The International John Bunyan Society is pleased to announce that its 2021 Early Career Essay Prize has been awarded to Michelle Pfeffer (@michpfeffer) for the essay: ‘Mortalism and the Social Consequences of Religious Heterodoxy in Yorkshire at the Turn of the Eighteenth Century’. The winner’s certificate and cash prize of £300 has been sent to Michelle by Professor David Walker, IJBS President. The selection panel was chaired by David Walker, and its members were Rachel Adcock, David Parry and Robert W. Daniel.
Michelle Pfeffer is a Fellow by Examination (Junior Research Fellow) at Magdalen College, Oxford and a historian of early modern religion, science, and culture. The research project that this essay derives from is her PhD dissertation, entitled ‘Mortalism and the Making of Heterodoxy in Seventeenth Century England’. The dissertation seeks to understand why a series of lay writers brazenly denied the doctrine of the soul’s immortality in seventeenth century England. Through analysis of newly discovered manuscripts, the thesis uncovers a culture of lay scholarship and religious radicalism, revealing that religiously motivated historical-critical scholarship, not science, was shaping the agenda of these ostensibly ‘modern’ debates. Although mortalist books were written in the vernacular by laymen, they must be studied alongside the high-level, pan-European scholarship they drew on and the creative ways in which they engaged with it. This thesis therefore illuminates the intellectual and scholarly lives of non-specialists, reconstructing their working methods and bookish communities.
The annual IJBS Early Career Essay Prize is open to all international PhD students and to post-doctoral researchers within the first two years after their viva. Applicants must be members of IJBS. The prize is for outstanding scholarly work in the field of early modern religion and Dissent, including its literature, history and reception.
In the spring of 1638, the Stationer William Howes died, leaving few tangible marks of his young life. He had been a member of the Company of Stationers, the London guild which theoretically controlled most of the printing and bookselling in England. However, he is one of many who barely surface in the records of the Company. Nor does he appear to have been involved in the publication of any surviving texts. Despite this absence, William left a last will and testament in which he bequeathed to his brother Thomas (fl. 1617-1638) three books; ‘Armeniasme Dixon on ye Hebrews Aynswer’, ‘the Comunion of Saintes’ and the ‘Lamentacons of Germany’. William’s membership of the print trade meant he would have acquired them directly through his work or indirectly through his knowledge and contacts within the trade network. However, they were seemingly personal texts, intended for someone William believed would appreciate them as he had done.
Bequests of books are of interest in our effort to understand what was read in early modern England. As William was a participant of the print trade his bequest is of particular value. These were godly books and William was appreciating these texts at a time when godly print was blooming in England. When it came to flower during the following decades it did so with the assistance of members of his family who were Puritan booksellers during the 1640s and 1650s. A study of William’s books and wider family is an opportunity to learn about the Puritan print trade in a period when, according to Andrew Cambers, Puritan ‘booksellers were key figures in the fusion of religious zeal and printed polemic’. It should be said that I am taking ‘Puritan’as an encompassing term referring to a broad type of literature, suggesting the wide practical appreciation of godly texts by readers not bound by the differences authors drew between themselves, or by historians subsequently.
The first book William bequeathed was ‘Armeniasme Dixon on ye Hebrews Aynswer’. This was certainly David Dickson’s A short explanation, of the epistle of Paul to the Hebrewes (1635–37), a significant and bulky theological book of around 500 pages by a leading Scottish Calvinist minister (see Figure 1). The text does not appear in the Stationers’ Registers of London, and one version was published in Aberdeen and another in Dublin ‘by the Society of Stationers’.
The second text bequeathed was ‘The Comunion of Saintes‘. This is more difficult to identify. It may have been Edward Maie’s, A sermon of the communion of saintes or Henry Ainsworth’s The communion of saincts. Maie’s work is a short tract, Ainsworth’s runs to hundreds of pages and both are weighty theological discussions. The only extant text of Maie’s work is from 1621 and so it does not fit the pattern set by William’s other books which were current at the time of his death. Ainsworth was a minister in a separatist church in Amsterdam and a prolific author. If this was his text then we should note that the earliest London edition was not published until 1641, after Howes’ death. Either this bequest shows a London edition prior to those previously known or it came from abroad. Before 1641 this text had borne an Amsterdam imprint including a 1640 edition probably from the ‘Richt Right Press’, an English Calvinist publishing operation which produced a number of bestsellers in the late 1630s and early 1640s (see Figure 2).
