also individuals who might variously be classified as conformists and, later, as anti-Calvinists.26

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Publishers responded to the popularity of Erasmian texts by publishing an increasing number of English translations. The texts translated into English in the latter half of the sixteenth century all had a religious dimension, but in terms of transmitting Erasmus’ theological thought to an English audience, Paynell’s edition of The Complaint of Peace and the two editions of the Enchiridion Militis Christiani were the most significant. Taken together, these texts laid out a very clear model of Erasmian Christianity. The Complaint of Peace stressed peace, unity, religious moderation, and, by extension, the importance of conformity. The Enchiridion, meanwhile, called Christians to live pious lives filled with good works. In both publications the editors sought to shape how readers would understand Erasmus’ text. In the Enchiridion, the editor exhibited concern about the theological content of Erasmus’ text. These texts presented Erasmus’ theological thought in short English texts; the prefaces also demonstrated that English Calvinists were not entirely comfortable with Erasmus’ theological positions. Thomas Paynell’s 1559 translation of The Complaint of Peace, which Erasmus originally wrote in 1517, was a call to peace and religious unity at a time of severe uncertainty within English religion. Erasmus’ pacifist rhetoric went beyond a repudiation of war and violence and called for Christians to be united by the pious practice of mutual charity.27 Paynell translated one key passage for his English audience as follows: ‘Contemplate and behold his [Christ’s] universal life. What other thinge is it, than the doctrine of concord, and mutual love? What other thing do his commandments inculcate and repeat, what his parables but peace, but mutual charity?’28 Peace was expressly defined as a ‘doctrine of concord.’29 Those who destroyed peace and who created discord in the church were behaving as anti-Christians. The English text bluntly tied eternal salvation to the doctrine and practice of peace and concord: ‘And by the way declaryng that men by this way and meanes only, must be savid, yf they among them selves doo nourysh mutual peace and concord.’30 And then, even more pointedly, the translation read, ‘Let them eyther leue of the glorye of the tytle of christyanitie, or else expresse the doctryne of Chryst by concorde.’31 On the issue of Christian peace and charity Erasmus was quite dogmatic and saw the doctrine of peace and concord as a dividing line between those who followed Christ and those who did not, between peaceful members

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of the church and those who destroyed Christian unity.32 This distinction was at the core of the Erasmian rhetorical paradigm and world view. In many of his works, including the widely read colloquy Inquisitio de fide, he presented a civil dialogue between himself and Luther where differences over doctrines such as free will and predestination did not cause division within the Christian community.33 The real religious divide, for Erasmus, was between Christians who maintained peace and unity by allowing for some flexibility within the church and those, on either side of the religious spectrum, who demanded a narrow and exclusionary confession of faith. In essence, Erasmus was restructuring the traditional distinctions between heresy and schism. Heresy was, by definition, an openly displayed and stubbornly held false belief on a fundamental Christian doctrine.34 Schism, conversely, was a crime against charity, but it did not necessarily imply damnation or false doctrine.35 However, for Erasmus, as expressed in the English translation of the Paraphrases and The Complaint of Peace, schism was heresy. He suggested that salvation depended on maintaining charity through fellowship within the established church. According to John Coffey, there were three great sins that Christianity could never tolerate: blasphemy, atheism, and gross heresy. Gross heresy was a denial of fundamental Christian doctrines, such as the Trinity and the sanctity of the Bible. The denial of lesser truths of the Christian faith was classified as minor heresy, which could be dealt with through penance and the sacramental system.36 The line, however, between gross heresy and minor heresy was never clearly defined. Doctrinally speaking, Erasmus wanted only a very few fundamental doctrines that, if denied, could be classified as gross heresy and the rest considered indifferent to salvation. Nevertheless, the core of Erasmus’ theological methodology of peace and charity raised schism to the level of a gross heresy. It was a great sin whether caused by a schismatic leaving the church, or by the church excluding a heretic from communion with the church.37 Erasmus rhetorically established himself in a middle position between dogmatists on both extremes. On one side were those who sought to exclude others from the church while on the other were those who abandoned the official church because it did not meet their own personal doctrinal criteria. He thus created a spectrum with his own depiction of moderation and peace located in the middle.38 Erasmus’ moderate rhetoric was subtle and

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powerful, but his crafting of this religious spectrum can also be looked at from a different perspective.39 In his insistence that those who separated from the church were against peace and unity and, therefore, were not Christians, Erasmus’ rhetoric was immoderate and aggressive. On the doctrines of peace and unity, Erasmus was anything but moderate. The point is that the language of moderation, middle ways, and extremes is always cultural and polemical. In some instances, it may be helpful to picture Erasmus’ theological thought lying somewhere between that of Calvinists and Roman Catholics. I think it is more helpful, however, when looking at Erasmus’ connections with English religious thought to recognize the rhetorical and, potentially, radical nature of ‘moderation.’ In this sense, Erasmus’ religious rhetoric, which made eternal doctrines out of peace, unity, consensus, and prudent conformity, while designating traditional doctrinal issues as adiaphora, became a powerful position for attacking nonconformity. In The Complaint of Peace, ‘moderates’ within the official church were on one side, while at the other end of the spectrum were separatists who, by their very tendency towards separation, revealed their anti-Christian agenda. The English text drew The Complaint of Peace to a close with the following instructions to bishops: ‘I call unto you, O ye Byshopes, that in ecclesiasticall dygnyty doo excell [each] other, see that your aucthoritie be of powre and force to bynde Peace wyth eternall bandes.’40 Bishops had the responsibility to uphold peace by fighting the heresy of disunity and schism. Those who opposed the rule of bishops, as Presbyterians soon would, were dangerous because they placed church organization and structure, which were adiaphora, above the paramount doctrines of peace and unity. In 1576, Thomas Rogers gives us direct evidence that The Complaint of Peace was read and understood as a moderate call to Christian concord. Following a long section calling for peace, love, and concord, Rogers summed up his text by writing, ‘It is apparent that without concorde man is moste miserable. He whiche is desirous to reade more of this matter, may doo wel to peruse the oration of Erasmus.’41 Rogers then cited The Complaint of Peace.42 As I will discuss in the next chapter, Erasmian rhetoric gradually became part of attempts to maintain episcopal authority over a unified and conforming Church of England, and English Puritanism would eventually see itself in direct opposition to an Erasmian

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world view that rhetorically invoked moderation, tolerance, and peace while forcefully challenging dissent. Where The Complaint of Peace helped reinforce Erasmus’ vision of peace, unity, and religious moderation, the Enchiridion Militis Christiani called for Christians to live pious lives filled with good works. Two English editions were printed during Elizabeth’s reign, in 1561 and 1576.43 The first was published by John Gough, who termed himself the ‘pastor’ of Saint Peters in Cornehull, London. Gough’s purpose in this edition was to attack the papacy and other Catholic traditions. It is not surprising that Gough, after deciding to use an Erasmian text to attack Catholicism, needed to do some very deliberate repackaging of the text. In his introduction, the doctrines of the Catholic Church were decried as anti-Christian inventions of men. What truly mattered, according to Gough, was a transformed heart and purified doctrine.44 Erasmus’ text, which pushed for an internal spiritual reformation, while downplaying external religious observance, was thus put into the service of English attempts to separate completely from Roman Catholicism and further the ‘godly’ reform of the English church. Yet, while Erasmus tried to refocus individuals on the importance of internals rather than externals, he never suggested that tradition was completely worthless and should be destroyed. English presses published the Enchiridion for objectives that were far from Erasmus’ authorial motivation.45 The text was therefore not anywhere close to an authentic rendering of the Erasmian text. Both the introduction and the content of the 1561 Enchiridion skewed Erasmus’ thought into an anti-Catholic and pro-Calvinist cause. In framing Erasmus’ text, Gough did not follow the example of Udall and Paynell by repositioning Erasmus into the Protestant camp. Gough claimed he knew neither the name of the book he was translating nor the name of its author. Perhaps honestly, but more likely from calculated lapse of memory, Gough stated, ‘And as I knowe not the author thereof, no more founde I any title or name geven unto the booke.’46 Perhaps it was best simply not to mention the author, whom everyone knew was Catholic. Certainly, even if Gough did not know who wrote the Enchiridion it would have been fairly easy for him to find someone who did. In any case, lay readers of this edition may not have realized that the Catholic Erasmus wrote the book they held in their hands. Gough censured the text so that nothing remained mentioning

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Catholicism, the sacraments, monastic life, or the church hierarchy. What was left was a slimmed down volume praising internal piety, the role of the laity, and the importance of scripture.47 Omitting Erasmus’ name and then heavily editing his text were part of an attempt to appropriate a popular Catholic text from earlier decades into the service of zealous Protestantism.48 In 1576, William How published an English edition of the Enchiridion that was based on an earlier 1533 translation.49 Not only did this English edition name Erasmus as the author and carry the original Latin title, Enchiridion Militis Christiani, but it also included Erasmus’ introductory letter to Paul Volsius.50 Although How did not include a prologue of his own and allowed Erasmus’ letter to introduce the text, a short poem was inserted after Erasmus’ letter to Volsius and immediately preceding the text of the Enchiridion. This poem, also found in the 1533 English edition of the Enchiridion, began with the lines, ‘The mortal worlde, a field is of battaile, / which is the cause that strife doth never fail.’ To fight this spiritual battle, spiritual weapons were necessary, which Erasmus could provide: ‘In gyving us such harnis of warre, / Erasmus is the only furbysher.’ The short poem concluded with an exhortation: ‘Than champion receive, as thine by right, / the Manual of the true Christen Knight.’51 For the spiritual weapons needed by the Christian knight, this edition of the Enchiridion declared that Erasmus ‘was the only furbisher.’ A spiritual battle was taking place and English readers were strongly encouraged to look to Erasmus for help in waging it. Outside of this strong, but short, commendation by the editors, Erasmus was ostensibly allowed to speak for himself. In both Erasmus’ introductory letter to Paul Volsius and in the Enchiridion itself, Erasmus stressed the importance of a pious life of good works and the constant struggle that each Christian soldier goes through on his or her journey to eternity. Underlying this philosophy was the ideology of human free will. In the letter to Volsius, as in his other works, Erasmus rhetorically coupled this free will theology with a condemnation of theological disputes. Tying a good life of charity with the rhetoric of concord, he wrote that Christ wanted the way to salvation to be ‘plaine and open for euery man, and that not by inexplycable crokes of disputacions, not able to be resolued, but by a true and sincere faith and charytie, not fayned whom hope doth folow which is neuer ashamed.’52 Again, as in so many of his works, Erasmus

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contrasted the simple doctrine of faith and charity with doctrinal disputes that were ultimately mysterious and could never be solved. Sixteenth-century readers would have understood immediately that words like charity were code for the necessity of good works in the process of salvation. Erasmus’ devotion to a middle pathway on the problem of will and predestination was also presented in this edition of the Enchiridion: ‘Thou muste so kepe a meane course, as it were betwene Scilla, and Charibdis, that neyther trustinge to mutche, and bearyng the ouer bolde upon the grace of God, thou be carelesse and reachles, neyther yet so mistrustinge in thy selfe, feared with the difficulties of the war: doe cast from thee courage, boldnes or confidence of minde togyther with harneys and wepons also.’53 Christians, according to Erasmus, and this translation, needed to find a middle way between trusting too much and trusting too little in God’s grace. There is an indication, in the marginal notes, that the original editor and perhaps William How, who included it, understood and concurred with aspects of Erasmus’ theological approach. One marginal note stated that ‘theologie appertaineth to fewe men but the salvacion appertaineth to all.’54 Like Erasmus, the editor implied that the study of ‘deep’ or contentious theological points was legitimately practised by theologians, but that salvation remained ‘plain and open’ to everyone. Both Erasmus’ letter and this translation of the Enchiridion contained this basic theological belief, which was then stressed in the marginalia. Erasmus was certainly not opposed to intellectual questions, in fact, quite the opposite, but both the letter to Volsius and the Enchiridion stressed a slightly obscurantist approach that was less concerned with proving doctrine than with destroying dogmatic attempts to condemn doctrinal variance. If doctrinal absolutes, such as predestination, were not preached and the need for charity and concord were, then Erasmus’ theological world view and style would win by default. The marginalia of the 1576 Enchiridion hint at another important aspect of Erasmus’ theological methodology and its English legacy. While salvation was open to everyone and did not depend on rigorous doctrinal understanding, theology, meaning theological disputation, was appropriate only in its proper place. Erasmus staunchly maintained that theological disputation should be kept out of the public sphere. In both the Paraphrases and De Libero Arbitrio, Erasmus argued that the exact role of human

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agency in the plan of salvation was a ‘high mystery’ and therefore something that should not be dealt with publicly. To do so would confuse the common people and instigate division within the church. By calling for a moratorium on public theological debate, Erasmus was attempting to tilt the religious debate in favour of a theology that stressed peace, concord, and the natural belief that human choice mattered. In On Mending the Peace of the Church, Erasmus wrote: Concerning The Freedom of the Will, this is a thorny question rather than something that can be profitably debated. If it must be ironed out, however, let us leave it to competent theologians … Let’s not have any argument, then, concerning words, provided they agree on essentials. If not, the false doctrines will fall within hearing distance of the ignorant crowds. Although true in a sense, the expressions that the quality of our works, provided we have faith, have no special meaning, or that all our actions are really sinful, will be misunderstood by the ordinary person.55 In order to achieve peace and unity Erasmus argued that doctrinal controversies should be kept out of the public sphere. Most of these disputed doctrines were, after all, divine mysteries and therefore it was inappropriate for them to be brought before the ‘ordinary person’ and even worse for the common people to begin debating them. While How’s 1576 edition appears to support an Erasmian theological methodology for English Christianity through his translation of the Enchiridion and the inclusion of Erasmus’ important letter to Paul Volsius, he did not agree with Erasmus in everything. What How chose to leave out of his translation is also significant. The major difference between the 1533 Enchiridion and the 1576 Enchiridion was one of spelling. However, How’s edition carefully eliminated a variety of ‘Catholic’ references that had been included in the 1533 edition. Passages in both the letter to Volsius and the Enchiridion that mentioned the pope were often either omitted or changed to ‘Bishop of Rome.’56 An exception to this can be found in the 1576 letter to Volsius in a passage that noted a difference between the kingdom of Christ and the rule of the pope and the cardinals. How’s edition read: ‘So shuld it be brought to passe that the Pope of Romes domynion and his

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Cardinals might be enlarged but not the kingdome of Christe, which finally florysheth and is in prosperytie yf faith, loue, peace, and charytie be quicke and strong.’ 57 In this instance, How did not alter the 1533 translation and included Erasmus’ hope that Pope Leo X would bring good government to the church. Passages in the Enchiridion also mentioned the pope.58 In addition, some of the passages that described the Mass and the role of priests participating in the sacrament of the Eucharist were altered to ‘seruice’ or ‘communion.’59 As in the 1533 edition, most references to monks and friars were omitted from the 1576 Enchiridion.60 These adaptations are far from surprising given the changes that had occurred within English religion: friars and monks were not tolerated in England and the Edwardian and Elizabethan Prayer Books had outlined official theology concerning the mass. How may have disagreed with Erasmus’ Catholicism, but, through careful editing, was able to present, within the framework of the English church, an Erasmian text that encapsulated much of Erasmus’ theological thought and methodology. In addition to The Complaint of Peace and the Enchiridion, other Erasmian texts were translated and published in English during the Elizabethan period. Some of these were substantial texts, such as a reprinting of Udall’s translation of Apophthegmes in 1564, the Adagia in 1569, and a translation, in 1577, of In Praise of Folly.61 These texts contributed to the general currency of Erasmus’ name. The Praise of Folly was not as popular as it would later become, but it was translations such as this that began its gradual rise to the iconic status it would enjoy in later centuries.62 Naturally, Protestants delighted in Erasmus’ ridicule of clergy, monks, and superstitions, but rather than being prompted to see the ridiculous in their own culture, In Praise of Folly was used to reestablish the otherness of Catholicism. There were a number of smaller English publications that contained, or were based on, Erasmus’ writings. These included Edward Hake’s A Touchstone in 1574, which called for better education in England and contained parts of Erasmus’ De Pueris Instituendis, a very short list of Adagia in 1560, and a couple of Erasmus’ dialogues. The colloquy Coniugium, or Marriage, was translated by John Rastell in 1557 as A mery Dialogue, declaringe the propertyes of shrowde shrews, and honest wyues, and Nicholas Leigh published two colloquies in 1568, Proci et puellae and Adolescentis et scorti. The translations of these colloquies are not particularly noteworthy and Leigh stated

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in his introduction that he made the translations earlier, probably when he was a student – giving further evidence of how Erasmus was used in education. Leigh did write a few lines about Erasmus and his translation: I HAVE (GENTLE Reader) set foorth to thy viewe, two Dialogues of the Reuerende & renowmed Clarke Erasmus Roterodamus: whose learning, virtue, and authoritie is of sufficient force to defend his doings … yet thousandes, which by this mine indeuour may draw out some sweete sap of these his pleasant and fruitfull doings, might (thorow ignorance) have wanted thys peece of delight. Therefore the offence (if any be) is made to Erasmus a man of that pacience in his lyfe, as I assure my self that this my bold dealing with him, can not a whit disquiet his ghost. Harme to thee at all it can not bee, for that I haue not digressed from mine Author.63 There are a number of interesting points in this commentary on Erasmus. Leigh clearly believed that Erasmus was generally viewed as an authority of learning and virtue. The purpose of Leigh’s translation was to make Erasmus available to ‘thousands’ instead of only the few who could read Latin. Already by the mid-sixteenth century, Latin was being replaced by English as the language of the emerging public sphere. Spoken English had been dominant for centuries, but now English was also becoming the primary literary language of England. Erasmianism, as a cultural legacy, was now dependent on English translators and authors. Though many English authors wrote in Latin, if publishers deemed the work important or more marketable to a general readership, such as books by Jewell and Foxe, they were quickly translated into English.64 Leigh makes a final point that will serve as a juxtaposition for later treatment of Erasmus. Leigh claimed that he has ‘not digressed from mine Author.’ This is in stark contrast to translations of Erasmus’ Colloquies in the early seventeenth century. As I will detail in chapter 5, these same dialogues would be heavily reworked to make them fit theologically with early Stuart Calvinism. using erasmus in elizabethan england Erasmian thought and style were not only transmitted to an English audience through the translation of his own texts, but also

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through the literally hundreds, perhaps thousands, of references to Erasmus in Elizabethan publications. Elizabethan writers cited, appropriated, attacked, and defended his scholarship and religious thought.65 Shortly after Elizabeth’s coronation Protestants applauded Erasmus as a founder of the Reformation and as a direct, continuing influence on the English Reformation. In previous chapters we examined the various ways Udall and the other editors of the Paraphrases skilfully framed Erasmus’ texts. Udall in particular created an image of Erasmus that was ostensibly in complete harmony with English Protestantism. Udall was neither the last nor the most important English author to reconstruct Erasmus in the image of an English reformer. One of the most popular and influential books in Elizabethan England was John Foxe’s Acts and Monuments (1563, 1570), a very thick, cleverly polemical, and enormously popular book designed to further the English Reformation by presenting, in gripping narrative form, the corruption of Rome and the authenticity of the English break from Catholicism.66 After extolling the brief, but wonderful, era of Edward VI, Foxe told a story of Catholic evil and popular suffering in Mary’s reign. The ultimate purpose of the story told by Foxe was the celebration of the reformation and a call for the ongoing purification of English religion under Elizabeth.67 In a similar fashion to Udall, Foxe praised Erasmus for helping open scripture to the people. Given this narrative structure, it is not difficult to understand why Foxe depicted all aspects of the Edwardian Reformation in a very favourable light.68 Erasmus’ Paraphrases were important to Foxe. Not only were they a prominent text from the Edwardian era, they were also a direct link between those reforms and the church that Elizabeth was in the process of creating, given the renewed injunctions regarding the Paraphrases. According to John King, ‘Praise of Erasmus is central to Foxe’s account of the reign of Edward VI, which he regards as the high water mark of the English Reformation.’69 Foxe also attacked Bishop Stephen Gardiner for criticizing the Paraphrases. Referring to Gardiner, Foxe declared, ‘So is he to be reckoned amongst ignorant and gross divines, proud prelates, and bloody persecutors, as both by his cruel life and pharisaic doctrine,’ not least of which was Gardiner’s accusation that the Paraphrases were full of ‘heresy and abomination.’70 Foxe relished such accusations and included Gardiner’s attacks on Erasmus in Acts and Monuments. It was a simple matter to use Gardiner’s

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rhetoric as emblematic of papists who had done all they could to destroy the English Reformation. By highlighting Gardiner’s evil, Foxe stressed, by default, the goodness of Erasmus. Erasmus and his Paraphrases provided the perfect polemical material for Foxe’s condemnation of Roman Catholicism. Like Udall, Foxe chose to ignore both Erasmus’ Catholicism and his adversarial relationship with various Protestant Reformers. King suggests that the reason Foxe avoided any condemnation of Erasmus was Foxe’s tolerant and irenic nature. According to King, ‘The book’s silence concerning Erasmus’ controversy with Luther on freedom of the will constitutes a significant absence. Harmonization of discordant views held by Erasmus and Luther is compatible with Foxe’s irenicism, his belief in religious toleration, and his yearning to portray unity among evangelical reformers critical of the papacy.’71 This is certainly accurate, but we should not forget that Foxe had a particular agenda that would have been compromised had he mentioned Erasmus’ confrontation with Luther. Similarly, as John King has noted, Foxe links Erasmus with Tyndale while, in reality, Tyndale located Erasmus with his enemies, Thomas More and Cuthbert Tunstall.72 Foxe was writing a polemic and he was quite careful not to cast doubt on the glorious story of the Reformation. Luther, Erasmus, Edward, and Elizabeth were on the side of justice, truth, and reformation, while on the other were papists like Gardiner. To suggest that Erasmus, while providing a central text for the English Reformation, was in fact a free will Catholic, whom Luther hated and Calvin denounced, would have mitigated the effectiveness of Foxe’s attack. Foxe might appear irenic and tolerant within the context of English Protestantism, but he certainly was intolerant of the papacy and Roman Catholicism and did all he could to masterfully construct a narrative of Catholic evil and persecution that was contrasted with Protestant righteousness, suffering, and intellectual vigour.73 Quite simply, Erasmus’ memory served Foxe well if used selectively. Some Roman Catholics, however, pointed out Foxe’s selective memory regarding Erasmus. Robert Parsons stated that Erasmus, ‘whom Fox every where would nedes make their first founder and favourer though himself deny and detest them after experience had of their liues, saith thus: Neminem vidi meliorem, deteriores omnes. I never saw any made better in lyfe, by this new religion, but all worse.’74 Protestants could claim Erasmus, but Erasmus had repudiated Protestants.

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In addition to Foxe’s attempt to locate Erasmus historically among English Protestants, other major figures also demonstrated their familiarity with Erasmus through numerous citations and allusions. Foxe may be one of the most important shapers of Erasmus’ legacy during the latter half of the sixteenth century, but significant references to Erasmus in the writings of John Jewel, William and John Rainolds, John Whitgift, and many others evince a widespread familiarity with Erasmus among Elizabethan divines and the public, given that most texts were now being printed in English for an audience beyond university-trained men. Jewel, the bishop of Salisbury, was the single most significant apologist for the Elizabethan Settlement and established church in the first half of Elizabeth’s reign. Jewel thought highly of Erasmus, praised him in print, and crafted an image of Erasmus as a reformer who was entirely consistent with English Protestantism. At one point Jewel wrote that Erasmus was ‘a man of famouse memorie: whose name for learninge, & judgemente, hath at al times emonge the Learned, beene mutche esteemed.’75 Like Udall and Foxe, Jewel gave no indication that Erasmus’ theology was, at times, incongruous with English Protestantism or that Erasmus had chosen to remain with the Catholic Church. But Erasmus was not singled out for selective interpretation; Jewel also avoided any mention that a variety of beliefs, approaches, and conflicts existed within the Elizabethan church. As Patrick Collinson states, Jewel’s ‘officially sponsored Apology of the Church of England erected all its defenses on one flank only and allowed not so much as a suspicion that the English church settlement could be threatened from a protestant quarter.’76 Jewel’s purpose was to defend the English church and present it as a united, and therefore a more truthful, form of Christianity. Jewel, who reportedly had read all of Erasmus’ writings, memorizing some of them, specifically cited Erasmus in support of the lifestyle and regulations at Oxford and Cambridge universities and, more importantly, on the subjection of the people under their prince.77 It is not surprising that Jewel chose to ignore those areas where Erasmus’ theological thought differed with Protestantism and instead focused on Erasmus’ call for reform, biblical scholarship, and unity. As C.R. Thompson has stated, for many English divines Erasmus ‘was regarded as the most learned man of his time.’78 In some areas of his thought, specifically on predestination, Jewel moved away from Luther and Calvin, and adopted a

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position that was congruent with that of Erasmus. He agreed that salvation came through grace, which was given by God. Following Erasmus, however, he also insisted that Christ had died for all men, not just the elect, and that human beings had to do their part or grace could be lost.79 Peter White has argued, therefore, that Jewel was not a Calvinist. Gary Jenkins, however, has shown that Jewel, though presenting a moderate reading of predestination, was still functioning within a Calvinist tradition that was not monolithic nor yet defined by a particular predestinarian formula.80 Jewel, as a figure of the Elizabethan Settlement and early apologist for the Elizabethan church, would eventually become a highly contested figure himself as Puritans, anti-Calvinists, highchurch conformists, and self-described moderates later sought to claim him for their own versions of the ‘moderate’ middle. The most consistent of these attempts came from those who, in subsequent centuries, sought to claim Jewel as a pivotal voice in the development of the Anglican via media.81 We should not forget, however, that Jewel’s works were both apologetic and polemical in nature. His apology for the Church of England did not represent it as it was, but rather as he hoped it would become. While Jewel obviously admired Erasmus, there is no indication in his texts that he was attempting to create an Erasmian-style via media for the Church of England. Rather, although Jewel was certainly Erasmian in his rhetorical use of peace, order, conformity, and moderation, the basic motivation behind his work appears to be a coalescence of an Elizabethan episcopacy with the reformed Continental church. Jewel’s commentary on and use of Erasmus did not go unnoticed, especially by English Catholics. In 1566 the Catholic Thomas Stapleton scathingly attacked Jewel and his theology and, using a standard polemical tool, sought to employ Jewel’s authorities against Jewel’s text. In challenging Jewel’s theology of the Eucharist, Stapleton brought up Erasmus. He wrote, ‘Again your frende Erasmus M. Iewell, calleth the lyturgie of S. Chrysostom, Masse. I trust it shall be no Untruthe with you M. Iewell to call thinges as Erasmus calleth them.’82 John Rastell, a Jesuit, similarly used Erasmus to attack Jewel, precisely because Jewel gave so much authority to Erasmus. While using Erasmus against Jewel, Rastell also stressed that Erasmus’ interpretations were not as authoritative as those of the church fathers. Rastell wrote: ‘Yet, I doe not refuse Erasmus, or D. Colets iudgment, because, they were of late

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yeres, but I preferre the Grauitie, Learning, and Number of their betters, and their elders. Those I meane, which lived and florished A thousand yere together, before Erasmus was borne.’83 On numerous occasions, Rastell stated that Jewel placed too much weight on Erasmus, who lived a long time after the authors of the holy scriptures and the church fathers.84 Rastell was clearly of the opinion that knowledge and wisdom declined the further one got from the origins of Christianity. Just as Gardiner had challenged Udall’s use of Erasmus, so too did Catholics find it strange, and perhaps welcome, that Jewel was attempting to build English Protestant doctrine on the authority of Erasmus.85 Another polemical attack on Jewel’s work came from the Catholic Thomas Harding and this time Jewel responded.86 Here also the debate quickly turned to Erasmus’ patristic scholarship and his interpretation of the development of the Mass and the episcopacy.87 In order to counter Harding, who sought to use Erasmus to support the Catholic Mass, Jewel quoted from Erasmus a number of times, including from the English translation of the Paraphrases on 1 Corinthians, chapters 11 and 14.88 Jewel was determined to defend the official English church’s repudiation of the real presence. Christ was present through faith, but Jewel denied that the nature of the bread changed. Jewel also found Harding’s use of Erasmus interesting. According to Jewel, Harding denied the authority of Erasmus, but then, on a number of occasions, used Erasmus to support his own ideas. Jewel, who clearly did see Erasmus as an authority, wrote, ‘Touchinge Erasmus M. Hardinge hath alreadie refused his authoritie, and turned him ouer to his owne defence.’89 Jewel’s attack was not entirely fair, as Harding was using Erasmus specifically because he knew that Jewel saw him as an authority.90 Another aspect of the debate with Harding involved a matter of grave importance for the evolving English church. Did the early church fathers, whom Jewel and the English church did not reject, support the supreme power of the papacy? Harding found evidence in Cyprian to support the papacy, while Jewel insisted that he was misinterpreting Erasmus’ edition of Cyprian and that the only clear support in the text was for bishops being the singular head of their own diocese.91 Naturally, the English church followed Jewel’s reading of Erasmus and condemned both the papacy and the Presbyterian dreams of many English Protestants.92

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Another polemic against Jewel came from the English Catholic priest William Rainolds, who, in his theological treatise on the Mass, challenged Jewel’s Apologie and, again, brought Erasmus into the discussion. Rainolds directly quoted Jewel’s comment that Erasmus was ‘esteemed’ among the learned for his ‘learning and judgment.’93 William Rainolds found Erasmus to be a perfect point of attack precisely because Jewel, and a number of English Protestants before him, had claimed Erasmus for the English Reformation, while ignoring his commitment to the Catholic Church. Rainolds wrote: I will shut up this matter with Erasmus words … whose authority I use the rather, for that the Protestants sometimes much extol him as a great profound divine, deeply seen in the Fathers, and no enemy to their side, to whom among others the chief proctor of the English church M. Jewel yieldeth such high praise.94 Erasmus was not a Protestant, but Protestants still regarded him ‘as a great profound divine’ and, therefore, could be used against them by English Catholics. Rainolds happily pointed out texts by Erasmus that supported the true presence of Christ in the wine and the bread of the Eucharist. Catholics thus reminded English Protestants that, despite the claims of Udall, Foxe, Jewel, and others, Erasmus was not a Protestant, had quarrelled with Luther, was a friend of Thomas More, and had refused to leave the Catholic Church. Yet, while Catholics were quite happy to point out the anti-Protestant Erasmus, they were not eager to claim him for Catholicism. As Robert Parsons wrote, Erasmus saw ‘himself better learned (as he thought) than many others of his time (especially in the tongues, and study of humanity) and thereby made high minded (which is ever commonly the next step to a downfall).’95 It is apparent that Jewel’s use of Erasmus touched a nerve among English Catholics. There were other English Protestants, however, who came to Jewel’s defence. In fact, Thomas Cooper, the bishop of Lincoln, did not think that Jewel was adequately defending his own treatise and therefore decided to counter Harding’s polemic himself.96 In doing so, Cooper also came to Erasmus’ defence. Cooper argued, ‘But you will say it was but Erasmus reporte. But I say he reported it as he founde in auncient writers. And Erasmus … was wont to be a great man amongest

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you: and do you so little esteeme him now? You haue ouerrun him (I graunte) as you haue doone Luther, that was once your God.’97 Perhaps Harding had once been more of a Protestant before he found preferment under Mary I. The second section of Cooper’s text directly discussed the use of Erasmus as an authority for the English church and we can learn a great deal about Erasmus’ reception in Elizabethan England from the following lines: You burden us with Erasmus authoritie, and chalenge us, that wee wyll not beleeue his reporte. Sir it seemeth very straunge to mee, that you, whiche haue so muche hated Erasmus, as ye have often chased him out of grammer schooles, and dryven him into the fire, should now in your neede take helpe and succour at hys hand. Truly wee doe now esteme Erasmus, as wee have always, for a man of excellent learning, and a singular instrument provided of god to begin the reformacion of his church in this latter time: and yet thinke wee not all his opinions to be true. For you, I thinke, doo esteme Tertullian and Origen and that right worthily. And yet if ye wyl graunt all, that they write, to be true: I wyl prove you an heritke. Not withstandinge, we deny not that, whyche Erasmus saieth in this mattier, and knew whens he had his assertion, before you tolde us. Now little it serveth your purpose I wyll shew hereafter.98 This short excerpt from Cooper is one of the best windows into the position Erasmus held in the minds of English divines. We see hatred of Erasmus and attempts to keep his texts out of grammar schools, where we know he was widely used. There is also the hint that some of his books were burned. We also see Jewel and Cooper, men at the heart of the new Elizabethan establishment, defending Erasmus as a great scholar and the divinely appointed origin of the Reformation.99 Cooper, however, also made it clear that there was no blind devotion. They could, of course, neither endorse nor follow Erasmus’ determined commitment to the Catholic Church. William Rainolds was not the only Rainolds to exhibit a deep familiarity with Erasmus. His brother John, who went in an opposite direction from the Catholic William and became one of the most respected Puritans in Elizabethan England, also regularly

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cited Erasmus in his texts.100 Jewel was a patron of John Rainolds and supported his acceptance to Corpus Christi College in Oxford. Rainolds would, in 1598, return to Corpus as president of the college and would eventually lead the Puritan faction at the Hampton Court conference in 1604. Rainolds’ learning and memory were legendary and, though a Puritan, he certainly had a profound influence on a young student, Richard Hooker, who, ironically, would lay the foundation for a theological challenge to English Puritanism. James McConica has demonstrated that Rainolds combined elements of humanism and Aristotelianism in his lectures at Oxford.101 This is significant, as some have argued that humanism faded from the universities by the 1580s.102 Rainolds sought to meld the insights of Aristotelian logic with the educational and textual expertise of the humanists and then to use this as a scholarly foundation for a rigorous English Calvinism. We must qualify McConica’s depiction of Rainolds as a consistent Christian humanist of the Erasmian m0uld. In 1576, Rainolds led the opposition against the Spaniard Antonio del Corro, who was teaching and preaching at Oxford. The problem with Corro, for Rainolds and other reformed Protestants at the university, was his Erasmian-style criticism of predestination. Rainolds’ views were refined over time; he was only twenty-six when he challenged Corro in 1576, and he became a leading voice of the Puritan consensus in the late 1570s and 1580s. According to C. M. Dent, ‘his radical advocacy of discipline and eldership set him apart from the moderate reformers of a previous generation.’103 For the most part Rainolds referred to Erasmus as an authoritative scholar for settling disputes over the interpretation of biblical or patristic sources, though in one instance he responded to William Gager’s use of Erasmus in his support of the English theatre.104 Erasmus, according to Rainolds, did not allow a ‘maide to bee a wooer’ and cited Erasmus’ Christiani matrimonii institution.105 In a particularly fascinating exchange between John Hart and Rainolds, in which there are dozens of references to Erasmus, Hart attacked the patristic scholarship of Erasmus.106 Hart maintained that the church fathers had been corrupted and that ‘the practise of Erasmus is famous therein.’ Hart then suggested that in Erasmus’ edition of Jerome there were ‘more then sixe hundred errours thrust into them by Erasmus.’107 Rainolds, however, reminded Hart that, before Erasmus, the church fathers were ‘distressed and diseased in the dust of Libraries’ and that it was

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‘Erasmus, a man of excellent iudgement, and no lesse industrious, then learned, and wittie, did enterprise first to cure them, and brought them foorth into the light.’108 Even though Erasmus made some errors ‘the beginning of every thing is hardest, and it is easie to adde.’109 The argument over Erasmus and his learning went on for eight pages. Later, Rainolds returned to Erasmus and insisted that when, in his Annotations on Acts and Hebrews, Erasmus talked about ‘sacrificing’ he did not mean ‘the saying of Masse.’110 Where William Rainolds used his knowledge of Erasmus to support Catholicism, John defended Erasmus as a learned and honest writer who differed with orthodox Catholic interpretations. Clearly, Rainolds was influenced by Erasmus, but it is also apparent that he was selectively using Erasmus as a widely respected voice to build support for reformed English Protestantism. The picture we begin to see, from all of these references to Erasmus, is one of highly diverse views of Erasmus and his proper role within the English church. The ubiquity of the Catholic Erasmus in English intellectual and religious spheres was often problematic for both his admirers and his critics.111 Just as when he was alive, Erasmus continued to occupy a nebulous cultural position. The widespread publication of Erasmus’ writings and references to those texts by Foxe, Jewel, Rainolds, and others demonstrates that Erasmus remained an important, though contested, voice within English religious culture. It is even more fascinating when we see Erasmus’ name being thrown back and forth in polemical play in a manner reminiscent of Thomas More and William Tyndale’s deadly banter about whose ‘darling’ Erasmus was. Given the popularity and broad diffusion of Erasmus’ writings, it was imperative for leading Protestant writers to position Erasmus within the Protestant camp. Perhaps for a time they were successful, though criticism from both ardent Protestants and Catholics provides some doubt. Increasingly, however, the arguments over Erasmus would become internal to English Protestantism. An important example comes from a conflict between John Whitgift, the future archbishop of Canterbury, and Thomas Cartwright in the 1570s. While we will look more specifically at Whitgift’s Erasmian methodology and rhetorical style in the next chapter, his direct use of Erasmus’ name and texts in his encounter with Thomas Cartwright is illustrative of the transmission of Erasmus in Elizabethan England and Erasmus’ centrality to some

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of the most important religious and ecclesiological controversies. The debate between Whitgift and Cartwright erupted after Cartwright started writing and speaking in support of Presbyterianism, most notably in his introduction to Thomas Wilcox’s Admonition to the Parliament, which called for an end to the English episcopacy and thus became a Puritan classic.112 Ultimately, the outcome of the critically important debate between the episcopal Whitgift and the Presbyterian Cartwright was controlled by Whitgift, who, as vice chancellor of Oxford, played a leading role in taking away Cartwright’s Cambridge professorship in 1570 and then his Trinity Fellowship in 1571. A few years later, to avoid arrest, Cartwright left England for Antwerp. Whitgift was also, to an extent, able to control perceptions of the debate through his use of the English press, though Cartwright’s texts did make their way into England and were later printed in England in the seventeenth century. After Cartwright’s exile, Whitgift penned a treatise that responded to Cartwright’s critique of Whitgift’s printed repudiation of the Admonition. Throughout, Whitgift regularly used Erasmus to support his reading of the New Testament, while directly challenging Cartwright’s references to Erasmus. While most of the citations to Erasmus came from his Annotations on the New Testament, there were also references to the Colloquies and the Paraphrases.113 Cartwright maintained that Christ reproved all sort of ‘rule’ over the church. Whitgift countered by quoting Erasmus’ annotations on Matthew and elsewhere to say that Christ ‘condemneth not rule, but violent and heathenish rule.’114 He then summed up by saying, ‘If it so displease you that I interprete the Greeke words to signify a tyrannical rule, and a government by oppression, blame Erasmus.’115 One of the central questions for theories of episcopacy was over precisely what sort of office Paul gave to Timothy and Titus. Cartwright argued from Erasmus that Timothy was only a ‘bishop,’ and Whitgift responded that Erasmus calling Timothy and Titus bishops did not preclude them from also being archbishops.116 In return, when Whitgift claimed that Erasmus used the term ‘Archbishop’ for Timothy, Cartwright argued that Erasmus was simply repeating standard assumptions of his pre-Reformation time and not specifically claiming that Timothy was not just a bishop. Whitgift mockingly answered: ‘This is no answere at all, first bicause Erasmus woulde then have given to Timothie the same title also: secondly bicause Erasmus

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beeing a man of so singular knowledge and iudgement, woulde not otherwyse than truely report of any man, especially in suche a case, and handling matters of divinitie.’117 In regards to Titus, Whitgift would later add: ‘Titus was a Byshop as it shal be proved: and you have not one worde in Scripture of his beyng an Evangelist: it is Erasmus and Pellicane, two famous men, that imagine Titus, to have been Archbyshop of Creta: scoffe at them.’118 An important debate between the two men focused on Jerome’s use of the word ‘metropolitan’ when speaking of bishops. Both Cartwright and Whitgift quoted Erasmus, but then Whitgift, who always got the last word, wrote: Erasmus speaketh in good earnest howsoever he iested before. He sheweth that these obscure villages or hamlets (as you terme them) were cities, and no doubt, as good as eyther Ely, or Peterborough: but in the respect of Rome, contemptible, as these be in respect of London. And yet the Bishops of every one of them eiusdem meriti & sacerdotij. of the same merite, priesthood & authoritie. Erasmus also here telleth in what respect he hath made this comparison betwixt Bishops and other ministers, in the respect of Deacons. For both Bishops & Priests are to be preferred equally before Deacons, bicause of their ministerie & office, which is above the office of a Deacon.’119 Whitgift thus used Erasmus as an authoritative voice to support a hierarchical church structure in England. It is hard to imagine Erasmus ever dreaming that his work on Jerome could be used for such a purpose, especially in a church that had broken away from Rome. In response to Whitgift’s use of Erasmus, Cartwright adopted a different strategy: historical context. Cartwright asked Whitgift: How commeth it to passe, that the bishop sayth by and by out of the authoritie of Erasmus that Titus was an archebishoppe: for at that tyme there was bothe Apostles, Prophetes, and Euangelistes. If it bee so therefore, that the Archbyshoppe muste supplye the wante of Apostles … howe commeth it to passe, hee wayteth not his tyme whylest they were dead, but commeth in lyke unto one which is borne out of tyme, and lyke the untymely and hastye fruite,

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whyche is seldome or never holesom. And for one to come into the Apostles or Prophetes place, requireth the authoritie of hym whych ordeyned the Apostles. &c. whyche is the Lorde.120 Whitgift responded that bishops were planted in the churches by the apostles and then bluntly stated, ‘you prove nothing.’121 Whitgift realized, however, that much of the debate was starting to hinge on the authority of Erasmus. Addressing both Cartwright and the reader, Whitgift wrote, ‘Well I have answered your answere to Erasmus. And I truste that these authorities wyth the Godlie Reader shall have the more credite, bycause this Reverende Father dothe herein confirme their opinions: whose iudgement for his singular vertue and learning, ought to be more estemed, than a number suche as you are.’122 Whitgift hoped that readers would see Erasmus as a greater authority than Cartwright. Who was ultimately correct in this debate or who most accurately cited Erasmus is of less importance than recognizing that not only were both Cartwright and Whitgift well versed in Erasmian texts, but both also understood his value as an authoritative voice for their readers. We have looked at some of the most influential writers who regularly looked to Erasmus as an authority and developed his texts, ideas, and memory for a variety of purposes and those, especially English Catholics, who challenged Protestant use of Erasmus. Erasmus’ name, though, appears in hundreds of Elizabethan texts. It would be less than germane to the focus of this book to list and discuss every citation. Nevertheless, a sense of the ubiquity and diversity with which his name was used is important. The most common references to Erasmus used him as a philological authority in theological treatises.123 As we have already seen, this was often as part of anti-Catholic polemics. The Puritan Humphrey Laurence noted that as Erasmus exposed so many papal errors it was not surprising his writings were censored by Catholics.124 Despite this Catholic rejection of Erasmus, English Protestants, such as John Bridges in his massive tomes, routinely saw value in mentioning that Erasmus was Catholic and then using him as an authority in anti-Catholic polemics. Bridges found a great deal in Erasmus’ writings to support his contention that the papacy could claim no temporal authority.125 In Thomas Bilson’s The true difference betweene Christian subiection

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and unchristian rebellion, which was inspired by Erasmus’ Colloquies, there is a dialogue between Theophilus, a true Christian, and Philander, a Jesuit. In the conversation it was Theophilus, the English Protestant, who regularly cited Erasmus as an authority, while Philander disparagingly stated that ‘Erasmus is very bolde with the Fathers.’126 Having a Jesuit slight Erasmus was a rhetorical device designed to further clarify that Erasmus was no papist and could be trusted by Protestants. An Elizabethan Protestant who did trust Erasmus was William Fulke. Fulke’s many publications were filled with references to Erasmus, primarily in relation to disputes over biblical translations and patristic authorship and translation.127 Highly significant texts from the early English Reformation were also reprinted at this time, including Archbishop Cranmer’s writings against Stephen Gardiner. Not only did Cranmer use Erasmus as an authority in the text, but the work would also have again reminded readers of Gardiner’s, and hence Catholic, opposition to Erasmus.128 It was common for authors to preface their use of Erasmus as an authority by penning praise of the Dutch ‘clerke.’ Early in Elizabeth’s reign, Thomas Lanquet wrote of Erasmus: ‘The famous and gret lerned man maister Erasmus of Roterodame, flourished, by whose benefyte and diligence as wel divine knowlege, as al other good learning was marveilusly furthered and augmented.’129 Thomas Drant, in a 1570 sermon, said that Erasmus was ‘the worship of the world’ and that ‘Our Erasmus set Latin a flote.’130 For the most part, English Protestants claimed ‘Our Erasmus’ and, as in texts by Udall, Foxe, and Jewel, pretended that Erasmus had left the Catholic Church and was a Protestant. John Bale, for example, listed Erasmus among Protestant reformers, both on the Continent and in England. Erasmus was placed next to Luther as if they were both of a similar Protestant mind.131 There were some English Protestants, however, who took a more nuanced approach to Erasmus and Protestantism and did not pretend that Erasmus had left the Roman church. William Clarke defended Erasmus, and therefore his use of Erasmus as an authority, by writing that though ‘it is well knowen that howesoeuer Erasmus hovered betweene the gospel and poperie, and kept him selfe close, that hee might retaine his libertie, yet hee thought, wrote, and spake honorably to great princes of Luther, and iustified his doctrine so farre foorth, as the Papists themselves

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disclaime him for an heretike, which he would never have done, if he had thought that he had been begotten of the Divell.’132 There are also scores of references to Erasmus’ Colloquies, which were nearly omnipresent in Elizabethan education.133 Of his own education, George Gascoigne wrote, ‘I have bene taught first the rules of the grammer, after that wee had read unto us the familiar comunications called the Colloquia of Erasmus, and next to that the offices of Cicero.’134 There were not enough editions of the Colloquies to meet growing educational demand, which led to a new edition printed in London by Henry Bynneman in 1571.135 In Roger Ascham’s highly popular educational treatise The scholemaster, Ascham specifically discussed Erasmus’ authority on a number of occasions. After calling Erasmus ‘the ornament of learning, in our tyme,’ Ascham challenged those who were unhappy with Erasmus’ critical style, as evidenced in the Colloquies and the Praise of Folly: ‘Erasmus, beyng more occupied in spying other mens faultes, than declaryng his owne aduise, is mistaken of many, to the great hurt of studie, for his authoritie sake. For he writeth rightlie, rightlie understanded.’136 The difficulty for English admirers of Erasmus was always in getting others to correctly understand and interpret such a nebulous authority. Ascham then encouraged students to pursue what he called Erasmus’ method of reading by writing down ‘all Adagies, all similitudes, and all wittie sayings of most notable personages.’137 We know that Erasmus was widely read at all educational levels in England and that Ascham, John Cheke, and others attempted to use a humanist educational model adapted to English Protestantism.138 What we do not know is precisely what image students, scholars, and the general educated public had of Erasmus. Erasmus’ incredible textual productivity meant that English authors could cite his works on a wide variety of topics. We can find references to his epistles, the Paraphrases, his treatises on peace, his writings on matrimony, and Praise of Folly.139 Some of these references brought Erasmus into rather contentious debates, such as Matthew Parker’s treatise arguing for clerical marriage.140 Parker, who often quoted Erasmus, wrote: Erasmus saieth, that if thei lived in Matrimonie suche as could not containe, thei should have a better name, then thei have, and therefore a better estimation. Thei should

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with more aucthoritee preache Gods worde, and the people would beleve … them the better: where now for their slanderous living, thei be despised, saieth he. Moreover, the Priestes them selves should have a more quiette conscience, to sende up the better and ofter praiers to almightie God, the soner to be harde: Where now by their filthie handelyng of so holy misteries, in so uncleane a life.141 Parker also quoted Erasmus as stating that it would be better for the ‘comon wealth’ for priests to ‘haue libertie to mary.’142 As Margo Todd has pointed out, English Protestants were not just interested in Erasmus’ philological and theological thought, but also in his suggestions for practical Christian living.143 There were also rather random references to Erasmus, such as in Michael Drayton’s poems on English history: When for thy love I left the Belgick shore, Divine Erasmus, and our famous Moore, whose happy presence gave me such delight As made a minute of a winters night; with whom a while I stai’d at Roterdame, Now so renowned by Erasmus name.144 Less surprising are the numerous mentions of Erasmus’ Praise of Folly. Both Gabriel Harvey and Sir Philip Sydney commented on the Praise of Folly while John Grange defended the work against any who would deride its learning and substance.145 Grange wrote that ‘Erasmus under his prayse of folly, what matters hath he touched therein, even the chiefest poyntes whiche pertayneth to mans salvation? And sure in my minde he shewed no greater learnyng in any one booke of his penning, than he did in this.’146 Others, however, such as Ulpian Fulwell, argued that if Erasmus could write a ‘drunken Dialogue’ then so could he. Fulwell wrote: ‘Although (gentle Reader) I may seeme perhaps to offend thy modesty with this drunken Dialogue, yet I pray thee let me be rather excused, because I swarve not much herein from the vaine of Erasmus of Rotrodame, (although far beneath any comparison unto him) who used to place pleasant pamphletes in the midest of serious, and grave matters, as well for the recreation of his reader, as also to display and therby to taunt the follyes and trifling fantasies of all sortes of people.’147 From high doctrinal

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controversy to support for particular styles of writing, Elizabethan authors found Erasmus and his texts helpful in a wide variety of contexts. Did readers find references to Erasmus as an authority persuasive? While an answer to such a question will elude us, J.W. Binns relates how Gabriel Harvey, for whom Erasmus seemed dangerous, was persuaded to read Erasmus after reading Johann Sturm’s praise of him.148 Harvey would later use Erasmus as an authority himself. In the preceding discussion I have primarily highlighted positive uses of Erasmus as an authoritative voice. Part of the Erasmian legacy, however, included a negative view of Erasmus, something we have already seen in polemical treatises against John Jewel. A number of texts reversed his authority and mentioned him and his ideas with the purpose of demonstrating the falsehood of a particular view. Elizabethan readers would have found specific criticism of Erasmus in English translations of Calvin’s works. Though Calvin did at times rely on his translations, he was more often critical of Erasmus’ interpretations, especially and not surprisingly, in relation to grace and election.149 William Perkins, the popular Puritan divine, also could be critical of Erasmus, calling Erasmus’ interpretation of the Lord’s Prayer ‘vaine and friuolous.’150 Some English authors, such as the prolific Puritan Robert Crowley, saw Erasmus as a threat to the true doctrine of predestination.151 It is also possible to find works associating Erasmus with heretical belief. Andrew Willet, who produced Synopsis papismi, which summarized the major conflicts between Protestants and Catholics and was popular among both academics and laity, wrote, ‘Besides these heresies, their opinion also is to be reiected, that thynke that the holy writers might in some things be deceived, as mistaking one thing for another, or fayling in their memorie. To this opinion Erasmus enclined.’152 Willet could have discovered this from reading Erasmus’ preface in the first volume of the English Paraphrases.153 Acceptance was still remote for Erasmus’ suggestion that there were mistakes in scripture, other than copyist errors, and that the authors, even Christ himself, for educational and literary purposes, deliberately dissimulated. Though the vast majority of references to Erasmus were positive, we should not view criticism of Erasmus as something of an anomaly in early modern England. Rather, it represents an integral aspect of Erasmus’ English legacy and part of the reason why others, who wished to use Erasmus as a clear

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authority, were highly selective in both their use and representation of Erasmus. We should also note that Crowley, Perkins, and Calvin also chose to support various points with the authority of Erasmus. We must be careful how we interpret the massive number of references to Erasmus in early modern English texts, the majority of which positively cited him as an authority for English Protestantism. Even the large number of citations does not indicate an Erasmian influence on biblical or patristic interpretation. Erasmus was being used as a respected authority and his ubiquity clearly indicates his continued cultural significance, but such references do not necessarily indicate that Erasmus was shaping opinions regarding the Eucharist, the priesthood, or any of the other major issues facing the English church. Certainly, there were those who were influenced by his thought and writings, but differentiating between those who were shaped by reading Erasmus and those who chose to cite him simply as an authority, to support their own agendas, is impossible. Both, however, are part of Erasmus’ legacy and, though no proof of influence can come from even a plethora of textual citations, such a legacy does suggest that Erasmian thought and style were still a meaningful part of English religion, a topic I will take up in the next chapter. The Latin and English editions of Erasmus’ theological works, especially the widespread availability of the Paraphrases, and the transmission of Erasmian texts and ideas in English works ensured that Erasmus continued to play a role in the development of Elizabethan religious culture. His legacy, however, is difficult to place. Protestants struggled to make him fully Protestant, while English Catholics both denounced him and used him against Protestants. It is this diversity, however, which makes Erasmus such a fascinating and important avenue, or lens, for the study of Elizabethan religious culture.154

FOUR

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The previous chapters have detailed the transmission and use of Erasmus in Elizabethan England. Erasmian scholarship was widely read and cited, but what exactly was the meaning and importance of Erasmus’ legacy in England? What role did the Erasmian perspective have in Elizabethan religious dialogue? And, how does knowledge of Erasmian thought, texts, and citations alter our view of the Elizabethan era? The number of texts that used Erasmus as a textual authority is an argument for Erasmus’ importance in English culture. Yet, if Erasmian texts were not available for English readers would English thought have been different or would authors simply have cited another source? It is, of course, likely that without Erasmus, knowledge of both the Greek New Testament and the church fathers would have been far inferior and therefore some theological arguments would have been entirely different or not taken place at all. What was truly significant, however, in Erasmus’ English legacy was his religious outlook and rhetorical style. All the citations of Erasmus, while important for the many and varied religious purposes of English authors, are ultimately valuable for the evidence they provide that English readers were well read in Erasmian texts. And, if this is so, then the study of Elizabethan Erasmianism can help elucidate our understanding of both the mental world of Elizabethans and the public sphere of religious discourse. Such an approach is made more difficult, however, by the pervasiveness of Erasmian humanism in Elizabethan culture. The goal here is not simply to find direct references to Erasmus, but rather to follow the trajectory of the Erasmian world view. The widespread cultural knowledge of Erasmus’ theological thought

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and methodology means that it is possible to discuss an Erasmian religious perspective and approach in Elizabethan England and that the study of this Erasmian religious trajectory can serve as a lens for gaining a more nuanced understanding of English religion and culture as it developed during the reign of Elizabeth I. A great diversity of authors used Erasmus as an authority, but in terms of Erasmus’ rhetorical and methodological legacy it was the episcopal establishment, anti-Presbyterians, and, later, antiCalvinists who found his concepts and style particularly helpful. This chapter begins by questioning the meaning of humanism in Elizabethan England. Although Elizabethan society, broadly speaking, adopted humanist approaches to education and textual study, Erasmus’ religious style and thought provided a more specific mental framework for conformist Protestants who defended the episcopal structure and national unity of the Elizabethan church.1 Finally, this chapter will conclude with a discussion of the rhetorical origins and nature of Elizabethan anti-Calvinism. We can better delineate the nature and origin of anti-Calvinism by accounting for its congruence with Erasmus’ legacy. erasmus, humanism, and the elizabethan public sphere There is no clear consensus among scholars on the role played by humanism in Tudor England. The old story of humanism leading to the Reformation, merging with it, then stimulating science, and ultimately leading to liberty and secular humanism is passé. This triumphalist, even ‘whiggish,’ perspective led to the misinterpretation of both humanism and Erasmus.2 Lisa Jardine and Anthony Grafton argue that, in fact, humanism limited creative thinking and led to dependence on the ancients.3 More specifically, in terms of English humanism, Alistair Fox has convincingly shown that there never was a coherent movement or group of individuals that one could call humanists in early-Tudor England.4 Humanism is often used to denote some sort of devotion to premedieval texts and an educational model devoted to the humanae literae and bonae literae. Defining humanism in its broader sense remains difficult. Humanism could represent opposition to scholasticism, a devotion to classical scholarship, a demand for new educational methods, the call for religious reform, or a number of social and political ideologies.5 We can also see humanism

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as both a product and a facilitator of the public sphere that was emerging out of, and along with, a burgeoning print culture. Jonathan Woolfson provides one of the better definitions: ‘Humanism as a whole, then, was an educational and rhetorical programme, a vision about learning and what learning should be, a method for intellectual and scholarly exploration and discovery, a powerful and immensely flexible vehicle for the expression of many things, all of this predicated on a partially recoverable ancient world.’6 Perhaps the reason I find this an appropriate definition is that it is hopelessly broad and ambiguous while still providing some parameters. The problem partly lies with a tendency to over-schematize. We want to group people, programs, ideas, etc., into classified categories so we can say that this person was a humanist, that one a Protestant, this one a Puritan, and so on. This is how we often make sense of the past and the present. It was the same for sixteenth-century men and women. Words such as Lutheran, Calvinist, Anabaptist, Puritan, and Arminian all began as inaccurate pejorative stereotypes. The reality, of course, is that there was an enormous diversity of thought, activities, beliefs, attitudes, personalities, objectives, animosities, and fears in early modern England. Historians are now increasingly interested in difference and the particular. Peter Lake has repeatedly demonstrated the critical importance of delineating even small distinctions and contexts.7 Furthermore, as Kevin Sharpe has recently noted, we are in need of interdisciplinary studies of the period that examine the use of language in the construction of meaning.8 As we have already seen, Erasmian texts were malleable and constantly reconstructed by translators, editors, publishers, and readers. This will become even more apparent in the next chapter when we observe Erasmus in the hands of early Stuart Protestants of the more zealous variety. What we find in the Elizabethan use of Erasmus is not a single Erasmus, let alone any sort of coherent entity we could call humanism. Instead, we find a methodology for ascertaining and exploring the evolving construction of opposing rhetorics and mental world views. Humanism can still function as a useful term, but with rapidly diminishing value into the reign of Elizabeth I.9 In part, this is because of humanist success and public acceptance of humanist values.10 High quality education was valued for both clergy and laity and students learned their lessons through the study of biblical, classical, and patristic worlds, often as transmitted through

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Erasmian texts.11 James McConica writes that Erasmus’ Greek New Testament ‘is remembered as his most important achievement. This is partly because his profound influence in other spheres, especially in education and Christian piety, became virtually invisible by its general absorption into the mainstream of European thought: the presence of his Adages throughout the works of Shakespeare is an illustrative example.’12 Furthermore, the label ‘humanism’ only holds great value when one can discover its opponents. Some scholars have pointed to a rise in Aristotelianism, but even so, the case can be made that the study of logic was joined to a humanistic education, rather than functioning in opposition to it.13 By the mid-sixteenth century humanism had become diffused into the cultural fabric of England and new controversies and new stereotypes were demanding attention.14 Aspects of humanism continued in almost all branches of scholarship, religion, and politics, but these elements no longer evolved based on early sixteenth-century humanist norms. Both Erasmus, and humanism more generally, functioned as subtexts, or pre-texts, within Elizabethan culture. As such, the thematic study of Erasmus in Elizabethan England provides deeper insight into both Elizabethan religious culture and the evolution of humanist thought. A useful model for understanding the relationship between humanism and Protestantism in England is found in Erika Rummel’s study of humanism in Germany. Rummel has shown how humanism and the Reformation developed simultaneously and, then, how the highly charged religious and theological issues of the Reformation soon superseded the scholarly debates of the humanist movement. Humanism, however, continued to be a powerful cultural force within limits placed by religious confessionalization. The Reformation diverted significant humanistic sources into its own channel, but did not harness its entire stream of thought. The subordinate role that humanism played because its appeal was limited to the educated class meant that its champions could not impose their views on the religious protagonists at will; rather, the extent and the area of their contribution to the debate was determined by the religious movement.15

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Humanism was a distinct movement, but its ideals and methods were largely diverted down intellectual channels created by the Reformation. After the Reformation, humanists learned to function within ‘a controlled and circumscribed sphere.’ Humanism was ‘no longer distinct because the protagonists of the debate had transformed it to suit their own purposes, had made it their own through confessionalization.’16 This is as true for England as for the Germany of Rummel’s analysis and Erasmus is a prime example of this rapidly changing and developing English public sphere. Margo Todd has also examined the connections between humanism and confessionalized Protestantism, specifically the role of humanism in the formation of English social ideology.17 Puritans, according to Todd, derived much of their social and familiar values from Erasmus and other Christian humanists. English Calvinists, especially the more zealous sort we now refer to as Puritans, were influenced by a large variety of texts. The Bible was important, but it was not the only text Puritans used to frame political, theological, and social understandings of their world. Todd writes that ‘the impact of humanist writings and editions of classical works on early modern social theory cannot be ignored. It must no longer be regarded as an adequate explanation of sixteenth-century innovations in social regulation and seventeenthcentury political activism to point to the Protestant response to a perceived Scriptural mandate.’18 Todd contends that Puritans developed their social theories based on classical and humanist texts, including those written by Desiderius Erasmus.19 These Puritans, she continues, ‘might not have consciously identified themselves as Christian humanists; they were certainly aware of their theological divergence from Erasmus and More. But in at least one area – social thought – they were deeply and often explicitly indebted to the biblical and classical interpretations of the humanists.’20 Todd’s research on student notebooks at Oxford and Cambridge demonstrated that humanist thought was still well known in Elizabethan and Jacobean England. Puritan humanists, however, also recognized that their theology differed from that of Erasmus. Todd, therefore, purposely removed Erasmus’ theological thought from her definition of English Erasmianism. She is certainly correct in tracing many Puritan social concepts back to Erasmus and other humanists. The previous chapter provided additional examples of these connections. Erasmus, however, was

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always a problematic source for English Protestants, especially zealous Calvinists. Ian Green has pointed out correctly that both Puritan and non-Puritan educational and religious thought ‘shared a common basis in Christian humanist thought.’21 Erasmus could well have influenced aspects of Puritan social thought while simultaneously inspiring decidedly non-Puritan, even anti-Puritan, theological ideas in others. As we saw in the last chapter and will again below, Puritans could be highly critical of Erasmus while conformists would use Erasmus and his theological approach to attack first Puritanism and, eventually, Calvinism. Humanism did not fade away in the middle of the sixteenth century and humanist authors, such as Erasmus, remained standard fare in university curricula.22 Todd demonstrates that university students who later became Puritan leaders were influenced by Christian humanism in two ways: first, they read large quantities of the classics and the church fathers, something demanded by the early humanists; and second, they read the works of the humanists themselves, especially those by Erasmus. Todd writes that ‘for at least the century and a half following Erasmus’ death, puritan readers were entirely typical of their less zealous contemporaries in imbibing large quantities of humanist literature, and that their taste for it had been developed in part by their educational experiences.’23 Though Todd only focuses on Puritans, both Puritans and non-Puritans received what can clearly be described as a humanist and Erasmian-laced education throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The frequency and variety of direct references supports both the argument for the continuity of humanism and the argument that humanism, as a cohesive movement, no longer existed. It is in various Elizabethan cultural, political, and religious movements that elements of humanism continued to shape how people interpreted their world and then sought to justify that interpretation. The prevalence of Erasmus in early modern religious discourse also raises interesting questions about the Elizabethan public sphere. Peter Lake and Steve Pincus have recently suggested that the development of a public sphere in Elizabethan England created a ‘mode of political maneuver and public politics.’24 While Lake and Pincus are careful to delineate a ‘series of public spheres,’ they also state that ‘many of the first and most sophisticated attempts to appeal to and mobilize various publics emanated from the center of the regime itself.’25 I argue below

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that what we see at work, as part of the Erasmian legacy, is the adoption of an Erasmian style by the Elizabethan religious establishment to shape and pacify public opinion while also building a coherent and defensible religious world view for conformists, most critically the clergy.26 Though this study is not devoted to a theoretical or material reconstruction of the early modern public sphere, tracing the Erasmian trajectory does provide additional support for the notion of a public sphere where rhetoric and printed texts were critical public elements in the evolution of religious perspectives, vocabulary, beliefs, conflicts, and, ultimately, violence. By paying careful attention to the Erasmian facets within religious rhetoric we can better comprehend how authors hoped to shape the way early modern English men and women understood the world in which they lived.27 While authors from across the Elizabethan religious spectrum sought to use Erasmus as an authority on ancient texts, it was not Puritans, but rather conformists and anti-Calvinists who used an Erasmian style to shape public discourse over issues of truth, unity, peace, and conformity. e r a s m us a n d t h e r h e t o r i c o f c o n f o r m i t y Before moving forward to English Erasmian echoes I want to return, briefly, to Erasmus’ The Complaint of Peace and Enchiridion. These texts, along with the discussion of Erasmian theology and rhetoric in the Paraphrases in chapter 2, can serve as models of the Erasmian religious style as transmitted into England. At the core of the Erasmian perspective were the absolute Christian doctrines of peace and unity, pax et concordia.28 Based on his theories of peace and concord, Erasmus structured his rhetoric in such a way that doctrinal controversy was positioned as the greatest threat and evil, rather than the theological errors behind the divergent beliefs. The true heresy was the public dispute itself, not differences of opinion.29 However, if doctrinal differences were approached in the proper manner they would not threaten the unity of the church. Erasmus created a theological methodology with the end goal being the internal reform of pious believers while maintaining unity and order.30 The Complaint of Peace, while raising ‘peace’ to doctrinal status, also contained a rhetorical polemic against those who would use doctrine to drive a wedge between Christians and destroy unity within the body of Christ. While appeals to peace were, of course, endorsed by nearly everyone, not

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all English men and women were willing to place peace above all other concerns. Francis Hastings wrote: For I confesse, Dulce est nomen pacis; res vero ipsa, tum iucunda, tum salutaris. And yet can I not subscribe to this blinde Peace-makers desire, that longeth for a Peace to the dishonour of God, and laboureth by a Peace to bring in his Idoll worship againe amongst us: but I heartelie pray to my God, to preserve us from such a Peace, and with Erasmus I affirme, Melior est talis pugna, quae Deo proximum facit, quàm pax illa quae à Deo separat. But if such a Peace may be had, as may not preiudice a good Conscience in the truth of Religion we now holde, nor impeach the safetie of our deare Queene, nor hazard bondage to our Countrie, by the government of forrainers and strangers; blessed bee that Peace-maker, and God almightie graunt us such a Peace all our daies.31 For Hastings, Erasmian peace and Erasmian rhetoric were good, but only within limits. There was another rhetorical argument, however, that went along with Erasmus’ positioning of peace, unity, and conformity as the fundamental doctrines of the Christian church. Rather than directly challenge doctrines which differed from his beliefs, Erasmus suggested that they were ultimately mysterious and should therefore be considered adiaphora. Any loss of unity over adiaphora was both foolish and wrong. Moreover, peace, concord, and order should be maintained by keeping disputes over intractable mysteries out of the public sphere.32 Erasmus’ major complaint about Luther was his public and aggressive confrontational style – not necessarily his theological points. Erasmus therefore structured a theological methodology that praised unity and conformity, while condemning public confrontation and invective. Many English authors used precisely the same argument in their sermons, treatises, and polemical works. Ironically, a central element in conformist rhetoric directed at the public was the argument that the public sphere should be kept tranquil by keeping controversial topics away from the public. It should not surprise us that many English Protestants, steeped in notions of personal Bible reading and individual grace, would be drawn to more zealous doctrinal approaches. Conformists were thus engaged in a difficult popularity struggle, making the rhetoric of

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peace and unity all the more essential. Robert Faulkner has noted similar rhetoric in Richard Hooker’s attempts to restructure the English church on a different base than the thought and memory of Luther and Calvin. As Faulkner has stated, ‘It is hard to explain Hooker’s reticence with respect to Luther and Calvin, and his manipulation of Calvin’s authority, unless for aims similar to Erasmus’s.’33 Hooker’s case (which we will examine in more detail later), the call for moderate rhetoric, was a carefully calculated part of a highly charged religious polemic. Issues regarding God’s nature and the process of salvation were high mysteries, so deep that they could never be made into articles of faith. To do so publicly created disputes and destroyed peace and unity. It was better to stress, rhetorically, the mystery of such issues and then focus on peaceful and pious living. Erasmus was engaging in some dissimulation since his very notion of pious and peaceful living demanded a modicum of free will, which would naturally occur if debates over predestination were removed from the public sphere. As we shall see, seventeenth-century Arminians would specifically censor such debate for similar reasons. The methodological rhetoric of doctrinal mystery was not neutral but could be employed to strengthen or weaken various theological positions. The 1576 English edition of the Enchiridion continued to make Erasmus’ theological world view available to English readers. The Enchiridion was already a classic early Reformation era text that focused on encouraging the quest for true inner spirituality and piety. In a sense this fit well with Protestantism, but, with the focus more on pious living and love within the universal church, there was also a clear divergence from the thought of Luther and Calvin. Perhaps more important, and what readers would have read first, was Erasmus’ letter to Paul Volsius, which was included in William How’s 1576 edition. In this letter Erasmus wrote that the intricacies of the theologians were irrelevant and did not lead to salvation, but that ‘Christ would that the way should be plaine and open for every man, and that not by inexplicable crokes of disputacions, not able to resolved, but by a true and sincere faith and charytie.’34 Predestination, as spelled out by the highly popular William Perkins, specifically denied that Christ died for all human beings. Rather, Christ died only for the elect. Perkins then developed theories and charts detailing the various temporal and eternal stages that both the elect and reprobate moved through.35 The Erasmian emphasis, however,

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was not so much on soteriological theory, but on the dangerous and anti-Christian nature of public theological disputation. In the context of how infighting Christians must look to the Turks, Erasmus suggested that public theological disputations were not about Christianity at all, but rather about ambition, greed, and popularity.36 Puritans answered accusations that there was religious division among English Protestants in two ways. On the one hand, they argued that disunity was a sign of truth because the devil attacked truth, whereas he left Catholic nations in peace and safety. On the other hand, they argued that there really was unity among true English Protestants. Those causing English disunity were influenced by Catholicism.37 This, of course, was the inverse of the Erasmian arguments used by the Elizabethan establishment. Given the widespread use of Erasmian texts, including English editions of the Paraphrases, The Complaint of Peace, and the Enchiridion, it is not surprising that English authors echoed Erasmus’ theological methodology and rhetoric to support and propagate their vision for the English church. Those who found this approach most effective were those who wanted to use the public image of ‘moderation’ to encourage peace and unity, order and conformity. During the reign of Elizabeth I, an Erasmian rhetorical style and theological methodology, which stressed the importance of theological mystery, played a critical role in the struggle over the theological nature of the English church. In analysing this rhetoric, we must remember that, as in the case of Erasmus himself, the rhetoric for mystery and concord was not inherently peaceful, but could be a powerful polemical argument. Not surprisingly then, such rhetoric sometimes met with strong criticism. This was the case with a sermon preached before Elizabeth by John Young in 1575, which was then printed, cum privilegio, in 1576. A close look at this sermon is valuable as an example of a coherent antiPresbyterian and anti-Puritan argument in the Erasmian rhetorical tradition. The 1570s also mark a change in the religious polemics of Elizabethan England. Prior to this, much of the theological disputation took place between Catholics and defenders of English Protestantism. In the 1570s the polemical battles shift inward as those denounced as Puritans and Presbyterians sought further reform of the English church.38 John Young’s sermon was based on Psalm 131 and condemned people who were ‘high minded,’ in this case meaning those who delved into theological mysteries that were not their concern and that were divisive

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when dealt with publicly. According to Young, this sermon ‘was not well taken in part of some of the hearers.’39 Alan Herr believes that Elizabeth was displeased with Young’s sermon and that its subsequent publication represents an attempt by Young to defend himself against royal displeasure.40 This interpretation seems unlikely, however, given the facts that Elizabeth soon made Young bishop of Rochester, that the sermon was later published with royal support, and that its rhetoric was soon to become a recognizable part of royal policy against Presbyterianism in the 1570s and 1580s. Nearly all of the bishops appointed during the 1570s were, according to Patrick Collinson, ‘wholly unsympathetic to the puritan cause.’41 A few years after Young’s sermon, Elizabeth appointed the strongly anti-Puritan Whitgift as archbishop of Canterbury. Young’s sermon, which developed Erasmian rhetoric against public theological disputation, was an early salvo against English nonconformity. Nonconformists, in Young’s mind, were ‘high minded’ in two ways. First, they looked above themselves and challenged the queen’s authority. Second, their lack of humility led them to inquire into obscure doctrines that were better left to learned leaders in the church. Young’s sermon was based on Psalm 131:1. Bemoaning the spreading lack of humility in England, he wrote, ‘My heart is not exalted, I am not hye minded. Which is a thing amongst men, as times be now, rather to be wished and desired, then to be hoped for. Humility, lowlines of mind, was evermore in the world a rare vertue, but never more rare and harde to find then at this day.’42 English people were constantly discussing and questioning both the royal government and, even worse, the government of the church.43 Young then connected the theological high-mindedness with political sedition. Those who were not religiously humble were associated with various seditious traitors from English history, such as Jack Cade, Jack Straw, and Watt Tyler.44 Young called on his audience to be humble before God, the queen, and those in places of high authority. Those who did not conform were ‘immoderate,’ ‘ambitious,’ and destroyed the unity and peace of the land. How was it possible to recognize these individuals? They were those who were ‘presumptuous’ and publicly debated God’s secret mysteries. They attempted to understand God’s decisions, such as the workings of God’s predestination. Such mysteries should be left alone in order to maintain the unity and peace of both church and commonwealth.

