Eschatology in Preaching on the Eve of the French Wars of Religion: The Case of François Le Picart

This chapter argues that omnisubjectivity is entailed by the divine attributes of omniscience and omnipresence. It is presupposed in common practices of prayer, and it is strongly implied by divine love and divine justice. These arguments apply to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, and some of the arguments also apply to monotheistic Hinduism. Knowing objective facts about conscious states is not enough to know what the conscious states are like. God must know what every subjective state is like as it is experienced by its bearer, and God is present in each conscious state. As creator and continuous conserver of the world, God must know what he created and what he keeps in existence. Both divine love and divine justice imply perfect knowledge of the creature who is loved and who is judged. People who pray assume that God knows what is going on in their minds.

According to the doctrines of great monotheistic religions, God will fairly judge on the deeds and intentions of all people on the Day of Judgment in hereafter. He will reckon all deeds, even the tiniest ones, will do justice to everyone according to their acts, and will condemn some sinners to eternal punishment. There seems to be at least two important problems about this religious doctrine: First, the eternal punishment is inconsistent with divine justice; second, eternal punishment is inconsistent with divine love. Theologians and thinkers such as Anselm and Jonathan Edwards have tried to prove the consistency of eternal punishment with divine justice. Aquinas has also provided some arguments for the consistency of divine love with eternal punishment. There have also been endeavors in Islamic tradition to argue that the eternal punishment is consistent with divine justice; among the main and recent examples is Motahhari’s view in his book Adl-e Elahi (Divine Justice). Examining and comparing the main arguments presented against the two mentioned problems, the present paper argues that all of these arguments fail to provide justified moral answers to the problems, though they differ in terms of their merits and demerits.

The transformation of the Negev Bedouin from mobile pastoral life into immobile semi-urban market economy, primarily through state intervention, has not ended Bedouin-state conflict. Even under semi-urban life, forms of spatial mobility, originating in their past tribal culture remain conflictual. This paper analyzes how the process of planning an upgrade of Road 31 in the Negev by the state violates the social order by curtailing this indigenous mobility. Over the years the Bedouin have created numerous informal dirt roads in their spaces that connect informally and illegally to the formal Road 31. These roads connect particularly to the 'unrecognized Bedouin villages' where the conflict revolves over the 'right for producing indigenous space'. The spatial syntax of these spaces, manifested through these roads, reflects the internal micro socio-political structure of Bedouin groups, facilitating secure movement for rival families thus sustaining the internal local delicate social order. The planning of the upgrade project ignored these forms of local mobility and connection to Road 31. Although the state agreed to regularize only few of these informal roads and 'intersections', most Bedouin spaces are left disrupted in terms of indigenous mobility. We conclude that: (1) the conceptual framework of the 'new mobilities paradigm' provides an opportunity for a more profound analysis of Bedouin space, and through this, (2) surfacing new significant layers of indigenous socio-spatial endogenous regulative measures that concern mobility, imported by the Bedouin from pastoral into 'settled' life; these are often overlooked by the state, perpetuating thus the spatial conflict.

