The Centralization of Power in Reformation England

JOHN M. VELLA. is pursuing a Master’s degress in history at Villanova University. He was, from 1995 to 2008, the managing editor of Modern Age.

The King’s Reformation: Henry VIII and
the Remaking of the English Church
by G. W. Bernard (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005).

In The King’s Reformation, George Bernard
explains why Henry VIII broke
with Rome. He documents how that
decision affected the Church in England
and determines the extent of opposition
and resistance toward the king’s religious
policies. Readers will find in Bernard’s
account a prince not content with mere
outward toleration of his policies but one
who demanded internal assent from his
subjects. The crown employed tyrannical
methods to secure its policy objectives
when persuasion failed. A weak opposition
was unable to resist indefinitely a patient
yet determined tyrant who was prepared
to use all means at his disposal to carry
out his plans. However, the characterization
of the Henrician regime as tyrannical
is unacceptable to some historians.
The inability to arrive at a consensus on
such a consequential matter raises doubts
about our capacity to notice the warning
signs when they are right before our eyes.
The year 2009 is the five-hundredth anniversary
of Henry VIII’s accession to the
throne of England. We should recall what
he did to the Church in England so that
our vigilance will keep free institutions
and cherished traditions from suffering the
same fate.

As with most histories of the English
Reformation, Bernard’s detailed study
begins with the king’s decision to seek a
male heir by separating from Queen Catherine
to marry Anne Boleyn. The details
of the case are familiar enough to preclude
their retelling here. Suffice it to say that
his failure to obtain an annulment from
the pope led Henry to deprive the English
Church of its independence once guaranteed
by Magna Carta. In doing so, the king
ensured that widespread religious discord,
not previously experienced in England,
would last centuries into the future. But
that was not all. The process of ecclesiastical
disenfranchisement had political implications,
too. In order to assert his claims
over the Church, Henry had to secure for
himself a degree of political power not previously
held by an English monarch. Under
Henry VIII, England was now said to be
an empire with full sovereignty inferior to
no other jurisdiction on earth, including
Rome. The claim to imperial status necessarily
brought with it imperial power that
comes not from any earthly source but
from God alone. Even Henry’s religious
reforms were politically motivated. Contrary
to the progressive Whig apologetics
of past centuries, Henry’s promulgation of
the English Bible was not meant to advance
Reformed theology broadly understood,
but to encourage obedience to his royal
will by identifying himself with the kings
of the Old Testament.¹

While Henry is portrayed as a ruthless
despot for his treatment of the English
Church, Bernard’s principal contemporary
nemesis would disapprove of the
charge. In response to such claims, Geoffrey
Elton would reply that every signifi-
cant change made by Henry was done
with the approval of Parliament following
statute law. “[A]ll through the 1530s,”
writes Elton, “every important step was
embodied in statutes” made by king and
Parliament. “Though the rule of Henry
VIII was strong, ruthless, at times very
arbitrary, it could not be despotic because
it always rested on the law. . . .”² Since
the royal chancellor Thomas Cromwell
sought for his master the legitimacy of
statute law, it was important for him to use
patronage to ensure that supporters of the
King’s agenda were elected to Parliament
and those members who opposed it were
intimidated into staying away. While it
may be true, as Elton says, that the king
permitted freedom of speech in the first
two sessions (1529 and1531) of the Reformation
Parliament, it is not true that his
leniency extended to the remaining five.
Elton does not find worrisome Cromwell’s
revelation that by 1539 he had secured for
the king a tractable parliament.