The last book William named was ‘Lamentacons of Germany’. This has only one likely correspondent text, that authored by Philip Vincent, for which we have an extant edition from 1638 (see Figure 3). It is a short book containing information on the state of the Thirty Years War (1618–1648) and a warning of the devastation it caused. His possession of it shows William as a keen observer of providentialism, a characteristically Calvinist concern for destruction and ruin, and reveals that William was interested in the condition of the Calvinist project internationally.
Despite a will proclaiming himself a Stationer, the lack of a record of William’s own work means comparisons cannot be drawn between the books he read for pleasure and those he plied for his trade. We can, however, find evidence of other Howes Stationers as a Puritan bookselling family. In doing so we can see the influences of Puritanism within a print trade family. Peter McCullough has shown individuals situated within a complex web of economics, locality and kinship all acting as ‘matrices’ in the publication process. The Howes family matrix would have influenced the print trade decisions they made collectively and individually. Their case illuminates the nature of the family as crucial to the formation and dissemination of the Puritan print trade in seventeenth-century England.
William’s will was witnessed by his brother Robert (fl. 1610–1648), who was also a Stationer and had been William’s Master. For much of his life William would have lived and worked in his brother’s household learning the trade of bookselling (see Figure 4). Puritanism centred on the godly household so the spiritual influences of Robert on William (and vice-versa) would have been significant. To Robert can be attributed three extant texts, indicating a godliness like that of his brother. This includes publishing a newsbook favourable to the Parliamentary cause with the Puritan printer Henry Overton, (and likely brother of the Leveller, Richard Overton); the Weekly intelligence from severall parts of this kingdome for which we have two issues from October 1642.
Robert’s son Samuel (fl. 1643–1653) was also a Stationer, becoming Henry Overton’s apprentice. In 1649 he was listed as a sectarian bookseller and was said to have been an Antinomian bookbinder. He was involved in the publication of several Puritan texts. His place of business was named as ‘Pope’s Head Alley’, within the parish of St Stephen’s, Coleman Street, notable for the religious Independency and political radicalism of its inhabitants. There also is a possibility that Robert was father to Hannah (fl. 1632–1664) who married first the Stationer Benjamin Allen and then Livewell Chapman. She was similarly based in Pope’s Head Alley. Maureen Bell has shown how Hannah’s Puritan radicalism was significant as was her role in publishing, especially in support of the Fifth Monarchist cause. Hannah’s publishing network and those of the books bequeathed by her uncle William shows several mutually held relationships within the trade.
Taken together, the texts William collected and the careers of his brother, niece and nephew suggest the interconnectedness of a London based Puritan family of booksellers and their involvement within an international print trade of godly texts. This highlights the intergenerational influences of Puritanism, passed down between kith and kin, and how such influences served both spiritual and practical ends.
 London, The National Archives, PROB 11/177/403 [Will of William Howes, 02 July 1638].
 Andrew Cambers, Godly Reading: Print, Manuscript and Puritanism in England, 1580-1720 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2012), p. 203.
 See David D. Hall, The Puritans: A Transatlantic History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2019), pp.197–98.
 See Alexandra Walsham, Providence in Early Modern England (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp 15–20.
 Peter McCullough, ‘Print, Publication, and Religious Politics in Caroline England’, The Historical Journal, 51 (2008), 285–313 (286).
 Maureen Bell, ‘Hannah Allen and the Development of a Puritan Publishing Business, 1646–51’, Publishing History, 26 (1989), 5–66.
As part of the 2021 IJBS Blog Series, Drew Nathaniel Keane (@dkeaneGSU) Senior Lecturer at Georgia Southern University examines, through religious iconography, the complex realities of administering the Lord’s Supper in early modern England.
This woodcut, likely familiar to any student of early modern English religion, illustrates the difficulty of sorting out the boundaries of religious conformity (see Figure 1). It first appears in Lewis Du Moulin’s The Understanding Christians Duty (1660), and then again some fourteen years later in the second edition of Eniautos (1674). Although both were published after the Restoration, the woodcut appears Jacobean, but regardless of when it was cut, it raises an interesting question: should the service depicted be labeled as conformist or non-conformist?
