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"Anxieties of influence": Skinner, Figgis, conciliarism and early modern constitutionalism.

If, as Harold Bloom claims, "strong" poets struggling to escape the long shadows cast by their powerful predecessors have characteristically been dogged by "anxieties of influence",(1) so too, of late, have historians of ideas and especially those who aspire to contribute to the history of political thought. It is true that literary theorists of more Francophone sympathies than Bloom's, people long since attuned to the ceaseless murmur of the infinite text, have evinced no such apprehensions. For them, instead, the traditional scholarly preoccupation with identifying the influences at work on a text involves altogether too constricting an effort at narrow contextualization. Happily adrift themselves on "the communal sea of linguicity",(2) they see such an effort as missing the crucialfact that a text is itself heterotextual, cannot but be a pot pourri of traces, "a tissue of quotations drawn from the innumerable centers of culture" -- in Roland Barthes's words again, "a multidimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash".(3) But at the very moment when theorists of such stripe were bent on evoking the degree to which this very phenomenon of intertextuality transgresses and subverts the limitations of context, the members of what is sometimes referred to as "the Cambridge School" among historians of political thought were urging, to the contrary, that the challenge confronting the interpreter is precisely that of limiting the context(4) and insisting that the project of tracking influences had necessarily to be "irreducibly arbitrary". And not because it is too cautious, narrow or constricted in the method usually employed, but on the contrary because it is altogether too vague, loose and sloppy.(5)

It is with the latter claim that I am concerned in this essay. The problems it raises are important ones; they are not casually to be dismissed by anyone concerned with the history of ideas in general or the history of political thought in particular. And those problems can best be explored, I believe, by an exercise which combines some general methodological reflection with an attempt to assess a specific case of some significance in which influence has been both alleged and contested. In what follows, then, I propose to address myself to two matters. First, to the recent body of methodological writing (much of it critical) concerning the viability of the influence model as an explanatory tactic in the history of ideas and the histories of literature and art. Secondly, to the validity of the long-standing claim that the conciliar movement and conciliar ideas of the fifteenth century later exerted a demonstrable and important influence on the shaping of early modern political and constitutional thinking.

I

It was Quentin Skinner who, in three characteristically lively articles published in the mid-1960s, succeeded in generating the current wave of anxiety among historians of political thought about the employment (as, ironically, in this sentence!) of the influence model of historical explanation, as well as a degree of timidity about the very use of the word "influence" itself, and a tendency, among those actually employing the model, to resort to clumsy circumlocutions in order to avoid acknowledging that fact.(6) It was in the first of these articles that the attempt to trace influences was most sweepingly condemned. If such affiliations are to be established, "the connection has to be close enough to be separable from chance but sufficiently loose-limbed to be separable from causality". "The philosophical status of this activity . . . is by no means so self-evidently clear", the assumptions on which it depends are frequently questionable, and the practical obstacles it encounters (not least among them the lack of sufficient evidence to permit convincing corroboration) are truly formidable. This is the case even when we have the apparently independent corroboration constituted by an author's himself claiming to have been influenced by another. For the validity of that claim, too, has itself to be established. The author in question may, after all, be lying, boasting, sheltering behind the authority of a great name, trying to conceal his real sources, and so on.(7) And where we lack even the possibility of independent corroboration of that sort, we are in constant danger of supposing, when an argument in a later work calls to mind a similar line of reasoning in an earlier one, that the later writer was deliberately referring to the earlier one when what may be involved is nothing but a random parallelism. In such matters, proof is stubbornly elusive. "The attempt to trace influences must be irreducibly arbitrary" (my emphasis), and "explanations in this mode at best not evidently convincing and often evidently false"(8)

Given the scathing nature of his dismissal in the second of these articles of the use made by one respected literary scholar of the influence model,(9) it is noteworthy that in the third, published only two years later, Skinner backed off a little from the sweeping, theoretically based nature of his earlier denunciations, conceding now that in his earlier "critique of the influence model I perhaps stressed too much the impossibility of making the model work, rather than its sheer elusiveness". That model, in fact, is "far from being empty of explanatory force". The problem with it is of a practical nature: "it can very rarely be made to work", and, "even when it can . . ., there is scarcely ever any point in doing so". As so often used in the past it has been based, indeed, on "nothing better than the capacity of the observer to foreshorten the past by filling it with his own reminiscences". That being so, and in order to avoid the generation of "purely mythological explanations", Skinner proposed three minimal "necessary conditions" which would have to be met if we wanted "to explain the appearance in any given writer B of any given doctrine, by invoking the 'influence' of some earlier given writer, A". Namely, (i) that there should be the presence of "a genuine similarity between the doctrines of A and B"; (ii) "that B could not have found the relevant doctrine in any writer other than A"; (iii) "that the probability of the similarity being random should be very low". And he clearly inclined to the conclusion that investigations of influence in the history of ideas have characteristically failed to meet those conditions.(10)

So, too, did others who followed in his wake -- notably Conal Condren.(11) Condren, indeed, moved by the practical difficulties attendant upon the employment of the influence model, and arguing that "anything influence can do, use can do better", urged the replacement of "influence" with "usage". Usage, after all, "by being a general term with a multitude of possibilities" has, among other things, the advantage of inviting "immediate specification -- how and in what way and to what extent did y in fact use x?"(12) But Skinner, in the only subsequent comment of his on the matter of which I am aware, made no mention of this interesting suggestion. Instead, and having without any apology made extensive (and very effective) use of the influence model in his Foundations of Modern Political Thought,(13) he continued the process of backing away from his earlier strictures, and, by the unconscious irony of an implicit invocation of the notion of influence, attributed his own initial scepticism about "the use of the concept of `influence' in the history of ideas" to the impact on him of Peter Laslett's scepticism about "the capacity of Hobbes's alleged influence to explain any features of Locke's Two Treatises".(14) Not altogether a satisfactory conclusion to the hue and cry of the two decades preceding, and for a more consistent discussion of the matter it is necessary to look in a somewhat different direction.

In one of his earlier discussions, Skinner had noted that, apart from some glancing remarks by Philip Wiener, he was unaware of any previous attempt to analyse the range of problems attaching to the use of the concept of influence.(15) But such discussions had, indeed, occurred -- quite singular in the case of Andre Gide in 1900, and admittedly fragmentary in the case of Louis Cazamian in 1921 or R. G. Collingwood in 1945,(16) but becoming more thoroughgoing and widespread in Comparative Literature circles as that field rose to prominence during the years after the Second World War.(17)

For those of us who have tracked the degree to which "anxieties of influence" have dogged historians of ideas over the course of the past two decades, the nervousness and discontent with the employment of the concept evident in these earlier discussions and underlined by "the enclosure of the word `influence' within guarded and ironic quotes"(18) will be all too familiar -- so familiar, indeed, as to threaten to conceal from us that something intriguingly different was going on. Whereas for Skinner it was the elusiveness, imprecision and lack of historicity in the way in which the influence model was characteristically employed that fuelled his discontent with the model itself, for the students of comparative literature the source of discontent lay in an almost diametrically opposed direction. For them, as they began to respond to the promptings of structuralist modes of literary analysis or of the New Criticism and to give, accordingly, a higher priority to formal values and aesthetic judgement, it was the traditional domination of the discipline by historical concerns that itself stimulated their dismay. Or, more precisely, its domination by the type of literary history associated quintessentially with the "French School" of comparatists.(19) This school, students of comparative literature -- in Europe and Asia as well as in America(20) -- had increasingly come to view as overwhelmingly positivistic, as labouring under "the dead hand of nineteenth-century factualism, scientism, and historical relativism".(21) And its preoccupation with a typically mechanical and externalistic investigation of sources and influences they saw as "springing from an essentially scientistic attempt" to understand the course of literary history as "a series of cause and effect relationships".(22) In their reaction to this approach some were led either to abandon the customary investigation of influences in favour of a probing of "tradition" or "development",(23) or, without rejecting it, to seek to supplement it in order to take into account the broader phenomenon for which Julia Kristeva was later to propose the term "intertextuality".(24)

Most, however, at least at the time, appear to have been reluctant to go that far. As Haskell M. Block pointed out, their discontent with traditional investigations of influence sprang not simply from abstract methodological worries but also from the unsatisfactory, mechanical and even trivial nature of so many of those studies.(25) They did not believe that literary studies could dispense entirely with the use of the influence model. Influence, after all, was "an intrinsic part of literary experience" and it was altogether "too valuable, too essential a notion to be discarded". The problem, rather, was that in the literary history of the older mould the concept of influence had been "obliged to bear more than it [could] . . . properly bear". What it needed was sharpening, "redefinition", and employment by literary historians in the future "with a precise understanding of its scope and limits".(26)

It was with the specific objective of reaching such an understanding that Goran Hermeren, a Swedish philosopher, later picked up on these discussions among the comparatists and, extending his enquiry to embrace history of art as well as literature, embarked on the project that was to eventuate in the longest, fullest, most intricate and certainly most relentless treatment of the issue available.(27) Noting that when one uses the word "influence" according "to the rules of ordinary English" one tends to be stating orimplying "a weak causal connection", he proceeded, unlike Skinner, to treat influence statements as susceptible to analysis as "a particular kind of causal explanation".(28) But beyond indicating his awareness of the likelihood of disagreement on that point and affirming his own sense that there are "good arguments supporting the causal analysis of [human] action", he passed no judgement on "the crucial distinction between reasons and causes" and sidestepped the philosophical debate on the whole issue.(29) Conscious of the degree to which "exaggeration and lack of subtlety" in investigations dating back to the earlier part of the century had "given the term 'influence research' a bad connotation" in art history as well as literary studies,(30) it was his primary concern to bring some precision to the whole effort, and to identify via a painstaking analysis of a myriad of examples drawn from both fields the problems it raises and the practical obstacles it encounters.

In so doing, he elaborated in intricate detail a set of some thirteen restrictions on "the family of concepts of influence" he proposed to examine,(31) and followed it up with a set of five necessary conditions "for artistic influence to have taken place".(32) These overlap or link with Skinner's three necessary conditions but do so in rather complex fashion. Thus whereas Skinner simply presupposed the temporal priority of the work doing the influencing to that influenced, Hermeren felt it necessary to spell it out explicitly, and in two different ways.(33) He similarly spelt out the necessity for there having been direct or indirect contact between the creator of the work influenced and the work influencing him,(34) folded in along with the stipulation of genuine similarity that of "systematic differences" in the case of negative influence,(35) and appended the condition that the work influenced should in the pertinent respects be discernibly different from what it would have been had it not been influenced.(36)

All of which serves to underline the number of difficulties involved at every stage even of the process of deciding whether the stipulated requirements and conditions have been met. But in common with Block and the other comparatists discussed earlier, he came to the conclusion that "studies of influence can be worthwhile", that "hypotheses of influence can be corroborated" just as well, indeed, "as most other empirical hypotheses", that the value of such hypotheses has to be assessed in terms of the significance of their "payoff", and that such (essentially historical) questions are not to be "decided by philosophers, at least not by them alone".(37) Thus, despite their differing points of departure, there is in the end something of a convergence in the line of argument pursued by Skinner and others sympathetic to his approach to the history of political thought(38) and that pursued by scholars in comparative literature and art history who were likewise preoccupied with the influence problem. While undoubtedly sharpening a critical awareness of the pitfalls involved in the use of the influence model, the long-drawn-out critique of that model appears to have eventuated in the somewhat grudging concession that it is capable, after all, of yielding worthwhile results, as also in the implicit recognition that in its absence it would be difficult to construct effectively explanatory historical narratives. The proof of the pudding, it seems, is most likely to be found in the eating. With that in mind, then, it is time now to address the specific case. And, as is only fitting, that case is one itself signalled by Skinner's own major contribution to the interpretation of early modern political and constitutional thought.

II

In a review of The Foundations of Modern Political Thought Julian Franklin identifies as "the most general [if contestable] new interpretation" in that book Skinner's location of "the direct ancestors of the great resistance theorists of the 1570s in the conciliarist writers of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries",(39) with their remote ancestors, one should add, being the distinguished early fifteenth-century conciliarists Pierre d'Ailly and Jean Gerson. Franklin is right to emphasize this particular interpretative move. It is a very important one and exceedingly well executed. Though the word itself is not used, it involves the deployment of nothing other than the influence model, the bold assertion that, strictly speaking, "no such entity" as the "Calvinist theory of revolution exists". That is to say, that when the Calvinists of the late sixteenth century elaborated a constitutionalist resistance theory (traditionally regarded as distinctively Calvinist and as one of the "startling innovations of sixteenthcentury political history"),(40) they were in fact doing nothing other than drawing upon "the existing theories of revolution [long before] developed by their Catholic adversaries".(41) The claim itself is striking enough, but without in any way wishing to diminish its importance as an interpretative move, it has to be insisted that Franklinis simply wrong to label it as "novel". That he can do so, indeed, is a jolting reminder of the fact that the traditional periodization of European history into ancient, medieval and modern, and the degree of mutually exclusive scholarly specialization it has helped sponsor, continue to exact an unacceptable historiographic toll.

Almost two hundred years ago now, when in his View of the State of Europe during the Middle Ages the English historian Henry Hallam came to write about the scandal occasioned during the Great Schism of the West by the spectacle of three rival claimants obdurately contending for the papal office, he interpreted the success of the Council of Constance in ending the schism by the deposition in 1415 of the rival pontiffs as "a signal display of a new system . . . which I may venture to call the whig principles of the catholic church". And the Constance decrees Haec sancta (which provided the theoretical basis for such a deposing power by asserting the subordination under certain conditions of pope to general council) and Freguens (which mandated for the future the assembly of such councils at frequent and regular intervals) -- those decrees he went on to describe as "the great pillars of that moderate theory with respect to papal authority which [not only] distinguished the Gallican church, . . . [but] is embraced by almost all laymen and the major part of ecclesiastics on this side of the Alps".(42)

Hallam wrote those words in 1816. When later in the century Lord Acton came to allude to the conciliar issue, what Hallam had seen as a live ecclesiological option for the Catholics of his day had become a matter of interest only to the archaeologists of defunct ideologies. But Acton, none the less, was clearly struck by the pertinence of conciliar theory to the history of secular political thought.(43) So, too, around the same time, was Otto Gierke.(44) And, a few years later, Acton's distinguished pupil John Neville Figgis, in one of his brilliant series of Birkbeck Lectures at Cambridge, went on to urge very forcefully the significance of the role he took the conciliar movement to have played in the history of European political and constitutional thinking.

That it should be cast in such a role at all is not to be taken for granted. Conciliar theory, after all, was an ecclesiological doctrine. Its rise to prominence was occasioned by a crisis in the life of the church: the disputed papal election of 1378, the subsequent protracted schism, and the failure of repeated attempts to end it. Its immediate appeal sprang from the fact that it offered a way out of what had become a scandalous impasse, for it was, in effect, a constitutionalist theory. At its heart lay the belief that the pope was not an absolute monarch but rather in some sense a constitutional ruler, that he possessed a merely ministerial authority conferred upon him for the good of the church, that the final authority in the church (at least in certain cases) lay not with him but with the whole body of the faithful or with their representatives gathered in a general council. In response to that belief the Councils of Pisa (1409) and Constanee (1414-18) assembled to put an end to the schism, the conciliarists at the Council of Basel (1431-49) defied unsuccessfully the authority of a pope the validity of whose title was not in question, and the cardinals of the opposition convoked (May, 1511) the dissident and abortive assembly derided by the papalists of the day as the conciliabulum of Pisa.