The Treason Act of 1534 only further
eroded what remained of parliamentary
freedoms since the safeguards inserted into
the legislation to protect freedom of speech
were later ignored by government prosecutors.
Not all of Henry’s actions were permitted
by statute. The dissolution of the
larger monasteries took place without legal
sanction and was conducted against abbots
and priors under threat of execution. Only
after the monasteries had been confiscated
did the crown seek approval from Parliament.
³ The same was true of the Irish
monasteries and of the secular colleges—
communities of priests established mostly
by wealthy laymen to perform spiritual
and educational functions—of which there
were 140 in England and Wales.⁴ Parliament
became a tool of the royal will as
fewer and fewer members felt safe enough
to oppose the king’s demands. Indeed, the
1543 Act concerning True Opinions gave
Henry a blank check to define doctrine
without statutory approval. The increasing
tendency of Parliament to delegate its
authority to the crown had begun with the
1539 Act of Proclamations, which set in
motion a process that permitted more radical
changes in later reigns.⁵

II.

Elton and other historians charge that
Henry did not know how to proceed in
1530. However, Bernard detects a clear
pattern of action taken by the court against
Rome with the purpose of securing an
annulment. Henry’s strategy of intimidation
was not wholly successful at first
because he kept meeting resistance to his
plans. On the other hand, A. G. Dickens in
his classic Whig history finds little ecclesiastical
resistance to royal demands and suggests
the legal training of bishops explains
why, “almost to a man, they followed King
Henry when he severed relations with
the Papacy”⁶—as if they saw themselves as
mere civil servants. The evidence presents
a very different picture. By the time Henry
finally broke with Rome, the bishops had
been intimidated and threatened into sub
mission in a process that took several years.
Bernard provides ample support for J. J.
Scarisbrick’s charge that “up to the last
minute . . . the bishops, or at least many
of them, consistently opposed Henry’s
advance. Henry won no easy victory over
the church.”⁷

To secure cooperation from Rome,
Henry brought down his first chancellor,
Cardinal Wolsey, for allegedly violating the
1353 Statute of Praemunire—a lesser charge
of treason for appeals to Rome not sanctioned
by the crown and punishable by loss
of property and imprisonment. Bernard
properly describes the legal proceeding
as “morally, a sham,” since “what Wolsey
had done had been done with the king’s
approval.” Interpretation and enforcement
of the law now rested on Henry’s arbitrary
whim. As chancellor, Wolsey could expect
all clergy to cooperate with him. Thus, by
accepting his guilt, Wolsey was in effect
exposing all the bishops to the same charge
since they all had dealings with him during
his administration. Once the bishops
had acknowledged their collective guilt
under praemunire and requested royal pardon,
the king demanded that they accept
his supreme authority over the Church.
The bishops meeting in convocation would
not accept the king’s title of supremacy
without reservations. In 1532, Archbishop
Warham issued a formal protest against any
bill in Parliament that derogated the pope’s
authority and the liberty of his provinces.
The king punished Warham by charging
him with offenses against praemunire.⁸

Bernard writes that all the bishops
opposed the annates bill in the beginning.
Annates were payments to Rome by newly
appointed bishops in return for their bulls
of confirmation that amounted to one
year’s income. Henry sought to put pressure
on the pope by depriving him of this
income from the Church in England. That
the bishops would unanimously oppose
the king by defending financial payments
they themselves paid is a remarkable act
of defiance in favor of remaining united
with Rome. The act to abolish these payments
was eventually passed by Parliament
in 1532. Yet it passed narrowly in
the House of Lords on a third reading only
after the king had appeared three times to
argue in its defense. The royal plea that the
Church should not contribute to “the great
impoverishment of this realm” by depriving
itself of needed resources rings hollow
when we consider that beginning in 1534
tax payments of First Fruits and Tens levied
on the incomes of ecclesiastical appointees
and clergy greatly exceeded in value
the annates once paid to Rome and thus
impoverished the English Church further
by considerably enriching the king’s treasury.