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Things such as election and reprobation were, according to Young, ‘great matters’ that should be kept out of the public sphere.45 To inquire into the secrets of God was a ‘great and intollerable presumption.’46 Young wrote that ‘there were evermore in the world, and are at this day certaine vaine men, whose whole delyght and felicitie hath ben and is, to moove and dispute certayne vayne, curious, and unnecessary questions touchyng those thinges which I named before, and other, but cheefely touching almightie God hym selfe, his counselles and doynges, both before the worlde was made, and synce.’47 Young’s solution was for people to focus on that which pertained to their own station in life and not to look above themselves.48 They should peacefully worship, mind their own affairs and calling, and not question the authority or doctrines presented to them by the monarch or the episcopacy. Peace and unity, not doctrines, should be the people’s focus. Good Christians put away ‘pryde and arrogancie’ and are humble, pure, and clean like a child.49 However, ‘hell fyre’ was the destiny for ‘suche presumptuous and busie fooles’ as those who inquired into ‘howe almyghtie GOD was occupyed and spent his tyme before the worlde was made.’50 Conformity, the ultimate goal of Young’s sermon, was supported by the rhetoric of mystery and humility and maintained by a demand for public silence on doctrines such as predestination, which Young termed the ‘secretes of God and of religion.’51 Young’s objective, like Erasmus’, was to maintain Christian concord while avoiding the dangers of sedition and religious hatred and violence. Young finally indicated, at the end of his sermon, that the ‘aucthoritie of princes, the duetie and obedience of subiectes towardes them’ was also at stake.52 Young’s generalized critique of Calvinism was a reaction to the rise of Calvinist Presbyterianism in the 1570s and 1580s and was in line with Elizabeth’s views. It is also worth noting that it was John Young, in his role as bishop of Rochester, who ordained William Laud, the future archbishop and scourge of Puritans, as a deacon and priest in 1601.53 The point here is not that John Young was reading Erasmus and decided to employ Erasmian rhetorical devices to support English unity and conformity, though that may have been the case. Rather, by locating Young’s rhetoric within an Erasmian legacy we can better appreciate the development of competing religious perspectives and styles within English culture. English readers would have found similar language in the introduction to

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a new 1577 edition of Sir Thomas Chaloner’s 1549 translation of The Praise of Folly. Chaloner specifically used Erasmus to make the same point Young was making, that people should not reach above themselves. According to Chaloner, in the preface: And seeinge the vices of our dayes are suche as can not yenough be spoken against, what knowe we if Erasmus in this booke, thought good betweene game and earnest to rebuke the same? And chiefely to perswade (if it might be) a certayne contentation in every man, to holde hym agreed with such lot and state of lyvyng, as aryseth to him … In as much as the high God, who made us all of one earth, hath neverthelesse chosen some to rule, and more to serve. Whereat so much lacketh, that the inferioures shoulde repyne, as rather set in the meaner degree, they should thanke God the more: without aspyring to thynges above their reach.54 In the minds of many Elizabethan authorities, the root cause of a destabilized nation or culture came from high-mindedness; and one aspect of looking above oneself was theological over-curiosity and the public disputation of theological dogma. This is one reason why Elizabeth refused to support ‘prophesyings,’ the public preaching festivals designed to provide training for poor clergy.55 E.J. Devereux indicates that, just as Chaloner’s publication was directed at the contentious religious tendencies during the reign of Edward VI, so too were later translations of the Praise of Folly ‘inspired by the sectarian squabbling of the age.’56 One of the great theological and ecclesiological confrontations in Elizabethan England took place between John Whitgift, Elizabeth’s archbishop of Canterbury from 1583 until his death in 1604, and Thomas Cartwright, referred to, on occasion, as the father of Presbyterianism. The story of that confrontation is covered elsewhere.57 What concerns us here is Whitgift’s adoption of Erasmian rhetorical arguments to construct and support a coherent position for the English church in opposition to that espoused by Puritans, such as Cartwright.58 During Elizabeth’s conflict with Archbishop Grindal in the 1570s, and then during his disgrace from 1577 to 1583, Whitgift became the leading spokesman for Elizabeth I’s Settlement and episcopal church. He also spearheaded a policy of crushing Presbyterian sedition.59 We saw in the last chapter how familiar

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Whitgift was with the writings and theology of Erasmus. At the heart of Whitgift’s arguments against Cartwright, Puritans, and Presbyterians was a concept of peace, order, and the correct understanding of adiaphora. Whitgift argued that the church was established and ‘settled, not only in truth of doctrine, as before is noted, but also in order of thinges externall touching the government of the church and administration of the Sacramentes.’60 He did not argue that other reformed churches, such as those in Geneva and the Netherlands, were wrong to establish a different form of church practice or structure. For Whitgift, these things were adiaphora. Puritanism and Presbyterianism would lead to strife, disunity, and the destruction of Christianity. Whitgift continued: Wherefore the controversie is not whether many of the thinges mentioned by the platformers, were fitlie used in the Apostles time, or may now be well used in some places, yea or be conveniently used in sundrye reformed Churches at this day. For none of these braunches are denyed, neither do we take upon us (as we are slaundered) either to blame or to condemne other Churches for such orders as they have received most fit for their estats. But this is the whole state of our controversie, when we of this Church, in these perillous dayes, do see that we have a greate number of hollowe hartes within this Realme that daylie gape for alteration of Religion, and many mightie & great enimies abroade busilie devising and working to bring the same to passe, and to overthrowe the state both of religion and of the Realme.61 In Whitgift’s mind, there was an established doctrinal and ecclesiastical order for the Church of England and, though many so-called Puritans did not find English doctrine sufficiently reformed, Whitgift maintained that the only real disagreement was over issues of adiaphora. The ‘settled order in doctrine and government’ was established by law and ‘godlie and Christian wisdome.’62 Faith, holiness, peace, and order were what really mattered. These for Whitgift were the great Christian doctrines and it was over lesser issues that Puritans and Presbyterians were willing to destroy the English church. They were willing to break the law, which was sedition, and bring ‘vnquietnes’ to the church and ‘that for matters externall onlye, and with such egernesse and bitternesse, that they deface and discredite the whole state

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of this Church.’63 Adopting a rhetorical position that was highly similar to that of Erasmus, Whitgift defined the central religious beliefs of his opponents as adiaphora, while simultaneously locating peace and order among the greatest Christian truths. Cartwright responded to the argument based on adiaphora with disgust.64 Christ and the devil could not agree. Therefore, it was not that difficult to tell truth from falsehood. Whitgift was claiming that truth and error were mysterious and difficult to sort out, which was the devil’s plan. Cartwright’s conclusion hinted at the demonic nature of the episcopacy. As Nathan Johnstone has shown, it was here, in the debates between Cartwright and Whitgift, and then even more so in the Marprelate pamphlets and the conformists’ response, that both conformists and Presbyterians began to locate the agency of the devil in their opponents.65 Whitgift also made an Erasmian distinction between external and internal spirituality. He then applied this to the government of the English church. He emphatically denied that his support for the established church implied a similar attempt to control the internal and spiritual church of Christ. That internal church was governed by Christ, who spiritually ‘governeth his Church, and reignyng in the conscienees of the faithfull, guydeth their myndes in all matters of devotion, faith and holynesse: and this is the spirituall kingdome of Christ, so much spoken of in the scriptures, and speciallie in the Prophets: of this kynde of government I meane not.’66 The internal church was a spiritual realm that was not under the control of the English government. That government did, however, have a responsibility regarding external spirituality: ‘That the worde be trulie taught, the sacramentes rightlie administred, vertue furthered, vice repressed, and the Church kept in quietnes and order.’67 These were the core responsibilities of the church. Beyond these, however, scripture was ‘in some pointes left to the discretion and libertie of the Church, to be disposed according to the state of the tyme, places & persons.’68 Church consensus and tradition established these adiaphoric elements of church practice, belief, and structure. It is interesting that by the middle of Elizabeth’s reign the English church could use an argument of tradition, consensus, and settled religion to support particular usages in the domain of external adiaphora. One could hardly hope to find a more Erasmian perspective on internal piety joined with external peace and concord. This is not to say that Whitgift was an Erasmian. Far from it. There is really

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no question that Whitgift was a Calvinist and, as Peter Lake has shown, Whitgift argued that Calvin was also a conformist.69 What Whitgift had done, however, was to employ Erasmian rhetoric in defence of the reformed English church. There is another parallel here between Whitgift and Erasmus. Both men, for a brief time, believed that there was a broad unified consensus within their church. All that was needed for peace and true reformed internal Christianity was conformity, order, and obedience.70 In reality, Erasmus could not get the Catholic Church to endorse his image of the church and Whitgift would later lose the previously unstinting support of Elizabeth over his public support of a Calvinist interpretation of predestination. A decade later, Whitgift employed similar rhetoric in a sermon against English nonconformists, mainly zealous Calvinists who were rapidly becoming known as Puritans.71 Whitgift’s sermon, delivered in November 1583, the year he became archbishop, joined the rhetoric of peace and unity with that of conformity and obedience to the church. Echoing Erasmian sentiments, he told his audience ‘that the name of the Church, is a name of consent and concorde, and that therefore, they that are contentious, & make division, can not be said to be of the church.’72 In the English translation of The Complaint of Peace, Erasmus wrote, ‘Men by this way and meanes onely, must be savid, yf they among them selves doo nourysh mutual peace and concord.’73 Those who rejected peace and concord should not call themselves Christians: ‘Let them eyther leve of the glorye of the tytle of christyanitie, or else expresse the doctryne of Chryst by concorde.’74 Also echoing Erasmus, Whitgift believed unity was not something indifferent, he raised schism, or disunity, to the status of heresy.75 Other doctrines were less important than unity.76 Elizabeth and Whitgift were both convinced that the doctrine of peace and concord required absolute obedience to the episcopacy. For Whitgift, in his new position as head of the English church, this meant that a public message of obedience needed to flow from pulpits throughout England: ‘Wee that are Preachers must now especially teach obedience.’77 In 1575 George Gascoigne directly cited Erasmus in support of obedience: ‘Erasmus teacheth in his Apothegmes, that obedience expelleth al sedition & maynteyneth concorde: the which may also appeare by naturall reason and common experience, neyther shall they ever become able to beare rule them selves, whiche cannot bee content to obay the aucthoritie of

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others.’78 Whitgift ended his sermon by again stressing the Christian necessity of peace and love. He told his audience, ‘Peace and love is the liuerie that Christe giveth unto his Seruants: heereby shall all men knowe (saith hee) that yee are my Disciples, if yee love one another.’79 By the 1580s the Erasmian rhetorical legacy had become an intrinsic component of Elizabethan conformist polemic. Elizabeth demanded unity and Erasmus’ approach served extremely well. Peace and unity represented true Christianity; doctrinal disputes that threatened to divide the church were marks of heresy.80 Yet, the concept of adiaphora became, for Elizabeth and Whitgift, not a domain of freedom for the individual, as perhaps Erasmus had hoped, but an area that could be legislated based on interests of state.81 Moreover, as in Erasmus’ polemics, such rhetoric, while appearing moderate and peaceful, was a powerful method for marginalizing any person or group who challenged the authority of either the church or the monarch. As archbishop of Canterbury, Whitgift demanded ‘subscription,’ or full conformity with the church’s liturgy and structure. According to Diarmaid MacCulloch, this resulted in 300 to 400 ministers being deprived in the province of Canterbury alone.82 Whitgift may have employed moderate rhetoric, but many, even the Privy Council, found him anything but moderate in his zeal to fashion, legislate, and enforce the English via media.83 As discussed in the previous chapter, Whitgift often referred to Erasmus, especially as support for the existence of an ecclesiastical hierarchy in the apostolic church. Whitgift also chose to use the Erasmian rhetoric of peace, adiaphora, and unity in his battles with Presbyterians and other nonconformists. John Rainolds, the great Oxford Puritan who, as we examined in the previous chapter, regularly cited Erasmus and sought to meld humanist education with Calvinist theology, was the tutor of Richard Hooker.84 The student, however, eventually began to develop a theology that was significantly different from, and in many ways in opposition to, his master’s. Hooker’s Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, though not particularly significant during the late sixteenth century, became increasingly influential throughout the seventeenth century.85 The first four books were published in 1593 and the fifth book in 1597.86 The final three volumes were not ready for publication when Hooker died in 1600 and it was not until 1662 that a publication of the Lawes contained all eight books. While Hooker sought to avoid both Catholic sacramental soteriology and

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Pelagianism, he questioned the validity of predestination and maintained that, although the topic was ultimately mysterious and should be considered an adiaphoron, it was most logical to assume that God based predestination on his foreknowledge.87 At the core of Hooker’s work was the attempt to expand the realm of adiaphora so that the church hierarchy, based on scripture and the consensus of tradition, could maintain religious unity. As we saw in Whitgift, Hooker believed that the church had the right to legislate and demand conformity in areas indifferent to salvation. Hooker went far beyond Whitgift, however, by broadening the realm of adiaphora.88 In keeping with conformist rhetoric, Hooker declared that the unlearned laity and the lower clergy should defer to those with more learning on difficult points of scripture, and that discussion of predestination should be kept out of the public sphere.89 As Peter Lake states, the laity needed ‘on points of difficulty, to defer to the opinion of the learned, which Hooker used to deprecate the puritan tendency to broach even the most obscure points of doctrine (like predestination) to the people.’90 Where Whitgift sought to curtail public debate for the sake of episcopal order, Hooker did so as a challenge to Puritanism. By defining predestination as a difficult topic, which it most certainly was not for zealous Calvinists, Hooker was able to employ the language of ‘mystery’ and then demand that such topics be kept out of pulpits and presses. Even in the area of the sacraments, Hooker, like Erasmus, believed that simple devotion was far superior to debate.91 In the preface to the Laws, Hooker entreated the reader, ‘Hartily beseeching you even by the meeknesse of Iesus Christ, whome I trust ye love; that, as ye tender the peace and quietnesse of this Church, if there bee in you that gracious humilitie which hath ever bene the crowne and glory of a christianly disposed minde … let not the faith which ye have in our Lord Iesus Christ, be blemished with partialities.’92 For Hooker, moderation was a central element of true Christianity and there was a quiet ‘middle point of evennesse and moderation’ and a ‘course more calme and moderate.’93 The English church, said Hooker, had followed a ‘moderate kind’ of reformation, rather than the ‘extreme and rigorous’ approach of the Calvinists and papists.94 Gary Remer has noted the connection between Erasmus and Hooker’s views on religious conformity. According to Remer, Hooker used the adiaphora rhetoric of Erasmus to support conformity and the right of the English church to dictate practice in non-essential things.95 In essence, Erasmian style rhetoric had

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become a part, in Hooker and Whitgift, of anti-Puritan polemic.96 And, while it would be inaccurate to designate Hooker an Erasmian, given Hooker’s particular objectives and religious context, Erasmus remains the most complete antecedent to Hooker’s thought.97 For Hooker, like Erasmus, the epistemological problem was that knowledge was conditional. Most beliefs were therefore to be held as adiaphora. Religious chaos was avoided and some certainty found by prudent reliance on the consensus of tradition and the church.98 Whether Hooker found this methodology by reading Erasmus or not, it is apparent that Hooker’s theological approach was congruent with Erasmus’.99 Where Calvinists such as Whitgift and Andrew Willet, whose condemnation of Erasmus we will visit in the next chapter, portrayed themselves as via media moderates, Hooker positioned them as Puritans and, in so doing, attempted to locate Erasmian style adiaphorism in the moderate middle and to include predestination as a matter indifferent.100 While Erasmus’ rhetoric and methodology had previously been exploited by conformists, Hooker joined to it a critique of Calvinist predestination.101 Though a potentially destabilizing argument in the 1590s, a similar theological perspective was present in the English Paraphrases. This is undoubtedly the reason for Andrew Willet’s detailed critique of both Hooker and Erasmus in the early seventeenth century.102 Moderate Erasmian rhetoric was certainly meant to appear pacific and non-polemical, even anti-polemical; yet when placed in historical context it becomes apparent that moderate rhetoric was part of an ongoing battle for the future of the English church. e r as m us a n d a n t i - c a lv i n i st r h e t or i c Hooker’s approach in the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity was not so much a denial of predestination as it was a repudiation of its importance and discernibility. Hooker never fully abandoned Calvinism.103 However, his writings clearly challenged some of the basic precepts of the Calvinist faith in ways that similar rhetoric by Whitgift did not. The story of the debates over predestination, which began in earnest in the 1590s, is most fully recounted in works by Nicholas Tyacke and Peter Lake.104 According to Tyacke, although Antonio del Corro was discussing free will theology as early as 1576 in Oxford, the real story of anti-Calvinism began with Peter Baro’s critique of predestination and the Calvinist

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response, which came in the form of the Lambeth Articles in 1595.105 In most accounts of English opposition to Calvinism, anti-predestinarianism simply appears in the 1590s. How does an understanding of Erasmus’ legacy contribute to a historical account of the rhetorical origins and nature of Elizabethan antiCalvinism? What I am suggesting here is that anti-predestinarian thought was present in England in the writings and thought of Erasmus and, to a lesser degree, in that of Melanchthon, who had moved away from Luther’s views on predestination.106 It was, in fact, non unusual for anti-Calvinists and, later, Arminians, to cite Melanchthon as an authority.107 It is also not uncommon for historians to mention Lutheranism as a precursor to notions of an English via media or the rise of Arminianism.108 Arminius, almost certainly, was influenced by both Erasmus and Melanchthon.109 We do not need to minimize the role of Melanchthon in order to highlight the influence of Erasmus.110 For Protestants wishing to legitimize free will theology, references to the Protestant Melanchthon had definite advantages over references to the Catholic Erasmus. Erasmus’ legacy was, however, much broader, deeper, and more firmly established in English religious culture. As I have suggested, the fundamental element in opposition to first Puritanism and then Calvinism more generally, was a rhetorical and methodological approach originating in an Erasmian world view. Some English texts also noted that Melanchthon got his Pelagianism from Erasmus.111 Until 1580, Lutheranism was internally torn between Philipists and gnesio-Lutherans over whether to follow Melanchthon or Luther on the doctrine of predestination. Only in 1577, with the ‘Formula of Concord’ and then the Book of Concord in 1580, did the Lutheran church accept Melanchthon’s interpretation over that of Luther and then move to enforce unity on the issue throughout Lutheran cities and principalities.112 The Concord, however, also went against Melanchthon’s views on the sacraments, which were more in line with those of the Reformed churches. While there were references to Melanchthon’s theory of salvation in England prior to 1580, it is in the 1580s and beyond that English Protestants could speak of Lutheranism as fundamentally different from the reformed soteriological tradition. Even before 1580, however, Lutheranism had become highly unpopular in England.113 According to Basil Hall, ‘it is difficult to find an Elizabethan writer approving of Lutheran teachings and methods of worship and advocating them apart

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from those subjects which had become common to Protestantism, including justification by faith.’114 Given the dominance of Calvinist thought in England, it is not surprising to find widespread criticism of Lutheranism. Anti-Calvinists, conversely, eventually saw this new Lutheranism as an attractive, alternate, Protestant path, especially given its renewed focus on worship and the sacraments, which Melanchthon had not supported. While the vast majority of English divines adhered to Calvinist predestination, free will theology was always present as a subcurrent of English thought. More important, the Erasmian rhetorical approach, which developed in the context of anti-Puritanism and anti-Presbyterianism, was adopted by English anti-Calvinists. Both Puritans and anti-Calvinists would soon realize that silence in the public sphere on the issue of predestination would benefit the anti-Calvinists. Although Whitgift subscribed to Calvinist theology and eventually supported the Lambeth Articles of 1595, which contained explicit language supporting Calvinist predestination, his policy was to follow Erasmus’ advice and stress peace, love, unity, and conformity, while curtailing public debate on the topic. Both Whitgift’s approach and the publication of the Lambeth Articles are contrarian indicators that significant voices were starting to question Calvinist orthodoxy.115 It is worth noting, however, that even as Whitgift stated his concurrence with full Calvinist Orthodoxy, as spelled out in the Lambeth Articles, he also maintained that the Articles were ‘private judgements.’116 This was a position of moderate, episcopal, and conformist Calvinism. The Erasmian attitude, evidenced in Young’s and Whitgift’s texts was also Elizabeth’s public policy for the government of the English church.117 Elizabeth realized that maintaining her authority over the English church required not simply ecclesiological and practical conformity, but also limitations on the public discussion of theological issues that could divide the church.118 The most important of these, of course, was predestination, which for some Puritan clergy was increasingly the mark that distinguished reformed Protestantism from the evils of Roman Catholicism and those resistant to true reform within English Protestantism. Elizabeth allowed such matters to be discussed privately, at universities, but she was very worried when divisive theological topics issued from pulpits or were printed in English.119 She also sought to curtail university discussion when divisions threatened to cause broader strife either within the church hierarchy or among

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the broader public. We must also remember that theologians, who argued over soteriology, had public applications in mind. In 1595, the same year as the Cambridge dispute which led to the Lambeth Articles, Robert Cecil, Lord Burghley, wrote to Archbishop Whitgift and told him that Elizabeth ‘mislikes much that any allowance hath been given by your grace and the rest of any point to be disputed of predestination being a matter tender and dangerous to week ignorant minds and thereupon requireth your Grace to suspend them.’120 It should not be surprising, therefore, that following the writing of the Articles, Whitgift insisted they were ‘private’ deliberations and judgments of theologians. Ultimately, however, the queen’s general opposition to predestination, and to public texts and sermons that dealt with the topic, made it difficult for the universities to punish members who challenged Calvinist doctrine. This became apparent in the case of Peter Baro, in which Whitgift, by favouring and signing the Lambeth Articles, lost much of the queen’s support that he had enjoyed through the 1570s and 1580s. The Puritan refusal to stop preaching about predestination almost guaranteed that Elizabeth would not support the removal of anti-Calvinist clergy and university fellows. Moderate Calvinists, such as Whitgift, were now caught in a very uncomfortable position between Elizabeth and anti-Calvinist clerics. As a result, his operational power to maintain Calvinist unanimity through strict control and the language of peace and concord was much reduced. Despite massive Calvinist opposition to a theology that a mere twenty years earlier would not have sparked much comment, a space was opened where anti-Calvinism was able to reemerge and spread. The queen was not aware that serious deliberations took place at Cambridge over the issue of predestination or that the Lambeth Articles had been produced as a response. William Whitaker, a Puritan supporter of the Articles, became concerned that he might anger his patron, Robert Cecil, if he did not make him aware of what Whitgift and the clerical establishment were doing. He therefore showed the Articles to Cecil, who then informed the queen.121 Humphrey Tyndall reported that, after examining the Articles, Cecil responded to the effect that ‘the matters were too high mysteries for his understanding and seemed to dislike of the propositions concerning predestination … drawing by a similitude a reason from an earthly prince inferring thereby they charged God of cruelty and might cause men to be

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desperate in their wickedness.’122 Peter Lake has suggested that Cecil’s response demonstrated modesty and even perplexity. This is likely the case, but Cecil’s reply was also very deliberate. What we see in Cecil’s response is precisely the position laid out by Erasmus and adopted by Elizabeth.123 The topic of predestination was a high mystery and those who thought they could clarify or, even worse, officially establish such a doctrine were ‘highminded.’ The basic assumption was that since the topic was mysterious, free will should not be condemned. From an Erasmian perspective, Cecil was not confused at all and gave precisely the correct rhetorical response. It is also telling that Cecil coupled his reference to ‘high mysteries’ with a ‘dislike’ of the propositions on predestination. Like Erasmus, Cecil’s rhetorical use of ‘mysteries’ was not neutral, but carefully designed to support a space for free will theology. It was also a less than subtle attack on the Lambeth Articles and Cecil later actively supported Baro and other anti-Calvinists.124 It was not modesty, but calculated rhetoric that drove Cecil’s response. Hugh Trevor-Roper has connected the free will theology and methodology of Peter Baro, John Overall, Richard Cosin, and Richard Hooker back to Erasmus and forward to seventeenthcentury Arminianism.125 Trevor-Roper did so, however, in order to suggest that Arminianism was irenic, tolerant, and part of an authentic and moderate form of Christianity stretching back to Erasmus and from there to the church fathers. Such an interpretation would tie in nicely with Anglicanism’s self-image. Yet, as we have seen throughout the study of Erasmus’ legacy, recourse to moderate rhetoric does not, in itself, indicate moderation, whatever that term was supposed to mean. Rather, the rhetoric of peace and concord was used to exert clerical control and to marginalize non-conformity. Peter Lake’s analysis of the polemical nature of these religious controversies is helpful here.126 According to Lake, Hooker sought to create a new theological foundation for the English church, without admitting to any form of novelty or innovation. Hooker’s works, however, did not make a terribly big impact since his polemical target was Presbyterianism, which by the time his books were published was no longer a significant threat to the English church.127 Advocates of limited free will, like Hooker, did not represent an Anglican position that filled a moderate or via media position in Elizabethan culture.128 Semi-Pelagian theology, which rhetorically attempted to position

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itself between a caricaturized Catholic works-based theology and Calvinist predestination, represented a minority position that many English Protestants saw as a threat to the very existence of English Protestantism.129 In 1583 the Puritan William Clarke did put Erasmus in the middle, but not in a positive way: ‘It is well knowen that howesoever Erasmus hovered betweene the gospel and poperie, he kept him selfe close, that hee might retaine his libertie.’130 A few years later we also find a reference to Erasmus being lost in a middle position. Richard Harvey, the brother of Gabriel Harvey, in his attempt to find a peaceful resolution within the English church following the appearance of the Martin Marprelate tracts, sought a moderate place between Puritanism and Whitgift’s version of conformity. Harvey opined: If I use indifferency, call me not Iohn Indifferent now, for my good will: or if I lay my helping hand, to the cure of such a broile, without breach of peace, or danger of riot; say not thou as an olde Pasquill said being in a traunce of that famouse and modest Clarke Erasmus, that I hang hovering in the mid way betwixt heauen and hell: He no doubt, misused, for fancie sake the memory of a good man deceased: and thou in so saying shouldst mistake the good meaning of one wel Disposed.131 Harvey saw himself as an Erasmian peace-maker, who would likely be derided for his efforts.132 By 1590, however, in Plaine Perceuall, Harvey leaned towards the Puritan side against Whitgift.133 Despite the overwhelming dominance of Calvinist theology, an increasing number of English theologians and clergy began presenting ideas that challenged the basic English Calvinist understanding of predestination, as defined by Calvin and William Perkins. While there were variations between these individuals, they generally did not explicitly condemn predestination, but held to a semi-Pelagian position that was very similar to the one Erasmus presented in De Libero Arbitrio, the Paraphrases, and his other works. In this understanding there was a divide between public and private interpretations of predestination. Publicly, predestination was presented as an area of incomprehensible mystery. Privately, anti-Calvinists viewed predestination as the result of God’s foreknowledge. God based his eternal predestined decree of salvation or damnation on his foreseen knowledge of the free

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choice human beings would make. That choice, according to Erasmus and his English successors, was simply a decision whether to accept or reject that freely offered grace. Piety and good works were important because they were part of an ongoing acceptance of grace. After all, as Erasmus, Hooker, Overall, and later the Arminians insisted, it was possible to fall away from grace. While there was no specific Erasmian influence on Hooker or other leading semi-Pelagian authors, we need to recognize that their ideas were not a new phenomenon in England. Rather than seeking direct influence, we should see Erasmian ideas as a latent part of English religious culture and the adoption of such Erasmian forms and ideas as functioning within an Erasmian tradition. Doing so provides a context for observing the use of these rhetorical models and makes that use and its polemical opposition much more understandable. John Jewel provides an earlier example of an author who lauded Erasmus, cited him often, was reported to have read all of Erasmus’ works, and held to a very similar position on the will.134 Though Calvinism had become the dominant theological world view by 1580, Erasmian ideas, while not part of mainstream English religion, were available to English readers through the wide distribution of his texts, both in Latin and in English, and had created a theological context for the rise of anti-Calvinism in the 1590s.135 More important, his theological rhetoric had become part of the mainstream and was heavily contested by various interests, all seeking to locate their understanding of truth in the ‘moderate’ middle and thus marginalize divergent beliefs by employing the rhetoric of unity, consensus, conformity, moderation, and peace. Ironically, a case for Erasmus’ influence on semi-Pelagian thought in England is easier to make from the writings of opponents of free will than from the writings of men such as Baro, Overall, Cosin, and Hooker. While English semi-Pelagians did not directly tie free will concepts to Erasmus, their opponents did. The most direct refutation of Erasmian theology would come in the writings of Andrew Willet early in the reign of James I. However, there were a number of texts that highlighted Erasmus’ false theology in Elizabethan England. Opposition to Erasmus’ free will theology began quite early in Elizabeth’s reign. Robert Crowley took up the predestination cause in a tract published in 1566.136 Crowley is most commonly remembered for his Puritan edition of Piers Plowman, in which he reinterpreted Piers

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Plowman as Reformation propaganda. It is rather interesting that Andrew Bostock, an English Catholic, refuted Crowley using a very Erasmian approach. According to John King, ‘Bostock returns to the traditional interpretation of Piers Plowman as an orthodox appeal for reform within the established church. Bostock’s refutation hinges upon Erasmian adiaphorism, which argues that many of Crowley’s revolutionary issues are doctrinally indifferent.’137 Crowley’s attack on Erasmus is important given the popularity Crowley enjoyed among the English godly and, even though Elizabeth deprived him of his benefices, he was supported by authorities of the City of London.138 In Crowley’s 1566 treatise on predestination, he created a dialogue between himself and Cerberus, the three-headed dog of hell, to debate the doctrine of predestination. He did not, however, argue against free will Pelagianism, but rather against a semiPelagianism that he believed was taking root in England. Cerberus meanwhile argued all of the central points from Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio and Paraphrases. He stated that nothing human beings do earns them the right to salvation. Human beings are sinful, do not deserve eternal life, and grace is entirely the free gift of God. Cerberus stated, ‘For the hatred of God and everlasting damnation are iust rewardes of mans evil deserving: but the love of God and everlasting life are free gyftes of God, for Christes sake wythout any part of mans owne deserving.’139 In these arguments, Cerberus, like Erasmus, was in agreement with predestinarians. They all agreed that grace was not created by human endeavour. Like Erasmus, however, Cerberus also insisted that this did not mean human beings lacked any choice in the matter of their salvation. Human beings, through faith, either accepted or rejected God’s freely offered grace. This was identical to Erasmus’ position. Crowley, of course, skilfully rebutted all of Cerberus’ arguments and demonstrated that if Cerberus retained any element of free will then he was not giving full power and authority to God. Cerberus, therefore, employed another of Erasmus’ favourite arguments: predestination was an unworkable social ideology. People who felt they were already either saved or lost had no spiritual incentive to do good works or even keep moral and secular laws. He rhetorically asked the following questions: Alas who seeth not the destruction of England to follow this doctrine? who seeth not the confusion of all common

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weales, to depend hereupon? What Prince may sit safely in the seat of his kingdome? What subject may live quietly possessing hys owne? What man shall be ruled by right of a lawe: if thys opinion may be perfectly placed in the heartes of the people?140 This fear of anti-nomianism is virtually the exact argument Erasmus made in De Libero Arbitrio. Crowley responded by insisting that such comments revealed that Cerberus did not really believe in grace and was still promoting Catholic works-based theology. In essence, Crowley’s text was an updated version for an English audience of the polemical debate carried on by Erasmus and Luther forty years earlier. Cerberus’ arguments follow Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio and Crowley’s replies were constructed from Luther’s De Servo Arbitrio. Crowley then put Erasmus to work against Cerberus. After Cerberus quoted from Augustine’s early treatise on free will, which Augustine later refuted, Crowley countered by stating that ‘Erasmus hath alreadie proved by sundrie good reasons, that S. Austen did never write it.’141 Of course, both Crowley and Erasmus were wrong; Augustine did write it, but he wrote it before he became convinced of God’s predestination of humanity. There is more than a little irony when Crowley browbeats Cerberus in writing, ‘Cerberus wyll not set a Louse by the judgement of Erasmus.’142 Cerberus, who was presenting Erasmus’ theology of free will, did not value Erasmus’ thought.143 Erasmus defeats Erasmus. Crowley summed up his arguments by stating that any form of free will theology stemmed from man’s ‘wilfull ignoraunce.’144 Antipredestinarians, he maintained, anthropomorphized God and therefore revealed that their theology originated with man and not God.145 Despite Crowley’s not unexpected victory over Cerberus, the dog of hell, such tracts further disseminated Erasmus’ arguments that some free will could still function with a theology of total grace. More important, this text demonstrates that, as early as 1566, the debate in England was not simply between Catholics and Calvinists, but between Calvinists and semi-Pelagians, which, at least early in Elizabeth’s reign, was most coherently articulated in the writings of Erasmus. By the end of Elizabeth’s reign, semi-Pelagianism was still being condemned, but with an even more specific correlation with Erasmus.146 In 1598 Hugh Ince translated into English Jacobus

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Kimedoncius’ Of the Redemption of Mankind Three Bookes, which defended the Heidelberg Catechism that would become the basis for ‘reformed’ theology. Kimedoncius, a professor at the Reformed seminary at Heidelberg, had, in 1576, been temporarily dismissed from his position at the seminary when Ludwig VI, a staunch Lutheran Philipist, became elector.147 The treatise was licensed by the future archbishop, the then bishop of London, Richard Bancroft, and this suggests that even though Bancroft was critical of the antinomian and social consequences of publicly preached predestination, he did not support anti-Calvinist theology.148 The third book in this compilation dealt with the issue of predestination and the error of semi-Pelagianism. Kimedoncius divided Pelagians into two groups: the old, which Augustine defeated, and the new, which Luther destroyed.149 For the old, Kimedoncius named Jerome and Chrysostom, while for the new he designated only one author, Erasmus.150 He wrote, ‘Among the new writers Erasmus maintaineth the same opinion. Neither do they seeme to be far from the same, who write in these manie words, that faith is the cause of election, and yet will not be pelagians. Let them bee then Semipelagians.’151 Kimedoncius knew that Erasmus, and those who followed his thought, such as Cerberus, denied that they were Pelagians. He therefore termed them ‘Semipelagians,’ which, for predestinarians, still stressed the heretical nature of the theology. Kimedoncius’ text presented the arguments of the semi-Pelagians and then rebutted them with references to Luther, Augustine, and the Bible. As with Crowley, Kimedoncius’ text drew from Luther’s De Servo Arbitrio.152 That text by Luther contained significant portions of Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio since Luther challenged Erasmus’ text on a point-by-point basis. Kimedoncius’ presentation of semi-Pelagianism was therefore an indirect transmission of Erasmus’ text, and the free will arguments throughout were Erasmian. The argument Kimedoncius spent the most time defeating was Erasmus’ contention that God’s foreknowledge determined God’s act of predestination.153 This theology was at the core of semi-Pelagianism; it was clearly evident in Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio and his Paraphrases and it was central to the thought of English anti-Calvinists. Kimedoncius naturally condemned such theology and insisted that grace was an absolutely free gift of God and did not depend on faith, either present or foreseen. Again challenging Erasmus, Kimedoncius wrote that

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Luther ‘upon the similitude of the potter and claie, answering the cavill, that this potter (as Erasmus in his Diatribe did interperet) maketh a vessell, to dishonour through precendent merits, as he reiected the Jews for unbeliefe, and received the Gentils for their faith.’154 Kimedoncius, relying on Luther’s text, then refuted Erasmian theology. He summed up his book by stating that any belief in free will was the result of ‘ungodly and malepart reason.’155 Although books such as that of Kemidoncius deplored semi-Pelagianism, their presence points to the existence of semiPelagianism in English society and, more important, they located Erasmus as the chief modern proponent of such theology.156 Both Erasmus’ own texts and the texts of those who opposed his ideas point to the continued significance of Erasmus on English religious thought. In the minds of some English Puritans, antiCalvinism did not begin with Baro, Overall, and Andrewes, but was already a well-established thread within English religion stretching back to the writings of Erasmus. Before Arminians ever entered the scene, Calvinists were waging a polemical war against Erasmian semi-Pelagians. Was Erasmus really a semi-Pelagian as Kimedoncius termed him? Marjorie Boyle argues that he was not. His diatribe De Libero Arbitrio was not dogmatic and did not make any doctrinal assertions, semi-Pelagian or otherwise. Rather than writing a polemic, Erasmus was initiating a polite discussion.157 There are two problems with this argument. First, we must be careful not to fall for Erasmus’ own rhetoric. Erasmus did have distinct beliefs, one of them being the freedom of the will, but instead of arguing directly for free will, he chose to argue for a religious and philosophical space where he and others could believe in free will if they so chose. To create that space required the repudiation of the doctrinal centrality of predestination and therefore the rhetorical sidelining of Luther’s position. The best way to do this was by presenting his argument within the framework of a polite discussion. The second problem with Boyle’s analysis, at least for the purposes of Erasmus’ English legacy, is that Erasmus’ contemporaries and future generations believed him to be a semi-Pelagian. We may be able to employ more accurate definitions of what semi-Pelagianism was or is, based on the careful analysis of both Erasmus and Pelagius, but sixteenth-century readers of Erasmus saw his insistence on the need for a tiny amount of free will as being part way to Pelagius’ theological position. Whether we agree

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or not, some early modern men and women, as evidenced in texts such as that of Kimedoncius, defined Erasmus as a semi-Pelagian. During Elizabeth’s reign, Erasmus’ writings and the works of English authors kept Erasmus’ theological ideas active within Elizabethan religious culture. On the one hand, Erasmus stressed doctrines such as free will, universal atonement, and conditional election. These doctrines challenged the predestination theology that increasingly characterized even moderate Calvinism in England. On the other hand, Erasmus raised peace and unity to doctrinal status and created a theological framework that was used by Elizabeth and her agents with great effectiveness. Early modern men and women viewed their world through a religious lens. That lens, though, was continually being fought over by powerful voices in church and state. At the core of this struggle over world view were questions of existence, purpose (both personal and national), and eternity. There was perhaps no bigger question for Elizabethans than ‘how am I saved?’ Yet, while issues over predestination and free will were critical, they were manifestations of a broader and more significant debate. The fundamental questions had to do with the nature of truth, how one discovered it, and what one then did with it. In practical terms, as Kevin Sharpe has pointed out, the ultimate divide was over ‘order.’158 But the divergence over the practice and rhetoric of ‘order’ was itself a symptom of the underlying question of personal hierarchies of doctrine. Elizabethan men and women had diverse and competing hierarchies of belief. Perhaps shaped by temperament as much as by biblical proof or clerical instruction, some placed pax et concordia at the top and were willing to accept, or silence, as the case may be, doctrinal conflicts, while others were convinced that truth was fundamentally doctrinal. When conformists attempted to impose their truth, which was peace and order, their opponents resorted to sermons, prophesyings, printed texts, and circulated manuscripts. Ironically, the public condemnation of religious division resulted in escalating public confrontations. We should not fail to notice, however, that Erasmian pacifism and the conflation of disunity with heresy were also based on particular interpretations of the ancient text and, perhaps unavoidably, favoured certain doctrinal positions. Elizabeth had reestablished Protestantism, but there were many forces within the country that threatened either to limit the

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authority of the queen or to fracture English Protestantism into a variety of competing Protestant groups.159 Elizabeth and her ministers sought to keep the church united and under royal control by adopting Erasmus’ methodology of stressing peace and unity and then placing limits on public debate.160 The Elizabethan church adopted this policy, told the clergy to be quiet about predestination and stressed the fundamental importance of unity and conformity. In the space created by this silence, nonCalvinist theology continued to exist in England and began to flourish in the 1590s. Public attempts to officially condemn antiCalvinism were curtailed by Elizabeth, ostensibly to keep the debate on predestination out of the public sphere. The result was that English Calvinists were unable to move aggressively against what they saw as semi-Pelagian heresy. How does this analysis of Erasmus’ legacy enhance our understanding of English religious history during the Elizabethan era? There is a general consensus among historians that Calvinism gradually came to dominate the religious culture of Elizabethan England. The Elizabethan church was not an Anglican via media between Catholicism and Calvinism, nor did it prefigure the development or theology of post-Restoration Anglicanism.161 Throughout Elizabeth’s reign, attempts were constantly made to form a via media, but almost exclusively, until Hooker, these attempts were conducted within the context of Calvinism.162 By stressing the importance of Erasmus’ English legacy, I am not attempting to reassert the idea that semi-Pelagianism was part of a mainstream middle ground.163 Hooker’s failed attempt to make this argument points to the marginality of semi-Pelagian thought.164 What I have argued is that Erasmus’ methodology played a formative role in the rhetoric of conformity and that his theological beliefs continued to help shape the religious culture of England. Erasmus’ legacy was gaining strength during the last decades of Elizabeth’s reign and, when tied to semi-Pelagianism, presented a significant challenge to English Calvinism. This movement rapidly gained momentum and, according to Nicholas Tyacke, ‘had Elizabeth been succeeded by someone in the same religious mould the ascent of Arminianism avant la lettre would probably have been much faster. As it was their leading lights, like Lancelot Andrewes who privately identified with Baro during the 1590s, had largely to contain themselves in silence under the Calvinist James I.’165 Was Erasmus’ theological legacy a

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necessary precondition for this movement of the 1590s? Neither conformist rhetoric nor semi-Pelagian theology developed ex nihilo. Both were clearly elucidated as part of a coherent theological framework by Erasmus in the first half of the sixteenth century and transmitted to Elizabethan England through a wide variety of published texts.

F IVE

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‘Therefore take your Puritane Punke with you, you have made her a holy sister; I, and Permenco, will goe seeke some other young Mistris.’1 So wrote Erasmus to conclude his colloquy Adolescentis et scorti. In reality, this was not Erasmus, but part of a new Puritan ending affixed to Erasmus’ colloquy and sold under the title The Picture of a Wanton. The Puritan, F.S., did indicate in the introduction that he was manipulating and augmenting Erasmus’ text, but within the text itself there was no distinction between what came from Erasmus and what was added by F.S. For English readers who were familiar with either the Latin Colloquies or William Burton’s 1606 English edition of seven Colloquies, F.S.’s remarkable alterations were obvious. For many readers, however, this text represented the Erasmus they, and perhaps earlier Protestants like Coverdale and Foxe, wanted to believe in – aggressive, zealous, Protestant. Luther and Calvin were hated and loved, but their images were much more stable than Erasmus’, which was alternatively made to appear Catholic, Puritan, or somewhere vaguely in the middle. There is some irony in this, as Lisa Jardine has shown, given Erasmus’ determination to construct his own iconic image before he died.2 Whether or not he was successful then, by the early seventeenth century his image and legacy in England were being shaped by the religious controversies that plagued early Stuart England. Between the death of Elizabeth I in 1603 and the execution of Charles I in 1649, English presses printed a significant number of Erasmus’ works. Both Latin and English editions built on his Elizabethan popularity and continued to make his religious thought widely available. Publishing houses in London printed

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Latin editions of the Dicta Sapientum, Apophthegmata, Adagia, Epistolarum, and Colloquia.3 Increasing educational demand resulted in editions of the Colloquies in 1602, 1608, 1624, 1634, 1639, 1643, and twice in 1649. In addition to eight Latin editions of the Colloquies between 1602 and 1649, William Burton compiled the first substantial English translation in 1606. English editions of one and sometimes two colloquies were also published and modified to support various religious agendas. Thomas Heywood, Robert Snawsel, and the anonymous F.S. all found specific colloquies useful in their attempts to influence the religious culture of the English church. Before turning to an analysis of the influence and cultural impact of Erasmian ideas in early Stuart England in the next chapter, this chapter begins by focusing on the publications by Burton, Snawsel, F.S., and Heywood. The last half of the chapter turns to an examination of the various ways early Stuart authors used Erasmus’ name and texts in their own publications. Early Stuart authors, similar to those of previous generations, found Erasmus to be both authoritatively useful and sufficiently malleable for a wide variety of purposes. Great esteem for Erasmus predominated, but what stands out is the marked increase in criticism of Erasmus from within English Protestantism, rather than from Catholics. r e w r i t i n g e r a s m u s i n e a r ly s t ua r t e n g l a n d Erasmian texts, as we have already seen, were far from stable.4 The rapid expansion of the printing industry did not ‘fix’ texts, but rather allowed for local cultures to craft, in the words of Adrian Johns, ‘their own meanings with and for such objects.’5 While Johns was not specifically referring to Erasmus, the texts examined below reveal just how far English publishers were willing to go in constructing their own meanings out of Erasmian texts. Rather than pen new treatises themselves Burton, Snawsel, F.S., and Heywood chose to translate, edit, and manipulate the writings of Erasmus.6 Each of these editors had particular religious and social objectives in mind and felt that Erasmus’ texts could help them make their points and garner an interested audience. All four, to varying degrees, disagreed with Erasmus’ theology, as it was expressed in the very texts they were publishing. They wanted to use Erasmus, but not before recasting his texts to correspond better with their own diverse goals for English

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Protestantism. Although these four texts do suggest that Erasmus remained a popular, respected, and, perhaps, an authoritative voice in early Stuart England, the creative techniques employed to present a Protestant, even a Puritan, Erasmus to English readers also reveal just how problematic his theology and Catholicism were for English translators, editors, and publishers. While widely available in Latin, the first significant presentation of the Colloquies in English came in 1606 when William Burton translated and compiled seven colloquies.7 This English edition was reissued three times: twice in 1606 and again in 1624. According to E.J. Devereux, the first 1606 printing likely did not sell very well, and therefore a modified version was reissued later that same year.8 Several major adjustments were made for the second release, including the removal of the original title page and a new letter ‘To the Christian Reader.’ In the original title page, Burton, who was a Puritan minister, suggested that Rome, like women, might someday be reformed. Erasmus’ dialogues were, according to Burton, ‘full of delight, and fitte for use: verie appliable to these times, but seasonable for all ages, till Roomes idolatrie, and womens delicacie, be reformed.’9 This title was apparently too mild for the anti-Catholic climate that prevailed in England less than a year after the Gunpowder Plot, and so, for the second printing, the publisher crafted a new title page. On this new title page the subtitle text was removed and replaced by a list of the seven dialogues, with the derogatory words ‘poperie’ and ‘popish’ appearing in three of the titles.10 More important than the title page was Burton’s new introductory letter. Perhaps belatedly recognizing that there was an inherent conflict in using the text of a Catholic author to attack ‘poperie,’ Burton’s letter now specifically suggested that Erasmus was not dangerous for Protestants to read.11 Burton implied that some readers might question his use of Erasmus, but he responded by suggesting they read the text for themselves. If they did so, he maintained that they would find both enjoyment and religious profit. He then reassured his readers that the text was: Full of doctrines, both sound and substantiall … Of philosophie both naturall and supernaturall, thou shalt finde there great plentie. Of learning both divine and humane, thou shalt have thy fill: Both pleasure and profite will entertaine

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thee at thy entrance, and recompence abundantly thy travell all the way thou goest.12 Burton was confident that having finished the dialogues readers would ‘perceive how little cause the Papists have to boast of Erasmus, as a man of their side.’13 Burton’s point was clear: reading Erasmus was safe for English Protestants.14 It is hard to gauge from this introduction how English readers responded to Erasmus. On the one hand, Burton felt the need to write an apology for Erasmus’ authorship and to strengthen the anti-Catholic introduction in the second edition. On the other hand, Burton understood that within learned circles Erasmus was still widely respected and, after calling him ‘that famous man Erasmus,’ stated that ‘good wine needes no ivy bush, and Erasmus, hath no need of my commendations.’15 Furthermore, to commend Erasmus’ dialogues he ‘needed not but only to have said Erasmus wrote them.’16 Burton almost seems surprised that he has to write an apologetic introductory letter. But, in fact, he was doing something rather novel and quite significant for the history of Erasmus’ long-term reception in England. He was taking Erasmus out of the realm of ‘the learned and judicious’ and making him available, in English, to a potentially much larger audience. Burton’s selection and translation of the seven colloquies is also revealing. While the papacy was clearly a target, Burton included colloquies that supported Catholic tradition, the episcopacy, and the power of princes and monarchs.17 The translation of the seven dialogues in the collection specifically and repeatedly supported concepts of moderation, peace, the power of civil authority, and the distinction between public and private spheres of religious discourse – all topics that would not have displeased James I and his anti-Presbyterian bishops.18 Although James had sided against the Puritan faction at the Hampton Court conference in 1604, he tended to see himself, and have himself depicted, as King Solomon, whose wisdom would bring the factions together and establish peace and order throughout his kingdoms of England and Scotland. The way to do this was through the pulpit and the printed word.19 Burton’s text, like many from these years, made a case for moderate, orderly religion devoid of superstition and Catholic abuses.20 Thus, though ostensibly directed against Catholicism, this edition of Erasmus’ Colloquies was also aimed at English Protestants. While Burton’s ultimate intentions for the

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text must remain unclear, his selection and translation of the Colloquies fit with a royal agenda that stressed religious unity and an episcopal structure of the English church. The first colloquy in Burton’s collection serves well to illustrate this Jacobean adaptation of Erasmus.21 Burton based this first colloquy on Erasmus’ well-known dialogue, Ίχθυοφαγία, or A Fish Diet, between a butcher and a fishmonger and gave it the title: ‘Of the right use of things indifferent.’ The basic point of Erasmus’ dialogue was to maintain that many religious practices were actually indifferent, or adiaphora, to an individual’s salvation or damnation. Building on Erasmus’ criticism of rigidly enforced ceremonies that made daily life difficult, Burton’s translation stressed that it was not up to individual believers to ignore the church or its ceremonies. The head of the Christian church had to decide these matters. Erasmus hoped that the pope or, as Burton chose to translate it, the ‘cheefe Bishop’ would decide that most doctrines and ceremonies were ‘indifferent’ and open to individual interpretation.22 Concerning the ‘cheefe Bishop,’ Burton’s text read: ‘I hope he will so moderate all matters, that heereafter he shall be very impudent that shall complain.’23 If the church limited fundamenta and expanded adiaphora, it would establish itself in a moderate middle position between the extremes of legalistic Catholicism and Protestant extremists who denounced the episcopal authority of the church. A substantial portion of Erasmus’ original dialogue discussed the authority of the pope and bishops. Burton chose to remove this middle section and to add a short discussion about the religious authority of the monarchy. Certainly in tune with James I, Burton’s editorial addition maintained that while church and state should be godly and use their authority to make appropriate laws, if they did not, Christians had absolutely no right to publicly challenge their authority. Regarding the power of the church, Burton was quite blunt. The fishmonger asks the butcher, ‘Doe the bishops lawes and constitutions bind all that are in the Church to observe them?’ The butcher answers, ‘They do, if they be good, and confirmed by the authoritie of the prince.’24 In Burton’s text, it is clear that the laws of bishops, if sanctioned by the prince, were binding on all Christians. This was a close reflection of the theology James and his bishops wanted to see published in England. After this exchange, Burton returns to translating Erasmus’ words.

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In addition to the letter to the reader, Burton also wrote a dedicatory epistle to the city of Norwich. The epistle, which rhetorically stressed peace, love, and moderation, helps explain Burton’s decision to place the colloquy ‘Of the right use of things indifferent’ at the beginning of his volume. In this letter, Burton specifically discussed matters of indifference and wrote: Though there may be some difference in opinion, about matters of circumstance and lesse weight, yet let there be no difference in brotherly affection, but love one another in the Lord from the heart … and let none be too forward in rushing into the heart and conscience of his brother, for that is (as you know) Gods prerogative.25 Both the Elizabethan and Jacobean church stressed exactly this point. Individual English men and women should peacefully love each other and not depart from the church over issues of indifference.26 When a matter was ‘indifferent,’ the episcopacy believed it had the right to enforce conformity for the sake of love and peace. Burton continued by admitting that there were sometimes ‘hot’ disputes, but that if love prevailed peace would bless the English nation and church: So, though there may perhappes arise some hote disputes amongst you, about this or that, and in heate, you may perchance sometimes strike too hard, and make the sparkles flie to fast; yea, cause may be given sometimes to reprehend one another roundly, as Paul did Peter, yet let charitie & loving kindness never depart from amongst you, the God of peace shall blesse you as he hath done, to the wonder of the world.27 Behind Burton’s moderate rhetoric of peace and ‘loving kindness’ there was a subtle, but clear, attack against zealous members of English society who were willing to disrupt religious peace and charity in the pursuit of ‘hote disputes.’ This introduction, along with his choice of colloquies, shows that Burton was utilizing Erasmus for a specific seventeenth-century polemical purpose. Burton’s objective was not only to make Erasmus’ writings more available to the English public, but also to use Erasmus for his and the English church’s religious objective of peace and conformity.

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Burton certainly sought to attack ‘popery’ using the text of the famous and Catholic Erasmus, but he also gave English readers the first significant selection of Erasmus’ Colloquies – colloquies that argued for moderate reform under the hierarchical control of the prince and ‘cheefe Bishop.’ Erasmus’ methodology, as presented in these colloquies, sought to find peace, love, and unity through adiaphora and the marginalization of zeal. This was precisely the religious stance taken by the church leadership in both Elizabeth’s and James’ reigns. Both monarchs employed and sponsored ‘moderate’ rhetoric, sought to maintain an identity distinct from Roman Catholicism, and demanded a hierarchical structure in the English church that was under their direct control.28 Through the careful selection and presentation of Erasmus’ text, Burton managed to position Erasmus as an authoritative supporter of this royal agenda.29 We must remember, however, that during James’ reign, especially early on, the Jacobean church was essentially Calvinist. To argue for peace, the status quo, and conformity, as Burton did, was not antithetical to moderate Puritanism. Two other early seventeenth-century publications took a very different approach from Burton’s and attempted to use Erasmus not as a supporter of moderate monarchical English Protestantism, but as an advocate of godly (or Puritan) social and religious reform. The juxtaposition of Burton with these later Puritan manipulations of Erasmus reveals a marked difference and is a reminder of the complexity of Erasmus’ English legacy. Where many English editions prefaced Erasmus’ texts with carefully framed introductions, the editors of the two texts I discuss below went further and also added material to the dialogues. Robert Snawsel’s A Looking-Glasse for Married Folkes, based on Erasmus’ colloquy, Coniugium, and The Picture of a Wanton, by F.S., based on the colloquy Adolescentis et scorti, both reveal the desire to use Erasmus for a Puritan cause and the difficulty created by a theologically uncooperative Erasmus. Snawsel’s A Looking-Glasse for Married Folkes, published in 1610 and again in 1631, was designed to help improve marital relations in England. Snawsel believed that vast numbers of English men and women were losing eternal salvation because of their marital misbehaviour. Even worse, bad parents raised bad children who then grew up to be bad citizens and threatened the entire foundation of the godly commonwealth. Since the family was the foundation of both church and state, there was nothing more

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critical than marital godliness.30 And so, after claiming that there was no book in English to help improve the sorry state of marital relations in England, Snawsel wrote that he had decided to publish a modified version of Erasmus’ colloquy Coniugium.31 After women and men read his text, Snawsel believed, they would make better parents and by this meanes good parents which are scarce, shall bee multipled to the increase of Gods Church, and the flourishing estate of the commonwealth. And further know this, that good parents are special instruments to make godly children, and good servants; and godly children and good servants will make religious men and women; and religious men and women doth make a flourishing church, and famous common-weale, set forth Gods glory, and establish the Princes kingdome.32 Snawsel hoped Erasmus would help bring about a much-needed reformation at the core of the English nation. The problem was that Erasmus’ text just was not godly enough. The text Snawsel produced added new characters, a new beginning, and a new ending in order to augment Erasmus’ story and correct portions of Erasmus’ theology.33 Snawsel readily admitted his tinkering and gave two reasons. First, since Erasmus’ dialogue dealt mainly with women, he wanted to show men ‘the duties they owe to their wives.’34 Snawsel’s addition stressed that husbands and wives should be submissive to each other and both to God.35 An even more important motive behind Snawsel’s changes, however, was Erasmus’ theology. To his readers, Snawsel wrote that since ‘they might attaine to all that which hee counselleth there, and yet be damned; I have added thereunto the substance of faith and repentance.’36 The major distinction between Snawsel’s ending and Erasmus’ dialogue was that where Erasmus stressed human agency, Snawsel insisted on predestination. Fearing that some would be theologically misled before they reached his conclusion, Snawsel, like Burton, specifically counselled his readers to read to the end before they made a hasty judgment. ‘Onely this I desire of thee,’ he wrote, ‘that thou wilt not onely begin to reade the book, but reade it to the end. And howsoeever some things may seeme unsavorie unto thee at the first: yet I feare not but in fine thou shalt finde it profitable and comfortable.’37 If they did

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not read to the end, readers would miss Snawsel’s theological corrective to the false theology presented by Erasmus. Snawsel bracketed Erasmus’ original text, in which Eulalia dispenses marital wisdom to Xanthippe, with two new conversations. In the opening scene, Snawsel’s primary character, Abigail, first lectures Margerie, another new character, about marriage and then gets into an argument with Eulalia. After being lectured by Abigail about her religious life, Margerie asks, ‘What shall wee have of you? A Puritane?’ Abigail answers, ‘I pray you Margerie, use no more such scoffing speeches.’38 Abigail follows with a long discussion of godly theology and behaviour before turning her attention to Eulalia. The following exchange occurs after Abigail tells Eulalia that real Christianity is not an easy thing and that she thinks Eulalia is ‘an honest civill woman, and a Christian in name, but not in nature and in deed’: eul. Why, I was baptized, and go to Church, and I doe not mocke at the Preachers and professors, as some do; I am neither whore nor theife; I pay every one their owne; I cannot abide to sweare, &c. I hope you cannot accuse me of deceiving any, nor of lying: what manner of people will you make Christians? abig. Alas Eulalie, alas, I perceive you would be counted a Christian, and that hitherto you have thought your selfe to be one. I must needs tell you truly, that you have scarce set one foote in Christianity: for all which you have said, you may do, and yet bee damned.39 This is the same language Snawsel used in his letter to the reader to justify the additional material he was adding to Erasmus’ colloquy. A reader might ‘attain all that which’ Erasmus, and Eulalia, ‘counsels there, and yet be damned.’40 When Snawsel, via Abigail, challenges both Eulalia’s advice and her Christianity, he is obviously attempting to shape how his readers interpreted the speeches Erasmus gives Eulalia as the diologue unfolds. In the colloquy, Eulalia counsels Xanthippe (renamed Xantip by Snawsel) about how women should behave towards, and perhaps reform, their husbands. After bemoaning her rotten husband and being told by Eulalia that divorce is no longer allowed, she is stuck with him, Xantip asks, ‘Is it in my hands to make my husband a new man?’ Eulalia responds, ‘I can tell you Xantip, wee wives may do

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much either in making or marring our husbands.’41 Erasmus then follows, in the voice of Eulalia, by suggesting practical and subtle things women can do to improve their situations and their husbands. After warning readers about Eulalia in the first section, Snawsel generally chose to follow Erasmus’ original dialogues in the middle portion of the text. Even so, he did make a few theological adjustments. An example of a change in tone can be found at the end of Erasmus’ conclusion. In Erasmus’ original, the scene draws to a close with Eulalia and Xanthippe concocting a secret plan to reform Xanthippe’s husband. Eulalia will speak with him and tell ‘a fib’ in order to plant the seed of reform. The CWE translation of this passage reads as follows: eul. After that I’ll draw him on very innocently, in my usual fashion and – I hope – make him more considerate of you. When I get a chance, I’ll tell him a fib about you – how lovingly you spoke of him. xan. May Christ favour our effort! eul. He will – if only you do your part.42 Snawsel’s translation of this passage is quite different; there is no fibbing and the focus shifts from Erasmus’ practical advice to Snawsel’s ‘heavenly liqor of holy doctrine:’ eul. And when wee have drawne out all his corruptions as cleane as wine out of a vessel, then will wee put into him the heavenly liquor of holy doctrine, and tell him how hee is to demeane himselfe towards you. xan. Christ prosper our enterprises. eul. We may bee sure that hee will give us good successe, if wee doe not crosse our selves. So fare you well.43 In Snawsel’s text, the conversation does not end, but continues with the two women, Eulalia and Abigail, visiting Xantip’s husband, Ben-Ezer, and engaging in a long conversation about faith, godliness, and predestination. The point for Snawsel, contrary to Erasmus’ attitude, was that human beings cannot really reform themselves or their marriages. God hates some and loves others and those God loves will not cause marital discord:

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ezer. I confess indeed that it is a punishment, but yet I hope that God loveth many men & women, that yet fall out betwixt themselves. abig. Surely if there bee continuall strife, it is an evident signe, that the Lord loveth not the one of them, if not both. ezer. But how should wee know whom it is that the Lord doth not love? abig. They which are the cause of the continuing and breeding of the broiles.44 Thus, one of the primary motivating forces for controlling marital strife was the fear that such discord signified not being one of God’s elect. Abigail continues even more bluntly by stating: The singular love of God unto his Elect is that whereby he loveth them in himselfe, and hath adopted them in his sonne Christ, before the foundations of the World; and hereto pertaines predestination, vocation, the gift of faith, and the spirit, justification, regeneration, and eternall salvation, with whatsoever is good, comfortable and profitable for them in this life.45 Snawsel wanted his readers to understand that human choice and ‘endeavour’ did not play a role in salvation. Making this even more clear was Ben-Ezer, who states, ‘I do believe verily that whomsoever the Lord loves not, them hee hates; and whomsoever he hates, upon them abides his wrath and heavy displeasure.’46 Snawsel wanted to clarify his belief that behavioural reform was not achieved through personal endeavour, but was a manifestation and indication of God’s will, love, and salvation. Snawsel’s Calvinist conclusion reveals that while Snawsel saw value in translating and printing Erasmus’ writings, he obviously disapproved of both Erasmus’ theology of free will and his general approach to religious life. By 1610, this Erasmian theology, soon to be termed Arminianism, was gaining strength and by the second edition of Snawsel’s text, in 1631, it was developing into a controversy that would threaten the state.47 Erasmus and his texts thus reflect, and were a part of, the increasingly bitter disputes in England over the process of salvation. Ironically, a text by the ‘free will’ Erasmus became the basis for a text that stressed

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Calvinist predestination. A close reading, however, reveals just how strongly Snawsel disagreed with Erasmus’ theology and the lengths to which he went in order to correct it.48 In 1615, five years after the publication of Snawsel’s text, A Picture of a Wanton: her lewdnesse discovered, by F.S., employed a similar approach by adding a new ending to Erasmus’ colloquy Adolescentis et scorti.49 In the same vein as Snawsel’s text, it was a Puritan publication focused on reforming social behaviour. For many Puritans, one of the most glaring public examples of a nonreformed society was pervasive prostitution. F.S. based A Picture of a Wanton on Erasmus’ colloquy between a young man, Sophronius, and a harlot, Lucretia – renamed Thais in the English translation. Apparently, F.S. felt that a text by ‘that reverend learned man Erasmus’ would help Puritans reform English culture and abolish harlotry, that ‘foule vice, and abominable sinne.’50 A difficulty arose, however, when Erasmus’ arguments against prostitution did not fit well with Calvinist theology. F.S. therefore took Erasmus’ dialogue and, in his words, ‘inlarged it both with addition of more persons, and larger matter.’51 During the early seventeenth century, Puritans waged a battle for further social reformation of English society and several elements of this cultural clash lie at the core of A Picture of a Wanton. In this text, the ‘good’ characters are derogatorily called ‘Puritanes’ and it soon becomes clear that anti-Puritan rhetoric was used to demonstrate the ungodly nature of non-Puritans. Modifying Erasmus’ original, the text depicts those who attack ‘Puritanes’ as supporters of prostitution, debauched living, and a godless society.52 It is Thais, the harlot, who terms Sophronius a ‘Puritane’ at the beginning of the dialogue. She then asks the godly young man, ‘What new matter is this? Come you hither to preach?’ The English translator then adds: ‘I thinke you are turned Puritan.’53 Sophronius does not deny it and claims that if the harlot does not live a better life it will indicate that she lacks God’s grace and is not predestined to be saved. English Puritans found much to approve in Erasmus’ social exhortations, but they disagreed strongly with his insistence that reform take place within the hierarchical Catholic Church.54 They also disagreed with his repeated theological assertion that human beings, such as the harlot, should use their free will to accept God’s grace and thus alter the course of their lives both in this world and the next. The additional material, which was not separated from Erasmus’

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text, introduced two new characters and addressed both of these problems. It stressed unconditional grace while virulently attacking Roman Catholicism. In the new ending, ‘Popish Catholiques’ are decried as the ‘Sinagogue of Sathan.’55 English Catholics and some in the Church of England worshipped at this synagogue and perverted English culture by following Rome’s customs, manners, and fashions.56 Rome itself ‘is become an unfaythful City, a Cage of uncleane Birdes, a receptacle of perfidious and fugitive personnes, and a sink of al evill.’57 The text then went even further and specifically related prostitution to Roman Catholicism. The whore of Babylon, who ruled in Rome, was the source of all corruption within Christendom. The only cure for harlotry and other manifestations of corrupt society was to purify and reform English society and religion. English Puritans could thank God that they were ‘come out of Rome, yea out of Babilon,’ but they also had to convince others to ‘detest Poperie, and forsake this ill kind of life.’58 This text was clearly part of the struggle within English culture between those who wanted more stringent reforms of society and those who did not. Those who resisted further reformation, in theology or culture, were denigrated as being ultimately under the influence of false religion, namely Roman Catholicism. At the end of Erasmus’ original colloquy, Sophronius proves convincing and the harlot chooses to leave her profession and lead a different life. In F.S.’s text, however, the story continues and Dorio, an ‘old baud’ in charge of Thais, and Permenco, a man who has an appointment with Thais, enter the scene and denounce the young Puritan for religious pride and for reforming the young harlot. Dorio and Permenco staunchly declare that they will not listen even if the young Puritan is ‘the best Preacher of the Land.’59 At numerous points in the dialogue, they scathingly refer to Sophronius and the newly reformed harlot as ‘proud Puritanes’ and ‘precise fooles.’60 This helps Thais understand that ‘they which are Gods friends, shall be hated of the world’ and, in turn, think the old harlot should be ‘severely punished for intising of young Maydes unto follie.’61 Sophronius is even stronger in his condemnations of the evil pair and says to Dorio, ‘Thou art an uncleane woman, and an Instrument of the Devill’ who will be ‘excluded out of heaven, and cast down into Hell.’62 The dialogue ends when the ‘old baud’ gives up and says, ‘Therefore take your Puritane Punke with you, you have made

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her a holy sister; I, and Permenco, will goe seeke some other young Mistris.’63 As ‘punke’ or ‘punk’ was slang for a prostitute, ‘Puritan Punke’ signified both a reformed prostitute and the corruption of the ungodly.64 Rather than being insulted, Puritan readers could take pride in such attacks from the ungodly who ridiculed a reformed life. To have the harlot called a ‘Puritan Punke’ meant that they had been successful. The inclusion, in this translation, of the phrase ‘Puritan Punke’ epitomizes the alterations which seventeenth-century editors made in Erasmian texts. In Erasmus’ colloquy, even as transmitted by F.S., many of the speeches call sinners to repentance before it is too late. The impression is that human decisions can alter a life’s course, as well as an eternal destiny. Nevertheless, in a final speech not found in Erasmus’ dialogue, Sophronius makes it clear that God is actually in control and individual choice is a fiction: ‘Shee will (shee sayes,) reforme her life at her pleasure; as if shee could repent when she listed; whereas it is the gift of God.’65 In the exchanges added by F.S., the focus is not on a call for a character or a reader to repent, but rather emphasis is on witnessing and understanding the activities of God and the devil in English society. The reformed harlot can see, and take comfort, that God is directing her life while the devil directs the lives of Dorio, Permenco, and others in English society who attacked the godly by calling them Puritans. Neither the style nor content of the new ending in this dialogue resembles the writings of Erasmus. The author simply took a particular dialogue from Erasmus’ very popular Colloquies, loosely translated it, and then added a rabidly anti-Catholic and pro-Puritan ending. While marketed under the name of Erasmus, this publication was anything but an Erasmian text. Why did an English author with a Puritan message decide to modify and publish a text by the Catholic Erasmus?66 The answer apparently lies in Erasmus’ popularity. His Paraphrases, Latin Colloquies, Adages, and biblical scholarship were an established part of Protestant England’s religious, literary, and educational culture. In essence, this Puritan author was smuggling a Puritan tract into English culture through the medium of an Erasmian text. Thomas Heywood, the dramatist and actor, was most decidedly not a Puritan and though he did not augment Erasmus’ texts with additional characters or Calvinist theology, he too carefully crafted an English translation of Erasmus. In Heywood’s case, this meant poetic verse and rhyming couplets. In Pleasant Dialogues and

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Dramma’s, Selected out of Lucian, Erasmus, Textor, Ovid, &c (1637), Heywood included two of Erasmus’ Colloquies: Naufragium and Procus et Puella. Erasmus had top billing in Heywood’s collection, occupying the first thirty-seven pages. The following is an example of Heywood’s style, taken from the conclusion of Naufragium, or, The Shipwreck: anth. But what of the Dominican became? (He, first invoking sundry Saints by name. So Adam said) did strip himselfe to th’skin’ And hauing left his cloathes behinde, leapt in. anth. What Saints did he invoke? He named (thick, As fast as he could speake) S. Dominick, Saint Thomas, and Saint Vincent, and one Peter, (I know not which) but one she-Saint, with sweeter And fairer words he e’ntreated; and her name, Catherine Senensis, she, it seem’d the same To whom he trusted most. anth. I, but Christs aid Implor’d he not at all? adol. So the Priest said. anth. Me thinks he better might haue far’d that day, Had he not cast his holy hood away. For being naked like another man, How could the Saint know the Dominican?67 Though far from elegant and with a number of awkward lines, Heywood’s poetic rendition has a certain charm to it. While Heywood was not a Puritan and would remain a loyal supporter of Charles I, there is little in his plays indicating antipathy towards Puritans. He did, however, deplore those who threatened the ‘peace of the church’ and referred to William Prynne’s enormous tome, Historiomastrix, denouncing actors and the theatre, as ‘most horrible.’68 He also mentioned that while Prynne had damned plays such as his ‘to the flames of Hell,’ Historiomastrix ‘hath it selfe already suffered a most remarkeable fire here upon Earth.’69 Nevertheless, in regards to Erasmus, Heywood remained ambivalent. At the end of the volume, Heywood provided annotations on some of the dialogues and dramas. In ‘The Annotations upon Procus and Puella,’ Heywood wrote, ‘In this Dialogue (to

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whose Author I am not able to give a meriting character) I presume there is nothing conteined which doth deviate either from modesty or good manners.’70 Years earlier, Heywood had included a couple of lines about Erasmus in his Troia Britanica: Erasmus after seauenty Winters spent Expi’d, whose fame through Christendome is spread.71 It is also apparent from Heywood’s The hierachie of the blessed angels that he was familiar with Erasmus’ Apophthegmata.72 In any case, Thomas Heywood provided a unique contribution to Erasmus’ English legacy through his verse translations of two Erasmian colloquies. These publications by Burton, Snawsel, F.S., and Heywood were certainly not authentic renderings of Erasmian texts, although Burton’s was a notable achievement in that direction. Nevertheless, they did transmit a semblance of an Erasmian voice to an early seventeenth-century English audience. Even the Puritan texts of Snawsel and F.S. did not attempt to completely rewrite the Erasmian originals, but rather to shape and frame them for English readers through carefully crafted introductions and by augmenting the text with additional sections and characters. Astute readers would certainly have understood, perhaps more readily than we, that there was a theological shift between Erasmus’ writing and that of his English translators.73 They also would have been quite aware of the difference between Burton’s ‘moderate’ approach and the more ‘zealous’ attitude of Snawsel and F.S. These were not trivial divergences either, as controversies surrounding theological ‘indifference’ and the issue of total grace versus free will would soon threaten the stability of both church and state in England. Ultimately, however, it is clear that early seventeenth-century English publications of Erasmus were not designed to provide accurate translations for an interested public, but rather to exploit Erasmus’ name to sell books that would advance very specific theological and social agendas. c i t i n g e r a s m u s , 1 60 3 – 1649 Erasmus was both a resource and a malleable figure that early Stuart authors could employ in their attempts to shape English religious culture. Printing heavily reworked English editions of

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Erasmus is an obvious example of this, but the many citations of Erasmus and quotations from his works served a similar purpose. It would not be an unreasonable hypothesis to assume that, with the passage of time, Erasmus, his texts, and his ideas would fade from memory and use. In reality, there are more references to Erasmus between 1603 and 1649 than there were in the Elizabethan period. There are literally thousands of references to Erasmus in hundreds of early Stuart texts. Such an increase, however, does not necessarily indicate that Erasmus was either more popular or more influential than before. As the printing industry became more established, it is only natural that there would be more books and that more of them would feature Erasmus. While use of Erasmus as an authority was common in both periods, there is a change in who was criticizing Erasmus. During Elizabeth’s reign, major critiques of Erasmus came from English Catholics, while Protestants, for the most part, pretended he was one of them. In the seventeenth century, Erasmian theology became an important part of Protestant controversies and polemics. The majority of Elizabethan Protestants who mentioned Erasmus praised him and saw him as an authoritative voice whose scholarly stature would help support particular readings of biblical and patristic texts. These authors continued to ignore his Catholicism and to position him as a Protestant. Yet, while admiration for Erasmus was a major part of Erasmus’ legacy in early Stuart England, criticism of Erasmus was also much more acute and many now argued that Erasmus was, in fact, a Catholic. Even John Rainolds, who had used Erasmus was effectively in the late sixteenth century, became more critical. In 1609, he correctly saw that there was ‘sufficient ground and strength of reason Erasmus must be counted a catholique in al things for in al his writings he submitteth himself to the churches iudgement.’74 The Puritan Matthew Sutcliffe was even stronger: ‘Erasmus is none of our best friends, being in most points an aduersarie, and a professed Masse-priest.’75 Robert Rollock located him among ‘popish writers.’76 And, John Trapp, rather uncharitably, criticized him for ‘dying with no better words in his mouth then Domine fac finem, fac finem.’77 The primary causes for concern among English Calvinists was, as we saw in the publications by Snawsel and F.S., Erasmus’ free will theology and refusal to leave the Catholic Church. In his defence of predestination, Richard Field recalled Erasmus’ conflict with Luther and wrote: ‘It is excellent to this

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purpose that Luther hath, in his booke de servo arbitrio against Erasmus. Reason yeeldeth, sayth hee, that God worketh all in all, and that nothing can be done without him; for hee is omnipotent, and this pertayneth to his omnipotencie, as Paul saith to the Ephesians.’78 Field would eventually repudiate Erasmus’ theological judgment: ‘Touching the judgement of Erasmus, it was so variable and vncertaine, in things of this kind, that neither they, nor we, can take any advantage by it.’79 Like Luther, Field saw Erasmus’ rhetorical use of adiaphora and rational probability as ‘variable and vncertaine’ and therefore inadequate in a debate seeking doctrinal truth. It is interesting, however, that Field was judicious in his rejection of Erasmus and cited him as an authority on the issue of married clergy and questions of purgatory.80 Erasmus also appeared in an unfavourable light in Melchior Adam’s biography of Luther, which was first translated and published in England in 1641. The text included Erasmus’ early positive comments about Luther. A quotation of Luther’s was included, meanwhile, that likened Erasmus to a ‘viper.’ Adam also suggested that Erasmus opposed Luther for the sake of money.81 Near the end of the period under discussion here, in 1647, Anthony Burgess took issue with specific Erasmian arguments in his treatise condemning Arminianism. Burgess was far from the only Calvinist to link English Arminianism with Erasmus. In his discussion of the second chapter of Romans, Burgess challenged what he interpreted as Erasmus’ position that human beings had a law within themselves and could be good. According to Burgess’ reverse logic, ‘It cannot therefore be true, which hee [Erasmus] saith, that the Apostle speaketh such great things of men by nature, that if they were true, it would necessarily justifie all Pelagianisme. I shall not speak of his many arguments against naturall principles and knowledge of a God; for he doth in effect at last yeeld to it.’82 Since predestination was true, Erasmus’ arguments were false. In the end, according to Burgess, Erasmus yielded to Pelagianism.83 The most detailed discussion of Erasmus’ soteriology in early Stuart England is found in Andrew Willet’s 1611 Hexapla, that is, A six-fold commentarie vpon the most diuine Epistle of the holy apostle S. Paul to the Romanes. The treatise, which mentioned Erasmus over a hundred times, was also reprinted in 1620. Willet did, at times, use Erasmus as an authority to support a point he was making, often in conjunction with Beza, but where Willet differed

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with Erasmus, Beza was used to point out Erasmus’ error. On a few points, however, Willet differed with both Beza and Calvin. Anthony Milton has shown how, in order to defend Calvinist predestination against the arguments of Dutch Remonstrants and English anti-Calvinists, Willet shifted from a supralapsarian to a sublapsarian position, where God’s decree of election followed the Fall, and insisted that sin, rather than God’s absolute decree, was the ultimate root of reprobation.84 Willet had moved to a theological stance that was more in line with Luther than Calvin. On a number of occasions it is also possible to find Luther behind Willet’s criticisms of Erasmus. Willet discovered four major errors in Erasmus’ theology: he denied original sin, weakened the Trinity, denied predestination, and was, in general, a time-server and temporizer.85 Augustine’s interpretation of the doctrine of original sin was critical to predestinarian theology. An erroneous understanding of original sin could, in Willet’s mind, ultimately bring down all of Protestant theology. Willet therefore dealt with Erasmus’ Annotations on Romans 5: Erasmus in his annotations upon this place, contending that it should be rather read, for as much as all men have sinned, then, in whom all men have sinned, thinketh that this place is not understood of originall, but of actuall sinnes: who although he professe, that he is an enemie to the heresie of the Pelagians, which denie originall sinne: yet contendeth both by the authoritie of the Fathers, as Hierome and Origen, and by the scope of the place, that the Apostle must be understood to speake of actuall sinnes.86 The difference between ‘all men have sinned’ and ‘in whom all men have sinned’ was a matter of interpretation, but critical for understandings of original sin, the fallen nature of humanity, and God’s election and predestination. Like Burgess, Willet questioned Erasmus’ denial of Pelagianism. Willet summed up his argument on the passage by stating that Erasmus, in his ‘annotations upon this place, seeme to be of opinion that originall sinne is onely a pronenesse and aptnesse unto sinne, which is graft in us by nature: But this is refelled by the Apostle here, who saith, that in Adam all have sinned, and therefore death also is entred upon all: death is the stipend of sinne: if then death actually is gone over all, so also sinne.’87 The evil of Pelagianism and the

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truth of predestination were givens for Willet. Any interpretation that moved toward Pelagianism or away from predestination was theologically flawed. We can also see Willet’s a priori reasoning in his questioning of Erasmus’ orthodoxy on the Trinity. Juxtaposing Beza with Erasmus, as he routinely did, Willet denounced Erasmus for suggesting a reading of Romans 9:5 that weakened arguments for the Trinity: Erasmus is blamed both by Protestants, as Beza, and Papists, as Tolet annot. 9. for altering and changing the reading of this verse, making this the sense, God who is over all, be blessed for ever: and will not have this clause referred to Christ: but that the Apostle doth conclude generally with a doxologie, giving praise unto God: likewise he thinketh that this word (God) is inferted, urging that neither Hillarie hath it in Psal. 122. not Cyprian lib. 6.88 Even though Erasmus had claimed, according to Willet, that there ‘is no daunger, seeing there are more direct places to proove Christs Godhead,’ Willet accused him of instigating heretical opinions: ‘Erasmus seemeth first to have given occasion to these newfangled Dogmatists, who likewise in his annotations upon this place, thinketh this Scripture not so fit to proove the divine nature of Christ.’89 The ‘newfangled’ anti-Trinitarians were indeed becoming more common, not only in Poland and the Netherlands, where they were called Socinians, but also in England. Willet’s rather circular argument was that a reading that weakened an argument for Christ’s divinity was obviously the wrong interpretation of the text precisely because it weakened support for Christ’s divinity. The central problem with Erasmus, however, was his argument against predestination in De Libero Arbitrio. Referring to Erasmus’ interpretation of Romans 10:8, Willet wrote: ‘The word is neere thee, &c. Erasmus in his defense of freewill against Luther, urgeth this place, to shew the power and strength of freewill in keeping the commandements: and he presseth those other words of Moses, non est supra te, it is not above thee, that is, beyond thy strength.’90 The problem was that Erasmus got the Latin translation wrong. Willet declared that Erasmus ‘there fayleth in the rendring of the right sense of the words: which are, is not hid from thee, not, which is not above thee … he speaketh of the facilitie of the

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commandements, not by the power of freewill, but by faith in Christ, who hath fulfilled the law for us, and by whose grace we are enabled in some good measure to keepe the commandements of God.’91 Willet, however, did not really need to refute Erasmus himself; Luther had already done so in De Servo Arbitrio. Referring to God’s predestination of Jacob and Esau, Willet turned to Luther: ‘Thus Erasmus obiected, in his diatrib. pro liber. Arbit … To these obiections of Erasmus, Luther hath sufficiently made answer, lib. de arbit. c. 166. much differing herein from the Lutherans so called in these times.’92 He then went on to summarize Luther’s points. Naturally, how authors viewed election, grace, and predestination determined how they interpreted hundreds of other biblical passages. An example of the divergence between Erasmus and Willet is found in their interpretations of Romans 12:11. According to Willet, ‘Erasmus doth interpret it, sedulitatem exhibendi officij, diligence in performing of our dutie.’93 Such a reading, however, was incongruous with predestination and thus, Willet said, ‘It is better referred generally to the sedulitie and industrie, which every one should shew in his vocation and calling, both toward God, and our neighbour.’94 What Erasmus saw as a spiritual duty, Willet saw as the natural response to God’s election. The core of Erasmian theology, however, was not the freedom of the will, but rather peace, unity, and gradual, moderate reform. In order to challenge what he saw as time-serving, temporizing, and weak Christianity, Willet challenged Erasmus’ interpretation of Romans 12:11: Erasmus also giveth this sense, that we must beare patiently, si quid pro tempore acciderit, incommodi, if any thing fall out for the time incommodiously … But Beza giveth this reason, why this reading can not be received at all; because no such phrase is found in the Scripture, to serve the time in any such sense: temporizers, and time-servers rather are reprooved in Scripture, then commanded.95 In Willet’s mind, Erasmus was one of the ‘temporizers, and timeservers’ who were ‘reprooved in Scripture.’ As we shall see in later chapters, this would become the general accusation of Puritans against those, including moderate Calvinists, such as Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller, who used Erasmian-style rhetoric of peace, concord, and moderation. Willet’s Hexapla also addressed

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the rhetoric of ‘high-mindedness,’ which had become a particularly contested bit of theological vocabulary in controversies over predestination. The English translation of Erasmus’ Paraphrases for Romans 9 included the following: ‘God abhorreth suche as are high minded, and geveth him selfe and his righteousness, to suche as are sobre and lowly.’96 This sentence immediately followed a section where Erasmus’ paraphrase attempted to maintain a very careful balance between giving God absolute control over salvation and retaining a theory of human responsibility for evil by allowing for a small element of human freedom. By ‘high minded,’ Erasmus meant both those who thought they could earn their own salvation and those who thought they could understand the theology of predestination. English conformists, such as John Young and Lancelot Andrewes, picked up on this language and used the rhetoric of ‘high mindedness’ specifically against Calvinists. Willet, however, in his discussion of Romans 12:16, claimed that the phrase ‘be not high minded’ was directed not at those who believed in predestination, but at their opponents. For predestinarians, faith in God’s election meant that nothing one did would merit salvation and therefore they were intrinsically humble. They were not, in Willet’s words, ‘wise in our selves.’97 Naturally, early modern individuals felt that their own beliefs were true and humble and that those holding to opposing opinions were stubbornly and arrogantly refusing to acknowledge truth. Some moderates, such as Erasmus, attempted to move outside of this matrix by stressing the adiaphoric nature of the debates and then stressing Christian behaviour rather than tenets of belief held in the mind. In reality, though, such a stance was a belief system in its own right and moderates attacked as ‘high minded’ those who clung to dogmatic truths. The refusal to ‘assert’ theological truths was the primary reason Luther had denounced Erasmus as an atheist.98 In another much reprinted work, Synopsis papismi, Willet specifically addressed divisions and controversies within the English church.99 His positioning of reformed English Calvinism is fascinating and based on a theory of adiaphora. In the 1613 edition of the Synopsis, Willet wrote: ‘Those few schisms and dissentions, which we have (and yet too many, we must needs confesse) are not about points of faith, and articles of Religion: but concerning some things belonging to discipline and church government; which matters we denie not, but have been somewhat too hotly

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and eagerly followed of some amongst us: but God be thanked, this contention hath not been pursued by fire or death.’100 Those causing division in England, accused Willet, were not true Protestants at all, but rather false Protestants who leaned too close to Rome. Willet complained that ‘some among us indeed, ascribe too little to Luther, Calvine, Beza, and such other worthie instruments: but they are such as are besotted with your schoole Divinitie, and dote upon your schoole Divines a little too much, which men of sounder iudgement doe mislike amongst vs.’101 There was no lack of real unity among true English Protestants. In Willet’s polemic, the increasingly bitter division over the doctrine of predestination was not a debate within English Protestantism, but between true English Protestants and those under the influence of Catholicism. Before ‘Arminiamism’ became the common pejorative term for Erasmian free will theology, such theology was condemned as quasi-Catholicism and an alien element within English Christianity. That such rhetoric was effective can be witnessed in the dramatic proliferation of similar arguments, ranging from Willet’s texts in the early seventeenth century to texts justifying the execution of Charles I in 1649. It is also clear from this text, and others from the 1610s and 1620s, that critiques of Calvinist predestination were becoming more common.102 Foreshadowing another bit of Puritan rhetoric we shall see again, Willet perceived challenges to predestinarian theology as further evidence of God’s providence and affirmation of true doctrine. In Willet’s words, ‘There must be heresies and divisions in the Church. And it is a signe we have the truth, when the divell goeth about by schisms and contentions to hinder the preaching thereof. We answere to you … Let them not boast of their concord and cast in our teeth the dissention of Christians: the enemie assaulteth not them as he doth us.’103 Catholic peace indicated theological error, while Protestant fracture and conflict evidenced theological truth. Andrew Willet was operating under a different world view and set of religious assumptions from those of Erasmus and like-minded English men and women. Willet’s detailed critique of Erasmus provides a critical perspective on Erasmus’ English legacy. Erasmus’ theological opposition to predestination was both available to English authors and well known – perhaps substantially more so after Willet’s text. It is also important to note that prior to the rise of English Arminianism, Willet and other Puritan divines chose to defend predestination

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by addressing and refuting Erasmian readings of Romans.104 While Willet relied on Erasmus’ Annotations and De Libero Arbitrio, Erasmus’ positions were also available in the English Paraphrases. Not only were English translations of Erasmian texts heavily reworked due to their non-predestinarian language, but criticism of Erasmus was becoming much more common. Finding and proving positive influence is highly difficult; negative influence, however, can be more apparent and so it is here, where Erasmian thought unmistakably influenced the construction of Willet’s defence of predestination in Hexapla. This chapter has demonstrated the serious difficulties reformed English Protestants had with Erasmian theology. Praise of Erasmus, however, did not disappear and some authors even came to his defence.105 Hundreds of authors also continued to use him as an authority and cited many of his works.106 John Milton, for example, cited Erasmus on the topic of divorce. Milton, like Erasmus, was rather radical in his suggestion that divorce was acceptable when the husband and wife did not get along and were incompatible.107 In one notable case an author defended Erasmus as an authority on the basis that he was neither Catholic nor Protestant. In what amounts to an early modern appeal to objectivity, John Boys, who often cited Erasmus, said that Erasmus could be trusted precisely because he was not a Protestant, Catholic, or member of any sect. Erasmus was ‘indifferent’ and simply seeking the best interpretations of ancient texts.108 Samuel Ward took the more traditional English approach of Udall and Jewell and simply called Erasmus one of the ‘new Gospellers.’109 Admiration for Erasmus was common. George Abbot named, ‘Erasmus [as one] who laboured exceedingly in repairing and restoring antiquity, & to whose paines al learned men do owe much.’110 The moderate Calvinists Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller, whom we shall study more closely in the next chapter, defended Erasmus, regularly cited him, and attempted to develop lines of Erasmian style moderation. Furthermore, in contrast to Puritan critiques of Erasmus, English Arminians, including Richard Montagu, Viscount Falkland, Peter Heylyn, and William Chillingworth saw Erasmus as agreeing with their general principles. The following chapters will focus, in part, on the connections between Erasmus, avant-garde conformists, and those pejoratively described as Arminians.

