In the 1570s the Mexican Inquisition prosecuted high-profile heresy and piracy cases against John Hawkins and other English and French corsairs. These trials prompted a high alert for Lutheran and Calvinist books as well as vernacular Scripture reaching Mexico. Many of the accused were simply merchants while others were indeed pirates, but their foreign national and linguistic identities placed them in the crosshairs of a larger debate about the transatlantic diffusion and regulation of books and religious ideology. The issue of trade violations by Hawkins and others paled in comparison in the collective Catholic apprehension over the possibility that the newly conquered Mexico could become “infected” by the Lutheran and Calvinist “heretical plagues“—language used commonly by inquisitional and episcopal authorities to refer to the threat of these same sailors. Among the central concerns was the possibility that vernacular translations of the Bible or books by “heresiarchs” like Calvin, Melanchthon, or John Knox would reach Mexico, infiltrate Catholic homes and minds, and result in an ecclesiological disaster in which the unsuspecting faithful succumbed to the duplicitous charms of salvation by faith and the unapproved theological-linguistic renderings of the Gospels and Pauline letters.

Within early modern Christianity the idea of church government always entailed a basic contradiction. How could a spiritual body, devoted to Christ's teachings of love and forgiveness, exercise coercive authority? Given the widely accepted need of any sixteenth- or seventeenth-century government to enforce religiously based codes of behavior, churches and church officials were inevitably involved with the secular authorities in detecting and judging offenders. Inasmuch as such judgment had to include the threat of punishment, church officials of any kind were open to the charge of violating their Christian mission, which by nature was to be persuasive and educative rather than punitive, and also their Christian character, which, even among more radical Protestant sects, was to be more otherworldly than that of the laity.

In the historiography of English and American Baptist movements there is no more familiar convention than this: Baptists early and late championed freedom of the religious conscience, rejected the use of force in spiritual affairs, and, either expressly or by implication, accepted the corollary of religious pluralism. With few exceptions, modern scholars have either assumed or implied by the logic of their arguments that the historic Baptist commitment to religious liberty was not only strong but categoric. By implication also, it did not evolve but arose full blown in the initial Anglo-American Baptist insurgency itself in the seventeenth century. To take one example: in a chapter-length treatment of the “struggle for religious liberty,” a currently authoritative history of American Baptists affirms that colonial Baptists “led other dissenters in championing the cause of religious liberty” and the separation of church and state. Then as later, the advocacy of freedom “for persons of all faiths—or no faith” was their “genius.“ Genius—here is the key claim. Liberty of religious choice and practice is joined to conversion or adult baptism as a principle of the faith both original and definitive. Baptist intoleration in any form becomes a virtual oxymoron.

In the several decades after their arrival in the New England states in the late 1780s, Methodists were the objects of a wide variety of attacks, some of them mutually contradictory. Their preachers were accused of being pickpockets, horse thieves, and sexual predators, while on the other hand some converts were mocked for their excessive moral seriousness. They were suspected alternatively of being agents of the English crown, spies for the French government, and Jeffersonian radicals. Further, to some it seemed that their episcopal form of government and ecclesiastical tribunals functioned as a sort of shadow government undermining the political institutions of the nation. They were attacked for their Arminian theology, in defense of which they vigorously condemned Calvinist doctrine. They were mocked as enthusiasts and fanatics whose preachers, pretending to an immediate divine calling, inflamed the passions of their listeners and whose gatherings degenerated into bedlams of disorder, confusion, and moral scandal. They were disturbers of churches, transgressing parochial boundaries, sowing disorder, and fracturing the covenant relationship between minister and flock, all of which recalled memories of the upheaval accompanying the awakenings of the 1740s. They were unlearned rustics not fit to instruct people in divinity, but they were also sly enough to worm their way into the hearts and minds of people by shrewdly hiding their true intentions and prejudicing their hearers against the standing ministers.