Nigel Biggar begins his chapter 6, subtitled “Legality, Morality, and Kosovo,” with these words: Law is given before it is made. Legal statutes and social contracts are not crafted in a moral wasteland. They are born accountable to a higher, natural law…. Such is the moral realism that the Christian doctrine of just war, both early and late, takes for granted. It assumes that there is a universal moral order that transcends national legal systems and applies to international relations even in the absence of positive international law…. One thing that this implies is that military action can sometimes be morally justified in the absence of, and even in spite of, statutory or customary international law. (2013, 309–10) These comments frame the core of Biggar's stance in what follows: a detailed, thorough dialectical analysis of the major lines of the legal, and sometimes political, debates over humanitarian intervention by military force since the 1990s. The principal focus is on the debates occasioned by NATO's intervention in Kosovo in 1999, but Biggar's reach extends both backward in time, to include some elements of the debates over military intervention for humanitarian reasons that had taken place earlier in the 1990s and forward, to provide a brief look into the development of the “responsibility to protect” (R2P) idea, from Kofi Annan's initial expression of the need for some such doctrine, through the original conception of R2P in the 2001 report of the ad hoc International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS), to the narrowed redefinition of R2P in the Outcome Document of the 2005 World Summit.Biggar by no means provides the first example of a moralist's effort to engage critically with the legal debate over intervention—an engagement that has so far not produced any comparably serious effort by lawyers to reciprocate. When I first treated the subject of humanitarian intervention by military force in a chapter in Morality and Contemporary Warfare (Johnson 1999, 71–118), I began by examining three moral arguments on the matter: those of Paul Ramsey, Michael Walzer, and the United States Catholic bishops' 1993 statement, The Harvest of Justice is Sown in Peace. All three, though in different ways, engaged international law, accepting it as it then stood but offering arguments that went beyond the law. So did I in that chapter, and so have I in addressing the subject of intervention since (e.g., Johnson 2006, 2014). For whether positivistically inclined lawyers like it or not, the international law on the subject imposes moral claims and standards that no moralist addressing the subject can properly ignore. Thus Biggar, a moral theologian writing a book exploring the idea of just war as it applies to contemporary issues, could by no means ignore arguments on the same issues from the perspective of law, or indeed, the relation of law to morality in itself. Indeed, he pursues an engagement with the law not only in chapter 6 on intervention but also in the previous chapter, where he provides a scathing moral criticism of legal positivism, a criticism that is recalled in his discussion of the legal arguments regarding the use of military force for humanitarian intervention, where a depiction of the relevant international law in positivistic terms is commonplace.Biggar's stance is particularly reminiscent of Ramsey's and invites a brief rehearsal of how Ramsey approached the relationship between morality and law with reference to intervention. Whereas Biggar refers his own stance in his critical engagement with the law to “a higher, natural law,” Ramsey begins instead with a normative statement about politics: military intervention is “among the rights and duties of states unless and until supplanted by superior government” (Ramsey 1968, 20). If such a higher governmental order existed, then the responsibility would rest there, but, he argues in the next pages, there is no such superior order in the international arena, so that the obligation of maintaining justice and the right to use military means in doing so falls on the states and, he believes, particularly on the United States: “The primary reality of the present age and the foreseeable future is that the United States has had responsibility thrust upon it for more of the order and realized justice in the world than it has the power to effectuate” (23). There is thus a tension, on Ramsey's analysis, between the empirical possibilities of politics and the moral obligations imposed by the nature of good politics. The problem of statecraft in any specific case is to resolve this tension so far as possible.To explain how this is to be done, Ramsey distinguishes between “ultimate” and “secondary” grounds for intervention. The first, which he also terms the “just war” grounds, he defines by four considerations: the requirements, respectively, of justice; order (“both terminal goals in … proper politics” [29]); the national and international common good (which “are not always the same” [29]); and domestic and international law, which may also pull in different directions. In reaching a decision about intervention in a given case the “statesman” must make judgments about the degree to which the action would sustain or increase justice and order, seek to serve both kinds of common good by operating within the area of overlap between them, and, as to the law, judge the requirements it sets by the demands of justice, which ultimately stand above particular iterations of the law (29–30). What Ramsey terms the “secondary” grounds for intervention are actually the two types of intervention allowed in international law: counterintervention and intervention by invitation in conflicts already ongoing (33–38). Ramsey argues that even in these cases the “ultimate” justifications must all be satisfied, but more interesting is his argument that in cases not allowed by these two legal provisions and despite the existence of law to the contrary, concern for the responsibility to serve the “terminal” political goals of justice and order may justify action.Although the details of his analysis and argument are different from Biggar's, Ramsey and Biggar offer similar understandings about the requirements of morality relative to law and the practice of politics: there are fundamental norms built into the nature of human interactions, and these ultimately are more important than the demands of any given positive law. The sources of these higher norms and the nature of the claims they make on human action, though, are not spelled out by either Ramsey or Biggar in the context of their treatment of intervention. Who is bound by these norms? To what degree ought the law to reflect them? As to the matter of enforcing the claims imposed by these higher norms, that is precisely the function that intervention provides, but since these higher norms are invoked to justify intervention, there is a circular quality to the reasoning.In Ramsey's case, though he did not develop his normative claims about the “rights and duties of states” and about justice and order as “terminal goals” of politics in the specific context of his discussion of intervention, which was originally written in 1965, he did give a fairly explicit account of his thinking on these matters somewhat later, in a chapter titled “A Political Ethics Context for Strategic Thinking” in a collection published in 1973 (Kaplan 1973, 101–47). There he wrote as follows: If no one today can write a unified politico-ethical treatise such as that of Aristotle, it nevertheless should be understood that when we speak of ethics in connection with politics we properly mean political ethics, that is modalities of ethics appropriate to politics…. Ethics are not logically, externally related to politics. These two distinguishable elements are together in the first place, internally related. Our quest should be for the clarification of political ethics in its specific nature, for the ethical ingredient inherent in foreign policy formation, for the wisdom peculiar to taking counsel amid a world of encountering powers, for—as a sub-set—the laws of war and of deterrence so long as these are human activities properly related and subordinated to the purposes of political communities in the international system.(124–25; an abridged version of the chapter as a whole appears in Ramsey 1988, but without this passage.) For the final piece of this picture one must recall the interpretation of Augustine given by Ramsey's teacher H. Richard Niebuhr in Christ and Culture (Niebuhr 1951, 206–18), which Ramsey adopted as his own view: that grace, once it has entered history through the coming of Christ, thereafter works in hidden but ineluctable ways to transform history toward its ultimate perfection in the City of God. Thus when Ramsey speaks of ethics and politics as “together in the first place, internally related,” or when he identifies justice and order as the “terminal goals” of politics, he is not simply working from Aristotle or from the larger conception of politics as defined by certain goods or ends that became normative for the classical world and remained so in the West in the Middle Ages and up to the era of the Reformation; he is also reflecting a conception of these “terminal goals” (in the tradition the goods or ends toward which politics properly tends were three: order, justice, and peace; Ramsey reverses the first two and does not mention peace). He is also working from a conception of these as shaped by the working of grace (divine love) throughout history thus far, so that the “terminal goals” he mentions are also, at least to some degree, expressions of the power of divine love in history. It was characteristic of Ramsey to employ entirely secular language when writing for a secular readership, but the theological base was there nonetheless. The end result is that on his understanding politics itself demands certain kinds of behavior, and where these demands are violated or ignored in a given state, other states have the right and responsibility to intervene to change this. At the same time, theologically understood, this is action in conformity to what grace is doing in transforming history toward its ultimate conclusion.Biggar's appeal to natural law signals a somewhat different line of argument based on different conceptions about the relation of ethical values to politics. The question remains, though, just what this appeal entails. Historically, the idea of just war and that of natural law are interrelated: Biggar knows this and signals it when he says that natural law understood as a “universal moral order” is assumed by “the Christian doctrine of just war, both early and late” (309). Perhaps he believes this means he need say no more. But I suggest the picture of the relationship between the just war idea and natural law is by no means so simple or straightforward. More does need to be said.When the idea of just war came together in what I call its “classic” form in canonical and theological thought in the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries, beginning with Gratian's Decretum, part II, causa 23 (see Reichberg, Syse, and Begby 2006, 109–24), proceeding through further conceptual development and clarification by the subsequent two generations of canonists, and stated summarily by Aquinas in the context of his theological system in Summa Theologiae II/II, Q 40 (see Reichberg, Syse, and Begby 2006, 176–82), the same intellectual circles and sometimes the same individuals were also involved in the recovery and amplification of the late Roman idea