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It is also apparent that English readers were familiar with a substantial number of Erasmus’ works. We know, for example, that the Puritan William Prynne read Erasmus’ editions of Jerome and Cyprian as well as the Moriae Encomium, De contemptu Mundi, De Puerorum Educatione, and the Annotations.111 John Brinsley, in his treatise on grammar schools, also mentioned the Colloquies, De Copia, and Adages as elements in a good education. The Colloquies were still exceedingly popular, as evidenced by the many new Latin editions and the various English translations, which we have already looked at. Summing up his instructions for learning Latin, Brinsley wrote, ‘And lastly, practicing to translate other books of dialogues (as, Erasmus Colloquium, or the like) and afterwards reading them forth of English into Latine againe, any one may come on very fast.’112 Brinsley did mildly qualify the use of Erasmus in his discussion of the best Latin authors to study. According to Brinsley, students would do well with either ‘Erasmus or Beza; but chiefly Beza, as the more pure phrase, and more fully expressing the sense and drift of the Holy Ghost.’113 Writers, such as Brinsley, clearly admired Erasmus’ scholarship and encouraged students to read him, but they were also cautious about his theology. Meanwhile, those unfamiliar with Erasmus’ works were occasionally ridiculed. Thomas Gataker mocked a polemical opponent who confused the arguments of Ambrose and Augustine. Gataker wrote: ‘And this Erasmus his annotation would have given him some hint of, had he beene so well acquainted with the Authors he citeth as he would seeme to be.’114 Erasmus was an intellectual resource that educated men were expected to use.115 Erasmus’ writings, such as In Praise of Folly, in which he criticized various aspects and practices of the church, were often used by English Protestants to mock Catholicism.116 How far Erasmus’ Colloquies and Folly went in shaping perceptions of Catholicism in England is hard to ascertain, but they were surely significant texts. Although recusants comprised a visible minority and Catholic theological polemics were read in universities, it is likely that a majority of English men and women came to an understanding of Catholicism through a combination of sermons, gossip, and Erasmus. The Praise of Folly was frequently mentioned in English publications, including texts by John Donne.117 Thomas Nash also praised Erasmus’ Folly and then made the following apology for his own dialogues:

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I suppose I heare some whispering that it is not proper to a professor of the Law to personate a Countryman, Citizen, or Divine, or to talke of dogs and hawkes, things out of the lists and limits of his profession. To him I answere that Erasmus shewed no lesse Art in writing of his Booke, for which he made this Apologie, than he did by setting forth the learned Labours of St. Austin, St. Hierome, St. Cyprian, and St. Chrysostome.118 Erasmus’ reputation for great learning was a useful shield for English authors wishing to write something more pleasurable to read than a theological or legal treatise. Not always, however, were Erasmus’ depictions of foolish religion simplistically used to define the otherness of non-Protestants. In his best-selling book, The anatomy of melancholy, Robert Burton pointed out the foolish behaviours, superstitions, and beliefs of men and women in English society. There are numerous references by Burton to Erasmus’ texts, especially Folly.119 Referring to passion and the behaviours it elicits, Burton wrote: Amongst all other good qualities an amorous fellowe must have, he must learne to sing and dance, play upon some Instrument or other, as without all doubt hee will, if hee be truely touched with this loadstone of love. For as Erasmus hath it, Musicam docet amor & Poesin, Love will make them Musitians, and to make Ditties, Madrigalls, Elegies, & love Sonnets, and sing them to severall tunes. ‘Tis their chiefest study to sing, and dance, and without question, so many gentlemen and gentlewomen would not be so well qualified in this kinde, if loue did not incite them.120 Love was naturally a fertile field for Burton’s musings on the human condition. More significant, in religious terms, were his extended comments on the causes and cures for religious melancholy. Burton, who was a fellow of Christ Church College in Oxford and the vicar of St Thomas parish, criticized Puritans not only for false theology, but also for destroying happiness and causing mental agony.121 Overzealous ministers were chiefly to blame: ‘The greatest harme of all proceeds from those thundering Ministers, a most frequent cause they are of this malady: and doe more harme in the Church saith Erasmus then they that flatter; great

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danger on both sides, the one lulles them asleepe in carnall securitie, the other drives them to Desperation.’122 Burton blamed Puritanism for this desperation. Richard Napier, a clergyman and doctor whose specialty was treating mental ailments, had a similar view of Puritanism. In the words of Roy Porter, Napier ‘found that many who consulted him were suffering from religious despair, the dread of damnation aroused by Calvinist Puritanism, the seductions of Satan, or fear of bewitchment.’123 Erasmus had suggested the same to Luther regarding the effects of predestinarian theology. Of course, for Erasmus, Burton, Napier, and other critics of strict predestination, it would only seem natural that such a belief would lead to despair. We should remember, however, that Luther felt a great weight lift with his discovery of absolute grace and that, generally, those who believed in predestination also believed they were among the elect.124 After all, they were taught that correct faith in Christ was a mental manifestation of God’s grace, which was given to the elect. There was always the tendency to equate belief in predestination with election and its rejection as lack of belief. From Burton’s point of view, though, ‘our indiscreet pastors’ were destroying the mental well-being of English men, women, and children. He stated: Whilest in their ordinary sermons they still aggrauate sinne, thunder out Gods Iudgments without respect, raile at & pronounce them damn’d, for giving so much to sports and recreations, making every small fault and a thing indifferent an irremissible offence they so wound mens consciences, that they are allmost at their wits ends. Those bitter potions saith Erasmus are stil in their mouths nothing but gall and horror, & a mad noyse, they make all their auditors desperate many are wounded by this meanes, & they commonly that are most devout and precise, that follow sermons, that have least cause, they are most apt to mistake, and fall into theise miseries.125 Burton was not only able to quote Erasmus in his argument against these dangerous ministers, but he was also able to contrast this negative religion with the wit, elegance, and pleasure found in reading Erasmus’ texts. He even mentioned Erasmus’ positive attitude and lack of melancholy when Erasmus ‘was grievously sick of the stone.’126 For Burton, Erasmus represented optimism in his textual style, attitude, and theology.

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The most often cited Erasmian text in early Stuart England was still probably the Paraphrases on the New Testament. Many of the references to it are in passing and simply mention Erasmus’ interpretation of a passage, often in an authoritative way.127 The Paraphrases, by their nature and wide dispersion, served as the most readily available commentary on the New Testament and were more accessible, both theologically and physically, than the Annotations. As it turned out, the Paraphrases provided a great tool for conformist and anti-Puritan bishops to criticize Presbyterianism and Calvinism in general. In defending a sermon he had preached in 1608, George Downame, the bishop of Bath and Wells, quoted from Erasmus’ Paraphrases on Matthew chapter 18 at length in support of the English episcopacy and the intercessory role of bishops: Erasmus maketh this Paraphrase: If the offender be so untractable, that he will be moved neither with shame nor feare of iudgement, bring the matter to the congregation, that either he maybe reformed by the content of the multitude, or by authoritie of them which be rulers over the multitude. But if he be so farre past cure, that he will not be corrected neither by secret and brotherly monition, neither by the knowledge and consent of two or three, neither by the shame of his fault uttered and disclosed, neither by the authoritie of the chiefe rulers, leave him to his disease.128 Downame, who mentioned Erasmus numerous times in his apology, went on to state that ‘not onely what the Priests loose are loosed, but also what we who are wronged doe bind or loose, the same shalbe bound or loosed: where, by Priests, he [Erasmus] meaneth those, whom before he called the Prelates of the Church.’129 Rather curtly ending the debate, Downame wrote that newer writers who disagreed with Chrysostom, Theophylact, and Erasmus ‘doe testifie without warrant of scripture, euidence of reason, or testimonie of antiquitie, it deserveth no credit.’130 For Downame, true English religion was that of Erasmus, whom he included in a list of Protestants. Another bishop, Thomas Bilson of Winchester, also used Erasmus as an authority and often quoted from the Paraphrases.131 In order to support his own antiPuritan theology and uphold the authority of Erasmus, Bilson raised a significant point:

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Our Church … doth approve likewise, and appoint Erasmus Paraphrase to be openly in the Church for every man, that doubteth of any thing in the newe Testament, to reade for his instruction; and yet you will not take euery word in Erasmus Paraphrase for the publike Doctrine of the Church of England. For so you should soone exclude the most of your new conceits.132 This is a particularly telling statement that not only demonstrates the continued presence of the English Paraphrases, but also that some clergy, perhaps most, were fully aware of the incongruity between Calvinism and the Erasmianism found in the Paraphrases. Clearly, Bilson was using the Erasmian text’s official Reformation status as a powerful rhetorical tool. Bilson’s treatise was published in 1604, the same year he, John Whitgift, and Richard Bancroft knelt before James I and begged him not to give in to Puritan demands at the Hampton Court conference and ‘alter anything in the government or the Church.’133 Looking carefully at the reign of Edward VI and Coverdale’s editing of the second volume of the Paraphrases, it is evident that, even then, Erasmus was an awkward author for zealous Edwardian Protestants. That he was published and required reading by royal injunction, however, was a useful historical argument for anti-Puritan bishops, like Bilson, who could, through reference to the Paraphrases, maintain that they were upholding the traditions of true English Protestantism whereas Puritans and strict predestinarians were introducing ‘new conceits.’ While the Puritan manipulations of his Colloquies would have amazed Erasmus, so too would have the history of his Paraphrases. Further demonstrating the diversity of texts within which his name appeared, we can find numerous references to Erasmus in historical and travel narratives. Some of these historical works reminded readers of the strong relationship between Erasmus and Thomas More. Biographies of Thomas More naturally featured Erasmus. In 1626, William Roper’s account of More’s life was reprinted in Paris. Five years later, in 1631, a new biography of More, written by Cresacre More, was printed in Douai and then reprinted in both Douai and London in 1642.134 These biographies were part Catholic propaganda directed at an English audience. Unsurprisingly, both More and Erasmus appear as models of the true religion. It certainly did not escape the notice

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of English Puritans that the Cresacre biography included a dedication to Charles I’s Catholic queen Henrietta Maria. Numerous authors, including Thomas Drue, Thomas Nash, Richard Young, and Lucius Cary, also spoke positively of the relationship between More and Erasmus.135 Cary, the Viscount Falkland, wrote that More and Fisher ‘were the Deucalions of learning in this Country’ and that Erasmus, ‘though himself no Martyr, yet one who may pass for a Confessor, having suffered, and long by the Bigotts of both Parties.’136 An earlier fictional description of the friendship between More and Erasmus had appeared in the censored, ‘Boke of Sir Thomas More.’ This play, which remained in manuscript, contained a scene where More changed clothes with his servant before meeting Erasmus for the first time. More wanted to see if Erasmus was able to ‘distinguishe merit and outward ceremonie.’137 Erasmus, who was a prominent character in the play, was also referred to as ‘thou reverent germaine.’138 It is also worth noting that the impressive 1642 volume of Erasmus’ letters also included over seventy folio pages of More’s letters. A short Protestant biographical sketch of Erasmus also appeared in the translation of Jacob Verheiden’s The history of moderne protestant divines in 1637.139 This biography of Erasmus focused on his early career through his sojourn in England. There was also a list of works, but De Libero Arbitrio was not included, nor was any mention made of his Catholicism or his disputes with Protestants. In fact, the sketch of Erasmus directly preceded that of Luther, and Erasmus was mentioned as writing in favour of Luther.140 A more complete biographical sketch would appear in 1651 with Abel Redevivus, which Thomas Fuller helped write and edit. Following the violence of the civil war, the portrayal here of Erasmus was that of an irenic moderate. We will discuss Fuller’s connection with Erasmus in the next chapter. Other texts, which looked back at the Reformation under Henry VIII and Edward VI also highlighted the role of Erasmus.141 Foxe, whose positive view of Erasmus we have already examined, remained popular and his Acts and Monuments continued to be reprinted. As an introduction to The complete gentleman, Henry Peacham discussed the reformation of education in England and highlighted the important role played by Erasmus.142 In his letter ‘To my reader,’ Peacham commented, ‘I Am not ignorant (Iudicious Reader) how many peeces of the most curious Masters haue beene uttered to the world of this Subiect, as Plutarch, Erasmus,

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Viues, Sadolet, Sturmius, Osorius, Sir Thomas Eliot, M. Askham, with sundry others; so that my small Taper among so many Torches, were as good out, as seeming to giue no light at all.’143 Then, as now, scholars have had to position their work in relation to various literatures in order to make a case for a new treatise on a subject. George Carleton, to whom we will also return in the next chapter, was another seventeenth-century bishop who, in his biography of Bernard Gilpin, reminded his readers of Erasmus’ importance in the first half of the sixteenth century. Carleton wrote of Gilpin, ‘Being entred in Queenes Colledge, he profited wondrously in humane learning: He became, as almost all the good wits of that time very conversant in the writings of Erasmus.’144 The picture Carleton painted of Gilpin was designed to provide his audience with a model of good, moderate, and learned English Protestantism from the era of the English Reformation. We can also find Erasmus mentioned in historical accounts by Sir Walter Raleigh in his History of the world, and John Speed, the great cartographer, in A history of Great Britaine.145 Erasmian history was also discovered by those who travelled on the Continent. Travel narratives that were printed in England not infrequently mentioned locations, houses, and monuments connected with Erasmus. Fynes Moryson, who stopped in Basel and Rotterdam, provided English readers with a detailed account of Erasmus’ physical legacy in both cities. He described Erasmus’ Basel tomb as follows: In the same place lies buried Erasmus Roterodamus: with this inscription in Latines To Desiderius Erasmus, Roterodamus, a most great man every way, whose imcomparable learning in all kindes of Arts, ioyned with like wisedome, ages to come shall admire and celebrate, Boniface Ameribachius, Ierome, Frobenius, Nichol: Bishop, heire and Extertitort of his last Will and Testament: to their Patron of happy memory, which by his writings he hath got, and so long as the world stands shall retaine: for the reposing of his mortall body, have layed this stone. He died the fourth of the Ides of Iuly, being now seventy yeeres old, in the yeere of our Lord, MDXXXVI.146 In Rotterdam, he recorded that Erasmus’ stone statue had been destroyed by Spanish Catholics, but that the city had managed to erect a wooden one; undoubtedly, this was the same one which

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Hugo Grotius famously travelled to see in 1631.147 Moryson’s account of Erasmus and Rotterdam is as follows: Rotterdam had a wood statue of Erasmus since Spain had previously destroyed a Stone one. In the market place toward the West, is the statua of Erasmus, being made of wood, for the Spaniards brake downe that which was made of stone; and the inscription thereof witnesseth, that hee was borne at Roterodame, the twenty eight of October, in the yeere 1467, and died at Bazel the twelfth of Iuly, in the yeere 1531. In New-Kirk-street, there is the house in which Erasmus was borne, wherein a Taylor dwelled at this time, and upon the wall thereof, these Verses are written: AEdibus his natus, mundum decorauit Erasmus, Artibus ingenuis, Religione, fide. The world, Erasmus in this poore house borne, With Arts, Religion, Faith, did much adorne.148 The presence of the statue, the inscription, and the verses on the house on New Kirk street indicate that Erasmus was both a source of pride for the city and a point of interest for educated visitors. Not all recollections of Erasmus came in texts. A portrait of Erasmus was included in the painted frieze that adorns the thirdfloor upper gallery of Oxford’s Bodleian Library. The frieze, which was produced in 1619, reflects both the book collecting habits of the late Thomas Bodley, whose will provided for the construction of the library quadrangle and the gallery, and the religious views of Thomas James, Bodley’s librarian, who oversaw the execution of the frieze.149 James, who was the son of a Marian exile, used the frieze to position the English church as a continuation of medieval anti-Catholicism, with Wycliffe, Hus, and Savonarola featured prominently. As Christopher Hill has noted, James used the Roman Index of prohibited books to help in determining which texts to buy for the libraries’ collections.150 Erasmus’ portrait was part of the south range of the frieze in the upper reading room, which began with the early church fathers and then moved to Erasmus and the Protestant reformers. English divines followed the reformers, with the Puritan John Rainolds given the place of honour.151 Erasmus was thus

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incorporated as an important link between early Christianity and the English Protestant tradition. 152 This chapter has focused on the various images of Erasmus transmitted to readers in early Stuart England. The English translations of the Colloquies provide a particularly vivid example of the divergence between Erasmus and English Protestantism and the lengths to which some Puritans would go to make Erasmus fit better with English Calvinism. We can also regularly find Erasmus in Puritan texts, but, as in the writings of Willet, he was sometimes attacked for false theology. Conversely, we saw Erasmus used by conformist bishops against Puritans. Erasmus was a unique figure in early modern England. Neither Protestant, nor approved by Catholics, he occupied an ambiguous position of high esteem tempered, or enhanced, by various responses to his theology. By examining the ways in which English Protestants used him and responded to him we can gain interesting insights into the mental world of early modern England. Though references to Erasmus do demonstrate a context where Calvinism dominated English religious culture, the diversity of responses to Erasmus indicates a broad plurality of beliefs, interests, and attitudes in early Stuart England. Pluralism was certainly not accepted by any of the various religious ideologies in England. The experience of living with vast social variance, within a culture where world views operated on a spectrum between demands for both doctrinal purity and national religious unity, unavoidably resulted in religious friction and, ultimately, violent fractures.

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S IX

Constructing the Moderate Middle in Early Stuart England

When Elizabeth I died and James I began his journey south to accept the English crown, many English Puritans were optimistic that there finally would be a complete reformation of the English church. Their hopes derived from James’ personal Calvinist faith and assumptions that since the Scottish church was Presbyterian, James would support at least some ecclesiastical reform of the English episcopacy.1 James raised expectations even higher when he agreed to hold a theological conference to discuss further reform of the English church at Hampton Court in 1604. The new king, however, proved rather disappointing to the zealous godly, whom he termed Puritans. Following in the tradition of Elizabeth and her divines, James and his theologians used and refined the rhetoric of peace, concord, and moderation to craft what he defined as a middle space between marginalized extremes that threatened the stability of the English episcopacy, and hence the monarchy.2 English Catholics had also hoped that James would prove more tolerant than Elizabeth, but they too were disappointed.3 The Gunpowder Plot certainly did not help English Catholics and, following a period of relative tolerance, James increased penalties on recusant Catholics.4 The English via media had become smaller. Attempts to tighten up the acceptable sphere of religious practice and public discussion did not bring greater unity to England. Instead, controversies over where exactly the via media rested became increasingly vitriolic through the first half of the seventeenth century.5 The Erasmian world view and rhetorical style remained closely connected to the evolution of English religious thought. In addition to new Erasmian texts published in the seventeenth century,

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English men and women continued to read his Paraphrases as well as the other published works from the Elizabethan era. English authors who built on his legacy during the Tudor period were also very much a part of the religious heritage of the seventeenth century. Elizabethan anti-Calvinists, such as Richard Hooker, had crafted an ecclesiastical and theological position that provided a foundation for those who were derogatorily classified as ‘Arminians.’6 Though nominally imported from the Low Countries, Arminianism was not a new English phenomenon, but rather a movement that built on an anti-Calvinist and, before that, an Erasmian tradition. The emergence of so-called Arminianism in the centres of power beginning in the 1620s has been noted by Nicholas Tyacke as a critical development in the origins of the English civil war.7 While debates over predestination were certainly important, a view through the lens of Erasmus’ legacy suggests that debate over predestination was a subset of a much more significant and longer running controversy over the nature of religious truth. What exactly were the most important Christian truths and how did they relate to order, uniformity, peace, and the moderate middle?8 What we see are drastically different world views and perspectives on ecclesiology, with doctrinal differences serving as sparks for public debates over truth, peace, adiaphora, and conformity. Given the pervasive nature of Erasmian texts and ideas in England, it is certainly no longer possible to accept the notion of the novelty of anti-Calvinist and free will theology in England. Erasmus’ legacy, however, went beyond providing a historical foundation for anti-predestination theology. Calvinists were also interested in printing Erasmian texts, as illustrated in the previous chapter, and, at times, adopting his theological methodology. As we shall see, devout predestinarians often liberally quoted from Erasmus’ works and employed his theological rhetoric – sometimes in direct opposition to Arminian positions. Erasmus’ legacy was multivalent and should be viewed more as a way of thinking and a style of expression than as a coherent body of ideas. Cornelis Augustijn may have best described the nature of Erasmus’ influence after his death. Specifically referring to England, Augustijn wrote, ‘Erasmus’ ideas could serve as a corrective rather than as an alternative.’9 Erasmianism could never create a third church or even a coherent religious movement. What it did provide was a language and theological methodology for attacking dogmatic threats to unity.

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Erasmian epistemology sought to reformulate the essence of Christianity by stressing the doctrine of peace and minimizing doctrinal assertions in areas not established by church consensus and tradition. The doctrine of peace was then supported by the rhetoric of unity, charity, moderation, order, conformity, and limited tolerance.10 Even more important in Elizabethan England, however, had been the Erasmian demand that doctrinal debate and discussion of controversial religious issues be kept out of the public forum.11 Towards the end of Elizabeth’s rule, antipredestination theologians were beginning to use such rhetoric to create more space for alternatives to Calvinism.12 James maintained this basic approach and even though he aggressively attempted to marginalize Presbyterians and overly-zealous Puritans, his Calvinist background and theological sentiments shifted power back towards Calvinist theologians, who were able to exploit the rhetoric of silence to slow the spread of Arminianism avant le lettre.13 Charles I, however, used explicit censorship of tracts and sermons dealing with predestination to reduce the influence of Calvinist thought and sentiments.14 This chapter is arranged into three sections, which together construct a picture of the Erasmian legacy in relation to the concept of the ‘middle way.’ The first section focuses on two examples of official attempts by James I to rhetorically construct a moderate quasi-Erasmian via media: the introductory letters to James’ authorized version of the Bible and the English theological position at the Synod of Dordt. The second section then looks at the various and sometimes competing uses of ‘moderate’ rhetoric employed by both Calvinist and Arminian theologians, including Joseph Hall, Thomas Fuller, Richard Montagu, and Lancelot Andrewes. While these examples represent a disparate spectrum of religious thought and intent, they all demonstrate the centrality and power of a specific type of religious language that developed out of an Erasmian rhetorical tradition and often directly cited Erasmus and his texts. The final section examines the connection between Erasmus and English Arminianism. jam e s ’ bi b l e, t h e s y n o d o f d o r d t, a n d th e jac o b e a n v i a m e d i a The Hampton Court conference in 1604 was supposed to be a defining moment for the English church. Called in response to

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Puritan agitation for further reform, James’ conference ultimately represented a staunch repudiation of the Puritan agenda.15 From a conformist perspective, having such a conference was deeply troubling, but after James allowed Bancroft to denounce even moderate Puritan views, which were then linked with sedition, it was clear that James was going to follow a conformist position as aggressively as had Elizabeth I. Eighty-five Puritan ministers who refused to ‘subscribe’ were deprived of their positions.16 In fact, James saw subscription as a tool to distinguish those who were ‘moderate’ and would conform publicly, despite differing private opinions, and those who were dangerous precisely because they did not understand the difference between private and public spheres.17 James’ famous statement, ‘no bishop, no king,’ closed off all Presbyterian dreams. James then declared absolute conformity to the established church ‘as the onely Publicke Fourme of serving of God, established and allowed to be in this Realme.’18 The proclamation then stated that critics of his ecclesiastical structure were inviting social disorder. Only one Puritan request came to any fruition out of Hampton Court: a new translation of the English Bible. The new Bible, however, also turned out to be an anti-Puritan text and Puritans subsequently remained devoted to the Geneva Bible and its Calvinist marginalia. For James, though, the new Bible was to be the foundation for his vision of moderate English Protestantism and no other single text embodied so completely the religious position of the Church of England during James’ reign.19 Its very publication was a self-conscious attempt to position the English church in a via media between what James saw as the dangers of Catholicism and Protestant nonconformity, sectarianism, and sedition. English Protestantism demanded the primacy of scripture, but determining how to read scripture was anything but simple. The preface and introduction to the 1611 edition of the Bible made it very clear how English readers were supposed to interact with the biblical text. James was committed to Protestant readings of the Bible, but he also wanted to discourage the fragmentation and disunity resulting from the laity interpreting scripture and doctrines independently from the official church. The introductory letters, therefore, sought to shape how English readers approached the text and to locate the Bible and the English church within a ‘moderate,’ Erasmian style, a via media that marginalized dogmatic Puritans and Catholics while creating

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a space for the church to maintain order and the monarchy to maintain religious supremacy. In the introductory letter to James, the ‘translators of the Bible’ thanked God that James was on the throne to guide the Church of England. After Elizabeth’s death, many English men and women feared ‘some thicke and palpable cloudes of darkenesse would so have overshadowed this land, that men should have been in doubt which way they were to walke.’20 Such sectarian doubt was fortunately avoided by James who led a unified England down the correct religious path of ‘peace and tranquillitie, at home and abroad.’21 This peace was both the embodiment and the result of a Jacobean via media between Rome and Puritanism. James, and the Bible he authorized, saved the English, ‘on the one side,’ from ‘Popish persons’ who wanted to keep Christians ‘in ignorance and darknesse’ and, ‘on the other side,’ from ‘selfeconceited brethren, who run their owne wayes, and give liking unto nothing but what is framed by themselves, and hammered on their Anvile.’22 James and his church, however, ‘may rest secure’ since they had walked ‘the wayes of simplicitie and integritie, as before the Lord’ and were consistently ‘against bitter censures, and uncharitable imputations.’23 According to this introductory letter, a middle position of truth existed between Rome and Puritanism; it was a moderate place characterized by peace, tranquility, simplicity, charity, and an absence of bitter religious arguments. True to Erasmus’ theological methodology, these elements rhetorically formed the basis of true Christianity and purposely marginalized those who, through doctrinal disputation, challenged the peace and unity of the official church. This first introductory letter in the 1611 Bible highlights the rhetorical and manufactured nature of the ‘moderate’ via media of the Jacobean church. The letter to James was followed by a letter to the reader that was a model of Erasmian humanism. It was a work of classical and patristic scholarship that sought to position the English church as being a part of the true Catholic church.24 In both substance and style, the letter built on Erasmus’ religious vision of scripture guiding Catholic reformation. The vast majority of references were from the ancients, including biblical, patristic, and pagan texts. Not once did the names or texts of Protestant leaders appear in the letter. Erasmus, on the other hand, appeared

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more than any other sixteenth-century figure. In fact, the only Reformation-era figures mentioned in the letter were Catholics and most of those were moderate humanists who sought to reform the church. In addition to Erasmus, there were references to Valla, Jacques LeFèvre D’Etaples, Vives, Cajetan, and Pope Leo X. This is certainly due to the fact that the translators were defending a new translation of the Bible and therefore discussed previous translators and those who supported such work. It is also true, however, that, with the exception of Leo X, these sixteenthcentury figures were the ones who hoped to bring about an internal reformation within the Catholic church through a humanist agenda that was based on the translation of early Christian texts, especially the Bible.25 The tenor of the letter was in line with this pre-Reformation reform movement that hoped to unify the church through texts and philological scholarship. Ultimately, the introductory letter defended the decision to bring forth a new translation, while simultaneously portraying the English church as part of a reformed Catholic church. The English church had not broken with Catholic tradition, but was reviving true Christian tradition on the basis of patristic and humanist scholarship. The theological slant of the letter is more fully understood within the context of an Erasmian theological tradition. After extensively arguing that a new translation of the Bible was both legitimate and necessary, the letter to the reader concluded with a discussion of how the Bible should be read. Echoing one of Erasmus’ beliefs about scripture, the translators declared that everything that was necessary for salvation was open and clear. If a doctrine was difficult it was not a fundamental belief required of all Christians.26 The translators then drew two very Erasmian conclusions from the assumption that scripture was sometimes dark and unclear. First, they suggested that doubt was a positive element in Christian experience: ‘It is better to make doubt of those things which are secret, then to strive about those things that are uncertaine.’27 This was the language used by Hooker, Whitgift, John Young, and before them Erasmus in his Paraphrases and other writings.28 Just as Erasmus and earlier English authors had used the rhetoric of moderation to attack those who put dogma above peace and unity, the translators of the King James Bible used the language of doubt and moderation to condemn those who disagreed with their non-dogmatic theological perspective. Very bluntly they stated, ‘To determine of such things as

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the Spirit of God hath left (even in the judgment of the judicious) questionable, can be no lesse then presumption.’29 To declare someone ‘presumptuous’ was, of course, a common accusation hurled against Puritans and Presbyterians. In this text, the dividing line between right-thinking and wrong-thinking Christians was not doctrinal, but rather rhetorical – that is, how one publicly expressed conformity and unity or presumptuousness and disunity. The second conclusion presented to the reader was that differences of opinion should be allowed within the church. Not only should Christians ‘never scorne those that be not in all respects so complete as they should bee,’ but also understand that their own beliefs might be wrong. According to the translators, ‘They that are wise, had rather have their judgements at libertie in differences of readings, then to be captivated to one, when it may be the other.’30 In areas of adiaphora English men and women should not stubbornly cling to particular interpretations that could lead them into nonconformity. A central element in the religious controversies of the time involved the dispute over the proper understanding and role of ius divinum and ius humanum in ecclesiological structure, liturgy, and theology, with Puritans increasingly arguing that in all these areas there needed to be scriptural authority, rather than human decisions justified by false claims of adiaphora. The editors’ ‘Letter to the Reader’ concluded with an overt attempt to position both their version of the Bible and the English church in a middle space between Puritanism and Rome: ‘Lastly, wee have on the one side avoided the scrupulositie of the Puritanes, who leave the olde Ecclesiasticall words, and betake them to other, as when they put washing for Baptisme, and Congregation in stead of Church: as also on the other side we have shunned the obscuritie of the Papists.’31 Following the tradition of Elizabethan conformists, the translators of the 1611 Bible self-consciously attempted to create a distinctly English church that kept its distance from Rome without losing both its connection with a Catholic past and the episcopal structure of the church. In their attempt to formulate this via media, James and his divines employed a rhetoric that was operating within an Erasmian rhetorical tradition. Their purpose was ultimately the same as Erasmus’: to encourage piety and personal reform while ensuring religious peace, unity, and stability.32 A vital component of Erasmus’ theological methodology was the distinction between public and private discussion of

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complicated and ‘questionable’ doctrines. During Elizabeth’s reign, public censorship of public debate over difficult doctrines, especially predestination, became part of official church policy. The larger issues for both Elizabeth and James were peace, order, and conformity. Predestination was a fault line that had the potential to destabilize the church.33 Both Elizabeth and James sought to curtail public discussion and teaching on predestination; but, beginning during the reign of Elizabeth, and then developing more fully in the thought of Richard Montagu and Lancelot Andrewes, anti-Calvinists framed their arguments as opposition to the public imposition of predestination by their opponents. This stance was ostensibly in line with government policy, but was also a way to publicly criticize Calvinism. This is not to say that James’ Bible overtly criticized Calvin or Calvinism, but it did present a world view that was inimical with zealous Calvinism. While James did not initially harbour the same negative attitude towards Calvin and Calvinism as Elizabeth, he too found useful the Erasmian combination of moderate language, a policy of doctrinal censorship, and the rhetorical marginalization of those who resisted either of the former. James, however, censured the doctrine of predestination in a slightly different manner than either Erasmus or his Elizabethan descendants intended. Rather than focusing on the dangers of public discussion of predestination, in 1618 at the Synod of Dordt, James used the rhetoric of peace and unity to condemn Arminianism. According to Peter Lake and Kenneth Fincham, James followed Elizabeth’s policy and allowed a degree of flexibility on the issue of predestination as long as public order and tranquility were maintained. When it became apparent that religious divisions over the issue could not be contained in the United Provinces, he used the rhetorical methodology of peace and unity to openly support Calvinist theology against the Arminians, some of whom were executed following the Synod of Dordt in 1618.34 James I, who was determined to impose peace and unity and who liked to picture himself as a king of peace, sent a group of theologians to help resolve the politically destabilizing disputes over predestination that emerged in the Netherlands following the publication of Jacob Arminius’ writings critiquing predestination.35 In fact, however, it was not so much Arminius, who had died in 1609 and had maintained a fairly moderate and cautious approach to theological controversies, who was the problem. No

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longer held back by Arminius, his fellow anti-predestinarian supporters, who became known as Remonstrants for their public remonstration against Calvinist orthodoxy and ecclesiastical control, attacked both Calvinist doctrine and the Reformed church in the Netherlands. The dispute quickly took on political ramifications between Calvinist hardliners, who were fiercely antiSpanish, and the civil government, which had agreed to a truce with Spain. When the Synod of Dordt convened, the United Provinces were on the verge of civil war. As Diarmaid MacCulloch has shown, the fierce Calvinist response to Arminian theology was fuelled by the insecure hold of Calvinism on the church and culture of the United Provinces.36 Even though there was Calvinist dominance that controlled the universities and the churches, the Calvinist consensus had less than half of a century behind it and Calvinists were determined to ward off threats to their hegemony. Similar fears undoubtedly lay behind the response of English Calvinists to the emergence of anti-Calvinism in the 1590s and then to the very real deterioration of the Calvinist consensus under Charles I. Partly because of his belief in religious uniformity, coupled with the dire ramifications of Dutch instability and civil war, James I decided to become personally involved in the conflict. The delegation James sent, though made up of members who did not entirely share the same theological views, did present a coherent message at Dordt.37 Peter White has accurately demonstrated that James gave very clear, though at times inconsistent, directives for the delegation.38 They were to speak with one voice, condemn the Remonstrants, not differ from the teachings of the English church, particularly the Thirty-Nine Articles, not condemn Lutheranism, and seek a peaceful and moderate outcome. Many on the delegation were appalled by the ferocity with which the Dutch Calvinists attacked the Remonstrants after it became clear that the British delegation was firmly behind the contra-Remonstrants. James’ pacifist rhetoric had no ability to restrain the violent purges and imprisonments of anti-Calvinists that followed the Synod.39 Despite this failure, James did attempt to pursue a methodology that would silence the Remonstrants while maintaining social unity. Exemplifying this approach was the speech made by the Lord Ambassador, Dudley Carleton, who argued that the entire topic was unfit for public preaching or discussion. In essence, this was the Erasmian policy that Elizabeth I had used to limit controversy and limit the power of Calvinism in

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the latter part of her reign. For James, though, this rhetoric was not used to limit the spread of predestinarian theology, but rather to curtail the spread of Arminianism. The English delegation sought to depict the Remonstrants, with some justification, as the disturbers of the public peace. Turning this rhetoric to the support of predestination required a reinterpretation of history, something which Carleton provided in his opening speech at Dordt. In his speech to the Estates General of the Low Countries, Dudley Carleton sought to frame ‘free will’ theology as a new innovation that began with Arminius. The point, for Carleton, was that even though there might be some private disagreement with predestination, public criticism of the doctrine was destroying peace and unity. Carleton told his audience: Now for to seeke the Originall of this evill any further backe then the time of Arminius Professor at Leyden, were to disguise the fact. Some others before him it may be have had the same scruples, and the same troubles in their consciences upon those high points of predestination and the Dependences of it; But the Church hath still continued in her peace and quiet; in such sort that the fountaine and spring of the alteration which since his time some have endeavoured to introduce into the true and ancient Doctrine which you have always professed, and is received and authorized the common consent of all the reformed Churches.40 Naturally, not everyone would agree on every doctrine and there would be those who had some ‘scruples’ and ‘troubles in their consciences upon those high points of predestination,’ but as long as these were kept private the ‘peace and quiet’ of the church were not disturbed. The danger of Arminius was not necessarily his theology, but the public, political, and disorderly nature of the Remonstrant cause. Carleton spent little time on the doctrinal issue itself and focused instead on attacking Arminians for stirring up contention in the church. In order to make this argument, he necessarily had to establish that the public push for free will theology began with Arminius. This was rather disingenuous since Erasmian texts had remained popular and quite public in both England and the Low Countries. In fact, Arminius had resurrected Erasmus’ theology and given it a systematic foundation within a non-Catholic framework.41 Arminius began

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thinking about the problems posed by predestination when, in 1578, he was asked to defend Calvinism against criticism of predestination made by the Erasmian Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert.42 Carleton also, though not illogically, ignored the controversies that existed towards the end of Elizabeth’s reign. His historical interpretation was necessary, however, to maintain that predestination was ‘the ancient doctrine which you have always professed’ in both England and the Low Countries. Once Carleton had shaped the historical framework surrounding the predestination debate, he was able to take the next rhetorical step in Erasmus’ theological methodology. Practically quoting Erasmus and others who sought to marginalize predestination by keeping its presentation out of the public sphere, Carleton told his audience: His Maiestie foresaw and foretold (some yeeres past) by his Letters and Ministers upon the occasion of Vorstius the evils which trouble you at this time; and by other Letters he represented to you the little fruit which would spring of it in suffering the choise points of Predestination to be caried into the chaire and Pulpits, which were too high and to darke for the capacitie of the common people.43 Predestination was ‘too high and too dark’ for the common people. It was not a doctrine for public disputation or discussion. When James and Carleton employed such rhetoric to denounce Arminianism, their ultimate objective was peace, concord, and ‘the unity of religion.’44 The preservation of Calvinist doctrine was undoubtedly important to James, but his foremost concern was unity and conformity. James was well aware that where religious disunity existed, political disunity was sure to follow. That this speech was an echo of Erasmus’ rhetorical religious methodology was certainly not of much concern to James or Carleton. Both James and Carleton, however, realized the importance of such rhetoric in English religious culture and the very fact that James would use it to defend Calvinist consensus and tradition demonstrates the pervasiveness of the Erasmian legacy.45 In a sense, Erasmus’ vision had come to fruition in early Stuart England. While James’ policy at the Synod of Dordt was to attack an Erasmian theological position, he did so on the grounds of peace and concord, not doctrinal absolutism. In many ways,

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James I’s religious policies suggest the influence of Erasmian humanism. James prized moderation and not only sought to maintain peace in England, but also worked towards the ultimate reunion of Protestants and Catholics. According to W.B. Patterson, peace, unity, and tolerance were all intrinsic parts of James’ religious philosophy. The way to accomplish these was through an international ecumenical council.46 Patterson argues that James I was driven by an overriding preoccupation with his and Britain’s role in bringing peace to Europe. This moderate picture makes James’ political and religious agenda appear strikingly similar to Erasmus’. James I may not have been directly influenced by Erasmus, but he most certainly was espousing Erasmian values when he placed peace as the highest religious ‘good’ and then worked towards a reunion of Christendom. Peace, moderation, and Christian dialogue in an ecumenical council were central elements in both Erasmus’ and James’ vision for a religious and political reform of Christian Europe. While James was ultimately unsuccessful in his attempts to bring about an ecumenical council between Catholics and Protestants or to prevent the beginning of the Thirty Years’ War, he did manage to keep Britain from fully joining in – not a particularly easy task – and throughout his reign he attempted to mediate between the warring parties.47 In 1618, James had his chance to participate in the religious council at Dordt. His efforts were partly successful, but ultimately fuelled the increasingly bitter division between Calvinists and Arminians in England. James was not only interested in using diplomacy to further his European agenda; he also supported a wide variety of intellectuals who wrote in defence of peace and unity. As with Erasmus, James’ moderate rhetoric appears to present an enlightened individual who was self-consciously irenic and non-partisan. A superficial interpretation of both individuals, however, obscures the potential for tolerant rhetoric to isolate and denigrate religious minorities, to reinforce the status quo, and to function as personal selffashioning.48 The simple view of James as irenic and moderate does not raise the possibility that for England to move towards reconciliation with Catholicism or Lutheranism, James would have to suppress the Puritans. Language deemed ‘moderate’ from an international perspective could be highly ‘antagonistic’ from a domestic vantage point. Ultimately, James was not only using Erasmus’ religious language, he was also using Erasmus’ religious

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methodology. The rhetoric of peace was often more powerful in denigrating the lack of peacefulness of one’s opponents than in actually bringing about concord within Christendom.49 James’ use of moderate language to craft his vision of the via media while isolating and marginalizing those he deemed politically and religiously dangerous can perhaps best be witnessed in his control and management of English pulpits. Lori Anne Ferrell has shown how James I used court preachers to control the religious debate.50 James’ moderation, pursuit of consensus, and espoused via media were rhetorical constructs that were actually designed to attack Puritans and others James deemed as extreme. The ‘middle way,’ defined as peaceful, moderate, and consensual, was a theological construction, which existed as a virtual space where James felt he could maintain the English church under the authority of the crown. Claiming the moderate and peaceful high ground while relegating opponents to an immoderate, seditious, and destructive fringe certainly does not necessarily demonstrate real tolerance.51 What it does demonstrate is that those who sought a religious system that maintained peace, a status quo religious structure, and the suppression of controversial religious topics in the public sphere, knew how to confront and forcefully challenge those seeking further dogmatic or confessional reform. Ironically, however, James’ devotion to peace and unity resulted in the gradual destruction of the unity he so desperately wanted to create. Both Calvinists and anti-Calvinists portrayed their opponents as being outside the traditional English via media and wanted James to either bring them into conformity or punish them. Hoping to preserve unity, James sought to continue Elizabeth’s policy of public quiet while refusing to side with either the Calvinists or the anti-Calvinists in England.52 The polemical battles began, therefore, to rage ever more intensely and ‘unity’ became only a rhetorical argument. h a l l , f u l l e r , m o n tag u, a n d a n d r e w e s : erasmian divines? Even though the controversy between Calvinists and Arminians could be quite intense, a close appraisal, from the perspective of Erasmus’ legacy, demonstrates how similar they could be in their use of language and in ultimate objective, as both sought to create a stable and peaceful middle place for the English church.

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The more zealous godly, however, would ultimately repudiate the rhetoric of moderation, whether it came in a Calvinist or an Arminian guise.53 While Richard Montagu and Lancelot Andrewes only occasionally mentioned Erasmus, their theology was remarkably similar to that put forward by Erasmus in the Paraphrases and other texts. Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller, both moderate Calvinists, were actually more overt in their devotion to Erasmus. There is, and has been for some time, a robust debate over the causes of the English civil war, with an important component focusing on the nature of Puritanism, Arminianism, and the fabled English via media. A now rather well-established revisionist consensus sees Arminianism as an ‘innovation’ that upset the conservative Calvinist status quo.54 In this view, Arminianism challenged Calvinist predestinarian theology, which the vast majority of English people and divines perceived as Protestant orthodoxy. When supported by Charles I and Archbishop Laud and then coupled with both heightened religious ceremonialism and greater enforcement of conformity, Arminianism became a central cause of the religious animosities and fears that pushed England towards religious violence.55 A few historians, however, including Peter White, Julian Davies, and Kevin Sharpe, have argued that English Arminianism was part of a long-standing Elizabethan and early Stuart via media. Although Laud and Charles stressed order and conformity to a greater degree than Elizabeth or James, the Caroline church did not diverge significantly from traditional post-Reformation English theology and ecclesiology. Laud was far less concerned about predestination, than with maintaining order and conformity.56 Absent from both interpretations, however, is an appreciation for the legacy of Erasmian theology and rhetoric in Elizabethan and early Stuart England. It might appear that the existence of a strong Erasmian tradition in England would support the notion of a long-standing place for Arminian, free will, or Erasmian theology within the English church. All one has to do is examine the English translation of Erasmus’ Paraphrases or many of the other Erasmian texts printed during the Elizabethan era to argue that Erasmian theology was a necessary precondition for later English Arminianism. Seventeenth-century anti-Calvinists, such as Thomas Bilson, Peter Heylyn, John Plaifere, and many divines during the Restoration recognized this and wrote about Erasmus and the

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Paraphrases as an argument to counter Puritan claims of Arminian innovation.57 According to anti-Calvinists, the official injunctions regarding the printing and distribution of Erasmus’ Paraphrases by both Edward VI and Elizabeth I proved that the English Reformation was not opposed to free will theology.58 Some seventeenth century authors went so far as to claim that the English Reformation was fundamentally Erasmian in nature.59 It is also not hard to find an Erasmian style in pre-Arminians, such as Richard Hooker and John Young, as well as Arminians proper, including Lancelot Andrewes, Richard Montagu, and Lucius Cary, Lord Falkland. Bruce Mansfield has highlighted the influence of Erasmus on the Falkland circle at Great Tew as well as on the Dutch Arminians.60 However, a careful scrutiny of Erasmian publications also indicates a general English uneasiness with Erasmian theology, a theology which was clearly not congruent with mainstream English Calvinism. In fact, as we have seen, a number of Erasmian publications were heavily reworked to make them fit better with Calvinist theology. There is abundant evidence pointing to the dominance of Calvinism and the marginal nature of an Erasmian theological world view from the last decades of the sixteenth century through the reign of James I. So, while looking at Erasmus’ legacy among Arminians complicates the notion of Calvinist consensus and orthodoxy, it does not necessarily alter it. More significant than an examination of Erasmus and anti-Calvinists are the differing opinions about Erasmus among English Calvinists. The diverse views of Erasmus suggest a long-term ideological struggle, not simply between predestinarians and Arminians, but a deeper struggle over the cultural meaning and value of religious ‘peace,’ ‘consensus,’ and ‘moderation.’ Joseph Hall was a member of the English delegation to condemn Arminianism at the Synod of Dordt and was chosen not only for his clerical standing, but also for his well-known, if selfproclaimed, moderation. James I wanted to take a very hard line against Arminianism, but all in the name of moderation and peace. Hall was a natural participant, given James’ agenda, although he left the conference early for health reasons.61 Hall was quite familiar with Erasmus’ writings, especially Erasmus’ epistles and, in imitation, was the first English man to publish his own letters.62 There are also extended quotations from Erasmus in Hall’s texts (at one point he included an entire letter from Erasmus).63 While Hall, as a committed predestinarian Calvinist,

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was at odds with some of Erasmus’ theological positions, most notably regarding grace, he was a great admirer of Erasmus, routinely cited Erasmus, and generally positioned himself as a moderate, peace-loving theologian.64 He also found moderate Erasmian rhetoric useful in his own attempts at constructing a via media for the English church between the extremes of popery and presbyterian Puritanism.65 Hall agreed with Erasmus that peace and concord were imperative for Christians, and that public theological disputations were dangerous, not because they sought truth, but because the search for lesser truths might endanger the greater truths of Christian peace and charity.66 In his Meditations and Vows, Hall wrote regarding such controversies, ‘Since I see this is daily increased with partaking, I will behold it with sorrow; and meddle no otherwise than by prayers to God, and intreaties to men and seeking my own safety, and the peace of the Church, in the freedom of my thought, and silence of my tongue.’67 Hall, however, had a hard time keeping his vow and was unable to silence his tongue. Like Erasmus, Hall argued that theological disputations, carried out within the public sphere, would destroy religious unity and that there should be silence on major controversies, such as predestination. Yet, in writing treatises calling for an end to disputation he sought to demonstrate that those who were causing religious controversies in England were Arminians, Catholics, Presbyterians, and various sectarians. They were the noisy ones who should be quiet. Those who, like himself, were episcopal Calvinists, were in the moderate, peaceful, consensual, and non-combative middle. Hall was convinced that Arminians, such as Richard Montagu, were introducing radical ‘innovations’ that brought disunity to Calvinist England. Hall could thus claim that moderates held their tongues while in the very act of writing to condemn others who failed to do the same. While this was the same approach used by Erasmus, Hall seems less aware that he was violating his own principles than Erasmus had been in his diatribe against Luther.68 In both cases, however, we must be careful not to mistake self-espoused moderation and the condemnation of confrontation for neutrality or as a representation of an actual peaceful middle ground. As both Erasmus and Hall knew well, the language of peace, love, and moderation was a powerful rhetorical tool for marginalizing an opponent as a dangerous extremist.

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Hall argued often for theological and religious flexibility in things that were not essential. However, for beliefs and practices that Hall believed were not essential to salvation, he took an Erasmian approach and personally submitted his judgment to that of his church: ‘In all those verities which are disputable, and free for discourse, let me ever be swayed by the sacred authority of that Orthodoxe Church wherein I live.’69 When a matter was open to interpretation, Hall believed that he should not differ with tradition.70 He did note, however, that Erasmus had gone too far in submitting his judgment to the Catholic Church and that there were limits to how much heresy a Christian should accept in a Church. Hall wrote: It is possible I confesse to goe too farre, in our reliance upon others judgements; I cannot like that of Erasmus, who professeth to his Bilibaldus, that hee ascribed so much to the authority of the Church, that if she had thought meet to have allowed the opinion of Arius, or Pelagius, hee should have assented thereunto; This is too much servility; In these manifest and maine truthes, we have no reason to make flesh our arme. If all the world should face me downe, that the Sunne shines not, I would be pardoned to beleeve my eyes.71 Hall’s mention of Pelagius is telling, as is his concluding appeal to empirical evidence. Though Hall wrote of Erasmus here, he also may have been thinking of Ignatius Loyola’s ‘Rules’ for thinking with the church. In these rules, which accompanied the Spiritual Exercises, Loyola wrote, ‘To maintain a right mind in all things we must always maintain that the white I see, I shall believe to be black, if the hierarchical Church so stipulates.’72 Hall insisted that he would ‘believe my eyes.’ Despite his caution, regarding the Erasmian approach to the Catholic Church, Hall was basically following Erasmus’ principles and specifically referred to Erasmus: Pertinacy is the next, which indeed is the onely thing that makes an hereticke; Let the error be haynous, yet if there be not a perverse stiffenesse in the maintenance of it, it amounts not to the crime of heresie: much lesse is it so in case of a relenting schisme; It was a good speech of Erasmus: I cannot be an hereticke unlesse I will; and since I neither

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am, nor will be so, I will endeavour to use the matter so, as that I may not be thought to be one.73 Hall understood that attaining absolute unity was impossible. What he, like Erasmus, hoped to find was public peace and concord, while allowing private variety in non-essentials. Hall hoped that the English church could find unity without requiring absolute uniformity of belief. He wrote, ‘It is a true rule of Erasmus, that generous spirits would be reclaimed by teaching, not by compulsion.’74 Reminiscent of Erasmus’ words in De Libero Arbitrio and elsewhere, Hall stated, ‘Some quiet error may be better than some unruly truth.’75 He then, rhetorically, asked, ‘Who binds us to speak all we think?’76 Hall specifically applied this sentiment to the controversies over the human will. Like Erasmus, he stated that peace was the greatest mark of true Christianity and disunity the mark of heresy. Not surprisingly then, Hall positioned the English church as the foundation of peace and unity. Those who challenged his conception of the English church (Romanists, Arminians, Socinians, Presbyterians, and sectarians) were disturbing the peace of the church through their innovations. Very astutely, and echoing Erasmus’ adiaphoric arguments against Luther, Hall argued that the theological issues supposedly destroying unity within the church of England were really only secondary issues. According to Hall: With some of ours, the controuersie is not about any solid lims of Christian Faith, but only of the very skin; with some others, not about the skin, but the garment rather, nor about the garment itselfe neither, but of the very hemme. There are certain scholastical opinions of a middle ranke, meere Theological Corollaries, or perhaps some outward ceremonies, wherein we dissent: Principles of Christian Religion there are not.77 As had Whitgift earlier, Hall believed that most disputes were about ceremonies and theological corollaries. These should be considered adiaphora and thus, rightfully, under the pragmatic jurisdiction of the church. Differences of opinion on these nonessential issues did not justify nonconformity. He then concluded, ‘Finally, our differences are no greater, than were those of old, among the holy Fathers of the church, whose quarrells

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notwithstanding are not so odiously blazoned by posteritie.’78 Hall was familiar with Erasmus’ argument that theological controversies should not destroy Christian unity given that there was also theological diversity in the early church.79 In fact, Erasmus made precisely this point in his preface to his paraphrase on John, which was included in the official English translation, and in his Catechismus, which was also translated into English.80 Hall turned to Erasmus in one of his most detailed depictions of the proper via media. Extremists, in Hall’s mind, wanted a pure church without any internal divisions. However, according to Hall, ‘Erasmus hath truly observed, there is nothing so happy in these humane things wherein there are not some intermixtures of distemper.’81 There would always be differences of opinion and a unified church needed to accept some diversity. Once again, however, Hall felt the need to warn readers that the errors of Roman Catholicism were not in non-essentials. Clearly, Hall was in a rather difficult position. He wanted to argue for a high degree of theological flexibility without minimizing the importance of the English Reformation. In general, though, Hall bemoaned how variety of opinion led to conflict and the destruction of the Christian church. In writing his ‘second rule of moderation,’ Hall again turned to Erasmus when he wrote, ‘It was the observation of wise and learned Erasmus, which have runne oftentimes in my thoughts; the Doctrine of the Church, saith he, which at the first was free from quarrels, began to depend upon the aydes, and defenses of Philosophy … At last, it came to the sophisticall contentions; thousands of new Articles brake forth; From thence it grew to terrors and threats; and since to blowes.’82 Hall then added, in his own voice, ‘Lo, the miserable degrees of the Churches disturbance; we have almost lost religion and peace in the multiplicity of opinions.’83 Hall’s polemical rival, the Arminian Richard Montagu, who also saw Erasmus as ‘a man of our side,’ meaning the Arminian side, had used similar rhetoric in his controversial text A Gagg for the new Gospel? in which he argued that since the issue of free will was an adiaphoron, alternatives to Calvinist theology should be accepted within the English church.84 Hall reversed this by arguing that, as the issue was not essential, new innovations and a ‘multiplicity of opinions’ should not be allowed to disrupt publicly the peace of the English church.85 Arminians should not destroy English religious unity and consensus. Hall wrote, ‘I may thinke one

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thing, another man may thinke another, I doe neither prescribe to him nor he to me; Learned and wise Erasmus observed well; there are many things which doe no harme, while they are neglected, but when they are once stirred, raise up grievous Tragedies in the world.’86 Did readers notice Hall’s routine use of Erasmus? In the Huntington Library’s 1628 copy of The Works of Joseph Hall, a reader marked some of Hall’s allusions to Erasmus and even wrote some notes about Erasmus and Luther on the blank final page of the book: ‘Res et verba Philippus; Res sina verbis Lutherus, verba sina re Erasmus.’87 The quotation is from Hall’s text, but comes from text originally placed by Luther over the door to his study.88 The phrase fits well with Hall’s admiration for Erasmian style and moderation despite his differences with Erasmus’ theology. This particular reader also tended to underline passages dealing with matters of ‘indifference’ and how religious practice could legitimately change based on different cultures. Fortunately, the reader included a date with the comments: 1631. It is important, I believe, that we have a record indicating that a contemporary reader of Hall’s works was particularly interested in Hall’s interpretation of adiaphora, moderation, and Hall’s use of Erasmus within the cultural and religious discourse of early Stuart England. It might be tempting to see in Hall’s moderate thought evidence supporting the existence within England of a broadly based via media. Rather than pitting Calvinists against Arminians and vice versa, Peter White maintains that theological issues such as predestination were not terribly divisive and sees Hall’s thirtypage pamphlet, Via Media: The Way of Peace, and his two books on moderation as examples.89 In this interpretation, Hall was a Calvinist, but one who sought a moderate English church that was little different from that sought by Arminians such as Lancelot Andrewes. The English church occupied a theologically flexible middle ground that could accommodate a variety of views on predestination.90 Such rhetoric, however, within the context of post-Reformation England, was used to position one’s own religious vision within the ‘moderate’ middle and to designate opponents as immoderate and therefore dangerous or, even worse, irrelevant. Hall certainly was not the first to manipulate this rhetoric to suit his desired ends, but he readapted this well-known rhetorical style to delegitimize English anti-Calvinism. This is not to cast doubt on Hall’s sincerity. Undoubtedly, Hall desired an

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English church where moderation and unity would be perceived as being of far greater worth than public theological disputations. But to locate oneself in the moderate middle was always polemical, at times quite aggressively so. Peter Lake has pointed out that Hall’s irenic rhetoric was highly polemical and specifically designed to avoid Arminian interpretations in Montagu’s works. Lake demonstrates that Hall sought to reposition the writings of Richard Montagu within the acceptable rhetoric of English Calvinism and that, in doing so, he was seeking to repudiate Arminian readings that could potentially destabilize the English church. In fact, Hall also used the language of peace and unity to condemn popery and to support English engagement in the Thirty Years’ War.91 Lake writes, ‘The aims of Hall’s book were, therefore, both irenic and polemical; they constituted a no doubt sincere attempt to find the position upon which the greatest number of people could agree and an attempt to close down many of the more objectionably Arminian readings that Montagu’s works invited.’92 As seems to be perennially the case, Hall called for war using the language of peace and tolerance. From his perspective, English moderation needed to fight Catholic extremism. Arminianism was a step towards Catholicism and away from moderation. No rhetorical argument can be understood simply by listening only to the text. Hall’s texts are not self-referential; they have a subtext that is only understood by examining the political and religious context in which they were written. The Thirty Years’ War sharpened theological distinctions in England. There is also another context in which Hall was operating – the long-term clash of religious world views over the relative importance of peace, truth, and the scope of allowable variety within the English church. The polemical value of moderate rhetoric is also evident in Peter Lake’s juxtaposition of Robert Skinner and Joseph Hall.93 As we have seen, Hall aggressively argued for moderation, a via media, peace, unity, and, notably, public silence regarding predestination. He did so as a Calvinist seeking to maintain a Calvinist consensus in the English church. Robert Skinner, conversely, used precisely the same language to paint Calvinists as immoderate and claim the via media for Arminians. Each used this particular style of rhetoric to condemn starkly different theological positions. As with Erasmus, the purpose of moderate language was to highlight the ‘immoderate’ nature of one’s opponents. Thus, as

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Lake writes, ‘For all his irenic language and praise of peace, then, for Hall there was a state of spiritual war between Protestants and Catholics, war which the Catholics had started and refused to stop.’94 Hall specifically used a moderate and ‘peaceful’ stance to challenge more forcefully English Catholics and those who were soft on Catholicism within the English church. Skinner, on the other hand, used virtually the same language to attack Puritanism and to support the religious agenda of Archbishop Laud.95 Lake confirms that ‘“moderation” was an ideologically charged category and one, moreover, subject to almost incessant polemical construction and reconstruction.’96 Both Calvinists and Arminians knew precisely how to use the rhetoric of peace, concord, and moderation. Opponents also understood how the language of moderation was used to isolate and marginalize their positions.97 Naturally, therefore, Hall was attacked for his moderation. Hall understood this and even claimed to welcome such criticism. 98 The similarity of the vocabulary used by some Calvinists and Arminians, from opposing sides of the theological spectrum, does not indicate the actual existence of a peaceful middle that both could happily cohabit. This had become a serious struggle over the nature of the English church. However, a deeper rift was developing between those who chose to use the rhetoric of moderation, hoping for a peaceful resolution, and those who increasingly saw appeals to moderation, from any perspective, as Laodicean lukewarmness and a threat to Protestant truth. In the next chapter, we will examine the Puritan rejection of Erasmian style rhetoric whether it came from Calvinists or from Arminians. Zealous Puritans described those who followed moderation as ‘neuters’ and saw them as little help to the godly cause of truth. It was not only the godly, however, who denounced moderates like Hall. Bishop Hall also found himself accused by the episcopal side, during Charles I’s reign, for not fully enforcing Laudian conformity.99 When war became a reality in England, however, Hall stood with the Arminian Charles I. So did Thomas Fuller, another Calvinist admirer of Erasmus. Thomas Fuller was influenced by Erasmus from an early age. Of course, this was also the case for many young English men given the pervasive educational use of Erasmus’ Colloquies and the wide reading of Erasmian texts at university. In a somewhat odd reference to the ubiquity of the Colloquies, Fuller once wrote that in the Church of Rome ‘Satans Language is as Familiar as

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Erasmus his Dialogues are well known to men.’100 Fuller was especially drawn to Erasmus, whom he called the ‘the morning-starre of learning’ and was quite proud to attend Queens’ College, Cambridge, where Erasmus had lived and taught.101 Fuller also took an individual’s familiarity with Erasmus as ‘evidence of his learning.’102 His father was the parson at Aldwincles, which contained a copy of Erasmus’ Paraphrases. Later, Fuller would often cite from Erasmus’ works and, in general, saw himself as writing from an Erasmian perspective.103 Fuller became well known for his moderation and unwillingness to be seen as belonging to a particular political or religious party. By the late 1630s and 1640s, however, such a position was becoming increasingly difficult. In 1642 Fuller attempted, in The Holy State, to reinterpret the via media from a Joseph Hall type of middle ground that was essentially Calvinist to a middle space that was big enough to encompass the theologies of both Calvin and Arminius. While there is no doubt that Fuller, a student of the great Puritan Samuel Ward, was a strong anti-Catholic Calvinist, he argued for an Erasmian understanding of adiaphora and reiterated that peace and charity were superior Christian truths that would be lost if disunity prevailed.104 Not surprisingly, Fuller’s via media was publicly attacked from both sides. His routine calls for peace were seen by Puritans, correctly, as opposition to Presbyterianism and, later, the Parliamentary cause. On the other hand, Arminians, such as the Laudian polemicist Peter Heylyn, saw Fuller’s moderation as lukewarmness.105 Both sides viewed him as rather weak in his dedication to truth. Erasmus, however, provided some comfort. Regarding the hostility to his writings, Fuller wrote, ‘I … comforted my self with the counsel of Erasmus; Si non possis placere Omnibus, placeto Optimis; If thou canst not please all, please the best.’106 In the 1642 text, Fuller defended his Erasmian stance by arguing that ‘moderation is not an halting betwixt two opinions, when the through-believing of one of them is necessary to salvation … Nor is it lukewarmnesse in those things wherein Gods glory is concernd … But it is a mixture of discretion and charity in ones judgement.’107 He then concluded by differentiating moderation from Laodicean lukewarmness: ‘The lukewarm man eyes onely his own ends, and particular profit; the moderate man aims at the good of others, and unity of the Church. Yet such moderate men are commonly crush’d betwixt the extreme parties on both sides.’108 After the Restoration,

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Roger L’Estrange, another self-defined Erasmian, remembered Fuller’s words and applied them to Erasmus directly when he wrote that Erasmus was ‘crush’d betwixt the Two Extremes.’109 Not only did Fuller suggest that moderation was necessary to salvation, but he also attempted to disassociate moderation from any accusation of lukewarmness. Moderate individuals might end up in an uncomfortable position between extremists on either side, but they were not there because they could not make up their minds about truth. Rather, they believed that charity, peace, and moderation were Christian truths that had to be defended against the attacks of the zealous. For Fuller, true Christian moderation meant that most doctrines should be considered adiaphora and the original Creed ‘the shot and totall summe of Faith.’110 Erasmus would not have disagreed. In 1651 Thomas Fuller helped write and produce the book Abel Redevivus. While Abel Redevivus was written by Bishop Bedell of Kilmore, Fuller oversaw the project.111 This text, published in two volumes, contained short biographies of one hundred and seven leading Reformation and post-Reformation figures, including Luther, Zwingli, Colet, Tyndale, Bucer, Ridley, Cranmer, Melanchthon, Calvin, Jewel, Knox, Ramus, Parker, Fox, Perkins, Andrewes, Sandys, Whitgift, etc. Interestingly, Erasmus was included among Protestant theologians and church leaders. What is even more interesting is the prominent position given to Erasmus. Erasmus was the second entry, after Luther, and out of all the biographies, Erasmus’ was the longest. In the 1651 edition, Luther’s life spanned twenty-six pages, while Erasmus had twenty-eight pages. Next in importance came Calvin and Lancelot Andrewes, each with twenty pages. Perkins, by comparison, only had ten pages and other Calvinists, such as Beza, Knox, and Foxe, had fewer than eight pages each. It is also worth noting that Erasmus’ life was portrayed in a fairly objective manner. Nearly all his works were discussed, including De Libero Arbitrio. Abel Redevivus is indicative of both Bedell’s and Fuller’s positive views of Erasmus; it also again makes it apparent both that Erasmus’ writings were available in seventeenthcentury England and that Erasmus continued to occupy a preeminent position for some mid-seventeenth-century writers. The rhetorical style and use of Erasmus that is evident in both Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller is also found, to varying degrees, among a wide variety of moderate Calvinists and Arminians.

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Even though individual authors had specific ideas about what ‘moderation’ meant and where the via media was properly located, conformists generally agreed that peace, unity, and order were supreme truths of the Christian religion. Where Hall and Fuller used an Erasmian style to support what they perceived as status-quo episcopal Calvinism, writers such as Richard Montagu, Hugo Grotius, and especially Lancelot Andrewes employed similar rhetoric in an anti-Calvinist vision of Protestantism. Richard Montagu only rarely referred to Erasmus, but his theology, rhetorical style, and basis for establishing truth all paralleled Erasmian thought. He also was one of the first to use the rhetoric of peace, unity, and public silence in a direct and aggressive critique of a Calvinist orthodoxy within the English church. Before the 1630s, Montagu’s A Gagg for the new Gospel?, and his defense Appello Caesarem, were the only major texts that publicly challenged Calvinist doctrine. We should not view Montagu, however, as a lone voice attacking the Calvinist consensus. Montagu had the support and encouragement of prominent bishops and even the king.112 His texts thus represent a powerful, determined, and carefully crafted argument against Calvinism. In the introductory letter to A Gagg for the new Gospel? Montagu informed his reader that no man was more ready than himself or ‘more willing, more submisse, more desirous to goe calmely and sedate to worke, for Gods glory, the Churches tranquilitie, the good and benefit of my selfe and others. To learne, to heare, to be advised, to yeeld to evidence, and convicting proofe, out of Scriptures, out of Fathers, the totall Tradition of the Church.’113 This was Erasmus’ three-fold use of authorities: scripture, church fathers, and the consensus of church tradition. By using the words ‘totall Tradition,’ Montagu was suggesting that notions of Calvinist orthodoxy in the Church of England were an innovation that only stretched back to Dordt. The real tradition of the church stretched back to the Elizabethan injunctions and the Thirty-Nine Articles. Though Richard Montagu was not the most aggressive antiCalvinist he was certainly perceived by Calvinists as leading the theological assault on Calvinism. Montagu is generally labelled as an Arminian; his seventeenth-century Calvinist opponents were convinced that he was. Yet Montagu’s primary objective was not to prove Calvinist doctrine false, much less prove that Arminianism was true, but rather to establish that Calvinism was not synonymous with the Church of England. He was not

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required to believe in predestination. In his Appello Caesarem, which was a defence of his Gagg for the New Gospel? Montagu argued that while he was required to abide by the laws of England and the articles of the Church of England he was not bound by those originating in Dutch, Genevan, or other foreign synods.114 His obvious target was the Synod of Dordt, which had condemned Arminianism: ‘I see no reason why any of those worthy Divines of our Church there present, should take any offence at my dissenting, who had no authority, that I know of to conclude me; more than I do at them for differing with me in their iudgements.’115 The point for Montagu was that predestination was an adiaphoron in the Church of England. The Synod of Dordt was therefore irrelevant. Reminiscent of Cecil’s answer when asked about the Lambeth Articles, Montagu claimed he did not understand or care what had happened at Dordt: ‘What Ends men had in that Synod, I knowe not, nor am curious to enquire: how things were carried, I as little understand or care.’116 This was the Erasmian style so evident in De Libero Arbitrio, but also in the Colloquies, The Complaint of Peace, and the Paraphrases: an argument based on adiaphora, but clearly functioning as a critique of the doctrine of predestination in order to retain, or open up, a space for limited free will theology. Montagu referred to the issues concerning predestination, free will, and perseverance, as trivial ‘school-points’ and ‘obscure questions,’ not fundamental doctrines.117 In a 1625 letter to Montagu, dealing with irenicism and moderation, Thomas James stated that Erasmus was one of ‘foure late renowned Papists that lived and died in the Bosome of the Church of Rome agreeing with us in the most substantiall points.’118 For those who held that predestination provided a critical understanding of salvation, there was nothing worse, or more frightening, than the public contention that the doctrine was indifferent to salvation. For those who believed in predestination, it could not be considered an adiaphoron, and attempts to define it as such appeared quasi-Catholic.119 It was also much easier to deal with theological challenges to predestination than with Montagu’s moderate attack. Montagu had not publicly supported Arminianism; nor did he privately endorse the tenets of Arminian belief. In order to bolster his argument that English religion was relatively stable during the 1620s and 1630s, Peter White has pointed out that in correspondence with both Joseph Hall and Archbishop Abbot,

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Montagu denied supporting Arminianism or repudiating the condemnation of Arminianism at Dordt. Even Charles I asked to see this letter.120 In a narrow sense, Montagu was undoubtedly telling the truth. He did not specifically support Arminianism and he had not said that the conclusions reached at Dordt were theologically false; that had never been the focus of his treatises or his objective for the English church. In fact, his denials fit nicely with his rhetorical usage of irenic indifference. Furthermore, as Anthony Milton has shown, Montagu’s treatises were designed with one predominant purpose: ‘The removal of Calvinist doctrines from the Church of England’s formal polemic by means of a rigid distinction between the church’s public resolutions and the private opinions (no matter how widespread) of her members.’121 Montagu was not challenging private beliefs, nor was he, supposedly, writing a theological treatise defending his own personal views. In the tradition of De Libero Arbitrio, Montagu essentially wrote a public polemic denouncing public debate. It was an attack aimed at the very core of English Calvinism, particularly at the doctrine of predestination, but it left Montagu ample room to manoeuvre and deny both personal support for Dutch Arminianism and that he had condemned the conclusions of Dordt. This rhetoric had already existed in the writings of Erasmus, Whitgift, Hooker, and Hall, among others, but Montagu demonstrated how powerful it could be in the hands of a determined anti-Calvinist.122 Apparently, however, Montagu had been rather too public in his campaign to keep predestination out of the public sphere and had contributed to Charles I’s problems with Parliament. In 1629, Charles recalled and censored Montagu’s Appello Caesarem.123 Rather disingenuously, Charles said that Montagu’s treatise was the ‘first cause of those disputes and differences, which have sithence much troubled the quiet of the Church.’124 Charles was then able to tell a restive Parliament, from whom he needed money, that he had moved against the anti-Calvinists and silenced the text causing all the problems. One wonders whether anyone actually believed this, but it was good political rhetoric. Montagu remained in favour and became a bishop.125 Charles, like Elizabeth and James, sought to close off public debate over predestination.126 His silencing of Montagu, along with a sermon by Archbishop Laud against Arminianism in 1629, though ostensibly seeking to pacify the Calvinists, was not far removed from the public policy advocated by

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Montagu.127 In seeking to silence debate, Charles almost assured that adherence to Calvinist doctrine within the Church of England would not be publicly required. Despite Charles’ apparently sincere desire to keep all opinions on predestination out of the public sphere, anti-Calvinism could thus continue in a semiprivate role. Calvinism could also therefore continue to be weakened as Charles routinely favoured and advanced anti-Calvinists over Calvinists.128 Continental Remonstrants, including Hugo Grotius, also continued to influence religious conversation and controversies in England. Following the defeat of the Arminians at the Synod of Dordt, Grotius was given a sentence of life imprisonment. He escaped in 1621 by hiding in a chest of books and fled to France. Grotius was far more overt in linking his religious beliefs and style to Erasmus than were his Arminian counterparts in England.129 This was possibly a result of Grotius’ attempts to secure a place for Arminian thought in the Netherlands by associating Arminianism with Erasmus, whose iconic status was increasingly being used to support Dutch nationalism. As Johannes Trapman has shown, Grotius demonstrated not only a great familiarity with Erasmus’ works, but also that he was influenced by Erasmus. He also mentioned the inspiring Erasmus statues that were appearing in the Netherlands at this time to support the Remonstrants.130 Grotius’ De veritate religionis Christianae became an international best seller and was translated into English in 1632, five years after the first Latin edition. Entitled True religion, the work was widely read in England. Unlike English conformists who used Erasmian rhetoric to argue for peace and concord within the English church, Grotius pursued a more idealized Erasmian dream: unity among all Christians.131 It was a topic he had even broached with James I in 1613 while he was in England to discuss trade matters. Naturally, a reunion of all Christendom would require a very liberal use of adiaphora.132 Erasmus therefore served as a perfect model for Grotius, who wrote of him, ‘O Erasmus, greatest of Batavian virtues, how can words be impressive enough to describe your singular erudition, your celestial genius, your incomparable diligence?’133 Not many English authors were willing, or able, to go as far as Grotius, but his influence on the structure of English thought was significant. On the issue of predestination, Grotius did not include the subject in his list of essential beliefs, but he did write that sin is the result of

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‘liberty of action,’ which was something endued in man by God.134 While Hugh Trevor-Roper saw Grotius’ English influence as one of tolerance and broad liberal thinking, the more immediate purpose behind the printing, in English, of True religion, was as another salvo in the textual war over the doctrine of predestination and, more intrinsically, the nature of Christian truth.135 In the Netherlands, the Erasmian legacy became part of the controversy between Calvinists and Remonstrants. Grotius defended Erasmus against accusations by Calvinists – most notably, criticism by Matthew Slade, an Englishman, who was the headmaster at the Latin School in Amsterdam.136 Slade disparaged Erasmus for undermining the inspiration and authority of the Bible by suggesting that there were errors in it. Erasmus was also dangerous, said Slade, because of his ‘antitrinitarian and pelagian sympathies.’137 Grotius, on the other hand, placed Erasmus at the top of a list of true Reformers ‘devoid of the dogmatic precision of Calvinists.’138 Other Remonstrants also came to Erasmus’ defence and, as H.J.M. Nellen has shown, Erasmus was widely read among Dutch Remonstrants and viewed as a forerunner of their religious thought.139 This is not to say that Erasmus was a driving influence. In the Netherlands, as in England, we find theology and rhetorical approaches that closely resemble those of Erasmus. We also find thousands of references to Erasmus, many indicating an understanding of Erasmus’ theological positions. But what would have been different without the Erasmian presence? That question, of course, cannot be answered, but what we can say is that later writers and public figures were functioning within the same religious trajectory as Erasmus, that they recognized this, and that Erasmus was a source of inspiration, support, and propaganda. Sharing sympathies with the Dutch Remonstrants was one of the most influential early Stuart anti-Calvinists, Lancelot Andrewes. Archbishop Laud would pick up the mantle after Andrewes’ death, but Andrewes was the stylistic heart of antiCalvinism. Hugh Trevor-Roper once wrote that Andrewes, like Grotius, was a neo-Erasmian.140 While Trevor-Roper was primarily focused on the moderate, irenic, and tolerant connections between them, the real similarities are found in Andrewes’ adoption of an Erasmian style to challenge Calvinist theology and the Puritan world view. Andrewes believed that a combination of good scholarship; a thorough knowledge of the Bible, a

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commitment to the church fathers and Christian tradition, and a greater emphasis on the experience of worship would lead to a pious and inclusive reformation of the Christian church.141 On a more practical level, Andrewes, like Erasmus, stressed the importance of articulate preaching and the ethical necessity of free will. Theologically he used Erasmus’ well-established methodology to distinguish between fundamenta and adiaphora. A small body of fundamental doctrines could unite the church. Issues of ‘indifference’ should be marginalized and not allowed to cause dissention within the English church. Also in the tradition of Erasmus, Andrewes used positive theological language to support his vision of reform and, by derivative, to designate opponents of such moderation as negative and dangerous threats to peace, unity, and true Christianity. A perfect example of this style of religious rhetoric is found in Andrewes’ sermons calling for peace. Andrewes knew how to use the seemingly innocuous language of peace to position his vision of the English church in the moderate middle and then designate alternative versions as overly-zealous, extreme, and dangerous. In a sermon given at Whitehall on Easter Sunday, 1609, Andrewes associated Christian peace with two important principles. First, peace depended on unity. Second, peace was to be found in a middle place between dangerous extremes that threatened the peace of the church. Andrewes told his audience, which included James I, that unity ‘is never done but by some middle thing.’142 Andrewes stated: As for things morall; there, the middle is all in all. No vertue without it. In Iustice; encline the ballance; one way or other, the even peize is lost: Et, opus Iustitiae, pax: Peace is the very work of Iustice. And the way, to peace, is the mid way: neither to the right hand, too much; nor, to the left hand, too little. In a word; all analogie, symmetrie, harmoniey, in the world goeth by it.143 But the church had not always adopted this middle way. Like the Israelites, the English church had lost the ‘Ark’ of peace; returning to the moderate middle would restore it.144 In true Erasmian fashion, Andrewes intertwined the rhetoric of peace, unity, order, and moderation with a political argument for an officially sanctioned middle way within the Christian church.