Henry appointed clerical defenders of
his divorce to vacant bishoprics as a way
to fill the hierarchy with ecclesiastics who
had proven their loyalty. Those bishops
who were known to oppose his agenda
or who could not be trusted were told
not to take their seats at the Reformation
Parliament or had the good sense not to
show up. Bernard does not mention in his
account the case of the religious conservative
Cuthbert Tunstall, Bishop of Durham,
who, while already en route to attend the
fifth and sixth sessions of the 1534 Parliament,
received a letter from Cromwell
granting him permission to stay away due
to old age. Tunstall was about sixty and
would live for another twenty-five years.
He got the point and headed back home.
While he was on the road, his study was
ransacked for evidence of any opposition
to the divorce.⁹

The complete subjugation of the ecclesiastical
hierarchy took place soon after
the death of Warham in August 1532. By
1534, writes Bernard, Henry’s “political
skills and his utterly ruthless methods”
had successfully prevented any organized
ecclesiastical resistance to royal demands.
While the bishops failed to stop the king’s
agenda, Bernard is mistaken to assert that
there was no organized opposition among
the clergy in Parliament. A poorly organized
opposition in which its lay members
lost the will to resist when the pressure
became too great does not amount to a
complete absence of organized resistance.
Nor is it fair to characterize Bishop Fisher
of Rochester as an unprincipled opponent
of the king because he attempted to “talk
his way out of trouble by a mealy-mouthed
self-justification.” Fisher was the only
bishop to refuse to swear the oath of succession
and his courageous defiance cost
him his head. In his defense, Fisher had
appealed to the qualification in the 1534
Treason Act. The legislation for the first
time made words critical of the king’s policies
or titles punishable by death, but only
if spoken maliciously. Fisher said he did not
refuse the oath maliciously, but the adverb
was a dead letter because the government
interpreted any refusal to take the oath as
a malicious act. Fisher did more than any
other bishop to oppose the king’s divorce
and supremacy. For him to seek the protection
of the law rather than deliver a
victory to his foes by needlessly throwing
his life away is hardly unprincipled. Furthermore,
Parliament was deluding itself if
it thought that statute law would restrain
the king.

III.

Elizabeth Barton, the Nun of Kent, was
another critic of the royal divorce who
came to an unhappy end. Barton attracted
a substantial following in the early 1520s
because of her prophecies and visions. She
had told the king to his face that God was
displeased with his mistreatment of Catherine
and his abuse of the Church. If he
continued in his ways, he would no longer
be the king in God’s eyes and would
damn his soul to hell. A crackdown on
Barton and her close supporters began in
July 1533. The nun and several monks and
priests in her circle were arrested and forced
to endure a classic show trial. Henry tried
to get the courts to declare her followers
guilty of high treason, but they refused
because there was no evidence of collusion
with her against the king. Rather than
seek a trial under the objective authority of
common law, Henry chose a path certain
to deliver the verdict he demanded. He
employed the procedure of parliamentary
attainder, which declared Barton and her
accomplices guilty of treason. Barton and
five of her closest associates were drawn,
hanged and beheaded with their heads
hung on London Bridge.

Barton’s execution took place the very
day the oath of accession was administered
in London. With the effective use of political
propaganda and ruthless methods of
intimidation, the Henrician regime gained
ready compliance from the larger population.
Barton’s actions did not justify the
brutal treatment she suffered on evidence
too flimsy to have won in a proper court
of law. Only after Henry began to demand
acceptance of his royal supremacy from
his subjects did the use of parliamentary
attainder against treason suspects become
frequent and almost always result in execution.
There was no need for Cromwell
to secure a docile judiciary since he knew
that a pliant Parliament would deliver the
desired result. As Stanford Lehmberg has
documented, use of parliamentary attainder,
so frequently utilized during the reign
of Henry VIII against his critics, disappeared
almost entirely from use after his
death because of the widespread belief
that suspects should not be executed without
due process of law.¹⁰ That members of
Parliament were reluctant to say so while
Henry was alive is evidence of a legislative
branch unwilling to act independently of
the royal will.