of natural law. As inherited from Roman thought this latter idea formed the apex of a pyramid of types of law that included Roman positive law and the various forms of ius gentium of the peoples who made up the Roman Empire. On that conception, Roman law was understood as a superior expression of the natural law, one that superseded the ius gentium of any community of people within the empire where there were points of difference. The medieval thinkers used Roman law as a reference point for the content of natural law, but in the social and political conditions of their time there was no single universal positive law functioning the way Roman law did in the empire. As a result, ius gentium became a more important category, for each political community had its own positive law, and the theory that developed tested these expressions of positive law directly by the standard of natural law. This is where the idea of just war came in: a sovereign ruler (one with no temporal superior; the Latin word for such a ruler was princeps, prince, but by this time souverain was in use as an equivalent in French, and this carried over into the English sovereign) was understood as the person with final responsibility for the common good of the political community he (or sometimes she, or even in some instances they) ruled, a common good defined in terms of maintaining an order that served justice and rectified injustice and thus served peace. This responsibility came directly from the natural law, and part of it was the sovereign's right and duty to interpret the meaning of the natural law in particular cases. When the sovereign was presented with a case in which a violation of justice was held to have been perpetrated, the sovereign's responsibility was to decide, first, whether there was in fact an injustice; second, what measures needed to be taken to rectify any violation of justice, including punishment of the violator; and third, to act so as to carry out those measures. A ruler who did not do this was, by definition, not fulfilling his responsibility under the natural law; one who went so far as to perpetrate injustice himself was not even any longer a proper sovereign, a princeps, but a tyrant. We see this line of thinking carried through and summarized in Aquinas's treatment of tyranny in the Summa Theologiae (II/II, Q 42, A 2) and more fully in his Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard (A 2) and his On Princely Rule (the last two discussions found in Reichberg, Syse, and Begby 2006, 193–98).But a corollary was that the meaning of the natural law in a given case was understood as being determined by the judgment of the sovereign ruler of a political community, acting as judge of last resort in that community. From one perspective, this could seem to be a recipe for conflict, as different rulers might offer different interpretations and thus judgments. The check against this was that the church, working first through the canonists' description of the natural law and later, as systematically defined by Aquinas, conceiving the content of natural law as both partly given in Scripture and wholly included in the law of God known through revelation, effectively imposed a consensus as to the content of natural law. The classic idea of just war endured from the high Middle Ages till early in the modern period precisely because of this cultural consensus. But the idea that this consensus was in fact universal across humanity was challenged by the European experience of different cultures through trade and conquest. The consensus broke down entirely in the wars of religion during the Reformation era, as Catholic and Protestant rulers alike interpreted their responsibility under natural law to include suppression of religious dissent, conceived as a challenge to the order, justice, and peace of the political community. Toward the end of this warfare it is interesting to observe how Grotius, the structure of whose treatment of the natural law idea is remarkably similar to that of the medieval canonists, ends up with a sharply truncated conception of natural law in terms of the right of self-defense, redefining both the idea of sovereignty and the idea of just war accordingly.The idea of natural law has not been the same since, and Biggar's reference to it does not seem to acknowledge this. Nor does his stress on the value of justice in the just war idea take account of the priority given in classic just war thinking to the responsibility of the sovereign ruler not only to vindicate justice but also, in the ruler's capacity as supreme judge, to provide a judgment about the meaning of justice in a given case. Biggar speaks of “the Christian doctrine of just war, early and late,” taking “for granted” the existence of a universal moral order (309). I certainly agree that Christian just war thinking and teaching assumes such a higher, universal moral order. I have suggested that from the high Middle Ages till early in the modern period there was a consensus in European culture about the content of this order in terms of a conception of natural law. But I do not agree that such commonalty extends into “late” Christian just war teaching and thinking, if that refers to the diverse conceptions of just war encountered in discussions from recent decades. One would need only to consider all the numerous and contradictory ways in which the idea of just war has been rendered there, sometimes by Christian writers and sometimes not (but the latter presumably responsible to the natural law in any case), to encounter a vivid demonstration of the lack of common agreement about the content of the overarching moral law and its implications regarding political life and the use of military force.Viewed from this perspective, one may say that the positivistic conception of international law on war as coming into being from the agreement of states represents an effort to identify and define as normative a common core of agreement among states about what is right and wrong, what is allowed and disallowed, in the use of military force. No common core of universal values is assumed apart from the content of what is agreed to specifically by the states. This way of conceiving international law is relatively recent. The concept of the “law of nations” in such early writers on that theme as Grotius and Pufendorf was not simply a statement of what nations agreed among themselves about their conduct with one another: though it was that, it also referred to the preexistent core of common values on which such agreement was based. In the work of Vattel, a century after Pufendorf, the law of nations rests on the common agreement of nations, each agreeing for its own reasons; yet on his description it functions rather as a statement of a common moral consensus than as actual law. Vattel's conception of the law of nations can be seen as presaging the later positivistic understanding of international law, but as he left the matter, there was still no such law. A century and a half after Vattel, international consensus (at least among Western societies) about the “laws and customs of war” was assumed by nineteenth-century legal writers, including Francis Lieber, the principal author of the first modern manual of land warfare, issued as United States Army General Orders No. 100 in 1863. These “laws and customs” bound morally, not legally, for there was no structure of positive law in the international arena.The origins of positive international law lie in the steps taken toward positive formulations of rules for warfare undertaken in the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, from the first Geneva Conference of 1863 to the Hague Conferences of 1899 and 1907, where the participating states formally consented to be bound by the rules (“Conventions”) they had mutually drafted and agreed upon. But it was clearly still understood that behind these lay a long tradition of customary law that expressed common values—values sometimes attached to the idea of “civilization,” sometimes to the idea of “humanity.” This language from the opening paragraphs of 1907 Hague Convention IV Respecting the Laws and Customs of War on Land is typical of the period: the signatories are “animated by the desire to serve … the interests of humanity and the ever progressive needs of civilization,” and seek in the Convention “to revise the general laws and customs of war, either with a view to defining them with greater precision or to them within such as would their and The idea that the law normative to in relatively recent standard works on international law, whether these are those of (e.g., or those of (e.g., and the law in normative with implies that the states have a right to terms to the or which does not down in the context of the of all states in the United The idea that there are common of is at the core of the idea of but in practice it has to agreement on what these are or what they in specific as the history of the international effort to define and as we see also in the of the development of the “responsibility to protect” idea from its original expression by universal are clearly to its truncated form in the 2005 World Outcome the matter of of rights a matter of political decision and is in his on the of about humanitarian intervention based in a positivistic understanding of international law, but what he to say about the normative frame of natural law, from which he If the content of this law is as his language sometimes appears to then is it that should agree to be by what should do with to those who of chapter 6, titled “The for Biggar argues that the for such are not given that “the moral and political norms across the are and international is In the next he might agree norms, and we might even agree upon certain of those We are to agree that a given case against a and we are to agree upon what action, if should be taken against the But what does an appeal to a universal natural law if it does not mean agreement on and … certain of those I have that international law as it was about just this. I as toward the positivistic understanding of international law as Biggar, I have long argument for that and understanding across the lines of major cultural or the of that may to across those same what is may only be and … certain of those I still this is But what of the next is about even as I about the international which is far from a Toward the end of this he the foreseeable we in which is political, if not simply see also his to the at and in this I the same in an Intervention (Johnson But what does this For the idea of the political to the classic conception of as properly the goods or ends of politics: order, justice, and conceived as and mutually It to the understanding of the idea of just war as systematically in that century and a from to Aquinas, in which the responsibility of those with sovereign needed to be through judgment about the requirements of Biggar a related idea earlier in the chapter, when he the decision to intervene in one place rather than can be an expression of the moral of I would say that it always ought to be For good moral and through it the meaning of justice takes To Ramsey's language ethics and politics are “together in the first place, internally But this implies serious to the of where is actually and this in that the judgments of states where the of the common good are taken have a moral that may be in positivistic interpretations of international law by people who have no responsibility for and in the by international whose are responsible first to their own political