The two works in which it appears point towards conflicting answers. Du Moulin, a Huguenot who became Camden Professor of History at Oxford in 1646, from which he was ejected at the Restoration, earned a reputation as a pugnacious polemicist.The Understanding Christians Duty argues against those who avoided participation in ‘the Holy Sacrament of the Supper of the Lord.’ Aware of his reputation, the epistle to the reader pleads that they ‘not judge of my Book by my Person, but of my Person… by my Book.’ The work references such non-conformist favorites as John Calvin and William Perkins (a moderate conformist), and outspoken non-conformists William Ames and Arthur Hildersham. And yet, it quotes approvingly from the Articles of Religion, ‘no other then the very Catholick Doctrine of the Church of England.’ The anonymous Eniautos is a year-long course on the Prayer Book Catechism that draws freely from a list of Elizabethan, Jacobean, and Caroline divines whose views on questions of conformity are diverse — William Perkins, Thomas Rogers, Richard Hooker, Lancelot Andrewes, Edward Reynolds, James Ussher and others — but does not include any who might be called extreme non-conformists.
Turning to the image itself, the black academic robe worn by the presider might signal a ‘church puritan.’ Use of the surplice became a critical dividing line during the period. Conformists regarded the surplice as adiaphora (i.e., indifferent to salvation), therefore, within the scope of civil authorities to require it during divine service. In 1650, Du Moulin even argued for the authority of the State in such matters. By strict definition, anyone officiating without the surplice (whether through principled defiance, apathy, or laziness) was a non-conformist. Principled non-conformists saw the surplice as so associated with ‘popery’ that it necessarily implied sacerdotalism and would mislead the ‘ignorant’ (a key category in debates over adiaphora), making it too dangerous to regard as indifferent. Yet, even conformist ministers wore their scholar’s gowns to preach, which signaled qualification for the task that was regarded by all parties as the quintessence of an ordained ministry. So, it is understandable why even a minister favorable toward the authorized liturgy might regard the scholar’s gown as more indicative of his role and the essential unity of sermons and sacraments than the surplice. Many ministers who accepted the essential indifference of it may have wished for the requirement to be lifted.
At the level of the parish, what constituted conformity had more to do with what the Ordinary enforced than the letter of the law. Many Elizabethan and Jacobean visitation articles required no more than use of the surplice sometimes. An incumbent might have believed he was only required to wear the surplice to administer the Lord’s Supper (which he might only do a few times a year) or during a visitation (which may come only triennially). The publication of this woodcut in such a clearly conformist work as Eniautos suggests that the lack of the surplice was not seen as definitively indicative of non-conformity.
The orientation of the table also warrants attention. It is set length-wise in the chancel as prescribed by the Book of Common Prayer and Canon 82 (of the 1604 Canons) — the commandment boards are visible on the east wall (also required by Canon 82). Lancelot Andrewes ridiculed this arrangement, saying it made the communion table look ‘more like an oyster board.’ Despite deriding what the Prayer Book required, Andrewes seemingly became the doyen of what Peter Lake termed ‘avant-garde conformity,’ a curious label since avant-garde is by definition non-conformist. In 1616, the Dean of Gloucester, William Laud relocated the table to an altar-wise position, so offending his bishop, Miles Smith, that he never set foot in the cathedral again. In 1640 Archbishop Laud and other avant-garde bishops sought to establish this as the new standard of conformity, writing it into Canons approved by Convocation, though not Parliament (then dissolved by Charles I). But in 1660 the 1604 Canons were restored, not those of 1640, though many of bishops favored the altar-wise arrangement and it was widely observed. Thus, it is difficult to know whether the length-wise table arrangement seen in this woodcut would have suggested conformity or non-conformity, though likely it read differently to different eyes.
The presider appears to be reading from the Prayer Book. The physical codex itself often served as a trigger for principled non-conformists who objected to public worship mediated through text. Judith Maltby recounts a story of John Hacket who memorized the Prayer Book funeral service so as to use it without offending his flock of conscientious objectors to the printed liturgy. Those who heard the service — without the visual trigger of the book — warmly thanked him for his particularly compelling words, not knowing they were not his own. The prominent presence, therefore, of the Book of Common Prayer on the table points towards conformity.