If conciliar theory was indeed a form of constitutionalism, it was ecclesiastical constitutionalism that was involved, and its claim to a place in the history of political thought may not be immediately evident. But on this matter Figgis's opinions were characteristically robust. "Probably the most revolutionary official document in the history of the world", he said:

is the decree of the Council of Constance [Haec sancta] asserting its

superiority to the Pope, and striving to turn into a tepid constitutionalism

the Divine authority of a thousand years. The movement is the culmination

of medieval constitutionalism. It forms the watershed between the medieval

and the modern world.(45)

And why is this so? Because in the first place, the scandal of the Great Schism had the effect of turning attention from the old familiar dispute between the two powers, temporal and spiritual, and focusing it upon the nature of the church itself. Because in the second, "[s]peculation on the possible power of the Council, as the true depositary of sovereignty within the Church, drove the [conciliar] thinkers to treat the Church definitely as one of a class, political societies".(46) Because, in the third, the conciliar theorists of Constance:

appear to have discerned more clearly than their predecessors the

meaning of the constitutional experiments, which the last two centuries had

seen in considerable profusion, to have thought out the principles that

underlay them, and based them upon reasoning that applied to all political

societies; to have discerned that arguments applicable to governments in

general could not be inapplicable to the Church. In a word, they raised the

constitutionalism of the past three centuries to a higher power, expressed it

in a more universal form, and justified it on grounds of reason, policy and

Scripture.(47)

According, then, to Figgis, if the conciliar movement was more properly to be regarded as "medieval rather than modern in spirit", it was also to be regarded as "having helped forward modern constitutional tendencies". Why? Because it asserted "the principles which underlay acts like the deposing of Richard II in a far more definite and conscious way than had yet been done" and stripped "the arguments for constitutional government . . . Of all elements of the provincialism, which might have clung to them for long, had they been concerned only with the internal arrangements of the national States". Conciliar theorists expressed their principles "in a form in which they could readily be applied to politics", and so applied they were. "Even [sixteenth-century] Huguenot writers like Du Plessis Mornay", said Figgis:

were not ashamed of using the doctrine of the Council's superiority over the

Pope to prove their own doctrine of the supremacy of the estates, over the

king . . . Emperors might be the fathers of the Council [of Constance], and

kings its nursing mothers, but the child they nurtured was

Constitutionalism, and its far-off legacy to our own day was "the glorious

revolution".(48)

Three main claims are made in this argument, claims that I will distinguish one from another and take up separately. The first, that the source of fourteenth- and early fifteenth-century conciliar theory is to be found in the secular constitutional developments of the previous centuries. The second, that conciliar theory exerted a demonstrable influence on the constitutionalists and resistance theorists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The third, that it did so (and herein lies its historical significance) because of the precision with which it discerned the theoretical principles underlying medieval constitutionalism, the universality with which it formulated those principles, and the clarity and force with which it restated them. And to say that was to say also that conciliar theory was not only an ecclesiological option but also a political theory.

The evidence which Figgis actually adduced in support of these assertions was, in fact, quite scanty.(49) None the less, his claims were received enthusiastically in the inter-war years by a series of widely read historians of political thought -- from H. J. Laski, Figgis's pupil, to R. G. Gettell, R. H. Murray, Charles H. McIlwain and George H. Sabine.(50) But interest in conciliar theory at least languished somewhat in the years after Figgis wrote, and it was only in the years after the Second World War that concern with the subject began to quicken again.(51) And when it did, the validity of his first claim -- which concerned the influence of earlier secular constitutional developments upon the formation of conciliar theory -- was brought into question.

Figgis had made little effort to ground that claim, and one can only assume that he was nudged into making it in part because of the frequent use the conciliar theorists themselves made of analogies drawn from secular political and constitutional practice.(52) But while the popularity of such analogies certainly lends powerful support to his assertion that the conciliarists were viewing the church as "one of a class, political societies", it does little or nothing to help substantiate the claim that they developed these conciliar ideas on the basis of secular models. Perhaps because of this E. F. Jacob, as long ago in 1943, had begun to wonder about the widespread tendency to regard conciliar theory as simply a transference to the church of ideas of secular political origin.(53) And in 1955 Brian Tierney, pursuing suggestions made over the years by Otto Gierke, Franz Bliemetzrieder, H. X. Arquilliere, Walter Ullmann and others, made the claim that conciliar theory, far from being a reaction against canonistic views or an importation of secular constitutionalist ideas on to ecclesiastical soil, was in fact the logical outgrowth of canonistic thought itself, reflecting a subtle and complex amalgam of older Decretist discussions of the case of the heretical pope and the subsequent attempts of generations of Decretalists to rationalize in terms of corporation law the structure of both the individual churches of Christendom and of the universal church itself. Side by side with "the familiar theory of papal sovereignty", he argued, "there had developed another theory", one that was "applied at first to single churches and then at the beginning of the fourteenth century . . . to the Roman Church and the Church as a whole". This theory stressed "the corporate association of the members of a church" rather than the "rigorous subordination of all the members to a single head" as "the true principle of ecclesiastical unity". It "envisaged an exercise of corporate authority by the members of a church even in the absence of an effective head", and in so doing laid the essential foundations for the later development of conciliar theory.(54)

The case Tierney makes is at once both powerful and subtly nuanced and, despite the surfacing of some oblique scholarly grumbling,(55) I would judge that the great tide of literature on conciliar and related matters that has been flowing during the forty years since he propounded his thesis has done nothing to shake it and a good deal to confirm it.(56)

As a result, Figgis's first influence claim falls victim to redundancy. It does so primarily as a result of the research of the past half-century into the vast body of canonistic glosses to which Figgis himself had little access (many of those glosses, indeed, have still to be edited). And it does so secondarily because the contemporaneous progress in our knowledge of the full range of conciliar literature has familiarized us with the extent to which tire conciliarists themselves were consciously dependent on earlier canonistic formulations for their central commitments.(57)

The same cannot be said, however, of his second claim, that pertaining to the subsequent influence of conciliar theory on the constitutionalists and resistance theorists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It is true that interest in this historical issue has been almost exclusively an Anglophone affair.(58) Nor should we miss the degree to which indifference to (or ignorance of) Figgis's argument has persisted among historians. Pierre Mesnard, the Carlyles, J. W. Allen, Christopher Morris and, more recently, Julian Franklin -- all of them, if they betray any consciousness at all of conciliar thinking, appear to have regarded it, in its sixteenth- no less than its fifteenth-century expression, as irrelevant, strictly speaking, to the history of political thought.(59) None the less, during the years after the Second World War, when in conciliar studies attention shifted from matters diplomatic and political to ecclesiological and doctrinal issues, the case Figgis had made drew renewed and sometimes vigorous support from a whole series of scholars interested in late medieval political thought.(60) And, of course, with the publication in 1978 of Skinner's Foundations of Modern Political Thought, a forceful acknowledgement of the importance of the contributions made by conciliar theorists to early modern political thinking was, in effect, "mainstreamed" among historians of modern political thought.(61) It is time, then, to turn to the nature and accuracy of the case being made.

III

That that case should need to be made at all, however, is not simply to be taken for granted. And to say that is to insist also that in any assessment of its strengths and weaknesses the appropriate point of departure should be the sober recognition of the degree to which our traditional understanding of the nature and career of conciliarism was shaped by the micropolitics of late nineteenth-century Catholic historiography. As we have seen, it was still possible for an English commentator like Hallam as late as the end of the Napoleonic era to speak of "the whig principles" endorsed by the Council of Constance, and to view the conciliarist position as having survived since then as a live ecclesiological option to which most northern European Catholics subscribed. But in the wake of the ecclesiastical and theological developments that culminated in 1870 in the First Vatican Council's definition of papal primacy and infallibility, all that was changed. Those definitions seemed to leave Catholic theologians with no alternative but to regard the conciliar theory as a dead issue, an ecclesiological fossil, something lodged deep in the Lower Carboniferous of the dogmatic geology. More tellingly -- or, at least, more pertinent to the matter with which we are concerned -- it also seemed to leave Catholic historians with little choice but to treat the conciliar movement as nothing more than a revolutionary episode-in the life of the church. And, in striking degree, the historiographic tradition emerging from that realization has framed (and in some residual measure continues to frame) the picture of the subject conveyed in our general histories.(62)

That historiographic tradition had its ultimate origins in the historical arguments hammered out by Juan de Torquemada in defence of Eugenius IV's cause during the Council of Basel and subsequently embedded in his great Summa de ecclesia (c. 1453). Those arguments were further developed and refined by Thomas de Vio, Cardinal Cajetan, in the early sixteenth century and put in canonical form a century later by Robert, Cardinal Bellarmine.(63) The conciliar movement was portrayed as an unfortunate aberration spawned by the crisis and confusion of the Great Schism and brought to an end in the 1440s by the papal triumph over the conciliarist onslaught at Basel. And the ecclesiology on which the conciliarists had taken their stand came to be seen as an extreme position with little or no basis in the orthodox doctrinal tradition, and, according to some, with suspect origins in the speculations of those dangerous fourteenth-century radicals, William of Ockham and Marsiglio of Padua. Pius II's bull Execrabilis has clearly proscribed it in 1460, and in 1516 the Fifth Lateran Council's decree Pastor aeternus banished it definitively into the outer darkness of heterodoxy. That being so, and even with due recognition accorded to the twilight existence conciliar theory continued to enjoy in Gallican propaganda, it is understandable that something of a burden of proof should have come to rest on the shoulders of anyone wishing to claim that the continuing memory of the fifteenth-century councils and the continuing availability of conciliarist writings were such even in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as to have made it possible for conciliar theories to play a role in the shaping of constitutionalist and political thinking.

The post-war blossoming of conciliar studies, however, has lessened that burden considerably. If as part of that development it was the contribution above all of Tierney to have made it abundantly clear that the conciliar theory was neither as recent nor as revolutionary in its origins as it formerly was customary to believe, it was likewise the achievement especially of Hubert Jedin, Josef Klotzner, Olivier de la Brosse, Remigius Baumer and Hans-Jurgen Becker to have established the fact that the demise of that theory in the years after the dissolution of Basel was neither as rapid nor as final as we once were led to assume.(64) Similarly, and more recently, Hans Schneider and Hermann Josef Sieben have focused renewed attention on the long and unexpectedly vital "half-life"that conciliarist views continued to enjoy (and not only in Gallican France) for two centuries and more after the great changes wrought by the Council of Trent.(65)

It is now clear, certainly, that we can no more take for granted the weakening of the conciliarist impulse in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries than could the popes of the period. It may well be that it is only our familiarity with the papalist outcome that suggests the necessity of the process. Without the marked persistence of ecclesiological tensions into the Age of Reformation it would be hard, for example, to explain the failure of the Council of Trent, despite the challenges laid down by the novel Protestant ecclesiologies of the day, to promulgate any decree on the nature of the Christian church. Execrabilis, we now know, was viewed less in its own day as an authoritative pronouncement than as a statement of the views of one particular faction; in the older histories it was clearly accorded a much exaggerated significance.(66) Similarly, the crucial phrases of the 1516 decree Pastor aeternus are simply too restricted in meaning to constitute any unambiguous condemnation of conciliar theory.(67) No surprise, then, should be occasioned by the vigorous reassertion of conciliarist principles in the early sixteenth century by such Parisian theologians as John Mair (d. 1550) and Jacques Almain (d. 1515) -- the thinkers on whose closely affiliated constitutionalist theories of resistance Skinner has rightly placed so much emphasis. Nor, similarly, should we be surprised by the degree of acquaintance Luther -- or, for that matter, Bullinger -- showed with sonciliar views,(68) or by the efforts in Germany of Ortwin Gratius on the very eve of Trent to make the history of the fifteenth-century councils and the writings of some of the leading conciliarists readily available in new editions,(69) or by the fact that the Scottish Calvinist George Buchanan (like John Knox, a former pupil of John Mair's) later confessed to having held conciliarist ideas in his own younger Catholic days.(70)

France, Germany, Scotland, Poland, Italy even(71) -- in all of them the conciliarist tradition endured on through the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and though in his recent account Sieben oddly does not dwell on the fact,(72) it was in marked degree revitalized during the first two decades of the seventeenth century. The Europe-wide ideological warfare of those years concerning the indirect power of the papacy in matters temporal has not received the attention it deserves and still awaits its historian.(73) That warfare was occasioned in England by the discovery in 1605-6 of the Gunpowder Plot and the subsequent Oath of Allegiance controversy, in Venice in 1606 by the papal imposition of an interdict, in France in 1610 by the assassination of Henri IV at the hands of a Catholic and by the subsequent attempt of the Estates General to impose on churchmen, royal officials and others an oath which its opponenis portrayed as modelled on the earlier English Oath of Allegiance. Enough is known about this period of ideological turbulence to make it clear that it led to enhanced access to, increased circulation of, and renewed acquaintance with the history of the fifteenth-century councils and the writings of conciliarist authors. Here it must suffice to note that it was in the context of these events that Edmond Richer, syndic of the Sorbonne, published in 1606 his important new edition of the works of Jean Gerson, which made sonveniently available, not only Gerson's own conciliarist tracts, but also the most important of Pierre d'Ailly's, along with those of their sixteenth-century successors Mair and Almain.(74) Only five years after the appearance of Richer's edition, moreover, and as the controversy over the indirect power continued to unfold, the Calvinist author Melchior Goldast published the first volume of his enormous three-volume Monarchia S. Romani Imperii, which included, along with William of Ockham's Dialogus and a host of other works, John of Paris's proto-conciliarist Tractatus de regia poiestate et papali (1302), several of Gerson's, Gregor Heimburg's, Matthias Doering's, Philippus Decius's and Jacques Almain's conciliar tracts, Richer's De ecclesiastica et politica potestate (1611) with its own reaffirmation of conciliar theory, and Latin versions of several Venetian efforts to vindicate the republic against papal condemnation, including Paolo Sarpi's Considerazioni sopra le censure della santitd di papa Paulo V contra la Serenissima Republica di Venetia (1606) and the Trattato dell'interdetto della santitd di papa Paolo V (1606). This last work, signed by seven prominent Venetian clerics (Sarpi included) but apparently written in toto by Sarpi himself, characteristically invoked the authority of the Councils of Constance and Basel and the conciliarist writings of Gerson, Almain and Mair.(75) In the early sixteenth century, both of these men had insisted that ever since the Council of Constance (and in this unlike the Thomists) the theologians of Paris and France had commonly and continuously taught the jurisdictional superiority of council to pope and its concomitant prerogative of limiting the pope's power and submitting him to its own judgement.(76) In 1606 Paolo Sarpi, having evoked Mair's authority to the same effect, argued with reference to the conciliarist position (and in the teeth of Cardinal Bellarmine's papalist denials) that "an opinion which hath the consent of as many, if not a greater number of Universities, Countries and Kingdoms, cannot be said to be mayntained without reason and authoritie nor yet audaciously".(77)

The opinion in question, of course, and one which Richer also defended with gusto and at length in his own contemporaneous response to Bellarmine's criticism of Gerson, was that of the superiority of council to pope. The above passage is quoted from the English translation of Sarpi's Apologia which was printed in London within a year of its original publication in Italian.(78) And that fact may itself serve to focus attention on the somewhat more novel point that the England of the (later) sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, however Protestant, does not appear to have been much less acquainted with conciliar theory and the history of conciliar practice than were the Catholic countries of the Continent.(79)

In the fifteenth century, it is true, England had produced no conciliar theorists of note and English prelates had not played a leading role at either Constance or Basel. It is readily understandable, as a result, that little attention has been paid to the conciliarist legacy to the Tudor and Stuart period. But two developments served to familiarize generations of English people even prior to the Oath of Allegiance controversy with the broad outlines of the conciliar experience and, in the case of a learned Anglican controversialist like Matthew Sutcliffe (1550?-1629), with a great deal more.(80) First,in the early 1530s, Henry VIII's diplomatic flirtation with conciliarist ideas during the complex negotiations with Rome concerning the marriage question. Secondly, in the latter half of the century, the inclusion of materials on the history and ecclesiology of the fifteenth-century councils in such widely disseminated works as Foxe's Book of Martyrs (1563) and Thomas Bilson's The True Difference betwene Christian Subjection and Unchristian Rebellion (1583).(81) But it was the protracted Oath of Allegiance controversy, along with its Venetian and French counterparts which progressively converged on it, that had the effect of making people in England for much of the seventeenth century better acquainted with conciliar history and the writings of the conciliarists than at any previous time -- the fifteenth century, I would judge, not excluded.