This chapter begins by considering the relationship between Christian ethics and moral philosophy. The analysis then turns to the period between the Reformation (from the early sixteenth century) and the death of St Alphonsus Liguori (in 1787). It discusses arguments for and against voluntarism; fundamental morality as genuine morality; pagan virtue; what Christian morality adds to morality; moral and positive obligations; and divine love and divine justice.

This paper explores the relationship between the problem of evil and a kenotic view of the Atonement evidenced not just by feminist theologians, but by analytic philosophers of religion. (“Kenosis”, from the Greek κένωσις, “emptiness,” generally refers to the emptying of the self, and more specifically refers to the passion of Christ, during which Christ suffered on behalf of humanity.) I will argue that, although kenosis provides an interesting story about the ability of Christ to partake in human suffering, it faces debilitating problems for understanding divine concurrence with evil in the world. Most significantly, I will argue that the potential tensions between divine justice (in holding wrongdoers responsible) and divine love (for those who suffer) can be loosened by looking at ‘redemptive accounts’ of theodicy in the scholarship of women writing in the early modern period in philosophy, particularly Mary Hays (1759–1843), and Catharine Macaulay (1731–1791). Their work collectively confirms the problem of concrete evil (that is, not just that evil must be logically possible in order for God to create the best possible world, but that atrocious harms are pernicious to a perfectly existing necessary being) and yet offers a unique theodicy grounded in the saving power of the Atonement and restorative power of Christian service. Their arguments are all the more compelling for having been written in response to egregious civil rights abuses and rampant domestic violence of their day. If the Atonement is the divinely-ordained method for gaining insight into the redemptive power of divine grace, then rather than speculating about the metaphysical nature of the divine, this paper will question how we can understand divine perfection in light of evil in the world, especially if the Atonement of Christ involves kenosis.

The average Christian who accepts or rejects purgatory usually views it as a demi-hell set up by divine justice between heaven and hell to punish those who have died without having made sufficient reparation for their sins. This article contends, however, that the purgatorial stage of the consciousness of the mystics, caused by their intense experience of the incompatibility of sin and divine Love, is a paradigm of postmortem purgatory and is confirmed by recent theological writing.

I argued in the previous chapter that the existence of hell is consistent with the justice of God. But God’s moral goodness is not exhausted by his justice. For God is typically believed to be not only just but also loving. The two properties are conceptually distinct, as we can see by comparing Hugo’s Inspector Javert, who is cold-hearted but strict in his adherence to the standards of justice, and Jean Valjean, who is compassionate but unjust in stealing the bread. The difference between the divine justice and the divine love suggests the possibility that, although hell is consistent with the former, it is inconsistent with the latter. Perhaps, that is, we need not only answer the argument from justice, but consider potential arguments from divine love.

This book explains and defends the idea that the God of the monotheistic religions has the property of omnisubjectivity, the property of perfectly grasping every conscious state of every conscious being from the first-person perspective of the subject. God not only knows all objective facts, such as the fact that someone is in pain, but God is present in the pain, grasping it the way the bearer of the pain grasps it. The book argues that this attribute is entailed by omniscience, omnipresence, divine love, and divine justice, and it is presupposed in common practices of prayer. Three models of omnisubjectivity are described: the empathy model, the perceptual model, and panentheism. The book then defends the idea that omnisubjectivity extends to the possible but non-actual conscious states of all possible conscious beings. God grasps all possible subjective states in his imagination. The book then shows how the Christian form of the attribute of omnisubjectivity affects the doctrines of the Trinity, the Incarnation, and the infusion of the Holy Spirit. The book concludes that subjectivity and intersubjectivity are deep in the universe, deeper than the universe as it is objectively described.

Michael Stoeber Hell, Divine Love, and Divine Justice Within the Christian tradition the doctrine of hell has received a variety of formulations, critiques, and apologies. Underlying the diverse views on the subject are three common assumptions: it is an everlasting condition of existence that is to be construed as justified punishment involving extreme suffering. Enlightenment and contemporary critiques of the belief rest upon the indictment of it as cruel, excessive, alienating, and non-reformative punishment. Yet, despite these criticisms, as well as the move on the part ofsome contemporary theologians toward a view of universal salvation, it is still maintained officially as a dogma of the Roman Catholic and various Protestant churches, and held today by a majority (60 percent) of U.S. citizens.1 This essay will argue that the concept ofhell should be included within a Christian theological framework. But it maintains that the concept can best be defended against critics if we move beyond the tendency to view hell as divine retribution exacted through the infliction of pain. Rather, I defend a different traditional view, one Logos 2:1 Winter 1999 Hell, Divine Love, and Divine Justice177 that envisions hell as an afterlife condition of spiritual contraction or self-isolation. In order to develop this argument, and the particular conception of hell I have in mind here, I begin by exploring various attitudes toward human suffering. Part 1 outlines the traditional Christian imperative toward the suffering of others (compassion) and also explores distorted responses (apathy, sadism, and masochism). This Christian imperative to compassion seems incompatible with the idea of the divine infliction of eternal punishment. Indeed, the idea of divine love, which is the source of this imperative to compassion, seems inconsistent with this view of hell. But to deny hell seems inconsistent with the idea of divine justice. This issue is the subject of Part 2. Theologians who stress the idea of divine love in their theology tend to deny hell and espouse a doctrine of universal salvation. Those who stress divine justice tend to defend hell as a necessary condition of creation. But this tension between divine love and divine justice only applies to views that depict hell as the divine infliction of pain. Part 3 illustrates a different picture. In line with the theology of suffering outlined in Part 1 , 1 argue that a morally acceptable view of hell is not to be understood in terms of a hard-line scheme of retributive punishment. It should rather be conceived as the stark contrast to a vision of spiritual integration and fulfillment in love. Hell is the possibility of a permanent contraction or constriction from one's spiritual expansion in love. Part 4 goes on to suggest why the possibility of this afterlife condition is necessary to coherent Christian theology. Such a view of hell does not depict God as actively inflicting pain, and it secures the authentic freedom and dignity of the individual with respect to her or his own eternal destiny. Moreover, it also allows one to maintain attitudes of compassion and hopefulness toward those individuals who are immersed in this condition of self-isolationism, even though they might choose to maintain this orientation indefinitely. It is in 178 Logos these ways that this view of hell embraces and upholds both the ideas of divine love and divine justice. But I begin, as I said, by exploring the various ways ofresponding to the suffering of others. Part 1 : Apathy, Distorted Empathy, and Compassion Typical responses to suffering can take one ofthree forms. One can respond to the suffering of another person either apathetically, in a distorted empathetic fashion, or in terms of compassionate love. Traditional Christian ethical teaching stresses the last attitude as imperative for the Christian life. This attitude is exemplified by the teachings and actions of Jesus. In this section I will briefly analyze these three fundamental moral attitudes before relating them in Part 2 to the idea of hell. Most generally, apathy can be understood as an existential stance wherein people remain distant and remote from suffering and other intense passions, whether in themselves or in others. As a consequence of this suppression of their own feelings and of any...