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Andrewes’ via media rhetoric was not simply referring to a moderate middle space. Like Erasmus, Andrewes defined moderation and the via media as a ‘middle’ trajectory between God and man, earth and heaven.145 This vertical via media helped shape his conception of the horizontal via media found on this earth. For Erasmus and Andrewes, the middle way was a middle pathway on which human beings made progress from earthly issues to heavenly salvation. This rhetoric was made stronger therefore by accusing opponents of the ‘moderate’ episcopal establishment of not being on the ‘middle’ pathway leading to heaven. Declarations of peace, moderation, and a middle way were part of a very particular polemical vocabulary. Not all scholars view Andrewes and the via media in this light. Nicholas Lossky argues that Andrewes was not interested in creating a via media for the English church. Lossky understands correctly that any attempt to create a middle way would entail a hidden ‘negative’ attack on those not deemed part of the moderate middle. Lossky maintains, however, that ‘Andrewes is essentially positive.’ He continues, ‘I have tried to suggest that Lancelot Andrewes’ theological procedure has nothing of compromise about it and that it transcends the conflictual, and therefore negative, terms precisely by the renewed use of positive theological language. In my view, then, the appellation of Via Media is hardly applicable to Lancelot Andrewes’ theology.’146 In essence, Lossky takes Andrewes’ words at face value and assumes that ‘positive’ language was not polemical. This interpretation, however, ignores a major facet of Andrewes’ rhetoric. The more Andrewes employed the ‘positive’ rhetoric of peace, unity, and moderate religion, the more forcefully he stressed the dangerousness of his opponents. As Peter McCullough makes quite clear, Andrewes was intimately involved in the anti-Calvinist movement both from the pulpit and at court.147 For Andrewes, Puritanism was a grave danger – a danger that could best be highlighted by calls for peace, moderation, and unity.148 This danger led Andrewes to an intrinsically Erasmian position regarding the public religious sphere. The common people should not debate or interpret for themselves the difficult points of scripture. What was necessary for salvation was plain, simple and open to everyone. Public debate on controversial matters was dangerous. The intricate aspects of theology should be left to theologians and leaders of the church.149 This was

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Erasmus’ opinion as well, especially regarding issues like predestination, and had been echoed repeatedly in England over the past century.150 Eventually, Andrewes would counsel both Laud and Charles I to censor all public debate over the issue of predestination. Like Erasmus he was convinced that public discussion of such complicated issues did not help anyone get to heaven, but created dangerous disunity on earth. Also like Erasmus, Andrewes attempted to use the space created by this censorship to advocate and preach personal responsibility regarding grace, faith, and charity. This tactic was no longer particularly subtle and surely aroused the animosity of English Puritans.151 Any argument for theological silence and the paramount importance of peace and unity required another important element. Andrewes needed to explain clearly why peace and unity were superior to doctrinal certainty. To do so, Andrewes adopted the Erasmian theological rhetoric of mystery. Many controversial issues were so precisely because they were mysterious and not meant for human beings to fully understand. Andrewes stated: ‘For, a false conceit is crept into the mindes of men, To thinke the points of Religion, that be manifest, to be certaine prettie points, scarce worth the hearing: Those, yea, those bee great, and none but those, that have great Disputes about them. It is not so … Those that are necessarie He hath made plaine; those, that are not plaine, not necessarie.’152 This was identical to Erasmus’ argument in many of his works, including the Paraphrases. In the Paraphrase on Romans Erasmus had even suggested that parts of scripture were purposely obtuse.153 Unfortunately, according to Erasmus and Andrewes, people ignored the obvious doctrines of peace and unity and instead created disunity by focusing on, and arguing about, theological issues that were supposed to remain mysteries until the second coming of Christ. As Andrewes exhorted one audience: He came, to guide our feet into the way of peace. A way of peace then, there shall be, whereof all parts shall agree, even in the middst of a world of controversies. That, there need not such a do in complaining, if men did not delight, rather, to be treading mazes, then to walke in the waies of peace. For, even still, such a way there is, which lyeth faire enough, and would lead us sure enough to Salvation; if, leaving those other rough labyrinthes, we would but be shod with the preparation of the Gospell of peace.154

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Andrewes utilized the theological rhetoric of mystery as a guide to making distinctions between adiaphora and fundamenta.155 Those things that were mysterious, controversial, or debatable were not necessary for salvation. The Bible was clear and uncontroversial in explaining necessary truths for salvation. Naturally, those who used controversies to challenge the unity of the church were putting unnecessary doctrines before necessary ones. Again it is apparent that the positive language of peace, unity, and mystery were part of a long-standing polemical argument against dogmatic zeal. Andrewes used the rhetoric of peace and mystery to challenge any who wanted to make doctrinal distinctions a basis for upsetting the unity of the church. Erasmus had used this rhetoric to challenge dogmatists in both the Catholic Church and the emerging Protestant movements, especially Luther. In seventeenth-century England, Andrewes used it as part of an anti-Calvinist and anti-Presbyterian polemic. He shared Erasmus’ position that it was not so much that free will was true as that predestination was not clearly evident in scripture. The entire issue was mysterious and therefore should not be a point of contention. Of course, if it was not a point of dispute and even publicly censored, then preachers like Andrewes could return to the language of choice, human responsibility, and conditional salvation. On the advice of Lancelot Andrewes and William Laud, Charles I attempted to censor all public discussion of predestination. Calvinist theology required doctrinal explication of the ‘Word’ in frequent and unambiguous sermons. English Arminianism preferred silence on the issue of predestination and a gradual reshaping of the church service into what Laud and Andrewes termed ‘the beauty of holiness.’ The language of peace and the rhetoric of theological silence, so effectively employed by James to control both Arminians and Puritans, was given a new edge during Charles’ reign. Charles’ censorship of the topic of predestination could not hide the divisiveness of the issue and, I would argue, actually accentuated the public controversy over the rise of Arminian theology. Peter White has written that ‘the notion lingers among historians that in subtle and insidious ways Laud tried to insinuate a new heresy into the seventeenth-century Church. There is simply no evidence to support them.’156 According to White, Charles and Laud even-handedly suppressed both Puritan and anti-Puritan discussion of predestination. In a detailed study of

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Laud’s control of religion in London, however, David Como has found sufficient evidence that, in fact, Laud actively sought to suppress views supporting predestination while simultaneously favouring anti-Calvinism. Laud did not want to move publicly against all predestinarian preaching and instead chose to use various forms of intimidation, harassment, and fear to silence public discussion of the topic.157 Anti-Calvinists, conversely, were treated with moderation and gentleness when Laud reprimanded them for being too public with their ideology. The policy was superficially moderate, irenic, and equal, but in practice Laud moved aggressively against London Puritans while favouring anti-Calvinists. Como also demonstrates how important the topic of predestination was to the inhabitants of London.158 Charles was deeply distrustful of popularity, which he saw as a threat to truth.159 Censorship was supposed to silence ‘unquiet spirits’ who misled the people.160 The use of moderate rhetoric simply demonstrates that both anti-Calvinists and Calvinists knew how to use a particular vocabulary to claim the middle ground for themselves and thus marginalize those with whom they disagreed. Although theological discussion of adiaphora and fundamenta had begun in earnest during the Middle Ages in the dispute between Bernard of Clairvaux and Peter Abelard, it was Erasmus who first effectively constructed a theological language of moderation within the context of an emerging Catholic-Protestant divide.161 Erasmus’ rhetorical methodology, which used the vocabulary of peace, moderation, unity, and irenicism, was subtle, powerful, and, contrary to Erasmus’ wishes, divisive. It was no less a polemical act in the seventeenth century than during Erasmus’ era. During the reigns of James I and Charles I, the rhetoric of moderation, peace, and irenicism was routinely employed in texts and sermons. Such language, however, was not the purview of Calvinists or anti-Calvinists.162 I have demonstrated that it could be effectively employed by the translators of the King James Bible, the Calvinists at Dordt, and by theologians such as Joseph Hall and Lancelot Andrewes. All of these examples point to two things: first, the importance of such rhetoric in early Stuart England; and second, that there was no consensus on the meaning of peace and unity. The analysis of Erasmus’ legacy, therefore, does not lead to the discovery of an Erasmian movement, but rather to the discovery of a religious discourse that was an

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outgrowth of Erasmian rhetorical and theological methodologies. Erasmus’ religious legacy, however, went beyond theological rhetoric and methodology and also laid the foundation for the rise of English anti-Calvinism and the subsequent religious conflicts of early Stuart England. e r a sm us a nd t h e o r i g i n s o f e n g li sh a r m i n i a n i sm Attempts by anti-Calvinists, such as Andrewes, to depict predestination as a non-essential issue was deeply upsetting to Calvinists who saw Calvinism as the unifying core of the English church and a bond between England and Continental Reformed communities and regions. Many saw it as evidence that England was moving away from Protestantism. They also feared, not without foundation, that an anti-Calvinist episcopacy would feel free to limit their ability to preach and teach what they felt was an absolutely central Christian doctrine. Godly Calvinists labelled as ‘Arminians’ those who either criticized predestination or saw it as an adiaphoron. This was somewhat misleading, as was the label ‘Puritan.’ Most ‘Arminians,’ including Andrewes, Montagu, and Laud, chose not to defend Arminianism, but rather insisted that the English church did not have to follow Geneva, that predestination was not a required belief, and that, in any case, it should be considered ultimately mysterious and therefore an adiaphoron. A number of historians have argued that there is really little evidence that even Laud was an Arminian and, therefore, the notion of a struggle leading to war between Arminians and Calvinists is hopelessly flawed.163 In a sense, however, it does not matter whether Laud was, or was not, an Arminian – Calvinists believed he was an Arminian, called him an Arminian, and were convinced he was trying to destroy Reformed Protestantism in England. Such a view also fails to adequately appreciate the nature of the anti-Calvinist position. Given the rhetorical methodology of the ‘Arminians,’ we should expect to find anti-Calvinists staunchly defending themselves against charges that they were Arminians. Even while locked up in the Tower of London, or perhaps precisely because he was imprisoned, Laud maintained that he was not an Arminian.164 However, the term ‘Arminian’ had come to designate not what Laud meant when he refused the label, but an approach that suppressed English Calvinism, maintained that predestination was an adiaphoron, and sought

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to move the English church to a position of de facto free will theology and worship. The debate over predestination and free will was not new. Not only did metaphysical arguments about fate, determinism, and predestination stretch back to Augustine, other church fathers, and the ancient Greeks, but such debates also stood at the core of Luther’s and Calvin’s reformations. Moreover, Arminius’ own arguments concerning grace did not present a fundamentally new approach to the old debate, but rather returned to Erasmus’ position in De Libero Arbitrio.165 Indeed, there is evidence that De Libero Arbitrio was still available and being read. For example, in his commonplace book, Ben Jonson, an English Catholic, translated a portion of De Libero Arbitrio into English. Jonson was particularly interested in Erasmus’ ‘moderate’ deprecation of ‘excess’ and immoderate doctrinal debate.166 Jonson attacked Luther’s position against Erasmus as well as Luther’s general ‘religious immoderation.’ In Jonson’s mind, preachers of predestination were ‘controverters’ who destroyed Christian unity and concord. What is particularly fascinating about Jonson’s use of Erasmus is that Jonson was not only familiar with De Libero Arbitrio, but that he also took the time to translate passages and indicated his support for the moderate position espoused by Erasmus’ rhetoric.167 In De Libero Arbitrio Erasmus associated both Luther and public debates about predestination with public drunkenness and brawling. Ben Jonson’s translation read: ‘Some Controverters in Divinity are like Swaggerers in a Taverne, that … turne every thing into a weapon … Their Arguments are as fluxive as liquour spilt upon a Table.’168 The portion Jonson chose to translate indicates that he understood Erasmus’ methodological approach to the question of predestination and free will. For Erasmus and Jonson, what was ultimately most important was not the ‘error’ of predestination, but the ‘immoderation’ of those who upheld it as absolute dogma. Within Protestant circles, the debate was not polarized between ‘faith’ and ‘works’ theology, in a Protestant versus Catholic sense. Rather, the central issue was whether faith was ‘active’ or ‘inactive.’ Did faith represent the active acceptance of free grace by the believer or was faith simply implanted by God into the elect? This controversy, which took place within Protestantism, had its roots in the writings of Luther, Calvin, and Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio. Though it was not his intent, Erasmus established

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a rationally and biblically defensible ‘semi-Pelagian’ position for the Catholic and non-Catholic world.169 Even more important, the popularity of Erasmian texts kept this theology in the public sphere in England and the Low Countries throughout the sixteenth century. Ultimately, however, English Laudians used Erasmus’ rhetorical and methodological approach and then maintained that, since the doctrinal issue of predestination was an adiaphoron, Calvinist preaching and publishing should be suppressed. At its core, the novelty of seventeenth-century ‘Arminianism’ was the derogatory name Puritans began to use for well-known concepts and rhetorical approaches.170 Dutch Arminianism and Erasmianism, however, were distinctive and should not be completely conflated. The difference between the two lies in their rhetoric and methodology rather than in divergent theological points. Dutch Arminianism grew out of Calvinism and tended towards what some historians have called scholastic Calvinism, the rigorous and systematic exposition of biblical doctrine.171 Although Arminians owed an intellectual debt to Erasmian traditions that were still alive in the Netherlands, their theological approaches were quite different, even though Grotius’ approach was modelled on Erasmus. In fact, later ‘English Arminians,’ most notably Andrewes, Laud, Montagu, and Charles I, were theologically closer to Erasmus than to Dutch Remonstrants. The difference between the two is fairly simple: the Remonstrants were pro-free will; Erasmus was opposed to predestination and suggested that the entire topic should be publicly censored.172 Where Remonstrants sought systematically to prove the doctrine of free will, Erasmus and later English Arminians sought to move away from predestinarian theology and deemphasize systematic dogma altogether. Of course, one would be justified in asserting that the rhetoric of silence was a polemical argument and that Erasmus and English Arminians were strong supporters of free will theology. Even so, polemical arguments for free will could either be used to establish free will as a theological ‘truth’ or to simply cast enough doubt on the doctrine of predestination that it could be defined as an adiaphoron and hence allow theological space for those who did not accept predestination. Erasmus generally employed the latter approach and then, not illogically, argued for public censorship of a divisive debate that was ultimately ‘indifferent.’ The ‘Arminian’ theology that upset English Calvinists was not itself new, but rather part

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of a burgeoning strand of English religious culture that had existed since the early sixteenth century. If early Stuart anti-Calvinism was building on an Erasmian legacy, why was it called Arminianism, rather than Erasmianism?173 I believe there are a number of reasons. First, Erasmians had never constituted a political party or definable group; Arminians in the Netherlands were a distinct party with a politically active agenda. Second, Erasmus was held in esteem by a wide spectrum of English people, including Puritans, as demonstrated by Margo Todd. Episcopal Calvinists, such as Whitgift, Hall, and Fuller, had all regularly referred to Erasmus and used his rhetorical methodology. Erasmus had also been upheld as an authoritative voice in the Edwardian and Elizabethan reformations, especially with the Paraphrases. To label anti-Calvinists as Erasmians would have been highly problematic and could have enhanced their standing. It would also have made it more difficult to argue that antiCalvinism was an innovation. His name simply did not serve well as a term of derision in the politically charged atmosphere of the early seventeenth century. Third, Arminianism was the perfect derogatory label since it had suffered a defeat at Dordt and been condemned by the English crown. Calvinists could thus portray it, like Pelagianism, as an established heresy. On the other hand, Edward VI and Elizabeth I had officially sanctioned Erasmus. In terms of rhetorical politics, and all stereotyped religious group identifiers are created with rhetorical objectives, calling someone an ‘Arminian’ was decidedly more powerful and damaging than calling him or her an ‘Erasmian.’ Such rhetoric, however, does not mean that English ‘Arminianism’ owed more theologically to Arminius than to Erasmus. Erasmus’ English legacy laid the foundation for the development of both anti-Calvinism and English Arminianism. In his analysis of anti-Calvinists, however, Nicholas Tyacke does not mention Erasmianism, or even humanism, as an underlying cause in the rise of Arminianism. Undoubtedly, this was because Tyacke focused on countering two rather whiggish assumptions: the notion that the civil war was a Puritan revolution in the name of liberty and freedom and, conversely, the traditional Anglican view that Arminianism in England was part of the glorious via media that made the Church of England so special.174 For Tyacke, Arminianism was an innovation that upset the Calvinist status quo and, ultimately, contributed to the civil war.175 Erasmian notions of free will were certainly not part of

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mainstream English Calvinism. Nevertheless, his religious world view and rhetorical methodology did leave a blueprint for how the English church could construct a via media that was ostensibly moderate while forcefully upholding the authority of both the crown and the church. Referring to Laud’s anti-Calvinist agenda, Tyacke does state that ‘the intellectual roots ran back to the Elizabethan period, but only came to fruition under Charles I.’176 This is true if one thinks of anti-Calvinism in terms of doctrinal opposition to predestination. However, if one examines this tradition from the perspective of the Erasmian rhetorical legacy, it becomes apparent that the rhetorical style of anti-Calvinists came to fruition during the reign of Elizabeth, but was only used by antiCalvinists from positions of power with Montagu and Andrewes under James and then, to a much more significant degree, under Charles I. Once the via media is not defined as a semi-Pelagian theological position or as a distinct religious space between Rome and Geneva, it is possible to understand how the rhetoric of moderation was used in England and how it was then co-opted by the anti-Calvinist movement. Both Peter Lake and Anthony Milton have suggested that once we get to the 1630s it is much more accurate to talk of Laudianism, and of a Laudian style, rather than of Arminianism.177 The influence of Erasmus’ religious methodology certainly represents his most widespread contribution to English religious culture and governance prior to the rise of Arminianism and anti-Calvinism. Nevertheless, Erasmus’ thought on free will was also present and, though existing on the periphery of English theology prior to Hooker and the subsequent antiCalvinist movement, it helps explain why anti-Calvinist theology could emerge as a serious threat to English Calvinism. In this and previous chapters, I detailed various elements of non-Calvinist thought inherent within numerous Erasmian texts published and translated in England. These texts contained free will theology that was so similar to the rhetoric later espoused by English Arminians that it would be highly problematic to assume that English Arminianism developed almost overnight as an offshoot of Dutch theology. In reality, it is more probable that English semi-Pelagianism, as clearly laid out in Erasmus’ texts, gradually contracted and then expanded during Elizabeth’s reign, followed a similar pattern during James’ reign, and then became an intrinsic component of Charles’ and Laud’s attempts to reform the English church.

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Anti-Calvinists, such as Lancelot Andrewes, Hugo Grotius, Francis Duke, John Hales, and Richard Montagu, followed the Erasmian model of limiting, defining, and then refocusing the church on ‘essential’ articles of faith.178 Their ‘Arminianism’ was found, not in professions of free will, although such theology was left open as the natural alternative to repudiated Calvinism, but rather in the absence of predestination as an essential doctrine.179 Montagu had also expressed the Erasmian notion that various bodies of believers could exist within one universal Christian church. He even extended this to Catholicism and stated that it was ‘a true, though not sound Church of Christ.’180 In content, as well as form, the English Arminians revived Erasmus’ rhetorical strategies.181 They may not have recognized their debt to Erasmus, but the position staked out by seventeenth-century Arminianism was prefigured in numerous Erasmian texts published in England over the preceding century. Given that this was the approach taken by anti-Calvinists it is not too surprising that there are scarcely any tracts specifically defending the absolute necessity of doctrinal free will. It is actually far easier to evaluate the growing importance of non-predestination theology by considering the large number of scathing denunciations of free will by Calvinist theologians. Examples of these attacks are found in Daniel Featley’s 1626 work, Pelagius Redivivus or Pelagius Raked out of the Ashes by Arminius and his Schollers and Francis Rous’ 1626 book, Testis Veritatis.182 Until Charles and Laud issued decrees censoring discussion of the topic, there was a rising chorus of voices condemning both free will theology and the notion that the issue itself was non-essential. Under the leadership of Archbishop Laud, the rejection of predestination led to a full-scale reevaluation of religious practice in the Church of England.183 The visible return of ceremony, ritual, and ‘the beauty of holiness’ was built on a theological foundation that was inimical to English Calvinism. In one sense, it is easy to see an Erasmian theological influence on this anti-Calvinist agenda. On the level of practical religion, however, it is very unlikely that Erasmus would have supported any move that ennobled ceremony and ritual at the expense of a sermon explicating God’s word and encouraging the imitation of Christ. Erasmus and Laud did share a basic and foundational philosophical concept. They both firmly believed that order was necessary for the highest purposes of the church: peace, unity, and concord. Laud

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was driven by a committed desire and sense of official responsibility to reform the English church and reestablish unity and order.184 On theologies of order and the process of salvation, Erasmus and Laud were far more similar than they were different. That Erasmus would have deplored Laud’s methods for enforcing uniformity should by no means detract from their shared assumption that order, peace, and unity were superior theological truths. However, where Erasmus declared specific styles of worship adiaphora, which could then be manipulated for the sake of peace and unity, Laud believed that his vision of worship was not indifferent, but a doctrinal truth that all England should be coerced into accepting. There is also incongruity between the Erasmian style and the Laudian style portrayed by Peter Lake.185 Their rhetorical dichotomies of public and private worlds were similar, but the Erasmian notion of personal private piety, encouraged by biblical preaching, is significantly different from Laud’s diminution of preaching and what Lake has called ‘the Laudian obsession with the forms of public piety in the parish church, a piety centred on an intercessionary priesthood praying with and for the congregation and dispensing sacramental grace.’186 Laud also diverged from the Erasmian tradition by restructuring the concept of theological indifference, not so much in terms of the things themselves, but in the divine right of the episcopacy to establish essential forms of worship and doctrine.187 Earlier conformists, like Erasmus, declared that tradition and authority must be maintained in things of indifference – therefore it was wrong to separate from the church. Laud moved away from declaring most things indifferent and towards establishing specific worship practices and doctrinal beliefs as essential components of Christianity. The rhetoric of ‘It does not matter, so do what the church says’ changed to, ‘It does matter, so do what the church says.’188 This was a rhetorical transformation that alarmed many moderate Calvinists who had been dedicated to conformity. That iure divino episcopacy was joined with iure divino monarchy was deeply upsetting to moderate Puritans, as well as some Arminians. Conformity within an English church that was based on a realpolitik model of indifference could garner widespread cynical acceptance.189 Shifting the English church to a culture that demanded conformity based on theological truth and claims of divine right fundamentally altered the religious context and began moving many English Protestants towards

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rebellion. This seemingly innocuous change disrupted more than a century of tradition within the English church.190 Zealous Laudianism had moved well beyond the Erasmian rhetorical style and world view that had rested behind both conformist and antiCalvinist thought.

S E V EN

Erasmian Rhetoric and Religious War

In 1643, as it was becoming apparent that a large civil war was not going to be averted, a semi-anonymous Puritan, who referred to himself as D.T., produced a text that purported to link Laud and Charles I with Catholicism. However, rather than simply suggesting that Laud’s Arminianism resembled Catholicism, D.T. claimed to have discovered a document that proved collaboration between Laud and Panzani, the Venetian ambassador to England. D.T. wanted his readers to recognize the evil behind Laud and Charles I’s rhetoric of peace and charity. The deception of such language had remained hidden, but now ‘the great and mysterious Riddle is here unfoulded, and those Curtains of Peace and Charity which did so speciously cover this Work of Darknesse, are drawn from off it.’1 The ambassador’s report revealed what many had suspected. According to the introduction, any English person ‘that will not now understand that Tiber and Thames were almost one Channell, shall have my vote to graze upon the Mountains, and forfeit his reasonable soule, which in so clear a day will not discern the waters running.’2 The rhetoric of peace and charity was a cover for a Laudian agenda of reunion with Rome. A few years later, when William Prynne sought to portray connections between Laud and Rome, he mentioned the pamphlet, but expressed reservations about its legitimacy.3 Even so, the Puritan introduction expressed sentiments that often appeared in print and in circulated manuscripts from the 1630s and 1640s. Realizing the advantages of moderate religious rhetoric and perhaps, at times, being genuinely devoted to Erasmus’ philosophia Christi, English authors and church leaders appropriated his ideas and then tuned them to the religious culture of England. And

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indeed, as Erasmus had hoped, and as many English conformists anticipated, moderate rhetoric did keep open the possibility of reunion with Rome.4 In the minds of many English authors the English church became the repository of moderate Catholicism to which, hopefully, the Roman church would one day return. If both sides could eschew doctrinal debates and instead raise peace and charity to fundamental doctrines, not only would England be peaceful, but Christendom itself might be saved. Those who put doctrinal truth above moderation, peace, and love were portrayed as marginal even if they actually represented the mainstream of English society. There had always been limited opposition to these rhetorical structures, but the language of moderation and the via media were so deeply embedded within Elizabethan and Jacobean culture that most controversies revolved around where the moderate middle ought to reside. With the advent of Laudianism, however, the rhetorical middle appeared to move closer to Catholicism while nonconformity was aggressively attacked. Moderate rhetoric, which often declared disunity the gravest sin, therefore seemed particularly dangerous and even intolerant from a Puritan perspective.5 Puritans were not deceived by the language of peace and moderation and, in publications such as The Popes Nuntioes, in 1643, specifically linked this rhetoric to free will theology and a feared conspiracy against English Protestantism. They had solved the ‘riddle’ and discovered an anti-Protestant agenda behind the rhetoric of peace and conformity.6 This moderate theological methodology, pursued with a rather un-Erasmian aggressiveness, was the direct and natural outgrowth of the religious approach Erasmus advocated in the early sixteenth century to deal with the problems caused by the Reformation. When the language of peace, love, and unity was joined to an increasingly repressive policy of enforced conformity in seventeenth-century Protestant England, at a time when religious wars raged on the Continent, it only heightened religious animosities and paved the way for more religious violence. The rhetorical curtains of peace and charity could not conceal the divide between those whose foremost concern was doctrinal and scriptural truth and those who believed that Christian truth required religious unity, order, and, for Laud, iure divino episcopacy.7 Debates over predestination were the theological causes célèbres, but they were a manifestation of a deeper division over the past and future of the English Reformation and, intrinsically, about the nature of Christian truth. The answer to

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ongoing questions over religious division and violence in early modern England does not depend on big, simple answers, but rather on a carefully nuanced examination of numerous cultural threads. The legacy of Erasmus is one of these. m od e r at i o n a n d i t s d i s c o n t e n t s It was not a coincidence that the build-up to civil war took place within a religious culture that talked about nothing so much as unity, peace, and moderation. It is one of the great ironies of the period, not to mention of Erasmus himself, that a theological approach specifically designed to avoid and end conflict played a significant part in creating a highly charged atmosphere of distrust and fear. By the time of the civil war both Arminians and Puritans understood the purposes behind the rhetoric of moderation and peace. On the one hand, both Arminians, ranging from Charles and Laud, to the Laudian attack dog, Peter Heylyn, to Falkland’s Great Tew circle, and many moderate Calvinists, such as Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller, employed the rhetoric of peace and unity and, ultimately, remained loyal to Charles I.8 On the other hand, a number of Puritan authors specifically denounced the rhetoric of moderation and toleration. Within the English public sphere, moderate rhetoric had lost its ability to represent a unifying and widely accepted via media and had, in the minds of many, become code for intolerance and the acceptance of evil religion. Somewhat counter-intuitively a cultural wedge grew ever wider between zealous Calvinists and zealous moderates. English Arminians never saw themselves as followers of Arminius or even as belonging to a specific faction. Laud himself insisted that he was not an Arminian.9 Yet, it is understandable that Calvinists, especially the zealous, would find a derogatory label for a world view they rejected – a religious perspective that questioned the absoluteness of God’s grace, saw the English church as connected to true Catholic tradition, and demanded episcopal conformity. Among those whom Puritans and posterity have labelled Arminians, the intellectual group that formed around Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland, most accurately reflected an Erasmian world view and style. For this significant and influential group of civil war royalists, which included Viscount Falkland, the duke of Clarendon, Henry Hammond, and William Chillingworth, Erasmus was a paramount inspiration. The Great

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Tew group, more directly and explicitly than Hooker and Andrewes before them, continued to develop the theological and rhetorical legacy of Erasmus. As mentioned in the introduction to this book, the connection between Erasmus and Great Tew is one of the most well-known aspects of Erasmus’ English legacy. Bruce Mansfield, Hugh Trevor-Roper, and Martin Griffin, among others, have shown the influence of Erasmus on this group.10 Hugh Trevor-Roper, in particular, was convinced that the Great Tew circle, Laud and Arminians, in general, were ‘Erasmians.’11 It has, at times, been far too easy to romanticize the Great Tew group and see them as the tolerant, pacifist, reasonable, and dispassionate forerunners of Latitudinarians and modern Anglicanism.12 In fact, many of those who met at Great Tew wrote polemics against Catholicism, spoke against Puritanism and Presbyterianism and were deeply involved in the wars in Scotland, England, and Ireland. Falkland was so determined to fight against the Scots in 1639 that, after being turned down for a leadership post, he went as a volunteer soldier.13 To call these men Erasmians distorts and simplifies their own views and historical context, as well as the complex legacy of Erasmus. Yet, there was a religious and intellectual tradition that runs from Erasmus through the Great Tew Arminians and, indeed, through later Latitudinarianism. Looking through the lens of Erasmus’ English legacy, however, does not reveal Whiggish forerunners of peace, tolerance, and liberty, but a more nuanced and multivalent appreciation for the ways in which the rhetoric of peace and charity contributed to the deepening religious divisions and factions of the civil war years. Calls for peace and tolerance were, as we shall see, viewed by many as a cover for repression, intolerance, and repudiation of Christian truth. Some also saw this rhetoric as the foundation for iure divino absolutism. Enlightenment conceptions of religious peace should not be read back onto seventeenthcentury perceptions of what pax et concordia looked and felt like.14 Despite the overstatements in Trevor-Roper’s account, he does show the parallels between the thought of Erasmus and the Great Tew group. While Griffin delves much deeper than Trevor-Roper into the thought of Chillingworth and the Great Tew circle, he also discusses the pre-Latitudinarians at Great Tew as Erasmians and cites Trevor-Roper.15 Despite these cautions, both texts, as well as Bruce Mansfield’s brief account, do provide helpful studies of the period.

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Those who met at Falkland’s Great Tew country estate did not see themselves as part of any distinct group and, in fact, never met all together. They were united, however, by a shared religious vision and held together tangentially by Falkland.16 Although generally labelled Arminians, they attempted to downplay the centrality of the free will versus predestination debate. They were, however, more moderate and rationalist than Laud. Nor did they support Charles and Laud’s conception of a iure divino episcopacy. It was the claim of divine sanction in areas that they felt were adiaphora and part of ius humanum that made them highly critical of both Presbyterianism and Laudianism.17 For the zealous, however, there was ultimately little difference between the various moderations of Chillingworth or Laud. Let us turn to a quotation on Erasmus and the religious tradition at Great Tew, written by the late Hugh Trevor-Roper: Erasmus, the founder of this tradition – the father of Socinianism in both the wide and narrow sense – is cited by all the Great Tew writers. To Falkland, Erasmus was, ‘though no martyr, yet one who may pass as a confessor, having suffered, and long, by the bigots of both parties’. Chillingworth, after his reconversion to Protestantism, quoted ‘that great Erasmus’ as one of his masters. Clarendon also cites him against the bloodthirsty clergy of the civil war: ‘those ministers of the Church who, by their function being messengers of peace, were the only trumpets of war, and incendiaries toward rebellion’; and he would keep portraits of Erasmus and More in his gallery at Clarendon House.18 Trevor-Roper’s account of the depiction of the status of Erasmus for the Great Tew writers is accurate, but Erasmus was more iconic than a guiding authority in the way that Calvin or Luther were for their followers. They did not try to adopt Erasmian policies for England, but rather discovered, in Erasmus, a mindset, world view, and rhetoric that corresponded with their own. The problem is that Trevor-Roper links both Erasmianism and Great Tew style Arminianism with ‘Socinianism.’ Faustus Socinus, who died in 1604, rejected the doctrine of the Trinity and taught that Christ was fully human, though without sin. ‘Socinianism’ had become, therefore, an even more abusive term than ‘Arminianism’ with which the godly could attack intellectual moderates.19

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Even more so than with the problematic term ‘Arminian,’ there is reason to doubt that there were any English men or women who considered themselves Socinians or even looked to him as a guiding influence. In essence, the epithet ‘Socinian,’ like ‘Arminian,’ was an effort to link a particular world view and rhetorical approach with heresy.20 By the era of the Restoration, Socinianism had become even less distinct and was applied not only to antiTrinitarians, but also to libertines, advocates for divorce, and those who simply did not care about religion.21 In seeking to find Socinian rationalism in Erasmus and Great Tew, Trevor-Roper accepted the slander of their critics. Trevor-Roper did, appropriately, point out that Socinianism had two general definitions in the seventeenth century. The precise definition entailed a return to an Arian repudiation of the Trinity. Although Erasmus and members of the Falkland circle referred to the nature of God as an unknowable mystery, none of them denied the doctrine of the Trinity and they submitted their views to Christian tradition and church authority.22 The more general usage of the term referred to anyone who sought to use reason to guide matters of faith. As Erika Rummel has pointed out, Erasmus adopted the classical approach of the sceptic, but then solved the dilemma of uncertainty by submitting to the authority of the church.23 Erasmus’ rationalism only went so far and was limited by adiaphora and the church.24 While it would be difficult to maintain, as TrevorRoper did, that Erasmus, or the Great Tew group, specifically placed reason above faith, it is certainly true that a substantial portion of English society perceived non-dogmatic moderation as a denial of Christian fundamentals or, worse, as a cover for crypto-Catholicism.25 Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland (1610–43), who eventually became a member of the Privy Council and Charles I’s secretary of state, was not the most original intellectual thinker, nor the most famous member of the Great Tew group – those distinctions belonged to others in a group that included Clarendon, William Chillingworth, Henry Hammond, Ben Jonson, and others.26 Hobbes was also associated with the group. Falkland, however, was the focal point of the group, both in terms of physical location and religious perspective.27 Falkland and his friends were interested in creating a Church of England that was moderate, irenic, and devoid of the fanaticism they saw in both Puritanism and Catholicism. In an introductory letter to Henry Cary,

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in the 1651 edition of Falkland’s Discourse of Infallibility, there is a reference to Lucius Cary’s esteem for Erasmus: How often have I heard him pitty those Hawking and Hunting Gentlemen, who if unseasonable weather for their sports had betrayed them to keep home, without a worse excercise within doores, could not have told how to have spent their time: And all because they were such strangers to such good Companions, with whom he was so familiar, such as neither cloy nor weary any, with whom they converse, such company as Erasmus, a person much esteemed by my Lord your Father, so much extolls in his 31, and 35, Epistle of his fourth Book.28 It was no coincidence that John Person chose to remind readers about Erasmus before they read Cary’s Discourse. In this text, Falkland specifically attacked the notion of Catholic infallibility. He did so using precisely the same arguments Erasmus used a century earlier: the church fathers disagreed with each other, popes disagreed with each other, and history clearly showed changes taking place within the Christian church. Falkland attacked the Catholic Church, not in order to argue that it was a false church, but to suggest that with more moderation and acceptance of diversity there could again be unity within a universal Christian church.29 Astute readers certainly would have seen that his arguments against infallibility could also be used against English Puritans. In essence, Falkland’s Discourse was an Erasmian diatribe against dogmatic zeal and inflexibility. J.C. Hayward has also noted the strong element of Platonic thought in Falkland’s writings and suggested that Falkland’s Neoplatonism was filtered through Erasmus.30 The Discourse naturally engendered a Catholic response and, in his Reply, Falkland brought up Erasmus. Bemoaning the schisms that divided Christians, Falkland wrote, ‘I could next tell you of Erasmus his saying, Res deducta est ad Sophisticas contentiones, & Articulorum Miriades proruperunt. Religion is come down to Sophistry, and a Miriad of Articles are broken out. But knowing that his words will not find so much respect, (because he himself finds lesse favour) as those of others more allowed among you, let us mark these words of Sancta Clara.’31 The fundamental point that Falkland sought to make, in his Discourse and in his

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Reply, was that Catholic doctrines and interpretations of those doctrines had changed over time. How, he wanted to know, could the Catholic Church claim to have always had the truth when Erasmus clearly pointed out numerous contradictions among the church fathers and church councils and when the Catholic Church was diametrically at odds over Erasmus himself? According to Falkland: It were wholly impossible, that at the same time the Popes, and most notable, and most pious, and most learned Papists living, should have justified, and applauded Erasmus for the same workes (the one by his printed Diplomas, and the rest by their Letters) for which, at the same instant, the greatest part of the Monkes counted and proclaimed him a more pestilent Heretick then Luther, if they had all weighed heresie in the same ballance, and more impossible if in yours; which the learned will yet lesse approve of, when they see how soon the worse opinion, and lesser authoritie may prevaile, as how that of the Monkes hath done against that of the Popes, and Bishops, and that so much, that Erasmus is now generallie disavowed as no Catholicke, and given to us (whom wee accept as a great present) that Bellarmine will allow him to be but halfe a Christian.32 Based on the Catholic Church’s reaction to Erasmus, who was after all a Catholic, it was clear to Falkland that Tridentine Catholicism had chosen the wrong path. Nevertheless, he was quite willing to claim Erasmus for the Church of England. He did so for a particular reason. Falkland believed that the violent antagonism destroying English religion and society was the result of the abandonment of the Erasmian principles of unity, peace, and tolerance. True Christianity, according to Falkland, was unified and theologically flexible. He also mentioned that Erasmus’ conception of consensus derived from the ‘whole Christian People.’ Erasmus was willing to suppress his scepticism and uphold traditional doctrines, which were supported by traditional consensus. Falkland suggested that he was not quite willing to go this far and defended the primacy of scripture. He wrote, ‘For I suppose not that the Power given to the Apostles can reasonably be claimed by any Society of men now, no not though you should extend the Definition as largely as Erasmus, (who saies Ecclesiam

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voco totius Populi Christiani concensum, I call the Church, the Consent of the whole Christian People) unlesse that be meant too in all Ages, and so the Apostles would come in.’33 Both Falkland and Erasmus viewed consensus as a historical process. Like so many other religious writers, Falkland sought to portray his approach as being within a moderate via media. According to Falkland, his own situation was analogous to Erasmus’, who ‘though himself no Martyr, yet one who may pass for a Confessor, having suffered, and long by the Bigotts of both Parties.’34 Ironically, there were some who would later view Falkland as a martyr after his death on a civil war battlefield. According to Clarendon, even as Falkland prepared for what would be his final battle at Newbury in the autumn of 1643, he would ‘often, after a deep silence and frequent sighs, ingeminate the word Peace, Peace, and would passionately profess that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart.’35 While claiming and relocating the moderate middle had been something of an English hobby for a hundred years, in the 1630s Puritans were starting to view ‘the middle’ as a negative religious space. In Puritan polemics from this period we begin to see a new type of rhetoric: there was Protestant truth, Catholic error, and, in the Arminian middle, there was a mixture of good and evil. The middle, therefore, was more dangerous than Catholicism.36 Conversely, rather than separating saints from heretics based on dogma, Falkland used Erasmian style rhetoric to isolate bigots from reasonable, moderate, and peaceful Christians. He did admit, however, that he would rather be a Pelagian than a Calvinist.37 It is not surprising, therefore, that Puritans responded with angry declarations that Falkland was a Socinian. The rhetoric of peace was drawing deeper battle lines in the religious landscape. Numerous other members of the Great Tew circle referred to Erasmus and imitated his theological methodology. William Chillingworth’s use of Erasmus is particularly interesting. In his well-known treatise, The religion of protestants, first published at Oxford in 1638, Chillingworth argued that Protestantism was based on fundamental truths found in the Bible. True Protestantism, however, limited the fundamentals to those things that could be known absolutely. Like Erasmus, he suggested that, beyond a few simple truths, most doctrines and practices were

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adiaphora and rested on ‘probability.’38 While Chillingworth sought to distance himself from Catholicism, which he had once converted to and then reconverted from, the Protestantism that he described would certainly not have found favour with the vast majority of English Calvinists. Although written in a calm and reasoned manner, the simple act of defining Protestantism as he did was a direct attack on dogmatic Calvinists. The religion of protestants also clearly supported free will theology.39 Near the end of his treatise, Chillingworth wrote, ‘For my part, I doe heartily wish, that by publique Authority it were so ordered, that no man should ever preach or print this Doctrine that Faith alone justifies, unlesse he joynes this together with it, that universall obedience is necessary to salvation.’40 Here we see the common Arminian argument that Calvinist doctrine bred subversive ideology and behaviour. Paul’s letter to the Romans, in particular, was a problem and it would be better if ‘those Chapters of S. Paul which intreat of justification by faith, without the works of the Law, were never read in the Church, but when the 13. Chap. of the 1. Epist. to the Corinth. concerning the absolute necessity of Charity should be, to prevent misprision, read together with them.’41 Obedience and love were necessary to salvation. It is not hard to imagine how staunch predestinarians would have felt about a passage suggesting that a law disallow the reading of predestination in Romans without a simultaneous call to good works. In The religion of protestants, Chillingworth placed peace and unity above doctrinal absolutism in areas he considered nonessential.42 In these areas public silence was far preferable to continuous and vitriolic debate. In his Answer to some Passages in Rushworth’s Dialogues, he specifically cited Erasmus’ theological methodology in order to challenge Catholic claims to complete doctrinal truth. Using confession as his example, Chillingworth turned to Erasmus for support: Erasmus tells us himself, that though he did certainly know, and could prove, that Auricular Confession, such as in use in the Roman Church, was not of Divine Institution: yet he would not say so, because he conceived Confession a great restraint from Sin, and very profitable for the times he lived in; and therefore thought it expedient, that men should rather by Error hold that necessary and commanded, which was only profitable and advised, than by believing, though

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truly, the non-necessity of it to neglect the use of that, as by experience we see most men do, which was so beneficial.43 Chillingworth did not use Erasmus simply as an authority for particular readings of scripture, as we find in the vast majority of references to Erasmus in Elizabethan and early Stuart England. Instead, he looked deeper and examined Erasmus’ religious methodology. Beliefs could be useful for Christians even if they were not fully true in a literal sense. There were different kinds of truths. Chillingworth then made the point that if Erasmus chose to dissimulate on this confession ‘why might he not think the like of other points, and yet out of discretion and Charity hold his Peace? And why might not others of his Time do so as well as he?’44 And did it not, therefore, make sense that ‘other men alike minded, who though they knew and saw Errors and Corruptions in the Church, yet conceiving more danger in the remedy, than harm in the disease, were contented hoc Catone – to let things alone as they were, lest by attempting to pluck the Ivy out of the Wall, they might pull down the Wall itself, with which the Ivy was so incorporated.’45 The point for Chillingworth was not that Erasmus was wrong for seeking peace over fully disclosed doctrinal truth, but that the church was wrong to claim infallibility. It is perhaps ironic that Erasmus’ theological methodology of dissimulation for the sake of peace, which Chillingworth elsewhere employed against puritans, was here used to suggest that Catholic traditions were not divinely inspired or absolutely necessary. Erasmus’ approach of ‘discretion and charity’ was both a positive religious model and an historical fact that Chillingworth was able to use against Catholics. Chillingworth also noted Erasmus’ ‘complaint against the Protestants, whose departing from the Roman Church occasioned the determining, and exacting the belief of many points as necessary, wherein before Luther men enjoyed the Liberties of their Judgments and Tongues and Pens.’46 In this sense, the Catholic church, according to Chillingworth, had been better before the Reformation. He hoped that the English church would remain unified by designating only a few core doctrines. Since the Great Tew circle was perceived as being closer to moderate Catholicism than Calvinism, many of their treatises attempted to distinguish their views from those of Roman Catholics. Whether it was within Protestantism or Catholicism, Chillingworth was critical of any attempt to expand the sphere of

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dogmatic necessity. As did Falkland, and Erasmus much earlier, Chillingworth drew a line between dogmatic absolutists and those who calmly and reasonably allowed for theological flexibility in a broad range of non-essential areas.47 The greater irony is that the Great Tew group soon found itself fighting on the side of an absolutist monarch. Erasmus’ intellectual descendants were fundamentally opposed to Cromwell and the Puritans and, when war came, the Great Tew group fought for the king. Falkland was killed at Newbury and Chillingworth was captured at Arundel. For nearly a century the Erasmian legacy had coalesced into an English rhetorical tradition that called for peace, unity, conformity, and moderation. Ultimately, the Erasmian ideal contributed not to peace, but to a devastating civil war. According to Bruce Mansfield, ‘Great Tew might be seen as a last attempt to recover the irenic vision of Erasmus. In one sense it was a dying echo of the vigorous Christian humanism of a century and a half before … Yet Falkland (and the Remonstrant movement too in its later stages) was a beginning as well as an end. He looked forward to a religion of private judgment, of critical temper, civil discourse, and enlightened sensibilities.’48 All of this is true. However, it is also true that an Erasmian style polemic for ‘critical temper, civil discourse, and enlightened sensibilities’ was also aggressive and calculated to attack the Puritan mentality. Its effectiveness can be gauged by the Puritan reaction. Puritans did not resort to violence in order to destroy Arminianism, but rather to protect a way of life and the promise of a dream, both of which were existentially threatened by an Erasmian vision of the English church. English Puritans understood that the Arminian rhetoric of tolerance, peace, unity, and moderation was part of a concerted anti-Puritan agenda.49 They therefore found it necessary to form political and religious visions that entertained the possibility of disunity and war.50 Even as late as 1647, another member of the Great Tew circle, Henry Hammond, who had become a chaplain of Charles I, regularly used the rhetoric of ‘peace and charity’ to support the royal cause against the parliamentary forces. The rhetoric of peace, love, and unity now sanctified royalist violence. Hammond even quoted directly from Erasmus’ The Complaint of Peace in a sermon that was published in 1649.51 Also demonstrating his anti-Calvinism and Erasmian style, Hammond wrote an impassioned defence of Hugo Grotius. Reid Barbour provides a good summation of the

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Great Tew group: ‘With Erasmus, then, the key theologians of the Tew circle prized reason; combined with obedience and reform; criticized the practices of violence; encouraged doubt and even dissent; and embraced a universalist soteriology despite Cary’s early education among the Calvinists in Dublin.’52 How rationalist both Erasmus and the Great Tew men were is still open to debate, but they did, within the spectrum of their historical contexts, point in a more sceptical and rational direction than the vast majority of their contemporaries. Later Anglicanism would see Arminianism as holding a good ‘middle way’ between the bad forces of Catholic and Puritan extremism. Some so-called Arminians certainly felt the same way, but it was becoming increasingly apparent for those who saw the world from a more Erasmian perspective, as well as for Puritans, that there were two generalized sides to the conflict: Christian peace, unity, moderation, and love versus truth, zeal, and dogmatic assurance.53 Puritan tracts specifically challenged the peaceful and moderate rhetoric of the Arminians; truth had to fight against conformity and compromise. Further complicating our picture of the Great Tew coterie was their feeling that, despite his moderate rhetoric and nonCalvinist theology, Laud was really one of the zealots.54 Rather than depicting liturgical worship as an adiaphoron that could then be legislated by an Erastian state, the Laudians were moving towards sacramentalism and the necessity of particular forms.55 Royalists could be just as dogmatic, fanatical, and zealous as their Puritan counterparts, but increasingly one party cloaked itself in Erasmian style rhetoric while the other gradually came to oppose the concept of moderation. The always tenuous coherence of English religion was finally destroyed not by divisions over specific doctrines, but by the huge gulf that existed concerning the nature of religious truth and how non-essentials should be dealt with. The answers to these problems determined both doctrine and worship. An irreconcilable divergence regarding theological methodology increased fear on both sides. Should doctrinal truth be sought and adhered to even if it meant disunity within the church? Or, should unity and order be maintained, even if that meant the censorship of doctrinal discussions? Laud and Charles adopted the latter position and, to replace dogmatic preaching, they emphasized the ‘beauty of holiness’ and the rituals of worship.56 They also controlled the printing industry.57 As S. Mutchow Towers

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has shown, printing in London by the late 1630s had become ‘politically correct,’ with Calvinist works suppressed. Stationers, meanwhile, regularly licensed texts that supported the Laudian rhetoric of conformity and reformation of the English church.58 Towers substantiates her statistical study of printing in 1637 with Peter Heylyn’s retrospective defence of Laud’s control of the presses. Laud, according to Heylyn, particularly suppressed texts dealing with ‘Calvinist Doctrines’ and did so in order that ‘the Church might rest in quiet.’59 While Erasmus would undoubtedly have differed with Laud on the role of preaching, the centrality of ceremony, and Laud’s aggressive methods, what we see in Laud is an extension, or a radicalization, of the Erasmian rhetorical legacy.60 There is a passage from Laud’s introductory letter to Charles I, in the publication of his debate with the Jesuit John Fisher, that provides insight into Laud’s theory of religious truth and governance. According to Laud, both sides, meaning Puritans and Catholics, ‘exceed all Moderation, and Truth too’ and ‘nothing’ results from these excessive ‘Lips’ and ‘Penns’ and yet ‘this nothing is made so great, as if the Salvation of Soules, that Great worke of the Redeemer of the World, the Sonne of God, could not be effected without it.’61 On the one hand scripture was neglected, while on the other hand it was raised up to the ‘neglect and Contempt of the Church, which the Scripture it selfe teaches men both to honour, and obey.’ 62 Laud preferred the scriptural approach that we have seen in Erasmus: ‘The Scripture, where ‘tis plaine, should guide the Church: And the Church, where there’s Doubt or Difficulty, should expound the Scripture.’63 The problem in England was disunity and public theological disputation. Even though he said he was no prophet, Laud feared that ‘Atheisme, and Irreligion gather strength, while the Truth is thus weakned by an Unworthy way of Contending for it.’64 The danger was not so much in the beliefs themselves but in the ‘Unworthy way’ they were fought over. Laud then suggested that the extremes created each other, were comprised of similar types of people, and destroyed the ‘mean.’ He then told Charles that ‘no One Thing hath made Conscientious men more wavering in their owne mindes, or more apt, and easie to be drawne aside from the sincerity of Religion professed in the Church of England, then the Want of Uniforme and Decent Order in too many Churches of the Kingdome.’65 Here was Laud’s answer to the problems of

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Christian disunity and the abandonment of the moderate mean. Peace and order were not adiaphora and, therefore, worship and ceremonies were also essential. External worship was the ‘Great Witnesse to the World.’66 Laud then defended his aggressive imposition of liturgical uniformity: ‘To deale clearely with Your Majesty, These Thoughts are they, and no other, which have made me labour so much, as I have done, for Decency and an Orderly settlement of the Externall Worship of God in the Church. For of that which is Inward there can be no Witnesse among men, nor no Example for men. Now no Externall Action in the world can be Uniforme without some Ceremonies.’67 Only this, said Laud, would help heal Christianity, which was ‘bleeding in Dissention, and which is worse, triumphing in her owne Blood, and most angry with them, that would study her Peace.’68 Laud was fully committed to restoring peace and order through enforced conformity and the suppression of public dissension.69 There is an echo of Erasmus here in Laud’s appeal to peace, unity, order, the moderate mean and the dangers of theological disputation, but it is a radicalized peace we see in an archbishop who felt he had an obligation and a responsibility to destroy disunity in the English church.70 This was difficult given public perception that Laud was innovating and enforcing a ‘mean’ place for English Christianity that was non-predestinarian, generally anti-Calvinist, and more ceremonial and uniform than anything experienced in England since the days of Mary I. There were many competing views of ‘moderation’ in early Stuart England. As we saw in the last chapter, both Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller routinely cited Erasmus and used similar vocabulary to Laud’s in support of what they saw as traditional English episcopal Calvinism. This manifestation of the via media was ultimately rejected by Laud and his supporters. Peter Heylyn, the Laudian polemicist who was uncompromising in his attacks on Calvinism, directly charged that Fuller ‘complied with the times.’71 Even so, we find a similar type of rhetoric in moderate Calvinists, Montagu-style Arminians, Laudians, and Great Tew intellectuals. Even though they meant extraordinarily different things by ‘moderation,’ they all believed that peace, unity, and order were supreme truths of the Christian religion.72 And, when war came, they supported the king. We also find that the condemnation of moderation by the godly was not directed only at Arminians, of either the Laudian, Great Tew, or Little Gidding

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persuasions, but also at moderate Calvinists.73 In 1642, Thomas Fuller wrote in Holy State that moderation was ‘not an halting betwixt two opinions, when the through-believing of one of them is necessary to salvation … Nor is it lukewarmnesse in those things wherein Gods glory is concernd … But it is a mixture of discretion and charity in ones judgements.’74 Moderation, for Fuller, was itself a Christian truth. Even more important, if moderation was essential, then it was not truly in a middle place, but a truth that opposed the errors of all the immoderate of whatever persuasion. Contemporary authors also understood that the rhetoric of peace, moderation, and unity was positioned on one side of the religious battlefield. England did not descend into civil war because of the disputes over predestination, though that certainly contributed to the escalation of religious tensions. There is plenty of evidence that what really upset English Calvinists was not free will theology per se, but Charles I’s repudiation of Calvinist orthodoxy, ceremonial ‘innovation,’ and Laud’s heavy-handed authoritarianism. There was a deeper issue as well, for which the issue of predestination was indeed the spark. Zealous Puritans would ultimately repudiate the Erasmian paradigm and rhetorical style altogether. Truth was not peace, love, and unity; truth was doctrinal. Thus it is possible to view a growing chasm between self-styled moderates, such as the Calvinists Hall and Fuller, and the authors of the texts I will briefly turn to now. The first is the semi-anonymous The Popes Nuntioes, by D.T.; the second comes from a manuscript most likely penned by William Prynne, the harsh critic of Arminianism, Charles I, the episcopacy and, of course, the English theatre; and the third is Thomas Edwards’ vilification of toleration in Gangraena. The Popes Nuntioes, published in 1643, a year after Fuller’s Holy State, attempted to rip apart the relationship between theological truth and the theological rhetoric of peace and unity. In doing so, this pamphlet helps explain how zealous Calvinists, especially Presbyterians, perceived and feared an Erasmian world view and how they justified violence directed against the king and the established church. In the introduction to this text, as we saw at the beginning of this chapter, D.T. declared that the words ‘Peace and Charity’ were ‘Curtains’ that obscured the diabolical agenda of Arminians in the English church.75 ‘Moderation’ was located in a middle way, but it was a middle place between truth and error. ‘Arminian’ was thus the name given to those who could not

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make up their minds between right and wrong. The text that followed the introduction by D.T. was ostensibly a report by the Venetian ambassador on the nature of religious controversies in England. In all likelihood the text was an English creation. Both the nature of the discussion and the syntax and style suggest that it was a Puritan text using the literary device of an outsider’s view of English culture. Even Prynne, who possibly knew who crafted the work, mentioned it in his attack on Laud, but also added, ‘If we beleeve the Pamphlet intituled; The Popes Nuncio.’76 In some ways the authenticity of the text makes little difference. D.T. wanted to paint a picture for English readers of the current nature of English religion and of the alliance between Laud and Catholicism.77 The goal, of course, was to sway public opinion against Laud and this could be best accomplished by creating the perception for readers that the source was unbiased or, better yet, Catholic.78 The Arminian method, according to D.T., was to use the language of love and peace to maintain unity and conformity in order to bolster their own power. Arminians, which thus included quiescent moderate episcopal Calvinists, such as Hall and Fuller, did not care about religious truth, but only about power.79 Reminiscent of Machiavelli’s comments about religion, the text stated that princes and politicians publicly reverenced religion ‘for the commoditie which they receive from it; as well knowing by experience of all ages, that there is nothing more proper to preserve men in concord, and render the people obedient to the higher Powers.’80 Catholics and Arminians were power-loving hypocrites. The pursuit of ‘concord’ was thus juxtaposed with the pursuit of truth. Those who sought true religion were willing to accept conflict as a potentially necessary by-product. Conversely, both the Catholic Church and the English church sought obedience, concord, and unity as the highest goals of religion and to achieve this end employed the theological rhetoric of peace and love. The author of the Popes Nuntioes, however, refused to accept that peace and charity were in fact doctrinal truths and condemned such language as evil machinations designed to obscure truth for the sake of secular power. The point, for D.T., was that Laud, Arminians, and, by extension, all supporters of ‘moderation’ had severed the tie between peace and truth. The text depicted Europe as divided into areas of peace and conflict. The author looked around Europe and determined that religious division and open conflict were the natural result when

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truth spoke. In Germany and France, where Protestantism took root, religious conflict ensued and ‘consequently Arms have been taken up by one against the other.’81 Alternatively, those realms that ‘prevented divisions of Religion’ and ‘maintained themselves in peace and tranquillitie,’ such as Spain and Italy, were Catholic nations where truth was ignored for the sake of peaceful order.82 According to words given to Panzini, peace was actually a mark of Catholicism. D.T.’s Protestant readers, of course, would have reversed the image: coercive order, not truth, reigned in Catholic lands and the conflict in Protestant lands came from the devil’s attacks on the truth. Now, however, the rhetoric of peace was being used to subvert the practice of Christian truth in England.83 In this pamphlet the state of religion in England was dissected into three competing groups. There were the Puritans, who followed the doctrine of Calvin and believed the English Reformation ‘but imperfect.’ These Puritans, who were ‘the most potent,’ made up the largest number of English men and women, including ‘some Bishops, all the Gentry and Communatie.’84 The notion that ‘all the Gentry’ were Puritan also provides further evidence of the author’s religious perspective. In the middle, were the ‘Protestants,’ who were ‘composed of the King, almost all the Bishops, and Nobility, and besides both the Universities.’85 Catholics made up another portion of English society, but represented only a small percentage. The minority Protestants and Catholics ‘very easily combine together for the ruine and rooting out of Puritanes.’86 They used the rhetoric of peace and order to ‘suppresse, and quell the Puritans.’87 The language of pax et concordia, controlled by a minority, marginalized the majority. When this Puritan mainstream realized that the rhetoric of peace was being used to demand the conformity and subjection of that mainstream, they were ultimately willing to resort to violence. The publication of The Popes Nuntioes was a call for Puritans to see that peace was a false value that was used to justify the suppression of truth. Rather than fearing disunity, the godly should accept it as the natural result of the pursuit of true doctrine in England. Neither Erasmus nor English authors with a similar world view intended for the rhetoric of peace and unity to obscure true Christianity. Rather, they believed that peace and concord were the essence of true Christianity. Characterizing their approach as ‘peaceful’ and ‘moderate,’ they placed nonconformists in the very uncomfortable position of challenging unity for the sake of

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doctrinal truth. Some Puritans, such as D.T., understood this and turned the rhetoric around. Peace and unity were not good things. Rather, they were veils that obscured the ultimate truth, which was that the propagation of Protestant truth naturally created opposition. Nathan Johnstone has shown how Protestant interpretations of the devil reinforced the belief that the devil fought hardest against God’s truest followers.88 Two diametrically opposed theological methodologies had developed by the 1640s. There is a direct connection between the theological methodology Erasmus developed in the sixteenth century and the violence that erupted during the mid-seventeenth century. Erasmus created a theological hierarchy with peace and unity at the top. Below this level he encouraged the church to liberally designate doctrines and practices as ‘indifferent.’ Within the church he encouraged tolerance of divergent doctrines and some practices. He believed, however, that the church had the authority to define the essential core doctrines of Christianity and to designate which doctrines were indifferent. The English church, from Elizabeth’s reign to that of Charles I, saw the advantage of this theological approach and employed its rhetoric to support religious conformity. By the end of Charles’ reign, however, many Puritans came to believe that this methodology employed a purposely false rhetoric of toleration. Just as The Popes Nuntioes pulled the ‘curtains’ away from the rhetoric of ‘peace and charity,’ another Puritan text, published a few years earlier in 1640, sought to expose the evil machinations behind the manipulative language of moderation and tolerance. Published texts certainly had a wider readership than manuscripts, but a handwritten tract by a leading Puritan may give an even more important glimpse inside the Puritan animosity to the idea of tolerance. The Bodleian Library holds a remarkable manuscript that reveals why English Puritans felt so threatened by English Arminianism. The religious tract, written by the archPuritan William Prynne or one of his close associates, made a concerted attack on Arminian tolerance and was typical of the treatises and pamphlets that circulated widely during this period.89 Prynne played a central role in Parliament’s condemnation and execution of Laud and certainly contributed to the nature of the public sphere during the 1640s.90 The treatise’s fifth chapter specifically accused Arminians of tolerating heresy when they argued for toleration on the five articles of predestination.91

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Such toleration, in the name of peace and moderation, would ‘bring in all manner of heresies whatsoever … Therefore it is manifest how just cause the reformed churches had and have now, to refuse this mutuall toleration for this toleration is a plane admission and introduction of all manner of [evil] into the church of god.’92 Some Puritans felt quite strongly that the ‘toleration’ espoused at Great Tew, Lambeth Palace, or by Calvinist moderates could destroy their belief in, and hopes for, a more fully reformed English church. According to this tract, the greatest evil of socalled moderates was not their doctrines, but rather their nondogmatic emphasis on moderation, peace, and acceptance of a spectrum of belief on key elements of the Christian faith. The bottom line for Puritans like Prynne was that ‘toleration of Heresies is a ruin for all.’93 This was a direct echo of Luther, who had written that ‘absolute tolerance is total persecution.’94 Puritans recognized that many Arminians, and conformists with them, used an Erasmian style rhetoric of peace and tolerance to marginalize those willing to disrupt unity over doctrinal and liturgical issues. This tract cleverly reversed such rhetoric by demonstrating that ‘tolerance’ was, in fact, a clever delusion: ‘Now the Arminians know full well, that there are some Christian sorts and Churches, which while the world stands, will never accept of that condition.’95 In return, the moderates did not tolerate those who were intolerant, namely ‘the Reformed, Lutheran, and Romish sorts.’96 He then mocked these English moderates, for if they did not tolerate committed Calvinists, Lutherans, and Catholics, then they only tolerated themselves. Their rhetoric of tolerance was exposed as a joke. It is also again clear from such a treatise that Arminians and moderate Calvinists were lumped together, not because of their theology, but because of their world view and religious rhetoric. The tract then added another layer. The Arminians themselves knew that their rhetoric of tolerance, peace, charity, and moderation was a fraud designed to destroy the doctrinal basis of English Protestantism. Tolerance was really a blatant attack on the Reformed Church of England.97 This tract basically argued on two levels. First, the tolerance Arminians argued for was intolerable to English Puritans. And second, the tolerance of the Arminians was in actuality a fraud. The author of the tract believed that there was no possibility for religious tolerance.98 Rather, there was a battle between two competing visions of the Christian church. Erasmus’ theological methodology,

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which was adopted by the Arminians, did not represent a via media between Catholicism and Protestantism, but rather a strong position on one side of a divide over the importance of doctrine to the Christian community.99 This manuscript, combined with The Popes Nuntioes, demonstrates that the rhetoric of peace and moderation could no longer effectively conceal the aggressive denunciation it carried against Puritans and those with similar religious sentiments. Of course, by 1643 no one could pretend anyway that ‘peace’ and ‘unity’ could smooth over the rough areas of English religion. A line was drawn between zealous proponents of doctrinal truth and zealous defenders of peaceful ‘tolerance,’ meaning conformity. Perhaps the greatest attack on religious tolerance came from Thomas Edwards in 1646 after the wars were well underway and Laud had been executed.100 In 1646, Edwards and other Presbyterians were deeply involved in attempts to reestablish the Church of England, but on a Presbyterian model.101 While Edwards certainly enjoyed the destruction of the episcopacy, he detested the thought of religious toleration and was appalled by the rapidly growing sectarianism in London and the rest of the country.102 The Presbyterians were able to execute Laud and win the civil war, but just as the Laudians had, they found that enforcing conformity was extremely difficult.103 Edwards stated specifically that he would not keep quiet for the sake of peace, as others claimed to do, but would speak against heresy, evil, and tolerance.104 As did Luther and Prynne, Edwards knew the devil loved tolerance.105 For Luther, the problem with the Catholic Church was not intolerance, but rather its tolerance for evil. He wrote that ‘today the Devil is endangering the Church with the greatest conceivable persecutions, namely without persecution, with tolerance and security.’106 In Edwards we find the same sentiment. Toleration, said Edwards, was ‘the grand designe of the Devil, his masterpeece and chiefe Engine he works by at this time to uphold his tottering kingdom; it is the most compendious, ready, sure way to destroy all religion, lay all waste, and bring in all evil: it is a most transcendent, catholic, and fundamental evil for this kingdom of any that can be imagined.’107 In the introduction to his critique of toleration, Edwards told the reader that toleration was ‘the great Controversie of the times.’108 There were certainly many Independents and various sectarians, especially in London and the New Model Army, who believed that if Laud

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and the crown were overthrown then they would be able to worship as they pleased.109 This was not what Calvinist Presbyterians had been anticipating and it set off bitter struggles among the ranks of the victorious.110 Thomas Edwards also addressed the Erasmian argument that what was plainly obvious in scripture was essential and the rest should be considered adiaphora. Edwards countered that even in supposedly unclear areas careful interpretation of scripture led to essential truths: .

There is not only a certaintie and assurance to be had from the Scriptures of things more plainly laid downe therein, the matters of faith absolutely necessary to salvation, but from the Scriptures, by comparing Scripture with Scripture, considering of circumstances, by just consequences, and such like, many hard doubtfull points in Religion which to one man alone, or to weak unlearned men are very uncertaine and doubtfull, yet by the helpe of many learned men in Synods and Councels going Gods way may from the Scriptures be made cleare and certaine.111 Edwards rejected the adiaphora-based religious paradigm. The point here is not that Puritan intolerance fought against Arminian tolerance. On the contrary, Puritans, as noted above, felt that the purported tolerance of the Arminians was simply rhetorical and a fraud. The difference was that conformists couched their vision of the church in terms of peace, charity, and moderation, while a number of leading Presbyterians rejected this language and, in some cases, publicly embraced the language of intolerance. What neither side was prepared to face was that the nature of the English public sphere had evolved and the government, whether under Charles, Cromwell, or Parliament, had little ability to create and enforce religious uniformity.112 The Great Tew circle consciously built on the Erasmian theological rhetoric of peace, unity, and adiaphora. Their ‘tolerant’ rhetoric was specifically designed to craft a Church of England devoid of Puritan dogmatic zeal. Moderate Calvinists, like Joseph Hall and Thomas Fuller, used similar rhetoric, but they targeted it at both Presbyterians and Arminians. Even Archbishop Laud justified his crackdown on disunity with Erasmian language. Puritans in the mode of Prynne, Edwards, and the author of The Popes Nuntioes understood precisely how tolerance would destroy their

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vision of church, state, and the English reformation. They also understood that the rhetoric of tolerance was intolerant of them.113 They, in turn, denounced ‘Arminianism’ and ‘Socinianism’ and were highly intolerant of Protestant sectarians, who also sought doctrinal truth and were unwilling to worship with those believing differently than themselves.114 Just as Luther rejected Erasmus’ argument that definitive belief in either predestination or free will was indifferent to salvation, so too many English Protestants rejected the Arminian contention that doctrinal truth on issues such as predestination and church structure were far less important than peaceful coexistence under a unified hierarchical church.115 Puritans believed that such a move could eliminate Calvinist and, potentially, Protestant thought from the core of English religion. What becomes clear is that these two mentalities were ultimately irreconcilable in a non-pluralist society. When political, military, and economic factors, not to mention personal animosities and ambitions, supplied just the right amount of stress, these visions became righteous causes and provided the religious impetus for widespread violence. An Erasmian style, via media tradition did exist in England. That tradition, however, existed primarily as a mindset and a rhetorical vocabulary and not as an actual moderate middle that was distinctly Erasmian or, for that matter, Anglican. The Erasmian via media, both in Erasmus’ time and in sixteenthand seventeenth-century England, was more an evolving rhetorical methodology than a set of theological beliefs. This rhetorical style was prominent within episcopal conformist circles throughout much of the Elizabethan and early Stuart periods and it was the underlying assumptions of this style that would ultimately be rejected by many Puritans prior to and during the civil war. Thus, the central religious division in early Stuart England was not simply between Arminians and predestinarians, but between two competing rhetorical paradigms; between distinct modes of religious thought. c o n c l u s i o n : e r a s m i a n pe ac e a n d r e l i g i o u s war For a long time it has been a common story to associate Erasmus, and also Anglicanism, with a moderate and tolerant via media that laid the foundation for true tolerance during the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.116 John Locke’s ‘Letter Concerning Toleration’ and the rise of pluralism are therefore seen as the natural

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outgrowth of Erasmianism.117 Christian humanism, Anglicanism, tolerance, and freedom would thus have a common historical trajectory. The reality is much more complex. First, tolerance was not the acceptance of a pluralistic society, but rather the deliberate decision to put up with error pragmatically for a time in order to maintain peace and stability. Second, looking at early Stuart English religion through the lens of Erasmus’ legacy suggests that tolerant language was used to repress dissenting voices on the grounds that they would disturb Christian peace and unity and that those voices were themselves intolerant and trying to force their views on the English church. Zealous Calvinists understood that they were being targeted by such rhetoric and accused Arminians of being intolerant for doing so. Erasmian rhetoric was part of a battle between two visions of the English church. Tolerance, thus, was certainly part of the debate, but it carried no connotation of religious freedom. Rather it demanded doctrinal ambiguity and conformity in order to maintain the unity of a single Church of England.118 Early modern Christians did not seek or want tolerance as we would define it today. The problem with toleration in early modern Europe has perhaps been best summed up by Brad Gregory in his insightful book on Christian martyrdom. Gregory writes: Yet those who disparaged toleration did so not for its inconceivability, as if unable to imagine communities in which people believed differently and went their separate ways. No, it was because the John Calvins and William Allens could envision this scenario that they inveighed so strenuously against it. The prospect of doctrinal pluralism horrified and disgusted them. They preferred a world in which truth did battle, come what may, to one swarming with ever-proliferating heresies … In fact, religious toleration would not have been in any respect a solution to the doctrinal disputes of the Reformation era. It bears not at all on the central concern of sixteenth-century Christianity, namely determining the content of God’s truth for humanity. Toleration tacitly concedes that no agreement about religious truth can be reached.119 Far too often Erasmus is associated with modern notions of tolerance.120 Erasmus, however, also lived in the early modern world

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Gregory describes. Tolerance for Erasmus meant that a variety of theological doctrines should be accepted within one church and that agreement could be reached on both the fundamentals of faith and on a methodology of peace. The language that we recognize as a vocabulary of tolerance was used, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, for the ‘consolidation of Christian society.’121 The legacy of Erasmian rhetoric in England was not an acceptance of broad diversity in religion, but part of an agenda to marginalize and eliminate public dissent. Not surprisingly then, the push for pax et concordia contributed to dangerous divisions in an increasingly uncontrollable public sphere.122 Although the challenge to the Puritan consensus began during the last decade of Elizabeth’s reign, it was not until James I saw Puritans as a threat and began to allow so-called Arminians to gain important positions at court and in the church that this consensus was seriously challenged. Prior to the civil war, the general Calvinist population saw that the religion of Charles, Laud, and the other Arminians was incongruent with traditional English Protestantism.123 They were frightened and, fuelled by Puritan pamplets, treatises, circulated manuscripts, and sermons, felt that the Reformation was being reversed and that England was potentially returning to Catholicism.124 The civil war resulted, in no small part, because of these religious fears and animosities. Understanding Erasmus’ legacy helps us better understand the climate of religious controversy during the early seventeenth century, but it does not mean that an Erasmian via media actually existed within the religious culture. More important, the focus on Erasmus’ rhetorical legacy enhances our appreciation for the ways ‘moderate’ rhetoric was used by a minority of the ecclesiastical and political hierarchy to effectively attack the majority. Erasmus, Hooker, Laud, Falkland, and others all used the language of moderation, peace, and the ‘mean’ in an attempt to continually construct and reconstruct rhetorical middle places that were not in accordance with the actual mean of the religious spectrum of their eras. Such linguistic attempts to shift the middle ground met with harsh criticism, fear, and eventually violence. In this sense, Erasmus’ legacy did not contribute to moderation and peace, but unintentionally to religious partisanship and conflict.125 The causes of the civil war are difficult to fully understand and historians have argued long over various interpretations. A close look at the Erasmian legacy does not

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provide an answer. However, perhaps it would be best if we abandoned the search for the big answer and, instead, focused on the many interpretative threads that shaped early Stuart world views, beliefs, controversies, and language.126 After all, there were undoubtedly many motivations, emotions, and personalities behind the violence. To conclude this chapter I return to a passage from Erasmus’ Paraphrases we looked at in chapter 2: the parable of the tares in Matthew 13. In Matthew’s account Jesus told his audience that if all the weeds in a field of wheat were pulled up, then much of the wheat would also be destroyed. In the English Paraphrases, Erasmus wrote that ‘the time of harvest is the end of the world. The harvest folks be the angels. In the mean season therefore the ill mingled with the good must be suffered, when they be suffered with less danger and peril, than they be taken away.’127 If the heterodox were destroyed by the orthodox during the ‘mean season,’ then many orthodox also would be ruined and peace and unity lost.128 Is this a statement for religious tolerance within the body of the church? Yes, although it must be remembered that for Erasmus it was within one church or, in the language of the parable, one field. There is also another way to read Erasmus’ narrative. Not only was he warning the church to leave the tares with the wheat, he was also telling the ‘tares’ to remain in the church. This was one of Erasmus’ favourite parables because it warned against the tendency towards separatism and the desire to form perfect churches. Arminians, especially the small but influential group at Great Tew, adopted a similar approach.129 The Erasmian language of peace, charity, moderation, and tolerance was used to support a non-dogmatic vision of the English church and to attack the Puritan agenda of further reformation and doctrinal truth.130 Thus ‘tolerance’ did not represent the right for autonomous Christian confessions. Even more so in Laud, we see that the language of peace and unity was radically used to curtail the functionality of Protestant ‘fringe’ groups and even ‘mainstream’ movements that differed with the official body of the church. This was why Prynne denounced the ‘mutual tolerance’ of the Arminians. Of course, Laud’s ‘persecution,’ as do most persecutions, bred religious zeal and determination. When Puritans gradually came to understand the danger of Erasmian rhetoric and responded by pulling aside what they perceived to be the devilish rhetorical ‘curtains of peace and charity,’ war became a reality.

EI G H T

The Erasmian Legacy to 1689

Following the execution of Charles I and the advent of Cromwell’s rule, many in England expected that the English people would unite around a Reformed vision of English Protestantism. But reality turned out to be far different from what Presbyterians had envisioned. Although Cromwell first attempted to control Parliament and then ruled without it altogether, he did not have the power or, perhaps, the inclination to create and enforce religious uniformity. The result was an explosion of sects and a wider application of tolerance than all but a few wanted. Presbyterians such as Thomas Edwards were horrified.1 Even though there were no English translations of Erasmus printed during the Interregnum, a few Latin editions were published and English authors continued to reference him. With the return of Charles II, however, came renewed interest in Erasmian rhetorical theology. Perhaps it is ironic that an Erasmian theology of peace, moderation, and unity contributed to the highly antagonistic religious atmosphere of the English civil war. What is certainly less surprising is that when actual warfare began and as English men and women lived through this tumultuous era, Erasmus’ commitment to pax et concordia appeared increasingly relevant. Not only were his works published in greater numbers following the Restoration, but Latitudinarians specifically and consciously built on the Erasmian legacy. Nonetheless, while his popularity remained high following the Restoration, the Glorious Revolution of 1688 effectively ended the Erasmian dream of peaceful harmony and tolerance within a single united body of believers. In 1689, Parliament passed the Toleration Act. One might be tempted to believe that such tolerance was in keeping with Erasmus’ dream of peace and tolerance. Yet,

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tolerance for Erasmus was the right to private convictions while prudently submitting to the public authority of the church.2 Acceptance of public dissent and separatism meant the failure of Erasmian, Elizabethan, Jacobean, Carolingian, and moderate Puritan beliefs about Christian peace and unity. One of the most important outcomes of the civil war is witnessed in the power of Erasmian rhetoric prior to the violence and the impotence of the Erasmian world view in its aftermath.3 This chapter concludes the story of Erasmus’ early modern English legacy by examining the ways Erasmus’ name, memory, and texts were used during the Interregnum and the Restoration. Between 1650 and 1659 Erasmus’ name routinely appeared in religious publications and, while most authors cited him as a scriptural and patristic authority or referred to ideas taken from his Colloquies or Adagia, a number were pointedly critical of his theology, which they linked to Arminianism and Pelagianism. Conversely, some publications continued to position Erasmus as a Protestant reformer who supported Luther. A few, however, defended Erasmus and his religious style. With the Restoration in 1660 there was a dramatic increase in Erasmus’ popularity. While still both criticized and cited as an authority by a wide variety of authors, Erasmus was especially esteemed by Latitudinarians. Not since Nicholas Udall did English writers so overtly seek to use Erasmus as a central authority for the Church of England. Naturally, nonconformists responded and repudiated conformist use of Erasmus, particularly the use of Erasmian rhetoric. With the Glorious Revolution in 1688 and the acceptance of some Protestant dissent in 1689, the dream of religious unity was over and disunity became a legal reality. e r a s m us a n d t h e i n t e r r e g n u m The only Erasmian texts published during the Interregnum were Latin editions of the Colloquies.4 A perusal of religious texts from the period indicates, however, that Erasmus’ name continued to carry significant weight. In debates over grammar and education Erasmus was naturally mentioned, especially his Colloquies, but also the Adagia, Copia, and Ciceronianus.5 It is even more common to find references to Erasmus when an author was drawing heavily on the authority of early church fathers, such as John Tombes in his treatise against infant baptism.6 John Spencer, meanwhile,

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provides evidence for the continued popularity of both the Colloquies and Adages. Spencer quoted Erasmus to make a point about the internal nature of true Christianity: ‘It was a notable speech of Erasmus, if spoken in earnest, and his wit were not too quick for his Conscience; Nihilo magis ambio opes et dignitates, quam elumbis equus graves sarcinas. He said, he desired Wealth and Honour no more then a feeble Horse doth an heavy Cloak-bag; Thus every good Christian ought to be of his mind; And indeed all the Christian hath or desires, as a Christian, is Heavenly; the World is extrinsecal, both to his being and happinesse.’7 It is also apparent that widely read authors, including Richard Baxter, James Ussher, John Milton, Thomas Hobbes, and Richard Brathwaite, were familiar with Erasmus’ writings.8 In general, he proved a useful tool against Catholicism, a regular point of contention for Calvinists, and a strong authority voice for Arminians. English authors regularly used Erasmus against Roman Catholicism. In a depiction of Catholic superstition, Thomas Bayle used Erasmus’ depiction of relic worship from the early sixteenth century.9 Others, such as Edmund Hall and Edward Leigh, said that Erasmus was not really an orthodox Catholic. According to Hall: Machiavel was a discoverer of the hellish policie used by the Pope and his creatures, not an allower or practitioner of that black Art he discovered. And in Leo the Tenths time Budeus, Mirandula, Erasmus, Stapulensis, and others both learned and grave, publickly derided and reproved the Roman Apostasie and corruption. So far did Erasmus leave the Roman Church, and cleave to the reformation beginning in Germany, that a witty Popeling thus plays upon his name. Si sit [eras] verbum [mus] nomen, quid sit Erasmus? Participium. Signifying, that he took part with the Church of Rome, and part with the Protestants, (so called a little afterwards) as a Participle doth part of a Verb, and part of a Nown.10 Erasmus was certainly critical of the church, but Hall went well beyond this in claiming that Erasmus did ‘leave the Roman Church, and cleave to the reformation beginning in Germany.’ Hall, however, also chose to repeat the sentiment that Erasmus was part Catholic

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and part Reformed. Edward Leigh, a Puritan from Magdalen College, Oxford, also presented Erasmus as a Protestant, but was more specific than Hall. In Leigh we find that Erasmus ‘opened the way before Luther’ and that Erasmus supported Luther’s views and reformation.11 Given Erasmus’ anti-Catholicism, Leigh was comfortable saying that Erasmus was ‘the great Restorer of Learning’ and one of the ‘great Lights of Holland.’12 Erasmus was clearly a favourite of Leigh, who also wrote a biographical sketch of Erasmus and cited him and his works well over one hundred times in his various treatises.13 In his account of Erasmus’ life, Leigh especially stressed the importance of Erasmus’ patristic work and ‘Collation of Greek and ancient Copies,’ from which he published the New Testament.14 He also noted that his works were ‘forbidden to be read by the Councel of Trent.’15 Only occasionally did Leigh provide a caveat for Erasmus’ authority, as when, in his Annotations, he simply mentioned that Beza provided a different reading of a text.16 Samuel Clarke, in his ecclesiastical history, also noted that many early reformers began moving away from Catholicism after reading Erasmus.17 He astutely pointed out that the suppression of Erasmus by the Catholic church only resulted in young men wanting to read him more.18 The only negative remark about Erasmus, among Clarke’s many references to him, came in Clarke’s biographical sketch of Capito. Clark wrote that ‘when Erasmus halted between two opinions, he [Capito] continually called upon him to put off that Nicodemus-like temper.’19 Clark also noted that John Jewel had memorized Erasmus’ Paraphrases.20 It is clear that for many authors and readers Erasmus remained an authoritative voice. It is apparent that most English authors understood perfectly well where Erasmus stood on the central questions regarding the importance of doctrine, especially that of predestination. Several Calvinists specifically linked Erasmus with Pelagianism. John Gaule wrote that Erasmus, like the Arminians, saw the human will as having an active cooperation with God in the process of conversion.21 He further linked Erasmus and Grotius and criticized Erasmus’ treatment of original sin and the Trinity.22 John Owen wrote disparagingly of Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio and his influence on Socinus.23 In Owen’s mind it was Erasmus and Sebastien Castellio who had reintroduced Pelagianism to the Christian world:

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It was the old song of the Pelagians and Semi-Pelagians, in their dealing with Austine, Fulgentius, Hilarius, Prosper, by them at large confuted, renewed by Castallio, and Erasmus, against Luther, after it had been sifted and rejected by the more learned Schoolemen in former ages: What ever it be, and how ever it is now come to hand, being taught to speake our Language, and that in the best fashion, the consideration of it must not be declined.24 Owen was responding, in this instance, to the Pelagianism he perceived in the works of John Goodwin and Henry Hammond.25 Another Puritan minister, Anthony Burgess, saw a similar connection between Pelagius, Socinus, and Erasmus on the doctrine of original sin. Without the doctrine of original sin, it was much harder to make a logical and scriptural argument for predestination. In Burgess’ treatise on original sin, the first paragraph of chapter 6, on whether sin was intrinsic or acquired through imitation, read: ‘We are not (say some) made sinners as soon as we are born, but when by free-will we come to consent to sinne and choose it. Thus Pelagians of old, and Socinians of late, with many others. Erasmus, though he saith, he holds Original sinne, yet useth all his strength to enervate the Orthodox Interpretation.’26 This was not an altogether inaccurate view of Erasmus; nor is it surprising that Calvinists continued to find much to criticize in Erasmus. Linking Erasmus with Arminianism, however, was quite useful for anti-Calvinist authors. As we shall see below, Peter Heylyn, in 1660, argued that, since Erasmus’ Paraphrases contained free will theology and were required by Edward VI and Elizabeth I, predestination should not be considered an orthodox English doctrine. Heylyn was particularly well-versed in Erasmian texts and routinely cited Erasmian texts.27 The Arminian Thomas Pierce, who would become, after the Restoration, the president of Magdalen College, Oxford, defended the Protestantism of Hugo Grotius.28 Pierce included Erasmus in the discussion and located Erasmus and Grotius within a common religious ‘strain.’ He wrote: You say that Grotius, called by Mr. Pierce a Protestant, did far out-goe Them in Popery, whom the same man confesseth to have been Papists. He goe’s much further then Cassander: much further then Thuanus, &c. Quite forgetting what you had said in

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another place, That though you Dissent much from Grotius his Pacification, yet are not your thoughts of Grotius, Cassander, Erasmus, Modrevius, Wicelius, or others of that strain, No Nor Thuanus, and many more moderate Papists, either bitter, Censorious, or uncharitable. There you rank Grotius with Cassander and Erasmus, and imply Thuanus the greater Papist. But now forsooth he out-went them all. So in a fit of humanity, you said that Grotius design’d to reconcile both Parties in a Cassandrian Popery. But now it grieve’s you that Grotius should far outgo the Cassandrian Papists, the remembrance of whose Wisdome, Moderation and Charity, is very gratefull to your Thoughts.29 This was not the only publication that sought to defend Grotius or position Erasmus as a forerunner of Grotian religion. In 1655, Clement Barksdale translated and published Hugo Grotius’ Of the law of warre and peace and included ‘memorials of the author’s life and death.’30 In the introduction, Barksdale lauded Erasmus as one of the ‘great Lovers of Peace both Ecclesiastical and Civil.’31 The ‘memorials’ created a chain that linked Erasmus, Melanchthon, Cassander, and Grotius. Speaking of Grotius, Barksdale included the following epigram: Nor was our Author zealously affected onely to the peace of Protestants, but of all Christendome, witness his Via ad pacem Ecclesiasticam, in the entrance whereof he hath a sweet Epigram in praise of Moderators, to this effect, Qui gaudes Batavis, &c. That Roterdam Erasmus stands in Brass; (Yet this Reward to’s worth inferiour was:) That mild Cassander’s Works are published, (Thanks to Cordesius) and by thee are read: That Nectar drops from sweet Melancthon’s vein; Wicel and Modreve write in the same strein: That in Spalato’s Books good Votes are seen For Unity: (ill lost are Two of Ten:) That Great Great-Britains King hath wisely done, In signifying his mind by Casaubon: Who joy’st in all this, view with gentle look Our way of Reconcilement in this Book, Good, if not best: ‘Twill please thou mayst presage, Though not the Present, yet the Future Age.