That fact is clearly reflected in the degree to which the English and Scottish writers, Protestant no less than Catholic, who for one reason or another contributed to the controversy made the evocation of the conciliarist tradition their own. In this James I himself, who cites John of Paris and the conciliarist writings of Gerson, Mair and Almain (alluding also to the deposition of John XXIII at Constance and the attempted deposition of Julius II in 1511 at Pisa), was no exception.(82) In his eagerness to prove that those theologians, Catholic though they were, had denied to the pope any temporal authority over kings and any right to depose them, he betrayed a certain insensitivity to their broader constitutionalist proclivities. That insensitivity was not missed by his opponent Jacques Davy, Cardinal du Perron, who was quick to point out that even the conciliarist theologians whose authority James had invoked still believed the pope to retain the right to condemn kings who were guilty of heresy, and denied him the right of deposition simply because that right belonged to "the whole body of the Realme".(83) In so doing, du Perron emphasized the importance of Richer's recent edition of Gerson for its having gathered together and reprinted the pertinent works of these theologians. That edition, certainly, was clearly the source of many of the references to conciliarist writings made by English contributors to the Oath of Allegiance controversy, and was presumably the edition which James I himself used and presented in 1612 to the university library at St Andrews.(84) On occasion, it is also possible to identify other routes via which these Jacobean authors were acquiring their knowledge of conciliarist thinking,(85) but the pertinent sources had by their day multiplied to such an extent as to render such exercises in identification redundant.

In one of his discussions of the influence model, Skinner stipulates as a minimal precondition for its invocation the ability to produce evidence to the effect that the person being influenced "really had or even could have had any access to [the] works" allegedly doing the influencing.(86) Enough has been said to demonstrate that that precondition represents no formidable challenge in this particular case. The less so, it should now be added, in that the constitutionalist resistance theorists of the sixteenth century, whose authority was also to be invoked in the seventeenth by their English parliamentary successors, provided another (if indirect) mode of access to conciliar theory, along with the example of its application to the world of secular politics. As we shall see,(87) that was clear enough in the case of the Calvinists among those sixteenth-century theorists. And if there is no mention of conciliarism in the tracts of Rossaeus or Boucher, the leading resistance theorists of the French Catholic League, one should recognize that their alignment with Rome gave them every incentive to conceal any indebtedness of that sort if it did, indeed, exist.(88)

Whatever the case, the silence of those Catholic monarchomachs on that particular matter did not carry much weight with the royalist John Maxwell, bishop of Tuam, when he came in 1644 to launch a long end powerful attack on those Jesuits and Puritans who "to depresse Kinges averre, that all power is originally, radically and formally inherent in the People or Communitie, and from thence is derived to the Kinge".(89) That deplorable idea these Puritans ("our Rabbies" as he calls them) did not draw from "the sound Protestants of the Reformed Churches" but from such monarchomachs of the previous century as Boucher, Rossaeus and Hotman who, in turn, "borrowed" it (he charged) from "the polluted cisterns" of "the Sorbonistes, and others of that kinde". And in making that charge, he cites the works of John of Paris, William of Ockham, Marsiglio of Padua, Jean Gerson and Jacques Almain.(90) These were men who, he says:

to oppose the Pope his infallibilitie in judgement, his unlimited power,

and to subject him to a Councell, did dispute themselves almost out of

breath, to prove that potestas spiritualis summa was by Christ first and

immediately given unitati, or communitati fidelium . . . [so that] in the

case that the power of the Church was abused to heresie or tyrannie, the Pope

was deposable (not onely censurable) by a Councell. This question was

acutely disputed before, about, and after the Councell of Constance.(91)

I dwell on Maxwell more because of his vituperative esprit than because there was anything really unusual about his attempt to discredit the notion of popular sovereignty and to undercut the parliamentary advocacy of a right of legitimate resistance against tyranny by linking them damagingly with popery. "Jesuit" had become a useful "snarl-word" long before the end of the Elizabethan era,(92) and the coupling of Jesuit and Puritan as bedfellows in sedition had become a cliche by the time James I himself lent it his royal authority by dubbing Jesuits in 1609 as "nothing but Puritan-papists".(93) Even before the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 the "Romish schooles" had come to be viewed, in Thomas Morton's words, as "seminaries of rebellions".(94) But, as we have seen, the great Europe-wide ideological controversy pivoting on the English-Oath of Allegiance dispute helped stimulate a marked revival of interest in conciliar theory and in the dramatic actions taken two centuries earlier by the Councils of Pisa, Constance and Basel. As a result, one begins to encounter expressions of alarm from staunch royalists focused now specifically on the unhappy availability of the conciliar precedent of the trial and deposition of popes to those benighted contemporaries who wished to legitimate a right of resistance against temporal rulers. Thus David Owen, writing in 1610 in a work appropriately entitled Herod and Pilate Reconciled, argued that the "politike Divines" of the day had "learned their error, of the power of States-men over Kings", thereby investing "the people and Nobles with the power over Kings, to dispose of their kingdomes", from such papistical schoolmen as John of Paris, Jacques Almain and Marsiglio of Padua. And he went on to berate the Calvinists Theodore Beza and Lambert Daneau for endorsing the idea that "as a generall councell, is above the Pope, so the kingdome or the Peeres of the Land, are above the King".(95)

In committing themselves to that position Beza and Daneau had not stood alone. Indeed, they had been at one with most of the leading Protestant advocates of resistance theory in the latter half of the sixteenth century, from John Ponet, exiled bishop of Winchester, writing in 1556 during the reign of Mary Tudor, to George Buchanan writing in 1567, to the authors of the Vindiciae contra tyrannos and the Discours politique who produced their statements during the French Religious Wars in the wake of the massacre of St Bartholomew's Day.(96) All of these men -- Ponet, Buchanan and DuPlessis Mornay at considerable length -- had adduced conciliar theory and practice in order to argue (in the words of the Vindiciae) that if the general council can depose the pope, who regards himself "as much in dignity above the Emperor as the Sun is above the Moon", then "who will make any doubt or question, that the general Assembly of the Estates of any Kingdom, who are the representative body thereof, may not only degrade and disthronize a Tyrant, but also disthronize and depose a King, vvhose weakness and folly is hurtful or pernicious to the State".(97)

It is not surprising, then, that four years after the appearance of whose book, and in the process of writing against Cardinal Bellarmine an enormous treatise on the power of the pope in matters temporal (one punctuated with quotations from such proto-conciliarists or conciliarists as John of Paris, Ockham, Pierre d'Ailly, Gerson, Dietrich of Niem, Zabarella, Nicholas of Cusa, Panormitanus, Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini, Almain and John Mair) -- it is not surprising that John Buckeridge, future bishop of Ely, felt it necessary to challenge the very pertinence of the conciliar analogy by insisting that according to "many theologians of great name . . . the ecumenical council is said to have greater authority over a pope than the people is said to have over a prince" (my emphasis). For whereas the pope's position is founded in grace, the king's is founded in nature. And whereas the pope can be called before a tribunal in which he can "without doubt" be deposed, "no one", the people being inferior to him, "can judge, punish or depose a king".(98)

Thirty years later, during the first Civil War, John Bramhall, subsequently archbishop of Armagh, reacting as had Owen to Beza's invocation of the conciliar analogy, made a similar attempt to neutralize its force by conceding the council's power of deposition while at the same time noting that it pertained to an elected rather than a hereditary ruler arrd that it was "grounded in a known [canon] law". "The king's crown", he insisted, "sits closer, the Council's power is greater, the like law is wanting".(99) And around the same time another royalist, Henry Ferne, later to become bishop of Chester, accusing his parliamentary opponents of Jesuitical practice and of borrowing their arguments from "the Romane Schools", derided them for harbouring silent thoughts of parliamentary infallibility and for being willing to attribute a binding force to the decrees of a parliament acting in the absence of the king on the grounds that "[s]uch a power of binding ha's a generall Councell [of the church] to it's decisions, and why should a Civill Generall Councell of England [i.e., the parliament] have lesse power in it".(100)

But such royalist counter-attacks were launched in vain. Even after the Oath of Allegiance controversy had died down, familiarity with the conciliarist literature and with the actions of the fifteenth-century councils in judging and deposing popes was such that when in April/May 1628 "parliamentary proceedings came [for the first time in that era] to be dominated by a contest between King and Commons about the nature and limits of supreme authority", it was natural for Sir Dudley Digges (the elder) to reach in debate for a comparison between their own concerns and those of their conciliar predecessors. Just as the Fathers assembled at the Council of Basel, he said, had debated "whether the Pope be above the church or the church above the Pope, so now is there a doubt whether the law be above the King or the King above the law".(101) If the successive editions of Foxe's Book of Martyrs, with its lengthy extracts from Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini's De gestis concilii Basiliensis commentariorum libri II, can only have reinforced that familiarity,(102) the English translations of the Vindiciae (which appeared in 1622, 1631, 1648 and 1689), and reissues of Ponet's Shorte Treatise of Politicke Power (which appeared in the critical years of 1639 and 1642) served to draw attention to the pertinence of the conciliar precedent to the constitutional dilemma with which the mid-century parliamentarians were now confronted.(103) So, too, did the continued circulation of Buchanan's De jure regni apud Scotos, the persistent notoriety of which is evidenced by its targetting for government condemnation in 1584, 1660, 1664 and 1688 and by its inclusion among the works condemned by the University of Oxford in 1683.(104)

Thus William Prynne, who made extensive use of the arguments of Ponet, the Vindiciae, Buchanan and the Scottish conciliarist John Mair, repeatedly evoked the example of conciliar jurisdictional superiority set by the Councils of Pisa, Constance and Basel and even by the conciliabulum of Pisa in 1511.(105) And he also cited at length Aeneas Sylvius's rendition of a speech delivered in 1431 during the debates at Basel. In that speech the bishop of Burgos, ambassador of the king of Castile, in his attempt to make the case for the superiority of council to pope had appealed to a secular analogy which he clearly assumed would strike his listeners as obvious. "The Pope", he said:

is in the Church as a King is in his Kingdome, and for a King to be of more

authority than his Kingdome, it were too absurd. Ergo. Neither ought the Pope

to be above the Church . . . And like as oftentimes Kings, which doe wickedly

governe the commonwealthe and expresse cruelty, are deprived of their

Kingdoms; even so it is not to be doubted but that the Bishop of Rome may be

deposed by the Church, that is to say, by the generall Councell . . .(106)

The English translation of the speech which Prynne is citing is the contemporary one printed in Foxe's Book of Martyrs,(107) and its appeal to English parliamentarians (at a time when belief in the subordination of king to kingdom had long since lost its status as a simple matter of common sense) is reflected in the fact that the same lengthy quotation drawn from the same source had been prominently featured a year earlier in William Bridge's rebuttal of one of Henry Ferne's royalist tracts. Bridge also made considerable use of the conciliarist writings of Jacques Almain, and the latter's authority is further evoked, along with that of Ockham, Gerson and Mair, in Samuel Rutherford's Lex, Rex, a work written in 1644 by way of response to Maxwell's Sacro-sancta regum majestas.(108)

Clearly, then, Figgis was correct in his claim that conciliar theory exerted a demonstrable influence upon the constitutional and resistance theorists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. If, after the onset of the Reformation, the Catholics among them were rarely explicit enough on the matter to warrant anything more than the cautious noting of parallels and similarities, with the Protestants we are on a firmer ground. Encouraged by the frequency of direct citation of conciliar authors or the conciliar experience, and guided by the corroboration of independent (if frequently hostile) contemporary witnesses, the historian has in this case no reason whatsoever to betray any squeamishness about invoking the influence model. As Skinner rightly observed in relation to one strand in the sixteenth-century phase of the story, "when the Calvinist George Buchanan stated for the first time on behalf of the Reformed Churches a fully secularized and populist theory of political resistance, he was largely restating a position already attained by the Catholic John Mair in his teaching at the Sorbonne over half a century before".(109) And as Zofia Rueger put it in relation specifically to seventeenth-century England, "the conciliar precedent was deemed of sufficient importance and relevance to be invoked frequently enough to force the Royalist writers into a polemic", forming, as a result, "a distinct strand of the controversy over the right of resistance in the years 1642-1644".(110)

If, then, it may conceivably be stating the case a little too ebulliently to claim, as did Laski, that "the road from Constance to 1688 was a direct one", (111) one san speak with some confidence at least of a path from Constance to 1644, and probably, in fact, for some way beyond. Scholars will doubtless disagree about how substantial in individual cases this conciliar legacy was,(112) but they will certainly not be warranted in ignoring it, still less in questioning its existence. At the same time, it should be noted that at least in this particular test case Condren's recommended term "use"(113) catches what was going on rather more effectively than the vaguer term "influence". And it may have the added advantage of prompting us, when we are inclined to claim that A was "influenced" by B or "borrowed" from B, to go on (as Collingwood recommended) and ask ourselves "what there was in A that laid itself open to B's influence, or what there was in A that made it capable of borrowing from B".(114) In effect, it may encourage us not to rest on a simple assertion that influence has occurred, but to go on to ask the further and more probing "so what?" question, and, as a result, to give reasons for our belief that the fact of influence is, in a given instance, noteworthy, significant, possessed of a measure of explanatory power. And that brings us, of course, to Figgis's third and most important influence claim, which concerned the very status and significance of conciliar theory in the history of political thought.

IV

In this connection, Figgis claimed, it will be recalled, that conciliar theory exerted the subsequent influence it did (or, translated into Condren's terminology of usage, lent itself to the subsequent use it received) precisely because of its intrinsic nature, because of the universality and force with which it advanced what was not only an ecclesiological option but, beyond that, a political theory. In this connection, too, notice should be taken of some pertinent reservations which historians have expressed (though net necessarily with explicit reference to Figgis) about the failure of the conciliarists to translate theory into practice, about the coherence and universality of their theoretical position itself, and about the degree to which the early modern constitutionalists who appealed to it in support of their own claims did so selectively and without an historically accurate understanding of the position itself.

Thus, thirty years ago, while conceding that conciliarism was "indubitably" a "political doctrine", that it was a "ruthless" application of what he called "the ascending theory of government" (that is, popular sovereignty) to the one body "which at first sight would have seemed immune" to it, Walter Ullmann expressed grays doubts about the degree to which the conciliarists had really acted on their principles. By their deeds, he implied, ye shall know them. The old Romano-canonical principle " `What touches all, must be approved by all' was a persuasive political slogan, but one missed its appearance in practice". Constance and Basel were "as heretofore" merely "ecclesiastical assemblies" dominated, moreover, by the higher clergy. "The lower clergy and the educated layman", he argues, "were . . . knocking at the gate, and were refused entry":

Laymen indeed could submit memoranda, reports, make speeches and take part

in the council's debates, but they were not allowed to vote except in so

far as they were delegates of Kings who were not of course merely laymen; in

so far the old theocratic-descending point of View was applied once

again.(115)

Or as J. B. Morrall had put it when expressing similar sentiments a few years earlier, the early fifteenth-century conciliar thinkers "were all strict believers in clerical monopoly of church government", and the conciliar theory itself was "still inseparably wedded to the orthodox hierarchical conception of authority as coming from above rather than below". As a result, "all the ingenuity of thinkers even of Gerson's calibre could not give the representative principle, based essentially on delegation from below, its full expression".(116)

It would be easy enough to take exception to this assessment of the fifteenth-century councils. At Basel, voting rights were extended in unprecedented degree to members of the lower clergy and it is implausible to dismiss the grant of a vote to lay ambassadors simply as an acknowledgment of the allegedly clerical status of their royal or princely masters. But Ullmann's remarks and those of Morrall were addressed to the theoretical formulations of the conciliarists and not merely to their alleged failure to translate theory into practice. That lag in practice, they implied, was but the reflection of the internal incoherence of the theory itself. The conciliarists were unable fully to escape the gravitational attraction of "the old theocratic-descending point of view". What they did, Ullmann claimed "was to refurbish the old episcopalist system under the cover of a progressive movement: stripped of its inessential paraphernalia, conciliarism was a late medieval revival of episcopalism".(117) That being so, and given what Morrall called "the ambiguity inherent in the whole conciliar position",(118) its place likewise in the history of political thought ran only be an ambiguous one. Nor should the eagerness of the early modern constitutionalists and resistance theorists to evoke the conciliar precedent encourage us to overlook that fact. Conciliarist ideas may well have influenced such theorists but the latter, Ullmann insisted, did not swallow their conciliarism whole. Instead, they selected from among the conciliar materials handed down to them and chose to emphasize "only one strand of conciliarist thought".(119) And even then, if a forceful argument recently advanced by Cary J. Nederman is correct, they read those selected materials anachronistically, reinterpreting them "selectively and in accordance with their own particular problems and assumptions".(120)

The issues these criticisms raise are exceedingly intricate. As they clearly impinge directly on Figgis's third influence claim, they render the assessment of its validity a rather more complicated affair than that of the two preceding. Complex and taxing it may be, but not impossible. And I would suggest that it can best be approached by posing four questions.