In 1934, Reinhold Niebuhr delivered the annual "Rauschenbusch Lectures" at Colgate Rochester Divinity School. These lectures would form the basis for his 1935 work, An Interpretation of Christian Ethics. In the preface to the 1956 edition of that book, Niebuhr noted that this volume "was meant to express both the author's general adhesion to the purposes of the 'Social Gospel' of which Rauschenbusch was the most celebrated exponent, and to spell out some of the growing differences between the original social gospel and the newer form of social Christianity" ([1935] 1956, 8). When one reads this book, however, it is far easier to see the gap between Niebuhr and the early twentieth-century social gospel than the continuity between the two.Important studies by scholars like Harlan Beckley and Gary Dorrien point to the continuities and distinctions between the social gospel of Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918) and the Christian realism of Reinhold Niebuhr (1892–1971).1 As Dorrien notes in the second volume of his work The Making of American Liberal Theology, Niebuhr had far more in common with social gospelers like Rauschenbusch than with continental neoorthodox theologians like Karl Barth. While many of Niebuhr's disciples strayed into neoconservatism, which repudiated the liberalism of the social gospel, Niebuhr did not "and he never doubted the social gospel assumption that Christians have a social mission to secure the just ordering of the world" (Dorrien 2003, 435).By the same token, despite Niebuhr's assertion of his "general adhesion" to the heritage of the social gospel, one is hard-pressed to find an organic connection between his thought and Rauschenbusch's. There is little evidence to suggest that Niebuhr, unlike his brother H. Richard, ever engaged in a thorough examination of Rauschenbusch's writings, even though at several points he did exempt Rauschenbusch from his most vitriolic critiques of liberalism.2It has been the verdict of many scholars that Niebuhr's version of Christian realism eclipsed Rauschenbusch's social gospel, a verdict given credence by the very different trajectories of their careers. Yet there are aspects of their lives that make a comparison between the two difficult. For one thing, Niebuhr enjoyed an advantage of historical longevity. From his first publications in the mid-1910s until his final missives in the late 1960s, Niebuhr covered a broader range of issues and produced a wider corpus of writing, as opposed to Rauschenbusch, who was less prolific and whose major writings appeared during the final ten years of his life. While one can see a clear theological progression in Rauschenbusch, we can only speculate how his thought might have developed if he had lived into the 1920s or 1930s (and how he would have responded to the ascending theological star, Niebuhr). Further, in analyzing Niebuhr the question always arises: Which Niebuhr? Does one focus primarily on Niebuhr's Marxist turn during the 1930s, the World War II interventionism of the early 1940s, or the Cold War and liberal democratic phase of Niebuhr's career in the late 1940s and 1950s?However, one of the biggest problems in interpreting Rauschenbusch and Niebuhr is the simple fact that one is talking about individuals whose theologies engaged radically different historical contexts. When Rauschenbusch was forty years old in 1901, he was a few years into his teaching career at Rochester Theological Seminary, having completed an eleven-year pastorate of a German Baptist Church in the Hell's Kitchen section of New York. At the turn of the twentieth century, Rauschenbusch was grappling with the realities of late nineteenth-century industrialization, immigration, and unregulated capitalism in a nation on the cusp of becoming a global economic and military power. Although theological liberalism was starting to gain traction within American Protestantism, those who adhered to what later became known as "the social gospel" were a small minority who, in Rauschenbusch's words, "shouted in the wilderness" ([1912] 2010, 9). When Niebuhr was forty in 1932, he too had completed a long-term pastorate of a German immigrant church in an urban context (Detroit), and was a few years into his teaching career at Union Theological Seminary, New York. However, he was dealing with the political fallout from a world war, the specter of the worst economic depression in American history, and an international context that revealed signs of what a later generation would call "globalization." Unlike Rauschenbusch, Niebuhr found himself surrounded by many like-minded colleagues who in various ways were deeply committed to carrying forward the legacy of the social gospel.3 While Rauschenbusch's context evokes images of an Old Testament prophet crying in the wilderness, Niebuhr was surrounded by "a cloud of witnesses" actively committed to building on this earlier legacy of social Christianity.Despite their differences, I believe the task of bringing these two men into conversation with each other in the early twenty-first century is vital. As perhaps the two most important figures to come out of the American tradition of Christian social ethics in the first half of the twentieth century, Rauschenbusch and Niebuhr were united in the belief that central to the social mission of Christianity were issues of economic justice. As was the case in each of their lifetimes, the early twenty-first century still echoes with voices that see questions of economic wealth as fundamentally private matters—questions that Christianity, and religion in general, have no business addressing. However, Rauschenbusch and Niebuhr believed that an engagement with questions of economic justice was an essential component for understanding Christian theology. Here, I concentrate on one formative work for each person: Rauschenbusch's Christianizing the Social Order (1912), a book that provides Rauschenbusch's most detailed analysis of the relationship between Christianity and economic justice, and Niebuhr's An Interpretation of Christian Ethics (1935), a book that offers one of Niebuhr's most penetrating critiques of the social gospel.In my judgment the most critical theme for understanding the differences between Rauschenbusch and Niebuhr revealed in these works, and in their other writings, is not so much their different views toward classical doctrines like original sin or the meaning of justice. Rather, their differences emerge from their distinctive understandings of the use of history in the interpretation of Christian theology and ethics. For Rauschenbusch, discerning the process of God in history was a means to ascertain how Christians could address the problems caused by modern capitalism. For Niebuhr, faith in the redemptive possibilities of history represented one of the central faults of liberal Christianity, even as Christians were called not to give up on the possibilities of economic justice.Previous discussions on the distinctions between Rauschenbusch and Niebuhr revolve around their differing understandings of sin and the ability of humans to approximate a just social order. Yet I believe that the core of their theological differences is their very different views regarding the role of history. It became fashionable in Niebuhrian circles to see the social gospel's greatest failure as its alleged myopic optimism in a coming kingdom of God, expressed chiefly in the belief that God worked directly through morally righteous men and women who would labor to bring about the conditions of a just society. However, seeing Rauschenbusch's thought solely through the kingdom-of-God lens misses what was for him the underlying foundation of his theology and social ethics: his understanding of history. It is impossible to understand Rauschenbusch without recognizing the way that he approached theology and ethics with the methodological tools of an early twentieth-century historian, who took seriously a liberal tradition that stressed the activity of God working in history to transform the world. Rauschenbusch's historiography connects him to a legacy of influential German historians such as Albrecht Ritschl and Adolf von Harnack. Yet Rauschenbusch's view of history was very practical in that he was primarily concerned