The posture of the communicants could not have gone unnoticed. The first Prayer Book (1549) allowed for kneeling, sitting, or standing to receive the sacrament, but the second (1552) prescribed kneeling only. Zealous Scottish preacher and royal chaplain John Knox made a last-minute attempt to have the requirement deleted, but Cranmer succeeded in retaining it, adding after the initial print run a rubric explicitly disavowing and denouncing Eucharistic adoration (the so-called ‘black rubric’). While most rubrics are merely instructions necessary for officiating services, this rubric argued against potential misunderstanding. Given low literacy levels, few could read this note, but the key was the parish priest — if he was convinced, he could provide whatever instruction was needed with the full persuasiveness of the viva voce. Nevertheless, even conformist ministers like George Herbert still worried about kneeling. Herbert concedes that the duly prepared communicant has a right to sit at God’s board for the Supper, but argues kneeling better expresses the humility and inadequacy that even the worthy communicant (i.e., one who had met the requirements for participation) must feel. But, after having made the case for kneeling, he advises that, if some still refuse to kneel, the minister should not stir up conflict by pressing the issue. In The Understanding Christians Duty,Du Moulin treats the matter of posture as wholly indifferent, though he seems to favor sitting. Nevertheless, he admonishes those who refuse to receive the sacrament at all if they are forced to kneel: ‘why… wholly omit a necessary substantial Duty of Divine Institution, because that another doth in some unnecessary Circumstantial Point vary from a prescribed Humane Forme of Administration?’
This woodcut combines signals typically associated with conformity and non-conformity, and so resists easy classification. Its use in both Du Moulin’s work, which would have appealed more to non-conformists, and Eniautos, an explicitly conformist text, highlights the limited utility of tidy labels — both those that partisans hurled at each other in their struggles over the Established Church and those that later scholars apply in an effort to make sense of those conflicts and combatants. It serves as a reminder that conformity was always a moving target in relation to which individuals and communities had complex and variable relationships.
 Lewis Du Moulin, The Understanding Christians Duty (London, 1660), frontispiece; Anon, Eniautos. Or, A Course of Catechizing (London, 1674), p. 276.
 My attempts to find an earlier instance of its use have, as of yet, yielded no fruit.
 See Nicholas Tyacke, ed., Seventeenth-Century Oxford, The History of The University of Oxford Volume IV (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), p. 348.
 Du Moulin, The Understanding Christians Duty, p. 93.
 See, for example, Lewis Du Moulin, The Power of the Christian Magistrate in Sacred Things (London, 1650).
 Arnold Hunt, The Art of Hearing: English Preachers and Their Audiences, 1590-1640 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), p. 19.
 Patrick Collinson The Elizabethan Puritan Movement (London: Cape, 1967), pp. 67-68; Kenneth Fincham, ‘Clerical Conformity from Whitgift to Laud,’ in Conformity and Orthodoxy in the English Church, 1560-1660, ed. by Peter Lake and Michael C. Questier (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell & Brewer, 2000), pp. 125-158 (p. 147).
 Nicholas Tyacke, ‘Lancelot Andrewes and the Myth of Anglicanism’, in Conformity and Orthodoxy in the English Church, ed. by Lake and Questier, pp. ix-xx (p. xv).
 Kenneth Fincham and Nicholas Tyacke, Altars Restored: The Changing Face of English Religious Worship, 1547-c.1700 (London: Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 116.
George Yule, ‘James VI and I: Furnishing the Churches in his Two Kingdoms’, in Religion, Culture and Society in Early Modern Britain: Essays in Honour of Patrick Collinson, ed. by Anthony Fletcher and Peter Roberts (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 182-208 (pp. 197-201).
It is unlikely that this is a Bible, as a non-conformist minister — who favored extemporaneous discourse drawn from the learned storehouse of the memory — would be unlikely to need to read from the Bible while presiding at the communion table as the presider in the woodcut is.
 Judith Maltby, Prayer Book and People in Elizabethan and Early Stuart England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 7.
 Diarmaid MacCulloch, Thomas Cranmer: A Life (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1996), p. 526.
George Herbert, A Priest to the Temple, or, the Country Parson (London, 1652), p. 92. Also see Elizabeth McLaughlin and Gail Thomas, ‘Communion in The Temple’, Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, 15.1 (1975), 111-124.
Du Moulin, The Understanding Christians Duty, pp. 96-97.
As part of the 2021 IJBS Blog Series Vera J. Camden, Professor of English at Kent State University, explores the the trials and tribulations of editing the diary of the eighteenth-century Presbyterian widow of a London goldsmith, Hannah Burton.