First, did the restriction on voting rights at the fifteenth-century councils really witness to some fundamental ambiguity in conciliar theory itself, signalling that what the conciliarists were engaged in was nothing more, in essence, than a "revival of episcopalism"? Secondly, what aspects of conciliar theorizing and practice we-e the seventeenth-century parliamentarians or, for that matter, their sixteenth-century monarchomach predecessors invoking? Thirdly, why was it, after all, if the conciliar precedent was unhelpfully ambiguous, that they insisted on flourishing it, knowing (as they had to) that it could expose them also to the damaging charge of crypto-popery? Fourthly, in evoking the conciliar experience and exploiting the ideas of the conciliarists was their understanding historically accurate, or were they reading those theorists anachronistically, reinterpreting their thinking "selectively" through the distorting lens interposed by their own later "problems and assumptions"? I will address each of these questions in turn.

First, it should be noted that conciliar theory possessed no monolithic unity.(121) It is embedded in a vast body of writing produced under differing circumstances (political and diplomatic as well as strictly ecclesiastical), across a period stretching from the early fourteenth to the mid-sixteenth centuries, by authors representing several different vocations (theologian, canonist, curial official) and, when they made their particular conciliarist pronouncements, serving in differing capacities (cardinals, bishops, representatives of princes, kings, universities and religious orders). Even if we limit ourselves to the Parisian conciliarists on whom Skinner concentrates and whose names crop up so frequently in the works of the seventeenth-century English controversialists, we will encounter important shades of difference in their respective positions. The matter of voting rights affords a good illustration of that fact. Thus whereas Mair does not discuss voting rights and makes no mention of lay representation in general councils,(122) d'Ailly, Gerson and Almain do both. But while Gerson insists that the right to vote be enjoyed by the lower clergy as well as by the bishops and that no member of the faithful be refused a hearing, he is willing to see the laity restricted to a merely consultative or advisory capacity -- though it is important to note that he sees nothing permanent or necessary about such a restriction.(123) Almain follows him faithfully in this,(124) but dAilly is a good deal more forthcoming. Though the unlearned and those of the lowest ranks are not specifically summoned to the council, no Catholic, he insists, should be excluded. Nor should kings, princes, or their representatives be denied a vote, any more than should doctors of theology or of canon or civil law, for they are all men with authority over the people. (125)

The selective procedures suggested here are by no means democratic, but it would sure y be anachronistic to expect them to be so. If that is what Morrall means when he speaks of giving the representative principle its "full expression" (and his comparison with the make-up of the House of Commons prior to the Great Reform Bill of 1832 suggests that it is),(126) then the conciliar theorists undoubtedly fall short of the mark. But then so too' of course, would the Estates in sixteenth-century France and the parliament in seventeenth-century England. As d'Ailly put it, "what touches all must be approved by all, or at least by many and the more notable ones".(127) An aristocratic principle of selection is clearly at work, but the important thing to recognize is that it is not predicated upon the possession of hierarchical powers of a sacerdotal nature. That is the factor fundamental to any episcopalist position, but clearly not the one d'Ailly has in mind, for he pointedly insists that doctors of theology or of either of the two laws have greater authority over the Christian people and, therefore, a better claim to the vote than ignorant or merely titular bishops or archbishops.(128)

Secondly, and as we have argued, during the late sixteenth and much of the seventeenth century English people had become better acquainted with the history of the fifteenth-century councils and the writings of the conciliarists than at any previous time -- the fifteenth century not excluded. And they evoked that history and/or those writings for a variety of purposes: to document from unimpeachably Catholic testimonies the obvious corruption of the old church and the concomitant need for reform (thus Sir John Hayward and Richard Field); or triumphantly to underscore the obvious contradictions and instability manifest in the Catholic doctrinal tradition (thus Bilson, Sutcliffe); or to debunk the notion that a pontiff who was himself capable of heresy and subject to judgement and deposition could plausibly lay claim to a power to judge kings and declare them deposed (thus Sheldon and James I himself); or, yet again -- and this time with a degree of genuine sympathy on the part of those of Calvinist as well as those of Catholic commitment -- to help make the case for an ecclesiology of episcopalist or conciliar inclination, or, alternatively, to strengthen the argument for a non-episcopal and synodal form of church government (thus William Warmington, Roger Widdrington, Marc Antonio de Dominis, Robert Parker and Samuel Rutherford).(129) With the exception, however, of Samuel Rutherford, whose ecclesiological sympathies were of distinctly conciliar bent,(130) the parliamentarians showed little interest in such ideological manoeuvres. Nor, perhaps more surprisingly, did they seek to exploit the quasioligarchic strand (with its evocation of the idea of mixed government) that had been present already in the ecclesiology of John of Paris, had found some resonance in Gerson's conciliar thought, and had been a prominent feature of the conciliarism of d'Ailly, Zabarella end Nicholas of Cusa.(131) Instead, they focused almost exclusively on the precedent established by the central conciliar assertion of the ultimate jurisdictional superiority to the pope of the general council acting as representative of the universal church, and on the historic vindication of that superiority by the conciliar judgement and deposition of popes at Pisa, Constance and Basel.(132) And that fact, that selectivity, speaks to our third question.

Neither the English, French and Scottish resistance theorists of the sixteenth century nor the English parliamentarians of the seventeenth appear to have found anything at all ambiguous about the central strand of conciliar thinking upon which they placed so much emphasis. Nor did the French Huguenots appear to have lost any sleep over their indebtedness to scholastic predecessors for their revolutionary ideas. Quite the contrary, in fact. If Skinner is correct, they may even have seen it as a distinct advantage. For it helped them in their attempt "to neutralize as far as possible the hostile Catholic majority by showing them the extent to which revolutionary political actions could be legitimated in terms of impeccably Catholic beliefs".(133) That was far from being the case, of course, with their seventeenth-century English successors. "In Stuart England there was much political capital to be made from convicting one's opponents of popery",(134) and the sensitivity of the parliamentarians to the charge of cryptopopery and even more of Jesuitry is reflected in their anxious attempts to deflect its force. In relation to the despised doctrine of popular sovereignty Maxwell had charged that "Puritan and Jesuite in this, not only consent and concurre, but like Herod and Pilate are reconciled to crucify the Lord's anointed".(135) To that Rutherford hotly (if not very effectively) retorted that Maxwell, having taken "unlearned paines, to prove that Gerson, Occam, Jac[obus] safe Almaine, Parisian Doctors maintained these same grounds anent the peoples power over Kings in the case of Tyranny [as did the Jesuits]", had by so doing given "himselfe the lye" and inadvertently demonstrated that "we have not this Doctrine from Jesuites".(136) But if not from Jesuits, clearly still from papists. And that charge Bridge was forced to shrug off with the rejoinder that "Reason is good wherever we finde it; neither would Abraham refuse the use of the Well because Abimeiech's men had used it, no more will we refuse good reason, because Papists have used it".(137) A reasonably robust stance, and it prompts me to ask whereof that "good reason" consisted.

In this connection, it is important to emphasize the degree to which the seventeenth-century opponents of absolutism in England confronted a new orthodoxy that had begun to establish itself, especially among Anglican churchmen, long before the end of the Elizabethan era. Johan Sommerville has argued that when Richard Hooker in the 1590s had evoked the commonplace idea that the royal authority flowed by natural law from the consent of the realm, "such ideas were [in fact] already . . . going out of vogue among the higher clergy".(138) A new "divine-right" orthodoxy had begun to develop which, despite that perhaps misleading label, continued the practice of grounding governmental authority in the natural law rather than in the revealed word of God.(139) At the same time, however, it inserted a sharp distinction between the power of the king, which was seen to be derived solely and directly from God, and his title, which might derive from designation by the people. In framing this type of designation theory, Anglican divines had not hesitated to adduce by way of analogy the fact that the pope claimed to hold his power immediately from God alone, even though as an individual he owed his title to a human electoral process. Thus William Barret in 1612, John Buckeridge in 1614, Robert Bolton in 1639 -- this last insisting against Bellarmine's derivation of royal authority from the community that:

the question is not by what meanes, whether by hereditary succession or

election, or any other humane forme, a Prince comes into his kingdome, but

whether by the ordinance of GOD we ought to obey him when he is

established . . . [T]he Pope is hoisted into his chaire of pestilence, by

the election of the Cardinals or worse meanes, and vet that

hinders not our adversaries from holding it a divine ordinance.(140)

This being so, and the opponents of the new orthodoxy in the period leading up to the Civil War having lost, in effect, the ideological initiative, many hesitated to claim in theory for a parliament increasingly bypassed in practice any unambiguous right of resistance to the king, let alone a right of deposition.(141) Only the more robust among those opponents were willing to push forward into whet had now, in the past half-century, become more radical territory and to invoke against the king the inherent power of the community as wielded through its representatives in parliament. And when they did, secular "parliamentary theory in the later Middle Ages" not having "kept abreast of practice" and "ecclesiastical conciliarism . . . [having] . . . provided a general theory of constitutions for use by aspiring parliamentarians", it is understandable, as Antony Black has recently asserted, that some among them should "look back . . . on conciliarism as the closest historical precedent for what they were trying to do".(142) But that brings us to our fourth and final question: were these parliamentarians (and their sixteenth-century predecessors), as Figgis believed, correct in their judgement about that precedent? Or were they guilty, in effect, of understanding history anachronistically? And, if the latter, we of course as historians should know better than to indulge their distorted readings.

Given the range and complexity of the vast ocean of literature that it is customary to label as conciliarist, the question may appear more formidable than it in fact is. Central, after all, to the pertinence and force of the conciliar analogy when evoked by constitutionalists, parliamentarians and advocates of legitimate resistance against kings turned tyrant was the assumption that the church was, as Figgis put it, "one of a class, political societies", and that as a political community it possessed by natural law the ultimate right (as, for that matter, did any natural body) to gather up its resources and exert its inherent power to prevent its own ruin.(143) And although, as we have just seen, they themselves could not on occasion resist the temptation to deploy the papal analogy for their own purposes, central to the response of the royalists was the insistence that the ecclesiastical analogy was invalid, because the papal monarchy was founded in grace not in nature, because it was elective not hereditary, and/or because the general council by virtue of a known canon law possessed a greater authority over a pope than did the estates of any realm over their king.

Now it should be noted that this ideological stand-off is the mirror-image of one that had occurred already during the conciliar epoch itself. Embedded in the conciliarist literature are countless examples and analogies drawn this time from the political arrangements of the secular world,(144) invoked, of course, to help elaborate the case for the supreme authority of the general council within the church. The much-cited speech of the bishop of Burgos at Basel in 1431 simply represents a particularly striking example, and it should be noted that this conciliarist willingness to rely on secular analogies endured right down to the seventeenth century. Thus Mair and Almain in the early sixteenth century, -who came close to treating the ecclesiastical and secular polities univocally; thus Sir Thomas More in the 1530s, when he argued that "counsayles do represent the whole church . . . as a parliament represent the whole realme"; thus Paolo Sarpi in 1606, when, defending against Bellarmine's aspersions the orthodoxy of Gerson's conciliarist commitments (and following up on other secular political analogies), he noted that it did not follow from God's having "placed a King to governe a Kingdome" that that king "is superior to his whol kingdom assembled together".(145)

Moreover, and as I have argued elsewhere,(146) the conciliarists who had pursued that line of march had usually focused their attention also upon the sector wherein ecclesiastical power is at its closest, in quality if not in purpose, to secular governmental authority. When they spoke of the church as the corpus Christi or corpus Christi mysticum, those expressions had lost for them the rich sacramental associations present in the earlier patristic usage and had acquired in their place corporative and political connotations. Instead of the parallel being drawn with the sacramental body of Christ and corpus mysticum being taken to denote the incorporation of the faithful with Christ in a mysterious community of salvation, the analogy was drawn now from natural bodies or bodies in general, and the expression taken to denote a "moral and political [as opposed to real or physical] body". Further than that, of the traditional categories of ecclesiastical power, it was not the power of order (potestas ordinis), the truly sacerdotal power, on which these conciliarists laid their stress. That power, they said, pertained quintessentially to the Eucharist, which they designated not as the mystical but as the "true body of Christ" (corpus Christi verum). Their own concern lay rather with jurisdiction (potestas jurisdictionis), for that was the power that pertained to the corpus Christi mysticum, and especially with its public, coercive and unambiguously non-sacramental and political subdivision--the potestas jurisdictionis in foro externo, which d'Ailly referred to simply as "the governmental power" (potestas regiminis).(147) That was the modality of ecclesiastical power they had in mind when they made their case for the superiority of council over pope. And they grounded that case not simply in Scripture, or church history, or ecclesiastical custom, or canon law (though of course they did all of those things), not simply, that is, in the rights, privileges, customs, and laws proper to the communitas fidelium, but also in the mandates of the natural law itself, the law that pertained to the community of mankind.

So far, so good. But, then, not all conciliarists framed their case in this way. A. J. Black, Joachim Stieber and, more recently, J. H. Burns have all stressed the complex interaction of ideology and diplomacy that led in the 1430s and 1440s to a vigorous papal counter-offensive involving the damaging portrayal of the Baselian conciliarist ecclesiology, and especially the version advocated by John of Segovia, as "constituting a subversive, even revolutionary challenge to the very principle of monarchical authority . . . in the temporal as well as in the spiritual realm". And, further than that, a counter-offensive "propagated, not only in the context of theoretical discussion, but also, and even more vigorously, in serious and energetic diplomatic efforts to establish a monarchical alliance with temporal rulers against the radical attack".(148) Somewhat less emphasis has been placed, however, on the degree to which, partly in response to that counteroffensive and in an attempt to deflect the charge that the so-called "democratic" ideas of the conciliarists posed a threat to every form of monarchy, some of those conciliarists (Panormitamus, Andrew of Escobar, Thomas Strempinski and, above all, John of Segovia) were led to frame their conciliar theories in such a way as to render them less relevant, or even irrelevant, to matters political. And in this they were followed in part by such early sixteenth-century conciliar thinkers as Pierre Cordier in Paris and Giovanni Gozzadini in Italy.(149)

Indicative of this doctrinal shift is the fact that appeals to natural law, though not entirely lacking, play a less crucial role in the arguments of these Baselian conciliarists than in those of their predecessors and pertain often to issues of merely tributary mature. Similarly, the crucial distinction between the powers of order and jurisdiction is less insistently and less effectively evoked, even in contexts where it would have helped clarify and advance the line of argument. The terms corpus mysticum and corpus politicum, instead of being used in the earlier conciliarist fashion as synonyms, are contrasted and employed in such a way as f O distinguish the universal church from all other communities in precisely those dimensions most relevant to the strict conciliar theory and to set it apart from political societies in general. And the distinction now drawn between the church as a "mystical" and as a "political" body is aligned with the familiar distinction between the whole membership of the universal church considered "collectively" and "distributively"--that is, as a single, corporate body and as a mere aggregation of individuals (omnes ut universitas / omnes ut singuli).