with how American social institutions, especially churches, were able to approximate in history the theological and ethical ideals of a just society.4 For Rauschenbusch, the chief means to approximate these ends was economic reform.More so than any of his other books, Christianizing the Social Order shows the relationship between Rauschenbusch's theology and a model of economic justice. When this book was published in 1912, the social gospel was nearing its peak of national influence, and the first few chapters of this book read as a hopeful summary of how the social teachings of Christianity were transforming the nation. Christianizing the Social Order reflects the idealism of many Progressive-era reformers who believed they were witnessing a unique historical moment when the rise of social righteousness would create the conditions in which a new economic order might be possible.It was his stress on God's active involvement in history, whereby people of faith labored for a just society, which gave Rauschenbusch's theology much of its power, but this idea also exposed him to later charges that his understanding of social progress was naïve. Building on his analysis in his 1907 book, Christianity and the Social Crisis, Rauschenbusch saw the moral failure of Christianity largely as a result of its radical message having been co-opted by powerful economic interests committed to promoting the church's status and wealth. Not only did this pattern fossilize the church's theological development, but it created a context in which individual greed superseded the need of Christians to see a just economic order as one of the goals of the Christian life. While conceding that self-interest was at times an essential aspect of individual development, Rauschenbusch contended that it was a disaster for the nation's economic future. "We want free, strong, self-reliant men with elbow room for action," he asserted: "But when a theory of so-called economic individualism has resulted in turning the property of a nation over to a limited group; … in pitting the self-interest of the most resourceful men against the public welfare; in giving them power to hold up the progress of humanity by extorting monopoly profits; … then that theory has gone to seed and it is time to plow the ground for a new crop" ([1912] 2010, 290). In many ways, Rauschenbusch's rhetorical fallback was to note that the modern theological iterations of the social gospel provided the means for changing moral behaviors: With unanimous moral judgment mankind has always loved and exalted those who sacrificed their self-interest to the common welfare, and despised those who sold out the common good for private profit. The cross of Christ stands for the one principle of action; the bag of Judas stands for the other…. I submit the proposition that the overgrowth of private interests has institutionalized an unchristian principle, and that we must reverse the line of movement if we want to establish the law of Christ. ([1912] 2010, 290)Rauschenbusch was always clear that the achievement of a just social-political order was never a foregone conclusion; the assertion by some that he believed in the "inevitable progress" of humanity is a clear misreading of his theology.5 Yet the achievement of a just society largely rested on the forces of history that he believed provided opportune moments for social change. In 1914, he noted: "We all realize the immense opportunities for action in the present state of the public mind. But historical opportunities rarely last long. The red iron blackens even as it lies on the anvil. Therefore strike now" (quoted in Evans 2004, 258).Rauschenbusch was typical of a generation of liberals who came of age believing that the study of history was tantamount to a form of scientific inquiry to interpret the development of Christianity. Like other liberals of his generation, he saw Christianity's historical development as an ongoing struggle for humans to discern the essence of their God-given purpose to work for a just world: "All history becomes the unfolding of the purpose of the immanent God who is working in the race toward the commonwealth of spiritual liberty and righteousness. History is the sacred workshop of God" ([1912] 2010, 121).For Reinhold Niebuhr, this view of history was anathema. Niebuhr's theological education at Yale Divinity School exposed him to some of this historical idealism (in particular, from the prominent liberal historian and theologian Douglas Clyde Macintosh; see Fox 1985, esp. chap. 2). For much of the 1920s and through the first half of the 1930s, Niebuhr embraced aspects of the social gospel legacy that advocated for economic reform along socialist lines (and Niebuhr's involvement in the American Socialist Party from the late 1920s to the late 1930s is well documented). By the early 1930s, however, Niebuhr disparaged this progressive view of history. For Niebuhr, optimistic assertions about a coming kingdom of God showed the inability of the social gospelers to face the hard facts of history—namely, that sin could never be overcome by Christian morality, and that justice, while representing a necessary goal of the Christian life, could never be fully actualized. Niebuhr accepted many of the social gospel arguments about the religious and ethical significance of the Hebrew prophets and their calls to change society. Yet unlike Rauschenbusch, who believed that much of the problem with the modern world was that Christians did not properly interpret Christianity, Niebuhr saw the problems of history and theology cutting much deeper.Here is where Niebuhr's Augustinian view of human sinfulness reflects his belief that history can never reveal the full extent of God's purposes for humanity: "Historic Christianity is in the position of having the materials for the foundation and the roof of the structure of an adequate morality. But it is unable to complete the structure" ([1935] 1956, 149). In part, Niebuhr's stature as a social ethicist was rooted in attacking what he saw (and often caricatured) as the social gospel tendency to see socioeconomic reform as something that could be achieved through the power of Christian ideals of love and brotherhood. Yet behind these critiques lay Niebuhr's strong doubt about the redemptive nature of history. "Christianity, in other words, is interpreted as the preaching of a moral ideal, which men do not follow, but which they ought to. The Church must continue to hope for something that has never happened" (158). As he moved into the 1940s, Niebuhr grew more strident in his belief that historical processes only made the task of building a just world even more difficult. "There is indeed progress in history in the sense that it presents us with continually larger responsibilities and tasks," he wrote in 1944. But "modern history is an almost perfect refutation of modern faith in a redemptive history. History is creative but not redemptive" (1944, 132). This pessimism toward historical progressivism became even more pronounced in many of Niebuhr's later works such as The Irony of American History (1952) and Faith and History (1949). Influenced by the emerging context of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union, Niebuhr warned that the efforts of modern democratic nations to create the conditions for a just world more often than not led nations to commit greater evils in the name of justice.Both Rauschenbusch and Niebuhr saw a just society as a goal to be approximated but never fully achieved. Yet while Rauschenbusch carried the seeds of an earlier nineteenth-century evangelical faith that Christians could build a morally righteous society (analogous to the same evangelical fervor that led to the passing of the Prohibition Amendment to the U.S. Constitution in 1920), Niebuhr consistently affirmed that moral fortitude alone could not achieve a morally perfected society. Consistent with Augustine, Niebuhr held that the ultimate perfection of humanity lay outside of history: The truth of the Gospel must be preached today to a generation which hoped that historical development would gradually emancipate man from the ambiguity of his position of strength and weakness and would save him from the sin into which he falls by trying to evade or deny