Margaret Ezell has reflected that the survival of manuscript documents such as early modern women’s diaries are like insects in amber, occupying a ‘long since deceased literary landscape’ that yet offer a ‘continuation of that presence which survives destruction, that matter which the living are permitted still to embrace.’
Yet such ‘embrace[s]’ are by no means effortless. The challenges of transcribing early modern manuscripts are many, ranging from cramped handwriting, to idiosyncratic punctuation; from protracted notes to obscure biographical details; from pages left intentionally blank to ripped or blotted transcriptions of unknown authors. Such peculiarities faced me when I came to edit the diary of Hannah Burton (1723–1786), since published as She Being Dead Yet Speaketh: The Franklin Family Papers in the Other Voice series. In this blog post, I wish to explore the patience and persistence required when making such manuscript papers ‘press ready’.
The early modern diary of Hannah offers a rare insight into the inner life and outer experience of a destitute widow living at the height of the economic revolutions and dissenting religious resurgences of eighteenth-century London, but its pages require careful decoding.
Hannah’s manuscript diary presented what seemed at first glance almost impenetrable pages of anxious italic script, ink blots, stricken words, pinned portions, upside down insertions from foreign hands, and ripped page remnants, so characteristic of the ‘messy’ manuscripts of the ordinary early modern household (see Figure 1). Hannah writes in the same notebook as her grandmother, Mary Franklin (d. 1711) had written in to keep an account of her own spiritual experiences during the persecution of the Protestant Dissenters after the Restoration. Such intergenerational manuscripts of course contain many enigmas.
In the case of Hannah’s diary, we know her name because she autographs nearly all of her daily entries in full or with her initials. Though her grandmother’s notebook contains the autograph signature of Mary Franklin on its front flyleaf, Hannah Burton goes to the extra effort of curating her grandmother’s narrative, adding its title in her own hand ‘The Experiences of my grandmother, Mrs. Mary Franklin.’ (see Figure 2) Naming herself and her grandmother holds a particular significance to Hannah. She explicitly invokes her family legacy of faith in the preamble to her diary where she writes, ‘Oh, may the unfeigned faith, and patient that dwelt in my dear grandmother Franklin, and in my dear and honored mother Ryland dwell in me also’ (p. 175). In titling the narrative of her grandmother and writing her own name, she connects to – and reminds others of—the history she has inherited with these family papers.
Widow of a London goldsmith, Hannah takes pen to paper in September 1782, following her husband’s death, to capture, Job-like, the contours of her sorrows and losses amidst the nearly unbearable economic realities of her destitute state living on a widow’s meager pension. Hannah Burton’s account of her days reflects the tension within herself between a devotion that fosters transcendence of worldly trials and a desperate particularity to record every debt, every conversation, and every dreadful disorder that poverty brings. While she is determined to identify herself as the author of this diary, she paradoxically omits any proper naming of her husband: he is repeatedly mentioned but only by monikers such as ‘wrestling Jacob’, ‘dearest yokefellow’, and, when he was sick, as a bruised and battered house, a crumbling ‘clay building.’ (pp. 206; 221; 196). Whether she was resisting naming her husband because of shame over financial ruin or merely a sense that his worldly identity had been superseded by being now numbered among the citizens of London, the fact remains that the editorial task of finding a biographical context for this spiritual chronicle entailed much sleuthing of the London archives. More than once my then graduate assistant Valentino Zullo and I pleaded out loud and into the night: ‘who was your husband?’ ‘Who is this wrestling Jacob?’
How did we find out, finally, whom Hannah was married to? We uncovered the truth by following the diarist’s habits of mind, for, throughout her diary, Hannah documents all anniversaries, from the day of the loss of her mother fourteen years ago, to the anniversary of a nearly fatal encounter with a bull on the streets of London! She also documents the details of her purchases and debts, telling us she has no money for cheese and candles and that she has reluctantly sold her husband’s ‘old coats’ and ‘old rags’ (p. 183). It is the attention to these details that makes this document seem so quintessentially eighteenth century compared to her grandmother’s narrative where domestic details of such things as weaning of children, cradle fires and home intruders pointed to the Lord’s providences (pp. 135; 139). Hannah by contrast keeps to record-keeping, account keeping and mapping her travels, and thus leaves a neat, discernible trail which in the end led us to the Goldsmiths’ Hall, and to William Burton (d. 1781), London master goldsmith, and watchcase maker (see Figure 3).