Thus, in formulations like that of John of Segovia (Black describes them as constituting "the essence of Baslean Conciliarism"),(150) the church assembled in general council was identified with the corpus mysticum and papal sovereignty seen in contrast as pertaining "to a somewhat lower, merely `political' order of things".(151) Parallels between church and secular polity were to be admitted as valid only in so far as the church was itself regarded as a corpus politicum, a collection of particular churches and individual members ruled in accordance with human judgement and reason, the governance of which, like the governance of any kingdom, God assists by a "general" rather than a "special influence". But the church congregated in a general council was to be regarded rather as a corpus mysticum animated and protected by divine grace and not dependent on a merely natural judgement. As a result, it was precisely to the church as a mystical body directed by the Holy Spirit, as a unique community in which Christ ruled by a special and not merely general influence, that the Baselian arguments for the superiority of council to pope pertained.(152) Their relevance, then, to the mundane realm of secular principalities and powers was understandably remote and had properly to be perceived as such. And had the later constitutionalists and advocates of legitimate resistance to kings turned tyrant relied on these arguments they would, indeed, have been forced to place their emphasis on what was only one facet of a complex and perhaps ambiguous position.

Whether, in invoking the conciliar analogy, they were or were not guilty of an anachronistic reading of the conciliar past depends, then, on the particular past they have in mind--on the specific strain of conciliarism that informs their understanding of the fifteenth-century conciliar experience. With the monarchomachs of the sixteenth century, who refrained from citing individual conciliar thinkers, the question is not readily susceptible of answer--though his teacher, John Mair, had clearly had a hand in shaping Buchanan's political thinking and may have had some impact also on that of Ponet.(153) But with their seventeenth-century English successors we are on much firmer ground. The range of proto-conciliarist and conciliarist literature cited by the English writers of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is admittedly quite broad. Despite Foxe's inclusion, via his translation of Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini, of one of John of Segovia's speeches in his Book of Martyrs, I do not believe I have come across a single reference to Segovia in the seventeenth-century writers, and references to Marsiglio of Padua, though by no means lacking, do not appear with great frequency. One hears much more of Aeneas Sylvius, Dietrich of Niem, William of Ockham, Nicholas of Cusa, Panormitanus and Francesco Zabarella. But it is the members of the "School of Sorbonne" who top the list, from John of Paris, via d'Ailly and Gerson, to Almain and Mair. It is almost exclusively from these latter conciliarists, the so-called "Sorbonnists" or "divines of Paris", whose works Richer had recently made conveniently available, that the mid-century parliamentarians are accused by their royalist opponents of having drawn their benighted ideas. And it is upon the authority of those particular conciliarists that they themselves do in fact rely.

That being so, there was nothing anachronistic about their conviction that the fifteenth-century conciliar experience represented a valuable historical precedent that could help advance the case for legitimate resistance that they themselves were struggling to make. The questions which Collingwood viewed it as essential to answer if assertions of historical influence were to reach beyond the superficial pose, in this case, no insurmountable obstacle. Figgis was correct, after all, in his claim that the Parisian conciliarists had given a notably universal expression to the principles underlying the medieval constitutional tradition, and that that notably universal expression was destined to take on a heightened significance in a later era when absolute or quasi-absolute monarchy was coming to be regarded as the only civilized form of government, when representative assemblies in much of Europe had entered upon a period of decline, and when such traditional medieval limitations on monarchical power were coming to be dismissed as "inefficient clogs upon the wheels of government", "not merely wrong but stupid".(154) As John Ponet himself had pointed out, "by this lawe [of nature] and argumentes of the Cannonistes and example of deprivacion of a Pope are all clokes (wherewith Popes, bishoppes, priests, Kaisers and Kinges use to defend their iniquity) utterly taken away".(155)

V

Whatever its original intent, the phrase "epistemological hypochondria" (and I believe we owe it to Ernest Gellner) serves well to catch the mood of uneasiness, hesitancy, cognitive timidity even, characteristic of so much of our contemporary intellectual discourse, as also our concomitant reluctance as we go about our intellectual endeavours even "faintly to trust the larger hope". As a subfield of one of the most central of humanistic disciplines, history of ideas has not proved immune to this general syndrome. In its more traditional forms at least, it has been dismissed as "shopsoiled" and "simpleminded",(156) derided as "a kind of paper chase of ideas back through the ages . . . usually ending up with Aristotle and Plato",(157) and, in what has been (improperly) represented as constituting its Lovejovian variant, condemned as resting "on a fundamental philosophical mistake".(158) In comparison with such eye-catching frontal assaults, the nagging worries expressed in the past few years about the use of the influence model in the history of political thought amount to no more than desultory skirmishes on the margins of the far-flung battleground of cognition. And they are less likely, I would predict, to eventuate in any full-scale abandonment of the approach itself than to induce a helpful intensification of the historian's methodological self-consciousness in pursuing it. When, as in the case-study concluded above, the preconditions which Skinner and Hermeren properly stipulate can indeed be met and adequate response made to the further questions which Collingwood had earlier posed, then the currently prevalent (and usually unexamined) squeamishness about the use of the influence model should be easy enough to overcome. On this matter, it is long since time for historians to eschew cumbersome and uneasy circumlocutions (they fool nobody anyway), and to liberate the word "influence" itself from the veritable embarrassment of quotation marks that has come to surround it. However sloppily the influence concept may conceivably have been invoked in the past, it has (as it always has had) an important and probably indispensable role to play in the history of ideas. It should be permitted to play it. (*) Much of the research for this paper was completed at the Folger Shakespeare Library while I was a Guest Scholar at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Washington, D.C., in 1994. I should like to express my gratitude to both institutions for the privilege of being able to work in so stimulating and supportive a setting, and to my fellow scholars at the Wilson Center, especially Patricia Springborg and Frank Turner, for their colleagueship and encouragement. For helpful suggestions I should like also to thank George Pistorius and Mario Valdes, as well as my colleagues at the Oakley Center for the Humanities and Social Sciences, Williams College. (1) Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry (New York, 1973). I borrow the title of this essay from the title and theme of Bloom's splendid book, though, by an appropriate misprision, I use it to denote, not anxiety about the fact of influence itself, but rather the anxiety currently generated among historians by the very suggestion that one thinker may have influenced another. (2) I draw this arresting phrase from Edward W. Said, Beginnings: Intention and Method (New York, 1975), p. 338. (3) The term "heterotextual" is Claudio Guillen's. Discussing Julia Kristeva's introduction of the term "intertextuality" to describe the phenomenon in question, he says: "It might just as well have been suggested that the text of a literary work is heterotextual, penetrated by alterity, by words other than its own": Claudio Guillen, The Challenge of Comparative Literature, trans. Cola Franzen (Cambridge, Mass., 1993), p. 245. Or, as Kristeva herself put it, "Any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another": see her essay "Word, Dialogue and Novel", in The Kristeva Reader, ed. Toril Moi (Oxford, 1986), p. 37. The essay was published originally in 1966 as "Le mot, le dialogue et le roman". Roland Barthes, Image, Music, Text, trans. Stephen Heath (New York, 1977), pp. 146, 148, cited in Jonathan Culler, On Deconstruction: Theory and Criticism after Structuralism (Ithaca, 1982), pp. 32-3. Elsewhere Barthes put it thus: "Every text is an intertext; other texts are present in it, at varying levels, in more or less recognizable forms; earlier cultural texts and those of the surrounding culture, every text is a new texture of passing citations . . . Intertextuality, the condition of every text, no matter what it is, is obviously not limited to a problem of sources or in'duences": Roland Barthes, "Texte (theorie du)", in Encyclopaedia universalis, 20 vols. (Paris, 1968-75), xv, p. 1015c, cited from Guillen, Challenge of Comparative Literature, p. 246. (4) Thus John Dunn, where he had just asserted that "[i]f a statement is considered in a fully open context, its meaning may be any lexically possible set of colligations of the uttered proposition. A man might mean by it anything that a man might mean by it": John Dunn, "The Identity of the History of Ideas", Philosophy, xliu (1968), pp. 65-104 (at p. 98). (5) See Quentin Skinner, "The Limits of Historical Explanations", Philosophy, xli (1966), pp. 199-215; the sentence cited appears at p. 210. (6) Note the affiliated tendency to avoid the use of the word without resort to the protective obliquity of quotation marks -- see, e.g., Donald Winch, Adam Smith's Politics: An Essay in Historiographic Revision (Cambridge, 1978), pp. 48-9, 174-5. For a good example of Skinner's influence in these respects, see Thomas F. Mayer, Thomas Starkey and the Commonweal: Humanist Politics and Religion in the Reign of Henry VIII (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 9-10, where the author is careful to deny that he is "concerned to track `influences' on Starkey's mind", noting that "both Skinner and Condren have shown this concept" to be "nearly devoid of explanatory power". Ironically, Mayer is himself willing to speak of "Quentin Skinner's influential emphasis on context": ibid, p. 9 n. 15. (7) For the especially difficult challenge presented in this respect by the medieval author, see Francis Oakley, The Political Thought of Pierre d'Ailly: The Voluntarist Tradition (New Haven, 1964), pp. 198-200.