the contradiction in which he lives…. But a Gospel which can penetrate through this illusion and save men from the idolatrous confidence in history as a redeemer will also shake the false islands of security which men have sought to establish in history in the name of the Gospel. (1949, 243)This different orientation toward historical processes nuanced the way that both thinkers thought of economic and political reform. For Rauschenbusch, the quest for economic justice was a moral necessity predicated on a need for Christians to both model the precepts of just relationships and push churches to advocate for sweeping socioeconomic reform. Although Niebuhr in the mid-1930s would likely have agreed with many of Rauschenbusch's ideas regarding the pervasive decadence of modern capitalism, and the need for strong government regulation of the private sector, Niebuhr would also have claimed that persons needed more than powerful moral convictions to change a nation's collective economic behavior.One reason why many contemporary scholars, public intellectuals, and politicians revere Niebuhr is that from an early twenty-first century perspective, Niebuhr's language of human tragedy and sin has aged quite well. While parts of Rauschenbusch also sound contemporary, one senses in reading him that he was speaking to an early twentieth-century Progressive-era context. At Rauschenbusch to the United States in a way that the nation at the of God's for the of the reason why many contemporary to Niebuhr is that his Christian realism to both progressive and political Niebuhr's in many have him not only as a prophet who against the of Soviet but as a of capitalism. The of this view is that while much of his later was as an Niebuhr's early came as a of who in like and and An Interpretation of Christian Ethics a strong for political find little in Rauschenbusch's theology. However, Rauschenbusch largely took a critical toward seeing Marxist of struggle as to the of other social Rauschenbusch's to the problem of economic was to that the teachings of Christianity provided the basis for a new economic order. believed that historical during the century Christians to new of theology that problems of industrialization, business and the of modern capitalism. The idea that capitalism a of the is one of the most in Rauschenbusch's writings, to his in Hell's by the late nineteenth-century and Rauschenbusch to the idea that much of the nation's economic especially were held by a small of people who these without adequate to those who and developed the The moral problem to be by us is how to the of the individual of the who has its by his labor and and to for the the which the The is and and many of the most and evils of are directly or to this of the Christianity was a means by which the economic could be in ways that a just of the nation's Rauschenbusch, the to address the nation's economic was for to democratic is one of the chief of the coming are not they are but they are were of the mission of Christianity the name of had been God had to up the Church was too or too to realize God's ([1912] 2010, Yet for all of the ways Rauschenbusch preached the need for to an economic predicated on democratic he from the American Socialist This reflects Rauschenbusch's to see Christian ethics as but it also his faith by in the between political and Christianity. Rauschenbusch that has a spiritual hope and a religious It stands for the of moral and for the development of the human in and In present social order it stands for more between man and ([1912] 2010, Like other social Rauschenbusch's to the problems of economic was in the belief that Christianity could as a means to the social perfection of In this he advocated for such as the by and government regulation and of that were to the larger public as public and While Rauschenbusch had faith in a socialist of he never believed that the goal of a political was to create an of in which the same are in their and always will and this of will be in some of While many persons today might see Rauschenbusch's as his was largely by a belief that a needed a of and government regulation to individual Niebuhr published An Interpretation of Christian Ethics in he had the in his Christianity with Marxist of Niebuhr was never a and did not economic and political However, Niebuhr saw in Marxist analysis an of political and economic power that he believed could the economic of capitalism, something liberalism was unable to As he into human nature which has to modern to the of ([1935] 1956, Niebuhr about Marxist theory was that it took seriously to economic Marxist analysis of struggle a of how powerful economic interests would not their wealth for the of to of the of Christ. As Gary Dorrien Christianity at its was both and it had a view of history that was by its hope for the of Yet even as An Interpretation of Christian Ethics a Marxist language of struggle and Niebuhr's with the of the Soviet Union led him to Marxist theory and more of a economic model to democratic to liberal and Niebuhr's understandings of their different theological For Rauschenbusch, the failure of was that it did not understand that the nature of was not the of but the of human and economic came not through the nineteenth-century of Karl but through the democratic by In this Rauschenbusch did not Niebuhr's mid-1930s faith in ability to approximate the conditions of a just society we can only speculate how Rauschenbusch would have responded to the rise of the Soviet Union in the 1920s and as Niebuhr wrote about aspects of one senses in reading An Interpretation of Christian Ethics that his belief in human sinfulness and tragedy took over any faith he have had in any political ability to achieve a just society. as he saw a Marxist model as hope for economic there is also a sense that the mid-1930s Niebuhr had his most of is its assumption that an adequate of social justice will create individuals who will be to to their ability and to their The of social good will and human can be by no political ([1935] 1956, In the like social gospel would each too much faith in human to to a point where the of humanity would the and of human and Niebuhr the time of World War affirmed the of American but from very different theological While it could be that Rauschenbusch too much faith in a of Progressive-era Niebuhr in the too little faith in the possibilities for the reform of as Niebuhr from Marxist there was always the sense that the quest for economic would be by the by human Niebuhr's later of liberal he the optimistic language of This is most in Niebuhr's assertion in of and the of that for justice but to (1944, These the theological that between Rauschenbusch's social gospel idealism and Niebuhr's Christian all of their differences, Walter Rauschenbusch and Reinhold Niebuhr many of their major works on the same a just social order could only be never fully achieved. Yet the way they the of this approximate justice other differences between most of the social gospel made by Christian like Niebuhr was that the social gospel embraced an of love at the of an of justice for There is no doubt that many early of the social gospel, like expressed faith in the of "the of as the to achieve economic and political reform. it was this legacy that Niebuhr had in when he wrote that Christianity the simple of in the of in order to its hope in the of the of love in the world" ([1935] 1956, I the between Niebuhr and Rauschenbusch is not the of an of justice in Rauschenbusch in the social gospel in but how the of justice took on a different nature for the For Rauschenbusch, justice was the of love within social relationships and social For all of the that Niebuhr through as a public he never the idea that the role of justice was often to the of human a social of love of Niebuhr's liberal during the 1930s were of the Christian a prominent New (and a good of and one of the of liberalism (and of and especially were for Niebuhr, especially in of the way they to an of love that the need for political to achieve justice. Niebuhr The of the liberal to the law of love to without is a of and the liberal Church had had less moral idealism and more religious realism its to the political problem would have been less and ([1935] 1956, However, it is