Bernard rejects Elton’s characterization
of Thomas More as one who led an “opposition”
against the king.¹¹ Elton relies heavily
on Sir George Throckmorton’s confession
of 1537 following his arrest after being
denounced for sympathizing with the
northern rebellion that occurred the previous
year. While in custody, Throckmorton
confessed that More had encouraged
him to continue speaking out against royal
legislation in Parliament in 1533. Bernard
fails to see this testimony as evidence that
More was part of an organized opposition
since he had offered encouragement
only after Throckmorton took the initiative
by opposing the crown in Parliament.
As Elton tells the story, Throckmorton
actively sought advice from those sympathetic
to his views; yet these few sympathizers
spoke with him individually and
gave him encouragement, but they did not
all seek him out. They even disagreed over
tactics. The case of Throckmorton also
serves to discredit Elton’s earlier claim that
members of Parliament were free to speak
their minds.¹² In 1533, Throckmorton was
summoned before the king for his opposition
to the royal divorce. Cromwell’s
effective interrogation techniques persuaded
Throckmorton to remove himself
from Parliament and to cease his political
activities.¹³

There is very little evidence to support
Elton’s claim that “[d]own to April 1532,”
More “had actively opposed the King’s
policy.”¹⁴ More most certainly disapproved
of Henry’s policies but knew public opposition
would be unwise in the extreme.
Thus he resorted to more subtle arguments
against the king’s royal supremacy, such as
his polemical defense of the jurisdiction of
the Church against the writings of lawyer
Christopher St. German. Elton could not
without contradiction claim in 1968 that
More was dishonest when he resigned
from the chancellorship because of ill
health—”he cannot have been really ill,
for he was to survive an increasingly rigorous
imprisonment with his health unaffected”
¹⁵—then assert in 1972 that Henry
was content to leave More in his cell since
“the Tower was likely to kill a man of his
years and health before very long.”¹⁶

Once in the Tower for refusing to swear
the oath, More would not express an opinion
as the king demanded: “[Henry] was
not going to allow the possibility of private
thought—private dissent—behind a public
neutrality or silence.” Thomas More was
put to death for committing a thought
crime and nothing else. Bernard rightly
challenges the popular notion that More
died upholding the right to believe in conscience
anything or nothing. In fact, he told
Richard Rich, the king’s solicitor-general
who would testify against him, that Rich’s
conscience would not save him but rather
damn him to hell. However, Bernard suggests
that More contradicts himself when
he appeals for authority to the “common
faith of christendom.” In this instance Bernard
and Elton agree. “Here his argument
was really rather shaky,” writes Elton, “as
though his conviction regarding the papal
primacy rested on a majority vote and no
more.”¹⁷

Bernard and Elton should know better.
It is possible to appeal to the Christian
consensus without fear that shifting opinions
would undermine religious truth.
More thought the Church represented a
conservative spiritual inheritance that was
valuable because it was true, and he recognized
how essential it was for the state to
preserve it from harm. The fragile unity
of Christendom represented for More the
collective reason of the Church. Her enemies
sought to replace public consensus
with private judgment that would necessarily
tear Christendom apart. The modern
liberal understanding of conscience, which
purposely denies the existence of objective
standards of truth, is the direct opposite
of what More believed. Ironically, it is
Henry whose understanding of conscience
mirrors the subjective liberal idea, since
he refused to conform himself to a higher
moral standard, but rather demanded from
his subjects a ready willingness to sacrifice
themselves on behalf of his will to power.

It is Bernard’s contention that the risings
that took place in northern England
in 1536 were largely a reaction by the
common people to the king’s reforming
measures, particularly the dissolution
of the monasteries. A 40,000-strong
rebel army came into being in response
to rumors of the elimination of all feast
days, the closing of parish churches, and
the confiscation of chalices and crosses.
Here, Bernard objects to Ethan Shagan’s
representation of what motivated the people
who made up the Pilgrimage of Grace.
“When it was rumoured in the autumn
of 1536 that the king intended to tear
down parish churches,” writes Shagan, “it
confirmed people’s worst fears about the
government’s greed and sacrilege.” Since
many of the rumors were false, Shagan
does not seem to express any sympathy
or find any justification for their “fears,”
since “[s]uch abuses did not necessarily
justify active resistance. . . .”¹⁸ The
rumors were believed, however, because
the people saw with their own eyes the
destruction of monasteries and changes in
religious policy that they thought radical.
Their fears, in other words, were entirely
justified. “The conservative people of
England would find a wholesale Reformation
distasteful,” writes Christopher
Haigh, who records accurately how “they
gagged in 1536 when they were asked to
swallow, in rapid succession, the suppression
of monasteries, reformist Injunctions,
and the abrogation of saints’ days.”¹⁹