(8) Skinner, "Limits of Historical Explanations", pp. 203-7, 210-11. (9) Quentin Skinner, "More's Utopia", Past and Present, no. 38 (Dec. 1967), pp. 153-68, where the target is Edward Surtz's discussion of the literary influences on Thomas More's Utopia. Skinner's crushing conclusion in this case is that "[t]he only real information to come out of Surtz's study . . . concerns Surtz himself. He is clearly an extremely widely-read scholar, who while reading More has very often been reminded of other books he has read. But this suggests that at best the whole business of studying influences is nothing more than a scholar's game; at worst, moreover, it clearly leads to the assertion of many claims which there is no reason to suppose are true, and which are very likely false": ibid., p. 165. (10) Quentin Skinner, "Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas", History and Theory, viii (1969), pp. 3-53; reprinted conveniently in James Tully (ed.), Meaning and Context: Quentin Skinner and his Critics (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 30-67 (text), 291-309 (notes), to which my references will be given. Skinner discusses the problem of influence under the general rubric of "the mythology of parochialism" at pp. 45-7. (11) Conal Condren, The Status and Appraisal of Classic Texts: An Essay on Political Theory, its Inheritance, and the History of Ideas (Princeton, 1985), esp. pp. 129-41. (12) Ibid., pp. 136, 137-9. (13) On which, and for the influence claims involved, see David Boucher, "New Histories of Political Thought for Old", Political Studies, xxxi (1983), pp. 112-21 (at pp. 118-19). Boucher lists many of the pertinent pages in Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern political Thought, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1978). To that list should be added ibid., ii, pp. 112, 114-18, 321, 346. Reference should also be made to Quentin Skinner, "The Origins of the Calvinist Theory of Revolution", in B. C. Malament (ed.), After the Reformation (Manchester, 1980), pp. 309-30 (see esp. pp. 324-6). (14) Quentin Skinner, "A Reply to my Critics", in Tully (ed.), Meaning and Context, pp. 233, 327 n. 13. Peter Laslett himself appears to have had no reservations about the influence model as such. He stated that "the prime reason for the importance attached to [Locke's Second Treatise] . . . is its enormous historical influence": see the introduction to his edition of John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, rev. edn (New York, 1965), esp. pp. 67-79. (15) Skinner, "Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas", p. 298 n. 113, referring to Philip P. Wiener, "Some Problems and Methods in the History of Ideas", Jl Hist. Ideas, xxii (1961), pp. 531-48 (at p. 537). (16) Andre Gide, "De l'influence en litterature", in OEuvres completes d'Andre Gide, ed. L. Martin-Chauffier, 15 vols. (Paris, 1932-9), iii, pp. 249-73. Gide's purpose was not to explore the difficulties posed by the notion of influence but to celebrate its importance for artistic creativity. The epoch and the writer most profoundly influenced are likely often to be the most fertile in creativity and the most profoundly original. Cf. Henri Peyre, "Andre Gide et les problemes d'influence en litterature", Mod. Language Notes, lvii (1942), pp. 558-67; R. G. Collingwood, The Idea of Nature (Oxford, 1945), p. 128; Louis Cazamian, "Goethe en Angleterre: quelques reflexions sur les problemes d'influence", Revue germanique, xii (1921), pp. 371-8 (at pp. 375-7). (17) Of the pertinent literature (which is quite extensive), I have found the following discussions in varying degree helpful: James Robert Hightower, "Chinese Literature in the Context of World Literature", Comparative Literature, v (1953), pp. 117-24; H. Hassan, "The Problem of Influence in Literary History: Notes towards a Definition", Jl Aesthetics and Art Criticism, xiv (1955), pp. 66-76; Claudio Guillen, "Literature como sistema", Filologia romanza, iv (1957), pp. 1-29; Claudio Guillen, "The Aesthetics of Influence Studies in Comparative Literature" (1959), repr. in his Literature as System: Essays toward the Theory of Comparative Literature (Princeton, 1971), pp. 17-52 (see also Claudio Guillen, "A Note on Influences and Conventions", ibid., pp. 53-68; Guillen has recently returned to those issues in his Challenge of Comparative Literature, esp. pp. 24-62, 240-87); Haskell M. Block, "The Concept of Influence in Comparative Literature", Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature, vii (1958), pp. 30-57; Haskell M. Block, Nouvelles tendances en litterature comparee (Paris, 1963), pp. 13-49; Rene Etiemble, Comparaison n'est pas raison: la crise de la litterature comparee (Paris, 1963), pp. 61-73; Rene Wellek, Concepts of Criticism, ed. Stephen G. Nichols, Jr (New Haven, 1963), pp. 282-95; Goran Hermeren, Influence in Art and Literature (Princeton, 1975); Robert J. Clements, Comparative Literature as Academic Discipline: A Statement of Principles, Praxis, Standards (New York, 1978). Cf Henry Peyre, "A Glance at Comparative Literature", Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature, i (1952), pp. 1-8; Harry Levin, "La litterature comparee: point de vue d'Outre-Atlantique", Revue de littirature comparee, xxvii (1953), pp. 17-26; F. W. Bateson, "Editorial Commentary", Essays in Criticism, iv (1954), pp. 436-40; R. W. Stallman, "The Scholar's Net: New Literary Sources", College English, xvu (1955), pp. 20-7. (18) A tactic, Hassan says, that did not entirely resolve the "ambivalence that students of literature had come to feel about the problem of influence": Hassan, "Problem of Influence in Literary History", p. 66. (19) Wellek, Concepts of Criticism, ed. Nichols, pp. 282-90, Block, Nouvelles tendances en litterature comparee, pp. 13-20. (20) See Etiemble, Comparaison n'est pas raison, pp. 61-5, where he notes the discontent of Japanese comparatists with what they referred to as the "positivism" and "historicism" of the French method. (21) Wellek, Concepts of Criticism, ed. Nichols, pp. 282-3; cf. Block, Nouvelles tendances en litterature comparee, pp. 16-18. (22) Block, "Concept of Influence in Comparative Literature", pp. 30-1. (23) Thus Hassan, "Problem of Influence in Literary History", pp. 74-6. (24) This, if I understand him correctly, was the position of Claudio Guillen in 1959: "Note on Influences and Conventions", pp. 58, 53; "Aesthetics of Influence Studies" p. 34 n. 28; cf. his earlier "Literature como sistema", esp. pp. 4, 27-9. More recently, certainly, Guillen has endorsed "the concept of intertextuality . . . as especially useful for comparatists. We believe that here we have at last a way to dissipate the many ambigmties and errors such as those brought along in the wake of the notion of influences": Guillen, Challenge of Comparative Literature, p. 246. It may be remarked, however, that as scholars currently deploy it new intertextuality can sometimes appear to be nothing other than old influence writ large -- and not always all that large: see, e.g., Evelyn Ellerman, "Intertextuality in the Fiction of Camus and Wendt", in Cornelia N. Moore and Raymond A. Moody (eds.), Comparative Literature East and West: Traditions and Trends (Honolulu, 1989), pp. 43-50. (25) And in 1961 Philippe van Tieghem had poimted out that there were no fewer than twelve hundred such studies devoted to the relations between foreign literatures and French alone: Philippe van Tieghem, Les influences etrangeres sur la litterature francaise (1550-1880) (Paris, 1961), cited in Block, Nouvelles tendances en litterature comparee, p. 17. (26) Block, "Concept of Influence in Comparative Literature", pp. 34-6. (27) Hermeren, Influence in Art and Literature, over three hundred pages of analysis replete (in the analytic philosophical mode) with sequences of numbered propositions -- e.g., p. 93: "(R1) Ontological Requirement 2. If x influenced the creation of y with respect to a, then x and y are visual or literary works of art or, alternatively, certain kinds of actions". Hermeren appears to have been unaware of Skinner's articles on the subject. (28) Ibid., p. 119. The particular kind of causal explanation he has in mind is the "counterfactual conditional", though he emphasizes (pp. 126-7) that the counterfactual conditions involved may be of more than one kind -- all of this embedded in a highly technical set of arguments running, in effect, from pp. 104 to 155. (29) Ibid., pp. 104-6. (30) Ibid., p. 8. (31) Ibid., p. 14. (32) For these, see ibid., ch. 2, pp. 156-262. (33) Ibid., pp. 152, 177. (34) Ibid., p. 165. (35) Ibid., p. 194. (36) Ibid., p. 246; see also ibid., pp. 247-57. (37) Ibid., pp. 320-1. (33) See David Boucher, "New Histories of Political Thought for Old", Political Studies, xxxi (1983), pp. 111-21 (at pp. 118-20). (39) Julian A. Franklin, review of Skinner, Foundations of Modern Political Thought, Political Theory, vii (1979), pp. 552-8 (at pp. 557-8). (40) The words which Skinner cites are those of Michael Walzer, The Revolution of the Saints (Cambridge, Mass., 1965), pp. 1-2. (41) Following here the "brief epitome" of the argument in Skinner, "Origins of the Calvinist Theory of Revolution", esp. pp. 312, 324-6. The argument is developed at much greater length in his Foundations of Modern Political Thought, ii, chs. 2, 4, 9. (42) Henry Hallam, View of the State of Europe during the Middle Ages, 3 vols. (London, 1901), iii, pp. 243, 245. The work was originally published in 1818. (43) Lord Acton, Lectures on the French Revolution, ed. J. W. Figgis and R. V. Laurence (London, 1910), p. 17. The lectures were delivered in Cambridge in the 1890s. J. H. Burns notes that Acton's position in the matter had shifted somewhat across the previous forty years and that, earlier on, he had been "unimpressed by Gerson's `attempt to apply the principles of secular polity to the Church' ": J. H. Burns, Lordship, Kingship, and Empire: The Idea of Monarchy, 1400-1525 (Oxford, 1992), p. 10 n. 14; Lord Acton, The History of Freedom and Qther Essays, ed. J. N. Figgis and R. V. Laurence (London, 1907), pp. 191-2. (44) Otto Gierke, Political Theories of the Middle Age, ed. and trans. F. W. Maitland (Cambridge, 1900), pp. 49-58. (45) J. N. Figgis, Political Thought from Gerson to Grotius, 1414-1625: Seven Studies (New York, 1960), pp. 41-70 (at p. 41). (46) Ibid., p. 56. (47) Ibid, p. 47. (48) Ibid., pp. 46-8, 63. (49) Though he had clearly read widely in the pertinent sources and, had he so chosen, could undoubtedly have extended the evidentiary foundations of his claim. (50) Figgis himself advanced his thesis on more than one occasion: see his "Political Thought in the Sixteenth Century", in A. W. Ward, G. W. Prothero and Stanley Leathes (eds.), The Cambridge Modern History, 13 vols. (Cambridge, 1902-11), iii, p. 736; also J. N. Figgis, "Politics at the Council of Constance", Trans. Roy. Hist. Soc., new ser., xiii (1899), pp. 103-15. Cf. Raymond G. Gettell, History of Political Thought (London, 1924), pp. 133-5; R. H. Murray, The History of Political Science, 2nd edn (New York, 1930), p. 101; Charles H. McIlwain, The Growth of Political Thought in the West (New York, 1932), p. 348 n. 2; George H. Sabine, A History of Political Theory, rev. edn (New York, 1950), pp. 326-7; H. J. Laski, "Political Theory in the Later Middle Ages", in H. M. Gwatkin et al. (eds.), The Cambridge Medieval History, 8 vols. (Cambridge, 1911-36), viii, p. 838. (51) See the useful discussions of conciliar scholarship listed in Francis Oakley, "Natural Law, the Corpus Mysticum, and Consent in Conciliar Thought from John of Paris to Matthias Ugonius", Speculum, lvi (1981), pp. 786-810 (at p. 787 n. 5); of these, see esp. Guiseppe Alberigo, "Il movimento conciliare (xiv-xv sec.) nella ricerca storica recense", Studi Medievali, 3rd ser., xix (1978), pp. 213-50. (52) See n. 144 below. (53) E. F. Jacob, Essays in the Conciliar Epoch (Manchester, 1943), pp. 2-3. (54) Brian Tierney, Foundations of the Conciliar Theory: The Contribution of the Medieval Canonists from Gratian to the Great Schism (Cambridge, 1955), pp. 240, 10-11; cf Gierke, Political Theories of the Middle Age, ed. Maitland, p. 50; Franz Bliemetzrieder, Das Generalkonzil im grossen abendlandischen Schisma (Paderborn, 1904), pp. 75-6; H. X. Arquilliere, "L'appel au concile sous Philippe le Bel et la genese des theories conciliares", Revue des questions historiques, xlv (1911), pp. 51-5; Walter Ullmann, The Origins of the Great Schism (London, 1948), pp. 184-5; Walter Ullmann, The Groroth of Papal Government in the Middle Ages (London, 1955), pp. 452-3. (55) See Helmut G. Walther, Imperiales Konigtum, Konziliarismus und Volkssouveranitat (Munich, 1976), pp. 187-8; Hermann Josef Sieben, Die Konzilsidee des lateinischen Mittelalters (847-1378) (Paderborn, 1984), pp. 232-76 (esp. p. 255). I would judge Sieben's treatment of the canonists as a rather wooden, literal-minded account that does not even begin to address the subtlety and complexity of Tierney's formidable argument. But for a rather more positive appraisal of his (implicit) critique of Tierney, see Constantin Fasolt, Council and Hierarchy: The Political Thought of William Durant the Younger (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 18-20. (56) See Francis Oakley, "Verius est licet difficilius: Tierney's Foundations of the Conciliar Theory after Forty Years", in Thomas M. Izbicki and Gerald Christianson (eds.), Nicholas of Cusa on Christ and the Church (Leiden, 1996), pp. 1-20. (57) I would suggest, as one striking illustration, the use the theologian Pierre d'Ailly made of the canonistic glosses of Guido de Baysio, Hostiensis and Johannes Monachus in developing a conception of the church as a mixed monarchy that is very close in intention (if not in legal precision) to that developed on a similar basis by his fellow conciliarist, the distinguished canonist Francesco Zabarella: see Oakley, Political Thought of Pierre d'Ailly, pp. 114-29. For Zabarella's version, see Tierney, Foundations of the Conciliar Theory, pp. 220-37. For conciliarist views of mixed monarchy in general, see now James M. Blythe, Ideal Government and the Mixed Constitution in the Middle Ages (Princeton, 1992), pp. 243-59. (58) Though Otto Gierke stands out as an important exception to that generalization. And, for a more recent exception, see Juan Beneyto Perez, Historia de las doctrinal political, 4th edn (Madrid, 1964), pp. 161-4. (59) Pierre Mesnard, L'essor de la philosophic politique au [XVI.sup.e] siecle (Paris, 1936); J. W. Allen, A History of Political Thought in the Sixteenth Century (London, 1928); J. W. Allen, English Political Thought 1603-1660 (London, 1938); Christopher Morris, Political Thought in England: Tyndale to Hooker (London, 1953); R. W. and A. J. Carlyle, A History of Political Thought in the West, 6 vols. (London, 1903-36), vi, pp. 163-7, 247, where the author (A. J. Carlyle) contrasts "the ecclesiastical questions of the relation between the Pope and the General Council", which he excludes from consideration, with the remarks of the conciliarists concerning properly "political principles". For Franklin, see n. 39 above. (60) Zofia Rueger, "Gerson, the Conciliar Movement and the Right of Resistance (1642-1644)", Jl Hist. Ideas, xxv (1964), pp. 467-80; A. J. Black, "The Conciliar Movement", in J. H. Burns (ed.), The Cambridge History of Medieval Political Thought c.350-c.1450 (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 573-87 (esp. pp. 586-7); A. J. Black, Political Thought in Europe, 1250-1450 (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 169-78; J. H. Burns, "The Conciliarist Tradition in Scotland", Scot. Hist. Rev., xlii (1963), pp. 89-104; J. H. Burns, Lordship, Kingship, and Empire, pp. 10-12; Francis Oakley, "From Constance to 1688: The Political Thought of John Major and George Buchanan", Jl Brit. Studies, i (1962), pp. 1-31; Oakley, Political Thought of Pierre d'Ailly, pp. 217-32; Francis Oakley, "From Constance to 1688 Revisited", Jl Hist. Ideas, xxvii (1966), pp. 429-32; Francis Oakley, "Figgis, Constance, and the Divines of Paris", Amer. Hist. Rev., lxxv (1969),pp. 368-86; Oakley, "Natural Law, the Corpus Mysticum, and Consent in Conciliar Thought". (61) As is reflected in the quite generous degree of attention recently afforded it by the contributors to J. H. Burns and Mark Goldie (eds.), The Cambridge History of Political Thought, 1450-1700 (Cambridge, 1991). For Skinner, see n. 41 above. (62) Thus, for example, and less than a quarter of a century ago, Paul Ourliac could still depict the year 1440 as the great turning-point after which theologians turned energetically to the "constructive task" of vindicating the papal monarchy: Paul Ourliac and Henri Gilles, "Les discordances d'une epoque", in Gabriel le Bras (ed.), Histoire du droit et des institutions de l'Eglise en Occident, 18 vols. (Paris, 1956-84), xiii, pt 1, p. 51; cf. Paul Ourliac, "La victoire de la papaute", in A. Fliche and V. Martin (eds.), Histoire de l'Eglise, 26 vols. (Paris, 1934-64), xiv, p. 285. The intrusion into history of theological and canonistic criteria is evident in the way in which the pertinent encyclopedias have treated the fifteenth-century councils and the claim to legitimacy of the Avignonese and Pisan popes during the Schism. For which, see the remarks in Francis Oakley, Council over Pope; Towards a Provisional Ecclesiology (New York, 1969), pp. 121-6. (63) See the helpful historiographical discussion in Thomas M. Izbicki, "Papalist Reaction to the Council of Constance: Juan de Torquemada to the Present", Church History, lv (1986), pp. 7-20. (64) Hubert Jedin, A History of the Council of Trent, trans. Ernest Graf, 2 vols. (London, 1957-61), i, pp. 1-165; Josef Klotzner, Kardinal Domenikus Jacobazzi und sein Konzilswerk (Rome, 1948); Olivier dela Brosse, Le pape et le concile: la comparaison de leurs pouvoirs a la veille de la Reforme (Paris, 1965); Remigius Baumer, Nachwirkungen des konziliaren Gedankens in der Theologie und Kanonistik desfrahen 16. Jahrhunderts (Munster, 1971); Remigius Baumer, "Die Konstanzer Dekrete `Haec sancta' und `Frequens' im Urteil katholischer Kontroverstheologen des 16. Jahrhunderts", in Remigius Baumer (ed.), Von Konstanz nach Trient: Beitrage zur Geschichte der Kirche von den Reformkonzilien bis zum Tridentinum (Munich, 1972), pp. 547-74, Remigius Baumer, "Silvester Prierias und seine Ansichten uber das okumenische Konzil", in Georg Schwaiger (ed.), Konzil und Papst: Historische Beitrage zur Frage des hochsten Gewalt in der Kirche (Munich, 1975), pp. 277-301; Hans-Jurgen Becker, Die Appellation vom Papst an ein allgeimeines Konzil: Historisches Entwicklung und kanonistische Diskussion im spaten Mittelalter und derfruhen Nenzeit (Vienna, 1988), pp. 339-84. See also J. H. Burns, "The Conciliarist Tradition in Scotland", Scot. Hist. Rev., xlii (1963), pp. 89-104; K. A. Fink, "Die konziliare Idee im spaten Mittelalter", in Th. Mayer (ed.), Lie Welt zur des Konstanzer Konzils (Constance, 1965), pp. 119-34; Josef Macek, "Le mouvement conciLiaire, Louis XI et Georges de Podebrady", Historica, xv (1967), pp. 5-63; Josef Macek, "Der Konziliarismus in der bohmischen Reformation, besonders in der Politik Georgs von Podiebrad", Zeitschrift fur Kirchengeschichte, lxxx (1969), pp. 312-30; Paul W. Knoli, "The University of Cracow and the ConciLiar Movement", in James M. Kittelson and Pamela J. Transue (eds.), Rebirth, Reform and Resilience: Universities in Transition, 1300-1700 (Columbus, 1986), pp. 190-202; introduction, "The Twilight of the ConciLiar Era", in Gabriel Biel, Defensorium obedientiae apostoRcae et alia documenta, ed. Heiko A. Oberman, Daniel E. Zerfoss and WiLliam J. Courtenay (Cambridge, Mass., 1968), pp. 3-55; Francis Oakley, "Almain and Major: Conciliar Theory on the Eve of the Reformation", Amer. Hist. Rev., lxx (1965), pp. 673-90; Francis Oakley, "Conciliarism at the Fifth Lateran Council?", Church History, xli (1972), pp. 452-63; Francis Oakley, "ConciLiarism in the Sixteenth Century: Jacques Almain Again", Archiv fur Reformationsgeschichte, lxviii (1977), pp. 111-32; Oakley, "Natural Law, the Corpus Mysticum. and Consent in Conciliar Thought"; Thomas F. Mayer, "Marco Mantova, a Bronze Age Conciliarist", Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum, xvi (1984), pp. 385-408; James V. Mehl, "The First Printed Editions of the History of Church Councils", ibid, xviii (1986), pp. 128-43; James V. Mehl, "Ortwin Gratius, Conciliarism, and the Call for Church Reform", Archiv fur Reformationsgeschichte, lxxvi (1985), pp. 169-94. (65) Hans Schneider, Der Konziliarismus als Problem der neueren katholischen Theologie (Berlin, 1976), esp. chs. 2, 3, 4, pp. 27-119; Hermann Josef Sieben, Die katholische Konzilsidee von der Reformation bis zur Auf klarung (Paderborn, 1988). (66) For a recent reiteration of this older view, see Steven Ozment, The Age of Reform 1250-1550: An Intellectual and Religious History of Late Medieval and Reformation Europe (New Haven, 1980), pp. 176, 398-9. (67) See Oakley, "Conciliarism at the Fifth Lateran Council?", pp. 462-3, where I conclude that Bishop Bossuet's "Gallican" interpretation of this particular piece of history is more plausible than that of his ultramontane critics. (68) Thus in November 1518, in anticipation of a papal condemnation, Luther appealed from the judgement of the pope to that of a future general council, drawing some sections of his text from the earlier appeal launched by the theologians of the Sorbonne in response to the compromising Franco-papal concordat of 1516: see Jules Thomas, Le concordat de 1516, 3 vols. (Paris, 1919), iii, pp. 72-4. Heinrich Bullinger, Of the Holy Catholic Church, Zwingli and Bullinger, ed. and trans. G. W. Bromiley (Philadelphia, 1953), pp. 283-325 (at p. 317). (69) For which, see Mehl, "First Printed Editions of the History of Church Councils", passim. (70) Buchanan admitted his earlier adherence to the conciliarist position when he was in the hands of the Lisbon Inquisition in 1550: see James M. Aitken, The Trial of George Buchanan before the Lisbon Inquisition (Edinburgh, 1939), pp. 22-5. Cf Burns, "Conciliarist Tradition in Scotland", pp. 101-4. (71) One of the more unexpected conciliarist survivals in Italy is the presence of more than one conciliaristin the court of Julius II himself: see Hubert Jedin, "Giovanni Gozzadini, ein Konziliarist am Hofe Julius II", in Hubert Jedin, Kirche des Glaubens, Kirche der Geschichte: Ausgewahlte Auisatze und Vortrage, 2 vols. (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1966), ii, pp. 17-74; Nelson H. Minnich, "Girolamo Massaino: Another Conciliarist at the Papal Court, Julius II to Adrian VI", in Nelson H. Minnich et al., Studies in Catholic History in Honor of John Tracy Ellis (Wilmington, 1985), pp. 520-65. For other Italian exponents of conciliarist ideas in the mid-sixteenth century, see Mayer, "Marco Mantova, a Bronze Age Conciliarist", pp. 385-408; Thomas F. Mayer, Thomas Starkey and the Commonweal: Humanist Politics and Religion in the Reign of Henry VIII (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 172-87. (72) Sieben, Katholische Konzilsidee von der Reformation bis zur Aufklarung. (73) That ideological warfare began in 1606 with the imposition of an Oath of Allegiance in England and of a papal interdict in Venice. The most complete discussion of the English and French aspects of the controversy is still that of Charles H. McIlwain in the lengthy introductory essay he wrote for his edition of The Political Works of James I (Cambridge, Mass., 1918), pp. xxxv-lxxx. J. H. M. Salmon also touches upon those aspects very helpfully in "Gallicanism and Anglicanism in the Age of the Counter Reformation", chi. 2 of his Renaissance and Revolt: Essays in the Intellectual and Social History of Early Modern France (Cambridge, 1987), pp. 155-88; Salmon also offers a brief discussion of the intricate linkages between France and Venice and Venice and England and sets them in a broader context in "Catholic Resistance Theory, Ultramontanism, and the Royalist Response, 1580-1620", in Burns and Goldie (eds.), Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450-1700, pp. 219-53. I know of no full account of the complete controversy in its Venetian, French and English dimensions as it played out in the years between 1606 and 1620. I draw in what follows on Francis Oakley, "Constance, Basel, and the Two Pisas: The Conciliarist Legacy in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century England", Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum, xxvi (1994), pp. 1-32. (74) See Joannis Gersonii . . . opera, ed. Edmond Richer, 2 vols. (Paris, 1606), ii, cols. 675-934.