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Add only this passage of His out of his Answer to Dr. Rivet, where he hath words of this sense: I have always loved Peace, and do love it, and to it do I direct my labours both publick and private, that we may obtein it: first, between Empires professing Christ, and then in the Church, which Christ would have to be One.32 Here Erasmus was depicted at the head of a list of religious moderates. The text also portrayed Luther as a violent man and then stated that it was Erasmus who convinced Melachthon of the need for moderation: ‘The learned Melancthon saw this, and having been carried upon these rocks by the violence of Luther, afterward, by the admonition of Erasmus, steered a better course.’33 Where some authors sought to connect Erasmus with Luther, others, such as Grotius and Barksdale, chose rather to disassociate both Erasmus and Melancthon from Luther. Although, during the Interregnum, there were no English translations of Erasmus, only a handful of Latin Colloquies, along with far fewer references to his writings, it is apparent that, just as in previous eras, it was not uncommon to discuss Erasmus in religious works and debates. e r a s m us a n d t h e r e s t o r at i o n When Charles II returned to the throne in 1660 there was no longer a Calvinist consensus in England. The defeat and execution of Laud and Charles I led to Puritan rule, but it is one of the ironies of the historical process that movements often flourish better in opposition than when they are in control. It is also an historical truism that the people, especially in cultures with an active public sphere, desire change and improvement. Of course, the early modern desire for change was usually couched in the rhetoric of a return to a better period. Therefore, we find with the Restoration a desire on the part of many English people to return to the perceived goodness of English monarchy and via media religion. Along with this desire and the weariness of war and disorder, it should not surprise us that Erasmus and Erasmianism also became much more popular. Beginning in 1660, there was an explosion of references to Erasmus and a marked increase in Erasmian publications. Particularly interesting is the contextual diversity in which his name appeared. The interest in Erasmus during the Restoration was not a new phenomenon, but was built on a

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deeply rooted foundation. From the first publication of his writings in England to the English translation of the Colloquies in 1689, Erasmus remained an influential voice in the religious culture of England. During the reigns of Charles II and James II, English presses printed Latin editions of the Copia (1660, 1668), Moriae Encomium (1663), Adagia (1666), Julius Exclusus (1669, 1680), which was attributed to Erasmus, Enchiridion (1685), and more than fifteen editions of the Colloquia.34 The Restoration also brought with it new English translations of Erasmus, the first of which came in 1661 when Erasmus’ short biography of Dean Colet was added to an edition of Colet’s ‘Convocation Sermon.’ Entitled, A Sermon of Conforming and Reforming, this publication also included an appendix by Lancelot Andrewes and Henry Hammond and clearly was meant to challenge nonconformity.35 The 1660s also saw a new English edition of the Praise of Folly (1668). Even more Erasmian texts were translated into English during the 1670s and 1680s, including A manual for a Christian soldier (1687), The Pope shut out of Heaven (1673), A panagyrick upon folly (1683), and several English editions of select Colloquies (1671, 1680, 1688).36 The 1671 English edition of the Colloquies was the first English publication to contain an entire set of Erasmus’ dialogues. Historical events also drove some of the publications, such as The pope shut out of Heaven, which played to anti-Catholic hysteria following the Popish Plot – the fabricated Catholic conspiracy to assassinate Charles II. Episcopal editions of the Colloquies and Praise of Folly responded to this hysteria and condemned the ‘Phanatick faction.’ The number of Erasmian texts in both Latin and English that were available to the reading public makes it clear that, at least from a printer’s perspective, Erasmus was a popular author throughout the Restoration era. We shall return to a discussion of these English translations in the latter part of this chapter. The widest and most direct referential use of Erasmus by Restoration authors is found in the publications of conformists, those often referred to as ‘Latitudinarians’ and ‘High-Churchmen.’ This ‘moderate’ use of Erasmus prompted counterpolemics that specifically challenged conformist readings of Erasmus. Before focusing on this conformist use of Erasmus, I shall examine general references to Erasmus as an authority, the ongoing theological criticism of Erasmus by Calvinists, and his appearance in the writings of nonconformists, including the Quakers.

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Erasmus was routinely cited as a patristic, scriptural, and theological authority.37 In the majority of cases this was a result of his philological reputation and the widespread use of his texts in education. There are simply far too many works, perhaps thousands, citing Erasmus to examine them all fully here. Nevertheless, some examples stand out. Jonathan Hanmer, for instance, in his Archaioskopia, which dealt with the first three centuries of Christianity, drew heavily from Erasmus. For Hanmer, Erasmus was an unquestioned historical and interpretive authority on early Christianity. References to Erasmus appeared throughout the work and, when discussing Origin, Hanmer simply wrote, ‘But Erasmus hath spoken so fully of this particular, that it would be superfluous to add any thing more.’38 Erasmus and his patristic scholarship was the foundation of Hanmer’s text.39 We also find admiration for Erasmus’ knowledge of the early church in John Tillotson, who concluded that ‘no man was better read in the ancient Fathers’ than Erasmus.40 For John Price, Erasmus served as an authority on how Christians should treat their fellow human beings, including rivals and enemies. Price wrote ‘that we are like God and testify that we are his Sons by being respective and courteous not only to friends but to strangers and enemies is as unquestionable. This is that which Erasmus hath upon the place: This is that which a greater than Erasmus even Christ Jesus tells us.’41 The physician John Collop, after closely examining the health of others, chose to ‘dissect’ his own mind and came to the conclusion that he and Erasmus shared a similar disposition: I now dissect my self rather then be inexperienced: here I find not those antipathies which I meet in others: I seem constellated for all Countries, and could live peaceably under any national Church, though I would not joyn with any schism which is made to colour over a rebellion … for this indifferency, though Erasmus-like, I am hung up betwixt Heaven and Hell, & renounced of all Communions, yet Conscientiae satisfeci, nihil in famam laborati, sequatur vel mala dum bene mereor. By being charitable to all, I cannot deserve evill of any; and I hope no national Church so ill but may deserve my charity.42 Perhaps Collop found some comfort in being criticized in the same manner as Erasmus. Many authors found it useful to cite Erasmus; a few identified with him.

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As we have often seen, English Protestants continued to use Erasmus to condemn Catholicism. Continuing this tradition, Thomas Pierce used Erasmus as an authority against Catholicism on a number of occasions and told his readers that, since Erasmus died a Catholic, they could trust that in his critiques of Catholicism Erasmus did ‘impartially complain of some Corruptions.’43 Both Henry More and Edward Stillingfleet cited Erasmus in a similar manner.44 Popular anti-Catholicism also led to the 1673 translation of Julius Exclusus, which was titled, The pope shut out of heaven gates.45 Naturally, the object of this publication was not Julius II, but rather the papacy in general and English Catholicism in particular. John Wilson also castigated the ceremonies, superstition, and hypocrisy of Catholicism by quoting Erasmus’ criticisms of ‘School-men’ and ‘mendicant Fryers.’46 This was also Wilson’s purpose in producing a translation of the Praise of Folly in 1668. While it might seem absurd, or at least unfair, for Wilson and other Restoration authors to use Erasmus’ early sixteenthcentury words to critique mid-seventeenth-century Catholicism, Wilson’s approach would have meant something to English Protestants whose views of Catholic life and practice were shaped, in part, by reading the Colloquies as adolescents.47 That such reading of the Colloquies continued in grammar schools is apparent from Charles Hoole’s treatise on education.48 Hoole discussed the use of three Erasmian texts: De conscribendis epistolis, De copia verborum, and the Colloquies. According to Hoole, ‘On Tuesdayes and Thursdayes in the after-noon (after they have done with Corderius) they may read Helvici Colloquia (which are selected out of those of Erasmus, Ludovicus Vives, and Schottenius.)’49 After students have read through the colloquy, ‘and examined some of the hardest Grammar-passages in it, let them all lay aside their books, save one, and let him read the Colloquie out of Latine into English, clause by clause, and let the rest give it him again into Latine, every man saying round as it comes to his turn.’50 For students, Hoole recommended the study of history, before noon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. After six months of this program he suggested ‘intermixing some of Erasmus Colloquies now and then, for varieties sake.’51 While Hoole clearly recommended Erasmus, he did complain that Erasmus’ De copia verborum was not widely used. For advanced students, Hoole wrote that ‘you may first begin with Mr. Clarks Dux oratorius, and then make use of that excellent book of Erasmus de copia verborum,

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which was purposely by him intended, and contrived for the benefit of Pauls Schoole, and I am sorry to see it so little made use of in most of our Grammar Schooles in England.’52 While Hoole wished to see a more pervasive reading of Erasmus, his text does not indicate that required educational reading of Erasmus, below the university level, went much beyond the regular use of the Colloquies. Knowledge of Erasmus, however, was expected of anyone with advanced education. This is apparent not only from the many references to Erasmus, but also from specific instructions, provided in a couple of treatises, on how to set up a proper personal library. Gabriel Naudeus’ Instructions concerning erecting of a library was published in 1661. According to Naudeus, it would be ‘a notorious oblivion, and fault unexcusable in those who make profession of having all the best Books, to neglect any of Them.’53 Naudeus then includes a list, with Erasmus at the top, of the best authors that should be required in every library. Along with Erasmus, the list included Lipsius, Casaubon, Scaliger, and other humanists. A few pages later, Naudeus provided a broader catalogue of authors, which to leave out ‘would be a fault unpardonable.’54 Here again Erasmus was present and this time with Aristotle, Aquinas, Euclid, Archimedes, Montaigne, Seneca, Plutarch, Galen, Avicenna, Varro, Livy, Tacitus, Homer, and Virgil, among others. Further on he mentioned Erasmus among authors of ‘little Books’ that should not be neglected.55 John Evelyn, who had a substantial library of his own, ‘interpreted’ Naudeus’ text for English publication.56 Evelyn also cited Erasmus in his own writings and, incidentally, wrote that an English edition of Erasmus’ Colloquies was being sold ‘at the Ship in St. Pauls Churchyard.’57 There were a number of works that provided English readers with historical information about Erasmus and his historical role in England. Histories of the English Reformation, such as Gilbert Burnet’s, naturally mentioned Erasmus. Burnet coupled Erasmus and Thomas More as friends and fellow humanists.58 While Burnet regularly mentioned Erasmus in a positive manner, he had a different attitude regarding Thomas More and his brand of Catholicism. He therefore wrote that More and Erasmus were close when More was younger and ‘had freer thoughts of things,’ before More ‘became superstitiously devoted to the interest and passions of the Popish Clergy, and as he served them when he was in Authority, even to assist them in all their cruelties.’59

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Burnet was thus able to criticize More while simultaneously legitimizing his own use of Erasmus as an authority. Other works that focused on the lives of great men also featured Erasmus. William Bates included Erasmus’ own Compendium Vitae in a Latin treatise that also contained an index of Erasmus’ writings.60 Thomas Fuller’s History of the worthies of England often referred to Erasmus’ influence on prominent men and, occasionally, women.61 He too noted the ubiquity of the Colloquies in education.62 Historical mention of Erasmus also appeared in John Ray’s travel narratives. His account of Basel discussed Erasmus and the university. Ray, a Fellow of the Royal Society, carefully reported the items he had seen that had belonged to Erasmus, including Erasmus’ library.63 We also find nonconformists citing Erasmus as an authority. One of the most prolific nonconformists, and a great admirer of Erasmus, was Richard Baxter. Baxter refers to Erasmus as ‘honest Erasmus’ and even wrote of himself that ‘If I am not near of kin to Erasmus, I am a stranger to my self.’64 Baxter was not opposed to episcopacy and, in some ways, agreed with the Latitudinarians. He sought peace, unity, and was not a predestinarian. However, he did not support the episcopal monopoly and wanted tolerance for nonconformists and separatists. As a result he found himself in prison on numerous occasions. One of the particularly interesting aspects of this period in English religious history is that while the government often chose to imprison nonconformists, nonconformist publications continued to flow from English presses and Baxter was a popular author. As we shall see, some English divines, such as Peter Heylyn and Edward Stillingfleet, argued that the English church, since the days of Edward VI and Elizabeth I, was Erasmian in nature. As part of his argument against a single established concept of conformity, Baxter maintained that there always had been a significant degree of diversity within the English church and, said Baxter, ‘I do not think you all hold that our Reformers followed the measure of Erasmus, though some say so?’65 He then reminded his readers that Whitgift had been in favour of the predestinarian Lambeth Articles, and that both the Synod of Dordt and the English Parliament had ‘decryed Arminianism.’ He also pointed out that many stongly disagreed with ‘Arch-Bishop Laud, Neal Buckeridge, Corbet and Mountague.’ ‘Why then,’ Baxter asked, ‘do you tell us of an odd dissenter, or of sects that we own not, or expect that among us there should be no differences? Are we not men?’66 England needed to recognize that a

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diversity of views and beliefs was part of the human condition. That the English church was not, nor ever had been, of one mind, was a principal argument in Baxter’s calls for a greater degree of religious tolerance for dissenting Protestants. One of the principal complaints by nonconformists were laws that curtailed public preaching by the laity. This did not make sense to Baxter since ‘it is not the meer publickness of the Teaching, which must tell us what is unlawful for a Lay man. For Writing and Printing are the most publick wayes of Teaching; And these no man taketh to be forbidden the Laity.’67 In his Christian directory of 1673, Baxter then erroneously included Erasmus with Scaliger, Casaubon, Grotius, Constantine, King James, and Francis Bacon as laity who ‘have done the Church great service by their Writings.’68 Baxter also followed Erasmus in his critique of war and soldiering in the fourth tome of his Directory. ‘I am not,’ he wrote, ‘simply against the lawfulness of War (Nor as I conceive, Erasmus himself, though he saw the sinfulness of that sort of men; and use to speak truly of the horrid wickedness and misery of them, that thirst for blood, or rush on Wars without necessity).’69 Soldiers, except for the most rare, were ‘Wolves and Tygers.’ How much ‘sweeter is the work,’ wrote Baxter, of physicians rather than those who kill and ‘Carpenters or Masons’ than those who destroy cities.70 Unfortunately, according to Baxter, except for a few, soldiers ‘are so barbarous and inhumane, that they will neither read nor regard any counsel that I shall give them. (No man describeth them better than Erasmus.)’71 Nine years later Baxter was not quite so strong in his condemnation of violence and wrote that he was ‘not at all so sharp against Wars and Souldiers as Erasmus was; But I should think that if men were wise, they might keep their peace, and save the lives of thousands, which must be dearly answered for.’72 He also felt the need, perhaps in response to Latitudinarians who were upholding Erasmus as a model of peace and unity, to qualify Erasmus on the topic of peace and moderation. Raising peace too far above truth destroyed Christianity, but, said Baxter, making laws in the name of truth and then requiring everyone to keep them in the name of peace and moderation was also a duplicitous use of moderate rhetoric. After noting Erasmus’ moderation, Baxter stated: To abate or forsake the necessary points of Faith and Practice on pretence of Moderation, is to destroy Christianity on

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pretence of Humanity or Peace. But to make Laws that men shall preach with Horns on their Heads, to signifie the Victory of Truth, and to ruine all that will not keep these Laws (much more if men should command worse) and to say a Project for Moderation would distract the Church, would be as far from Wisdom as it is from Moderation: And some Prelates have done as bad as this.73 Baxter positioned himself as an Erasmian moderate who was opposed to high church Erasmians. Baxter also turned again to Erasmus in an argument for greater tolerance of nonconforming ceremonies within the church. In particular, Baxter wanted a ceremony of confirmation when a youth was old enough to make a rational decision.74 He was not suggesting adult baptism, but, on the lines of Erasmus, a second ceremony at an appropriate age: ‘Shall such Jesuits as Vasquez, such moderators as Erasmus, and Protestant Conformists, and Nonconformists, all thus speak for it, and yet no hope? No wonder if a word or ceremony that we disagree in, can make our wound so sad as we have self, when that which we in words agree for, and that not as a thing indifferent, but so necessary, cannot yet be obtained though we perish.’75 Baxter provides a fascinating example of a nonconformist who was belligerently opposed to the 1662 Act of Uniformity and who sought to use the authority and memory of Erasmian Christianity to challenge the hegemony of the established church and those within it, some of whom positioned Erasmus as a founder of their church.76 More radical nonconformists also wrote of Erasmus. In 1662, William Caton, a Quaker missionary in Amsterdam, published a pamphlet in English condemning persecution in matters of religion.77 The treatise drew heavily on the writings of Erasmus. Caton understood that ‘many are of Opinion, that it is very necessary that the Magistrate compel by Force and Violence the unwilling to the Faith.’78 According to Erasmus, however, wrote Caton, ‘Most men are so disposed, that they will rather be led then compelled, and that by Intreaties more may be obtained than through Cruelties.’79 Caton also agreed that violence will not compel people ‘to believe otherwise than their Opinion.’80 In the Paraphrases, as well as elsewhere, Erasmus used the parable of the wheat and the tares to argue that aggressive heretic hunting would also destroy true Christianity.81 Caton quoted Erasmus’ interpretation of this parable and argued, as had Erasmus, that rather than

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creating unity, persecution destroyed godliness, peace, and unity.82 Authorities and clergy often believed that ‘there are no People that ought to be more severely Punished than Hereticks, Blasphemers, and Contemners of Religion.’83 To counter this Caton turned to Erasmus: ‘But what said Erasmus, Is it a greater Transgression to be a Christian than to be a Murtherer of Father or Mother, &c. But such things shall the Devil raise up against the Gospel; and oftentimes they are called Hereticks, who do so little contemn Religion, that they will die for their Religion; and therefore it appears (said he) that they are no despisers of Religion, who are so given up to Suffer, for to keep a good Conscience before God.’84 Like most religious polemicists, Caton turned to the early church as a model and noted that, according to Erasmus, the greatest punishment used in the first 400 years against heretics was excommunication.85 Caton suggested that Christianity would be better off if there was a return to such humane practices. Despite the persecution Quakers experienced, Caton insisted that true Christians should not respond with violence: Erasmus said, That though they take our Moneys and Goods, they cannot therefore hurt our Salvation; they afflict us much with Prisons, but they do not thereby separate us from God: Moreover the Lord said, If they Persecute you in one City, fly unto another; thereby doth he teach (saith Eras) that persecuted Christians, should not expel Weapons with Weapons, but rather fly before Weapons; for if Peter was reproved, because he drew his Sword against the Wicked and Ungodly, for his harmless Lord; wherefore then should a Christian man for the future, revenge Wrong with Wrong, when it is done unto him?86 Quakers rejected violence, retaliation, and even self-defence. However, they might, at times, have to disobey the authorities. Erasmus again served as Caton’s authority: ‘Therefore said Erasmus, If that at any time Evangelical Godliness require that People must contemn their Commands, that must be done with such moderation, as that it may not be through any hate against them, but through a godly Zeal.’87 For the Quaker Caton, Erasmus was an inspiration and an authority. Other Quakers also mentioned Erasmus in their texts. Robert Barclay cited Erasmus a number of times and wrote that it was

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Erasmus who restored knowledge of tongues when it was ‘almost lost and extinct.’88 It was this knowledge, he said, that was prized by the ‘Primitive Protestants.’89 Quakers, of course, felt strongly that the vast majority of Protestants were still ‘Primitive’ and had not adequately reformed their theology or ecclesiology. Some Quakers, however, could also be critical of Erasmus. Samuel Fisher wrote, ‘So I may say of all our admired Erasmus’s or (supposedly) learned Divines, that either hate or dote on each others Divinity doings (of the best of whom when all is done as renouned as they seem to themselves, I can say no better yet (such Dunces are they in the School of Christ) than I can of Erasmus himself, of whom, as to the things of God, were he now living, it might be said, Mus, at Erasmus eras, Mus, at Erasmus eras).’90 Quakers were often critical of university-trained theologians and Erasmus, given his academic reputation, was included in these anti-intellectual sentiments. George Whitehead, conversely, turned to Erasmus’ Paraphrases to defend the Quaker repudiation of oath taking. Whitehead not only defended Erasmus, but even wrote that he did not agree with those who said Erasmus was ‘hanging between Heaven and Hell.’91 Whitehead believed that he had found evidence in Erasmus’ paraphrases on Matthew 5:34 and James 5:12 that Erasmus believed Christians should not swear or make oaths. His discussion of Erasmus filled four pages.92 George Fox and William Penn, two of the most influential Quaker leaders, also cited Erasmus as an authority.93 William Penn, in particular, routinely used Erasmus as an authority and, in a number of works, quoted from Erasmus’ Paraphrase. Responding to John Faldo, a Quaker critic, Penn turned to Erasmus’ paraphrase of 2 Peter 1:19: ‘Now let us come to Erasmus … who on that place sayes thus in his Paraphrase, The Thing that is set forth by Man’s Device may be perceived by Man’s Wit; but the Thing that is set forth by the Inspiration of the Holy Ghost) requireth an Interpreter inspired with the like Spirit. Further rendring the Scripture so mystical and allegorical, as not to be understood without it.’94 John Faldo, however, according to Penn, misunderstood Penn’s use of Erasmus: ‘Erasmus I quoted in his Paraphrase, not in his Translation; but J. F. after his old wont, observes not the Difference, but sets Erasmus against Erasmus; or rather, to put the Trick upon me, would have Folks think, that Erasmus’s rendring it by firmiorem, was not in his Translation, but Paraphrase, which I quoted.’95 It is also interesting that Penn, as

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did so many others, specifically linked Erasmus and Grotius.96 Like Faldo, however, the Quakers’ polemical adversaries noticed the prevalence of Erasmus in the writings of Penn, Caton, and other Quakers. Edward Foyler, for example, was a minister with a parishioner who was reading Quaker tracts and quoting Quaker references to Erasmus. Foyler responded by pointing out that the Quakers were highly selective in their use of Erasmus and that if his parishioner read more of Erasmus he would ‘See Erasmus’s opinion in more things than this, wherein he will find Him, as much as any, opposite to the Quakers Tenents.’97 The connection between Erasmus and the Quakers demonstrates the diversity of individuals and groups who engaged with Erasmian thought and publications. Many English Protestants remained critical of Erasmus and perhaps became more so as they saw Erasmus’ popularity rise among their conformist opponents. While many Protestants in early modern England sought to conflate Erasmus and Luther, Anthony Burgess pointed out Erasmus’ repudiation of Luther. In his commentary of Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, Burgess expressed outrage at Erasmus’ presumption in critically assessing the language used by Paul. On the verbosity of Paul’s words in the first chapter, Burgess wrote that ‘in this the Apostle doth so overflow with words, that Erasmus absurdly giveth this prophane censure, Intempestivae copiae affectatio, as if he could teach the Spirit of God how to speak.’98 Erasmus was not to be trusted: ‘But no wonder at this presumption of his, seeing in his Epistle to Barbirius, (purging himself from being a Lutheran, much more from holding every thing that Luther wrote,) he addeth, he would not be so addicted to Austin or Hierome; vix etiam ipsi Paulo, scarce even to Paul himself. Whether this vix would preserve him from blasphemy, let others judge.’99 It is quite clear that Burgess believed this to be blasphemy. Criticism of Erasmus’ thought on the Trinity also continued to appear in Protestant texts. After linking Erasmus and Socinus, Thomas Smith wrote that ‘we have too just cause to suspect, how that great Scholar was biast and perverted in his judgment, concerning those great mysteries of Faith; though he is so wary and cunning, as not to discover himself too openly.’100 For Erasmus, dissimulation was part of Christ’s methodology for dealing with humanity.101 For many Protestants, Erasmus’ prudence and dissimulation appeared to be a cover for ‘perverted’ theology. Like Smith, the Puritan John

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Owen, in his commentary on Hebrews, found much to criticize in Erasmus’ doctrinal theology.102 Owen specifically grouped Socinus, Pelagius, and Erasmus together on the nature of sin, justification, faith, and predestination.103 Owen was also well known for his Latin epigrams, which were translated by Thomas Harvey, and several dealt with Erasmus. Some were seemingly innocuous, but could be read a number of ways: ‘Erasmus was the first who Folly prais’d: / This Folly shew’d his wit, his wisedom rais’d.’104 Another on Folly read: ‘Thou didst not folly praise, Erasmus, solely: / Thee many praise, and many praise thy folly.’105 Others were clearly disparaging: ‘A Verb if Eras, Mus a Noun’s declin’d, / What is Erasmus let the Reader find.’106 Similar wordplay with Erasmus’ name is found in writings of Samuel Fisher and Edmund Hall.107 Calvinist criticism of Erasmus was a constant in the Erasmian legacy stretching back to Coverdale and the second volume of the Paraphrases. As we shall see below, however, criticism of Erasmus became increasingly important for Calvinists as Latitudinarians attempted to position Erasmus as a model, and even the founder, of true English Christianity. Leading the opposition against the Calvinist mentality were those variously described as Cambridge Platonists and Latitudinarians.108 The circle of academics at Cambridge who stressed both the mystery of God and the primacy of reason were instrumental in developing a religious alternative to Calvinism in the 1650s and 1660s. Often referred to as the Cambridge Platonists, these theologians and religious leaders stressed the Erasmian matrix of peace, unity, and doctrinal ambiguity. Rosalie Colie wrote that ‘like Erasmus, like Chillingworth, like Jeremy Taylor and Lord Falkland, the Cambridge Platonists sought religious and civil peace in a world torn apart by physical and spiritual war; they attempted to draw a philosophical blueprint for a practical utopia among men.’109 These Cambridge ‘latitude men’ were distinctly Arminian in their theology and maintained close ties with Dutch Arminians. It was no coincidence that one of these Dutch contacts, the famous Jean le Clerc, would publish Erasmus’ Opera Omnia at the beginning of the eighteenth century.110 What Colie fails to mention is that when these individuals quoted and published authors like Hooker, Hales, Chillingworth, Grotius, and Erasmus, they were publicly condemning the Calvinism of the previous hundred years. More recently, W.M. Spellman has provided a more nuanced understanding of Latitudinarianism and the use of

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moderate rhetoric to attack both Puritanism and Catholicism.111 It is important to remember that the very name ‘Latitudinarian’ was a derisive moniker used by Puritans who detested and feared nondogmatic theology.112 The polemical battles which Erasmus’ legacy were drawn into during the Restoration were, at their core, the same ones he had himself been involved in a century and a half earlier and which had then been fought throughout the long English Reformation.113 Martin Griffin sums up the essence of both Erasmus and Latitudinarianism succinctly: Erasmus, like the Latitudinarians, believed that charity, not ‘orthodoxy,’ was the purpose of religion … What was essential to salvation, Erasmus thought, could be found clearly enough in the Bible: a ‘compendium of the entire philosophy of Christ,’ derived from ‘the purest sources of the Evangelists and Apostles,’ would, he said, produce articles of faith very few in number. On these, Christians should agree, and in other matters, avoid the uncharitable dogmatizing that could only lead to division and confusion.114 In the world view of Erasmus and his intellectual descendants, there were two basic theological methodologies. On the one hand, there were those who sought unity by allowing a broad spectrum of belief within a single church. There was, certainly, wide diversity over how much external conformity was required. On the other hand, there were those who refused to water down truth and instead insisted that true unity could only exist when the church was more fully reformed.115 The episcopal establishment following the Restoration was determined to reestablish peace, unity, and conformity in the English church. Yet even among conformists there were different, though often overlapping groups with a number of labels: Laudian style Arminians, High Churchmen, Cambridge Platonists, and Latitudinarians. As with most labels, these are misleading. Both ‘Arminian’ and ‘Latitudinarian’ originated as terms of abuse. ‘High Church’ was not a widely used term and only came into wide use with the later development of ‘Low-Church’ religious vocabulary in the 1690s.116 Differentiating among these groups is far from easy. Nicholas Tyacke contends that the terms ‘Latitudinarian’ and ‘High Churchmen’ are unhelpful and suggests the continued use of the terms ‘Arminian’ and ‘Calvinist’ as

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broad classifications that point to the theological divisions underlying two opposing world views.117 Tyacke also demonstrates that it is not possible to make a clear distinction between ‘High Churchmen’ and Latitudinarians. The ‘Latitudinarian’ perspective was commonplace and not an exceptional way of thinking found amongst a small coterie of divines.118 It is even worse to present Latitudinarians as avant-garde modernists. Conformists, however we describe them, were increasingly ‘Arminian’ on the doctrine of justification and they favoured episcopacy. Cambridge Platonists, though clearly not Calvinist, sought to avoid doctrinal statements on predestination altogether and instead stressed the distinction between external and internal religion and talked of a divinely implanted reason that was the ‘antidote to self-deluded enthusiasm.’119 They also, according to Gilbert Burnet, were devoted to the concept of moderation.120 Because of this, opponents termed them ‘men of latitude,’ meaning they were not devoted to truth.121 Many of those who became known as Latitude-men were students of Cambridge Platonists. There was a difference, however, between Latitudinarians and Cambridge Platonists, but more in a matter of degree than in religious world view. Those derided as Latitudinarians seem to have placed an even greater weight on reason and were strongly influence by the thought of the Great Tew circle.122 The Cambridge Platonists conversely were, as the name implies, more Platonic and turned to Origen as an authority. Henry More’s argument, based on Platonic reasoning, that souls had a preexistence was highly controversial.123 Though there were sometimes sharp differences, Peter Heylyn, Jeremy Taylor, Henry More, Edward Stillingfleet, Sir Peter Pett, and Thomas Goodman were all episcopal, anti-Calvinist conformists who sought to shape the emerging Anglican church by locating it within an Erasmian theological and religious trajectory. Such attempts, inevitably, would result in sharp criticism of both Erasmus and the way conformists were using his legacy. Prior to the civil war, Peter Heylyn was perhaps the most vociferous and polemical of Laud’s supporters. He may even, if Anthony Milton is correct, have played a key role in shaping the Laudian agenda.124 While Heylyn opportunely became a zealous Laudian, it seems clear that he became a true believer in Laud’s vision for the English church. Though he was deprived under the Commonwealth, he continued to write prolifically and many of

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his works were published after the Restoration. His royalist loyalties were rewarded and he became subdean of Westminster in 1660, but only held the position briefly before dying in 1662. After his death he remained widely read and, especially around 1680, his religious and absolutist thought was often cited.125 Heylyn was a determined anti-Calvinist and in 1660, in the Historia Quinqu-Articularis, argued that free will theology had always been accepted within the English church. As the Restoration church moved swiftly away from Calvinism, Heylyn’s historical work provided further justification. In Heylyn’s works, Calvinists were wrong to argue that predestination was a fundamental doctrine of the English church. To support his contention, Heylyn held up Erasmus’ Paraphrases as a primary exhibit.126 The Paraphrases were filled with free will theology and were clearly supported by the royal injunctions of both Edward VI and Elizabeth I. Heylyn wrote, ‘It will not be a miss to consult the Paraphrases of Erasmus in the English tongue, which certainly had never been commended to the reading both of Priest & People, as well by the injunctions of Queen Eliz. as K. Edw. 6. if they had contained in them any other Doctrine then what is consonant to the Articles, the Homilies, and the publick Liturgie of this Church.’127 Heylyn then went on to quote from the Paraphrases to prove that Erasmus joined a belief in total grace with the doctrine of free will.128 He summed up his argument by stating that ‘either we must conclude the doctrine of this Church in the Book of Articles to be the same with that which is contained in the Paraphrases of this learned man, or else condemn the godly Bishops of this Church, and the religious Princes above mentioned of a great imprudence in recommending them to the diligent and careful reading both of Priest and People.’129 Heylyn’s argument that free will was a legitimate part of English Protestantism was proved by Erasmus’ authoritative text. If English Calvinists sought to argue that predestination was a necessary doctrine then they were condemning Erasmus and, by extension, Edward, Elizabeth, and the bishops of the Reformation.130 Heylyn was even more specific about the anti-Calvinist role played by Erasmus in two other treatises. In Ecclesia restaurata he similarly mentioned the Paraphrases and the visitations that sought to enforce the Injunctions. He wrote that according to the visitation reports, ‘Every Ecclesiastical Person, under the Degree of a Batchelour of Divinity, shall within three Moneths after this

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Visitation, provide of his own The New Testament in Latine and English, with Erasmus his Paraphrases thereon. And that Bishops, by themselves, and their Officers, shall Examine them, how much they have profited in the study of Holy Scripture.’131 He later specifically referred to the non-Calvinist legacy of Erasmus and Melanchthon in England. ‘Yet the best was,’ wrote Heylyn, ‘that, though Erasmus was dead, and Melancthon absent, yet were they to be found both alive, and present in their learned Writings.’132 For Heylyn, the Erasmian legacy lived on, especially in the English Paraphrases. In Cyprianus anglicus, Heylyn again returned to the topic of Erasmus’ Paraphrases. This time the anti-Calvinism was explicit: Finally, it were worth the learning to know why the Paraphrases of Erasmus (a man of a known difference in Judgement from Calvins Doctrines in these points, should be translated into English by the care of our Prelates; and being so translated, should be commended both by King Edward vi. and Queen Elizabeth, to the diligent reading of their Subjects of all conditions; which certainly they had not done, if they had not been thereunto perswaded by those Bishops, and other learned men about them, who had a principal hand in the Reformation, which clearly shews how much, as well the Priest as the people were to ascribe unto the Judgement of that learned man, and consequently how little unto that of Calvin in the present Controversies.133 The point was that Laud had operated within an Erasmian tradition that was the true faith of the English Reformation. The reality, of course, is that while Heylyn proved that Calvinists erred in denouncing ‘Arminianism’ as a recent innovation, so too did Heylyn and others err in maintaining that the Edwardian and Elizabethan reformations were devoid of dominant Calvinist influences or that Calvinism did not dominate English religious thought for decades prior to the reign of Charles I. Even some Latitudinarians realized that Heylyn had gone too far. Gilbert Burnet argued for a more open picture where multiple religious viewpoints existed alongside each other within the episcopal English church. Edward Stillingfleet concurred and wrote that Heylyn was ‘in some things … too much a Party to be an Historian.’134 As we shall see, however, Stillingfleet also wrote of

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Erasmus’ Paraphrases to disprove Calvinist claims. In the emerging Anglicanism of the Latitudinarians the English church was, and had been, a broad faith for those who conformed to its structure and worship. John Spurr has argued that Burnet was a relatively objective historian and his history, as opposed to Heylyn’s, reflects the consensual nature of the Restoration church.135 Such an interpretation would also support the consensual view of early modern English religion presented by Peter White.136 It is hard to see, though, how the Latitudinarian argument that predestination, episcopacy, and worship practices were adiaphora and therefore open to be rationally legislated and enforced by the government was less polemical, or more acceptable, to Restoration nonconformists than Heylyn’s ius divinum arguments. As we have repeatedly witnessed with Erasmus’ legacy, ius humanum arguments for free will, episcopacy, and conformity were part of a rhetoric designed to create a very specific type of religious uniformity. Heylyn’s use of Erasmus was soon challenged by the Calvinist controversialist Henry Hickman, who also wrote against the other anti-Calvinists, including Thomas Pierce and Jeremy Taylor.137 Hickman’s particular target was Heylyn’s Historia Quinqu-Articularis.138 Not only had Heylyn written about the Paraphrases in this work, but he had also written that, in De servo arbitrio, Martin Luther had revived an early church heterodoxy out of ‘meer opposition to Erasmus.’139 Hickman wrote that it would have been bad enough to say Luther wrote De servo arbitrio ‘partly out of opposition,’ but Heylyn’s anti-Protestant bias was on display when he said it was ‘meer opposition.’140 After also criticizing Heylyn’s documentation, Hickman got to the point: ‘As to the thing it self, Servum arbitrium, is no false Divinity, Voluntas humana non est libera, antequam liberetur; In the first conversion a man is passive, as passive as a stone is in receiving the impression or signature that is made on it; The liberty of the will discovers it self in its actings, not in its passions or receivings.’141 More troubling for Hickman was Heylyn’s argument based on the laws regarding Erasmus’ Paraphrases. Hickman readily admitted that Edward VI and Elizabeth I required the Paraphrases and that Heylyn had made a ‘good Argument.’142 However, wrote Hickman, it ‘doth not follow, as is inferred, that our Reformers intended not to advance any other Doctrine, than what was countenanced in the writings of that Learned man.’143 He then pointed out that if Edward VI was truly an Erasmian he

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would not have gone to war against the Scots, since ‘War was unlawful on the Principles of Erasmus.’144 Hickman then turned to the often repeated accusation that Erasmus was unorthodox on the doctrine of the Trinity: Yea, I heartily wish that the Article of the Trinity, were not against some Doctrine countenanced in the Writings of this learned man Erasmus. The blot of Arianism shall not fall on his face from my pen: but our new Arians, the Socinians, do boast of him as their own. I hope not upon so good grounds as they may boast of Hugo Grotius his Countreyman: But boast of him they do. The Ministers of Transilvania, in the most cursed Book of the Knowledge of one God, number him among their Ancestors: and Socinus himself in his Epistles saith of him, that he was, not undeservedly, suspected by the Trinitarians of Arianism; and of the Antitrinitarians, reckoned among those who somewhat darkly renounced the Trinity.145 While Hickman avoided personally accusing Erasmus of heresy, he certainly sought to raise doubts in his readers’ minds about Erasmus’ orthodoxy. Despite presenting a number of arguments as if Heylyn were correct that Erasmus’ Paraphrases contained free will theology, Hickman’s final rebuttal claimed that none of the examples Heylyn presented from the Paraphrases ‘doth contradict any one of the five Points, as stated by the rigidest Calvinists.’146 Hickman then proceeded to examine Heylyn’s examples to prove that the Paraphrases really did not contradict the doctrine of predestination. While Heylyn overreached in arguing that the Paraphrases disproved a Calvinist bias in Edwardian and Elizabethan England, Hickman did so as well by staunchly maintaining that the Paraphrases did not contain free will theology – something he was certainly aware of after discussing De libero arbitrio and being careful to challenge a free will reading in only two of the passages Heylyn had used from the Paraphrases. Of course, the most important point for Hickman was that the English Paraphrases did not mean that the English Reformation was purposely anti-Calvinist. With the death of Cromwell and the move back to monarchy in 1660, Arminians Thomas Pierce and Jeremy Taylor also turned to

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Erasmus as a foundational figure for the renewed episcopal church. Pierce was determined to prove that Calvinism was not an intrinsic part of English Protestantism.147 In 1660, like Heylyn, Pierce turned to Erasmus’ Paraphrases to prove his point. ‘Did not the Church of England,’ Pierce asked, ‘so much as know her own minde, when she commanded Erasmus his learned Paraphrase to be had in such honour throughout the Nation, as to any Piece of Calvin was never given?’148 Erasmus was required, Calvin was not. This might not have convinced a Calvinist, but for Pierce it was significant evidence against a Calvinist monopoly. Pierce was also aware that some of Erasmus’ prayers were included in official liturgies. Again Pierce asked, ‘How came the prayers of Erasmus to have a place in our publick Liturgy, from King Henry the 8 dayes unto these our own, if all our Church was fermented with Calvins Leven?’149 Pierce’s words were chosen carefully. The influential Cambridge Platonist Henry More, among others, had written against Calvinist ‘enthusiasm.’150 This became a standard Arminian depiction of Puritans and Pierce’s use of the word ‘fermented’ crafted an image of enthusiasts drunk on Calvin. Erasmus’ Paraphrases, however, proved to Pierce that not everyone, especially church leaders, were devoted to Calvinist theology. In 1686, Pierce again discussed Erasmus, this time in the context of an English religious via media. In doing so he returned to the Erasmian perspective that unity and peace were more significant than doctrinal formulations and syllogisms. After listing a sampling of religious factions among Catholics and Protestants, Pierce asked how for these ‘and many other opposite Parties, (too many to be now reckon’d,) a greater Care is commonly taken to keep up the Credit of a Syllogism, or Reputation of a Side, than the Unity and Peace of The Church of God?’151 Pierce then deplored the fact that those who supported peace and unity were the most denounced. He wrote: If an Erasmus, or a Modrerius, if a Melancthon, or a Wicelius, if a Cassander, or a Thuanus, a Spalatensis, or a Grotius, does but indeavour to make up Breaches, or perswade men to meet in the Middle way, (such as is the way of the Church of England, or That of the Augustan Confession,) how is he hang’d, drawn, and quarter’d by the Implacable Professors of both Extremes? as if the Unity of Christians, and the Peace of

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The Church, were to be, of all Things, the most avoided; or, if not to be avoided, at least despair’d of, as the most vain and the most fruitless, (if not the most odious) of any project in the World.152 Pierce was seeking to locate the Church of England within a moderate via media that was, by definition, anti-Calvinist. He clearly understood that the Latitudinarian stance of peace, unity, and conformity operated in opposition to a religious world view that focused on doctrinal truth and confessional purity. There is plenty of irony in Pierce’s position. Pierce was writing from a conformist position that was backed by the episcopacy and the monarch. That he felt opposition hardly compares to the pressure exerted on nonconformists and Catholics in Restoration England. From a conformist position, however, civil penalties were the natural way to deal with fanatics who sought to disrupt and destroy the peace and unity of the English church. The rhetoric of peace and conformity is also found in the writings of Jeremy Taylor. Taylor was a former Laudian, who again rose to some prominence with the Restoration. Back in 1642, Taylor had written one of the most aggressive ius divinum defences of the episcopacy and had been part of the Laudian movement that had shifted conformist rhetoric away from the ius humanum defence of English ecclesiology.153 For Taylor, the episcopacy was established by God. Like Pierce, Taylor sought to position his theological and ecclesiological perspective in the moderate and peaceful middle. He wrote: ‘PEACE is so great a Blessing, and Disputations and Questions in Religion are so little friends to Peace, that I have thought no mans time can be better spent then in propositions and promotions of Peace, and consequently in finding expedients, and putting periods to all contentious Learning.’154 Episcopal Arminians had put aside contentions and were devoted to peace and unity; it was their opponents, namely Calvinists, who were still trying to fight theological battles. Of course, such rhetoric was always the purview of conformists who were in power. To support his pacifist rhetoric, Taylor noted that Erasmus also was one of the moderates who was willing to ‘have a great deal of peace for the exchange of a little of their opinion.’155 Taylor also remarked that he remembered a saying of Erasmus, that ‘when he first read the New Testament with fear and a good mind, with a purpose to

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understand it and obey it, he found it very usefull and very pleasant: but when afterwards he fell on reading the vast differences of Commentaries, then he understood it lesse then he did before, then he began not to understand it.’156 Taylor then added, ‘For indeed the Truths of God are best dressed in the plain Culture and simplicity of the Spirit.’157 Erasmus would not have disagreed. Along with his anti-controversialist rhetoric, Taylor wrote several treatises against Roman Catholism. He briefly mentioned Erasmus in his A dissuasive from popery, but it was in his Second part of the dissuasive from popery, which was a defence of the first part, that Erasmus figured prominently.158 Taylor cited Erasmus in support of his contention that the Catholic church did not base their theology on the Bible. Taylor wrote, ‘Erasmus tells us of a Dominican, who being urg’d in a Scholastical disputation, with an argument from Scripture, cried out, It was a Lutheran way of disputation, and protested against the answering it.’159 This was supposed to represent Catholic epistemology, which Taylor then denounced as being ‘contrary to wisdom, religion, and Oeconomy of the primitive Church.’160 He also stated that, for Erasmus, there was no ‘necessity of Confession to a Priest.’161 On the issue of transubstantiation, Taylor again cited Erasmus: And the great Erasmus who liv’d and died in the Communion of the Church of Rome, and was as likely as any man of his age to know what he said, gave this testimony in the present Question; In synaxi transubstantiationem sero definivit Ecclesia, & re & nomine veteribus ignotam. In the Communion the Church hath but lately defin’d Transubstantiation, which both in the thing and in the name was unknown to the Ancients.162 Taylor was not attempting to say that Catholic theology on the eucharist was wrong. Instead, he sought to argue that Christians simply should believe that Christ was present and the church should not require specific formulations of belief. Erasmus was again helpful: It was happy with Christendom, when she in this article retained the same simplicity which she always was bound to do in her manners and entercourse; that is, to believe the thing heartily, and not to enquire curiously; and there was

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peace in this Article for almost a thousand years together, and yet that Transubstantiation was not determined, I hope to make very evident; In synaxi transubstantiationem serò definivit Ecclesia; diù satis erat credere, sive sub pane consecrato, sive quocunque modo adesse verum corpus Christi, so said the great Erasmus. It was late before the Church defined Transubstantiation; for a long time together it did suffice to believe, that the true body of Christ was present, whether under the consecrated bread or any other way: so the thing was believed, the manner was not stood upon.163 While perhaps irenic from the perspective of Christendom and history, Taylor’s inference that a correct understanding of the Eucharist was not essential would hardly have been viewed with equanimity by many, if not most, English Protestants. Less controversially within England, Taylor attempted to use Erasmus’ Enchiridion to suggest that Erasmus was dubious about purgatory.164 It was the topic of original sin, however, that drew the most criticism from Taylor’s contemporaries. A discussion of original sin was always controversial in seventeenth-century England.165 An Augustinian position that all humans were completely sinful because of the Fall of Adam and Eve was a predicate for the predestinarian theology of Luther, Calvin, and a long line of English divines.166 Those opposed to the doctrine of predestination almost invariably also reinterpreted the origin and nature of sin.167 For Taylor, original sin was real, but in the sense of a naturally inherited nature that led to actual sins. Those individual sins required Christ’s grace, not Adam’s imparted sin. Taylor turned to Erasmus and Grotius for support. He also, in an Erasmian manner, challenged the necessity of correct doctrine on the subject, while simultaneously presenting his interpretation as the most probable. Taylor wrote, ‘Thus every one talks of Original sin, and [they] agree that there is such a thing, but what it is, they agree not: and therefore in such infinite Variety, he were of a strange imperious spirit that would confine others to his particular fancy.’168 Yet, Taylor did have a particular fancy and while he did not want to confine others to it, he did hope to convince readers of its truth. He then said that he would not be ashamed of his opinion as he was in the company of ‘the great Erasmus, and the incomparable Hugo Grotius.’169 He hoped that their ‘great names are guard sufficient

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against prejudices and trifling noises, and an amulet against the Names of Arminian, Socinian, Pelagian, and I cannot tell what Monsters of appellatives; But these are but Boyes tricks, and arguments of Women.’170 Those who were ‘wiser’ would examine his arguments and determine ‘whether the contrary does better explicate the truth, with greater reason, and to better purposes of Piety.’ Taylor asked his readers to determine what view was more reasonable and therefore more probable. Later, he again turned to Erasmus and Grotius as authorities and wondered how, with their illustrious names attached to his interpretation, anyone would continue to attack his views: As by Adam we are made sinners: so by Christ we are made righteous; not just so; but so and more, and therefore as our being made sinners signifies that by him we die, so being by Christ made righteous must at least signifie that by him we live: and this is so evident to them who read S. Pauls words, Rom. 5. from verse 12. to verse 19. inclusively, that I wonder any man should make a farther question concerning them; especially since Erasmus and Grotius, who are to be reckoned amongst the greatest, and the best expositors of Scripture, that any age since the Apostles and their immediate successors hath brought forth, have so understood and rendred it.171 Despite his feigned ‘wonder’ at anyone who should still challenge his opinions, Taylor was undoubtedly aware that to use Erasmus and Grotius as authorities on the topics of original sin and predestination was to position oneself as an anti-Calvinist. Taylor may, or may not, have developed his theology and his rhetorical methodology from reading Erasmus, but his arguments and use of Erasmus were certainly a part of Erasmus’ English legacy.172 It is interesting, however, that while Taylor challenged the essentialness of many theological issues, he still chose to view episcopacy as a divinely established order. Edward Stillingfleet, sometimes referred to as the father of seventeenth-century Latitudinarianism, was devoted to the idea that the English church was Erasmian in nature.173 Unlike Taylor, Stillingfleet believed that there was no divinely required form of church government and, therefore, it was reasonable to require people to obey ecclesiastical laws.174 He hoped that if Presbyterians

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were not told to conform to a iure divino episcopacy they would, for the sake of peace and unity, obey the laws of the king.175 With the Restoration, Stillingfleet became a popular preacher in London and later was appointed bishop of Worcester. According to Samuel Pepys, Humphrey Henchman, and Archbishop Sheldon, Stillingfleet was the best preacher they had ever heard.176 Stillingfleet had a special fondness for Erasmus, who appeared regularly in more than a dozen of Stillingfleet’s publications. A number of these references to Erasmus were in anti-Catholic treatises. In one, Stillingfleet told Catholics they could not claim Erasmus because the Catholic church excommunicated anyone of an Erasmian temper, anyone who had ‘reason and ingenuity.’177 Polemical opponents did not miss Stillingfleet’s high regard for Erasmus and, subsequently, used quotations from Erasmus against him. He responded that this was an inaccurate use of Erasmus, ‘whom he mentions for my sake, more than once.’178 Stillingfleet’s ultimate purpose in citing Erasmus was both to claim him for the English church and to help the English church become more Erasmian.179 In 1679, Stillingfleet published a fictitious dialogue ‘between a Romish priest, a fanatick chaplain, and a divine of the Church of England.’180 The English divine, naturally, was located in the via media between the two extremes. Eventually, the conversation turned to the English Reformation and the nature of the English church. For Stillingfleet, in the voice of the English divine, it was clear: the Church of England was Erasmian. According to the divine, ‘It was not Luther, or Zuinglius that contributed so much to the Reformation, as Erasmus; especially among us in England.’181 Stillingfleet explained that it was Erasmus who opened up knowledge of the early church, which the English church emulated.182 The problem with the reformations of Luther and Calvin was that they originated from below, which naturally led to ‘disorders.’ This ‘gave distastes to such persons as Erasmus’ and made him ‘like so ill the Wittenberg Reformation, and whatever was carried on by popular Tumults.’183 The English Reformation and the Church of England were models of peace and episcopal order. Then, as had Bilson, Plaifere, Heylyn, and Pierce, Stillingfleet produced Erasmus’ Paraphrases as evidence against a Lutheran or Calvinist English Reformation: In Edw. 6.’s time, and Q. Elizabeths, when it was settled on the principles it now stands, there was no such regard had

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to Luther, or Calvin, as to Erasmus and Melancthon, whose learning and moderation were in greater esteem here, than the fiery spirits of the other. From hence, things were carryed with greater temper, the Church settled with a succession of Bishops; the Liturgie reformed according to the ancient Models; some decent ceremonies retained, without the follies and superstitions which were before practised: and to prevent the extravagancies of the people in the interpreting of Scripture, the most excellent Paraphrase of Erasmus was translated into English and set up in Churches; and to this day, Erasmus is in far greater esteem among the Divines of our Church, than either Luther, or Calvin.184 Stillingfleet’s rhetoric crafted a picture of the English church that was Erasmian from Edward and Elizabeth to his own day.185 Calvinism was removed from the history of the English church. The story of Erasmus’ English legacy from the era of Edward and Elizabeth to the Restoration thus returns to where it began – to the centrality of the Paraphrases.186 Of course, the dominance of Calvinism could not be so easily removed from early modern English religious history, but the needs of the emerging episcopal consensus required just this sort of historical revision. Though Stillingfleet’s rhetoric does not prove that Erasmus’ influence on English religious history was greater than Calvin’s, it does reconfirm the contested nature of the Paraphrases and importance of the Erasmian counterpoint. High praise for Erasmus is also witnessed in the writings of Sir Peter Pett. Pett, a lay Latitudinarian who was something of a secularist and closely acquainted with Locke and Boyle, argued for expanding religious toleration.187 In his treatise, The happy future state of England, Pett argued that with more rationalism, more tolerance, and more humanity, England would become happy, peaceful, and orderly. Of course, the fanatics who threatened this happy state were zealous Calvinists and Catholics. Since the Restoration, said Pett, moderation had become the fashion: The old way of arguing about speculative points in Religion with passion and loudness and being tedious therein, is grown out of use, and a Gentlemanly Candour in discourse of the same with that moderate temper that men use in debating natural Experiments has succeeded in its room, and

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‘tis accounted Pedantry for any one in good Company to pass for a Victor in Notions by having the last word, and seeming a Baffler in dispute. And the truth is, our Divines and the Lay Literati having since the King’s Restoration been more addicted to the Study of real Learning then formerly, which requires quiet of thought in its pursuit, hath brought noise out of Request.188 According to Pett, the Latitudinarian style had successfully permeated educated circles. He was careful to indicate, however, that this moderate temper was not entirely new. Erasmus was a model for true, moderate Christianity and an example that not all Catholics were dangerous.189 Pett’s primary use of Erasmus came, however, as part of his condemnation of physical persecution, which he directed against the Catholic church. Erasmus’ concern for people was repeatedly invoked by Pett, who wrote that ‘if a man would quote things of Erasmus his great Humanity to all humane kind, he must quote almost his whole Works.’190 Many English Protestants were deeply concerned about the Latitudinarian agenda and felt that the rhetoric of moderation and toleration was dangerous if applied to Catholics. Some were also angry that such rhetoric was also used to support penalties for dissenters who were deemed a threat to the moderate state. As we have already seen with Henry Hickman, the Latitudinarian use of Erasmus prompted harsh criticism from Calvinists. One of the most outspoken opponents of the conformist use of Erasmus was Vincent Alsop. He understood precisely how Erasmian style moderation was being used to demand uniformity, conformity, and obedience. From Alsop’s nonconformist perspective this, in essence, amounted to the rhetoric of tolerance being used for a specifically intolerant agenda. While Alsop’s primary target was a treatise by Thomas Goodman on the necessity of conformity, his arguments addressed the entire Arminian, ‘HighChurch,’ and Latitudinarian establishment. Goodman’s treatise, which so angered Alsop, was published in 1674 and made a strong case for the necessity of conformity. His argument, however, was based on the concept that church government was not an essential Christian doctrine; and, therefore, English people should conform to the laws of the land.191 Like Erasmus, Goodman crafted a theological methodology that stressed the importance of adiaphora and the primacy of

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prudence, peace, and charity. He wrote, ‘Christian Liberty doth consist in a freedom in utramque, that is, that antecedently to the considerations of Prudence, Peace and Charity.’192 Christians had the right to do, or not do, those things that were not ‘expresly forbidden by the holy Scriptures’ and where the scriptures were silent, they should make a prudent choice based on considerations of peace and charity.193 In those things where the Bible was silent, Christians were free ‘to obey the Magistrate and serve publick Peace and Order.’194 However, the importance of ‘Brotherly Charity and Compassion,’ along with necessary reverence for ‘Gods Ordinance, the Lawful Magistrate,’ meant that Christians should not disregard the performance of the spiritual freedom to obey.195 Goodman referred to Erasmus throughout his text and quoted him on the relationship of peace and truth: It was a worthy and memorable saying of Erasmus, Mihi sanè adeò invisa est discordia, ut veritas etiam displiceat seditiosa. He did not only suspect that Proposition was not true, that was not also peaceable, but he thought Peace not too dear at the price of some Truth. And he that pretends so high a value for the latter, as to have no esteem for the former, neither understands the one nor the other.196 Goodman had reached the Erasmian conclusion that peace was truth and that any supposed truth that destroyed peace was not a necessary Christian truth. Goodman explicitly based his call for conformity on the doctrinal supremacy of pax et concordia. Alsop sought to repudiate Goodman’s theories on peace, adiaphora, and conformity along with his use of Erasmus.197 Christian peace would prevail, according to Alsop, when dissenters were allowed to practice freely. National unity did not depend on religious unity.198 Alsop sought religious tolerance, not a tolerant latitude within the conformist church.199 When James II proposed religious tolerance Alsop supported the King. Alsop was convinced that James was sincere and not simply seeking to reestablish the Catholic faith.200 Alsop wanted tolerance, but not the type offered by Goodman and the Latitudinarians. In Alsop’s mind, conformists had reversed a proper understanding of adiaphora and fundamenta. They had made uniformity and ceremonies fundamenta while criticizing and suppressing doctrines regarding the very process of salvation. Alsop’s book partly

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focused on defending the predestinarian conclusions of the Synod of Dordt and he directly responded to many of Goodman’s references to Erasmus. He was particularly scathing about the idea that peace was more important than truth: He told us from Erasmus, That Peace was not too dear at the price of some Truth. Very good! Will then telling half a dozen round Lyes procure us our Peace? or the renouncing half a score Scripture-truths. or so? Oh but we are commanded to buy the Truth; not sell it: Not to do evil that good may come. And besides that Peace will never wear well, nor last long that is purchased with the loss of Truth. To war with God, or skirmish the Scripture, is no approved method to secure Peace amongst our selves.201 God, said Alsop, would not reward a nation that abandoned truth in the name of peace, especially a nation that legislated against truth with the rhetoric of peace and moderation. The rhetoric of moderation, peace, and charity only could be used to support legislated conformity if the majority were theologically correct. Such reasoning, however, was illogical according to Alsop for, almost by definition, nonconformists were in the minority and were so because they believed the majority were wrong. ‘The many are infallibly of that Religion,’ wrote Alsop, ‘which the Law allows and encourages, and the few ever of that way which is discouraged and persecuted.’202 Furthermore, said Alsop, the moderate majority obviously did not have the truth because, in the name of peace, they moved to a middle position that compromised truth. ‘But what are those middle Counsels?’ asked Alsop. He then answered his own question: ‘He tells us in the Instance of Erasmus, who was the Glory of his Time and Countrey, for the sagacity of his Wit, and simplicity of his Temper; and he indeed hung in the middle between Popery and Protestantism; or as some say, between Heaven and Hell; so that hence we learn another secret, what are those middle Counsels, which wise men would take, if occasion served.’203 In reality, however, said Alsop, moderation was simply a rhetorical device and a cover for immoderate persecution. He met ‘with this moderation the word, at every Corner, but moderation the thing is as great a rarity as Candour … But now to be moderate like Erasmus, between Canterbury and Rome, that’s your commendable Temper.’204 The English church said it was

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moderate, but it did not allow moderation on ceremonies; it did not allow nonconforming worship. In fact, according to another well-known author, Richard Baxter, the church was refusing to unite with nonconformists, rather than the other way around. Condemning the hypocrisy of moderate rhetoric, Baxter wrote: Moreover all your pretended desires of Unity and Concord are base hypocrisie, as long as you refuse to Unite with us in the way and state of holiness … Can you for shame say that you are for Unity and Agreement, when you are dividing from us, and will not agree with us, unless we will be as mad as you, and damn our souls for company with you …? And I must tell you while you remain ungodly, you are the great Hereticks and Separatists that trouble the Church of God, more then abundance of those that you reproach.205 From the nonconformist perspective, the rhetoric of moderation, peace, and charity was part of an agenda of immoderation, disunity, hatred, and, not to be overlooked, the imposition of false doctrine. Nonconformists were well aware of the conformist appropriation of Erasmus and thus found it necessary to comment directly on Erasmus and his world view.206 As a result, the significance of Erasmus for the Latitudinarians is witnessed not only in their use of Erasmus, but also the corresponding repudiation of Erasmus in the writings of their opponents. Latitudinarian interest in Erasmus resulted in several new English translations of his work.207 These included a 1671 English edition of the complete Colloquies, which was a scholarly work and contained no new English prefatory material, Roger L’Estrange’s translation of twenty and, nine years later, twenty-two Colloquies, and White Kennet’s translation of In Praise of Folly. As we have seen throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the translation and publication of an Erasmian text often came with a carefully written introduction. Just as Udall attempted to recreate Erasmus in the model of the perfect Protestant in his introductions, so now Restoration era introductions to Erasmus’ writings positioned Erasmus as the perfect spokesperson for a Latitudinarian via media between Protestantism and Catholicism. Roger L’Estrange’s Twenty Select Colloquies was published twice in 1680 and twice in 1689, as Select Colloquies and Twenty-two Select Colloquies. Both of the 1689 printings contained twenty-two dialogues.208

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It was a beautiful translation, which Margaret Mann Phillips believed to be one of the best translations ever made of the Colloquies.209 In his introduction, L’Estrange attempted to locate Erasmus in a middle position between the dangerous extremes of Puritanism and popery.210 In the 1680 edition, L’Estrange specifically referred to the hysteria surrounding the Popish Plot and wrote that some ‘Fanatiques will have him to be a favourer of the Plot.’211 Apparently, L’Estrange’s appeals for moderation and his close ties with the royal family placed him in a dangerous position during the hysteria surrounding the Popish Plot. Suspected of Catholic sympathies and fearing for his life, L’Estrange left England. Unable to get their hands on him, London mobs burnt L’Estrange in effigy. In 1683, another translator of Erasmus came to L’Estrange’s defence. White Kennet, the bishop of Peterborough, translated the Moriae Encomium and published it as Witt against wisdom, or A panagyrick upon folly. This publication contained a somewhat rambling introduction that discussed the Twenty select colloquies of L’Estrange. After pointing out the many ways Erasmus criticized Catholic clergy, Kennet wrote: Upon which account Part of the Subject being so fashionably grateful, I presume the whole Translation may be the more welcome; especially since several Dialogues of the same Author have been acceptably done into English, to represent the LEVITIES crept into the Church of Rome, by a Person that, maugre the reproach of malice, is no doubt as sincere a Professor of Protestant Religion, as he is a zealous Patriot of Christian Loyalty, and (if Circumstances rendred it more necessary) could as freely expose the impostures of Popery, as he does daily in unanswerable Papers discover the Impudence, and Hypocrisie of a Phanatick Faction.212 Though he does not mention L’Estrange by name, it is apparent that L’Estrange was the person who translated Erasmus’ ‘Dialogues’ and who was attacked by the ‘Phanatick Faction.’ L’Estrange himself had spoken of these ‘Fanaticks.’ Kennet also clearly understood that L’Estrange was denounced as a papist because of his defence of the religious rights of the monarchy and his attacks on dissenters and nonconformists. Through the

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use of Erasmian texts, both Kennet and L’Estrange marked out for themselves a middle way that they felt distinguished their position from both fanatics and papists. However, when Kennet went on and described this ‘Phanatick Faction,’ we are reminded again that we should not equate the rhetoric of moderation and the via media with religious tolerance. This faction, wrote, Kennet, ‘has been the scandal of Christianity, and the meer Burlesque of Protestantisme; that has forfeited an Indulgence, outdared an oblivion, and so long bid defiance to Mercy, as well as Justice, till the Capital Punishments of Treason must discharge the lesser Penalties of Schism.’213 His opponents had ‘forfeited’ any right to an ‘Indulgence’ and were, he suggests, guilty of treason. It is terribly ironic that not long after this Kennet left the Tories, became a committed Whig, and did quite well for himself following the Glorious Revolution.214 This is in stark contrast to L’Estrange who was imprisoned for his support of James II. Kennet also, like so many others, noted the Edwardian injunctions regarding the Paraphrases. Erasmus, he wrote, had ‘impaired his esteem with the Romanists at no faster a rate than he advanced his reputation with the Reformed, especially here in England, where a Translation of his Paraphrase on the New Testament was in the first of Edward the Sixth ordered to be placed in all Parish churches, and in some of them to this day remains: The method whereof is very profitable, and the stile both easie, and eloquent.’215 Kennet was not quite willing to become an Erasmian and signalled his divergence from Erasmus in the 1683 introduction. The problem was not Erasmus’ theology, but rather his absolute pacifism. Kennet took issue with passages in the Paraphrases and in the Praise of Folly. According to Kennet, violence as selfdefence was acceptable. Erasmus could be somewhat excused, however, because his interpretation was ‘occasioned by an honest design of promoting Unity, Peace, and Charity.’216 For the 1689 edition of Twenty two Select Colloquies, L’Estrange dropped all references in the introduction to the Popish Plot, but continued to present himself as being attacked by both extremes. He wrote, ‘You will find that at the Writing of These Colloquies the Church of Rome stood in great need of Reforming; even in the Judgment of Erasmus Himself, who was an Eminent Member of That Communion.’217 He then suggested to his audience that reading Erasmus would help ‘mollifie the Evil Spirit, and to turn some

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Part of the Severity and Bitterness of the Age, into Pity and Laughter.’218 In concluding his preface, L’Estrange identified himself with Erasmus and with the Erasmian via media: Some will have him [L’Estrange] to be a Papist in Masquerade, for going so far; Others again will have him to be too much a Protestant, because he will go no farther: So that he is crush’d betwixt the Two Extremes, as they hung up Erasmus himself, betwixt Heaven and Hell. Upon the sense of This Hard Measure, he has now made English of These Colloquies; and in This last Edition added two more to the Number; partly as a Prudential Vindication, and partly as a Christian Revenge.219 L’Estrange said that he and Erasmus were moderates in a world full of dogmatic bigotry. But what is important to notice is that for L’Estrange, even though he located himself in the middle, there were really only two religious persuasions: the immoderates and the moderates. Erasmus represented his side of this ideological spectrum. His publication of Erasmus represented not only ‘Prudent Vindication,’ but also ‘Christian Revenge,’ supposedly against the mentality that had forced his earlier flight.220 Publishing a moderate text was another weapon against the fanatics. In an attempt to support the monarchy against both Puritans and conformist clergy who were demanding tight limits on religious tolerance, royalists like L’Estrange found a useful weapon in the Erasmian rhetoric of tolerance, peace, and openness.221 His Erasmianism, however, did not provide enough vindication for William and Mary and, following the Glorious Revolution, L’Estrange found himself in prison for his part in the polemical battles.222 c on c l u si o n Sixteen eighty-eight ushered in a new era for English Christianity. Contrary to later assumptions that Erasmus supported religious tolerance and therefore would have been in favour of the 1689 decree of religious tolerance in England, the official acceptance of dissent admitted the failure of the Erasmian dream of tolerance within the unified body of a single church.223 Erasmus’ rhetoric, methodology, and theology were centred around the concept of peace and concord. The legalization of dissent and the further

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fragmentation of the Christian church that resulted were far from the Erasmian model. Moreover, the purpose of that Act of Toleration was not simply to give limited tolerance to nonconforming Protestant groups, but to reverse the tolerance extended by James II to Catholics and more extreme Protestant sects. Though perhaps more accurately described as an Act of Intolerance, it did, for the first time, give legal, parliamentary sanction, to most Protestant nonconformists.224 Both in purpose and in execution the religious tolerance that was ushered in by the Glorious Revolution was part of a reaffirmation of English Protestantism and a repudiation of the tolerance proposed by James II. In two ways English Protestants abandoned the Erasmian vision. First, by accepting dissent they had abandoned the goal of unified diversity within one church. And second, by insisting on intolerance of Catholicism they reaffirmed the huge chasm that divided western Christianity.225 Along with Puritans, Catholics, Anglicans, and nearly everyone else in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, Erasmus believed that unity within the official church was a prerequisite for order, stability, and peace. The uniqueness of Erasmus’ legacy is not in any espousal of tolerance for religious activity outside the official church, but in the Erasmian position, on one end of the spectrum of thought, for how much diversity the official church could incorporate. In this sense, Erasmus did not occupy a moderate or middle position at all, but rather a radical stance that helps explain why vast numbers of Catholics and Protestants alike found his theological thought disturbing and dangerous. Elizabeth, James, and Charles all strove for religious unity in a kingdom of very diverse religious impulses. Erasmus provided a language and methodology that would be exploited in support of an officially formulated via media. This ‘moderate’ approach fell apart at the civil war, was revived by the later Stuarts, who sought to officially incorporate both Catholics and Dissenters within the English church, and finally abandoned with the Glorious Revolution. The establishment of fragmentation was the final blow to the centuries-old concept of adiaphora-based diversity within a single unified and peaceful church. The religious issues that bedevilled English society during the 1630s and 1640s were not put to rest by the civil war. The Glorious Revolution in many ways ended this particular polemical debate by restructuring the terms of the debate. Once unity was no longer perceived as an absolute political

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and religious necessity, the debate took on a different dynamic;226 1689 is therefore an appropriate place to end this book.227 The study of Erasmus’ legacy provides an important window to an extremely complex religious culture. An appreciation for how Erasmus’ writings and ideas were used provides us with a richer and more multidimensional understanding of the period. Erasmus helped establish a religious framework, mindset, and rhetoric that became an intrinsic part of English cultural discourse. Authors from across the religious spectrum cited him and referred to him as an authority. Translations of his works were produced by both Calvinists and anti-Calvinists. The Puritan editions of the Colloquies examined in chapter 5 stand out as prime examples of the Calvinist attempt to use a corrected version of Erasmian texts. Even as early as the second volume of the Paraphrases, however, it is apparent that Erasmus’ theology and methodology were problematic for many English Calvinists. Using Erasmian texts required carefully framed introductions and, at times, manipulation of the text itself. His concepts more naturally provided a foundation, framework, and context for anti-Calvinists and Arminians. In addition, his religious rhetoric helped establish a theological methodology that suited the crown and conformist divines in their attempts to peacefully unify English religious culture. English rulers, as time passed, became increasingly uncomfortable with the sectarian impulse within Protestantism. Returning to Catholicism was neither a religious nor a political option, so they chose a different course. They rhetorically defined their position as moderate and as a middle way between the extremes of Puritanism and popery. Undoubtedly, many English men and women liked the idea of a peaceful, moderate, and united Christian faith that relegated traditional dogmatic disputes to the periphery. As I have argued in this book, this Erasmian via media was moderate, in the sense that it comprised elements of both Protestantism and Catholicism and employed irenic rhetoric, but it was also aggressive, in that it was used to attack those individuals or groups who were perceived as a threat to the unity and peace of the church. Erasmus inspired a style, a rhetoric, and a method for the religious life. It was a world view that influenced many English men and women. However, it is not possible to know if a historical figure was influenced by Erasmus, discovered congruity between his or her thought and Erasmus’, or simply used Erasmus

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because his name perhaps meant something to readers. Instead, I have traced an Erasmian legacy – a legacy that contained imitation, praise, manipulation, and approbation of Erasmus’ texts and name. Most important, understanding the history of Erasmus’ English legacy contributes to a greater appreciation for the nuances and subtleties of certain types of religious language and debate. John Colet said that ‘the name of Erasmus will never die.’ For early modern England, Colet’s prophecy is demonstrably accurate. Erasmus, however, did eventually fade from general cultural awareness, especially when his Colloquies disappeared from educational institutions, and he has receded into the recesses of academia and short passages in textbooks. He has even disappeared from accounts of sixteenth and seventeenth-century English religion. Yet, Erasmus, as constructed and reconstructed by English authors, did play a role that deserves to take its place as an important and intrinsic aspect of religious thought in early modern England. In order to understand early modern religion we must examine the rhetorical use of terms like peace, moderation, and charity in their historical context without giving them positive moral connotations. Erasmus certainly considered such rhetoric to be the only way for religious peace and happiness to exist within Christianity, but when inserted into cultures that sought absolute religious truth and practical uniformity, such language often resulted in deeper theological and factional divisions. Erasmus would likely not have approved of many of the purposes to which his theological methodology and rhetoric were put, but he certainly would have been pleased to witness continuing discussions in which his principles of mystery, love, unity, and peace challenged dogmatic assertions. Many modern societies espouse, at least officially, the value of tolerance and the right to disunity – intellectually, legally, religiously, and politically. If the language of tolerance originated with writers such as Erasmus, the reality and ultimate acceptance of disunity sprang, certainly unintentionally, from the thought and actions of nonconformists and separatists. Our modern world, however, was shaped by the conflicts of the early modern world and as we gain a better appreciation of those conflicts we shall better understand our own controversies and how the ongoing construction of ‘moderate’ positions continues to shape the development of current institutions, both large and small. Themes of discrimination and

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tolerance, war and peace, conflict and unity, extremism and moderation remain central cultural motifs. The story of Erasmus’ English legacy provides a richer context for appreciating the history and nature of these themes in early modern England.

Notes

i n t ro duc ti o n Most quotations are in their original English spelling. Original punctuation is retained. Marks and symbols for letters have been changed to the corresponding letter. Recto (r) and verso (v) have been noted where appropriate. Dates in this book are in Old Style. 1 Bainton, Erasmus of Christendom, 279. 2 Collected Works of Erasmus (hereafter referred to as CWE), 3:312, Ep. 423, line 49. Erika Rummel suggests that John Colet’s influence on Erasmus may be overrated. See Rummel, Erasmus, 73–4. 3 Of course, William Tyndale, among others, was not pleased with Erasmus or his theology. 4 McConica, English Humanists and Reformation Politics. 5 STC 10088–93. STC refers to A.W. Pollard and G.R. Redgrave, A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland and Ireland, and of English Books Printed Abroad, 1475–1640, 2nd ed., revised by W.A. Jackson, F.S. Ferguson, and K.F. Pantzer, 3 vols (London: Bibliographic Society, 1976–91). Only the first English volume of the Paraphrases, Matthew through Acts, was included in the injunctions. A second volume, featuring the rest of the New Testament, was published a few years later. 6 In fact, the injunctions were renewed seven times by Elizabeth I between 1569 and 1599. See Frere and Kennedy, Visitation Articles and Injunctions; Elizabethan Episcopal Administration; Edgerton, Nicholas Udall, 80. Although there is evidence of declining interest in the Paraphrases from the late 1570s, ecclesiastical authorities continued to demand that churches have a copy well into the seventeenth century. See John Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 332.

270 Notes to pages xii–xiv 7 In his analysis of interpretations of Erasmus throughout Europe, Bruce Mansfield discusses the Great Tew circle and notes that ‘Great Tew might be seen as a last attempt to recover the irenic vision of Erasmus.’ See Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 151. Mansfield’s book focuses primarily on Erasmus’ Continental reception. While stating that England was beyond the scope of his study, Mansfield pointed to John Foxe and the Great Tew circle as indications that Erasmus was not forgotten in England. Also see Hayward, ‘New Directions in Studies of the Falkland Circle,’ 22, 24, and 29. 8 Cary, Falkland’s Reply, 161. Cary’s treatise quoted and mentioned Erasmus numerous times. 9 I often use the term ‘Catholic’ in this book to indicate the body of believers who remained connected to Rome and the papacy. English Protestants usually attempted to use ‘catholic’ as a synonym for ‘orthodox’ and felt that they were the true Catholics. However, employing the ecclesiological shorthand of ‘Catholic’ seemed to me better than using contemporary English words such as the derogatory ‘Romish’ and ‘papistical.’ 10 Falkland was not pleased with what he saw as the immoderate governance of Archbishop Laud. As a committed royalist, however, Falkland saw Puritanism as a much greater threat to English religion. His tract can be read as an attempt to counter Puritan accusations that English Arminians were really Catholics in disguise. 11 Falkland sprinkled his anti-Catholic polemic with numerous statements that attacked Calvinist doctrine, especially predestination. See Cary, Falkland’s Reply, 126, 140, 144. 12 Ibid., 187–8. 13 As I will discuss in several chapters, the notion of an English via media was always a rhetorical construct. Each group attempted to locate itself in the middle place while designating its opponents as dangerous extremists. Falkland’s attempt to define Calvinism as an extreme position belied the dominance of Calvinism in England over the previous seventy years. 14 Estes, Peace, Order and the Glory of God, 139n. 15 See the insightful collection of essays on the validity and usefulness of the terms ‘Erasmian’ and ‘Erasmianism’ in Mout, Smolinsky, and Trapman, Erasmianism: Idea and Reality. 16 Thompson, ‘Erasmus in Tudor England,’ 31. Thompson (30) stated that ‘James K. McConica has given us recently a perceptive analysis of relations between Erasmian humanism and the English church in the reigns of Henry VIII and Edward VI. What is needed now is continuation of the story to the end of the Elizabethan reign and beyond, with the results incorporated in a volume as comprehensive, learned, and judicious as M. Bataillon’s excellent work on Erasmus and Spain (1937).’

Notes to pages xiv–xvii

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17 Devereux, Renaissance English Translations of Erasmus. 18 O’Donnell, book review, Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook 5, 100. 19 Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 336. Also see Vessey’s introductory comments in Pabel and Vessey, Holy Scripture Speaks, 21–2. 20 Parker, ‘Religious Polemics and Two Sixteenth Century English Editions of Erasmus’ Enchiridion Militis Christiani, 1545–1561’; and Rummel, ‘The Reception of Erasmus’ Adages in Sixteenth-Century England.’ 21 Bennet, Romance and Reformation; and Corti, Silenos. Silenos looks primarily at Shakespearean plays. 22 Todd, Christian Humanism, 19. 23 Cornelis Augustijn, specifically referring to Erasmus’ influence in England, wrote that ‘Erasmus’ ideas could serve as a corrective rather than as an alternative.’ Erasmus’ legacy never amounted to a significant movement, but that very fact allowed his ideas to influence a diverse spectrum of movements and individuals. Erasmus: His Life, Works, and Influence, 199. 24 While some Latin texts are dealt with, the focus of this book is on translated Erasmian texts and references to Erasmus in early modern English texts. 25 In a 1523 letter to Johann von Botzheim, which discussed his published works at some length, Erasmus stated that ‘no book has had so much work put into it that it cannot be made more perfect.’ CWE 9:352, Ep. 1341A, lines 1486–7. In 1525 a frustrated Erasmus even stated that he would stop writing new material so he could spend his time revising ‘what has already been published and cannot therefore be recalled’ Ep. 1596, lines 31–2, ibid. 26 Johns, The Nature of the Book, 35. According to Johns, ‘Printed texts were not intrinsically trustworthy ... Those faced with using the press to create and sustain knowledge thus found themselves confronting a culture characterized by nothing so much as indeterminacy.’ Johns’ argument challenges Elizabeth Eisenstein’s argument that texts provided greater fixity and certainty of knowledge. See Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution. 27 While other texts, including Erasmus’ Latin Annotations, made Erasmian theological interpretations available to scholars, the widely distributed Paraphrases were cited far more often in both English and Latin texts. 28 E.J. Devereux, in his bibliography of English translations of Erasmus, noted that ‘the name of Erasmus and his books, with or without actual context, were to spread to the common reader the idea of adiaphora, things indifferent to salvation.’ See Devereux, Renaissance English Translations of Erasmus, 9. 29 See Lake, ‘Business as Usual?’

272 Notes to pages xvii–4 30 Nicholas Tyacke, among others, has argued that Arminianism was a new challenge to a conservative and well-established Calvinist mainstream. Peter White, on the other hand, has suggested that there was in fact a broad spectrum of allowable belief in Elizabethan and earlyStuart religion and that free will theology was a part of an English via media. See Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists; White, Predestination, Policy, and Polemic. While my contention that Erasmian ideas provided a foundation for the rise of Arminianism might appear to support White’s view, I also demonstrate that Erasmian theology was not in the mainstream and represented a small counterpoint within an increasingly Calvinist culture. 31 The work of Peter Lake, Nicolas Tyacke, Kenneth Fincham, Anthony Milton, Lori Anne Ferrell, and Alexandra Walsham, among many others in this busy field, has reshaped our understanding of late Elizabethan and early Stuart English religion. It is no longer possible to paint with a very large brush, and detailed analysis of the diversity within even subgroups of religious belief and practice must be taken seriously. Erasmus and his legacy is one of these details that adds additional depth, and at times revision, to our picture of the long English Reformation. Cf. Mout, Smolinsky, and Trapman, Erasmianism: Idea and Reality. 32 There simply were no ‘Erasmians,’ nor even a specific group of theological ideas that were clearly ‘Erasmian.’ I suggest throughout this book that Erasmianism instead should be viewed as a rhetorical style and a generalized world view that focused on peace and unity as the definitive dogmas of true religion. For Puritans, as well as many others, peace and unity sometimes had to be sacrificed for the sake of truth, but for those of an Erasmian frame of mind peace was itself a core Christian doctrine. 33 Parker, A discourse concerning Puritans, 2. 34 Stillingfleet, Several conferences, 119. 1 the englishing of the p a r aph ras es 1 See Rex, ‘The Role of English Humanists in the Reformation up to 1559’; C.R. Thompson, ‘Erasmus and Tudor England’; McConica, English Humanists and Reformation Politics. 2 Though undoubtedly an exaggeration, there is some truth in Roland Bainton’s assertion that the English Paraphrases represented a moderate English Erasmianism that came to fruition in the Elizabethan Settlement. Bainton, Erasmus of Christendom, 279. 3 For more analysis of the genre, original purpose, and Erasmus’ defence of the Paraphrases, see Vessey, ‘The Tongue and the Book.’ Also see Cottier, ‘La paraphrase latine, de Quintilien à Érasme’; and Cottier, ‘La théorie du genre de la paraphrase selon Erasme.’

Notes to pages 4–6 273 4 Bainton, ‘The Paraphrases of Erasmus,’ 68. 5 Erasmus to John Botzheim, 1523, translated by Margaret Mann Phillips, in Erasmus on His Times, xvii. 6 Bainton, ‘The Paraphrases of Erasmus,’ 67. 7 Quoted in Vessey, ‘Lingua Christi,’ 74. 8 Nicholas Udall to Queen Catherine, introduction to the paraphrase of Luke in Erasmus, The First Tome or Volume of the Paraphrase of Erasmus upon the Newe Testamente (1548), sig. [par.]3r, preface to Luke. This facsimile is a reproduction of STC 2854. Henceforth, I will use the following form for the first volume of the Paraphrases: Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]3r, preface to Luke. The second volume will be noted as Paraphrases II. Erasmus, The seconde tome or volume of the Paraphrase of Erasmus upon the Newe Testament. I used STC 2854.7 from the Huntington Library. 9 See Frere and Kennedy, Visitation Articles and Injunctions, 3:8–29; and Edgerton, Nicholas Udall, 77. 10 Pabel, ‘Retelling the History of the Early Church,’ 64. Bernard Roussel similarly states that Erasmus was the ‘“inventor,” at the beginning of the sixteenth century, of a model that was to be claimed by other authors in their turn, as each in his own way set about composing paraphrases of biblical texts.’ See Roussel, ‘Exegetical Fictions?’ 59. Roussel’s essay discusses the similarities and divergences between Erasmus and later paraphrasts, including Francis Titelmans, Pierre de Launay, Antoine Godeau, and Henry Hammond (1605–60) in England. 11 By playing so freely with the words of scripture, the Paraphrases produced something of a ‘shock’ for many Christians. Mark Vessey states that ‘the Paraphrases were an anomalous and, to some, extremely disconcerting work. It is worth trying to recapture that initial experience of shock.’ Vessey, introduction in Pabel and Vessey, Holy Scripture Speaks, 8. 12 Ibid., 3. 13 See Jane E. Phillips, ‘The Gospel, the Clergy, and the Laity in Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the Gospel of John,’ 97–100. Phillips sees Erasmus’ intended audience in the Paraphrases as ‘substantially a lay one,’ so that the laity could ‘distinguish good and bad among their clergy.’ 14 The ‘poor man’s’ Bible of 1470, filled with pictures of the biblical narratives, was not targeted at ‘poor men’ but at poorly educated clergy. 15 For more on the literary nature of the Paraphrases and the rhetorical structures they contain, see Chomarat, ‘Grammar and Rhetoric in the Paraphrases of the Gospels by Erasmus.’ 16 According to John Bateman, Erasmus’ paraphrases were a combination of ‘free translation and running commentary.’ Bateman also briefly outlines the process Erasmus used to construct his paraphrases. See Bateman, ‘Translator’s Note,’ xiv–xv.