In the demands made by the rebel
leaders of the Pilgrimage of Grace, Shagan
finds it “remarkable” that the royal
supremacy “was left out of all their early
manifestos and lists of grievances.” Yet he
acknowledges what the rebel leaders knew:
“the issue of the royal supremacy was too
hot to handle,”²⁰ because to challenge the
royal supremacy was treasonous. While
Shagan seeks to recognize secular (mainly
economic) motivations along with religious
ones, Elton downplays the religious
significance of the Pilgrimage entirely by
pointing out that the “royal supremacy as
such escaped attack altogether,”²¹ and by
asserting that “on the evidence it is not
really possible to agree with those who
have seen in the risings a predominantly
religious movement. . . .”²² In his view,
it was a planned revolt orchestrated by
members of the gentry who used the common
people to advance their own political
agenda. However, even Shagan concedes
that the gentry who were recruited to lead
the Pilgrimage were more willing to compromise
with the crown than the rankand-
file, suggesting that the impetus for
the revolt came from below.²³

Defenders of the Tudor religious settlement
have argued that the English Reformation
was a popular demonstration of
dissatisfaction with the Church in England
and its traditional expressions of Christian
faith. It was said that this conservative
institution with deep roots in English history
had been rejected wholesale to make
way for a more sophisticated expression of
religious faith unblemished by immorality
and superstition. Yet Whig historians like
Dickens, who deny religious grievance as
the primary cause of the Pilgrimage and
charge that “the roots of the movement
were decidedly economic,”²⁴ have largely
been discredited by subsequent research.²⁵
In northern England there was a remarkable
example of mass resistance to state reli
gious policies promulgated without regard
for the genuine spiritual yearnings of the
population. Following the Pilgrimage,
Cromwell and other government officials
who worked to aggrandize state power at
the expense of rival, popular institutions
employed propaganda to discredit or conceal
the widespread dissatisfaction with
royal policy.

IV.

Bernard’s argument is weakest when he
tries to explain the dissolution of the monasteries.
According to the author, Fisher
may have helped defeat a 1529 proposal to
dissolve monasteries worth less than £200
to pay for the king’s divorce expenses. Yet
the significance of this admission escapes
him. The crown would later close the
smaller monasteries and religious houses
under the pretext of Erasmian reform,
which Bernard believes to be sincere. He
proposes that only after the Pilgrimage of
Grace, which was seen as a rallying cry
against the dissolution of monasteries and
a treasonous affront to royal supremacy,
did Henry resolve to eliminate them all.
Here, Elton for once appears to have read
the king correctly when he argues that
Henry was motivated by the need to raise
funds: “The end of the whole institution
was intended from the first: only the manner
of proceeding remained in doubt.”²⁶
Indeed, there is evidence that the Crown
sought parliamentary support in 1534 for
the confiscation of ecclesiastical property,
but the radical proposal appears to have
met heavy resistance and was withdrawn.²⁷
Bernard equates the reforming efforts in
higher education with those directed at the
monasteries: “If it is recognized that the
government did have serious reforming
intentions here, that makes it harder to dismiss
the possibility that it also had equally
serious reforming plans for the monasteries.
. . .” Admitting that the government’s
policy toward the universities “embraced a
quite radical vision of reform” would not
dissuade those who believe there existed
from the start a quite “radical” policy of
monastic dissolution. The changes at the
universities were largely motivated by the
desire to remove theological texts and
canon law that could be used against the
king’s policies. The fact that Cromwell
consulted Philip Melanchthon on curriculum
reform should not go unnoticed as it
does in Bernard’s account.