(75) Fra Paolo Sarpi, Trattato dell'interdetto della san tita di papa Paolo V, in his Opere, 9 vols. (Bari, 1931-b5), vi, Istoria dell'interdetto e altri scritti editi e inediti, ed. M. D. Rusnelli and Giovanni Gambarin, 3 pts, iii, pp. 1-41; see esp. pp. 1-41, 15-18, 21-3, 27, 30-3. This reliance on conciliarist authors and the concomitant willingness to invoke the authority of Constance and Basel were characteristic of most of Sarpi's writings on the interdict: see, e.g., Scrittura sopra la forza e validita della scommunica giusta ed ingiusta, e sopra li remedii "de iure" e "de facto" da usare contro le censure ingiusta, ibid., ii, pp. 28, 32-3; Scrittura intorno l'appellazione al concilio o altro da farsi per mortificare gli atti del pontifice, ibid., pp. 82-5; Trattato e resoluzioni sopra la validita delle scommuniche di Giovanni Gersone, teologo e cancelliero parisino, cognominato il dottore cristianissimo, ibid., pp. 171-84; Apologia per le opposizioni fatte dall'illustrissimo e reverendissimo signor cardinale Bellarminio alli trattati e resoluzioni di Giovanni Gersone sopra la validita delle scommuniche, ibid., iii, pp. 43-189; [Lettere agli inquisitori in Roma], ibid, pp. 190, 194; Scrittura in difesa delle opere scritte a favore della serenissima republica nella controversia col sommo pontefice, ibid, pp. 236, 255. (76) John Mair, Disputatio de auctoritate concilii supra pontificem maximum, in Jean Gerson, Opera omnia, ed. Louis Ellies Dupin, 5 vols. (Antwerp, 1706), ii, p. 1132, cf. p. 1144; Jacques AImain, Expositio circa decisiones Magistri Guillielmi Occam de potestate ecclesiastica et laica, ibid, p. 1070. (77) Sarpi, Apologia per le opposizioni fatte dall'illustrissimo e reverendissimo signor cardinale Bellarminio, ed. Busnelli and Gambarin, iii, p. 118. Sarpi devotes no less than a fifth of this work (pp. 79-80, 115-54) to a rebuttal of Bellarmine's assertion of the superiority of pope to council. (78) Under the title An Apology or Apologeticall Answere, Made by Father Paule a Venetian . . . unto the Exceptions and Objections of Cardinall Bellarmine against Certain Treatises and Resolutions of John Gerson (London, 1607, S.T.C. 21757); see pp. 64-5. (79) I base this claim on Oakley, "Constance, Basel, and the Two Pisas", to which reference may be made for the complete argument and the full range of supporting documentation. (80) A learned churchman who disposed of an impressive degree of scholastic and canonistic erudition, Sutcliffe showed a marked degree of familiarity with the writings of such prominent conciliarists as Pierre d'Ailly, Jean Gerson, Francesco Zabarella, Nicholas of Cusa, Panormitanus, Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini and Jacques Almain: see Oakley, "Constance, Basel, and the Two Pisas", pp. 15-17. (81) For a succinct account of Henry's conciliar diplomacy, see now Becker, Appellation vom Papst an ein allgemeines Konzil, pp. 264-9. The basic studies are P. A. Sawada, "The Abortive Council of Mantua and Henry VIII", Academia [Nanzan Univ., Nagoya], xxvii (1960), pp. 1-15; P. A. Sawada, "Two Anonymous Tudor Treatises on the General Council", Jl Eccles. Hist., xii (1961), pp. 197-214; P. A. Sawada, "Das Imperium Heinrichs VIII, und die erste Phase seiner Konzilspolitik", in Irwin Iserloh (ed.), Reformata Reformanda: Festgabe fur Hubert Jedin, 2 vols. (Munster, 1965), i, pp. 476-507. Cf. Franklin Le Van Baumer, The Early Tudor Theory of Kingship (New Haven, 1940), pp. 49-56; J. J. Scarisbrick, Henry VIII (Berkeley, 1963), pp. 261-4, 293, 319, 390-1. For the second development, see John Foxe, Actes and Monuments of these Latter and Perilous Dayes, Touching Matters of the Church, ed. Stephen Reed Cattley, 8 vols. (London, 1841), iii, pp. 416-23 (for Constance), 605-700 (for Basel). This edition reproduces the contents of the first English edition of 1563 (S.T.C. 11222). See also Thomas Bilson, The True Difference between Christian Subjection and Unchristian Rebellion (Oxford, 1585, S.T.C. 3071), esp. pp. 85-94, 270-3, 310-11. (82) See James I, A Premonition to all Most Mightie Monarches, Kings, Free Princes, and States of Christendome, in Political Works of James I, ed. McIlwain, pp. 119-20; James I, A Remonstrance for the Right of Kings, and the Independence of their Crownes, against an Oration of the Most Illustrious Cardinal of Perron, ibid., pp. 181, 198, 202-6, 263-4. (83) Jacques Davy, Cardinal du Perron, An Oration Made on the Part of the Lordes Spirituale in the Chamber of the Third Estate, Translated into English (St Omer, 1616, S.T.C. 6384), pp. 47-9, 59, 63. James could bluster that Perron had misrepresented the views of these men. But one of his own quotations from the works of Mair inadvertently revealed that Mair himself was far from denying the right of the people to depose their king: see his Remonstrance for the Right of Rings, ed. McIlwain, p. 202. For Mair's own words, see his Disputatio de statu et potestate ecclesiae, in Gerson, Opera omnia, ed. Dupin, ii, pp. 1128-9. And this point appears not to have been missed later on by the parliamentarian William Prynne, who, defending the right of subjects to resist tyranny, and citing the same work of Mair's, commented that: "lest any should think that none but Puritanes have maintained this opinion, K. Iames himself in his Answer to Card. Perron, justifieth the French Protestant taking up Defensive Arms in France": William Prynne, The Soveraigne Power of Parliaments and Kingdoms (London, 1643), pp. 144-5. (84) Some authors explicitly specify Richer's edition as their source: see, e.g., George Blackwell, A Large Examination Taken at Lambeth: of M. George Blackwell Made Archpriest of England by Pope Clement 8 (London, 1607, S.T.C. 3104), pp. 63, 118; William Warmington, A Moderate Defence of the Oath of Allegiance ([n.p.], 1612, S.T.C. 25076), p. 88. And the frequent citation by others of the particular excerpt from Mair's Sentences which Richer had reprinted (IV Sent., dist. 24, questio 3) gives a further clue to the impact of this edition. For James's gift to St Andrews, see Rueger, "Gerson, the Conciliar Movement, and the Right of Resistance", p. 484. (85) Thus, for example, John Buckeridge had clearly read d'Ailly's De reformatione ecclesiae in the edition which Ortwin Gratius had included in his Fasisculus rerum expetendarum (Cologne, 1535), even though, eight years before he wrote, it had been republished in London in Nicolaus de Clemangiis, Speculum ecclesiae . . . de corrupto ecclesiae statu (London, 1606, S. T. C. 5397), pp. 145-92: John Buckeridge, De potestate papae in rebus temporalibus .. . adversus Robertum cardinalem Bellarminum (London, 1614, S.T.C. 4002), p. 132. For the reading of Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini's account of the proceedings at the Council of Basel via the translation included in Foxe's Book of Martyrs, see nn. 107, 108 below. (86) Skinner, "More's Utopia", p. 164. (87) Though that alignment did not prevent Juan de Mariana, on the very eve of the Oath of Allegiance controversy, from evoking the analogy of conciliar superiority in the context of discussing whether or not the commonwealth possessed greater power than did the king. He was careful, however, to insist that he himself was passing no judgement on the rectitude of the canonistic claim: Juan de Mariana, De rege et regis inslitutione (Mainz, 1605), lib. i, c. 8, pp. 72-4. William Prynne, later on, was quick to pick up on this passage: Prynne, Soveraigne Power of Parliaments and Kingdoms, p. 68. By contrast, in the works of William Rainolds (Rossaeus), De justa reipublicae Christianae in reges impios et haereticos authoritate (Paris, 1590), and Jean Boucher, De justa Henrici Tertii abdicatione e Francorum regno (Lyons, 1591), students of conciliar theory are likely to encounter much that may strike them as familiar. But nothing, none the less, on which to build a case for anything more than the existence of interesting parallelisms. (89) John Maxwell, Sacro-sancta regum majestas: or, The Sacred and Royall Prerogative of Christian Kings (Oxford, 1644), p. 6; cf. ibid., p. 3. (90) Ibid., pp. 14-16. (91) Ibid., p. 12. (92) See Thomas H. Clancy, Papist Pamphleteers: The Allen-Persons Party and the Political Thought of the Counter-Reformation in England, 1572-1615 (Chicago, 1964), p.88. (93) James I, Premonition to all most Mightie Monarches, Kings, Free Princes, and States of Christendome, ed. McIlwain, p. 126. (94) Thomas Morton, An Exact Discoverie of Romish Doctrine in the Case of Conspiracie and Rebellion (London, 1605, S. T. C. 18184), p. 1; cf. his A Full Satisfaction concerning a Double Romish Iniquitie; Hainous Rebellion, and More than Heathenish AEquivocation (London, 1606, S.T.C. 18185), p. 107, where he characterizes as "a learning substantially popish" the "seditious doctrine of resisting and deposing Kings". (95) David Owen, Herod and Pilate Reconciled (London, 1610, S.T. C. 18983), pp. 43-6, 48, 50-1. He returned to similar themes during the Civil War in his A Persuasion to Loyalty, or the Subjecte Dutie: Wherein is Proved that Resisting or Deposing of Kings is Utterly Unlawfull (London, 1642), p. 24. The French version of Beza's De jure magistratuum (Du Droit des magistrate sur leurs sudets) is to be found in Memoires de l'Estat de France sous Charles IX, ed. Simon Goulart, 3 vols. (Meidelbourg, 1576), ii, pp. 735-90, esp. p. 777; for the question of authorship, see Albert Elkan, Die Publizistik der Bartholomausnachts und Mornay's "Vindiciae contra tyrannos" (Heidelberg, 1905), pp. 60-123. Lambert Daneau was certainly well aware of the conciliarist claims advanced by the Council of Constance and its vindication of those claims via the judgement and deposition of popes: see his Ad Roberti Bellarmini disputationes theological (Geneva, 1596), pp. 330-1, 343, 673. But I have been unable to find the passage to which Prynne refers in Daneau's Politices Christianae libri septem (Geneva, 1596) or in the other writings of his to which I have had access. (96) A facsimile edition of Ponet's A Shorte Treatise of Politicke Power is printed in Winthrop S. Hudson, John Ponet (1516?-1556), Advocate of Limited Monarchy (Chicago, 1942): see pp. [102]-[6]; cf. p. [60]. George Buchanan, De jure regni apud Scotos, in his Opera omnia, ed. Thomas Ruddiman, 2 vols. (Edinburgh, 1715), i, pp. 8, 30, 36. As he himself admitted in 1550, when he was in the hands of the Lisbon Inquisition, he had been in his earlier Catholic days an adherent to the conciliar position: Aitken, Trial of George Buchanan before the Lisbon Inquisition, pp. 22-S. Junius Brutus [i.e., Philippe DuPlessis Mornay], Vindiciae contra tyrannos (Baser, 1580), pp. 173-4; Anon., Discours politiques des diverges paissances establies de Dieu au monde, in Memoires de l'Estat de France sous Charles IX, ed. Goulart, 2nd edn, 3 vols. (Meidelbourg, 1579), iii, fos. [147.sup.b]-[213.sup.a] (at fos. [209.sup.b]-[210.sup.a]). (97) I cite this passage from a seventeenth-century English translation: Vindiciae contra tyrannos . . . Being a Treatise Written in Latin and French by Junius Brutus and Translated out of both into English (London, 1689), p. 142. For a more extensive discussion of this sixteenth-century phase in the influence of conciliarist views on Calvinist resistance theory, see Oakley, "From Constance to 1688". In that article I now believe that I overstated somewhat Buchanan's indebtedness to Mair, perhaps also the importance of the pupil-teacher relationship. As J. H. Burns made clear a year later (1963), conciliar ideas were prevalent in Scotland even prior to Mair's return from Paris: Burns, "Conciliarist Tradition in Scotland". For a carefully nuanced analysis of Mair's political views, see J. H. Burns, "Politia regalis et optima: The Political Ideas of John Mair", Hist. Polit. Thought, ii (1981), pp. 31-61. (98) Buckeridge, De potestate papae in rebus temporalibus, pp. 675-6 (citing William Barclay); cf. ibid., pp. 677-86. (99) John Bramhall, Serpent-Salve (1643), in The Works of the Most Reverend Father in God, John Bramhall, D.D., ed. A. W. H., 5 vols. (Oxford, 1842-5), iii, p. 316. For citations by Bramhall of Gerson's De auferabilitate . . . papae, De unitate ecclesiastica and Regulae morales, see A Just Vindication of the Church of England, ibid., i, pp. 251, 254; Schism Guarded, and Beaten Back upon the Right Owners, ibid., ii, p. 610. (100) Henry Ferne, The Resolving of Conscience upon this Question: Whether upon such a Supposition or Case, as is Now Usually Made . . . Subjects may Take up Arms and Resist?, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1643), sig. A3; Henry Ferne, Conscience Satisfied: That There is no Warrant for the Arms now Taken up by Subjects (Oxford, 1643), pp. 38-9, where he is replying to Charles Herle, A Fuller Answer to a Treatise Written by Doctor Ferne Entitled The Resolving of Conscience . . . (London, 1642), p. 18. (101) See Conrad Russell, Parliaments and English Politics, 1621-1629 (Oxford, 1979), p. 354. For the passage in question, see Commons Debates 1628, ed. Robert C. Johnson et al., 6 vols. (New Haven, 1977-83), iii, p. 102 (26 Apr. 1628). The editors conclude that "the discourse of the Council of Basel" which Digges refers to here was Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini's De gestis concilii Basiliensis commentariorum, libri II, and they refer us (not inappropriately) to the latter's rendition of a speech delivered in 1431 by the bishop of Burgos. I would append the speculation that Digges may have been familiar with the De gestis via the lengthy translated extract John Foxe had seen fit to fold into his Book of Martyrs. (102) See n. 81 above. (103) See A Defence of liberty against Tyrants: A Translation of the Vindiciae contra tyrannos by Junius Brutus, ed. H. J. Laski (London, 1924), introduction, pp. 59-60; Hudson, John Ponet (1516?