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17 Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]3v. Erasmus’ preface to Matthew. Similarly, in the preface to the paraphrase on John, Erasmus wrote, ‘It is not my mynde that any man geve more credence to this my paraphrase, then he would geve to a commentary, if I had written one upon it, not withstandyng a Paraphrase is a kynd of a commentarie.’ Paraphrases, sig. ()5v. Erasmus’ Preface to John. 18 Paraphrases I, sig. B7r. Udall to the Christian reader. 19 See McConica, English Humanists and Reformation Politics, 231–81. 20 Ibid., 232. 21 Wall, ‘Introduction’ to Paraphrases I, 15. 22 Wall, ‘Godly and Fruitful Lessons,’ 49. 23 For more on Cranmer and Erasmus and the continuation of Erasmus’ pension despite Henry VIII’s break from Rome, see MacCulloch, Cranmer, 98–9. Also see Selwyn, The Library of Thomas Cranmer; and Selwyn, ‘Thomas Cranmer and the Dispersal of Medieval Libraries,’ 286, 294. 24 MacCulloch, Cranmer, 30. Also see Cranmer’s copy of De Libero Arbitrio in the British Library, BL 697.b.3. 25 MacCulloch, Cranmer, 30. 26 Ibid., 99. 27 Paraphrases I, sig. B4r. Udall preface ‘unto the kynges Maiestee.’ 28 Luther, Luther’s Works, 49:44. To Nicolas Armsdoff Luther wrote, ‘The like game also he played with the apostle Paul, in his preface to the Romans; (to say nothing about his paraphrases …) where he speaks of the praises of Paul in that way, that no simple reader whatever who is unacquainted with rhetoric, could be more effectually drawn away, and beaten off, from reading and studying Paul: so confused, intricate, self-contradictory, diverse, and disgusting, does he represent him to be: so that, the reader must of necessity believe the epistle to be the production of some mad man: so far is it from possibility, that he should consider it to be profitable.’ See Henry Cole’s translation of De Servo Arbitrio where this letter is an appendix: Luther, The Bondage of the Will, 403. 29 Paraphrases I, sig. B2v. Udall preface ‘unto the kynges Maiestee.’ 30 Frere and Kennedy, Visitation Articles and Injunctions, 3:8–29. 31 Quoted in John Wall’s introduction to facsimile edition of Paraphrase I, 17. 32 Quoted in Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 147. 33 The Swiss Reformer, Leo Jud, authored the paraphrase of Revelation included with Erasmus’ Paraphrases. Referring to Revelation, Erasmus wrote that ‘nullo modo recepit paraphrasten.’ See Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 15. 34 Ibid., 150. 35 Edgerton, Udall, 80.

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36 There are still a few parish churches with the 1548 Paraphrases in their possession. For more on the printings of the Paraphrases, who printed them, when, etc., see Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 13–15, 146–75; and Devereux, ‘The Publication of the English Paraphrases of Erasmus.’ 37 Some scholars suggest that the Paraphrases were burned, but this is based more on evidence that the Book of Common Prayer and the Book of Homilies were burned than on any specific evidence concerning the Paraphrases. See Philip Hughes, The Reformation in England, 243; and Thompson, ‘Erasmus and Tudor England,’ 51. John Craig, however, did find evidence that a few individual parishes chose to destroy or sell the Paraphrases. Craig concluded, ‘Evidence that parishes that purchased the Paraphrases during Edward’s reign had to replace their copy in Elizabeth’s reign exists, but the numbers are relatively small.’ Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 328. 38 Even moderate Catholics, such as Cardinal Bellarmine (1542–1621), repudiated Erasmus. A number of English Protestants noted this and happily claimed Erasmus for the English church. See Lucius Cary’s posthumously published A Discourse of Infallibility, 161. 39 Stephen Gardiner realized that Erasmus’ approach to reform had changed over time. As Luther broke away from the Catholic church Erasmus became much more careful in his attacks on authority. Gardiner believed that the Paraphrases had been written during Erasmus’ more anti-traditionalist early phase when ‘his pen was wanton.’ Gardiner experienced something similar himself. As a young man he endorsed Erasmus’ humanist ideas and, according to McConica, even personally prepared a salad for Erasmus. Later, he began to see the danger Erasmian ideas posed for the authority of the church. Gardiner, however, was not correct about Erasmus’ Paraphrases. Erasmus continued to update his Paraphrases until the final years of his life and they do represent his mature thought. See Muller, Letters of Stephen Gardiner, 382; and McConica, English Humanists, 248. 40 Muller, Letters of Stephen Gardiner. See letters 130 to 136. 41 Paraphrase I, 11. Also see Catherine Parr’s letter to Mary, BL Cotton Vespasian F. III No. 35. 42 See Prescott, Elizabeth and Mary Tudor, xi–xiii. There is some scholarly discussion regarding the reason for Mary’s abandonment of the translation of John. John King has suggested that she stopped because she disagreed with the reformist purposes behind the Paraphrases project. See King, ‘Patronage and Piety,’ 48. King may be correct, but given the lack of concrete evidence it seems prudent to maintain the traditional assertion that illness was the reason Malet finished the translation of John; after all, Malet was a devout Catholic and Mary’s personal chaplain, Mary did not curtail the distribution

276 Notes to pages 12–14

43 44

45

46 47 48 49

50 51 52 53

54 55 56

57 58

of the Paraphrases during her reign, and the introduction to the Paraphrases stated specifically that illness forced her to stop. Paraphrase I, sig. [par.]2v. Udall’s preface to the Acts of the Apostles. John Craig suggests that the popularity of the Paraphrases kept Marian authorities from removing Erasmus’ text: ‘Were the Paraphrases and Great Bible such slight threats to the restoration of Catholic rites and practices? Or – this is perhaps more likely – were both texts so popular that their official prohibition would have been political folly?’ Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 327. The 1564 edition of the Index did not include all of Erasmus’ writings. Augustijn, Erasmus: His Life, Works, and Influence, 198–9. For Erasmian influences on debates surrounding the Eucharist, see Devereux, ‘Tudor Uses of Erasmus on the Eucharist.’ See McConica, English Humanists, 278. Elizabethan Visitation documents. STC 10095–103. Also see Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 150–1. Hutton, ‘The Local Impact of the Tudor Reformations,’ 137. John Craig warns that Hutton’s survey of parishes does not produce a clear picture regarding the dispersal of the Paraphrases. Craig writes, ‘The evidence available to us is both scrappy and resistant to large generalizations of the kind expressed by percentages.’ Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 324. Craig’s point is that the Paraphrases were more widely dispersed than Hutton’s study suggests. Edgerton, Udall, 80. Devereux, ‘Sixteenth-Century Translations of Erasmus’ New Testament Commentaries in English,’ xxxiv. Barrow, A petition directed to Her Most Excellent Maiestie, 67. Fincham, Visitation Articles and Injunctions of the Early Stuart Church, 96–7. Bancroft was using Elizabeth’s treatment of the Paraphrases as a precedent for requiring all parishes to purchase Bishop Jewel’s works. Green, Print and Protestantism, 122. Devereux, ‘Sixteenth-Century Translations of Erasmus’ New Testament Commentaries in English,’ xxxiv. Devereux, ‘Sixteenth-Century Translations of Erasmus’ New Testament,’ xxxiv. Similarly, Ian Green writes, ‘Nor were works without some influence if there were other means of exploiting them than through individual ownership, as in the case of those copies of Erasmus’s paraphrases of the New Testament or Foxe’s magnum opus made available in some churches or company halls for interested parties.’ Cf. Green, Print and Protestantism, 587. Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 335. Quoted in Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 331. For more on the reception of the Paraphrases in English parishes during the reign of Elizabeth, see ibid., 328–34.

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59 Quoted in Robson-Scott, ‘Josua Maler’s Visit to England in 1551,’ 45, 348. 60 Kelsey, Sir Francis Drake, 33. 61 Jewel, A replie, 53, 199. 62 Most of the texts citing the Paraphrases were religious treatises. However, mention of the Paraphrases could also turn up in some less likely publications, such as John Bossewell’s works on heraldry. Bossewell was familiar enough with the Paraphrases to refer his readers to Erasmus’ paraphrase on the fourth chapter of Mark and a discussion on the spiritual mystery of the ‘sickle.’ Bossewell, Works of armorie, book 3, 27r. 63 See Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness?’ 336. 64 See Heal, ‘Mediating the Word,’ 282–3. 65 Paraphrases I, sig. B6v, Udall ‘to the Christian reader.’ 66 The English edition did omit Erasmus’ dedicatory letter to the pope prefacing the paraphrase on Acts of the Apostles. 67 The only scholarly work specifically on the prefaces was a brief article in 1961 by the Louvain scholar Joseph Coppens. Coppens sees Erasmus evolving to a moderate position, which he expressed most clearly during his final decades in his prefaces to the Paraphrases. He believed that the prefaces to the Paraphrases were extremely important since they expressed Erasmus’ mature thought and because they ‘préfaçant des ouvrages d’exégèse non pas de polémique et composés à une époque où Érasme fut amené à chercher un juste milieu entre le conservatisme de son Église et la rebellion protestante’ [prefaced works of exegesis, not of polemic, and were composed in a period when Erasmus was seeking the golden mean between the conservatism of his church and the protestant rebellion]. See Coppens, ‘Les Idées Réformistes,’ 352, 364. Coppens is correct regarding the importance of the Paraphrases. However, simply because a paraphrase is a different genre from a polemic should not lead us to assume that Erasmus was simply providing a neutral narrative of scripture. In reality, a paraphrase was the ideal format for Erasmus to advance his understanding of theology and the church. 68 This uneasiness with and manipulation of Erasmus’ Catholic position and theology is a recurring theme in the story of England’s interaction with Erasmian texts in the century following the publication of the Paraphrases. 69 See Scheurweghs, Nicholas Udall’s Roister Doister, xiv. 70 Edgerton, Udall, 20. Also see Schoeck, ‘The Humanist Books of Bishop Richard Fox Given to Corpus Christi College in 1528.’ 71 Scheurweghs, Udall, xviii. 72 Stewart, Close Readers, 116–21. 73 Edgerton, Udall, 39–40 74 Scheurweghs, Udall, xxiv–xxxiii.

278 Notes to pages 17–23 75 In Summary to the Paybooks for 1554–1555 under Paybook for 13 Dec. 1554–6, Jan. 1555, the court recorded ‘certen plaies made by Nicholas vdall.’ Quoted in Scheurweghs, Udall, xlix n4. 76 Edgerton, Udall, 65–6. Also see Scheurweghs, Udall, l. 77 Paraphrases I, sig. a4v. 78 Ibid., sig. a4r. 79 Tracy, Erasmus of the Low Countries, 185. 80 Paraphrases I, sig. a4v. Udall to Edward VI. 81 Ibid., sig. B3r. 82 Ibid. 83 Ibid., sig. B2v. 84 See Rummel, Erasmus and His Catholic Critics. 85 Luther particularly hated the Paraphrases. See Luther, Luther’s Works, 49:44. 86 Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]2r. Udall to Queen Catherine. 87 McConica, English Humanists, 248–253. 88 Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]1r. Udall to Queen Catherine. 89 Ibid., sig. B7r–v. Udall to the Christian reader. 90 It is important to remember that in these introductions Udall was not acting independently. His goal was for the Paraphrases to be a part of the larger reform initiatives taking place in 1548. See MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer, 351–409. 91 Paraphrase I, sig. [par.]1v. Thomas Key’s preface to Mark. 92 Ibid. 93 Ibid., sig. [par.]2v. Udall to Queen Catherine. 94 Ibid., sig. [par.]1r. Udall to Queen Catherine. 95 See Minton, ‘John Bale’s Image of Both Churches,’ 300. 96 John King notes the polemical nature of Coverdale’s inclusion of Tyndale in the second volume; see King, ‘John Foxe and Tudor Humanism,’ 178. 97 Erasmus, Discussion of Free Will, in CWE 76:80–1. 98 Paraphrases II, sig. ++3r. Tyndale’s preface to Romans. 99 Erasmus and Tyndale are forever linked in publishing history. It was Tyndale who translated Erasmus’ Enchiridion, which was one of the first Erasmian texts translated into English and which went through numerous printings in the sixteenth century. The title of Tyndale’s Bible also indicated that it was based on Erasmus’ Novum Testamentum and, in some editions, contained Erasmus’ Paraclesis. Tyndale and Erasmus found themselves together again in the second volume of the Paraphrases, though proposing divergent readings of Romans. Also see Thomas More’s amusing response to Tyndale’s accusation that Erasmus was More’s ‘derlynge’ in More, The Confutacyon of Tyndales answer cxxvii–cxxviii. For more on Tyndale’s antagonistic relationship with Erasmian humanism, see Steward, ‘The Trouble with English Humanism.’ Steward states, ‘In his doomed negotiations

Notes to pages 23–30

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105 106 107 108 109

279

with Erasmus, Tunstall and More, Tyndale reveals the breaking point in what he (and a future critical tradition) want to present as a neat line of progressive thought: he shows that in espousing Reformation politics, Englishmen forfeit the right to be Erasmian humanists’ (91). The second volume of the Paraphrases included John Bale’s paraphrase on Revelation. See Minton, ‘John Bale’s Image of Both Churches.’ Paraphrases II, sig. *1v. John Olde preface to Canonical Epistles. Ibid. Martin Luther, Preface to the New Testament, 362. John Olde was following in a tradition of Protestant anxiety concerning the book of James. In De Libero Arbitrio Erasmus contrasted James with Romans in order to suggest that free will was dealt with differently in the two books and therefore the whole topic should be considered inessential to salvation. Luther, who could not get around James’ focus on ‘good works,’ questioned the authenticity of James and its inclusion in the canon. Craig, ‘Forming a Protestant Consciousness? 322. Paraphrases I, sig. B6v. Udall’s introduction to the Christian Reader. Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution. Johns, The Nature of the Book, 29. Ibid., 35. 2 t heology and rhetoric in the english paraphras e s

1 2 3 4 5

6 7 8

Todd, Christian Humanism and the Puritan Social Order. McConica, English Humanists, 271. See Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement. See Vessey, ‘Lingua Christi,’ 74; and Bainton, ‘The Paraphrases of Erasmus,’ 67–8. George Whetstone wrote: ‘The learned Doctor Erasmus writing a paraphrase of the foure Euangelists, dedicated the first to the Emperour, the second to the french King, the third to the noble King Henry, and the fourth to the Emperours brother, the Pope was wiped out of his trauell, as one not destined to haue the protection of this pretious iewell.’ Whetstone, The English mirror, 124. Paraphrases I, sigs. B7r–v. Udall to the Christian reader. See CWE, 49:8. Henry VIII abolished the feast of St Thomas of Canterbury in 1537 and, in addition to destroying his shrine, had a commission of inquiry pronounce Thomas a traitor. Becket’s bones were then dug up and burned and all the treasure at his tomb became the property of the crown. According to Jasper Ridley, it was this outrage that finally persuaded the pope to excommunicate Henry. See Ridley,

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11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21

Notes to pages 30–3

A Brief History of the Tudor Age, 153. Also see Sarah Blick, ‘Reconstructing the Shine of St. Thomas Becket, Canterbury Cathedral.’ Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]1r. Erasmus’ preface to Mark. The CWE translation of this passage reads as follows: ‘Some people credit the Roman pontiff with dominion even over the nether regions and some think he can command the angels; I am so far from grudging him this authority that I wish it were wider still. But oh that the world might feel the life-giving virtue of this power of his in the establishment and maintenance of concord between kings! – those kings who have so long put Christendom in extreme peril by conflicts with one another which are as dishonourable as they are disastrous.’ CWE, 49:2. In the preface to Mark, Erasmus included a discussion of the ‘two swords.’ After stating that the church’s sword was heavenly and did not give earthly authority to priests and bishops, he also stated that princes should not ‘entermeddle’ in the affairs of the church. English readers could have contrasted these sentiments with English monarchs who controlled both swords as well as with the introductions by Udall in the first volume of the Paraphrases. The English translation of Erasmus’ preface stated: ‘Now whiles they bothe nothyng regardyng theyr owne duetie, haue eche one a desyre to entermeddle with that, whiche in no wyse appertaineth unto theyr vocacion, it commeth to passé that neither of theim both do mainteine theyr owne dignitie accordingly nor yet conserve the publike tranquillitie neither.’ Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]2v. See Vanautgaerden, ‘Les Ambassadeurs des Paraphrases.’ Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]1r. Erasmus’ preface to Mark. Rummel, Erasmus, 68–72. Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]2v. Erasmus’ preface to Mark. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., sig. [par.]4v. Erasmus, Institutio principis christiani. Erasmus’ treatise on the education of a Christian prince, according to E.J. Devereux, was well known in Reformation England, but never published in English. A manuscript translation was made, however, by John Lord Lumley in 1550 and dedicated to Lord Arundel. Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 130. Erasmus held to a hierarchical view of the church and the world. Rather than presenting a linear model from top to bottom, however, Erasmus depicted three concentric circles with Christ at the core. Closest to Christ were the clergy, followed by princes and magistrates, and then the common people in the outer sphere. See Pabel, ‘The Peaceful People of Christ,’ 69–70. Erasmus first articulated the three concentric circles metaphor in the Enchiridion.

Notes to pages 33–5 281 22 23 24 25

26

27 28 29

30 31 32

33

34

35 36

Paraphrases I, sig. ()2v. Erasmus preface to John. Ibid., sig. [par.]4v. Erasmus preface to Matthew. Ibid., sig. [par.]1v. Erasmus preface to Mark. Erasmus was not an absolute pacifist. He maintained that the only justification for a defensive war was when the laws of the land were broken and the judicial system was impotent in the face of a powerful invader. He wrote, in On War Against the Turks, ‘War is no more than judicial retribution meted out on a large scale, if there is no other way of punishing the crime.’ Regardless of Erasmus’ limited pro-war stance against the Turks, the Paraphrases presented a complete rejection of war. See Erasmus, De Bello Turcico, 319. Also see Rummel, Erasmus, 65–7. In addition to the availability of Erasmus’ texts in Latin, his Complaint of Peace was published in 1559 to mark the start of Elizabeth’s reign. See chapter 3. See Wozniak, A Time for Peace. See Pabel, ‘The Peaceful People of Christ,’ 58, 76, 80, 83–5; Hoffman, Rhetoric and Theology, 164–7; and Boyle, Rhetoric and Reform, 142. Hoffman, Rhetoric and Theology, 182. In an elegant summation of Erasmus’ theory of consensus and concord, Hoffman writes, ‘Consensus, the intellectual expression of unity in truth, most certainly goes hand in hand with concord, the ethical expression of truth in love.’ We also must remember that, for Erasmus, unity did not require unanimity. Where one disagreed with Christian consensus one needed to prudently remain quiet for the sake of concord, charity, and peace. See Pabel, ‘The Peaceful People of Christ,’ 85. Paraphrases I, sig. B6v–B7r. Udall’s letter to the Christian reader. Ibid., sig. [par.]3v. Erasmus’ preface to Matthew. According to Marjorie O’Rourke Boyle, ‘Christ spoke rhetorically because rhetoric is the language of the Holy Spirit.’ The purpose of rhetoric was persuasion and conviction. See Boyle, ‘Rhetorical Theology,’ 88. Erasmus suggested in his preface to the paraphrase on Romans that some New Testament books were hard to understand because they were poorly written; particularly some of Paul’s epistles. See CWE, 42:139 n33 and n34. Erasmus also wrote that ‘the apostles in dede were godly men, yet neverthelesse men they were.’ Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]3v. Erasmus’ preface to Matthew. Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]3v. Preface to Matthew. On Erasmus’ depiction of Christ’s dissimulation and his own use of dissimulatio, see Hoffmann, Rhetoric and Theology, 33 and 123; Tracy, Erasmus of the Low Countries, 175–82; and Tracy, ‘Erasmus among the Postmodernists,’ 1–12. Paraphrases I, sig. ()5v. Erasmus’ preface to John. Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]5r. Erasmus’ preface to Mark. Thomas Key, the translator of Erasmus’ paraphrase on Mark, apparently had a little trouble with Erasmus’ non-Protestant and rather antipredestinarian

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Notes to pages 36–7

statement. CWE translates the same sentence as: ‘For I no longer judge Christians by the doctrines we profess in words; I judge them by their lives’ 49:8. See Boyle, Rhetoric and Reform, 50, 134, 158. Paraphrases I, sig. ()5v. Erasmus’ preface to John. See Backus, ‘Erasmus and the Spirituality of the Early Church,’ 99– 100, 110–14. The most succinct summary of Erasmus’ Philosophia Christi can be found in McConica, Erasmus, 45–62. The words of the Bible and the Paraphrases did not cause readers to be ‘sedicious and disobedient,’ but ‘causeth the people more gladly to obey every good prince, and more quietly to tolerate and beare with the bade … It is called the gospel of peace: reconciling god and us to unitie, and secondly couplyng mutual love and amitie betwene eche of us together.’ Paraphrases I, sig. ()5r. Erasmus’ preface to John. See Hoffmann, Rhetoric and Theology, 191–200 and Boyle, Rhetoric and Reform, 7, 63. According to Boyle, Erasmus considered Epictetus a spiritual father to his own philosophy of Christ. Also see Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 92–7. Where Boyle suggests that Erasmus’ diatriba, or open enquiry, into Luther’s doctrine of predestination is ultimately closed off by his reliance on the judgment of ecclesiastical consensus, Remer states that ‘for Erasmus, debates over doctrinal adiaphora … cannot be decided,’ and ‘therefore, scholars should not be prevented from exploring, reconsidering, and possibly abandoning widely accepted doctrines, so long as they are not fundamental to the faith’ (97). The difference between Boyle and Remer rests on differing understandings of Erasmus’ use of classical rhetoric in the construction of the De Libero Arbitrio. According to Remer, Boyle inaccurately places Erasmus’ diatriba within the genre of deliberative oratory. Remer contends that it belongs within the genre of sermo, which allows for intellectual tolerance on non-essentials among scholars. Remer may very well be right for De Libero Arbitrio, but Boyle is certainly correct that Erasmus submitted his views to the church in Hyperaspistes and his later works and that any tolerance for adiaphoric debate was confined to a nonpublic arena. Pabel and Vessey, Holy Scripture Speaks; Pabel, ‘Retelling the History of the Early Church’; Jane E. Phillips, ‘Food and Drink in Erasmus’ Gospel Paraphrases’; Jane E. Phillips, ‘The Gospel, the Clergy, and the Laity in Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the Gospel of John’; Bainton, ‘The Paraphrases of Erasmus’; Coppens, ‘Les idées réformistes d’Erasme dans les Préfaces aux Paraphrases du Nouveau Testament’; Padberg, ‘Glaubenstheologie und Glaubensverkündigung bei Erasmus von Rotterdam dargestellt auf der Grundlage der Paraphrase zum Römerbrief’; and Schlingensiepen, ‘Erasmus als Exeget auf Grund

Notes to pages 38–42

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45

46 47

48 49 50 51 52 53

54 55 56 57

58 59 60 61 62

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seiner Schriften zu Matthäus.’ Also see the excellent introductions provided for the Paraphrase volumes in the Collected Works of Erasmus. There has recently been renewed scholarly interest in Erasmus’ Paraphrases. See Pabel and Vessey, Holy Scripture Speaks, in which various aspects of Erasmus’ Paraphrases are examined, including Erasmus’ use of history in the Paraphrases, his ‘speaking voice’ in the Paraphrases, his depictions of Jesus and his family, and the textual development of the Paraphrases. There was also a special edition of Moreana dedicated to Erasmus in June 2002 with six articles on the Paraphrases. Moreana 39.150 (June 2002): 5–60. In the paraphrase on Acts, Erasmus presented a picture of the early church that was defined by its unity and concord. See Pabel, ‘Retelling the History of the Early Church,’ 71, 76–7. Paraphrases I, sig. Nn1r. Mark 11. Erasmus focused on reforming individual behaviour, rather than institutional structures. See Pabel, ‘The Peaceful People of Christ,’ 71, 73. Paraphrases II, sig. H4v. 1 John 2. Ibid., sig. H6v. 1 John 3. Ibid., sig. [par.]I1v. 1 John 3. Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]5r. Erasmus’ preface to Mark. Ibid., sig. Ee5v. Mark 4. There was an ongoing debate in Protestant England over whether the Church of Rome was a true church. See Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 128–72. See Hoffman, ‘Erasmus and Religious Toleration,’ 106. Paraphrases I, sig. K6v. Matthew 13. This was also how Erasmus chose to deal with Luther in the colloquy Inquisitio de fide. Erasmus often presented himself as occupying a prudent position between various dangerous extremes. Perhaps the most common of his targets were obscurantist monks and destructive reformers. He was also well aware that his stance on the freedom of the will was a middle position: ‘Some censure me for treading a middle course. To tread a middle course between Christ and Belial is, I admit, a heinous sin, but to steer midway between Scylla and Charybdis is in my view simple prudence.’ CWE 11:117, Ep. 1578. See Hoffmann, ‘Erasmus: Rhetorical Theologian,’ 153. This is reminiscent of Pico della Mirandola’s Oration on the Dignity of Man. See Tracy, ‘Erasmus among the Postmodernists,’ 9–12. See Chomarat, ‘Grammar and Rhetoric,’ 60–5. Paraphrases I, sig. C5v. John 3. The modern translation in CWE 46:45 reads: ‘But with gentle friendliness he gradually drew his willing pupil on to the deeper mysteries of the gospel teaching.’ For Christ’s

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65 66 67

68 69

70 71 72 73 74 75

Notes to pages 42–4

pedagogical method of dissimulation in the Paraphrases, see Chomarat, ‘Grammar and Rhetoric,’ 63. Jane E. Phillips, ed. and trans., CWE 46:244–5 n117. Phillips defines Jesus’ pedagogical method as entailing the ‘gentle treatment of what might have been regarded as insulting remarks, gradually leading into the mysteries, moderating his replies to the hearer’s level of understanding, and the use of deliberately puzzling ideas to engage the hearer and challenge him into further study’ (ibid., 46:257 n7). The need for religious conformity meant that, ultimately, Erasmus made a conscious choice to limit personal religious freedom in favour of maintaining a strong unified official church. In the words of Erika Rummel, ‘Erasmus did not wish to put his skills as a humanist into the service of theology, but as a Catholic humanist he was prepared to accept the magisterium of the Church and the curtailment of individual liberty this entailed.’ See Rummel, The HumanistScholarship Debate, 139. Also see Tracy, Erasmus of the Low Countries, 114–15. Quoted in Rummel, ‘The Theology of Erasmus,’ 32. Ibid. Paraphrases II, sigs. F5v–F6r. Rom. 13. See Bruce Mansfield’s analysis of Erasmus’ interpretation of Romans 13 in ‘The Social Realism of Erasmus,’ 10–12. Paraphrases II, sig. F5v. Rom. 13. Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]F4v. James 3. Erasmus hoped for unanimity in preaching by bishops and priests. Jane Phillips writes that ‘Erasmus’ emphasis on unanimity of teaching among the followers of Jesus has ties to his general treatment in this Paraphrase of Jesus as training the disciples for the teaching function of the episcopacy.’ See CWE 46:331 n25. Erasmus, A Discussion of Free Will, in CWE 76:14. Paraphrases II, sig. [par.][par.]1r. Eph., 6. Ibid. Also see ibid., sigs. EEEEe2r–v. Heb. 13. Ibid., sig. bbbb2r. Col. 3. Also see Augustijn, Erasmus, 81–2. Luther and other reformers, of course, would have denied that they sought disunity. As Conrad Russell put it, ‘Protestants had no desire to destroy the unity of the Church. They were as convinced as any Catholic that Christ had left only one true Church, and that outside it there was no salvation. They also believed that without one Church for all worshippers there was no civil order and no social peace.’ This was a viewed shared by Erasmus, Protestants, and Catholics. However, there was a difference: ‘This meant they [Protestants] had to aim at 100 per cent success: Catholicism had to be wiped out as if it had never existed. Even 95 per cent success, because it would destroy the existence of a single Christian Church, would mean total failure.’

Notes to pages 44–6 285

76 77 78 79 80 81

82 83

84 85

86

87

See Russell, ‘The Reformation and the Creation of the Church of England, 1500–1640,’ 269. Paraphrases II, sig. [par.]4r. Erasmus’ preface to Romans. Compare with the English translation in CWE 42:12: ‘enduring rulers (no matter how evil they may be) and ungodly bishops.’ For more on Erasmus’ use of tolerantia and tolerare in the Paraphrases, see Chomarat, ‘Grammar and Rhetoric,’ 64. Augustijn, Erasmus, 135–6. Paraphrases II, sig. G2r. Rom., 14. Ibid. Similarly, in his paraphrase on Galations, Erasmus had Paul state, ‘[I] fyrst wishe you grace, and than peace and concorde: grace that upon fre deliveraunce from your old synnes, ye may hereafter live an innocente and a pure life: concord, that ye neither dissent from other congregacions, nor yet from your selves.’ Ibid., sig. aa2v–aa3r. Gal. 1. Grace came first, but it had to be lived in ‘peace and concorde’ without dissent from other ‘congregacions.’ That English translators chose the word ‘congregation’ rather than Erasmus’ original ‘churches’ is not surprising given English ‘dissent’ from the Church of Rome. Erasmus’ condemnation of dissent, schism, and separatism was still clear. See CWE 42:97–8. Paraphrases II, sig. G5v. Rom. 15. ‘Sufferance’ is translated as ‘tolerance’ in CWE 42:84. Also see Erasmus’ paraphrase on James 3: ‘For that doctrine that is contencious and wrangling, engendreth nothyng elles, but faccions and fallyng out … But the frute of ryghteousnes, that geveth bothe innocencie in this worlde, and afterwarde immortalitie, is not sowed by contencion, but in concorde and peace, unto them that embrace peace.’ Paraphrases II, sigs. [par.]F5r–v. Ibid., sig. H1v. Rom. ch. 15. Ibid., sig. G4r. Rom. 14. When viewed on a Catholic-Protestant theological continuum Erasmus appears to occupy a middle position between the two, but when viewed from a methodological perspective, Erasmus upheld what became a strong position that demanded order, unity, and theological compromise against the dogmatism that increasingly characterized and controlled important elements within both Catholicism and Protestantism. See Rummel, The Humanist-Scholastic Debate, 139. Rummel states that while Erasmus sought tolerance and moderation he ‘was prepared to accept the magisterium of the Church and the curtailment of individual liberty this entailed’ (139). In fact, Erasmus’ methodology of tolerance was specifically crafted to maintain order and unity in church, while still looking for personal and corporate reformation. See CWE 46:237 n42, 239 n62, 244 n117, 252 n42, and 253 n7. Another notable influence on Erasmus was Pelagius. The most obvious influence of Pelagius on Erasmus’ thought concerned original sin.

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Notes to pages 46–8

88 According to John Payne, Albert Rabil Jr. and Warren Smith Jr., the translators of CWE vol. 42: ‘The influence of Augustine on Erasmus’ interpretation of Romans and Galatians is notable by its absence, especially in light of the fact that these two letters deal with the contrast between letter and spirit, grace and law, and similar themes which were at the heart of Augustine’s theology. Erasmus goes counter to Augustine’s exegesis of original sin in Romans 5, his view of law in Romans 7 as applicable not just to pre-Christian man but to Christian man, his understanding of grace and free will (predestination) in Romans 9, his interpretation of the encounter between Peter and Paul in Galatians 2’ (xviii–xix). 89 Paraphrases I, sig. Aa2v. Mark 1. 90 Paraphrases I, sig. Qq4v. Mark 16. 91 Erasmus’ Christ was obsessed with opening salvation to everyone. According to Jacques Chomarat, ‘As a man Erasmus’ Christ is above all a pedagogue, if preaching is considered as a form of teaching which is addressed to everybody. What he teaches, the doctrina evangelica, the doctrina caelestis, the regnum Dei (all these terms are synonymous), is eternal salvation for all. This is the one thing Christ thinks of, and he works ceaselessly at it.’ See Chomarat, ‘Grammar and Rhetoric,’ 50. 92 During Elizabeth’s reign, William Perkins, the extremely popular Puritan preacher and author, would reiterate and clarify Calvin’s position that Christ only died for the predetermined elect. See Perkins, A golden chaine. 93 Paraphrases I, sig. Aa2v. Mark 1. 94 Ibid., sig. Aa1v. Mark 1. 95 Erasmus was attacked by Catholic readers of the Paraphrases for his use of ‘faith only.’ He responded that ‘faith only’ does not infer that works are unimportant. Jane Phillips writes that for Erasmus ‘sola “alone” does not mean “only and exclusively” but “chief” and “preeminent.”’ See CWE 46:262 n40 and 293 n75. For Erasmus, faith was the only aditus or ‘entryway’ to immortality, but it was not the entire process of salvation; works were still necessary once someone was on the pathway towards eternal life. 96 Paraphrases I, sig. Aa5r. Mark 1 97 Paraphrases I, sig. Mm2r. Mark 10. 98 Ibid., sig. Mm4r. Mark 10. The CWE 49:134 gives a more accurate translation of the Latin, to which some clergy had access: ‘Gratuitously sight was given him; gratuitously his blindness was taken away. Thereafter it is left to your discretion whether you will use God’s gift well or badly. You are not compelled to follow Jesus, you are only granted to discern him. Go wherever you will, but at your own peril.’

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99 Jane E. Phillips, in a fascinating article on Erasmus’ rhetorical use of food and drink in the Paraphrases, points out one of the metaphors Erasmus used in the paraphrases to make his point about the superiority of simple belief: ‘For the paraphrast simple, plain bread, perhaps with a bit of a pleasant but not essential side dish, is to be preferred to culinary extravaganzas. Literal simple fare, the diet of the common folk, stands for the simplicity and accessibility of the spiritual nourishment to be found in the gospel.’ See Phillips, ‘Food and Drink in Erasmus’ Gospel Paraphrases,’ 37. 100 Boyle, Rhetoric and Reform, 20–1, 43–58. Erasmus’ approach was a sceptical one, but a scepticism repositioned to build up the essentials of Christian faith. In Erasmus’ debate with Luther, according to Boyle, he ‘imitates the virtuosity of the Academics in arguing on both sides of the question, and summarizing in favor of the most probable opinion, while yet suspending a judgment of certainty’ (20). Such freedom was only possible where scripture and the church are not clear (22). On Erasmus’ notions of doctrinal probability, see Bainton, ‘Paraphrases of Erasmus,’ 71, and Pabel, ‘Peaceful People of Christ,’ 75. 101 Hoffmann, Rhetoric and Theology, 173. 102 Paraphrases I, sig. A1r. John 1. 103 Ibid., sigs. A1r–v. John 1. 104 Vessey, ‘Lingua Christi,’ 83. 105 Paraphrases I, sig. A1r. John 1. 106 Ibid., sigs. A1r–v. John 1. 107 Ibid., sig. A1v. John 1. 108 Ibid. 109 Boyle, Rhetoric and Reform, 159–60. 110 See Rabil Jr., Erasmus and the New Testament, 132–9. 111 CWE 42:152 n22. 112 CWE 42:50. 113 See Erasmus: A Critical Biography, 149, 158, and 172. 114 Rabil Jr., also came to the conclusion that Erasmus did not change his views, but progressively tried to find wording that could maintain Christian unity. See Rabil, Erasmus and the New Testament, 138–9. 115 CWE 76:48–9. Erasmus continues: ‘Just so God’s will, since it is the principal cause of everything that happens, does seem to impose necessity on our will. Paul does not resolve this problem, he simply rebukes anyone who would debate it.’ 116 Paraphrases II, sig. D4r. Rom. 8. 117 Ibid., sig. A4r. Rom. 2. 118 Ibid., sig. C1r. Rom. 5. 119 Ibid., sig. dd2r. Gal. 6.

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Notes to pages 54–8

120 Ibid., sig. C3r. Rom. 6. Erasmus was following Origen’s interpretation of these texts; see CWE 42:148 n10. These passages on bondage were a particular favourite of predestinarian theologians. Erasmus insisted that Christian servitude was the result of an individual binding himself or herself to Christ, rather than God or the devil placing a person in bondage. 121 Paraphrases II, sig. D4r. Rom. 8. This is similar to the paraphrases on Ephesians chapter one: ‘It was so resolutelye determined throughe the goodnes of God, by an eternall decree, even before the foundacions of the worlde were layd.’ The next sentence, however, added the caveat that God’s eternal grace ‘winneth’ those who were ‘willing.’ Ibid., sig. A2v. Eph. 1. 122 Ibid., sig. D4r. Rom. 8. 123 See CWE 42:139 n33 and n34. 124 According to Erika Rummel, it was this humanistic methodology, which accepted the uncertainty of absolute knowledge, that ultimately distinguished it from scholastic and later Reformation theology. Rummell writes that ‘the debate was not about the desirability but the possibility of absolute knowledge; not its status but its practical advantage and applicability to everyday life.’ Rummel, Humanist-Scholastic Debate, 193. The inability of human beings to gain absolute knowledge shaped Erasmus’ approach to church doctrines. Rummel states, ‘The conjunction of learning and piety he envisaged meant accepting rather than confirming doctrine’ (140). Also see Rummel, ‘The Theology of Erasmus,’ 32. 125 Paraphrases II, sig. E1r. Rom. 9. 126 Ibid., sig. E2v. Rom. 9. 127 Ibid., sig. F2v. Rom. 11. 128 Ibid. 129 See Bainton, ‘Paraphrases of Erasmus,’ 72. 130 Paraphrases II, sig. [par.]E4v. James 1. 131 Ibid., sig. [par.]F1v. James 2. 132 Ibid., sig. H2r. I John 2. 133 Ibid., sig. [par.]E6v. James 2. 134 Ibid., sig. Ff5v. I Cor. 13. 135 Ibid., sig. [par.]E3v. James 1. 136 Ibid., sig. [par.]F1v. James 2. 137 Jacques Chomarat suggests that ‘evangelical simplicity itself has its prudence. It is also called charity. It makes concessions in order to maintain brotherly concord between the upholders of the old tradition and the representatives of spiritual piety.’ Chomarat, ‘Grammar and Rhetoric,’ 60. Charity was not an abstract emotion for Erasmus in the Paraphrases. When Erasmus spoke of love or charity he was arguing for a particular theology and a particular style of ecclesiastical reform.

Notes to pages 58–62 138 139 140 141 142

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Paraphrases II, sig. [par.]F1v. James 2. Ibid., sig. [Par.]G3v. James 5. Plaifere, Appello Evangelium, 21. Bilson, The suruey of Christs, 288. In 1660, Peter Heylyn argued that any condemnation of free will theology was a condemnation of Erasmus, Edward VI, Elizabeth I, and the entire English Reformation since free will theology was such an integral part of the officially sanctioned Paraphrases. See Heylyn, Historia Quinqu-Articularis 109; Pierce, An impartial inquiry, 174; and Stillingfleet, Several Conferences, 119. 3 transmitting erasmus in elizabethan england

1 Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace, sig. A2r. The dedicatory letter was to Viscount Montagu. 2 The traditional story of Elizabeth’s church was that Elizabeth I brought a via media ‘settlement’ to English religion. Elizabeth’s church, however, though less aggressive and more conservative than Edward VI’s, was almost identical in terms of doctrine and liturgy. See MacCulloch, ‘Putting the English Reformation on the Map,’ 87–8. Elizabeth also placed Protestants in powerful church posts throughout the country. New local appointments then followed, including, for example, the selection of Gregory Dodds, the former prior of the Cambridge Black Friars, as dean of Exeter Cathedral. Dodds, who had Protestant sympathies, had voluntarily requested that Henry VIII and Cromwell take over his house. The rapid Elizabethan reordering of the church worked and, in 1562, Dodds and the other newly appointed clerics sat in Convocation and signed the Thirty Nine Articles. Salzman, History of the County of Cambridge and the Isle of Ely, 271–5. See also Wabuda, Preaching during the English Reformation, 123. 3 Haigh, English Reformations, 14. 4 See Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 179–80. While there were official English publications during the reigns of Edward VI and Mary I, under Elizabeth there was a much greater push for English texts and translations that stressed peace, order, and conformity. According to Felicity Heal, ‘the Elizabethan regime was apparently more moved by the linkage between security, obedience and access to the Protestant message.’ Heal, ‘Mediating the Word,’ 277. 5 The dominance of Catholic sympathies well into the reign of Elizabeth I is now well documented in numerous studies. See Haigh, English Reformations; Haigh, ‘The Recent Historiography of the English Reformation’; and Duffy, Voices of Morebath. Elizabeth did not target the Catholic laity and did her best to keep them pacified. See MacCulloch, The Later Reformation in England, 32.

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6 Rex, The Tudors, 192. John Knox’s The first blast of the trumpet against the monstruous regiment of women, was published just before Elizabeth’s coronation in 1558. 7 See Clay, Private Prayers, 98–103, 171, 183, 190, 192, 367–77, 389–94, 441–2, 446–7, 450–7, 469–75, 483, 490–2, 516, 518–19, and 531–7. Also see Thompson, ‘Erasmus in Tudor England’, 31 and 57. 8 Elizabeth’s personal religious views, though clearly opposed to Calvinism, remain something of a mystery. John Schofield argues that Elizabeth I was more Lutheran than Reformed, especially early in her reign. This outlook, according to Schofield, was a root cause for her tempered support of England’s Calvinist clergy and the nature of the Elizabethan Settlement, especially in regards to the Eucharist. See Schofield, Philip Melanchthon and the English Reformation, 186–204. Also see Doran, ‘Elizabeth’s Religion’; and Collinson, Elizabethans, 87–118. 9 See CWE 39:xxxii. 10 For an analysis of the influence of Erasmus’ In Praise of Folly in early modern England, see Boswell, ‘The Reception of Erasmus’ Moria in England Through 1640.’ The Moria inspired a number of English spin-offs, such as, The Prayse of Nothing (1585) and The Complaint of England (1587). In general, the Moria was used to lambaste the clergy and highlight the superstitious nature of Catholicism. Erika Rummel has conducted a similar analysis of Erasmus’ Adages. See Rummel, ‘The Reception of Erasmus’ Adages in Sixteenth-Century England.’ 11 For more on the rise of a Calvinist consensus, see Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement; Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, c. 1530–1700, 37–60; and Haigh, ‘The Recent Historiography of the English Reformation.’ 12 Todd’s analysis of Erasmus’ direct influence through the educational structures of Tudor England is contained in her chapter, ‘The Transmission of Christian Humanist Ideas.’ See Todd, Christian Humanism, 53–95. 13 Todd, Christian Humanism, 63. 14 Margo Todd provides a helpful bibliography of manuscript notebooks. See ibid., 261–6. 15 Ibid., 59. 16 Ibid. Todd cites a notebook from St John’s, Cambridge, MS S.20. 17 The notebooks Margo Todd examined referred to Erasmus far more often for his grammatical skills and his theological thought than for his social ideas regarding work, marriage, and the godly life. For example, the notebook of Arthur Hildersham cites Erasmus during a discussion on grammar and in a theological analysis of Romans 8. Hildersham quoted Erasmus’ theological reading of Romans. Hildersham’s interpretation of Romans also regularly cited Lancelot Andrewes (e.g., pp. 65–6) and maintained that lack of good works

Notes to pages 65–8 291

18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26

27

28 29

30 31 32

was a mark of atheism (39). Manuscript notebook of Arthur Hildersham, 1596. BL Harleian 3230, pp. 11, 53, 177. Todd, Christian Humanism, 67. Ibid. Rummel, ‘The Reception of Erasmus’ Adages in Sixteenth-Century England,’ 23. Ibid., 24. Bergvall, ‘Melanchthon and Tudor England,’ 89. See Leedham-Green, Books in Cambridge Inventories; the second volume lists the specific Erasmian texts that appeared in the various inventories. The most popular works were naturally the Adagia, Enchiridion, Moriae encomium, and various groupings of Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament, with the Paraphrases being by far the most owned book in these book lists. De Libero Arbitrio appears in four records, all between 1537 and 1558 (305–322). Fehrenbach and Leedham-Green, Private Libraries in Renaissance England; Cunico and McPherson, ‘Thomas Tathan.’ E.S. Leedham-Green, ‘Thomas Day.’ Todd, Christian Humanism, 92. Although Todd’s book focuses on Puritans, she was aware that Erasmus was also read by more conformist-minded English Protestants and that he was considered a doctrinal authority by a wide spectrum of English writers. According to Todd, ‘It is clear, moreover, from the nature as well as the number of citations that Erasmus and Vives were not quoted lightly, but that they were regarded as genuinely authoritative teachers of doctrine and of virtuous behavior. For both puritan Ward and his conformist enemy Wren, Erasmus had the last word on questions of authorship or textual authenticity.’ See ibid., 89–90. The rhetoric of peace movements played an important political role during Elizabeth’s reign. See Lowe, ‘Religious Wars and the “Common Peace.”’ Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace, sig. B5v. Ibid. Erasmus also stated that Christ was ‘offended with discorde’ (sig. B6r). The English translation of Erasmus’ paraphrase on Romans stated that ‘the general rule and summe of your profession is peace and concorde.’ Paraphrases II, sig. G5v. Rom., ch. 15. Similarly, in a 1523 letter to Jean de Carondolet, bishop of Palermo, Erasmus wrote, ‘The sum and substance of our religion is peace and concord.’ Quoted in and translated by Olin, Six Essays on Erasmus, 100. Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace, sig. C1r. Ibid., sigs. C3v–C4r. Erasmus even raised the doctrine of peaceful order above his lifelong goal of interpreting, paraphrasing and widening the availability of the scriptures. In 1533 he sent a letter to the king of Scotland supporting the suppression of Tyndale’s translation of the New

292 Notes to pages 68–70

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Testament. He feared the disunity such a work might create. See Bainton, Erasmus of Christendom, 257. A London edition of Inquisitio de fide appeared in Erasmus, Familiarium colloquiorum, 274–9. See also Erasmus, An Examination Concerning the Faith, and A Discussion of Free Will. A widely used definition of heresy was provided by Robert Grosseteste (1168–1253), the bishop of Lincoln and chancellor of Oxford University: ‘Heresy is an opinion chosen by human faculties, contrary to holy Scripture, openly taught, and pertinaciously defended.’ Quoted in Peters, Heresy and Authority in Medieval Europe, 4. Also see Hunter, Laursen, and Nederman, Heresy in Transition, 4. John Hales gave the following definition of heresy and schism: ‘In the common manage, Heresie and Schisme are but ridiculous terms, yet the things in themselves are of very considerable moment, the one offending against Truth, the other against Charity, and therefore both deadly, when they are not by imputation, but indeed.’ Hales, A Tract Concerning Schisme and Schismaticks, sig. A2r. Coffey writes that ‘minor heresy, or the denial of secondary truths of Christian doctrine, was often classed as error rather than full-blooded heresy, and could therefore be treated with far more tolerance.’ Coffey, Persecution and Toleration, 28. Schism was, of course, widely condemned in early modern Europe. Coffey writes that ‘the political intolerance of heresy and schism was motivated by fear of divine intolerance. The abhorrence of schism needs to be underlined. Early modern Protestants did not take a relaxed view of denominational plurality. Instead, most regarded the existence of separate churches and sects as a scandal.’ Ibid., 36. See Hoffmann, ‘Erasmus: Rhetorical Theologian,’ 143–4. Hoffmann writes that ‘moderation is for Erasmus impossible unless one stands in the middle, seeks a balanced view, and lives a modest, temperate life’ (144). In a letter Luther once called Erasmus’ rhetoric ‘Satanic subtlety.’ See Henry Cole’s translation of De Servo Arbitrio where Luther’s letter to Nicolas Armsdoff about Erasmus is an appendix: Luther, The Bondage of the Will, 401. Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace, sig. F6r. Rogers, A philosophicall discourse, entituled, The anatomie of the minde, 186v. Ibid. The two editions of the Enchiridion published during Elizabeth’s reign were in addition to eleven English editions published between 1533 and 1551. See Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 104–16. See John Gough’s introduction in Gough, A Godly Boke, sigs. C2v– C3v. The book was imprinted by William Seres and sold at St Paul’s. It was printed Cum Privilegio.

Notes to pages 70–4 293 45 Douglas Parker notes that ‘what one witnesses with Gough’s edition of the Enchiridion is a phenomenon which runs through all of the editions up to 1816: a distortion of a work in order to make it serve a cause or series of causes quite alien to the author’s own inclinations and desires.’ Parker, ‘Religious Polemics,’ 103. 46 Gough, A Godly Boke, sig. A2v. 47 See Parker, ‘Religious Polemics,’ 104. 48 For more on Gough’s extreme Protestant tendencies, see Parker, ‘Religious Polemics,’ 101–2. 49 The 1533 Enchiridion was, according to John Foxe, the work of William Tyndale. However, David Daniell argues that the more likely translator and editor was Nicholas Udall. Daniell, William Tyndale: A Biography 70–3. Also see O’Donnell, ‘Editing the Independent Works of William Tyndale,’ 55. 50 The friendship between Paul Volsius and Erasmus developed in 1515 and lasted until Erasmus’ death in 1536. The letter to Volsius in the 1576 English edition of the Enchiridion was included as part of Froben’s 1518 edition. Later Volsius would leave the Catholic Church and join the Reformers, first Luther and then Calvin. See Contemporaries of Erasmus, 417–18. 51 How, ‘The Printer to the faithful Reader,’ sig. C4v. 52 Erasmus to Volzyus, in Enchiridion (1576), sig. A4r. 53 Erasmus, Enchiridion (1576), sig. E1v. 54 Erasmus to Volzyus, in Enchiridion (1576), sig. A4r. 55 Erasmus, On Mending the Peace of the Church, 378–9. This text was available in England in Latin under the title De Sarcienda Ecclesiae Concordia. A copy in the Huntington Library was bound with Antonio de Corro’s Dialogus Theologicus, in England sometime between 1574 and the early seventeenth century. I am indebted to Stephen Tabor and Mary Robinson at the Huntington Library for information on when these works were likely bound together. Corro’s text also presented a semi-Pelagian doctrine of free will and its combination with Erasmus’ text on peace is therefore very telling. Whoever bound these works together felt as Erasmus did, that peace and moderation, especially on this key doctrine, went hand in hand. 56 See for example, Erasmus, Enchiridion (1576), sigs A6v and A8r. 57 Ibid., sigs A5v, B5r, B6r, 58 Ibid., sigs P7r & S5r. 59 Ibid., sigs M7v–M8v. The word ‘masse’ was retained on sig. I5v. 60 The 1576 Enchiridion did include several negative references to monks; see, for example, sigs K3v, O2r–v, R4v, and S1r–v. 61 See Rummel, ‘The Reception of Erasmus’ Adages in SixteenthCentury England.’ 62 See Boswell, ‘The Reception of Erasmus’ Moria in England through 1640.’

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Notes to pages 75–9

63 Leigh, A modest meane to mariage, Letter to the Reader. 64 Harrison, The Description of England, 415–16. 65 I do not analyse the many allusions to Erasmian ideas and the use of Erasmian texts, especially the Adages, in literary texts. For Erasmian elements in Shakespearean plays, I direct readers to Bennet, Romance and Reformation; and Corti, Silenos. Silenos focuses primarily on Shakespearean plays. John King has shown the influence of the Adages and Apophthegmata on the literary style of William Baldwin, who, King suggests, was highly influential on later Elizabethan literature. See King, English Reformation Literature, 361–5. Also see Boutcher, ‘Humanism and Literature in Late Tudor England.’ 66 King, English Reformation Literature, 434–43. 67 Not everything in Foxe’s Acts and Monuments was written by Foxe. In a sense, the text was a collaborative work that involved men like Henry Bull, John Bale and others. See Wabuda, ‘Henry Bull, Miles Coverdale, and the Making of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs’; and Freemon, ‘John Bale’s Book of Martyrs?’ We must therefore be careful attributing too much to the voice of Foxe, even more so given John King’s demonstration of Foxe’s ability to write in a number of literary styles. See King, ‘Fiction and Fact in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs.’ 68 I agree with Bruce Mansfield that Foxe’s exile in Basel, rather than Geneva, during Mary’s reign was a likely determinant in his favourable position on Erasmus. Foxe also went on a pilgrimage to Erasmus’ birthplace in Rotterdam. See Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 111. After visiting Rotterdam, Foxe went to the Frankfort fair where he met with a member of the Froben family to discuss Erasmus. Mozley, John Foxe and His Book, 41–2. 69 King, ‘John Foxe and Tudor Humanism,’ 177. 70 Foxe, Acts and Monuments (1843), vi., 266. 71 King, ‘John Foxe and Tudor Humanism,’ 179. 72 Ibid., 181. 73 For an analysis of Foxe and the development of English identity, see Collinson, ‘John Foxe and National Consciousness.’ 74 Parsons, The warn-word to Sir Francis Hastinges wast-word, 70v–1r. 75 Jewel, A Defence of the Apologie of the Churche of England, 307. 76 Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 61. 77 Jewel, An apologie or answere in defence of the Churche of Englande, sig. R2r–v; and Jewel, An exposition vpon the two epistles of the apostle S. Paul to the Thessalonians, 48–9. Also see Thompson, ‘Erasmus in Tudor England,’ 59–60. 78 Thompson, ‘Erasmus in Tudor England,’ 59. 79 White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic, 72–3. 80 Jenkins, John Jewel, 238–9, 249. Jenkins suggests that as Jewel was neither a theologian nor a systematic thinker his lack of focus on predestination does not suggest that he was opposed to it. I would add,

Notes to pages 79–82

81 82

83 84 85 86 87

88 89 90 91

92

93 94 95 96 97 98 99

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however, that avoidance of the topic was precisely the advice given by Erasmus and, as such, may have influenced Jewel’s approach. Ibid., 2–4. Jenkins briefly discusses Jewel’s use of Erasmus. See 35, 82, 171, 200. Stapleton, A returne of untruthes vpon M. Jewelles replie, 3v–4r. The English Catholic Thomas Dorman also sought to use Erasmus against Jewel. See Dorman, A proufe of certeyne articles in religion, denied by M. Iuell, 60r and 123r–v. Rastell, The third Brooke, 55r. Ibid., 54v–5v, 58r, 63r. Ibid., 25v. For more on Thomas Harding’s works, see Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 321 n 235. Elizabethan authors regularly cited Erasmian texts to challenge traditional Catholic teaching on both the sacraments and the origins of the sacraments. William Barlow argued that, according to Erasmus, in Jerome’s time marriage was not a sacrament. See Barlow, A defence of the articles of the Protestants religion, 119. Walter Haddon also quoted substantially from Erasmus to support his argument that in Jerome’s time confession was not yet a sacrament of the church. See Haddon, Against Ierome Osorius Byshopp of Siluane in Portingall, 364v. Roger Hutchinson cited Erasmus’ Annotations to suggest that the bread at the Christ’s last supper was ‘common bread,’ rather than ‘sacramental, and sanctified.’ Hutchinson, A faithful declaration of Christes holy supper, sig. I7r. Jewel, A replie vnto M. Hardinges answeare, 52–3 and 199. Ibid., 52 and 156. Ibid., 133. Jewel wrote: ‘It maye soone appeare, S. Cyprian meante, that for the avoiding of Schismes, and divisions, there ought to be onely one Bishop within one Diocese: and not one Bishop to rule ouer al the worlde.’ Ibid., 218. Two years after Jewel’s Reply, Harding responded and Erasmus again featured in the discussion. Harding still used Erasmus as an authority on a few points, but was generally critical of Jewel’s use of Erasmus. Harding, A reioindre to M. Iewels replie against the sacrifice of the Masse, 17r, 23v, 150v–1r, 167v, 173r, and 210v. Jewel quoted in Rainolds, A treatise, 34. Rainolds, True and Catholike and Apostolike Faith, 34. Quoted in Thompson, ‘Erasmus in Tudor England,’ 63. Cooper, An Apologie of priuate Masse, 2v–3r. Ibid., 18r. Ibid., 52v–3r. Edward Dering also wrote against Harding’s response to Jewel and, similarly to Cooper, addressed Harding’s and Jewel’s use of Erasmus. See Dering, A sparing restraint, 121, 134.

296

Notes to pages 83–7

100 Todd states that both Jewel and John Rainolds ‘helped to build solid and long-lasting bridges between humanism and Protestantism.’ See Todd, Christian Humanism, 58. 101 McConica, ‘Humanism and Aristotelianism in Tudor Oxford.’ 102 See Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen, 42–3, and Todd, Christian Humanism, 55. 103 Dent, Protestant Reformers in Elizabethan Oxford, 104. 104 John Rainolds, Th’overthrow of stage-playes, 106–7. 105 Ibid., 107. 106 See J.W. Binns’ analysis of John Rainolds’ writings, including his debate with John Hart, in Binns, Intellectual Culture in Elizabethan and Jacobean England, 324–32. 107 John Rainolds, The summe of the conference, 195. 108 Ibid., 196. 109 Ibid. 110 Ibid., 543. For a similar use of Erasmus, see Staphylus, The apologie of Fridericus Staphylus, 154r, and William Barlow, A defence of the articles of the Protestants religion, 119. 111 See Rex, ‘The Role of English Humanists in the Reformation up to 1559,’ 30–1. 112 Lake and Questier, Antichrist’s Lewd Hat, 501–2. 113 For references to the Paraphrases see Whitgift, The Defense, 158, 405. 114 Ibid., 69–70. 115 Ibid., 70. 116 Ibid., 325–6. Whitgift: ‘Where doth Erasmus saye, that Timothie was but a Bishop? Will you not learne to deale playnely? But let us heare your argument: Erasmus sayth, that S. Paule dyd informe Timothie of the office of a Bishop, and of the discipline of the Churche, Ergo, Erasmus sayth that Timothie was no Archbishop. Undoubtedly you had neede beare with other mens vnskilfulnesse in Logike, if you use suche reasons in good earnest. This argument also is negatiue ab humana authoritate, Whatsoeuer is necessarie for a Bishop is necessarie for an Archebishop, and the office of a Bishop is the office of an Archebishop. There is no difference of Bishop and Archebishop, but onely this, that the Archebishop hathe authoritie over other Bishops.’ 117 Ibid., 326. 118 Ibid., 398. 119 Ibid., 386. 120 Ibid., 433. 121 Ibid. 122 Ibid., 434. 123 For Erasmian elements in Spenser’s biblical exegesis, see Kaske, Spenser and Biblical Poetics, 8, 104–5, 122, 126, 147–8, 156. 124 Laurence, Iesuitismi pars secunda, 343–4.

Notes to pages 87–9 297 125 John Bridges often cited Erasmus. See Bridges, The supremacie of Christian princes, 166, 336, 385, 393–4, 435, 436, 460–3, 479, 507, 529, 544, and 610–13; and Bridges, A defence of the government, 193, 196, 221, 262, 312, 448, 552, 685, 833, 839, 921, 923, and 1245. 126 Bilson, The true difference, 57. See also pp. 11, 65, 95, 295, 595, 655, 670, 671, and 721. 127 Erasmus’ name appears most frequently in Fulke, A defense of the sincere and true translations of the holie Scriptures into the English tong, and Fulke, D. Heskins, D. Sanders, and M. Rastel. Also see Bell, The survey of popery, 116, 119, and Becon, The reliques of Rome, 93v and 121v–2r. Becon was particularly interested in Erasmus’ comments about images and singing in the early church. 128 Cranmer, An aunsvvere, 14, 187, 229, and 390. 129 Lanquet, An epitome of chronicles, 272v. 130 Drant, Two sermons, sig. D2v. 131 Bale, Image of both Churches, 91r–v, 94v, 114r, 118r, 126v, and153r. 132 William Clarke, An answeare for the time, 64v. Clarke referred to Erasmus a number of times and also wrote of him as ‘Erasmus whome all men knewe to haue deserved verie well of good learning.’ Clarke, A treatise against the Defense of the censure, 42. 133 See George Abbot, An exposition upon the prophet Ionah, 59, 126, 168, 455, and 527; Hastings, An apologie or defence of the watch-word, 19. 134 Gascoigne, The glasse of governement, sig. B1r. 135 Erasmus, Familiarium colloquiorum. 136 Ascham, The scholemaster, 47v and 49v. 137 Ascham, The scholemaster, 51v. Erasmus’ collections of proverbs, the Adages being the most well-known, were routinely appropriated, only on occasion with a direct reference as in John Bale’s The pageant of popes, 177r. 138 Ascham and Cheke were the architects of what John King calls ‘a humanist academy for Edward [VI] and his sister Princess Elizabeth.’ King, English Reformation Literature, 23–4. 139 Abraham Flemming included a number of Erasmus’ letters in his A panoplie of epistles, 336–49. Examples of references to Erasmus’ Paraphrases are found in Henry Barrow, A petition directed to Her Most Excellent Maiestie, 67; Bossewell, Works of armorie devyded into three bookes, 27r; Holinshed, The Third volume of Chronicles, 992; and Ascham, The scholemaster, 43r. References to Erasmus as a proponent of peace are dealt with earlier in this chapter and will also be a central part of the discussion in the next chapter. It is worth pointing out here, however, that some English Protestants qualified his insistence on peace by stating that peace was absolutely necessary for Christians as long as it did not jeopardize conscience or the safety of the nation. See Hastings, An apologie or defence of the watch-word, 216.

298 Notes to pages 89–94 140 While there are only limited direct references to Erasmus’ views on marriage, there are a number of texts that build on Erasmus’ treatises and colloquies on marriage. See, for eample, Edmund Tilney’s popular A briefe and pleasant discourse of duties in marriage. Also see Valerie Wayne, Introduction, in The Flower of Friendship. 141 Parker, A defence of priestes mariages, 261. 142 Ibid., 263. 143 Todd, Christian Humanism, 51–2, 96–7, 116–17. 144 Drayton, The barrons wars in the raigne of Edward the second, 87r. 145 Harvey, Pierces supererogation of A new prayse of the old asse, 36, 59, and 156. Sir Philip Sydney mentioned the Folly in An apologie for poetrie, sig. G2v. 146 Grange, The golden Aphroditis, sig. N4r. 147 Fulwell, The first parte … of Ars adulandi, sig. F2r. Also see Grange, The golden Aphroditis, sig. N4r. 148 Binns, Intellectual Culture, 281. Erasmus played an important role in Gabriel Harvey’s Ciceronianus (279–82). 149 Calvin, A harmonie upon the three Euangelists, Matthew, Mark and Luke, 3, 59, 194, 275, 279, 367, 382 and 550; page numbering restarts for Calvin’s commentary on John. References to Erasmus are found on pages 26, 58, 101, 103, and 219. 150 Perkins, A golden chaine, 548. 151 Crowley, An Apologie. Also see the English translation of the Lutheran Jacob Kimedoncius, Of the Redemption of Mankind. Both of these texts will be addressed in detail in chapter 4. 152 Willet, Synopsis papismi, 3. See Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 13–14. 153 See Paraphrases I, sigs [par.]2r–v; CWE 42:139 nn33, 34; and Tracy, ‘Erasmus among the Postmodernists,’ 1–12. 154 The ongoing controversies in which Erasmus was engaged are emblematic of what Christopher Haigh has called a divided country. Despite the dominance of Calvinism, the ‘godly’ had no sense that they had won the battle against popery or false doctrine. See Haigh, English Reformations, 293. 4 t h e e r a s m i a n p e r s p e c ti v e i n t h e e l i z a b e t h a n c h u rc h

1 Peter Lake has suggested that a definition for Puritanism is found not in particular doctrinal beliefs, but rather in a ‘puritan style of practical divinity.’ Puritanism was a way of viewing the world and behaving in it. The same is true for the operation of the Erasmian style in England. Erasmus’ legacy, though there was a doctrinal element, primarily helped to develop a particular world view, vocabulary, and theological methodology. See Lake, Moderate Puritans, 282. 2 See Smuts, Culture and Power, 32; and Rex, ‘The Role of English Humanists,’ 21–2, 28.

Notes to pages 94–6 299 3 Grafton and Jardine, From Humanism to the Humanities, xiv. 4 Fox, ‘Facts and Fallacies,’ 9. 5 Humanism and classical scholarship remained closely connected throughout the early modern period. Through his Adagia, patristic scholarship, and philological methodologies, Erasmus was the preeminent model for classical scholarship in England. Tracing Erasmus’ contributions to the development and growth of English classical scholarship is not part of this study. It is certainly an area worthy of further study. 6 Woolfson, Reassessing Tudor Humanism, 3. Serious analysis of the ‘public sphere’ began with Jürgen Habermas. See Habermas, The Structural Transformations of the Public Sphere. 7 The value of scrutinizing even minute distinctions within a thematic study is also demonstrated by David Como’s study of antinomianism and Nathan Johnstone’s exploration of the early modern English devil. See Lake, The Boxmaker’s Revenge; Lake and Questier, The Antichrist’s Lewd Hat; Como, Blown by the Spirit; and Johnstone, The Devil and Demonism in Early Modern England. 8 Kevin Sharpe, Remapping Early Modern England, 3–4, 16–17. 9 See Woolfson, Reassessing Tudor Humanism, 9, 15. Most studies of English humanism focus on the first half of the sixteenth century. The strongest argument in favour of the dominance and importance of humanism in the early-Tudor period is found in McConica, English Humanists and Reformation Politics. Since 1965 numerous studies have both built on and chipped away at McConica’s conclusions, including works by Alistar Fox and Geoffrey Elton. The success of these critiques has, unfortunately, left Erasmus and humanism out of most historical accounts of early modern England. I refer readers to Woolfson’s excellent historiographical essay in the introduction to Reassessing Tudor Humanism. 10 Warren Boutcher has written of Kristeller’s model of Renaissance humanism that ‘it seems that once we begin to move into the second half (c. 1525–c. 1680) of the longue durée that sees the emergence of the humanities in early modern education, we run into difficulties. The confined social and cultural movement of Latin ‘humanism’ as defined by Kristeller no longer provides a plot that can account for the central developments in the ongoing history of humane learning, which spiral out of control.’ Boutcher, ‘Humanism and Literature in Late Tudor England,’ 245. 11 Richard Rex has noted that ‘a senior churchman, a fashionable preacher, a royal chaplain or servant, a professor or a schoolmaster – all are likely by this stage to have attended university and to have been introduced to classical authors and Renaissance rhetoric, to have read Erasmus, and perhaps even to have acquired the rudiments of Greek. Thus, there is a sense in which the category of

300

12 13 14

15 16

17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25

26

27

Notes to pages 96–9

“humanist” can come to be redundant to the explanation of events.’ See Rex, ‘The Role of English Humanists,’ 23. McConica, Erasmus, 30. McConica, ‘Humanism and Aristotelianism in Tudor Oxford.’ Todd, Christian Humanism, 58. What Richard Rex has written about humanism and the Reformation is also true for humanism and the Elizabethan church: ‘Humanism did not determine or even direct the theological course of the English Reformation. But it did dispose its practitioners to accept a greater degree of state intervention in religion.’ Rex is critical of any attempt to view humanism as a precursor and then ally of English Protestantism. Rex, ‘The Role of English Humanists,’ 39. Rummel, The Confessionalization of Humanism in Germany, 150. Ibid., 151. Charles Nauert presents a similar picture of humanism fading into the broader culture of the period. See Nauert, Humanism and the Culture of Renaissance Europe, 195. Todd, Christian Humanism. Todd, Christian Humanism, 94. Todd challenges the standard notion that humanism in sixteenthcentury universities first gave way to Ramism and then to a renewed interest in scholastic methodologies at the end of the century. See Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen, 77–100. Todd, Christian Humanism, 95. Green, Print and Protestantism, 32. Todd, Christian Humanism, 53–95. Ibid., Christian Humanism, 53–4. Lake and Steve Pincus, ‘Rethinking the Public Sphere,’ 273. Ibid., 274. ‘We are describing, then, a series of exchanges not so much between rulers and the ruled as between elements within the regime and their allies, clients, and connections’ (275). Diarmaid MacCulloch has noted the importance of Elizabeth’s style in the creation of the Elizabethan church. He writes that although the Elizabethan Settlement was virtually a ‘snapshot’ of Edward VI’s church in 1552 ‘the new Church of England was different in tone and style from the Edwardian Church … Elizabeth was a subtle and reflective woman who had learnt about politics the hard way. She showed no enthusiasm for high-temperature religion, despite the private depth and quiet intensity of her own devotional life.’ MacCulloch, ‘Putting the English Reformation on the Map,’ 88–9. As Andrew Pettegree has noted, the meaning of ‘Erasmianism’ is not particularly useful when applied to individuals or groups of people. I use the term ‘Erasmian’ to denote either texts by Erasmus or particular facets of Erasmus’ thought and rhetoric that are evident in English religious culture. See Pettegree, introduction in The Education of a Christian Society, 7–8. Also see Rex, ‘The Role of English Humanists,’ 24.

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28 Erasmus’ theories of peace and concord were well known by Elizabethan authors. See, for example, Rogers, A philosophicall discourse, 185v–6v. 29 Manfred Hoffman argues that Erasmus’ theology was primarily practical and devoted to peace. He writes, ‘Erasmus’ theology was eminently practical. Conceived as it was in the ivory tower of the pious intellectual, it was passionately aimed at the restitution Christianismi by way of both Christ’s restoration of nature and the Christian’s regeneration into a life of faith and love that creates public peace, harmony, and concord.’ See Hoffman, Rhetoric and Theology, 227. 30 Erasmus, of course, cannot be given a monopoly on the notion of Christian ‘unity.’ There were very few people indeed who thought that a kingdom or principality could function without religious uniformity. As Andrew Pettegree has shown, ‘in the Reformed churches the emphasis from the beginning lay on securing a greater uniformity of practice.’ Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion, 189. Erasmian unity meant something slightly different, however. For Erasmus, Christian peace and unity were higher Christian truths than other doctrines. Most early modern Christians were willing to disrupt current unity in order to establish a future unity founded on doctrinal truth. 31 Hastings, An apologie or defence of the watch-word, 216. 32 See Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace, sig. B5v; Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]2v, Erasmus’ preface to Mark; and Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]F4v, James, ch. 3. 33 Faulkner, Richard Hooker and the Politics of a Christian England, 53. 34 Erasmus to Paul Volsius, in Enchiridion, sigs A3v–A4r. 35 Perkins, A golden chaine. 36 Erasmus to Paul Volsius, in Enchiridion, sigs A3v–A5r. 37 Willet, Synopsis papismi, 85. The Synopsis papismi was first printed in 1603 and went through numerous editions up to 1634. For a later example, see D.T., The Pope’s Nuntioes, 2. 38 Even though Presbyterians can usually be classified as Puritans, there are some distinctions between the two groups. Where Presbyterians sought to either do away with the episcopacy or to form a Presbyterian ecclesiastical structure within the episcopal Church of England, Puritans often supported the episcopacy and were more concerned about establishing a preaching ministry that would encourage the experience of godliness. See Brigden, New Worlds, Lost Worlds, 328. 39 Young, Sermon before the Queen, sig. A1v. 40 Herr, The Elizabethan Sermon, 70. 41 John Young’s appointment to the bishopric of Rochester was due in no small part to his stance against Presbyterianism and his lack of sympathy to the Puritan cause. See Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 201.

302 Notes to pages 103–8 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

54 55 56 57

58

59 60 61 62 63 64

65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Young, Sermon before Elizabeth, sig. A7r. Ibid., C1r–v. Ibid., sigs B1r–v. Theological disputation was not appropriate within the public sphere, according to Young, but was the preserve of ‘learned men in Scoles and Universities, or els by Prelates and Byshops.’ Ibid., sig. C2v. Ibid., sig. C5v. Ibid. Ibid., sigs C1r–v. Ibid., sigs C7r and C8r. Ibid., sigs. C5v–C6r. Ibid., sigs C4r–v. Ibid., sig. C7v. Tyacke, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 54. According to Tyacke, a prebendary of the bishop of Rochester was Buckeridge, who was Laud’s Oxford tutor. In 1668 David Lloyd wrote that Young had once said that Laud would help move the church away from the ‘systems and opinions of the [present] age.’ Quoted in Ibid., 54. Erasmus, The prayse of Follie, sig. A3v. Collinson, The Religion of Protestants, 129–30. Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 134. See Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 13–70; Lake, Moderate Puritans, 60–92; and Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 123–4, 243–4, 295, 419–30. See Joshua Scodel’s discussion of Whitgift’s connections with Bacon and Bacon’s thought on the usefulness of ‘moderation.’ Scodel, Excess and the Mean,’ 50–60 Collinson, Elizabethans, 77. Whitgift, The Defense, sigs a2r–v. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Puritans understood the danger to their world view contained within the rhetoric of adiaphora. See Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions, 194. Johnstone, The Devil and Demonism, 179–82. Whitgift, The Defense, sig. a3r. Ibid. Ibid. Lake, Moderate Puritans, 220. Peter Lake has noted that Whitgift was crafting a conformist ‘style of piety.’ See Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 64–6. Nicholas Tyacke points out that Puritanism cannot be equated with Calvinist theology since then someone like Whitgift could be termed a ‘Puritan.’ See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism,134.

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72 Whitgift, A most godly and learned sermon, sig. D4r. Whitgift was paraphrasing Chrysostom. Whitgift entitled his sermon, ‘Raylers shall not inherit the Kindome of God.’ 73 Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace, sig. C1r 74 Ibid., sigs C3v–C4r. 75 For Whitgift, as for Erasmus, it was the public debates over controversial doctrines, rather than particular doctrinal formulations, that were heretical. They were heretical because they led to schism and, as discussed earlier in this chapter, for Erasmus, schism was a gross heresy. To break the peace of the Christian church over matters that should be considered indifferent was on a par with blasphemy and atheism. 76 Whitgift, Godly and learned sermon, sigs A5r–A6r, D4r. 77 Ibid., sig. A5v. 78 Gascoigne, The glasse of governement, sig. C4v. 79 Whitgift, Godly and learned sermon, sigs D4v–D5r. 80 Elizabeth I’s overarching religious agenda was peace and unity. The reality of unity, however, meant suppression of dissident beliefs and opinions regarding church government. For a succinct analysis of Elizabethan policies of tolerance and persecution see Coffey, Persecution and Toleration, 78–104. 81 Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 253. 82 MacCulloch, The Later Reformation in England, 42. 83 See Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 163–4. Peter Lake has noted that for both Whitgift and Cartwright the English via media existed somewhere between popery and Anabaptism. This view was adjusted by Hooker, who located the moderate middle between popery and Genevan Calvinism. Lake writes, ‘Thus the search for a middle way was a constant theme in the self image of the English church but what really counted was the nature of the two extremes between which the mean was being sought.’ Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 67n. 84 See Binns, Intellectual Culture, 326–8. 85 See Lake, ‘Business as Usual?’ 86 The political and religious climate of the late 1580s and early 1590s was far from calm and orderly. Tensions, according to Hooker, were ‘at their highest float.’ Patrick Collinson provides an excellent historical context for Hooker’s writing of the Lawes. See Collinson, ‘Hooker and the Elizabethan Establishment,’ esp. 165. 87 Hooker’s use of this Erasmian theological methodology of adiaphora was condemned by Puritan authors. John Coffey writes that the Puritan Samuel Rutherford’s ‘objection to Hooker was that he “will have Christs kingdom altogether spirituall, mysticall, and invisible”, because he regarded most external forms in Church government and worship as adiaphora, things indifferent, which could be determined by the magistrate.’ See Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions, 194.

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88 MacCulloch, ‘Richard Hooker’s Reputation,’ 778. 89 Rudolph Almasy has made a strong case for the polemical and strongly anti-Presbyterian nature of Hooker’s works. Almasy points out the centrality, for Hooker, of submission, without which there could be no ‘law and order, peace and tranquility.’ Rudolph Almasy, ‘Language and Exclusion in the First Book of Hooker’s Politie,’ 241. 90 Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 152. 91 Ibid., 175. 92 Hooker, Of the lawes of ecclesiastical politie, 2. 93 Ibid., 182, 206. 94 Ibid., 206. 95 See Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 140–1. The link between Erasmus and Hooker, particularly through Hooker’s humanist education at Corpus Christi, Oxford, is addressed in Schoeck, ‘From Erasmus to Hooker.’ 96 For more on Hooker’s anti-Puritanism, see Collinson, ‘The Elizabethan Establishment,’ 171. 97 Of all the possible connections between Erasmus and Hooker, perhaps the greatest similarity between them was in their methodology of theological uncertainty. Such uncertainty made it difficult for posterity to determine exactly where each stood on many issues. Diarmaid MacCulloch concludes his essay on Hooker’s reputation with a panegyric: ‘If one feels any gratitude for the shape of modern Anglicanism – its exhilarating variety, its engaging inability to present a single identity, its admirable unwillingness to tell people what to do – much of this is to do with the protean nature of Richard Hooker: for no-one since his death in 1600 has been able permanently to pin him down or to say what exactly constitutes the message of his huge, his enormous – his great book.’ MacCulloch, ‘Richard Hooker’s Reputation,’ 812. 98 It is particularly interesting to compare an essay by Erika Rummel on Erasmus’ theology with Charles Watterson Davis’ analysis of Hooker’s ‘fuzzy logic.’ See Rummel, ‘The Theology of Erasmus’; and Davis, ‘“For conformities sake.”’ 99 For analyses of Hooker’s moderate language and theology as part of an English via media, see H.C. Porter, ‘Hooker, The Tudor Constitution, and the Via Media’; Gibbs, ‘Richard Hooker’s Via Media Doctrine of Repentance’; and Bouwsma, ‘Hooker in the Context of European Cultural History,’ esp. 153–5. While I agree that the concept of the via media was important in Hooker’s works, the rhetoric of the via media was a polemical device designed to marginalize opposing viewpoints and designate one’s own theology as truthful, loving, peaceful, humble, and orderly. 100 Lake, ‘Business as Usual?’ 484.