Empire studies has largely overcome tendencies to view metropole and periphery as oppositional. Nevertheless, critics’ focus on sexual and racial forms of reciprocal cultural constitution has eclipsed analysis of how competing conceptions of social order interrogated each another at sites of cross-cultural exchange. What has chiefly escaped revision is the notion that the empire was based on an organic social model that remained fundamentally conservative despite cross-cultural contacts. In nineteenth-century Britain, organicism acquired elasticity as new forms of social mobility and inclusiveness pervaded domestic life. In the colonial context, these progressive conceptions of organicism were sometimes transformed by encounters with indigenous societies. The central argument of this essay is that nineteenth-century organic imperialism was increasingly liberalized, and was further modified by fictional representations of non-Western social order. It focuses on sea adventure fiction and two colonial novels: Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim (1899) and Rudyard Kipling’s Kim (1901).

The Search for Idols and Saints in Colonial Peru: Linking Extirpation and Beatification

List of Figures. Preface to the Second Edition. Preface to the First Edition. List of Abbreviations. 1. History, Historiography, and Interpretations of the Reformations. History and Historiography. Interpretations of the Reformations. Suggestions for Further Reading. 2. Late Middle Ages: Threshold and Foothold of the Reformations. Agrarian Crisis, Famine, and Plague. Towns and Cities: Loci of Ideas and Change. Printing Press. Of Mines and Militancy. Social Tensions. Crisis of Values. western schism. Conciliarism. Anticlericalism and the Renaissance Papacy. Suggestions for Further Reading. Electronic resources. 3. Dawn of a New Era. Martin Luther (1483-1546). Theological and Pastoral Responses to Insecurity. Theological Implications. Indulgences: Purchase of Paradise. Squeaky Mouse. Politics and Piety. From the Diet of Worms to the Land of the Birds. diet of Worms. Suggestions for Further Reading. Electronic resources. 4. Wait for No One: Implementation of Reforms in Wittenberg. In the Land of the Birds. Melanchthon: Teacher of Germany. Karlstadt and Proto-Puritanism. Bishops, Clerical Marriage, and Strategies for Reform. Gospel and Social Order. Suggestions for Further Reading. 5. Fruits of the Fig Tree: Social Welfare and Education. Late Medieval Poor Relief. Beyond Charity. Institutionalization of Social Welfare. Bugenhagen and the Spread of Evangelical Social Welfare. Education for Service to God and Service to the Neighbor. Catechisms and Christian Vocation. Was the Early Reformation a Failure? Suggestions for Further Reading. 6. Reformation of the Common Man. Brother Andy. Thomas Muntzer. Muntzer's Origins and Theology. Muntzer's Historical Development. On to the Land of Hus. Revolution of the Common Man, 1524-1526. Role of Anticlericalism. Luther and the Peasants' War. Suggestions for Further Reading. 7. Swiss Connection: Zwingli and the Reformation in Zurich. Affair of the Sausages. Zwingli's Beginnings. Magistracy and Church in Zurich. Zwingli's Reform Program. Excursus: Medieval Sacramental Theology. Marburg Colloquy, 1529. Suggestions for Further Reading. 8. Sheep against the Shepherds: Radical Reformations. Anabaptists. Excursus: Reformation Understandings of Baptism. Zurich Beginnings. Anabaptist Multiplicity. Munster Debacle. Subversive Piety of the Spiritualists. Suggestions for Further Reading. 9. Augsburg 1530 to Augsburg 1555: Reforms and Politics. Trail of Worms. Diet of Worms. Diet of Speyer, 1526. Diet of Speyer, 1529. Diet of Augsburg, 1530, and the Augsburg Confession. Right of Resistance to the Emperor. Reformation Ecumenism, War, and the Peace of Augsburg. Suggestions for Further Reading. 10. The Most Perfect School of Christ: Genevan Reformation. John Calvin (1509-1564). Journey to Geneva. Reformation in Geneva. Sojourn in Strasbourg. Geneva under Calvin, 1541-1564. Calvin's Consolidation of his Authority. Servetus Case. Protestant Mission and Evangelism: International Conspiracy. Suggestions for Further Reading. 11. Refuge in the Shadow of God's Wings: Reformation in France. Shield of Humanism. Evangelical Progress and Persecution. Calvin's Influence in France. Colloquy of Poissy, 1561. Wars of Religion, 1562-1598. St Bartholomew's Day Massacre. Paris is Worth a Mass. Suggestions for Further Reading. 12. Blood of the Martyrs: Reformation in the Netherlands. La secte Lutheriane. Dissident Movements. Rise of Calvinism and the Spanish Reaction. A Godly Society? Suggestions for Further Reading. 13. Reformations in England and Scotland. Anticlericalism and Lutheran Beginnings. King's Great Matter. Passions, Politics, and Piety. Edward VI and Protestant Progress. Mary Tudor and Protestant Regress. Elizabeth I and the Via Media. Mary Stuart (1542-1587) and the Reformation in Scotland. Suggestions for Further Reading. 14. Catholic Renewal and the Counter-Reformation. Late Medieval Renewal Movements. Index and the Inquisition. Loyola and the Society of Jesus. Council of Trent, 1545-1563. Suggestions for Further Reading. Electronic resources. 15. Legacies of the Reformations. Confessionalization. Politics. Culture. Reformations and Women. Toleration and the Other. Economics, Education, and Science. Literature and the Arts. Back to the Future: Reformations and Modernity. Suggestions for Further Reading. Electronic resources. Chronology. Genealogies. House of Valois and Bourbon, to 1610. family of Charles V. English crown, 1485-1603. Ottoman sultans, 1451-1648. Popes, 1492-1605. Maps. Europe about 1500. Germany at the time of the Reformations. Empire of Charles V. Ottoman Empire. Portuguese and Spanish overseas empires. Religious divisions in Europe about 1600. Glossary. Appendix: Aids to Reformation Studies. Bibliography. Index.

Starting point for the study of social behavior based on funeral rituals material traces is an assumption both cemeteries and burials (which are part of them) are, in a certain part, a reflection of social relations. Results of the necropolis sources analysis in their spatial context can provide plenty of information necessary to describe a social structure, determine a hierarchy and system of power, determine the financial status of deceased and reconstruct existing relationships between individuals and groups, and in general, development and a complexity of social organization studies. The article presents a few chosen issues regarding social activities manifested in graves and entire necropolises appearance (based on graves from cemeteries in Chełmno-Dobrzyń zone - Kałdus, Gruczno, Pień and Napole among others). Examples discussed in the article are an expression of socially regulated and consciously undertaken activities, expressing a certain consensus which guaranteed the stable development of local communities. Funeral practices, which were subordinated to constantly changing social rules on the one hand and accepted various dissimilarities on the other (including sepulchral customs originating from ethnically, religiously and culturally alien environments), were important part of it. Unusual burials characterized by a different deceased arrangement in graves, an equipment, and a non-standard grave constructions are traces of these practices. Social relations, including family and intergenerational ties, expressed in double and multiple burials among others, can be found in a cemetery. Necropolises could be considered, in this way, as a mirror reflection of a "spatialized" social order. The order transferred into the eschatological dimension.