While Henry claimed to reform—rather
than eliminate—monastic life in England,
Bernard, in spite of himself, provides
enough incriminating evidence to raise
doubts about the king’s sincerity. To begin
with, the reforming measures imposed on
the monasteries by government officials
served to undermine the authority of their
rule and put in doubt their basic function.
Requiring Scripture as the criterion for
judging the suitability of monastic practice,
questioning the value of monastic customs
and ceremonies, and criticizing relics all
served to undermine the monasteries’ basic
purpose (prayer for the dead) and removed
an important means of income (pilgrimage).
Furthermore, while the visitations
did discover some cases of personal immorality
and failures to achieve the monastic
ideal, there was no widespread dysfunction
or abuse.

There were instances in which commissioners
petitioned for the preservation
of small religious houses that performed as
they should. According to Bernard, these
cases were seen by Henry as evidence of
local vested interests bribing royal officials
to impede the king’s “reform” objectives.
From this, it is easy to conclude that the
crown purposefully ignored the exceptions
allowed in its own legislation—exceptions
needed to win passage through Parliament—
in order to impose an across-theboard
dissolution of the smaller monaster
ies, before moving on to the larger ones.
The confiscation of the larger monasteries
began in earnest after Cromwell heard
reports of some houses selling off their
assets in response to rumors of an impending
dissolution, not because of the Pilgrimage
of Grace.

There is another notable shortcoming,
too. While Bernard argues that Henry was
immune to the influence of outside forces
in the formulation of religious policy, he
fails to explain why so many contemporaries
saw fit to blame everyone except the
king for the evil done in his name. The
leaders of the Pilgrimage blamed Cromwell
for devising religious policy and
naively assumed that the king would listen
to reason and reverse course. Indeed, the
Duke of Norfolk, in a letter to Cromwell
dated 24 March 1537, referred to “polling
and bribery” used by royal commissioners
during visitations of northern monasteries
and accused the chancellor of being partially
to blame for the unflattering results.
One explanation may be Henry’s denial of
responsibility for the unpopular policies
implemented during Wolsey’s chancellorship.
The King’s self-interested political
deceptions, coupled with a prudent appeal
to Henry’s better nature by critics of royal
policy, may explain why Cromwell and
others were blamed for having a pernicious
sway over policy formation. Bernard
spends a great deal of time explaining why
historians are wrong to think so. Yet without
accounting for this common perception
among Henry’s contemporaries, Bernard
cannot offer a convincing denial of
outside infl uence by individual advisors or
factions at court.

However policy was devised, the results
were consistently severe. The King’s Reformation
provides a detailed, though not
exhaustive, examination of the various
draconian measures employed by Henry
VIII to ensure public compliance with
royal religious policy. The author has constructed
a compelling portrait of a monarch
who sought to bolster the centralizing
power of the crown to see his plans realized.
Henry’s successful attempt to deprive
the Church of her liberty is by no means
the only such case in the history of early
modern Europe. It does, however, serve as
a reminder that the sixteenth century did
not represent the dawn of religious liberty,
but instead the accelerated expansion
of modern state power and the progressive
enslavement or destruction of onceindependent
religious institutions. Even
Elton admits that “[t]he crown grew in
real power despite the constitutional limits
placed upon it.”²⁸ In some respects, it
would be more accurate to say that Parliament
helped to facilitate the expansion of
royal power to the detriment of its own.
It would be a mistake, however, to ignore
those instances in which members of Parliament
objected to royal demands. Yet the
frequency of resistance declined with the
passage of time. And while the Tudor judiciary
remained largely uncorrupted—in
spite of cases like Cromwell’s arrest of a
Yorkshire grand jury for acquitting a man
accused of murder—Henry got his way in
most cases, whether by statute or not.