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101 Hooker’s views on predestination continue to be debated. Peter Lake argues that Hooker supported an anti-Calvinist position of conditional election. Opposing Lake’s interpretation, both W. David Neelands and Daniel Eppley argue that Hooker consistently defended a theology of unconditional election. Egil Grislis, alternatively, suggests that ‘Hooker has come very close to a double predestination, but has never fully affirmed it. A moment of mystery remains’ (95). Hooker, like Erasmus, seems to have wanted to have it both ways. God’s sovereignty, God’s goodness and human guilt and responsibility required a carefully crafted theory of grace along with a strong sense of divine mystery. See Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 196; Neelands, ‘Richard Hooker and the Debates about Predestination’; Eppley, ‘Richard Hooker on the Un-conditionality of Predestination’; and Grislis, ‘Providence, Predestination, and Free Will in Richard Hooker’s Theology.’ 102 Willet, Hexapla. 103 Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, 60. 104 Ibid., 29–86; and Lake, Moderate Puritans, 201–42. 105 Whatever one may think of Tyacke’s ultimate conclusions about the role of Arminianism as a central cause of the English civil war, which, despite much criticism, is still generally persuasive, his work has clearly demonstrated the rapid growth of free will theology, and the even more rapid increase of anxiety about the spread of such theology in the early seventeenth century. 106 See Kolb, ‘Confessional Lutheran Theology,’ 74–5. 107 For John Donne’s use of Melanchthon, see Shami, ‘“Speaking Openly and Speaking First,’” 46, 61. For Melanchthon’s influence on Peter Baro, see White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic, 112–13. 108 See Collinson, From Cranmer to Sancroft, 201. 109 See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 181. 110 For Erasmus’ influence on Melanchthon’s notions of peace, order, and civil society, see Estes, Peace, Order and the Glory of God, 53–61, 138–52. Åke Bergvall has made the case that Melanchthon was the second most important religious author, after Erasmus, in sixteenthcentury England. See Bergvall, ‘Melanchthon and Tudor England.’ 111 Staphylus, The apologie of Fridericus Staphylus, 184r–v. 112 See MacCulloch, The Reformation, 349–53. 113 For Elizabeth’s Lutheran leanings, see Schofield, Philip Melanchthon and the English Reformation, 186–204. 114 Hall, ‘The Early Rise and Gradual Decline of Lutheranism in England (1520–1600),’ 106. 115 Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, 31–3. 116 Quoted in ibid., 33. 117 Erasmian methodology did not go unchallenged. See George Gifford, A Dialogue between a Papist and a Protestant. Gifford’s

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ultimate goal in this tract is not just to prove papist faith false, but to challenge the concept of ‘moderation.’ In Gifford’s dialogue the Protestant is ‘zealous’ while the papist, who seems a reflection of Erasmus, is well-reasoned and moderate. Clearly, ‘moderation’ was not necessarily a positive concept and could be equated with being spiritually ‘lukewarm.’ Or worse, a moderate English Protestant could be made to appear Catholic. Limiting doctrinal disputes over predestination may not have been simply a matter of prudent statecraft, but a reflection of Elizabeth’s private religious views. One of the best analyses of Elizabeth’s religion is found in Collinson, Elizabethans, 87–118. Any analysis of the Elizabethan church nearly always demands the question: what did Elizabeth believe? Patrick Collinson suggests that Elizabeth had a conservative predisposition, but was willing to accept quietly the growth of Calvinism in order to solidify her position. See Collinson, Elizabethan Essays, 87–118. David Starkey further suggests that Elizabeth’s injunctions regarding Erasmus’ Paraphrases at the beginning of her reign demonstrate the non-Calvinist nature of her faith. He writes that her ‘determination to stick with it [Erasmian humanism] made her more and more out of line with the academic young turks of the clergy who flocked to embrace the fashionable doctrines of Calvin.’ See Starkey, Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne, 286. Quoted in Lake, Moderate Puritans, 228. From a young age Elizabeth had a strong dislike for John Calvin. See Rex, The Tudors, 192. Lake, Moderate Puritans, 228. Quoted in ibid., 228. Cecil was the patron of the Arminians Lancelot Andrewes and Richard Neile and one of the main proponents of what Peter Lake has called ‘avante-garde conformity.’ Lake, ‘Lancelot Andrewes, John Buckeridge, and Avante-Garde Conformity at the Court of James I.’ Also see Croft, ‘The Religion of Sir Robert Cecil’; and Sacks, ‘Richard Hakluyt’s Navigations in Time.’ Baro was never forced to recant his views on free will or the universal availability of grace, but he did lose his professorship in 1596. See Hylson-Smith, The Churches in England, 1:129. See Trevor-Roper, Catholics, Anglicans and Puritans, 45–8. Lake describes the centrality of the doctrine of predestination to Puritan theology and how that theology contributed to the somewhat ambiguous Puritan understanding of the visible ‘godly’ community. See Lake, Moderate Puritans, 150–68. Lake also states that ‘with Hooker we are close to the ideological origins of English Arminianism.’ See Lake, ‘Calvinism and the English Church 1570–1635,’ 186. However, Hooker was building on a well-established Erasmian legacy. There is a similar problem with Andrew Foster’s contention

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that ‘it was Hooker’s concept of adiaphora, or “things indifferent”, which freed and galvanised theologians like Lancelot Andrewes.’ Though it is true that Hooker played an influential role for Andrewes and other Arminians, the rhetorical methodology of adiaphora linked to predestination was hardly new with Hooker. Foster, The Church in England, 10. See Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 145–250, esp. 159, 169, 225. More recently, Lake has pointed out how seriously Puritans took Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity as a threat to their vision of Calvinist England. See Lake, ‘Business As Usual?’ Like Erasmus, Hooker maintained that salvation was universally available to anyone and that God’s foreknowledge predated his decree of predestination. See Secor, Richard Hooker, 118–19, 300. Secor provides the best general biography of Richard Hooker. His analysis of Hooker’s language of tolerance and moderation, however, does not take into account the rhetorical value such language had in the debates surrounding English conformity; such tolerant language was specifically designed to undercut English nonconformity. The attempt to characterize the Elizabethan church as a moderate, non-Calvinist via media between Protestantism and Catholicism has seen something of a comeback in recent years, most notably in the works of George Bernard and Peter White. See Bernard, ‘The Church of England, c. 1529–c. 1641’; and White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic. For a refutation of this view see Tyacke, ‘Anglican Attitudes.’ Kevin Sharpe has written numerous times against Tyacke’s view and in favour of that proposed by Peter White. See Sharpe, Remapping Early Modern England, 347–55. Clarke, An answeare for the time, 64v. Harvey, Plaine Perceuall the peace-maker of England, 5. Harvey was no stranger to ridicule. While at Peterhouse, Cambridge, he had landed in the stocks for breaking college windows in anger over a local theatre production that mocked the Harvey brothers. Kuriyama, Christopher Marlowe, 47–8, 58. Harvey was particularly mocked for his astrological work and, most notably, for prophesying great calamities for England on 28 April 1583 when there was a conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. According to W.W. Rouse Ball, Harvey was hissed at in the streets of Cambridge. See Ball, A History of the Study of Mathematics at Cambridge, 24. Morley, English Writers, 10:181–3. For John Jewel’s moderate free will theology, see White, Predestination, 69–74. Bancroft, John Overall, and Lancelot Andrewes would later reprint Jewel’s works in order to illustrate the place of a moderate interpretation of predestination in the English church. As we shall see in later chapters, similar arguments would be

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made by Arminians regarding Erasmus’ Paraphrases and the nature of the English church. Lori Anne Ferrell demonstrates how, by 1580, Calvinists were able, not only through text, but also through aesthetics, to Protestantize England. See Ferrell, ‘Transfiguring Theology.’ Crowley, An Apologie. King, English Reformation Literature, 338. Ibid., 432–3. Crowley, An Apologie, 93v. Also see 29r–v and 45r–v. Ibid., 65v. Ibid., 69r. Ibid. Other authors who attacked semi-Pelagians while quoting Erasmus as an authority were Francis Trigge and Josiah Nicholls. See Trigge, A Touchstone, 96, 197, 342–3. Josiah Nicholls’ apology for English Protestantism sought to reiterate the corruption and false doctrines that had crept into the Roman church prior to the Reformation. Thus while attacking free will theology he quoted Erasmus extensively on the foolishness of clergy and the errors of scholasticism. Nichols demonstrated how Erasmus agreed with Protestants, even though ‘the papists hold him as their own.’ Nicholls’ use of Erasmus demonstrated a familiarity with both Erasmus’ Annotations on the New Testament and his Paraphrases dealing with 1 Peter 5 and 1 Timothy 1. See Nicholls, Abrahams Faith, 39, 277–8. Crowley, An Apologie 101r. Ibid., 100r–v. Following St Augustine’s controversy with the English monk Pelagius in the early fifth century, a number of church leaders attempted to find middle ways between the two soteriologies and became known as ‘semi-Pelagians.’ An early opponent of strict predestination was John Cassian, the abbot of a monastery at Marseilles. The synod of Lyon in 475 adopted a semi-Pelagian confession. The term ‘semi-Pelagian’ was brought to public awareness in England by William Perkins. See Perkins, An exposition of the Symbole or Creed of the Apostles (Cambridge, 1595), 477; Perkins, A golden chaine, 481; and Perkins, A commentarie or exposition, 508, 638. Burchill, ‘On the Consolation of a Christian Scholar.’ Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, 17. See Kimedoncius, Redemption, sigs A3r–v. Ibid., 275. It is again worth noting that Erasmus’ Paraphrases relied to a great degree on the patristic thought of Jerome and Chrysostom, his favourite church fathers. Ibid., 276. Kimedoncius referred to both Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio and Hyperaspistes in the margin of his text.

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152 Luther and De Servo Arbitrio were mentioned throughout the book: ‘But chiefely in his booke, de servo Arbitrio, he confirmeth it at large; that the salvation of some, and the damnation of others, doe wholy arise from hence, that God will have some saved, and others damned, according to that saying in Paul. He hath mercie on whom he will, and whom he will he hardeneth.’ See Kimedoncius, Redemption, 134–5. 153 Kimedoncius summed up the semi-Pelagian position on God’s foreknowledge as the basis for predestination: ‘God before the creation of the world foreknew who would beleeve, or who would abide or not abide in that faith that after should be holpen by his grace: and according to this prescience that hee either chose such as would beleeve, or els reprobated such as would not beleeve, or at the least whom hee foreknew that they would not persevere. Whereupon predestination was no other thing with these men, than Gods purpose of electing such as would beleeve in time to come.’ Kimedoncius, Redemption, 274–5. Erasmus is cited in the margin on p. 275. 154 Ibid., 303. 155 Ibid., 403. 156 Historians once presented a picture of the Elizabethan church that was moderate and balanced happily between the extremes of Catholicism and Puritanism. This Anglican genesis was characterized by a via media that enjoyed great support from the English people. The dangers to this consensus came from radical Puritanism and the nefarious activity of the Catholic Church. Some time ago this view was drastically revised. Instead of a vociferous Puritan minority challenging the mainstream of Elizabethan Protestantism, historians began to understand that Puritanism was in fact the conservative mainstream. Patrick Collinson, in particular, has detailed the rise of Puritanism, its subsequent power in England during Elizabeth’s reign, and ultimate failure at the Hampton Court Conference. See Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 465–7. 157 Boyle, ‘Erasmus and the “Modern” Question,’ 61–3, 75–6. Ultimately, Boyle suggests that, in De Libero Arbitrio, Erasmus was not asserting a doctrine of free will at all, but simply presenting arguments on both sides and then suggesting that free will was more probably true. 158 Sharpe, Remapping Early Modern England, 356, 390. 159 Patrick Collinson has made a strong case for diversity of religious belief and practice in Elizabethan and Jacobean England. See Collinson, Religion of Protestants, 282. 160 According to Lake, ‘by 1593 the conformist avant-garde … found itself teetering on the edge of religious quietism and political absolutism.’ Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 139.

310 Notes to pages 123–6 161 Lake accurately points out that the English church rhetorically positioned itself in the middle ground between ever-changing extremes. He writes, ‘The search for a middle way was a constant theme in the self image of the English church but what really counted was the nature of the two extremes between which the mean was being sought.’ The Elizabethan via media was therefore always open to interpretation and constantly in flux. See Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 67. 162 Not all of the attempts to chart a via media were purely theological. For an important study on the political nature surrounding the rhetoric of moderation, see Collinson, ‘Sir Nicholas Bacon and the Elizabethan Via Media.’ 163 The concept of the via media in English religion has long been associated with Erasmus. These assumptions generally fail to distinguish between Erasmus’ specific ideas and his methodology. While his ideas faded as Calvinism spread, his rhetoric of peace and concord became well established in Elizabethan England. The polemical value of via media rhetoric became clear to many writers, on all sides of the theological debates. For a more traditional Anglican argument that there did exist a form of ‘high church’ Anglicanism, which comprised a moderate via media position that continues to inform Anglicanism, see Hylson-Smith, High Churchmanship in the Church of England. Not surprisingly, nearly all the high churchmen HylsonSmith names as belonging to the Elizabethan via media did not adhere to strict predestination theology. For Erasmus’ influence on the early sixteenth-century English conception of a via media, see Yost, ‘Protestant Reformers and the Humanist via media in the early English Reformation.’ 164 In the 1590s, Hooker attempted to shift the English church to a middle ground between Rome and Geneva. See Lake, Anglicans and Puritans? 67. 165 Tyacke, ‘The Ambiguities of Early-Modern English Protestantism,’ 747. 5 the malleable erasmus, 1 6 0 3– 1 6 4 9

1 Erasmus, The Picture of a Wanton, sig. C4r. 2 Jardine, Erasmus, Man of Letters. 3 English presses printed Erasmus’ Adagia in 1621, the Dicta Sapientum e Grecis in 1620, the Apophthegmata in 1635 and two editions of his collected letters in 1642. Scottish presses also published the Adagia in 1620 (Aberdeen) and the Dicta Sapientum in 1629 (Edinburgh). The 1642 edition of the Epistolarum was important as it was published at a particularly tense time and contained not only Erasmus’ letters, but also collections of letters written by Melanchthon, Thomas More, and Vives. This was clearly not a Calvinist text. The 1642 edition also holds a special place in modern Erasmian studies, for it

Notes to pages 126–8

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was this text which P.S. Allen used as he began work on his new edition of the letters. While H.M. Allen and her husband, P.S. Allen, were in India in 1900, she wrote that ‘on 22 June, when there was a thick dust-pall over all, a start was made in cutting up two copies of the London edition of Erasmus’ letters, to act as the foundation of the new edition. This saved copying the letters already printed.’ See Allen, Letters of P.S. Allen, 24. An earlier version of this section appeared in the Erasmus of Rotterdam Society Yearbook (2006): 43–58. Johns, The Nature of the Book, 29. These texts are Burton’s translation, Seven Dialogues, published twice in 1606 and again in 1624; Snawsel’s A Looking Glasse for Married Folkes in 1610 and 1631; F.S.’s Picture of a Wanton, in 1615; and Heywood’s Pleasant dialogues and dramma’s, in 1637. See Burton in Erasmus, Utile Dulce. The seven colloquies included in Burton’s translations of both Utile Dulce and Seven Dialogues (see note 9) are these: Ίχθυοφαγία, Naufragium, Coniugium, Adolescentis et scorti, Puerpera, Peregrinatio religionis ergo, and Funus. Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 57. Burton, in Erasmus, Utile Dulce, title page. Burton used the following English titles for the second printing: Is of the right use of things indifferent, Sheweth what comfort Poperie affordeth in time of daunger, Is between a good Woman and a Shrew, Is of the conversion of a Harlot, Is of putting forth Children to Nurse, Is of a Popish Pilgrimage, and Is of a Popish Funerall. The first 1606 edition, entitled Utile Dulce, contained the title page and a letter of dedication to the ‘Shiriffes and Aldermen of Norwich.’ It did not discuss Erasmus. The second 1606 edition dropped the title page and added the letter to the Christian reader, which specifically discussed Erasmus’ authorship of the Colloquies and his Catholicism. The 1624 edition dropped the letter to the city of Norwich, but kept the letter to the Christian reader. Burton, ‘To the Christian Reader,’ sig. a1r. In this letter, Burton states that he has chosen the seven best colloquies to include in his text and then goes into some detail about the fifth dialogue, which called for infants to be nursed by their own mothers. He even relates a tale he heard from a midwife about a nurse who starved three babies. Ibid., sig. a2v. Burton also cited Erasmus in Ten sermons, 100. Burton, ‘To the Christian Reader,’ sig. a1r. Ibid. Anthony Milton states that, in early Stuart England, ‘“catholic” as an adjective was usually understood as referring to purity and apostolicity of doctrine, and the “Catholic Church” was therefore most regularly defined as the aggregate of orthodox believers.’ The phrase,

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“Roman Catholic” did not have these same positive connotations. Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 150–1. James’ push for ecclesiastical order and conformity resulted in a policy that tried to include ‘moderate Puritans’ while aggressively chastising, punishing and prosecuting nonconforming, especially Presbyterian, clergy. See Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policies of James I and Charles I.’ For analysis of James I’s use of religious rhetoric and control of the English pulpit, see Ferrell, Government by Polemic. For identifications of James with Solomon, see pp. 48–50 and 114–15. One of those ‘Catholic’ problems, according to Puritans, was mothers who did not nurse their own children. One of the colloquies included by Burton was The New Mother, or in Burton’s title, Is of putting forth Children to Nurse. According to Valerie Wayne, ‘The adaptation of Erasmus’s advice in the early seventeenth century was helping to develop a “new mother” within the culture.’ See Wayne, ‘Advice for Women from Mothers and Patriarchs,’ 61. For aspects of Burton’s Protestantism, see Morgan, Godly Learning, 30, 51. Erasmus, Seven Dialogues, sig. C4v. In addition to translating Erasmus’ ‘pontifex’ as ‘cheefe Bishop,’ Burton also sought to make his text more relevant for English Protestants by choosing to translate the ‘Romanæ Sedis’ simply as ‘the Church.’ Ibid. Ibid., sig. D2v. Ibid., sig. A4r. For more on James I’s rhetorical use of adiaphora and the via media, see Ferrell, Government by Polemic, 118–19. Burton, Seven Dialogues, sig. A4v. See Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James I’; Lake, Moderate Puritans and the Elizabethan Church; Patterson, King James VI and I and the Reunion of Christendom, 35–43, 150; and Ferrell, Government by Polemic, 172–3. Where Patterson takes James’ moderate rhetoric as an indication of his irenic nature, Ferrell points out that James used the rhetoric of moderation and the via media to define and marginalize extremists whom he saw as a threat to the state and the church. Cf. Peter Lake’s contextualization of Ben Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair, in Lake and Questier, The Antichrist’s Lewd Hat, 616–20. The objectives of ‘the godly’ in social reform are covered in a number of important studies, including Capp, When Gossips Meet; Collinson, Godly People, and Religion of Protestants; Lake, The Boxmaker’s Revenge; and for a broad overview, Sharpe, Early Modern England. A more accurate translation of Coniugium, or Marriage, was included in Burton’s translation of Erasmus, Seven Dialogues. There was also a

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1557 English translation of this colloquy titled A Mery Dialogue Declaringe the Propertyes of Shrowde Shrewes and Honest Wyves. Snawsel, A Looking-Glasse for Married Folkes, sigs A5r–v. See Wayne, introduction, in The Flower of Friendship, 24, 31–2. Snawsel, A Looking-Glasse for Married Folkes, sig. A5r. See ibid., 32. Wayne writes that ‘the various versions of this colloquy challenge Todd’s assertion that there was no significant difference between humanist, Protestant and Puritan treatments of household theory; but her argument for humanist innovation in this area is confirmed by the diffusion of the texts and their imitation of Erasmus’s advice’ (32). An example of a marital treatise that was influenced by Erasmus can be found, according to Wayne, in Edmund Tilney’s The Flower of Friendship (London, 1610). Incidentally, Tilney was Elizabeth’s theatrical licenser, the Master of the Revels. He held the post until 1610. See Pollard, Shakespeare’s Theater, xv, 310–312. Snawsel, A Looking-Glasse for Married Folkes, sig. A4v. Ibid., sigs A6r–v. Ibid., sig. A8v. Ibid., sig. B5v. Ibid., sig. A4v. Ibid., sig. C3v. CWE 39:320–1. Snawsel, A Looking-Glasse for Married Folkes, sig. E8r. Snawsel deemphasized Erasmus’ comment that Christ would do his part ‘if only you do your part.’ Erasmus always stressed that if individuals desired salvation and ‘endeavoured’ to reach towards God, then God promised to freely give them his grace. This was the position that many English Calvinists derided as semi-Pelagian and saw as the first step on the slippery slope back towards Roman Catholicism. Ibid., sig. F4v. Ibid., sigs F5r–v5v. Ibid., sig. F5r. While James I opposed what he saw as ‘seditious’ aspects of English Puritanism, he was certainly not opposed to Calvin’s interpretation of predestination. In fact, no officially licensed texts condemning Puritan theology were printed between 1611 and 1618. Thus, the theological rewriting of Erasmian texts should not be viewed as a direct challenge to the English church, but rather as an attempt to bring Erasmus in line with the Calvinism of the English church. See Tyacke, ‘Puritanism, Arminianism and Counter-Revolution,’ 135–7. Despite the attempt by Snawsel and other Puritan writers to co-opt Erasmus, it would not be long before Arminian polemicists began using Erasmus to support free will theology and the episcopacy itself. For example, Thomas Bilson, John Plaifere, Peter Heylyn, and a number of Restoration era authors pointed to the sixteenth-century

314 Notes to pages 136–8

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English translation of Erasmus’ Paraphrases on the New Testament as evidence of Erasmus’ free will theology and its acceptance by the Protestant Church of England. See Bilson, The suruey of Christs sufferings for mans redemption, 288; Plaifere, Appello Evangelium, 21; and Heylyn, Historia Quinqu-Articularis, 112. A far different, and more faithful, translation of Adolescentis et scorti was also in Burton’s translation of Erasmus, Seven Dialogues. F.S. was the likely author of the Puritan treatise Jerusalems fall, Englands warning (London, 1617). In this text F.S. argued that, like Jerusalem, calamity would come upon England unless the people repented. True peace came from being obedient to God’s word, not following the plans of men – even those of kings. It was God who brought James I to the throne and it was only because of God that England was protected from the papists. While F.S. used his words carefully, his praise of James I was also clearly a warning. See The Picture of a Wanton, 22, 29–31. F.S., The Picture of a Wanton, sig. A3r. Ibid. The target of such Puritan rhetoric was undoubtedly directed not just at the behaviourally ungodly, but also at the theological opponents of Puritanism – those whom Nicholas Tyacke has aptly termed ‘antiCalvinists.’ See Tyacke, ‘Religious Controversy during the Seventeenth Century,’ 269. Also see his Anti-Calvinists. F.S., A Picture of a Wanton, sig. A4v. Margo Todd has drawn a number of connections between Erasmian and Puritan social thought in Christian Humanism and the Puritan Social Order. She specifically focused her study on social rather than theological ideologies (19). While neither Erasmus nor the Puritans would have drawn such a distinction, it is clear from the texts under analysis here that at least two Puritan editors tried to do so to Erasmus. F.S., A Picture of a Wanton, sig. C1r. Given the depravity of Rome, the author counsels against young English gentlemen traveling to Rome since they ‘returne worse than when they went.’ Ibid., sig. B4r. Ibid. Ibid., sig. C1r. Ibid., sig. C4r. Ibid., sig. C3v. Ibid., sig. C3r. Ibid., sigs C2r, C3v–C4r. Ibid., sig. C4r. See ‘Punk’ in the Oxford English Dictionary. F.S., A Picture of a Wanton, sig. C4r. For perceptions of and textual interactions with Roman Catholicism in Jacobean England, see Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 31– 60, 93–127, 173–228.

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Heywood, Pleasant dialogues and dramma’s, 13. Heywood, A pleasant comedy, called A mayden-head well lost, sig. A3r–v. Ibid., sig. A3r. Heywood, Pleasant dialogues and dramma’s, 285. Heywood, Troia Britanica, 460. Heywood, The hierarchie of the blessed angels, 51, 221, 390. Kevin Sharpe cautions that while we can often learn what early modern English men and women were reading, it is very difficult to ascertain how they read and how they understood what they read. See Sharpe, Reading Revolutions, 308–10. Rainolds, A defence of the iudgment of the Reformed churches, 74. Rainolds made this statement as part of a rhetorical argument against Bellarmine, who had said Erasmus was a ‘demie Christian’ and enrolled ‘his name among sectaries and heretiques.’ In this case it was useful for Rainolds to have a Catholic Erasmus with which to challenge Bellarmine. Sutcliffe, The blessings on Mount Gerizzim, 79. Rollock, A treatise of Gods effectual calling, 111. ‘Lord, bring the end, bring the end.’ Trapp, A commentary or exposition upon the four Evangelists, 615. Trapp also quoted Erasmus in support of Luther (368). Field, Of the Church fiue bookes, 126. Ibid., 182. Ibid., 720 and 752. Adam, The life and death of Dr. Martin Luther, 55, 64–5. Many early Stuart authors mentioned Erasmus’ positive description of Luther: ‘Truely, quoth Erasmus, he is a worthy and able Divine, and otherwise irreproveable, onely he was too blame in two things. First, That he touched the Popes triple Crowne. Secondly, The Monkes belly, which were two Noli me tangere’s.’ Featley, Sacra nemesis, the Levites scourge, 4. For similar comments, also see Featley, The Romish Fisher, 73; Edward Leigh, The saints encouragement in evil time, 73; Verheiden, The history of the moderne protestant divines, 28; and Willet, Hexapla, 741. Anthony Burgess, Vindiciae legis, 63. Also see Burgess’ criticism of Erasmus’ interpretation of James 2:8. Ibid., 265. Henry Burton also mentioned Erasmus in his discussion of foreknowledge and predestination. Burton followed his note on Erasmus by writing that foreknowledge did not precede election, but that they were ‘as one and the same thing.’ See Burton, Truth’s triumph over Trent, 316. Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 414–17. Somewhat surprisingly, James I admired Willet despite his aggressive Puritanism and theoretical work on legitimate resistance to a tyrant. Willet did limit such resistance to self-defence of life, not property. Religion could never provide grounds for resistance and the king

316 Notes to pages 143–8

86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98

99

100 101 102 103 104

105

106

could not be touched. Though Willet was quite cautious, his work provided a foundation for later theories of resistance to royal absolutism and religious ‘oppression.’ See Burgess, Absolute Monarchy and the Stuart Constitution, 10–11. Willet, Hexapla, 250. Ibid., 274. Ibid., 413. Ibid., 434. Ibid., 476–7. Ibid. Ibid., 415. Ibid., 551. Ibid. Ibid., 552. Erasmus, Paraphrases II, sig. E2v. Rom., ch. 9. Willet, Hexapla, 560–1. Thomas Edwards, who was accused by moderates of being too zealous and ‘too vehement in your opposition,’ responded by writing, ‘Which when I heard, I remembred I had read in Luther de servo Arbitrio, the same objected to him, by old Erasmus.’ Edwards, The first and second part of Gangraena, 137. Willet was particularly angry at James’ selected toleration of recusancy. Willet believed that tolerance would not lead to the elimination of English Catholicism and that if Catholics could not be allowed in the church they should not be allowed in the state. See Tutino, ‘“Makynge Recusancy Deathe Outrighte”?’ 46. Willet, Synopsis papismi, 85. Ibid. Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 431. Willet, Synopsis papismi, 85. Richard Hooker was Willet’s primary target in a number of his writings. From Willet’s perspective, Hooker represented one of the greatest threats to the Calvinist Church of England. At one point Willet asked James to suppress treatises critical of predestinarian theology. See Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 17–18, 20–1. Edward Leigh, who also saw Erasmus as a Protestant, disagreed with Erasmus’ comments on the Lord’s Prayer, but said that ‘yet they doe Erasmus wrong, to say that he called that part of the Lords Prayer trifles absolutely; for he stiles it so conditionally, if it be not part of the Ancient Text … If Erasmus had understood that that passage had beene taken out of the Book of Chronicles written by the penne of the holy Ghost, he would no doubt have taken heed how he had called this conclusion of the Lords Prayer trifles.’ Leigh, A treatise of divinity, 115. See, for example, James Ussher, An answer to a challenge, 5, 44, 109. Ussher often cited Erasmus in his works.

Notes to pages 148–50

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107 See Milton, Tetrachordon, 620, 709, and ‘Post-Script.’ The Judgment of Martin Bucer, 478–9. Also see Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 151. 108 Boys, An exposition of the dominical epistles and gospels, 171. 109 Ward, The happinesse of practice, 27–8. Also see his, A coal from the altar, 55. 110 Abbot, The reasons which Doctour Hill hath brought, 428. 111 William Prynne did not indicate any hostility to Erasmus, but referred to him as ‘a man of great learning, and judgment’ and often cited him as an authority. Prynne, The antipathie of the English lordly prelacie, 452. Also see his, The perpetuitie of a regenerate mans estate, 162; A quench-coale, 376; and Histrio-mastix, 3, 23, 172, 226, 240, 243, 256, and 285. 112 Brinsley, Ludus literarius, 221. 113 Ibid., 262. 114 Gataker, A discussion of the popish doctrine of transubstantiation, 63. 115 Jeremy Taylor, a chaplain of Charles I, also told readers to go to Erasmus for more information on the church fathers. Taylor’s reason is fascinating: ‘For since the Latines alwayes complain’d of the Greeks for privately corrupting the Ancient Records both of Councels and Fathers, and now the Latines make open profession not of corrupting, but of correcting their writings (that’s the word) and at the most it was but a humane authority, and that of persons not alwayes learned, and very often deceiv’d; the whole matter is so unreasonable, that it is not worth a further disquisition. But if any one desires to enquire further, he may be satisfied in Erasmus, in Henry and Robert Stephens, in their Prefaces before the Editions of Fathers, and their Observations upon them.’ Taylor, Treatises, 160–1, 163–4. 116 See Field, Of the Church five bookes, 92. Even Francis Bacon wrote that Erasmus made the ‘Schoole-men to be utterly despised as barbarous. In summe, the whole inclination and bent of those times, was rather towards copia, than weight.’ Bacon, Of the proficience and aduancement of learning, 17. 117 John Donne mentions the Praise of Folly in his Iuvenilia, 22. Earlier Donne had commented that if Bellarmine called Erasmus a ‘HalfeChristian,’ they would have to call Donne something worse. See Donne, Pseudo-martyr, sig. B1v. John Donne shared with Erasmus a vision of a unified church and a religious attitude that stressed ‘humane indifference’ on nonessentials. For Erasmus’ influence on Donne, see Strier, ‘Radical Donne: Satire III,’ 298–9. 118 Nash, Quaternio, 278. Nash also referred to a picture he had seen of Erasmus (ibid., 64–5). 119 See, for example, Burton, The anatomy of melancholy, 163. 120 Ibid., 619. 121 See Heyd, ‘Be Sober and Reasonable,’ 64–5; and Bozeman, Precisianist Strain, 207.

318 Notes to pages 151–4 122 Burton, The anatomy of melancholy, 775. 123 Porter, Madness, 19. 124 See Johnstone, The Devil and Demonism in Early Modern England, 17– 18, 22, 107, 292. Johnstone highlights the role of despair in Calvinist fears of the devil and reprobation, but he also cautions against the all-too-common historical interpretations of Puritanism as derived from their opponents. To describe Puritanism as despairing and pessimistic ignores the strong attractions of Puritanism for many English men and women. In fact, Puritanism provided a means for dealing with temptation and the devil. 125 Burton, The anatomy of melancholy, 776. 126 Ibid., 429. Given Burton’s theories of religious melancholy, there is the suspicion that he was lauding Erasmus when he noted Erasmus in the margin next to his comment that ‘As it is with writers often times, Plus sanctimoniae in libello, quam libelli authore, more holinesse is in the booke then in the Author of it.’ This was a reference to Erasmus’ comments about himself in the Enchiridion. Ibid., 769. 127 Such references are found, for example, in texts by John Boys, John Speed, William Ames, and Samuel Rutherford. See Boys, The autumne part from the twelfth Sundy after Trinitie, 59; Boys, The third part from S. Iohn Baptists nativitie to the last holy-day in the whole yeere, 77; Speed, A cloud of witnesses, 62; Ames, A fresh suit against human ceremonies in God’s worship, 334; and Rutherford, The due right of presbyteries, 123. 128 Downame, A defence of the sermon preached at the consecration of the L. Bishop of Bath and Welles, 166–7. 129 Ibid. 130 Ibid. 131 See Bilson, The survuey of Christs sufferings, 94, 132, 233, 483. 132 Ibid., 288. 133 Quoted in Patterson, King James VI and I and the Reunion of Christendom, 45. Also see Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 464. 134 Roper, The mirrour of virtue in worldly greatnes, and More, D.O.M.S. The life and death of Sir Thomas Moore. Cresacre’s text was reprinted in London in 1642. 135 Drue, The life of the dutches of Suffolke, sig. F3v; Nash, Quaternio, 278; Young, The drunkards character, 37; and Cary, ‘The Lord Falkland’s Reply.’ 136 Cary, ‘The Lord Falkland’s Reply, 187–8. 137 Greg, The Book of Sir Thomas More, lines 750–1. 138 Ibid., line 145. Also see Long, ‘The Occasion for The Book of Sir Thomas More’; and Honigmann, ‘The Play of Sir Thomas More and some Contemporary Events.’ 139 Verheiden, The history of the moderne protestant divines, 14–20. 140 Ibid., 28. 141 See, for example, Selden, The historie of tithes, c2v–c3v.

Notes to pages 154–60 142 143 144 145 146 147

148 149 150 151 152

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Peacham, The compleat gentleman, 24, 28, 34, 36, 92, 99. Ibid., sig. B1r. Carleton, The life of Bernard Gilpin, 3. Raleigh, The history of the world, 523, 533; and Speed, A history of Great Britaine, 461, 778. Moryson, An itinerary, 28–9. Trapman, ‘Grotius and Erasmus,’ 92, 94. This was not the only statue to appear around this time in the Netherlands as part of a Remonstrant reaction to Calvinist theology and ecclesiastical control. Grotius also sadly noted that nationalistic Dutch honour for Erasmus in the seventeenth century was much different from their treatment of Erasmus while he lived. He also recognized the irony of patriotically claiming a man who called himself a citizen of the world. Grotius then committed himself to building a new bronze statue. See Nellen, ‘“A Rotterdammer Teaches the World How to Reform,”’ 187. Moryson, An itinerary, 47–8. Philip, The Bodleian Library, 22–5. Hill, Intellectual Origins of the English Revolution Revisited, 24–5. Philip, The Bodleian Library, 24. See Myres, ‘Thomas James and the Painted Frieze,’ and Bullard, ‘Talking Heads.’ 6 constructing the moderate middle

in early stuart england 1 Nicholas Tyacke, ‘Puritan Politicians and King James VI and I, 1587– 1604,’ 23 2 See Pocock, ‘The History of British Political Thought,’ and ‘Within the margins’; and Scodel, Excess and the Mean in Early Modern English Literature. 3 See Tutino, ‘“Makynge Recusancy Deathe Outrighte”?’ 31–2. 4 James required a new oath of allegiance after the Gunpowder Plot and, following a period of tolerance, reinstituted fines for recusancy. See Croft, King James, 161–3. 5 Both James I and Charles I proclaimed their policies as squarely within the traditional English via media. Therefore, in royal eyes, opposition or criticism was, by definition, coming from innovative extremists. See Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policies of James I and Charles I,’ 24. 6 See Lake, ‘Lancelot Andrewes, John Buckeridge, and Avant-Garde Conformity,’ 131. Charles Prior referred to the influence of Hooker’s Ecclesiastical polities as a ‘dense shadow’ cast ‘over conformist texts.’ Prior, Defining the Jacobean Church, 17. Lee W. Gibbs has also demonstrated how closely Lancelot Andrewes read Hooker. Gibbs, ‘Richard Hooker and Lancelot Andrewes on Priestly Absolution.’

320 Notes to pages 160–2 7 8 9 10

11

12

13

14

15

Nicholas Tyacke, ‘Puritanism, Arminianism and Counter-Revolution.’ See Prior, Defining the Jacobean Church, 10. Augustijn, Erasmus: His Life, Works, and Influence, 199. For a short survey of persecution and toleration during James’ reign, see John Coffey, Persecution and Toleration in Protestant England 1558– 1689, 111–21. Gary Remer has made a strong argument that Erasmus laid the foundation for later humanist theories of religious tolerance. Remer acknowledges, however, that ‘Erasmus does not apply this full toleration to all religious opinions – only the nonessentials; and he does not grant this freedom of discussion to all individuals – only the learned elite.’ See Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 100–1. In 1622 James issued his ‘Directions to Preachers,’ which required that preachers not preach on topics outside the Thirty-Nine Articles and the Book of Homilies; only deans, bishops, and those of higher rank were allowed to preach on predestination; no sermons could deal with matters of state; there was to be no denouncing of opponents as ‘Puritans’ or ‘papists.’ See Colclough, Freedom of Speech in Early Stuart England, 93–4. For the significance of the burgeoning public sphere in Elizabethan and early Stuart England, see Lake and Pincus, ‘Rethinking the Public Sphere in Early Modern England.’ While much of the focus here has been on the relationship between the Erasmian legacy and the rhetoric of conformity, a picture of Erasmian rhetoric serving primarily as a negative coercive model for social and religious control is inaccurate. James and many English conformists saw the language of peace and unity as the hallmarks of true Christianity. Judith Maltby has shown how much lay support there was for conformity and the English liturgy as found in the Book of Common Prayer. See Maltby, Prayer Book and People in Elizabethan and Early Stuart England. S. Mutchow Towers has made a strong case for the effectiveness of Charles and Laud’s control of printing. While stating that all debate over predestination should be curtailed, Laud did not silence both sides equally, but specifically targeted Calvinist texts. See Towers, Control of Religious Printing in Early Stuart England, 210–64. Also see Anthony Milton, ‘Licensing, Censorship, and Religious Orthodoxy in Early Stuart England’, and Como, ‘Predestination and Political Conflict in Laud’s London.’ The Puritan failure at Hampton Court marked a significant point in the history of English Protestantism. According to Patrick Collinson, ‘The puritans were never again to confront the government as a reasonably united and cohesive party with a single programme for the purification of the English church. It was now virtually inevitable, as it had not been before, that protestant dissent in England would develop as a fragmented sectarianism, agreed as to the delenda but

Notes to pages 162–6

16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25

26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

34 35

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not as to the agenda of the further reformation.’ Collinson, The Elizabethan Puritan Movement, 466. Prior, Defining the Jacobean Church, 3. See Fincham, ‘Episcopal Government, 1603–1640,’ 75. Quoted in Prior, Defining the Jacobean Church, 29. James also viewed a new, moderate Bible as the basis for better conformist preaching. As Kenneth Fincham has written: ‘This model, furnished by scripture and burnished by humanism, presented the bishop as a benign and paternal leader, committed to furthering the gospel through personal preaching and patronage.’ Fincham, ‘Episcopal Government, 1603–1640,’ 76–7. Translators of the Bible, ‘To the Most High and Mightie Prince,’ sig. A2v. Ibid., sig. A2r. Ibid., sig. A2v. Ibid., sigs. A2v–A3r. See Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 150–1. The translators made it clear that when they derogatorily mentioned ‘Catholics’ they were referring to a specific type of Catholic, whom they called, ‘Popish Romanists.’ See ‘To the Reader,’ in The Holy Bible, sig. A6r. Ibid., sig. B2r. Ibid. Paraphrases II, sig. F2v. ‘To the Reader,’ in The Holy Bible, sig. B2r. Ibid. Ibid., sig. B2v. See Norton, A Textual History of the King James Bible, 4–7. As S.K. Baskerville has demonstrated, predestination was ‘not simply an obtuse theological dogma that happened under accidental circumstances to produce some political consequences; rather it was an inherently ideological and political doctrine.’ This is because it was linked with the concept of providence and a preordained historical trajectory. Baskerville, ‘Puritans, Revisionists, and the English Revolution,’ 157. The importance of providence for Puritan clergy can be found in Coffey’s analysis of Samuel Rutherford. Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions, 225–53. It is also worth noting that Rutherford located the ever-shifting via media between Arminianism and Antinomianism (114). See Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policies of James I and Charles I,’ 31–2. See Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of King James I,’ 169, 206. Unity was an overriding preoccupation for James and one that stretched beyond the borders of England. Before his intervention into Dutch religious affairs, James was focused, as Lori Anne Ferrell

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36 37

38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45

46

47

Notes to pages 167–70

has shown, on establishing full religious and political unity between England and Scotland. See Ferrell, ‘The Sacred, the Profane, and the Union.’ MacCulloch, The Reformation, 377. Margo Todd has demonstrated that, while there were theological differences among the members of the English delegation to Dordt, all them were committed to the doctrine of predestination. See Todd, ‘Justifying God.’ White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic, 202 MacCulloch, The Reformation, 378. Carleton, The Speech of Sir Dvdly Carlton, 2–3. This point was made at Dordt. In the words of a sympathetic A.W. Harrison, the Arminians in Dordt ‘spoke of the old Dutch piety, of Erasmus, of Veluanus and other predecessors of Arminius who had held a kindlier creed than that of Geneva before the principles of Geneva were so widely accepted.’ See Harrison, Arminianism, 113–14. See MacCulloch, The Reformation, 375; and Bangs, Arminius, 138–40. Carleton, Speech of Sir Dudly Carlton, 8. Ibid. It should be pointed out that the use of this Erasmian rhetoric by both Calvinists and anti-Calvinists was unsuccessful in ending disputes and establishing peace and concord. Patterson, King James VI and I and the Reunion of Christendom, 35–43, 150. According to Patterson, ‘James’s vision encompassed both a lasting peace among the European nations and the reuniting of the Church, shattered in the West by the Reformation and the CounterReformation’ (364). Patterson makes a strong case for James as a good king bent on establishing peace among Christians. He does not take into account, however, the various rhetorical purposes of such language. When James discussed moderation, he may in reality have been thinking about isolating Puritanism as much as establishing an inclusive Christian commonwealth. Similarly, discussions of ‘peace’ created a dividing line between those who agreed with James’ policies and those who did not and who were therefore a threat to ‘peace.’ James’ attempts to avoid military engagement in the Thirty Years’ War contributed to his support of anti-Calvinist clergy in the last half decade of his reign. According to Nicholas Tyacke, ‘The Thirty Years’ War had broken out three years earlier [1618], and King James was anxious to avoid direct military involvement. As a consequence he sought to counterbalance the Calvinist war party at home, by promoting clergy such as Laud. It was a case of peace, and possible toleration of Catholic recusants, against war in the name of true, Calvinist religion.’ Tyacke, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 64. Also see Kenyon, The Stuart Constitution, 128–30; and Croft, King James, 108–9.

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48 Francis Bacon pointed out that striving to ‘winne opinion of moderation’ was a useful and wise personal and corporate strategy. However, the public use and opinion of moderation was different from actually being moderate. Real moderate individuals ‘are not without some preiudice and disadvantage by theyre moderacion.’ Bacon, The twoo bookes of Francis Bacon. sigs Ccc2r and Ccc4r. 49 As Ian Atherton has stated, ‘To say that early modern people assumed that politics would be conducted through consensus and agreement … is not, however, to presuppose that the political process was always carried on by consensus. It is a distinction which some revisionist scholars have missed.’ Atherton, Ambition and Failure in Stuart England, 263. 50 Ferrell, Government by Polemic, 172–3. 51 Coffey, Persecution and Toleration in Protestant England, 1558–1689, 111–17. 52 Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policies of James I and Charles I,’ 32. Fincham and Lake point out that a significant cause for the loss of internal English unity was the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War in 1618 (33). 53 See chapter 7. 54 See Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, and ‘The Rise of Arminianism Reconsidered.’ 55 Not all Arminians were conformists. John Milton was Arminian, leaned towards Arianism, believed that conformity was not necessary for peace, and quoted and admired Erasmus. For Milton’s use of Erasmus, see Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 151. 56 See White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic; Bernard, ‘The Church of England, c.1529–c.1642’; and Davies, The Caroline Captivity of the Church. Also see Kevin Sharpe’s review of the historiographical conflict, in which he defends his own work as well as that of Peter White and, especially, Julian Davies: Sharpe, Remapping Early Modern England, 348–57. 57 See chapter 8. 58 Heylyn, Historia Quinqu-Articularis, 109; Plaifere, Appello Evangelium, 21. Thomas Bilson wrote: ‘Our Church … doth approue likewise, and appoint Erasmus Paraphrase to be openly in the Church for euery man, that doubteth of any thing in the newe Testament, to reade for his instruction; and yet you will not take euery word in Erasmus Paraphrase for the publike Doctrine of the Church of England. For so you should soone exclude the most of your new conceits.’ Bilson, The suruey of Christs sufferings, 288. Two examples of similar appeals to the Paraphrases from the post-Restoration era are found in Pierce, An impartial inquiry into the nature of sin, 174; and Stillingfleet, Several conferences between a Romish priest, a fanatick chaplain, and a divine of the Church of England concerning the idolatry of the Church of Rome, 119.

324 Notes to pages 173–5 59 See Stillingfleet, Several conferences between a Romish priest, a fanatick chaplain, and a divine of the Church of England concerning the idolatry of the Church of Rome, 119. 60 Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 115–51. 61 Patterson, King James VI and I and the reunion of Christendom, 266. 62 Frank Huntley points out, referring to Joseph Hall, that ‘it is fitting that a Cambridge man became the first Englishman to publish his own epistles, for it was from his tower in Queens, Cambridge, that Erasmus in 1516 published the Epistolae Erasmi.’ See Huntley, Bishop Joseph Hall, 61. 63 This was a letter from Erasmus to the bishop of Basel that argued for married clergy. Hall, The Works of Joseph Hall, 816–17. 64 While Joseph Hall proposed a via media that could handle some flexibility in the way predestination was discussed, he was willing to die for the conclusions established at the Synod of Dordt. See Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 418n. 65 For direct references to Erasmus in the 1628 edition of The Works of Joseph Hall, see pages 554, 659, 699, 733–4, 736, 748, 753, 755, 770, 775, and 816–17. 66 Joseph Hall often cited peace and concord as central tenets of the Christian faith and echoed language similar to Erasmus’ well-known phrase that ‘the sum and substance of our religion is peace and concord.’ Letter to Jean de Carondolet, bishop of Palermo, quoted in Olin, Six Essays on Erasmus and a Translation of His Letter to Carondolet, 100. In the English Paraphrases Erasmus similarly wrote that ‘the general rule and summe of your profession is peace and concorde.’ Paraphrases I, sig. G5v. Rom. ch. 15. 67 Hall, Works of Joseph Hall, 29. Hall’s words are an echo not only of Erasmus, but earlier texts such as Adams’ Eirenopolis, 5–6, 10–11, 16–17, 22, and 151. In a work built on the model of Erasmus’ The Complaint of Peace, Thomas Adams maintained that ‘peace and concord’ were the greatest good and those who were opposed to peace were the enemies of Christianity. 68 In De Libero Arbitrio, at the end of his preface and again at the beginning of the section on the Old Testament, Erasmus wrote that he hoped his readers would realize the adiaphoric nature of the controversy and not feel the need to read the rest of the treatise. Erasmus, A Discussion of Free Will, in CWE 76:14, 21. 69 Hall, Christian moderation, 60. 70 Laudian polemicists, such as Peter Heylyn, shifted traditional conformist rhetoric by arguing that the episcopacy and certain ceremonies were essential. Conformists, from Whitgift onward, maintained that since ecclesiology and ceremonies were adiaphora the church could compel conformity in these areas. It was a shift from ius humanum to ius divinum. Interestingly, both Presbyterians and Laudians

Notes to pages 175–8

71 72 73 74 75

76 77 78 79 80

81 82 83 84

85

86

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agreed that church structure was decreed by God. Cf. Griffin, Latitudinarianism in the Seventeenth-Century Church of England, 146–7. Hall, Christian moderation, 59–60. Loyola, Personal Writings, 358. Hall, Christian moderation, 60–1. Hall, The contemplations upon the history of the New Testament, 379. Hall, Works of Joseph Hall, 396. This comes from a published letter to Jonas Reigesbergius about the turmoil being stirred up by Arminianism. Even if predestination turned out to be wrong, Hall suggested that a public Arminian challenge would destroy the peace and unity of the church. This was Erasmus’ argument too, but reversed. It was predestination, rather than free will, which was dangerous even if it was true. Among numerous comments along these lines, Erasmus wrote that ‘there are certain errors which it would be less harmful to overlook than to uproot.’ Erasmus, Discussion of Free Will, 12. Hall, Works of Joseph Hall, 396. Ibid., 562. Ibid. See Backus, ‘Erasmus and the Spirituality of the Early Church,’ 100, 110–14. In the preface to John, Erasmus wrote, referring to the church fathers, ‘For they themselfes do often discent among themselses.’ Erasmus, The First Tome or Volume of the Paraphrase of Erasmus upon the Newe Testamente, sig. ()5v. Preface to John. In the Catechismus Erasmus similarly wrote that synods and canonized authorities ‘do somtymes disagree not onely one of them from another but also do vary from theyr owne selues.’ Erasmus, Catechismus, sig. O1v. Hall, The contemplations upon the history of the New Testament, 375. Hall, Christian moderation, 26–7. Hall noted the Erasmian source in the margin, ‘Eras praefat. ad opera Hilarii.’ Ibid., 27. At one point in his Gagg, in a passage that could have been written by Hall, Montagu wrote, ‘There are publique Resolutions held of all, and priuate opinions maintained by some, by men particular in their owne Conceits: and Societies in a more generall agreement in things indifferent, not de fide, or if yet of a looser and lower tye, and alloy. As those are proposed, resolued, maintained, tendred and commanded: So the other are free, and disputed and questioned, not enioyned as de fide, or Subscribed, because Problematicall, and no more.’ Montagu, A Gagg for the new Gospell? Letter to the Reader. Hall did agree that both sides, not just the anti-Calvinist side, should be silent on the issue of predestination. White, ‘The via media in the Early Stuart Church’; and Davies, The Caroline Captivity of the Church, 226. Hall, Christian moderation, 52–3.

326

Notes to pages 178–80

87 The reader was quoting from Hall, Works of Joseph Hall, 554. Hall’s translation follows the Latin and reads, ‘Melancton was words and matter; Luther, matter without words; Erasmus, words without matter; Every one hath his own share.’ Hall was not attacking Erasmus with this phrase, but arguing that God had given different types of gifts to different people. The handwriting on the final page matches the writing on the title page, which includes a signature and the date 1631. See Huntington Library copy of Hall, Works of Joseph Hall (London, 1628), title page, 25–6, and final pages. Huntington Library reference number: 601473–73a. 88 In 1640, Donald Lupton echoed Hall and provided more detail about the origin of the phrase: ‘Luther caused to be painted over his study doore. Verba sine rebus, Erasmus: Res sine verbis, Lutherus nec res, nec verba, Carolastadius: et res et verba, Melancthon.’ Lupton, The glory of their times, 140. 89 See White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic, 234–6. White is correct that the language of the via media was part of a long-standing English tradition. However, Hall’s Via Media: The Way of Peace specifically sought to accommodate, minimize, and marginalize the arguments of Overall, Montagu, and other English critics of predestination within the body of English Calvinism. As such, even a work entitled Via Media: The Way of Peace, is best seen as part of an aggressive polemical battle for the soul of the English church. Hall, ‘Via Media: The Way of Peace,’ 471–502. 90 See Bernard, ‘The Church of England’; White, ‘The via media in the Early Stuart Church.’ 91 Lake, ‘The Moderate and Irenic Case for Religious War,’ 62–7. 92 Ibid., 78. 93 Lake, ‘Joseph Hall, Robert Skinner and the Rhetoric of Moderation at the Early Stuart court.’ 94 Ibid., 175. 95 Ibid., 178. 96 Ibid., 181. 97 Dan Steere notes that Hall’s attempt to find balance within his version of the via media led to ‘attacks from all sides’ and a ‘storm of controversy.’ Calls for moderation based on the ideal of unity and peace often led to deeply divisive polemical battles. See Steere, ‘“For the Peace of Both, For the Humour of Neither,”’ 759. 98 In a 1641 sermon, Hall told his audience that there is no religious position that will not be attacked. Even if a man ‘stand for the anciently-received rites and government, he is a time-serving formalist … In the mean time, who can escape free? Sure I, that tax both, shall be sure to be censured of both: shall be? Yes, am, to purpose; and therein I joy, yea and will joy.’ Hall, The Works of the Right Reverend Joseph Hall, 517.

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99 Fincham, ‘Episcopal Government,’ 91. For Hall’s incongruity with Laudianism see Fincham and Lake, ‘Popularity, Prelacy and Puritanism in the 1630s.’ 100 Fuller, An historical narrative of the native commodities and rarities in each county, 123. This work was bound with The history of the worthies of England. 101 Fuller, The Holy State, 79. For Fuller’s extensive comments on Erasmus and Queens’ College, see Fuller, The History of the University of Cambridge, 82. This was appended to his Church-history of Britain. 102 Fuller, The history of the worthies of England, 95. 103 See Bailey, The Life of Thomas Fuller, 30, 75, 528. 104 Like Joseph Hall, Fuller’s Calvinism tempered his praise of Erasmus. Erasmus, he wrote, was ‘a greater Scholar then Divine.’ See Fuller, The church-history of Britain, 182. 105 See Bailey, The Life of Thomas Fuller, 449. 106 Fuller, The appeal of iniured innocence, 1. 107 Fuller, Holy State, 205. 108 Ibid., 206. Pride, said Fuller, was the root cause of immoderation: ‘This makes men stickle for their opinions, to make them fundamentall: Proud men having deeply studied some additionall point in Divinity, will strive to make the same necessary to salvation, to enhanse the value of their own worth and pains; and it must be fundamentall in religion, because it is fundamentall to their reputation’ (208). 109 Erasmus, ed., Select Colloquies Out Of Erasmus Roterodamus, ed. L’Estrange, sig. A3v. 110 Fuller, Holy State, 208. 111 Bailey, The Life of Thomas Fuller, 493–4. Thomas Fuller wrote the introduction and contributed seven biographical sketches. 112 Tyacke, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 66. 113 See Montagu, A Gagg for the new Gospell? sig. *4v. 114 James I asked Montagu for Appello Caesarem and had it published. Sheila Lambert has shown that Montagu was favoured by James, but was actually in a much less secure position under Charles, who censored the Appello. James, with his dreams of Christian reunification, liked Montagu’s moderate stance on Roman Catholicism. See Lambert, ‘Richard Montagu, Arminianism and Censorship.’ 115 Montagu, Appello Caesarem, 70. 116 Ibid., 70–1. 117 Ibid., 41, 76–7. 118 Quoted in Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 237n. 119 See Rous, Testis Veritas, 105–6. Rous wrote, ‘Arminianisme being a kind of twilight, a double-faced thing that lookes to two religions at once, Protestantisme and Popery, he that is in it, is like him that stands in the borders of two adioyning Kingdomes, who is ready to dwell in either, as either serves his turne best.’

328 Notes to pages 185–8 120 White, Predestination, Policy, and Polemic, 250–1. 121 Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 431. 122 Kenneth Fincham has shown how the meaning of ‘conformity’ changed under Whitgift, James, and Laud. The old flexibility of outward ‘subscription’ gave way gradually to detailed rules and requirements. See Fincham, ‘Clerical Conformity from Whitgift to Laud.’ 123 White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic, 250–1. 124 Quoted in ibid., 250. 125 Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, 154, 166–8. 126 Fincham and Lake, ‘The Ecclesiastical Policy of James I and Charles I,’ 39. 127 Ibid., 38. 128 For more on the rhetoric of silence surrounding Montagu’s text, see Clegg, Press Censorship in Jacobean England, 197–223. Clegg demonstrates ‘the degree to which both Durham House and Lambeth engaged in a serious rivalry that embraced strategies of silence and silencing’ (222). 129 Trapman, ‘Grotius and Erasmus.’ 130 Ibid., 92, 94. 131 Although Joseph Hall used the rhetoric of moderation for purposes internal to English religion and condemned Roman Catholicism, he did consider Rome a true Church. See Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 142, 377. 132 ‘In the vein of Erasmus, Grotius in 1627, in an enormously influential book, had divided doctrines between those necessary to salvation and those which, however edifying, are optional.’ McManners, ‘Enlightenment,’ 283. 133 Quoted in Gellinek, Hugo Grotius, 68. 134 Grotius, True religion, 30. 135 Trevor-Roper, From Counter-Reformation to Glorious Revolution, 47–82, and Catholics, 52. 136 Nellen, ‘“A Rotterdammer Teaches the World How to Reform,”’ 182. 137 Ibid. 138 Ibid., 181. 139 Ibid., 177–87. Nellen notes that Erasmus became particularly important for the Remonstrants after the disastrous Synod of Dordt as they sought to keep their movement from falling apart (184–7). 140 Hugh Trevor-Roper specifically calls Andrewes a neo-Erasmian. See Trevor-Roper, Catholics, 47. 141 Andrewes’ focus on the importance of the church fathers allowed him to see a common tradition between the Church of England and the Catholic Church. In fact, it was Andrewes, and a group he largely inspired, who moved to more moderate rhetoric regarding Rome. Anthony Milton rightly points out, however, that such

Notes to pages 188–90

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rhetoric probably had more to do with calls for unity within England than with any real hope of reunion with Rome. See Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 366–7. Andrewes, XCVI sermons, 420. Ibid. ‘Descessit a medio lost it: Stetit in medio must restore it.’ Ibid. For Andrewes the middle way between God and man was encapsulated in Christ. According to Peter Lake, Andrewes’ ‘Christocentric approach to the problem of Christian knowledge was clearly intended by Andrewes as a stark contrast to what he saw as the empty predestinarian theorizing, the formal theological speculation which passed amongst too many of his contemporaries for faith.’ For both Andrewes and Erasmus adopting a Christocentric focus was part of an argument against another model of Christianity. See Lake, ‘Lancelot Andrewes, John Buckeridge, and Avant-Garde Conformity at the Court of James I,’ 121. Nicolas Lossky, Lancelot Andrewes the Preacher, 274, 351. McCullough, ‘Making Dead Men Speak.’ Andrewes routinely stressed unity in his sermons – sometimes specifically attacking ‘medlers’ and ‘Presbyterie’ who destroyed ‘unity’ by attempting to change hierarchical religious and governmental structures. Speaking to these ‘seditious’ people who wanted ‘change,’ Andrewes said, ‘A Presbyterie would doe much better for you, than an Hierarchie: And (perhaps) not long after, a government of States, than a Monarchie. Medle not with these Changers.’ See Andrewes, XCVI sermons, 951. MacCulloch, ‘Making Dead Men Speak,’ 416. See discussion on John Young’s 1571 sermon in chapter 4. William Lamont writes, ‘Here was the paradox: by declaring, in effect, predestination as a “no-go area”, Laud and his associates achieved the same effect as if they had flooded the market in the 1630s with Arminian apologetics.’ Arguing for silence was not a religiously or politically neutral policy. See Lamont, ‘The Rise of Arminianism Reconsidered,’ 230. Andrewes, XCVI sermons, 18. See Paraphrases II, sig. [par.]4r, Erasmus’ preface to Romans; and CWE 42:139nn33, 34. Andrewes, XCVI sermons, 19. Andrewes dramatically attacked Calvinists who could count out the doctrinal truths of predestination using their five fingers. This was part of a warning to Calvinists/Puritans not to ‘touch,’ ‘noli me tangere,’ the secrets of God or the secrets of the state. Andrewes told his audience, ‘Yet are there in the world, that make but a shallow of this great deepe: they have sounded it to the bottome. GOD’s secret Decrees, they have them at their fingers ends, can tell you the number and the order of them

330 Notes to pages 191–5

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156 157

158 159 160 161 162

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166 167 168 169

just, with 1.2.3.4.5.’ Andrewes was obviously referring to the five Calvinist articles on predestination. Andrewes, XCVI sermons, 548. Richard Montagu expressed a similar view of ‘Secrets reserved to God alone.’ Montagu, A Gagg for the new Gospel?, 179–80. Also see Ferrell, Government by Polemic, 165–6. Hugo Grotius, though more overt in his Erasmian antecedents, was simultaneously developing a theory of true Christianity based on a minimal realm of essentials. See Grotius, True Religion. White, ‘The via media of the Early Stuart Church,’ 227. Como, ‘Predestination and Political Conflict in Laud’s London,’ 278–94. There is also evidence that contemporary Puritans and Presbyterians believed that Laud was introducing a new heresy. This is especially found in texts by William Prynne and Thomas Edwards. Ibid., 272–3. Cust, ‘Charles I and Popularity,’ 247–8. Ibid., 249. See Verkamp, The Indifferent Mean, 23–4. According to Anthony Milton, referring to the rhetorical language of ‘catholic’ and ‘reformed,’ ‘the terms themselves, then, are not indicative of any distinctive theological position. It was the significance attached to them, however, that was changing during this period.’ Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 527. I believe that precisely the same is true of the Erasmian rhetoric of moderation, peace, and unity. See, for example, White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic; Bernard, ‘The Church of England, c.1529–c.1642’; Davies, The Caroline Captivity of the Church; and Sharpe, Remapping Early Modern England, 348–357. Laud, The history of the troubles and trial, 352. Both seventeenth- and eighteenth-century commentators saw a direct correlation between Arminius’ thought and that of Erasmus. See Bruijn, Holtrop, and van der Wall, Religious Currents and CrossCurrents, 10, 12. See Scodel, Excess and the Mean, 206. Ibid., 206–7. Quoted in ibid., 206. Also see Bradshaw, ‘Three Poems Ben Jonson Did Not Write,’ 488–90. Though their methodologies and styles differed, in the key theological points, there was a high degree of similarity between Erasmus’ thought and that of the Dutch Remonstrants. The Arminian position was, however, a more structured and public reworking of Erasmus’ well-known arguments. Kenneth Hylson-Smith provides a good summary of Arminian theology: ‘Through his foreknowledge God conditionally elected those who would believe through his grace in Jesus Christ and persevere in faith and obedience, and rejected the unconverted and unbelievers who were condemned to eternal

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damnation. Christ died for every person, but none but the faithful should enjoy this pardon of sin. It was impossible for man to obtain saving faith by himself or by the strength of his own free will, but he needed God’s cooperating grace. The grace of God is not irresistible. And finally, true believers might fall away from God totally and finally.’ See Hylson-Smith, The Churches in England, 129. According to Nicholas Tyacke, ‘As regards the development of antiCalvinism, the writings of the Dutch theologian Jacobus Arminius were more important as a defining label than as a direct source.’ See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 270. Tyacke generally sees the free will tradition in England as having a Lutheran base. See ibid., 178. While this is undoubtedly true, it is also true that Erasmus’ writings and thought on free will were readily available and well known to English theologians. Tyacke’s emphasis on English Lutheranism should not preclude the possibility of multiple lines of theological influence on English anti-Calvinists. Tyacke also suggests that Dutch Arminians did not argue for free will, but rather against predestination. He mentions Hugo Grotius as an example. Tyacke is correct regarding Grotius and even Arminius, but both were an exception to the majority of post-1610 Dutch Remonstrants in this regard. See ibid., 231. See Benedict, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed, 298–300. See Bangs, Arminius, 350–5. The appropriateness of the terms ‘Erasmian’ and ‘Erasmianism’ have been carefully examined in Mout, Smolinsky and Trapman, Erasmianism: Idea and Reality. Especially see essays by Cornelis Augustijn, ‘Verba valent usu: was ist Erasmianismus?’ 5–14; James K. McConica, ‘The English Reception of Erasmus,’ 37–46; and Silvana Seidel Menchi, ‘Do We Need the ‘Ism’? Some Mediterranean Perspectives,’ 47–64. Malcolm Smuts has also derided traditional interpretations of Erasmus’ liberal influence on pre-Anglican Arminianism as ‘whiggish.’ See Smuts, Culture and Power in England, 32. Anthony Milton goes beyond Tyacke and demonstrates that the existence of a via media between Catholics and Reformed Protestants was ‘enunciated for the first time during the Laudian period … by the new breed of conformists.’ Rome was no longer the ‘binary opposite’ of English Protestantism. This shift, which indicates more of a rhetorical than a doctrinal shift, led to fear and resentment in zealous English Calvinists. Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 528–9. These new conformists employed and manipulated standard forms of Erasmian rhetoric and methodologies to help polemically construct this new middle way. Tyacke, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 70.

332 Notes to pages 197–9 177 See Lake, ‘The Laudian Style,’ 161–2; and Anthony Milton, ‘The Creation of Laudianism: A New Approach,’ 162–84. According to Milton, the public image of Laudianism was a creation of Laudians, such as Peter Heylyn, who were more Laudian than Laud himself and that Laudianism had an unstable quality. It lacked a coherent and consistent ideology or approach (180). As Lake has suggested, Laudianism was a style, an approach, and a way of thinking about religion, not a set of specific doctrines, methodologies, or practices. 178 For more on the influence of Erasmian thought in the works of John Hales, see Elson, John Hales of Eton, 43–64. 179 See Milward, Religious Controversies of the Jacobean Age, 41. Francis Duke is especially interesting in regards to English Arminianism moving away from Arminius. Duke argued for a via media between Calvinism and Arminianism. His description of free will is nearly identical to Erasmus’: God’s grace was universal and the binary choice human beings have is to accept or reject that freely offered grace. See Duke, The Fulnesse and Freenesse of Gods Grace in Jesus Christ, 88, 160–1. 180 See Montagu, Appello Caesarem, 41, 76–7. 181 The forceful reimplementation of Erasmian rhetorical strategies certainly helped to alienate Calvinists from Arminians. Arguing for the importance of religious rhetoric in understanding the conflicts of this period, Anthony Milton states that anti-Laudians were held together by a ‘common style of discourse … The Laudians were different specifically in their departure from this style of discourse. The engine behind religious conflict was not their introduction of any specific doctrinal innovations – indeed, many of the ideas which provoked most complaint may be found expressed, in different polemical contexts, among their opponents. Rather, what triggered conflict was the manner in which these ideas were presented, the specific polemical context in which an idea was expressed and the presence or absence of caveats which were standard in a particular polemical genre.’ Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 543. 182 See Rous, Testis Veritatis, 105–6. 183 See Lake, ‘The Laudian Style.’ 184 MacKenzie, God’s Order and Natural Law, 22–3. 185 Lake, ‘The Laudian Style.’ 186 Ibid., 173–4. 187 Laud, A relation of the conference, sig. *4r, 383–4. In some ways Laud’s conception of iure divino episcopacy was similar to Puritan assumptions that specific forms of worship, doctrine, and ecclesiology were prescribed by God. Both Laud and Puritans thus diverged from the traditional Elizabethan and Jacobean rhetoric of adiaphora-based conformity. See Solt, Church and State in Early Modern England, 188–9. 188 Compare Lake, ‘The Laudian Style,’ 183.

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189 Maltby, Prayer Book and People, 166–7. Maltby points out that in the writings of the layman Thomas Aston, a moderate episcopalian, Presbyterianism was criticized for its claims of ius divinum. 190 It is worth noting that some Laudians even wrote polemics against more Erasmian inclined Arminians. For example, Wren wrote against ‘the “rational” disciples of Grotius and Chillingworth who seemed dangerously inclined to rot the doctrine of the Church from within.’ See Trevor-Roper, From Counter-Reformation to Glorious Revolution, 167. The Erasmian attempt to create a rhetorical space for free will by stressing the indifference of the doctrine was pushed aside in favour of a proactive attempt to establish Arminian ‘truth’ in the English church. 7 e r a sm i an r h e to r i c and r el i g io us war

D.T., The Popes Nuntioes, sigs. A2r–v. Ibid. Prynne, Canterburies doome, 352. Milton, Catholic and Reformed, 353–67. The Whiggish story of the rise of toleration is one of the most enduring in ‘Western’ history. The story once told was that tolerance gradually emerged, like liberty, out of the Puritan revolution and then caught on during the Enlightenment. Despite the general acceptance of this story in the modern public sphere, this narrative of progress has been so thoroughly devalued by now in the academy that we run the danger of overemphasizing the intolerant nature of early modern society. The Erasmian legacy of ‘tolerant’ rhetoric was sincerely designed, and used, with the hope of creating a broad church with ample room for diversity. However, that same impulse sought to create uniformity and was naturally intolerant of those who were intolerant of the supposedly ‘tolerant’ world view. The best study of tolerance and intolerance in early modern England is Alexandra Walsham’s insightful and carefully nuanced Charitable Hatred. See especially the historiographical introduction (1–30), the development of English uniformity (39–48), and the consequences of toleration (280–7). 6 D.T., The Popes Nuntioes, sigs. A2r-v. 7 Conformist laity were apparently influenced by this rhetorical approach and were genuinely committed to religious unity and the avoidance of destabilizing doctrines that were, in any case, removed from the day-to-day activities of life and liturgical worship. Judith Maltby suggests that the avoidance of the topic of predestination in petitions by conformist laity ‘indicate not ignorance, nor indifference either, but a different theological agenda about what matters in the life of the church.’ Maltby, Prayer Book and People, 106. 1 2 3 4 5

334 Notes to pages 203–5 8 Remaining loyal was not always an easy process. Joseph Hall had to vigorously defend himself against Laudian accusations. At one point Hall fell to his knees before Charles and assured Charles of his loyalty. See Fincham and Lake, ‘Popularity, Prelacy and Puritanism in the 1630s,’ 867. Ian Atherton has also demonstrated in his biography of Scudamore that it is difficult to firmly establish why individuals chose to join the royalist side. Religion was certainly important, but, in the case of Scudamore, Atherton makes the case that it ultimately came down to loyalty. See Atherton, Ambition and Failure in Stuart England, 229–31. 9 See Laud, The history of the troubles and trial, 352. The Presbyterian Thomas Edwards claimed that when Laud denied he was an Arminian he was being deceitful as he really only disagreed with ‘those points Arminius held about the government of the Church’ and ‘not those of Grace and free-will, &c.’ Edwards, The second part of Gangraena, 118. 10 See Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 148–151; Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 89–90. 11 Trevor-Roper, Catholics, Anglicans and Puritans, 190–3. Trevor-Roper also referred to Arminianism as a ‘neo-Erasmian movement’ (47). 12 Griffin is clear that Latitudinarians had ‘grave reservations’ about tolerance, would have found unlimited tolerance ‘repugnant,’ and could not accept the idea of a nation with multiple churches. Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 152. 13 See Edward Hyde, History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in England, 433. 14 M.E.H.N. Mout also demonstrates the anachronistic use of ‘Erasmian’ in Dutch historiography and modern culture to denote tolerance and pluralism in the modern sense. See Mout, ‘Erasmianism in Modern Dutch Historiography.’ 15 The notes, which cited Trevor-Roper to support Griffin’s use of Erasmianism, were provided by his posthumous editors, Richard H. Popkin and Lila Freedman. Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 90, 138–40, 180n, 190n. 16 For a survey of some of the scholarship on the Great Tew group, see Hayward, ‘New Directions in Studies of the Falkland Circle.’ 17 For more on the theological and political dissociation of Great Tew and Laud, see Schwarz, ‘Lay Anglicanism and the Crisis of the English Church in the Early Seventeenth Century.’ Also see Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 145–7. 18 Hugh Trevor-Roper, Catholics, Anglicans and Puritans, 189. I agree with Trevor-Roper that the Great Tew group envisioned a Church of England that was devoted to non-dogmatic unity. They believed that moderation, peace, order, and unity would create a religious culture where a variety of religious beliefs could peacefully coexist within a

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single national church. What Trevor-Roper did not analyse was how any call for ‘non-dogmatic’ Christianity, especially by a group of Arminians, would be taken by Puritans as a direct attack on Puritanism, Calvinism, and, even, English Protestantism. One of the few books devoted to English Socinianism is McLachlan, Socinianism in Seventeenth-Century England. McLachlan suggested that Falkland was denounced as a ‘Socinian’ because neither prelates nor Puritans understood his call for religious freedom (67). Puritans, however, understood precisely what Falkland was after and rejected it on principle. Falkland was not proposing freedom of religion and the right to dissent, but a united Church of England where certain Reformed doctrines were sidelined as inessential. Demonstrating the polemical flexibility of ‘Socinianism,’ John Howson, in 1612, sought to link Calvinism to anti-Trinitarianism. See Atherton and Como, ‘The Burning of Edward Wightman,’ 1246. See Marshall, John Locke, 717. Chillingworth strongly repudiated Socinianism. See Chillingworth, ‘Sermon V,’ in The Works of William Chillingworth, 58. He denied that he was a Socinian because he believed in the Trinity. However, the reason he was accused of Socinianism was because of his reliance on reason and the general Erasmian principle that controversial areas of belief were most likely not fundamental. See Cheynell, The Rise, Growth, and Danger of Socinianisme, 34, 44–5, 70–3. Erasmus is briefly mentioned, although not in connection with Socinianism, on page 54. Erasmus’ support for the Trinity can be found, among other places, in his Catechism, which was translated into English in 1534. Rummel, ‘The Theology of Erasmus.’ It is also important to remember that Erasmus wanted truth as much as Luther did. We cannot reduce the Erasmian legacy to truth versus peace. Erasmus believed that peace was the best way to proceed towards truth and that peace was, itself, a central aspect of Christian truth. See Pabel, ‘The Peaceful People of Christ,’ 76. See Margaret F. Stieg, Laud’s Laboratory, 14–15. Clarendon was significantly influenced by Erasmus’ thought. See Robinson, ‘Lord Clarendon’s Moral Thought,’ 41–3. For more on Clarendon, Great Tew, and his involvement in the civil war, see Ollard, Clarendon and His Friends, 1–41, 56–104. It would seem that the portrayal of the Great Tew coterie as Erasmians began with Clarendon’s retrospective comparison of Great Tew to Erasmus’ colloquy, the ‘Godly Feast.’ See Barbour, Literature and Religious Culture in Seventeenth-Century England, 72. Falkland was also a patron of Ben Jonson who, as we saw in the previous chapter, translated a portion of Erasmus’ De Libero Arbitrio. Also see D.H. Craig, Ben Jonson: The critical heritage, 157–8, 178, and 183.

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Notes to pages 206–10

27 For Falkland’s position, political and economic affairs, and political thought, see Smith, Constitutional Royalism and the Search for Settlement, 54–60, 69–75, 87–97. Smith locates Falkland as a supporter of ‘constitutional royalism.’ 28 See introductory letter to Henry, Lord Viscount of Falkland, in Cary, Sir Lucius Cary, sigs ***4r–v. It is also interesting that an introductory ‘speech concerning episcopacy’ in the 1660 edition of Falkland’s text defended episcopacy on the grounds that it was not ‘unlawful’ according to scripture and that it was not ‘inconvenient.’ This was the basic adiaphoric approach used by the ‘Arminians’ at Great Tew and was a fundamentally different argument from the Laudian’s appeal to ius divinum. Cary, A Discourse of Infallibility, sigs A2v–A3r. 29 Manfred Hoffmann, speaking of humanists influenced by Erasmus, writes, ‘They applied, like Erasmus, the principle: “The one unites, the many divide” by reducing the individual parts of truth to their ultimate commonality in a minimum of shared fundamenta which are held in common by all rational human beings (consensus) and which should be articulated only so far as they express their transcendent unity rather than their divisive particularity.’ Needless to say, an Erasmian style push for unity required a methodology that Puritans could never accept. See Hoffmann, ‘Reformation and Toleration,’ 116. 30 Hayward, ‘New Directions in Studies of the Falkland Circle,’ 29. Hayward also suggests that the Platonism at Great Tew is related to the Cambridge Platonism that flourished after the Restoration. 31 Cary, ‘The Lord Falkland’s Reply,’ 111. 32 Ibid., 161. 33 Ibid., 155. 34 Ibid., 187–8. This passage also mentioned Erasmus’ friendship with Bishop Fisher and Thomas More, ‘who were the Deucalions of learning in this our Country.’ Other references to Erasmus can be found on pages 64, 123, 146, and 217. 35 Clarendon, History III, 189 (Book VII, S233). Quoted in Smith, Constitutional Royalism, 115. 36 For an example, see T.S., The Arminian Haltered, 1–2. 37 Cary, Reply, 126. 38 Chillingworth, The religion of protestants, 212, 381–82. 39 Ibid., 35. Predestination was one of those things that was undetermined by scripture and tradition. Chillingworth criticized the belief that Christ did not die for all and maintained that those who believed that they were predestined exhibited ‘vaine Presumption grounded upon a fantastical persuasion’ (386). 40 Ibid., 406. 41 Ibid.

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42 For an excellent analysis of Chillingworth, his Erasmian theory of essentials, and his views on tolerance and obedience, see Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 141–67. 43 Chillingworth, An Answer to some Passages in Rushworth’s Dialogues, 115. 44 Ibid. 45 Ibid. Chillingworth’s discussion of Erasmus is an elaboration on similar comments about Erasmus made by Falkland. See Cary, Discourse of infallibility, 123. For more on Rushworth’s treatise and notions of infallible authority, see Barbour, Literature and Religious Culture, 242–3. Also see White, An apology for Rushworth’s dialogues. 46 Chillingworth, An Answer, 106. 47 Martin Griffin discusses the importance of Grotius on Chillingworth’s thought and convincingly argues that Chillingworth’s thought was the foundation for Restoration Latitudinarians. See Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 89–104. 48 Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 151. 49 See Grell, Israel, and Tyacke, From Persecution to Toleration, 5. The introduction states that ‘it might be thought that the Arminian orientation of the Caroline Church would have afforded a more tolerant atmosphere generally. Yet the attempted suppression of Calvinism at this time served to drive moderate Puritans into opposition, believing as they did that purity of doctrine was a mark of the true Church’ (5). 50 For more on Puritan theories on dissent, tolerance, and persecution, see Coffey, Persecution and Toleration in Protestant England, 134–48. 51 Hammond, Sermon, sigs A3r–v, 15. 52 Barbour, Literature and Religious Culture, 73. 53 Ephraim Udall referred to the Calvinist zeal of the Puritans as ‘demonic zeal’ and wrote, ‘Neither let men thinke that these distempers be religious zeal, or zeal for Religion, or the power of godlinesse, as many it seemes doe think, but doe deceive their owne soules, it being but the efficacy of Satan, and the remaining corruptions of our depraved nature.’ Udall, ‘To the Reader,’ in The Good of Peace and the Ill of War. 54 Nicholas Tyacke also argues that the ‘true radicalism of Laud’s views on episcopacy has eluded historians.’ Not only did Laud move to ius divinum, rather than adiaphora, arguments for the episcopacy, but he argued that ‘only a bishop can confer orders.’ Tyacke, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 57–8. 55 According to Nicholas Tyacke, it was this sacramentalism that was so deeply alienating to English society. See Tyacke, Anti-Calvinists, 223. 56 Mark Kishlansky proposes that at the root of the problems between Charles and his subjects was the fact that Charles did not want to rule

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through fear and that, as a result, he was misunderstood by the people. This misunderstanding then led, ironically, to fears of popery, fears of absolutism, etc. Kishlanksy also notes that such a view of Charles needs further research. See Kishlansky, ‘Charles I: A Case of Mistaken Identity.’ Como, ‘Predestination and Political Conflict in Laud’s London.’ As Cyndia Susan Clegg has demonstrated, Laud moved from a wellestablished rhetoric of silence to a policy of silencing. See Clegg, Press Censorship in Jacobean England, 219–23. Towers, Control of Religious Printing, 260, 262–4. Also see Shuger, Censorship and Cultural Sensibility, 232–3. Heylyn, Cyprianus anglicus, 342. Also quoted in Towers, Control of Religious Printing, 262. As Nicholas Tyacke has noted, too little attention has been paid to Heylyn’s construction of Laud’s activities. Heylyn was quite clear that Laud was working against the Calvinist status quo in order to save the English church from Calvinism. See Tyacke, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 52–3. The best analysis of Heylyn’s role in pushing the envelope of Laudianism and his search for and critique of those who were not enthusiastically supportive is Milton, ‘The Creation of Laudianism, a new approach.’ Erasmianism cannot be equated with Laudianism. Laud’s aggressive implementation of Arminian ‘essentials’ was far from Erasmus’ use of adiaphora. Laud also lost the support of Erasmian style Arminians such as the Great Tew group. For more on the theological and political dissociation of Great Tew and Laud, Schwarz, ‘Lay Anglicanism and the Crisis of the English Church in the Early Seventeenth Century.’ Laud, A relation of the conference, sig. *2r. The original text came from 1526, but Laud’s introductory letter to Charles I was written sometime after Michaelmas term 1637 (sig. §2r). Ibid., sig. *2r. Ibid. Ibid., sig. *2v. Ibid., sig. *3r. Ibid. Ibid., sigs *3r–v. Ibid., sig. *4r. Laud also stated that salvation should not be ‘shut up into such a narrow Conclave’ and that ‘in the ensuing Discourse therefore I have endeavour’d to lay open those wider-Gates of the Catholic Church, confined to no Age, Time, or Place.’ (sigs *4r–v). Lake, ‘The Laudian Style.’ Kevin Sharpe maintains that the Laudian approach was fundamentally based on traditional concepts of peace, unity, and avoidance of contention on things indifferent. Sharpe, ‘Archbishop Laud,’ 73. Quoted in Bailey, The Life of Thomas Fuller, 449.

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72 None of these groups had stable identities. Great Tew was made up of a fluctuating group of anti-Calvinist laity. ‘Arminian’ was a derogatory umbrella term used by Calvinists to denote anti-Calvinists. The concept of ‘Laudianism’ was, as Anthony Milton has demonstrated, also a creation of Laudian polemicists, like Heylyn, and ‘itself had an unstable quality.’ Milton, ‘The Creation of Laudianism,’ 180. Peter Lake has, at times referred to Laudianism as a ‘Laudian style’ and a ‘Laudian dispensation,’ both purposely indistinct terms. Similar motivations are behind the terminology of the Erasmian ‘style’ and ‘legacy’ used in this book. 73 Little Gidding was something of a separatist Arminian community, which sought to create a refuge for meditation, study, and liturgical worship. In the minds of Puritans it looked like a Catholic religious community. Charles visited the community, accepted gifts from them, and asserted that they were orthodox. Charles’ visit was then used as anti-Arminian propaganda in The Arminian nunnery: or, A briefe description and relation of the late erected monasticall place (London, 1641). See Reid Barbour’s fascinating analysis of three ‘Arminian’ communities: the royal court, Great Tew, and Little Gidding. Barbour, Literature and Religious Culture. 74 Fuller, The Holy State, 205. Fuller went on to say that the moderate man’s ‘religion is more constant and durable; being here, in via, in his way to Heaven … Once in an age the moderate man is in fashion … and surely he hath a great advantage to be a Peace-maker betwixt opposite parties … As the world is round, so we may observe a circulation in opinions, and Violent men turn often round in their tenets’ (207–8). 75 D.T., The Popes Nuntioes, sig. A2r. 76 Prynne, Canterburies doome, 352. 77 Michael Questier, in an insightful commentary about the relationship between Laud and Catholicism, argues that acceptance or rejection of contemporary claims that Laud was a crypto-Catholic obscures the ‘complex and politically sophisticated danger between the regime and Laudian clerics on the one hand and, on the other, a series of Catholic interest groups … which were trying to capitalize on what they perceived, with reason, as a series of radical innovations in the English Church.’ See Questier, ‘Arminianism, Catholicism, and Puritanism in England during the 1630s,’ 76–7. 78 D.T., The Popes Nuntioes, sig., A2v. 79 David Como has shown how moderate Calvinists who sought to engage and find common ground with ‘Arminians’ were attacked by zealous predestinarians. See David Como, ‘Puritans, Predestination and the Construction of Orthodoxy in Early SeventeenthCentury England,’ in Peter Lake and Michael Questier, eds.,

340

80 81 82 83

84 85 86 87 88 89

90

91 92

93 94

Notes to pages 217–20

Conformity and Orthodoxy in the English Church, c. 1560–c.1660 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000). D.T., The Popes Nuntioes, sigs, B1r–v. Ibid., sig., B1v. Ibid. Luther made the same argument against Erasmus in De Servo Arbitrio where he wrote, regarding Erasmus’ attempts to push for peace, ‘Here, as you yourself admit, you are indeed sailing against the stream; why, you are trying to quench fire with straw! Stop your complaining, stop your doctoring; the origin and continuance of this conflict is from God; and it will not cease till all who oppose the word have become as the mire of the streets.’ See Luther, The Bondage of the Will, 92. D.T., The Popes Nuntioes, sig. B2v. Ibid. Ibid., sig. B3r. Ibid. Johnstone, The Devil and Demonism, 60–141. Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson, D. 831. The tract, entitled ‘A proposal of some considerations concerninge the oath,’ begins on page 103 of this volume and then continues with its own page numbering. A note on the first page reads: ‘This is a piece of virulent Puritanism; probably written by Wm Pryn or some of his associates against Bp. Laud and the Bishops on acct. of the Canons made and published in 1640.’ It was Peter Heylyn who brought to Charles’ attention a passage in Prynne’s Historiomastix that depicted women actresses as whores. Charles took this as a personal attack on his queen, Henrietta Maria, who acted in court masques. Prynne eventually had his ears cropped, but got his revenge at Laud’s trial. One of Prynne’s points in that trial was that Laud had not allowed him to be properly treated after his ears were mutilated. Laud said he recalled no such request. Laud, The history of the troubles and trial, 349. MS Rawlinson, D. 831, 66. Ibid. In a 1629 letter that was not published until 1651, Dr Potter also discussed the Arminian argument for ‘mutual toleration.’ Dr Potter, however, took it at face value as a positive indication of Arminian willingness to live quietly within the Church of England. ‘Out of mere tendernesse of conscience, and zeale to piety and Gods Glory, they [Arminians] desired a moderation in some rigorous opinions; But however a mutuall toleration of one anothers Errors and infirmities, still keeping the ligament of the Christian communion and fraternity inviolable.’ See Potter, His Own Vindication of Himself, 419. MS Rawlinson, D. 831, 69. ‘Nulla persecutio tota persecutio.’ D. Martin Luthers Werke, 3.424, 11–14.