The three clues that Hannah offers about her husband are also related to three preoccupying themes of her diary: time, money and death. She reminiscences that of the death of her husband occurred ‘sixty-five weeks ago,’ ‘sixty-seven weeks ago’ and so on and that his illness had been painful and prolonged (pp. 223; 242); she tells us that she has an eight-pound pension because of the charity of his business (p. 182); and, lastly, she tells us he is now among the clods of the valley in Bunhill Fields (p. 179). Thus, by searching pension records, death and burial records from Bunhill fields, and the names of possible apprentices within a span of several years, we were able to locate William Burton, apprenticed to his father, and thrice bankrupted, whose Last Will and Testament left all worldly goods to his widow, Hannah, who receives his small annual pension and other charities from the Goldsmiths’ Hall.
Margaret J. M. Ezell, ‘The Posthumous Publication of Women’s Manuscripts and the History of Authorship’, in Women’s Writing and the Circulation of Ideas: Manuscript Publication in England, 1550–1800, ed. by George Justice and Nathan Tinker (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 121-136 (128).
Margaret J. M. Ezell, ‘Invisible Books,’ in Producing the Eighteenth-Century Book: Writers and Publishers in England, 1650–1800, eds. Laura L. Runge and Pat Rogers (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2009), pp. 53–69 (66).
The International John Bunyan Society (IJBS) is pleased to welcome submissions to its new blog series. Discussions can include any aspect of religious nonconformity in Britain and abroad from the period between 1500-1800.
The Society especially seeks submissions from early career and PhD researchers working in the field of religious history, society and material culture. As a guideline, posts should ideally be comprised of:
A short title and one-line summary
1,000 word discussion (including footnotes)
Centre round a particular religious theme, space, text, practice or discovery
Include images, photographs and graphs (with suitable permissions acquired).
The annual IJBS newsletter The Recorderwill be composited together close to the end of the summer, and is still looking for more pieces. We already have an excellent portion of content, but more pieces are always appreciated. Please share more of what you’re writing, reading, and hearing about.
We are happy to accept entries throughout July, but would prefer to receive confirmation of all entries by 30 June 2021. We’re looking for the following sorts of things, but anything in the spirit of interest to the society would be splendid:
Meditations/reflections/strategies on teaching and researching Bunyan in the era of COVID-19
Reviews and/or descriptions of recent publications (yours or others’)
Reports on past and upcoming events (including the upcoming tenth triennial IJBS conference)
Calls for papers
Book and media reviews that have direct or indirect relevance to Non-conformist writing (if not already consigned for Bunyan Studies)
Dissertations and post-doctoral research (abstracts, announcements, etc.)
We are especially interested in hearing about forthcoming books or edited collections! Images of all types should serve, though ones in JPG or .PNG with better resolution are preferred.
The 10th Triennial Conference of the International John Bunyan Society
Northumbria University, Newcastle (UK) 7–9 July 2022
CALL FOR PAPERS
Plenary Speakers: Marie-Louise Coolahan (NUI Galway), Crawford Gribben (Queen’s University Belfast), Johanna Harris (Exeter), Nicholas Seager (Keele)
‘Reading Dissent’ is a major multi-disciplinary and international conference which seeks to investigate the multifarious ways reading proved vital, or potentially fatal, to the everyday lives of Puritans, Dissenters and/or Nonconformists, both to themselves, their households, wider communities and churches during the Long Reformation, 1500-1800.
Please send a biography (100 words), along with a CV, title and brief abstract (250-words) of a 20-minute paper, or for panels (3 x 20 minute papers) – no later than 15 September2021 – to Robert W. Daniel: IJBSSecretary@outlook.com.
The International John Bunyan Society welcomes you to the Glorious Sounds: Exploring the Soundscapes of British Nonconformity: 1550-1800 – a virtual conference hosted by Northumbria University, Newcastle and organised in association with the University of Bedfordshire, Keele University, Loughborough University and the University of Warwick.
This major two day multi-disciplinary conference seeks to explore the various ways that sound impacted the lives and writings of early modern Nonconformists and, in turn, their spiritual practices. It will consider:
Ambient noise/s (in houses, churches, prisons).
Oral culture/s and reading aloud.
Early modern deafness.
Sound, suffering and trauma.