By making the Church a department
of state, the king created conditions that
greatly facilitated in later centuries the
secularization of the public square. And
while modern critics may take comfort
in the Church’s declining ability to use
the state to enforce religious custom, it is
equally true that the state’s opportunity
to do harm without restraint from outside
itself was that much more enhanced.
One unintended consequence of Henry’s
religious policies was the birth of a second
daughter, Elizabeth, who would become
queen following the reign of Henry’s first
daughter Mary. Edward VI, Henry’s only
son to survive infancy, died at age 15. The
reign of Elizabeth was made possible by the
considerable destruction of life and property
and the concomitant growth of state
power made more vulnerable to the temptations
of administrative tyranny. At least
she did not torment the English nation by
imitating her father’s marital history. Had
Henry not elevated personal desire into
the goal of state power, Mary would have
likely inherited the crown in a peaceful
succession without suffering the trauma
of parental divorce and paternal abandonment.
And the Whig historians would not
feel compelled to justify or obscure a royal
record of persecution and violence that
amounted to a political revolution.

NOTES

1. Richard Rex, “The Crisis of Obedience: God’s Word
   and Henry’s Reformation,” The Historical Journal, Vol.
   39, No. 4 (December 1996), 863–94.

2. G. R. Elton,
   England under the Tudors (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd.,
   1974 [1955]), 165, 168–69.

3. R. W. Hoyle, “The Origins
   of the Dissolution of the Monasteries,” The Historical
   Journal, Vol. 38, No. 2 (June 1995), 275–305.

4. Henry
   VIII began to confiscate these colleges well before he
   secured legal title with the Chantries Act of 1545. See J. J.
   Scarisbrick, “Henry VIII and the dissolution of the secular
   colleges,” in Law and Government Under the Tudors,
   ed. Claire Cross, David Loades, & J. J. Scarisbrick (Cambridge,
   UK: Cambridge University Press, 1988): 51–66.

5. Richard Rex, Henry VIII and the English Reformation,
   (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 126–27.

6. A.
   G. Dickens, The English Reformation (State College, PA:
   Pennsylvania State University Press, 1993 [1964]), 67.

7. J.
   J. Scarisbrick, Henry VIII (Berkeley & Los Angeles, CA:
   University of California Press, 1968), 300.

8. Warham
   was accused of consecrating Henry Standish as bishop of
   St. Asaph before he had performed the customary ceremony
   of homage and fealty to the king. Yet, Standish had
   become bishop fourteen years before without any royal
   objection.

9. Stanford E. Lehmberg, The Reformation
   Parliament, 1529–1536 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
   University Press, 1970), 183.

10. Stanford E. Lehmberg,
    “Parliamentary Attainder in the Reign of Henry VIII,”
    The Historical Journal, Vol. 18, No. 4 (1975), 675–702.

11. See G. R. Elton, “Sir Thomas More and the Opposition
    to Henry VIII,” in Studies in Tudor and Stuart Politics
    and Government: Papers and Reviews 1946–1972, Vol. 1
    (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1974),
    169.

12. Elton writes that Henry “never tried to prevent
    members even from defending Catherine or desiring him
    to take her back.” Maybe Henry didn’t, but Cromwell
    did. See England under the Tudors, 171.

13. Lehmberg, The
    Reformation Parliament, 180.

14. Elton, Policy and Police:
    The Enforcement of the Reformation in the Age of Thomas
    Cromwell (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
    1972), 419.

15. Elton, Studies, 170.
16. Elton, Policy and
    Police, 403.

17. Ibid., 417.
18. Shagan, Popular Politics and
    the English Reformation (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
    University Press, 2003), 91.

19. Haigh, “Introduction,”
    The English Reformation Revisited, ed. Christopher Haigh
    (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 15.

20. Shagan, 102.
21. Elton, Reform and Reformation: England,
    1509–1558 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
    Press, 1977), 263.

22. Ibid., 264.
23. Ibid., 122.
24. Dickens,
    The English Reformation, 150.

25. See, for example, C.
    S. L. Davies, “The Pilgrimage of Grace Revisited,” Past
    and Present, No. 41 (December 1968), 54–76.

26. Elton,
    Reform and Reformation, 238.

27. See Hoyle, “The Origins
    of the Dissolution of the Monasteries,” 292–94.

28. Elton, England under the Tudors, 174.