Notes to pages 220–1

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95 MS Rawlinson D. 831, 74. 96 Ibid. This tract presented a new Puritan interpretation of Arminianism. Francis Rous in 1626 argued that Arminianism was a step towards popery: ‘Whosoever will bring in Popery, into a country strongly fixed in the Protestant Doctrine, must not presently fly in the face of the whole Protestant Doctrine, but his only way, is to work into it by degrees of plausible arminianisme, even to put in these little thieves … into the window of the Church, and then they may unlocke the doors of the Church, and let in all Popery.’ See Rous, Testis Veritatis,105. In the 1641 manuscript by Prynne or a close associate, Arminianism was no longer depicted as a step towards popery. It was actually worse than popery because it denied absolute truth and introduced doctrinal tolerance. Puritans came to realize that the danger to Reformed Protestantism from Erasmianism was not doctrinal heresy, but doctrinal indifference. 97 MS Rawlinson D. 831, 75. 98 Arminians understood the impossibility of tolerance. Gary Remer points out that Chillingworth tried to balance religious toleration with political obedience, but eventually chose to support obedience rather than toleration. Remer suggests that this was a break with the Erasmian tradition of tolerance. See Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 166–7. This and previous chapters, however, have demonstrated that for Erasmus and his humanist descendants in England, tolerance was always subordinate to peace, order, and obedience. Chillingworth simply lived within a historical context where the rhetoric of toleration had ceased to be believable or helpful in the cause of peace and order. 99 See Fuller, Holy State, 205–8. Some texts from this era attempted to reposition the via media from a middle space between Geneva and Rome to a middle space between Calvin and Arminius. There is no indication that such attempts had much influence, but it does point out that the English religious via media was constantly contested, both in terms of whether it was good or bad and regarding where it actually was. See Duke, The Fulnesse and Freenesse of Gods Grace in Jesus Christ. 100 Edwards was a Puritan educated at Cambridge. He was imprisoned by Laud, but recanted only to attack Arminianism again. He was then prosecuted in the High Commission Court. After the fall of the Laudians he devoted a number of books to antitolerance, especially of Independents. His views on toleration were shared by many, including James Cranford and Mary Astell, at the time. See Springborg, Mary Astell, 156; and Johns, The Nature of the Book, 236. 101 See Scott, England’s Troubles, 238.

342 Notes to pages 221–3 102 For the breakdown of Puritan unity and the problem of tolerance among former dissenters, see Coffey, Persecution and Toleration in Protestant England, 143–9. 103 See Hughes, Gangraena and the Struggle for the English Revolution, 222–318, 323–4. 104 Edwards, The first and second part of Gangraena, part 1, sig. B1r. 105 See Johnstone, The Devil and Demonism, 258–65. 106 Quoted in Oberman, Luther, 256–7. 107 Quoted in Southey, Common-place Book, 43 108 Edwards, The casting down of the last and strongest hold of Satan, sig. A2r. 109 See Saltmarsh, Reasons for Unitie, Peace and Love. 110 Edwards bemoaned that victory had not brought truth but rather ‘Errours, Heresies, blemishes and dashes the most glorious works’ and God would punish England soon, for ‘Toleration doth eclipse and darken the glory of the most excellent Reformation.’ Edwards, The first and second part of Gangraena, sig. a1r. 111 Edwards, The costing down of the last and strongest hold of Satan, 152. 112 Once the episcopacy was overthrown, Presbyterians sought to enforce conformity. Edwards wrote that toleration could not be given to the Independents since history demonstrated that once a persecuted group got power they persecuted others. Both the irony and accuracy of that statement are witnessed in Edwards and his fellow Presbyterians. See Edwards, The first and second part of Gangraena, part 1, 48–9 and part 2, 103. For an excellent analysis of the changing public sphere and the importance of women in that public sphere, see Gillespie, Domesticity and Dissent, 29, 83, 89, 94–6. Also see Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 18. 113 As Alexandra Walsham has stated, ‘Toleration is itself a form of intolerance.’ See Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 5. 114 Edwards argued that sectarians were behaving like Arminians in their duplicitious calls for tolerance and peace. Edwards, The first and second part of Gangraena, part 1, 41–2. 115 Luther understood that the rhetoric of peace and unity was being used to attack what he felt were important doctrines. In De Servo Arbitrio Luther wrote to Erasmus, ‘You make it clear that this carnal peace and quiet seems to you far more important than faith, conscience, salvation, the Word of God, the glory of Christ, and God himself … For your teaching is designed to induce us, out of consideration for Popes, princes and peace, to abandon and yield up for the present the sure Word of God. But when we abandon that, we abandon God, faith, salvation, and all Christianity! … I see indeed, my good Erasmus, that in many of your books you deplore the loss of peace and concord, and make a series of attempts to heal the breach. Your intentions are of the best (at least,

Notes to pages 223–5

116

117

118

119 120

121

122

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I think so); but the gouty foot laughs at your doctoring.’ See Luther, Bondage of the Will, 90–2. For a good analysis of nineteenth-century via media Anglicanism, see the introduction to Weidner, John Henry Newman. Although the notion of an established Anglican via media was a nineteenth-century myth, Newman shared with Erasmus the belief that a true middle way was not a location but a method for gradually moving towards God (xxxvi, 392). See Locke, Letter Concerning Toleration. It was not Erasmus or his humanist descendants, but people like Roger Williams in his The Bloudy Tenent of Persecution (1644), who outlined an alternative to the respublica christiana. For more on English tolerance, see Tyacke, ‘The “Rise of Puritanism” and the Legalizing of Dissent, 1571–1719’; Israel, ‘William III and Toleration’; and Goldie, ‘The Theory of Religious Intolerance in Restoration England.’ Gregory, Salvation at Stake, 346. Later generations, who supported religious tolerance, looked back to Erasmus as a foundation for religious freedom, moderation, and tolerance. Examples include Edward Gibbon and, much later, Lucien Febvre. See Dickens and Tonkin, The Reformation in Historical Thought, 136, 287. Later examples also exist, including perhaps scholars inspired by the ecumenical movement in the latter part of the twentieth century. Bruce Mansfield has traced the evolving interpretations of Erasmus up to the present. See Mansfield, Man on His Own, and Erasmus in the Twentieth Century. Oberman, ‘The Travail of Tolerance,’ 16. As Oberman has said, ‘Within the last two decades a marked advance in toleration studies has led to a better grasp of the widespread late medieval and early modern call for pax and concordia. Today this is increasingly understood as a limited programme for the consolidation of Christian society, clearly excluding dissidents and non-Christian confessions, not to be confused with the later quest for the freedom of conscience and religious liberty’ (16). The best treatment of the concept of tolerance in the works of Erasmus is Hoffmann, ‘Erasmus and Religious Toleration,’ especially pages 91–5. Regarding the middle way, Hoffmann correctly states that ‘Erasmus always lays emphasis on the mean between extremes, but he does so not for reasons of compromise but for the encouragement of a continuous zeal to make progress between beginning and end’ (90). Moderation was not the acceptance of heresy, but part of a process to get to truth in a peaceful and harmonious manner. Getting to truth any other way would be self-defeating. Also see Remer, Humanism and the Rhetoric of Toleration, 43–101. For an earlier interpretation of Erasmian tolerance, which was devoted

344 Notes to pages 225–8

123

124

125

126

127 128 129 130

to the idea of ‘progress’ and positioned Erasmus within this trajectory, see Murray, Erasmus and Luther. Judith Maltby has demonstrated that even conservative, prayerbook conformists, were distrustful of Charles and Laud. See Maltby, Prayer Book and People, 127–9. There is a great deal of contemporary evidence that Puritans believed that the violence and loss of unity were a result of the rise of Arminianism; for example, Thomas Harbie argued in 1642 that the violence was a result of the rise of Arminianism. See Harbie, The Arminian Priests Last Petition. Glenn Burgess has demonstrated convincingly that the English civil war can best be understood as a religious war. See Burgess, ‘Was the English Civil War a War of Religion?’ Kevin Sharpe has also suggested that we need to focus more on the linguistic element in interpretations of early modern England. In particular, he points to the work of Pocock and Skinner as examples of the need to address ‘paradigmatic shifts of languages and idioms’ (16). Sharpe also points out that we need to move beyond some of the more polarized interpretations of consensus versus conflict. See Sharpe, Remapping Early Modern England, 16–19. Erasmus, The First Tome or Volume of the Paraphrases of Erasmus upon the Newe Testamente, fol. lx. See Hoffman, ‘Erasmus and Religious Toleration,’ 106. Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 140. David Cressy points to a societal breakdown of peace and moderation that had mitigated the hundreds of religious conflicts throughout England and in almost every parish. See Cressy, ‘Conflict, Consensus, and the Willingness to Wink.’ 8 t h e e r a smia n le g ac y to 1 6 8 9

1 See Edwards, The first and second part of Gangraena. 2 Gary Remer states that for Erasmus tolerance was a necessary part of civil discourse. The purpose of tolerance was to allow the search for truth to proceed peacefully and without violence. Remer contrasts Erasmus’ approach, which still assumed a single truth that was the ultimate goal, with Bodin’s, where a common truth for all Christians was not the objective. Erasmus’ toleration and scepticism was part of a commitment to unity and consensus, where Bodin’s represented the acceptance of multiple truths. See Remer, ‘Dialogues of Toleration.’ Also see Remer, ‘Rhetoric and the Erasmian Defence of Religious Toleration.’ In this article he makes three important points: that ‘limiting fundamentals, however, cannot be equated with full toleration’ (399), that ‘Erasmus’s toleration is the product of rhetoric’ (401), and that for Erasmus, ‘toleration itself is

Notes to pages 228–9

3

4 5

6 7 8

9

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a moral good’ (402). Just as he did with peace, Erasmus raised the notion of ‘tolerance’ to a Christian truth. We must remember, however, that such tolerance was for private, rather than public, divergence from the church. Morrill, Stuart Britain, 75. While Morrill has questioned the extent of the political alterations created by the civil war, he points to a fairly significant cultural change: ‘The English Revolution does, then, stand as a turning-point. It may have achieved little that any of the parties sought after or fought for. It may have done even less to transform political and social institutions. But it deeply affected the intellectual values, at least of the political elite. An age which derived its momentum from Christian humanism, from chivalry, from a reverential antiquarianism, gave way to an age of pragmatism and individualism’ (75). Complete editions of the Latin Colloquies were published in 1652, 1653, 1655, and two in 1657. Méric Casaubon, after citing Erasmus as an authority, noted that Erasmus ‘will hold with most for a greater matter’ than opposing authorities. Casaubon, A treatise concerning enthusiasme, 59. Also see references to Erasmus in Stubbe, Clamor, rixa, joci, mendacia, furta, cachini, 7, 9–11, 17, 26, and 35. Tombes, Anti-paedobaptism, 343, 762–4, 790, 792, 798–9, 867, 896, 900. Spencer, Kaina kai palaia, 394. Baxter, The saints everlasting rest (London, 1650), 363, 507, 515, 521, 586. James Ussher, The judgement of the late Arch-Bishop of Armagh, 145, and The annals of the world, 7. Milton, A treatise of civil power in ecclesiastical causes, 31. Hobbes, Stigmai ageometrias, agroichias, antipoliteas, amatheias, 21, 24. Brathwaite, Times treasury, 73, 251, 336. Thomas Bayle wrote: ‘How exceeding grosse they are in this kind, Erasmus hath lively set forth, and that not in his Colloquies (which he wrote for delight, yet for profit also; and as the Poet sayes, Ridentem dicereverum quid vetat?) but in a more serious work, viz. his Annotations on the New Testament. You may now (saith he) every where see held out for gain Maries milk, which they honour as much almost as Christs consecrated body; prodigious Oile; so many peeces of the Crosse, that if they were all gathered together, a great ship would searce carry them: Here Francis his Hood set forth to view; there the innermost Garment of the Virgin Mary; in one place Anna’s Comb, in another place Joseph’s Stocking, in another place Thomas of Canterbury his Shoe, in another place Christs Foreskin, which though it be a thing uncertain, they worship more religiously then Christs whole person. Neither do they shew these things as things that may be born with, and to please the common people, but they place almost all religion in them, &c.’ Bayle, Certamen religiosum, 71. Also see Cartem religiosum, 124, 346, 360. Bayle mentions the Adagia, Annotations, and Colloquies.

346

Notes to pages 229–32

10 Hall, He apostasia, ho antichristos, a4v. Also see pp. 6, 91, 93. For similar word play with ‘eras’ and ‘mus,’ see Owen, Latine epigrams, 9; and Fisher, Rusticus ad academicos in exercitationibus expostulatoriis, apologeticis quatuor, 45. 11 Leigh, A treatise of religion & learning, 188–9. This text was republished in 1663 as Foelix consortium, or, A fit conjuncture of religion and learning in one volume, consisting of six books. 12 Leigh, A treatise of Religion & learning, 72, 236. Leigh noted that there was a brass statue of Erasmus in Rotterdam and that ‘the House where he was born is yet to be seen, in the front of which are these verses, Aedibus his ortus mundum decoravit Erasmus / Artibus ingenuis, Religione, Fide. Boxhorn. Theat. Holland.’ Ibid., 188. 13 See ibid., 188–9; see also Leigh, Annotations upon all the New Testament, and A systeme or body of divinity. Leigh also referred to Erasmus’ letters as ‘all the great heap of Erasmus his Epistles.’ Leigh, A treatise of religion learning, 278. 14 Leigh, A treatise of religion learning, 189. 15 Ibid. 16 Leigh, Annotations upon all the New Testament, 371. Leigh did seek to use Erasmus to condemn the sacrament of confession (521). 17 Clarke, The marrow of ecclesiastical history, 306, 308, 335, 555, 681, 733. Of Bernard Gilpin, Clarke wrote that ‘Hee was very conversant also in the writings of Erasmus, which were in much esteem at that time’ (758). 18 Ibid., 831. 19 Ibid., 304. 20 Ibid., 700. Jewel’s memorization of the Paraphrases is also reported in Wanley, The wonders of the little world, 98. ‘Sir Francis Bacon, reading to him [Jewel] only the last clauses of ten lines in Erasmus his Paraphrase in a confused and dismembred manner, he after a small pause rehearsed all those broken parcels of sentences the right way, and the contrary without stumbling.’ 21 Gaule, Sapientia justificata, 11. 22 Ibid., 31–2. See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 290–1. 23 Owen, The doctrine of the saints perseverance, 106. 24 Ibid., 265. 25 See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism , 284, 290–1. 26 Burgess, A treatise of original sin, 28. Further references to Erasmus on pages 92, 96, 172, 257, 269, 401, 517, 529, 551. Burgess also referred to Erasmus in another work, Spiritual refining, 56, 296, 347. Also see Liu, Puritan London, 75. 27 See Heylyn, A full relation of two journeys, 83, 146, 225; Theologia veterum, 101, 167, 171, 191, 306, 307, 388; and Cosmographie, 5. 28 Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 295. 29 Pierce, The new discoverer discover’d, 166. Also see pp. 122–3. See discussion of Baxter below.

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30 Grotius, Of the law of warre and peace … and memorials of the author’s life and death. 31 Ibid., sig. **3v. 32 Ibid., sigs Aaa4r–v. 33 Ibid., sig. Yy4r. 34 There were editions of the Latin Colloquies in 1662, 1666, 1670, 1671, 1672, 1673, 1674, 1676, 1677, 1678, 1681, 1683, 1684, 1686, and 1688. 35 Colet, A Sermon of Conforming and Reforming. 36 Details of these English translation can be found in E.J. Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, ‘Erasmus and Restoration England.’ Most of these English translations of Erasmus introduced the text with letters by Erasmus, such as his letter to Thomas More, prefacing the Praise of Folly, and his letter to Paul Volsius, prefacing the Manual for a Christian soldier. The Compendium Vitae introduced the 1671 edition of the Colloquies. White Kennet’s A panagyrick upon folly and L’Estrange’s 1680 and 1688 editions of the Colloquies did contain new introductions that discussed Erasmus. These new introductions will be dealt with towards the end of this chapter. For analysis of the contents of the letter to Paul Volsius in an earlier translation, see chapter 4. 37 In addition to the many texts we shall look at below, examples of authors citing Erasmus as an authority are found in texts by Edward Waterhouse, Meric Casaubon, Thomas Barlow, John Lightfoot, and Matthew Poole. See Waterhouse, Fortescutus illustratus, 191; Waterhouse referred to ‘incomparable Erasmus.’ Casaubon, Of the necessity of reformation, 43, 66; Casaubon, A treatise proving spirits, witches, and supernatural operations, 29, 237, 242. Barlow, Brutum fulmen, 37, 47; Barlow was the bishop of Lincoln. Lightfoot, The works of the Reverend and learned John Lightfoot; Lightfoot referred to Erasmus dozens of times as a scriptural and philological authority and cited Erasmus’ Paraphrases, Annotations, and Greek and Latin New Testaments. Poole, Annotations upon the Holy Bible, 299, 325, 418, 427, 534, 572. 38 Hanmer, Archaioskopia, 227. Interestingly, Hamner also noted Erasmus’ epistles to Margaret More, the daughter of Thomas More, and referred to her, based on Erasmus’ commendation, as ‘the Phoenix of her Sex for Learning’ (270). 39 An Erasmian foundation is also apparent in other texts from the period, such as Bulteel’s Apophthegmes. Bulteel pointed out his debt to Erasmus in the preface. However, he also wrote that ‘Erasmus himself has committed an hundred faults, thorough his great hast, and because he went about it but by piece-meal, some part at one time, others at another.’ Ibid., sig. A7r. Also see discussion of Erasmus on pp. 123, 224, and 284. 40 Tillotson, A discourse against transubstantiation, 21. 41 Price, Four sermons preached in Oxford, 11. Also see pp. 5–6. 42 Collop, Charity commended, sig. A3r. Also see pp. 96 and 101.

348 Notes to pages 236–7 43 Pierce, The primitive rule of reformation, 31. 44 More, A modest enquiry into the mystery of iniquity, 78–80, 229–30. Stillingfleet, The Council of Trent examin’d and disprov’d, 45, 118–19, 157. 45 Desiderius Erasmus, The pope shut out of heaven gates: or, A dialogue between Pope Julius the 2d. his Genius, and Saint Peter. Wherein is most elegantly, learnedly, and wittily set forth how Pope Julius (after death) imperiously knocking at heaven gates, is absolutely denied entrance by Saint Peter; so that though having been alwayes stil’d His Holiness, and made famous by his warlike actions, whereby he hoped to become Lord of Heaven, he is notwithstanding delivered over as a slave to Satan, and hurried away to the Devil’s mansion. Exactly from the original of the famous and learned Erasmus Roterodamus (London, 1673). Catherine Curtis has suggested that Richard Pace wrote Julius Exclusus. There are linguistic similarities between Julius Exclusus and other works by Pace. While Erasmus always denied writing Julius Exclusus, Pace did claim to have written an anti-Julius treatise. As indicated by the extended title above, however, seventeenth-century editors and readers believed Erasmus was the author of the work. See Curtis, ‘Richard Pace on Pedagogy, Counsel and Satire,’ 255–6, and ‘“The Best State of the Commonwealth,”’ 108–10. 46 Wilson, Cultus evangelicus, 76–7. 47 At least one person objected to this ahistorical use of Erasmus. In response to John Goodman’s use of Erasmus to critique Catholic preaching, Vincent Alsop asked, ‘And why may we not charitably suppose, that the Romanists have furbisht up their rusty Preaching since the days of Erasmus, as well as we have scowred up ours since the days of the Homilies?’ Alsop, Melius inquirendum, 73. Alsop’s point was not to support Catholicism, but to counter episcopal arguments about the superiority of English preaching at the time of the Reformation. 48 Lily, A short introduction to grammar, which was published in 1662 for the first time since 1540, also included two excerpts from Erasmus. See sigs N7r–O1v. 49 Charles Hoole, A new discovery of the old art of teaching schoole, 67. Also see references to Erasmus in the preface and on pages 12, 33, 61, 142, 155, 179, and 189. 50 Ibid., 67–8. 51 Ibid., 177. 52 Ibid., 152. 53 Naudeus, Instructions concerning erecting of a library, 35. Gabriel Naudé’s work was originally in French. 54 Ibid., 42. 55 Ibid., 46. 56 See W.G. Hiscock, ‘John Evelyn’s Library at Christ Church,’ TLS, 6 Apr. 1951, and Keynes, John Evelyn: A Study in Bibliography with a Bibliography of His Writings.

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57 See Evelyn, Navigation and commerce, sig. K4v, and Sculptura, 40, 69, 76. Evelyn noted artists who had crafted famous depictions of Erasmus. Apparently, some statues of Erasmus were well known, for Samuel Parker referred to an opponent, who he did not think took his argument far enough, as standing ‘like the statue of Erasmus in the posture of turning over a leaf, but without ever turning it over will stand in the same posture to the day of judgement.’ Parker, A reproof to the Rehearsal transprosed, 186. 58 Burnet, The history of the reformation of the Church of England, 161. 59 Ibid., 355. 60 Bates, Vitae selectorum, 187–90, 211–13. Also see discussion of Erasmus on pp. 228–32 and references to Erasmus on pp. 195–210, 285, 307, 416, 422, and 746. 61 Fuller, The history of the worthies of England, 209. 62 Ibid., 123. 63 Ray, Observations, 99–100. 64 Baxter, The judgment of non-conformists, 30. Baxter, The true history of councils, 45. Baxter’s most popular work was The saints everlasting rest. He developed a theory of grace and free will that was not that far from Erasmus’ position. For Baxter, acceptance of God’s freely offered grace was part of an internal spiritual relationship with God. To facilitate this, Baxter stressed the need for Christian meditation, especially on the Sabbath. Baxter, The saints everlasting rest, 352, 592, 704–705. 65 Baxter, Judgment of non-conformists, sig. a4v. 66 Ibid. 67 Baxter, A Christian directory (London, 1673), 840. 68 Ibid. In this work Baxter also lists Erasmus as being ‘Between Protestants and Papists’ (926) and notes Erasmus’ Paraphrases (928). 69 Ibid., Tom. IV. Christian Politicks, 48. Page numbering restarts with the fourth section in the volume. 70 Ibid. 71 Ibid., 137. 72 Baxter, The true history of councils, 148. 73 Baxter, Judgment of non-conformists, 30. For Latitudinarians who positioned themselves with Erasmus, see below. Baxter also stated that Erasmus ‘espoused the Cause of Protestants by Truth and Peace.’ Baxter, The true history of councils, 150. In 1689 Baxter told his readers that he had read Erasmus’ writings. Baxter, A treatise of knowledge and love, 8–9. 74 Some Anabaptists did use Erasmus as an authority; for examples Keach, Gold refin’d, 25, 28, 91, 140. 75 Baxter, The nonconformists plea for peace, 206–7. Baxter also cited Erasmus’ Paraphrases as part of this discussion (205).

350 Notes to pages 240–3 76 References to Erasmus in Baxter’s works can also be found in his Catholick theologie, 12, 93,282 and Church-history of the government of bishops and their councils, 282, 283, 337, 455. 77 Religious persecution of both Catholics and dissenters was standard in Restoration England. See Harris, Restoration, 91–2, 132–4, 307–9. However, the last person executed for heresy or blasphemy in England was Edward Wightman in 1612. The death penalty for all ecclesiastical offences was abolished in 1677. See Atherton and Como, ‘The Burning of Edward Wightman,’ 1215, 1249. Catholics continued to be executed for treason. 78 Caton, Cloud of witnesses, 9. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid., 13, 20. 81 Erasmus, Paraphrases I, sig. K6v. Matthew, ch. 13. 82 Caton, Cloud of witnesses, 18–19. Also see p. 30: ‘And it hath also been found by Experience, that External Peace and Unity, can, and may be better preserved in a Kingdom or Common-wealth, through forbearance, and by Suffering of contrary Opinions (through Love and Christian Meekness) than by Banishing and Persecuting People to Death, about Matters of Faith and Religion.’ 83 Ibid., 29. 84 Ibid. 85 Ibid., 31–2. 86 Ibid., 37. 87 Ibid., 40. 88 Barclay, An apology, 207. 89 Ibid. 90 Fisher, Rusticus ad academicos, 45. 91 Whitehead, The case of the Quakers, 42. 92 Ibid., 42–5. 93 See Fox, A battle-door for teachers, 12, 24, 25, and A New-Englandfire-brand quenched, 249. 94 Penn, The invalidity of John Faldo’s vindication of his book, 97–8. For a similar use of Erasmus, see Penn, Quakerism, a new nick-name for old Christianity, 189–90. Penn also quoted from Erasmus’ Paraphrases in The spirit of truth vindicated, 56. Also see pages 74, 76, and 110. 95 Penn, The invalidity of John Faldo’s vindication of his book, 333. Additional references to Erasmus are on pages 36, 43, 96, 97, 325 and 358. 96 See Penn, Spirit of truth vindicated, 107, and The Christian-Quaker, 147–8. 97 Foyler, A vindication of the Friendly conference, 191–2. Also see page 222. 98 Burgess, An expository comment, 219. 99 Ibid. Also see Burgess’ comments on Erasmus on pages 228, 344, 454, and 683.

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100 Smith, A sermon of the credibility of the mysteries of the Christian religion, 69–71. 101 Erasmus, Paraphrases I, sig. [par.]3v. Preface to Matthew. For more on Erasmus’ use and understanding of dissimulation, see Hoffmann, Rhetoric and Theology, 33 and 123; and Tracy, Erasmus, 175–182, and ‘Erasmus among the Postmodernists,’ 1–12. 102 Owen, Exercitations on the Epistle to the Hebrews, 8–10, 27–8, 32, 34, and 80. Also see Owen, A vindication of the Animadversions on Fiat lux, 212, 468. 103 Owen, The doctrine of justification by faith, 466. 104 Owen, Latine epigrams, 31. Also see pp. 104 and 145. 105 Ibid., 138. 106 Ibid., 9. 107 Fisher, Rusticus ad academicos, 45. Hall, He apostasia, sig. a4v. 108 In Samuel Knight’s 1726 Life of Erasmus, Knight suggested, referring to Erasmus, that it was ‘self evident that he was a Latitudinarian, and that he gave birth to that sect of men’ (xiii). 109 Colie, Light and Enlightenment, 3. E.J. Devereux has also written that ‘the extension of religious freedom to Roman Catholics and Dissenters by the tolerant Charles II again brought the English Erasmus forward as a man of the Anglican via media, a guide between “the impostures of Popery” and the follies of the “Phanatick Faction.”’ Devereux, ‘Erasmus and Restoration England,’ 25. 110 Colie, Light and Enlightenment, 33. For more on the importance of Le Clerc’s publication of Erasmus’ works, see Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 231–58. It is quite clear that in the eighteenth century, as during the previous century, the use of Erasmus was often part of an antiCalvinist agenda. 111 Spellman also sees an Erasmian influence on the Latitudinarians. See Spellman, Latitudinarians and the Church of England, 13–15 20–1 30–2 156–7. 112 Ibid., 12–13. 113 Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 139. He writes, ‘The Latitudinarians carried into the Restoration and Revolution periods the heritage of the thought of Great Tew and of Cambridge Platonism, which in turn was grounded in the irenicism of the Erasmian Humanism of the sixteenth century.’ Rather than viewing Latitudinarianism as an intellectual movement that was limited to a small group of Restoration theologians, some historians suggest that Latitudinarians were representatives of a significant portion of the population who were beginning to comprise a new non-Calvinist religious consensus. See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 322. 114 Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 140. 115 John Coffey writes that ‘what they [Latitudinarians] could not understand was the intransigence of Puritans, who were willing to breach

352 Notes to pages 245–8

116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125

126

127 128

129 130

131

the unity of the established church over a few minor differences. The vehemence with which Latitudinarians like Stillingfleet attacked Dissenters arose from horror of schism and their passion for religious unity.’ See Coffey, Persecution and Toleration in Protestant England, 37–8. See Marshall, John Locke, 34n. Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 336. Ibid., 322. Pocock, Barbarism and Religion, 25. On the malleable nature of ‘moderation’ in early modern England, see Joshua Scodel, Excess and the Mean, 7, passim. Quoted in Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 4. Ibid., vii, 4–5. Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 295. Milton, ‘The Creation of Laudianism.’ See Marshall, John Locke, 112. Also see Burgess, Absolute Monarchy and the Stuart Constitution, 103–5; and Anthony Milton’s biography of Heylyn, Laudian and Royalist Polemic in Seventeenth-Century England. An earlier argument that was similar to Heylyn’s is found in John Plaifere’s Appello Evangelium. Plaifere wrote, ‘Whosoever were the chiefe composers of our Articles (of whom it is certain Archbishop Cranmer was one) they had more respect of the Augustan confession, than to any other, as appeares by the very identity of many of the Articles, and more familiarity with Melanchthon and Erasmus, than any other Divines, singularly approving their Expositions of the sacred Scriptures, and of the principall Articles of the Christian Faith: insomuch that they caused to be translated into English Erasmus paraphrase on the Gospels, and injoyn’d them to be studied by Priests, and to lye ready in Churches for all men to reade, and as it were to drink in the Doctrine of Scriptures according to Erasmus his interpretation, whose writings which way they goe in those controversies all men well know that have read them’ (21). Heylyn, Historia Quinqu-Articularis, 109. William Prynne also quoted from the Paraphrases and, in order to support Erasmus as an authority, though for far different objectives than Heylyn, also mentioned the injunctions, writing that ‘Erasmus his antient English Paraphrase commanded to be had in all Churches by Queen Elizabeths Injunctions, and the Canons of 1571.’ Prynne, A moderate, seasonable apology, 2. Heylyn, Historia Quinqu-Articularis, 112. Heylyn was a master at caricaturizing Calvinists as, in the words of Alexandra Walsham, ‘anarchic rebels and deluded enthusiasts.’ Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 89. Heylyn, Ecclesia restaurata, 35.

Notes to pages 248–53

353

132 Ibid., 108. 133 Heylyn, Cyprianus anglicus, 38–9. 134 Quoted in Starkie, ‘Gilbert Burnet’s Reformation and the Semantics of Popery,’ 140. Stillingfleet, Conferences concerning the Idolatry of the Church of Rome, 6:31–2. 135 Spurr, The Restoration Church of England, 120. 136 White, Predestination, Policy and Polemic. 137 See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 290. 138 Hickman, Historia quinq-articularis exarticulata. 139 Quoted in ibid., 14. 140 Ibid. 141 Ibid. Also see p. 55. 142 Ibid., 155. 143 Ibid., 154. 144 Ibid., 155. 145 Ibid. 146 Ibid., 155–6. Hickman concluded his critique of Heylyn’s use of Erasmus by writing that he wished ‘men would either not at all dispute for the amplitude of Redeeming grace, or else bring more apposite and concluding testimonies and authorities than any that the Doctor hath here brought’ (156). 147 See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 295. 148 Pierce, An impartial inquiry, 174. 149 Ibid. 150 See More, Enthusiasmus triumphatus. Henry More was a paramount influence on the development of Cambridge Platonism and Latitudinarianism. His regular use of Erasmus, including the Paraphrases, may have led to greater use of Erasmus by others. For his use of Erasmus, see More, Enthusiasmus triumphatus, 230, The immortality of the soul, 514, An explanation of the grand mystery of godliness, 119, A modest enquiry into the mystery of iniquity, 78, 79, 80, 88, 282, 329–30, 389; and Annotations upon the two foregoing treatises, 97. According to the English Short Title Catalogue, Henry More may also have been the translator of a 1671 selection of Erasmus’ Colloquies. 151 Pierce, The law and equity of the gospel, 430–1. 152 Ibid., 431–2. 153 See Tyacke, Aspects of English Protestantism, 283. 154 Taylor, Via intelligentiae, sig. A3r. 155 Ibid., 7. 156 Ibid., 3. Taylor’s comment can also be found in his Dekas embolimaios a supplement to the Eniautos, 100. 157 Taylor, Via intelligentiae, 3. 158 Taylor, A dissuasive from popery, 125. 159 Taylor, The second part of the dissuasive, 81. 160 Ibid.

354 Notes to pages 253–5 161 Ibid., 255. Further citations to Erasmus are found on pp. 185, 195, 280, and 295. 162 Ibid., book two, 70. Also see pp. 36 and 143. 163 Taylor, Symbolon theologikon, 181. The title of this publication sought to locate Taylor’s religious views within the via media. References to Erasmus which I do not discuss below are found on pp. 97, 196, 521, 549, 598, 950, 979, and 1009–1011. 164 Ibid., 508. 165 See Heyd, ‘Original Sin, the Struggle for Stability, and the Rise of Moral Individualism in Late Seventeenth-Century England.’ For Taylor’s influence on John Locke, see Spellmann, John Locke and the Problem of Depravity, 100–1. 166 For a Calvinist reply to a Latitudinarian tract that used Erasmus against Luther, see Atterbury, An answer to some considerations on the spirit of Martin Luther and the original of the Reformation, 43–4. 167 Taylor’s theory of original sin influenced how he viewed and administered baptisms. See Spinks, Reformation and Modern Rituals and Theologies of Baptism, 74–7. 168 Taylor, Symbolon theologikon, 763. 169 Ibid. 170 Ibid. 171 Ibid., 886–7. 172 Also see Taylor’s use of Erasmus in his Ductor dubitantium, 344, 467, 492 [page numbering restarts part way through the book] 70, 284, 306, 317, 345. 173 See Popkin, ‘The Philosophy of Edward Stillingfleet.’ 174 Stillingfleet referred to separatism and nonconformity as ‘that Trojan Horse, which brings in our enemies without being seen.’ Quoted in Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 229. Also see Marshall, John Locke, Resistance, Religion and Responsibility, 116. John Locke specifically accused Stillingfleet of supporting a system that justified persecution and an absolutist monarchy that controlled the church. Stillingfleet and Locke sparred over a variety of issues throughout the 1680s and 1690s. As Paul Rahe has shown, Stillingfleet and other Latitudinarians linked Hobbes’ Leviathan and Locke’s Essay Concerning Human Understanding. See Rahe, Republics Ancient and Modern, 223–4. It is not inaccurate to view Latitudinarianism as a reaction to the Puritanism of the civil war period. Soon, however, Lockean theories of political and religious resistance developed as a reaction to the High Church Latitudinarians, as well as to the Catholicism of the royal court. Locke’s early political and religious thought during the 1660s, however, was very similar to Stillingfleet’s. Between 1660 and 1662, Locke argued aggressively for both the reestablishment of the episcopacy and enforced conformity based on the principal

Notes to pages 256–8

175 176 177

178

179

180

181 182 183 184 185

186

187

188

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of adiaphora. See Jacqueline Rose, ‘John Locke, “Matters Indifferent,” and the Restoration of the Church of England.’ Stillingfleet, Irenicum. Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 23–4. Stillingfleet, A rational account of the grounds of Protestant religion, 609. Also see references to Erasmus on pp. 136, 243, 244, 304, 312, 360, 470, 521, 566, and 648. Stillingfleet, A defence of the discourse concerning the idolatry practised in the Church of Rome, 11. Also see references to Erasmus on pp. 242, 309, 623, and 678. Use of Erasmus similar to Stillingfleet’s is found in Smith, Christian religion’s appeal, 63, 113, 41, 80, 105, 100, 109 – this book has various paginations. Smith once laughed when a young preacher, Simon Patrick, expressed anguish over God’s arbitrary reprobation and said that Calvinist divines had told him to ‘silence carnal reason.’ After explaining the loving nature of God, Smith convinced Patrick to ‘take the liberty to read such authors (which were before forbidden me) as settled me in the belief that God would really have all men saved, of which I never after made a question, nor looked upon it as a matter of controversy, but presumed it in all my sermons.’ Patrick eventually became bishop of Ely. From The autobiography of Simon Patrick in the Works of Thomas Patrick, IX, 419. Quoted in Griffin, Latitudinarianism, 186–7. Stillingfleet, Several conferences between a Romish priest, a fanatick chaplain, and a divine of the Church of England concerning the idolatry of the Church of Rome. Ibid., 115. Ibid., 116–17. Ibid., 118. Ibid., 119. See Mansfield, Phoenix of His Age, 264–5. Mansfield demonstrates the importance of Stillingfleet for later Anglican biographies of Erasmus (265). Though only briefly touching on the era of the Restoration, Mansfield provides an interesting analysis of Erasmus’ legacy after the Glorious Revolution (265–85). In 1672, Henry Dodwell wrote that ‘our Church does oblige the Clergie to read two Chapters [of Scripture], at least, every day, concerning which, according to the old rules, they might have been examined by the Bishop, as also in Erasmus’s Paraphrase.’ Dodwell, Two letters of advice, 35–37. See Goldie, ‘Sir Peter Pett, Sceptical Toryism and the Science of Toleration in the 1680s’, and Marshall, John Locke, Toleration and Early Enlightenment Culture, 525. Pett, The happy future state of England, 243.

356

Notes to pages 258–61

189 Ibid., 11. Pett also linked Erasmus and Hobbes. Pett, The happy future state of England, 70. Also see Skinner, Visions of Politics, 265. 190 Pett, The happy future state of England, 206. Pett also discussed Erasmus’ writings on the Turks, p. 233. 191 Goodman, A serious and compassionate inquiry into the causes of the present neglect and contempt of the Protestant religion and Church of England. 192 Ibid., 188. 193 Ibid. 194 Ibid., 189 195 Ibid. 196 Ibid., 129. 197 Edward Hyde had also used Erasmus to argue that those things which are unclear in scripture should not be made an article of faith since they were thus adiaphora. ‘For no Divine may laudably take that Text to prove an Article of Faith, whose obscurity is fitter to shew men their ignorance, then to remedy it.’ Hyde, A Christian vindication of truth, 102–3. Also see pp. 219–20. 198 Alsop, Melius inquirendum, sigs A3r–v. ‘That Peace which fills up both pages in the gospel, is not founded upon an assent to every inconsiderable Nicetie which an idle and fruitful invention can broach, when he has little else to do, but in cherishing a quick and vigorous spirit of mutual condescention, and forbearance of one another under our dissentings.’ 199 See Beddard, ‘Vincent Alsop and the Emancipation of Restoration Dissent.’ John Coffey believes that while James II’s motivation for the Declaration of Indulgence in 1687 was to find allies against Anglican dominance, James was truly convinced that people should not be forced in matters of religion. Coffey, Persecution and Toleration, 190–1. 200 See Marshall, John Locke, Toleration and Early Enlightenment Culture, 71; and Spurr, ‘From Puritanism to Dissent, 1660–1700,’ 246. 201 Alsop, Melius inquirendum, 188. 202 Ibid., 112. 203 Ibid. 204 Ibid. 205 Baxter, Catholick vnity, 155–7. 206 For additional comments on Erasmus by Alsop, see Alsop, Melius inquirendum, 23, 24, 73. Alsop also assured his readers that he had read Erasmus (136). 207 Devereux writes that for ‘High Churchmen especially Erasmus was understood to be an enemy of superstition and excess, a thinker formed by the traditions of the Church and its councils but without any firm attachment to the Papacy, and a model of the ideal godly learned Christian.’ Devereux, ‘Erasmus and Restoration England,’ 25.

Notes to pages 261–4

357

208 Roger L’Estrange also appeared on the title page of John Wilson’s 1668 translation of the Praise of Folly as having licensed the work. 209 Phillips, ‘Erasmus and Propaganda.’ 210 According to E.J. Devereux, ‘The Popish Plot of 1679 brought popular dislike for Catholicism to a head, and the London mob rose against the toleration of Catholics by the government. In an effort to restore order and some sense of toleration, Roger L’Estrange, the Royalist pamphleteer and licencer of the press, translated twenty reforming colloquies … with a preface arguing that Erasmus had seen the follies within the Church and that all should follow him in laughing at superstitions rather than rising in anger … Nine years later, embittered by the experiences in the religious controversies of the age, he appended two more colloquies.’ See Devereux, Translations of Erasmus, 17–18. 211 Roger L’Estrange, ‘To the Reader,’ in Twenty select colloquies, by Erasmus, sig. A3v. 212 Kennet, ‘To the Reader,’ in, Witt against wisdom, by Erasmus, sig. a4r–v. 213 Ibid. 214 See Ollard, The Image of the King, 177–9; and Novak, Daniel Defoe, 224. 215 Kennet, ‘To the Reader,’ sig. b2r. 216 Ibid., sig. b3r. Several poems followed the letter to the reader and preceded Erasmus’ text. In a section on English warfare with the Dutch, a passage read: ‘To Holland Grotius by mistake was sent, / Sure that man Nature for our England meant / Their worlds in all things still must us obey, / As Lords, and Sovereigns by Land, and Sea. / De Wit, Trump Ruter, easily were beat, / Their Ships from ours do naturally retreat, Erasmus only remain unconcquer’d yet. / That name alone (worthy the noblest Muse) / Does from disgrace, and utmost scorn excuse’ (sigs e2r–v). 217 Erasmus, Select Colloquies, ed. L’Estrange (1689), sig. A3r. 218 Ibid. 219 Ibid., sigs A3r–v. The two colloquies L’Estrange added ‘as a Christian Revenge’ in 1689 were ‘Hell broke loose,’ which condemned disunity among Christian princes, and ‘The Old Mans Dialogue,’ which mocked bigotry. L’Estrange used the word ‘bigotry’ in his introductory paragraph to that last colloquy. That term, coupled with his use of ‘revenge’ in the preface, makes it clear that L’Estrange was selfconsciously using Erasmus to attack bigoted opponents. 220 The last sentence in the 1680 edition read: ‘Upon the sense of These unkindnesses, he has now made English of These Colloquies, as an Apology on the One hand, and a Revenge on the Other’ (sig. A3v). 221 The move to tolerate dissenters during this period was opposed by many dissenting groups – primarily because they understood

358 Notes to pages 264–6

222 223

224

225

226

227

that such tolerance also meant tolerance of Catholics in England. See Grell et al., From Persecution to Toleration, 8, 13. Devereux, ‘Erasmus in Restoration England,’ 30. Coffey also sees the legalization of dissent, not as an outgrowth of Latitudinarianism, but rather from the determined activities of the separatists. See Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions, 257, and Persecution and Toleration, 197–218. Also see Kaplan, Divided by Faith, 357–8. See Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 267. Walsham accurately writes that ‘the misnamed Act of “Toleration” of 1689 was in fact a notable step backwards from the position attained under the sovereign infamously toppled by the constitutional coup that is now equally misleadingly celebrated as the “Glorious Revolution.”’ It should be pointed out that, in practice, William III was dedicated to tolerance of Catholics. See Grell et al., From Persecution to Tolerance, 13–14. Despite William III’s attempts to grant Catholics greater tolerance, it would take nearly another hundred years before there was full tolerance for Catholicism and all forms of Protestant dissent. See Hugh Trevor-Roper, ‘Toleration and Religion after 1688,’ in From Persecution to Tolerance, ed. Grell et al., 389–408. With the Glorious Revolution, I believe it is possible, with some accuracy, to begin to use the label ‘Anglicanism’ to represent a distinct body of beliefs and practices. ‘Anglicanism’ had, however, been coalescing during the Restoration. See Spurr, The Restoration Church of England; and Maltby, Prayer Book and People in Elizabethan and Early Stuart England, 235–7. Walsham writes: ‘The umbrella-like capacity of the ecclesiastical settlement that Elizabeth bequeathed to her successors to accommodate what James I called ‘sects’ on both the right and left – to harbour within it groups who regarded its tolerance of each other as a threat to themselves – was to sow the seeds of the conflicts that ignited the civil wars of the 1640s and rumbled on until the Glorious Revolution.’ Walsham, Charitable Hatred, 281.

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Index

Abbot, George, Archbishop, 148, 184, 297n133 Abelard, Peter, 192 Act of Toleration, 227, 265 Adam, Melchior, 142 Adams, Thomas, 324n67 adiaphora, xvii, 106–7, 110–11, 118, 142, 146, 160, 165, 176–8, 181–6, 193, 195, 199, 205–6, 210, 213, 215, 249, 258–9, 265, 302n64, 303nn75, 87, 307n126, 312n26, 336n28, 337n54, 338n60, 354n174, 356n197; and conformity, 69, 100, 109–11, 129, 131, 176, 271n28, 324n70, 332n187; Erasmus’ use of, 33–5, 45, 48–9, 51, 56, 69, 100, 129, 146, 181, 191–2, 199, 222, 282n42, 324n68; and fundamenta, 129, 188, 191– 2, 259. See also things indifferent Alsop, Vincent, 258–60, 348n47 Ambrose, 32, 149 anabaptists, 95, 303n83, 349n74 Andrewes, Lancelot, Bishop, 123, 161, 171–3, 178, 182–3, 187, 191–2, 195, 204, 234, 290n17, 306n123, 307nn126, 134, 319n6, 328nn140– 1, 329nn145, 148, 154; and antiCalvinism, 121, 146, 166, 183, 187, 193, 197–8; sermons of, 188–91

anti-Calvinism, xii–xiii, xvi–xviii, 28, 53, 62, 66, 79, 94, 99, 111–23, 143, 160, 166–7, 171–4, 178, 183– 200, 212, 215, 231, 246–52, 255, 266, 305n101, 314n52, 322nn45, 47, 325n85, 331n170, 339n72, 351n110 Antichrist, 39, 67, 69–70, 102 antinomianism, 299n7, 321n33 Aquinas, Thomas, Saint, 237 Archimedes, 237 Aristotle, 66, 237 Arius, 175 Arminianism, xvi–xviii, 52, 59, 101, 112, 121, 135, 142, 147–8, 160, 166–86, 191–9, 201–6, 228–31, 238, 244–52, 255, 258, 266, 270n10, 272n30, 305n105, 306nn123, 126, 308n134, 313n48, 321n33, 322n41, 323n55, 325n75, 327n119, 329n151, 330n169, 331nn170, 174, 332nn179, 181, 333n190, 334nn9, 11, 335n18, 336n28, 337n49, 338n60, 339nn72–3, 79, 340n92, 341nn96, 98, 100, 342n114, 344n124; avant la lettre, 123, 161; as derogatory term, 95, 195–6; and moderation, 115, 209–26. See also Arminianism under Erasmianism; remonstrants

396 Arminius, 112, 166–9, 181, 194, 196, 198, 203, 322n41, 330n165, 331n170, 332n179, 334n9, 341n99 Ascham, Roger, 89, 297n139 Augustine, 46, 50, 119–20, 143, 149, 194, 286n88, 308n146 Avicenna, 237 Bacon, Francis, 239, 302n58, 317n116, 323n48 Bale, John, 88, 279n100, 294n67, 297n137 Bancroft, Richard, Archbishop, 13, 120, 153 Barclay, Robert, 241 Barker, Christopher, 13 Baro, Peter, 111, 114–15, 117, 121, 123, 305n107, 306n124 Barrow, Henry, 13, 297n139 Baxter, Richard, 229, 238–40, 261 Becket, Thomas, Saint, 30, 279– 80n8 Bellarmine, Robert, Cardinal, 208, 275n38, 315n74, 317n117 Bernard of Clairvaux, 192 Beza, Theodore, 13, 65, 142–5, 147, 149, 182, 230 Bilson, Thomas, 59, 87, 152–3, 172, 256, 313–14n48, 323n58 Book of Common Prayer, 3, 10, 63, 74, 275n37, 320n13, 333n7, 344n123, 358n226 Boys, John, 148 Brathwaite, Richard, 229 Brathwaite, Thomas, 65 Bridges, John, 87, 297n125 Brinsley, John, 149 Bulteel, John, 347n39 Burgess, Anthony, 142–3, 231, 243 Burnet, Gilbert, 237–8, 246, 249 Burton, Henry, 315n83 Burton, Robert, 150–1, 318n126 Burton, William, 125–32, 140, 311n12, 312nn20–2, 314n49

Index Calvin, John, xix, 3, 14, 27–8, 39, 56, 58, 62, 65, 77–8, 91–2, 101, 108, 116, 125, 143, 147, 166, 182, 194, 205, 218, 248, 251, 254, 256– 7, 286n92, 298n149, 305n101, 306nn119–20, 313n47, 342n99 Calvinism, xii–xiii, xvi–xviii, xix, 8–9, 13, 16, 24, 38, 64–5, 75, 83, 98, 111, 117, 121–2, 126, 157, 169, 178–9, 183–5, 187, 192–8, 211– 12, 215, 244, 248, 251, 257, 270n13, 272n30, 298n154, 302n71, 303n83, 306n119, 308n135, 310n163, 318n124, 322n45, 326n89, 329n154, 331n175, 332nn179, 181, 335nn18, 20, 337n49, 338n59, 339n79, 352n130; and Elizabethan Church, 112, 123, 290nn8, 11, 306n119; and Erasmianism, 4, 27, 37, 53, 54, 58, 59, 64, 111– 12, 117, 123, 152, 153, 167, 173, 313n43; prominence of, 157, 173, 193, 257, 298n154 Cambridge, University of, 65–6, 78, 85, 97, 114, 181, 244–6, 251, 289n2, 307n132, 324n62, 327n101, 341n100 Cambridge Platonism, 244–6, 251, 336n30, 351n113, 353n150 Carleton, Dudley, 155, 167–9 Casaubon, Méric, 237, 239, 345n5, 347n37 Catholicism, xii, xx, 11–12, 16, 37, 62, 70–4, 84, 114, 127–8, 137, 147–9, 154, 170, 201, 221, 229– 30, 236, 261, 265, 311n11, 313n43, 339n77; antichurch, 9– 11, 70–7, 131, 147, 156, 209, 225, 230, 236, 245, 284n75, 290n10, 328n131, 357n210; and English Church, 11, 37, 61, 123, 266, 314n66, 316n99; and via media, 4, 37, 129, 162, 202, 206, 221, 261, 266, 285n85, 307n129,

Index 309n156. See also Rome, Church of Caton, William, 240–1, 243 Cecil, Robert, xvii, 114–15, 184, 306n123 ceremonies, xix, 129, 154, 172, 176, 198, 214–16, 240, 257, 259, 261, 324 Charles I, King, xvii–xviii, 139, 154, 192, 201, 203, 205–6, 212– 14, 219, 222, 225, 265, 317n115, 319n5, 338n56; and anti-Calvinism, xviii, 167, 172, 180, 185–6, 195, 197–8, 216, 248; and censorship, 43, 161, 185, 190–1; execution of, 125, 147, 227, 233 Charles II, King, 227, 233–4, 351n109 Charles V, King, 29, 33 Chillingworth, William, 148, 203– 6, 209–12, 244, 333n190, 335n22, 336n39, 337nn42, 45, 47, 341n98 Chrysostom, 46, 79, 120, 150, 152, 303n72, 308n150 Cicero, 65–6, 89 civil war, xii–xviii, 34, 154, 160, 167, 172, 196, 201, 203–5, 209, 212, 216, 221, 223, 225, 227–8, 246, 265, 305n105, 335n26, 344n125, 345n3, 354n174, 358n227 Clarke, Samuel, 230 Clarke, William, 88, 116, 297n132 Clement VII, Pope, 29–30 Colet, John, xi, 79, 182, 234, 267, 269n2 Collop, John, 235 conformity, xiii, xvi–xviii, xix–xx, 22, 37, 40, 44–5, 57, 66–9, 79, 94, 98–116, 122–4, 130–1, 146, 148, 152, 157, 160–6, 169–72, 176, 180, 183, 186, 199–203, 212–24, 228, 234, 238–46, 249, 252, 256, 258–67, 284n64, 289n4, 291n26, 302n70, 306n123, 307n128,

397 312n18, 320n13, 321n19, 323n55, 324n70, 328n122, 331n175, 332n187, 333n7, 342n112, 344n123, 354n174 Cooke, Alexander, 65 Cooper, Thomas, 81–2 Cosin, Richard, 115, 117 Coverdale, Miles, 10, 16, 22–4, 27–9, 44, 125, 153, 244, 278n96 Cranmer, Thomas, xi, 7–11, 61, 88, 182, 274n23, 352n126 Crowley, Robert, 91–2, 117–20 Cyprian, Saint, 80, 144, 149–50, 248, 295n91 del Corro, Antonio, 83, 111, 293n55 Dering, Edward, 295n99 D’Ewes, Sir Simonds, 65 Dodds, Gregory, Abbot, 289n2 Dodwell, Henry, 355n186 Donne, John, 149, 305n107, 317n117 Dorman, Thomas, 295n82 Dordt, Synod of, 161, 166–9, 173, 183–6, 192, 196, 238, 260, 322nn37, 41, 324n64, 328n139 Downame, George, Bishop, 152 Drant, Thomas, 88 Drayton, Michael, 90 Drue, Thomas, 154 Duke, Francis, 198, 332n179 Dutch Remonstrants. See remonstrants ecclesiology, 69, 85, 105–6, 109, 113, 159–62, 165, 167, 172, 242, 252, 255, 270n9, 324n70, 332n187 Edward VI, xii, 3–4, 7, 9–11, 17–18, 24, 28, 59, 61–2, 76, 105, 153–4, 173, 196, 231, 238, 247–9, 270n16, 289n142, 289nn2, 4, 300n26 Edwards, Thomas, 216, 221–2, 227, 316n98, 330n157, 334n9

398 Elizabeth I, Queen, xiii, xvi–xviii, xix, 3, 5, 12–15, 28, 43, 59, 62, 66, 76, 94–5, 102–3, 118–19, 125, 159, 162, 163, 168, 173, 196, 231, 238, 247–9, 257, 265, 269n6, 276nn53, 58, 289n142, 289nn2, 4–5, 290n6, 297n138; and antiCalvinism, 94, 103, 108, 112, 114, 160–1, 167, 171; religious views of, 25, 61, 104–5, 109, 113– 15, 122–3, 166, 290n8, 303n80, 306n118. See also Erasmus’ works, Paraphrases Elizabethan church, xvii, 11, 14, 27, 63, 75–6, 78–9, 82, 92–4, 98, 102, 105, 107, 122–3, 130, 202, 219, 265, 300nn14, 26, 306n119, 307n129, 309n156, 310n163, 312n28, 332n187 Elizabethan Settlement, 78–9, 272n2, 290n8, 300n26 English Reformation, xi–xii, xvii– xix, 3–5, 9, 16, 18–19, 22, 25, 31, 62, 76–7, 81, 88, 155, 173, 177, 202, 218, 223, 237, 245, 248, 250, 256, 272n31, 289n142, 300n14, 310n163 episcopacy, xviii, xx, 13, 40, 69, 79–80, 85, 94, 104–13, 128–30, 152, 159, 165, 174, 180, 183, 189, 193, 196, 199, 202–3, 205, 215– 17, 221, 223, 234, 238, 245–57, 284n69, 301n38, 313n48, 324n70, 332n187, 336n28, 337n54, 342n112, 348n47, 354n174; ius divinum, 165, 199, 202, 204–5, 249, 252, 256, 324n70, 333n189, 336n28, 337n54; ius humanum, 165, 205, 249, 252, 324n70 Erasmianism: as an alternative to Calvinism, xvii–xx, 24, 28, 37–8, 59, 64, 66, 69, 99, 102, 105, 111– 24, 160–1, 166–7, 195, 197–8, 216, 226, 246, 255–7, 341n96; and Arminianism, xvii–xviii,

Index 135, 142, 147, 160, 168–9, 172–3, 187, 193–201, 204–5, 220, 248, 272n30, 333n190, 334n11, 338n60; meaning of, xi–xv, 4–5, 8, 18, 28, 31, 68, 93–4, 97, 99, 111, 145, 192–3, 204, 212, 223–4, 233, 264–8, 270n16, 272n32, 298n1, 300n27, 331nn173, 175 Erasmus, Desiderius: and adiaphora (see adiaphora, Erasmus’ use of); and Catholicism, i, xii, xx, 3, 10–12, 16–22, 29, 35, 41, 69– 71, 74, 77–82, 87–8, 108, 112, 127, 131, 138, 141, 148–9, 154, 163, 203, 208, 229–30, 236–7, 275n38, 277n68, 284n64, 315n74; and dissimulation, 35, 91, 101, 211, 243, 281n34, 284n62, 351n101; and the Luther problem, 8–9, 20, 31, 37, 39, 43, 47, 58, 68, 77, 81, 282n42, 287n100, 292n39; moderation of (see moderate rhetoric); and order, 38–46, 59, 63, 79, 99–100, 102, 107–8, 122, 161, 188, 198–9, 257, 259, 265, 285n85, 291n32, 305n110, 341n98; and peace (see pacifism; peace, doctrine of; peace and concord); and quietism or silence, 42–3, 55, 61, 72–3, 104, 110, 113, 122–3, 161, 174, 183, 190–2, 195, 281n29, 282n41, 342n115; and prudence, 19, 41, 58, 244, 247, 259, 283n57, 288n137; and religious tolerance, xii, xvi–xvii, xix, 41, 44–5, 68, 70, 161, 170, 204, 208, 212, 219–28, 240, 257, 264–5, 267–8, 282nn41–2, 283n57, 285n78, 320n11, 333n5, 334n12, 341n96, 341n98, 343n122, 344n2; rhetorical style of, xiii, xvii, 6–7, 19, 34, 36, 38, 72, 75–6, 79, 83–4, 89, 91– 4, 99–103, 110–11, 145, 148, 159– 60, 162, 173, 178–80, 183–4, 187– 8, 197, 199–200, 203, 209, 212–14,

Index 216, 220, 223, 258, 266, 272n32, 288n137, 336n29, 339n72; statues of, 155–6, 186, 319n147, 346n12, 349n57; theological methodology of, xiii, xix, 8, 33, 35–7, 48– 55, 58, 68, 72–4, 84, 93–5, 99–102, 111, 123, 131, 160, 163, 165, 169– 71, 188, 192–3, 196–7, 209–13, 219–25, 243, 255, 264, 285n85, 298n1, 303n87, 305n117, 310n163, 336n29; and uncertainty, xix, 42, 164, 206, 288n124, 304n97 Erasmus’ works: – Adagia, xv, 5, 74, 96, 126, 138, 149, 228–9, 234, 291n22, 294n65, 297n137, 299n5, 310n3 – Colloquies, 5, 27, 64, 74–5, 85, 88–9, 125–9, 131, 138–40, 149, 157, 184, 234, 228–9, 233, 236, 261–2, 264, 311nn7, 11–12, 312n20, 345nn4, 9, 347nn34, 36, 353n150, 357n210; and education, 64, 180, 237–8, 267; and marriage, 74, 133, 298n140, 312n31; Puritan manipulations of, 126–40, 153, 266, 311n6, 312n22, 313nn43, 48, 314n49 – De bello Turcico, 281n25, 356n190 – De libero arbitrio, 8, 23, 43, 52, 56, 72, 117–21, 144, 148, 154, 176, 182, 184–5, 194, 250, 279n104, 282n42, 291n22, 308n151, 309n157, 324n68, 335n26; Ben Jonson on, 194–5, 206, 335n26; Jacob Kimedoncius on, 120–2, 308n151, 309n153; John Owen on, 230–1 – Enchiridion militis Christiani, xv, 5, 64, 67, 70–4, 99, 101–2, 234, 254, 278n99, 280n21, 291n22, 292n43, 293nn45, 49–50, 60, 318n126 – Epistolarum, 126, 236, 310n3, 324n62

399 – Institutio principis christiani, 280n20 – Julius exclusus, 234, 236, 348n45 – Moriae encomium, 5, 64, 74, 89– 90, 105, 149–50, 234–6, 261, 263, 291n22, 317n117, 347n36, 357n208 – Querela pacis, 61–2, 64, 67–70, 74, 80, 91, 99, 102, 108, 184, 212, 281n26, 289n1, 324n67 – Paraphrases, xii, xv–xvii, xix, 3– 59, 63–5, 68, 73, 76–7, 80, 85, 99, 102, 111, 146, 148, 152–3, 160, 164, 172–3, 181, 184, 190, 196, 226, 230, 240, 242, 244, 247–51, 256–7, 266, 272nn2–3, 273nn11, 13, 15, 288n137, 289n142, 291nn22, 29, 297n139, 308nn134, 143, 150, 314n48, 324n66, 346n20, 347n37, 353n150; availability of, 12–15, 92, 152; English introductions to, 18–26, 273n8, 276n42; and English Protestant culture, 3–4, 27–8, 33, 89, 92, 138, 159; and free will theology, 46–59, 116– 18, 120, 231, 289n142; royal injunctions regarding, xii, 4, 6, 7, 10–13, 27, 59, 76, 153, 173, 183, 247, 263, 269nn5–6, 306n119, 352n128; theology and rhetoric in, 27–59, 280n11, 281nn29, 33, 282n42, 284n63, 285n85, 286n91, 287nn99–100 Erastianism, 213 Euclid, 237 Evelyn, John, 237 Faldo, John, 242–3 Falkland, Lucius Cary, Viscount, xii–xiii, xviii, 148, 154, 173, 203– 9, 212, 225, 244, 270nn10–11, 13, 335nn19, 26, 336nn27–8, 337n45 Featley, Daniel, 198 Field, Richard, 141–2

400 Fisher, Samuel, 242, 244 Flemming, Abraham, 297n139 Fox, George, 242 Foxe, John, 14, 27, 75–8, 81, 84, 88, 125, 154, 182, 270n7, 276n56, 293n49, 294nn67–8, 73 Foxe, Richard, xi, 17 Foyler, Edward, 243 free will, doctrine of, 23, 35–6, 43, 46–53, 56, 58, 63, 68, 71, 101, 111–22, 135–6, 140–1, 147, 160, 168, 172–3, 177, 184, 188, 191, 194–8, 202, 205, 210, 216, 223, 231, 247, 249–50, 272n30, 279n104, 286n88, 289n142, 293n55, 305n105, 306n124, 307n134, 308n143, 309n157, 313n48, 314n48, 324n68, 325n75, 331n169, 332n179, 333n190, 349n64 Fulke, William, 88, 297n127 Fuller, Thomas, 145, 148, 154, 161, 171–2, 180–3, 196, 203, 215–17, 222, 238, 327n111, 339n74 Fulwell, Ulpian, 90 fundamenta, 129, 188, 191–2, 259, 336n29, 344n2 Galen, 237 Gardiner, Stephen, Bishop, 7, 11– 12, 17, 20, 76–7, 80, 88, 275n39 Gascoigne, George, 89, 108 Gataker, Thomas, 149 Gaule, John, 230 Geneva, 106, 184, 193, 197, 294n68, 303n83, 310n164, 322n41 Geneva Bible, 162 Gifford, George, 305n117 Glorious Revolution, xx, 227–8, 263–5, 333n190, 355n185, 358n224 Goodman, John, 348n47 Goodman, Thomas, 246, 258–60 Gough, John, 70–1, 293n48

Index Grange, John, 90 Great Tew circle, xii, 173, 203–6, 209, 211–15, 222, 226, 246, 270n7, 334n18, 335n26, 336nn28, 30, 339n72, 351n113 Grindal, Edmund, Archbishop, 105 Grotius, Hugo, 156, 183, 186–7, 195, 198, 212, 230–3, 239, 243–4, 250–1, 254–5, 319n147, 328n132, 330n155, 331n170, 333n190, 337n47, 357n216 gunpowder plot, 127, 159, 319n4 Haddon, Walter, 295n87 Hales, John, 198, 244, 292n35, 332n178 Hall, Edmund, 229–30, 244 Hall, Joseph, Bishop, 145, 148, 161, 171–82, 183–5, 192, 196, 203, 215–17, 222, 324nn62, 64, 66–7, 325n75, 326nn87, 98, 328n131, 334n8 Hammond, Henry, 203, 206, 212, 231, 234, 273n10 Hampton Court conference, 83, 128, 153, 159, 161–2, 309n156, 320n15 Hanmer, Jonathan, 235, 347n38 Harbie, Thomas, 344n124 Harding, Thomas, 80–2, 295n86 Harvey, Gabriel, 90–1, 116, 298n148 Harvey, Richard, 116 Hastings, Francis, 100 heresy, 28, 68–9, 76, 99, 108–9, 122–3, 175–6, 191, 196, 206, 219, 221, 250, 292n37, 303n75, 330n157, 341n96, 343n122, 350n77 Heylyn, Peter, 59, 148, 172, 181, 203, 214–15, 231, 238, 246–51, 256, 289n142, 313n48, 324n70, 332n177, 338n59, 339n72, 340n90

Index Heywood, Thomas, 126, 138–40 Hickman, Henry, 249–50, 258, 353n146 Hildersham, Arthur, 65, 290n17 Homer, 237 Hooker, Richard, xvii, 83, 101, 109–11, 115, 117, 123, 160, 164, 173, 185, 197, 204, 225, 244, 303nn83, 86–7, 304nn89, 95, 97– 9, 305n101, 306n126, 307nn127– 8, 310n164, 316n104, 319n6 Hoole, Charles, 236 How, William, 71–2, 101 Howson, John, Bishop, 335n20 humanism, xiii, xv, 5–6, 8, 10, 12, 17, 65–6, 83, 89, 93–9, 109, 163– 4, 170, 196, 212, 224, 270n16, 278n99, 288n124, 296n100, 299nn5, 9–10, 300nn14, 16, 19, 306n119, 313n35, 320n11, 321n19, 336n29, 341n98, 345n3, 351n113 Hutchinson, Roger, 295n87 Hyde, Edward, 356n197 Interregnum, xix, 59, 227–8, 233 irenicism, 77, 115, 154, 170, 179–80, 184–5, 187, 192, 206, 212, 254, 266, 270n7, 312n28, 351n113 James I, King, xvii–xviii, 13, 24, 117, 123, 128–9, 161, 166–7, 173, 186, 188, 192, 313n47, 314n49, 315n85, 316n99, 320nn10, 12–13, 321nn19, 35, 322nn46–7, 358n227; authorized version of (Bible), 162–6, 192; and Catholicism, 162, 170, 327n114; religious policies of, 123, 128, 131, 159, 161–2, 166–73, 185, 197, 225, 312nn18, 28, 319nn4–5 James II, King, xx, 234, 259, 263, 265, 356n199 Jerome, 50, 83, 86, 120, 143, 149– 50, 155, 243, 295n87, 308n150

401 Jesuits, 79, 88, 214, 240 Jewel, John, 15, 65, 75, 78–84, 88, 91, 117, 148, 182, 230, 276n53, 294n80, 295nn81–2, 91–2, 296n100, 307n134, 346n20 Julius II, Pope, 348n45 Kennet, White, 261–3, 347n36 Key, Thomas, 16, 22, 278n91, 281n36 Kimedoncius, Jacob, 120–2, 298n151, 308n151, 309n153 Knight, Samuel, 351n108 Knox, John, 62, 182, 290n6 Lambeth Articles, 112–15, 184, 238 Lanquet, Thomas, 88 Latitudinarianism, 204, 244–5, 255, 334n12, 337n47, 349n73, 351nn108, 111, 113, 352n115, 353n150, 354nn166, 174, 358n223 Laud, William, Archbishop, xviii, 104, 172, 180, 185, 187, 190–3, 195, 197–205, 213–19, 221–2, 225–6, 233, 238, 246, 248, 270n10, 302n53, 320n14, 328n122, 329n151, 330n157, 332nn177, 187, 334n17, 336n28, 337n54, 338nn57, 59–61, 68, 70, 339nn72, 77, 340n90, 344n123 Laudianism, xviii, 180–1, 195–205, 214–15, 221, 245–6, 252, 324n70, 327n99, 331n175, 332nn177, 181, 334nn8–9, 336n28, 338nn59–60, 70, 339nn72, 77, 341n100 Laurence, Humphrey, 87 Le Clerc, Jean, 244, 351n110 Leigh, Edward, 229–30, 316n105, 346nn11–16 Leigh, Nicholas, 64, 74–5 Leo X, Pope, 74, 164 Lightfoot, John, 347n37 Little Gidding, 215–16, 339n73 Livy, 237

402 Locke, John, 223, 257, 354nn165, 174 Loyola, Ignatius, 175 Luther, Martin, xix, 3, 8–9, 16, 20–1, 23–4, 31, 37, 39, 43, 47, 56, 68, 77– 8, 81–2, 88, 95, 100–1, 112, 119– 21, 125, 141–7, 151, 154, 167, 174, 176, 178, 182, 191, 194, 205, 208, 211, 219–21, 223, 228, 230–1, 233, 243, 249, 254, 256–7, 274n28, 275n39, 279n104, 282n42, 283n56, 284n75, 287n100, 292n39, 293n50, 309n152, 315nn77, 81, 316n98, 335n24, 340n83, 342n115, 354n166 Lutheranism, 28, 62, 112–13, 120, 145, 170, 178, 220, 253, 290n8, 331n170 Mary I, 4, 11–12, 17–18, 61–2, 76, 82, 90, 215, 275n42, 289n4, 294n68 Mary II. See William and Mary Melanchthon, Phillip, 112–13, 182, 232, 248, 305nn107, 110, 310n3, 352n126 Milton, John, 148, 229 Mirandola, Pico della, 283n59 moderate rhetoric, xx, 38, 53, 59, 68–70, 79, 101, 109, 111, 115, 130–1, 159–66, 170–2, 178–81, 189, 192, 197, 201–3, 212–13, 216–19, 225–8, 239, 245, 258, 260–3, 266–7, 304n99, 307nn129, 134, 310n163, 312nn18, 28, 328n141, 330n162, 352n120 Montagu, Richard, Viscount, 62, 148, 161, 166, 171–4, 177, 179, 183–6, 193, 195, 197–8, 215, 289n1, 325n84, 326n89, 327n114, 328n128, 330n154 Montaigne, 237 More, Cresacre, 153–4 More, Henry, 236, 246, 251, 353n150

Index More, Thomas, xi, 12, 17, 65, 77, 81, 84, 153–4, 237, 278n99, 310n3, 336n34, 347n36 Morton, Richard, 65 Moryson, Fynes, 155–6 Nash, Thomas, 149, 154 Naudeus, Gabriel, 237 Nicholls, Josias, 308n143 nonconformists, 103, 108–9, 218, 238–40, 249, 252, 260–2, 265, 267, 349n64 Oecolampadius, Johannes, 9, 65 Olde, John, 16, 23–4, 279n104 Origen, 46, 50, 82, 143, 246, 288n120 Overall, John, 115, 117, 121, 307n134, 326n89 Owen, John, 230–1, 243–4 Oxford, University of, 16, 65–6, 78, 83, 85, 97, 111, 150, 156, 209, 230–1, 292n34, 302n53, 304n95 pacifism, 67, 111, 122, 167, 204, 252, 263, 281n25 papacy, 9, 18, 21, 29, 30–1, 34, 39, 70, 73, 77, 80, 87–8, 116, 127–8, 131, 137, 174, 179, 207–8, 229, 231–2, 236, 253, 260, 262, 266, 270n9, 277n66, 279n5, 298n154, 303n83, 315n81, 327n119, 338n56, 341n96, 342n115, 351n109, 356n207; authority of, 30, 129 Parker, Anthony, 65 Parker, Henry, xviii Parker, Matthew, 89–90 Parker, Samuel, 349n57 Parliament, 85, 181, 185, 212, 219, 222, 227, 238, 265 Parr, Catherine, 7, 11, 17, 20, 22, 273n8, 275n41 Parsons, Robert, 77, 81 Paul III, Pope, 18 Paul IV, Pope, xi, 12

Index Paynell, Thomas, 61–3, 67, 70 peace, doctrine of, 22, 33, 40, 42, 44–5, 67–9, 99–100, 106–9, 122, 160–1, 164, 170, 174, 176, 183, 190, 202, 210, 215, 217, 219, 244, 251, 259, 272n32, 291n32, 293n55, 297n139, 301n30, 303n75, 324nn66–7, 335n24 peace and concord, 44–5, 67, 99, 107–8, 114–15, 169, 174–6, 186, 218, 264, 285nn81, 83, 291n29, 301nn28–30, 310n163, 322n45, 324n67 Peacham, Henry, 154 Pelagianism, 65, 110, 112, 116–24, 142–4, 187, 195–7, 209, 228, 230– 1, 255, 308n146; semi-Pelagianism, 117–21, 123, 197, 231, 293n55, 308nn143, 146, 309n153, 313n43 Penn, William, 242–3, 350n94 Pepys, Samuel, 256 Perkins, William, 27, 91–2, 101, 116, 182, 286n92, 308n146 Person, John, 207 Pett, Peter, 246, 257–8 Pierce, Thomas, 59, 231, 236, 249– 50 Plaifere, John, 58–9, 172, 256, 313n48, 352n126 Plutarch, 154, 237 Pole, Reginald, Cardinal, 12 Poole, Matthew, 347n37 predestination, 8–10, 21, 23, 28, 35, 38, 43, 46–7, 50–5, 57–9, 68, 72, 78–9, 83, 91, 101, 103–4, 108, 110–23, 132–6, 141–8, 151, 160– 1, 166, 168–9, 172, 174, 178–9, 184–7, 190–8, 202, 205, 210, 216, 219, 223, 230–1, 238, 244, 246– 50, 254–5, 260, 270n11, 282n42, 286n88, 288n120, 294n80, 305n101, 306nn118, 126, 307nn127–8, 134, 309n153, 310n163, 320n14, 321n33,

403 324n64, 325n75, 326n89, 329nn145, 154, 331n170, 333n7, 336n39 Presbyterianism, xvii, 40, 43, 69, 80, 85, 94, 102–9, 113, 115, 128, 152, 159, 161–2, 165, 174, 176, 181, 191, 204–5, 216, 221–2, 227, 255, 301n41, 304n89, 312n18, 324n70, 329n148, 330n157, 333n189, 342n112 Price, John, 235 Privy Council, 17, 109, 206 prostitution, 136–7 Prynne, William, xviii, 139, 149, 201, 216–17, 219–22, 226, 317n111, 330n157, 340n90, 341n96, 352n128 public sphere, 72–3, 75, 93–101, 104, 110, 113, 123, 162, 169, 171, 174, 185–6, 189, 195, 203, 219, 222, 225, 233, 299n6, 302n45, 320n12, 333n5, 342n112 Puritanism, xv, 40, 65, 69, 83, 98, 106, 110, 112–13, 116, 131, 151, 163, 165, 172, 174, 180, 189, 204, 206, 245, 262, 266, 270n10, 298n1, 302n71, 309n156, 313n47, 314n52, 315n85, 318n124, 322n46, 335n18, 340n89, 354n174 Quakers, 234, 240–3 Rainolds, John, 65, 78, 82–4, 109, 141, 156, 296n106, 315n74 Rainolds, William, 81–2, 84 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 155 Ramus, Peter, 182 Rastell, John, 74, 79–80 Ray, John, 238 remonstrants, 52, 143, 167–8, 186– 7, 195, 319n147, 328n139, 330n169, 331n170 Rogers, Thomas, 69 Rollock, Robert, 141

404 Rome, Church of, xi, 29, 40, 88, 180, 184, 202, 210–11, 229, 253, 262–3, 283n53, 285n81, 308n143 Roper, William, 153 Rous, Francis, 198, 327n119, 341n96 royal injunctions regarding the Paraphrases. See Erasmus’ works, Paraphrases Rutherford, Samuel, 303n87, 318n127, 321n33 Sancroft, William, 65 scepticism, 11, 42, 48, 206, 208, 213, 287n100, 344n2 schism, 68–9, 108, 146–7, 175, 207, 235, 263, 285n81, 292nn35–7, 295n91, 303n75, 352n115 Seneca, 65, 237 separatism, 40–1, 43, 69, 199, 226, 228, 238, 261, 267, 285n81, 292nn35–7, 339n73, 354n174, 358n223 Shakespeare, William, 96, 271n21, 294n65 Smith, Thomas, 243 Snawsel, Robert, 126, 131–6, 140– 1, 311n6, 313nn43, 48 Socinianism, 144, 176, 205–6, 209, 223, 230–1, 243–4, 250, 255, 335nn19–22 Speed, John, 155, 318n127 Spencer, John, 228–9 Stapleton, Thomas, 79 Stillingfleet, Edward, xix–xx, 59, 236, 238, 246, 248, 255–7, 352n115, 354n174, 355n179 Sutcliffe, Matthew, 141 Tacitus, 237 Taylor, Jeremy, 244, 246, 249–56, 317n115, 354n163 theological diversity, 45, 177, 272nn30–1, 309n156 things indifferent, 48–9, 68, 108, 110–11, 116, 118, 129–30, 148,

Index 151, 184, 195, 199, 219, 223, 240, 271n28, 303n75, 307n126, 338n60. See also adiaphora Thirty Years’ War, 170, 179, 322n47, 323n52 Tillotson, John, 235 Tilney, Edmund, 298n, 313n tolerance, 179, 187, 202–4, 208, 212, 216, 219–25, 227–8, 238–40, 257–9, 263–8, 282n41–2, 284n64, 285n86, 292n37, 303n80, 307n128, 316n99, 319n4, 320nn10–11, 322n46, 333n5, 334n12, 340n92, 341n98, 342nn112–15, 343nn120–2, 344n2, 357nn210, 221, 358nn223–5. See also Erasmus, Desiderius, and religious tolerance Tombes, John, 228 Trapp, John, 141, 315n77 Trent, Council of, 12, 230 Trigge, Francis, 308n143 Tyndale, William, 10, 23, 77, 84, 182, 269n3, 278n99, 291n32, 293n49 Udall, Ephraim, 337n53 Udall, Nicholas, 4–6, 9–11, 15–37, 64, 70, 74, 76–8, 80–1, 88, 148, 228, 261, 270, 278n90, 280n11, 293n49 Ussher, James, Archbishop, 229, 316n106 Varro, 237 Verheiden, Jacob, 154 via media, xvii, 37, 109, 112, 161, 171, 178, 183, 202–3, 213, 233, 251–2, 261, 266, 270n13, 303n83, 304n99, 308n146, 310nn161–3, 326n89, 331n175, 343n122; and Arminianism, 172, 179, 196, 216, 221; and Elizabeth I, 123, 289n2,

Index 309n156, 310n161; and Erasmus, xvii, 41, 69, 72, 197, 223–5, 263–6, 310n163, 343n, 351n; and James I, 159, 161, 163, 165, 171, 312n28, 319n5; and James I’s Authorized Bible, 161–3; and views of: Andrewes, Lancelot, 188–9, 329n145 Duke, Francis, 332n179, 341n99 Falkland, 209 Fuller, Thomas, 181, 215 Hall, Joseph, 174, 177, 178, 215, 324n64, 326nn89, 97 Hooker, Richard, 111, 115, 303n83, 304n99 Jewel, John, 79 L’Estrange, Roger, 263 Pierce, Thomas, 251 Stillingfleet, Edward, 256 Whitgift, John, 109, 111, 303n83 Willet, Andrew, 111 Virgil, 237 Vives, 164, 236, 291n26, 310n3

405 Volsius, Paul, 71–3, 101, 293n50, 347n36 Ward, Samuel, 65, 148, 181 Waterhouse, Edward, 347n37 Whetstone, George, 279n5 Whitaker, William, 114 Whitehead, George, 242 Whitgift, John, 78, 84–7, 103, 105– 16, 153, 164, 176, 182, 185, 196, 238, 296n, 302nn70–1, 303nn75, 83, 324n70, 328n122 Willet, Andrew, 91, 111, 117, 142– 8, 157, 298n, 315n85, 316nn99, 104 William III and Mary II, 264, 358n225 Williams, Roger, 343n117 Wilson, John, 236, 357n208 Wolsey, Thomas, Cardinal, xi Young, John, 102–5, 113, 146, 164, 173, 301n41 Young, Richard, 154