How did godly noises/speeches/music compete with and/or complement one another? Did the propinquity of households/meeting houses/churches hinder or help religious worship? How were the same prayers and sermons spoken/heard differently? Did silence, or its lack thereof, effect the delivery/auditory of God’s Word? In short, what sounds defined and defied British Nonconformity? The full conference programme can be accessed here.
The annual International John Bunyan Society (IJBS) Early Career Essay Prize recognises the cutting-edge research of junior scholars in the field of early modern religion and dissent.
The competition is open to PhD students and post-doctoral researchers up to two years after their viva.
To be eligible, applicants MUST be members of the IJBS. Membership enquiries/ subscriptions can be made via the Society’s UK Treasurer: email@example.com.
Applicants can submit an essay of up to 8,000 words (e.g. part of a chapter or a draft of an article or a written version of a conference paper) by 1 March 2021 (as an email attachment). The word count includes footnotes, but excludes title, bibliography and any appendixes (which, however, should not be longer than the text of the essay).
The name of the author, their affiliation and their role (e.g. final-year PhD student) as well as the word count should be indicated on the title page.
A brief biography outlining the applicant’s current research project (150 words) is to be included.
This year the IJBS particularly welcomes contributions discussing the pastoral care, medical practices, and welfare of religious Dissenters during the Long Reformation (global perspectives are especially welcome). All submissions will be judged by members of the Society’s Executive Committee who may ask other experts to join them. Candidates will be informed of the outcome by email within a month of the submission date. The winner will be officially announced at the next Regional IJBS Conference in April 2021 (TBC) and will receive a certificate, a financial award of £300, one year’s free membership to IJBS and a year’s subscription to the Society’s peer-reviewed journal: Bunyan Studies.
Please send all submissions by 1 March 2021 to the Society’s General Secretary, Robert W. Daniel, via IJBSSecretary@outlook.com.
We write to share the sad news that Vincent Newey, one of the great Bunyan scholars of his generation, has passed away.
Vince was born and raised in the West Midlands. His teaching career began at the University of Liverpool in 1967, where he remained for twenty-two years before his appointment as Professor of English at the University of Leicester. He took early retirement in 2006, due to ill health.
An outstanding literary critic, Vince’s specialisms encompassed the poetry of the pre-Romantic and Romantic periods (Cowper, Gray, and Goldsmith, as well as Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley, and Byron) alongside the work of several nineteenth-century novelists (Eliot, Dickens, Hardy, and ‘Mark Rutherford’). He published two monographs – Cowper’s Poetry: A Critical Study and Reassessment (1982), and The Scriptures of Charles Dickens: Novels of Ideology, Novels of the Self (2004) – and edited numerous collections of essays.
Members of the International John Bunyan Society will be familiar with the publications that Vince produced on Bunyan. The first was his ground breaking edited volume, The Pilgrim’s Progress: Critical and Historical Views (1980), which included his own fine essay ‘Bunyan and the Confines of the Mind’. Vince also contributed chapters in N. H. Keeble (ed.) John Bunyan: Conventicle and Parnassus (1988), W. R. Owens and Stuart Sim (eds.) Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress: Reception, Appropriation, Recollection (2007), and Michael Davies and W. R. Owens (eds.) The Oxford Handbook of John Bunyan (2018). His articles on Bunyan included‘Wordsworth, Bunyan and the Puritan Mind’ (1974);‘Dorothea’s Awakening: The Recall of Bunyan in Middlemarch’ (1984); ‘The Disinherited Pilgrim: Jude the Obscure and The Pilgrim’s Progress’ (1987); ‘Mark Rutherford and John Bunyan: A Study in Relationship’ (2012); and ‘Centring Bunyan: Macaulay, Froude, Hale White’ (2013).
As with every piece Vince published, his writings on Bunyan present a master-class in the art of literary criticism. Each displays the hallmarks of his enviable style: one that combines acute insight and sensitivity to language and form with an ambitious intellectual vision, all shaped by a delicate yet robust prose crafted to convey something profoundly engaging and perceptive. A collection of essays, Literature and Authenticity, 1780–1900, published in Vince’s honour in 2011, includes an ‘Afterword’ paying full tribute to his achievements, and to his incomparable strengths as a reader, teacher, critic, colleague, and friend.
Vince died on Saturday 16 May, aged 76. He is survived by his wife Sue and their two sons, Matthew and Nathan. A member of IJBS for many years, he will be missed, and we mourn his passing.