-1556), Advocate of Limited Monarchy, pp. 209-10. (104) See Oakley, "From Constance to 1688", p. 11 and n. 50. (105) Prynne, Soveraigne Power of Parliaments and Kingdoms, pp.5-7, 9, 20, 23, 31, 68, 73, 122, 136, 144-5; ibid., app., pp. 100-12, 161. (106) Ibid., p. 6. (107) Foxe, Actes and Monuments, ed. Cattley, iii, pp. 611-12. The Cattley edition reproduces the first English edition (1563). In some later editions the number of pages devoted to Basel was reduced, but this speech was still included. For the original, see Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini, De gestis concilii Basiliensis commentariorum libri II, ed. and trans. Denys Hay and W. K. Smith (Oxford, 1967) pp. 32-3. (108) William Bridge, The Wounded Conscience Cured, the Weak One Strengthened and the Doubting Satisfied by Way of Answer to Doctor Ferne (London, 1642), pp. 2, 7-8; also William Bridge, The Truths of the Times Vindicated (London, 1643), pp. 2-7, 45 Samuel Rutherford, Lex, Rex: The Law and the Prince (London, 1644), pp. 50 418, 449. (109) Skinner, "Origins of the Calvinist Theory of Revolution", p. 325. (110) Rueger, "Gerson, the Conciliar Movement, and the Right of Resistance", p. 486. (111) Laski, "Political Theory in the Later Middle Ages", p. 838. (112) Thus, for example, Julian Franklin argues that "the specific influence" of the conciliarists on the ideas of Beza and DuPlessis Mornay was "only marginal": Franklin, review of Skinner, Foundations of Modern Political Thought, p. 558. (113) See nn. 11, 12 above. (114) These are the questions Collingwood insists must be asked if we are to avoid the practice of "a frivolous and superficial type of history": Collingwood, Idea of Nature, p. 128. Claudio Guillen appears to have had something similar in mind when he properly insisted that "to ascertain an influence is to make a value judgment, not to measure a fact. The critic is obliged to evaluate the function or the scope of the effect of A on the making of B, for he is not listing the total amount of these effects, which are legion, but ordering them. Thus `influence' and `significant influence' are practically synonymous": Guillen, "Aesthetics of Influence Studies",pp. 38-9. I would also suggest that it might be profitable to read Gide's "apology for influence" (see n. 16 above) in the context of the questions Collingwood poses. (115) Walter Ullmann, Principles of Government and Politics in the Middle Ages, 2nd edn (London, 1966), pp. 288-315; Walter Ullmann, A History of Political thought in the Middle Ages (Harmondsworth, 1965), pp. 219-25, 313-14. For an earlier and fuller analysis of these and J. B. Morrall's affiliated claims, though not of those advanced later by J. P. Canning and Cary J. Nederrnan, see Oakley, "Figgis, Constance, and the Divines of Paris", pp. 376-86; for the background to Ullmann's treatment of conciliar thinking in particular and medieval constitutionalism in general, see Francis Oakley, "Celestial Hierarchies Revisited: Walter Ullmann's Vision of Medieval Politics", Past and Present, no. 60 (Aug. 1973), pp. 3-48. (116) J B. Morrall, Political Thought in Medieval Times (New York, 1962), pp. 126-7. (117) UIImann, Principles of Government, p. 314; cf. Ullmann, History of Political Thought, pp. 223-5. (118) Morrall, Political Thought in Medieval Times, p. 128. (119) Quoting here Ullmann's review of Oakley, Political Thought of Pierre d'Ailly, Renaissance News, xviu (1965), pp.305-7. (120) An allegation made with specific reference to the use made of Gerson's ideas but as part of a sweeping dismissal of the pertinence to the shaping of early modern constitutionalism of conciliar theory in particular and medieval ecclesiology in general: see Cary J. Nederman, "Conciliarism and Constitutionalism: Jean Gerson and Medieval Political Thought", Hist. European Ideas, xii (1990), pp. 189-209 (at pp. 189-92). For a rebutal, see Francis Oakley, "Nederman, Gerson, Conciliar Theory and Constitutionalism: see contra", Hist. Polit. Thought, xvi (1995), pp. 1-19. (121) A point emphasized much of late by Guiseppe Alberigo, Chiesa conciliare: identita e significato del conaliarismo (Brescia, 1981), esp. p. 17, and Fasolt, Council and Hierarchy, esp. pp. 318-19. (122) He defines a general council as follows: "A council . . . is a congregation [of representatives] drawn from every hierarchical rank whose concern it is, summoned by those to whom that duty pertains, to deal according to the common intention with matters concerning the general welfare of Christendom" ("Concilium . . . est congregatio ex omni statu hierarchico, quorum interest, convocata ab iis quibus incumbit, ad tractandum communi intentione, de utilitate publica Christiana"): Mair, Disputatio de auctoritate concilii supra pontificem maximum, in Gerson, Opera omnia, ed. Dupin, ii, p. 1132. (123) Just as in some periods,he says, prelates have been elected by the whole people and clergy and in others by the clergy alone, similarly the council, if it so desires, is at liberty to extend or restrict the vote in accordance with the needs of the times: Jean Gerson, De potestate ecclesiastica, ibid., p. 250; of jean Gerson, Sermo: "Ambulate dum lucem habetis", ibid, p. 205. (124) Jacques Almain, Tractatus de auctoritate ecclesiae, ibid., pp. 1011-12, Almain, Expositio cirwa decisiones Magistri Guillielmi Occam de potestate ecclesiastica et laica, ibid., p. 1067; Jean Gerson, Quaestio resumptiva . . . de dominio naturali, civili et ecclesiastico, ibid, p. 973. (125) Pierre d'Ailly, Oratio de officio imperatoris, ibid., p. 921; Pierre d'Ailly, Disputatio de jure suffragii quibus competat, in Rerum concilii oecumenici Constantiensis, eds. Herman von der Hardt, 6 vols. (Leipzig, 1697), ii, pp. 224-7; cf. Pierre d'Ailly, Tractatus de ecclesiastica potestate, in Gerson, Opera omnia, ed. Dupin, ii, p. 941. See Pierre d'Ailly, Tractatus de materia concilii generalis, in Oakley, Political Thought of Pierre d'Ailly, app. iii, pp. 244-345 (at pp. 268, 272-3); cf. ibid, pp. 152-4. (126) See Morrall, Political Thought in Medieval Times, pp. 128-9, where he comments that for Gerson "the presence of the laity is not necessary for they are represented in the Council by the clergy; the argument is reminiscent of the theory of `virtual' representation in the pre-1832 British House of Commons as put forward by those who opposed the reform of that institution". For a succinct analysis of the complex notion of representation involved in conciliar thinking, see Brian Tierney, "The Idea of Representation in the Medieval Councils of the West", Concilium, xix (1983), pp. 25-30. (127) Pierre D'Ailly, Additio circa tertiam viam supratactam, in Martin de Alpartils Chronica Actitatorum, ed. Franz Ehrle (Paderborn, 1906), p. 506. (128) D'Ailly, Disputatio de jure suffragii quibus competat, ed. von der Hardt, ii, pp. 225-7. (129) For a fuller discussion, along with references to the pertinent works of these authors, see Oakley, "Constance, Basel, and the Two Pisas", pp. 30-1. (130) Samuel Rutherford, The Due Right of Presbyteries: or, A Peaceable Plea for the Government of the Church of Scotland (London, 1644), pp. 332-3, 336-7, 340-3. (131) For which, see the analysis in Oakley, Council over Pope?, pp. 61-7. (132) Cf. Rueger, "Gerson, the Conciliar Movement, and the Right of Resistance", p. 483: "[T]he conciliar assertion of supremacy and the conciliar deposition of the Pope appeared to offer a unique example of a seemingly successful application of this universal medieval principle [i.e., the right of resistance to a ruler turned tyrant] to the only form of medieval monarchy which was founded exclusively on divine right and excluded the idea of consent -- the Papacy. At least this is what to Buchanan seemed to be the chief lesson of the Conciliar Movement". (133) Skinner, "Origins of the Calvinist Theory of Revolution", p. 325. (134) Johan Sommerville, Politics and Ideology in England, 1603-1640 (London, 1986), p. 46. (135) Maxwell, Sacro-sancta regum majestas, p. 3. (136) Rutherford, Lex, Rex, p. 418. (337) Bridge, Truths of the Times Vindicated, p. 49. (138) Sommerville, Politics and Ideology in England, p. 3. (139) Ibid., p. 12. (140) W, garret, Jus regis, seu De absoluto et independent) secularium principum dominio et obsequio eis debito (Baser, 1612), p. 28; Buckeridge, De potestate papae, p. 291; Robert Bolton, Two Sermons Preached at Northampton at Two Severall Assises There (London, 1639, S.T.C. 3256), sermon 1, p. 16. For a Catholic endorsement of that view, see R. Sheldon, Certain General Reasons, Proving the Lawfulnesse of the Oath of Allegiance (London, 1611, S.T.C. 22393), pp. 11-12. (141) See Julian H. Franklin, John Locke and the Theory of Sovereignty: Mixed Monarchy and the Right of Resistance in the Political Thought of the English Revolution (Cambridge, 1978), ch. 2, pp. 22-49. Such, indeed, was the hesitancy and confusion in the thinking of the parliamentary leaders on this score that, when the Civil War finally broke out, "they claimed to be fighting for the corporate whole of king-and-parliament against the erring person of Charles": thus Brian Tierney, Religion, Law, and the Growth of Constitutional Thought, 1150-1650 (142) Or again, "[t] the poverty of theory about secular parliaments contrasts with the wealth of ideas about the representative or constitutional role of councils in the late medieval church": Black, Political Thought in Europe, 1250-1450, pp. 166, 169, 178. His whole chapter on parliamentary representation (pp. 162-85) is excellent, (143) See, for example, Bridge, Wounded Conscience Cured, p. 46. (144) For some representative passages from the Parisian conciliarists, see Jean Gerson, Tractatus de unitate ecclesiae, in Gerson, Opera omnia, ed. Dupin, u, pp. 114-15; Jean Gerson, Sermo: "Prosperum iter facie"", ibid, p. 279; Jean Gerson, De auferabilitate . . . papae, ibid, p. 216; Gerson, De potestate ecclesiastica, ed. Dupin, pp. 240, 253-5; Almain, Quaestio resumptiva . . . de dominio naturali, civili et ecclesiastico, ed. Dupin, p. 970; Almain, Expositio circa decisiones Magistri Guillielmi Occam de potestate ecclesiastica et laica, ed. Dupin, pp. 1024, 1075-6, 1107; Almain, Tractatus de auctoritate ecclesiae, ed. Dupin, pp. 991, 1009. For John Mair, see Oakley, "From Constance to 1688", pp. 13-19; for Pierre d'Ailly, see Oakley, Political Thought of Pierre d'Ailly, esp. pp. 52-4; for the conciliarists of Basel, see Antony Black, Monarchy and Community: Political Ideas in the Later Conciliar Controversy, 1430-i450 (Cambridge, 197D), pt i, pp. 7-52. (145) Sir Thomas More, The Confutation of Tyndale's Answer, in The Complete Works of St. Thomas More, ed. Louis A. Schuster et al., 20 vols. (New Haven, 1963-87), viii, pt 1, p. 146, 11.15-21; cf Brian Gogan, The Common Corps of Christendom: Ecclesiological Themes in the Writings of Sir Thomas More (Leiden, 1982), pp. 290-9. Sarpi, Apologia per le opposizioni fatte dall'illustrissimo e reverendissimo signor cardinale Bellarminio, ed. Busnelli and Gambarin, pp. 128-9; I cite the English version, Apology or Apologeticall Answer, pp. 74-5. (146) Oakley, "Figgis, Constance, and the Divines of Paris", pp. 368-86. (147) Pierre d'Ailly, Utrum Petri ecclesia lege reguletur, in Gerson, Opera omnia, ed. Dupin, i, pp. 667-8. (148) Burns, Lordship, Kingship and Empire, p. 9; cf. Black, Monarchy and Community, esp. pt 3, pp. 85-129; J. H. Black, Council and Commune: The Conciliar Movement and the Fifteenth-Century Heritage (London, 1979). (149) I draw here and in what follows on the line of argument developed in Oakley, "Natural Law, the Corpus Mysticum, and Consent", to which reference may be made for the pertinent printed texts and for some extracts from the unprinted manuscripts. (150) Black, Monarchy and Community, p. 14. (151) Thus A. J. Black, speaking with specific reference to the formulation of Heimerich van de Velde (= de Campo, d. 1460), in his "The Realist Ecclesiology of Heimerich van de Velde", in Edmond J. M. van Eij1 (ed.), Facultas S. Theologiae Lovanensis, 1432-1797: bijdragen tot haar geschiedenis (Leuven, 1977), pp. 273-91. (152) See esp. John of Segovia's speech at Mainz in 1441, in Deutsche Reichstagsakten, older ser., ed. H. Weigel et al., 17 vols. (Gotha and Stuttgart, 1898-1939), xv, pp. 648-759 (at pp. 682-3). For a discussion of this and of related texts, see Black, Monarchy and Community, pp. 14-15, 45-7, 109-12. (153) See Oakley, "From Constance to 1688", pp. 11-31; Hudson, John Ponet (1516?-1556), Advocate of Limited Monarchy, pp. 171-2. (154) Figgis, Political Thought from Gerson to Grotius, pp. 60-1. (155) Ponet, Shorte Treatise of Politicke Power, pp. [104]-[5]. (156) Thus Michel Foucault, Les mots et les choses (Paris, 1966), available in English as The Order of Things (New York, 1970), p. 275; Michel Foucault, L'archeologie du savoir (Paris, 1969), translated by A. M. Sheridan as The Archeology of Knowledge (New York, 1972), pp. 138-9. (157) Thus Lawrence Stone, The Past and the Present (Boston, 1981), pp. 85-6. (158) Thus Skinner, "Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas", pp. 54-5, having previously said: "My concern here . . . is not empirical but conceptual: not to insist that such [Lovejovian] histories can sometimes go wrong, but that they can never go right". Viewing this assessment as based on a misreading of Arthur O. Lovejoy's distinctive historical project, I have entered a sharp dissent to Skinner's claims: Francis Oakley, Omnipotence, Covenant, and Order: An Excursion in the History of Ideas from Abelard to Leibniz (Ithaca, 1984), pp. 27-40.
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Date:May 1, 1996
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