Pious Men Research Articles

WORDSWORTH AND ‘CATHOLIC TRUTH’: THE ROLE OF FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER

ions, and by lifeless fact to fact Minutely linked with diligence uninspired, Unrectified, unguided, unsustained, By godlike insight.35 Feeling that a note was called for to situate this rather bleak assessment against more hopeful signs, Wordsworth entrusted the task to Faber, but when the poem appeared in 1842, in Poems, Chiefly of Early and Late Years, he did not acknowledge any help. The note was as follows and there was no reason for readers to think it not written by Wordsworth: It would be ungenerous not to advert to the religious movement that, since the composition of these verses in 1837, has made itself felt, more or less strongly, throughout the English Church;-a movement that takes, for its first principle, a devout deference to the voice of Christian antiquity. It is not 32 HCR: Books, ii. 628. 33 Ibid. 34 F. W. Faber, Sights and Thoughts in Foreign Churches and Among Foreign Peoples (London, 1842). 35 'Musings Near Aquapendente', 325-30 (PW iii. 211). This content downloaded from 157.55.39.24 on Sat, 23 Apr 2016 06:11:16 UTC All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms WORDSWORTH AND 'CATHOLIC TRUTH' 213 my office to pass judgment on questions of theological detail; but my own repugnance to the spirit and system of Romanism has been so repeatedly and, I trust, feelingly expressed, that I shall not be suspected of a leaning that way, if I do not join in the grave charge, thrown out, perhaps in the heat of controversy, against the learned and pious men to whose labours I allude. I speak apart from controversy; but, with strong faith in the moral temper which would elevate the present by doing reverence to the past, I would draw cheerful auguries for the English Church from this movement, as likely to restore among us a tone of piety more earnest and real, than that produced by the mere formalities of the understanding, refusing in a degree, which I cannot but lament, that its own temper and judgment shall be controlled by those of antiquity.36 It is hardly surprising that Crabb Robinson grew increasingly alarmed at Wordsworth's Puseyite drift. Two years later-with Contributions of William Wordsworth to the Revival of Catholic Truths already in circulation-Faber made a more public act of appropriation. Preparing a life of St Bega for the Lives of the English Saints edited by Newman, Faber obtained Wordsworth's permission to append his 'Stanzas Suggested in a Steamboat off Saint Bees' Head'. Published in 1835 in Yarrow Revisited, the poem had been written in 1833, the year which Newman declared he always thought of as the beginning of the Oxford Movement.37 The coincidence was not lost on Faber. Asked by the poet to ensure that the date of the poem's composition was printed, Faber took the opportunity to point out in a note that such an early date was 'a fresh instance of the remarkable way in which his poems did in divers places anticipate the revival of catholic doctrines among us'. While Faber acknowledges that Wordsworth's poetry 'prove[s] him to be very little in sympathy with Roman doctrine on the whole', the acknowledgement seems almost a concession rather than a positive point, given that what follows is renewed emphasis on the poet's 'affectionate reverence for the catholic past, the humble consciousness of a loss sustained by ourselves, the readiness to put a good construction on what he cannot wholly receive'.38 The note was written by one whose vacillation was 36 Wordsworth acknowledged that this note was Faber's in the Fenwick Note (unpublished in his lifetime) to 'Stanzas Suggested . . . off Saint Bees' Head' (PW iii. 493). It is interesting that Faber dates 'Musings' in 1837, when it was actually composed in 1841. Perhaps he did not know the correct date, but it is at least as likely that Faber was continuing Wilkinson's strategy in the Contributions of lengthening as far as possible the period in which Wordsworth could be seen to have been influenced by Catholic Truth. 37 John Keble's Assize Sermon, National Apostasy, was preached on 14 July 1833. 'I have ever considered and kept the day, as the start of the religious movement of 1833' (J. H. Newman, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, ed. M. J. Svaglic (Oxford, 1967), 43). 38 Lives of the English Saints, [ed. J. H. Newman] (London, 1844), ii. 181-2. The multi-faceted significance of 'Stanzas suggested . . . off Saint Bees' Head' has been brilliantly illuminated by P. J. Manning, in 'Wordsworth at St. Bees: Scandals, Sisterhoods, and This content downloaded from 157.55.39.24 on Sat, 23 Apr 2016 06:11:16 UTC All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms

Politics of Consumption and Generosity in the Carpet Scene of the "Agamemnon"

W HEN ARISTOPHANES POKED FUN Aeschylus in Frogs, he remarked that Aeschylus used to place characters such grieving Achilles or Niobe on stage, entirely muffled up, sitting silently for long stretches of time without so much grunting (911-13). The silence was powerful dramatic tool,' which Aeschylus skillfully exploited to combine dignity and tension. In Agamemnon, however, Aeschylus goes beyond silence. Agamemnon's unfortunate arrival from Troy and rapid departure for Hades is central event of play, to which returning hero lends his name. He does not, however, appear on stage until line 783 or speak until line 810, almost exactly halfway through play (1673 lines total). Once on stage, his presence is brief. Less than 180 lines later, he vanishes from stage and enters palace, to complete his performance few lines later bloody corpse rolled out before audience ghastly spectacle. Yet, Agamemnon's brief appearance, though just over 10 percent of play, is pivot around which all action turns. This scene dramatizes both visually and verbally transition from victor to victim, using gesture and action to foreshadow and, in some measure, explain fate that awaits returning hero. While some have argued against placing too much emphasis on this part of play, Agamemnon's rapid trip across stage is one of most controversial and complexly signifying events in Aeschylus' most heavily studied play. Students of Aeschylus quickly learn how complex and problematic text can be. Long before modern critics had begun to question whether determinate, normative interpretations were appropriate goal for literary analysis, Aeschylean scholarship had provided ample evidence that consensus on closely studied literary text was not realistic goal. Virtually every sentence in Aeschylean corpus has provoked dispute of one kind or another, and figure of Agamemnon is no exception. To Eduard Fraenkel, Agamemnon presents himself an dvinp ci5oCjh, a pious man. He is lawful monarch who is at pains to emphasize constitutional checks to his authority. Above all, he ap2pears, just before leaving stage, as true gentleman he always is. Lloyd-Jones once even alluded to the

The Writing of Yehuda Amichai: A Thematic Approach (review)

REVIEWS THE WRITING OF YEHUDA AMICHAI: A THEMATIC APPROACH. By Glenda Abramson. SUNY Series in Modem Jewish Literature and Culture. pp. viii + 254. Albany: State University of New York, 1989. Cloth/Paper. This book is the first one which is dedicated to the complete scope of Amichai's literary work: poetry, novel, story, and drama. The book opens with a brief introduction which maps the literary, historical, and social context of Amichai's writing. The author reaches the conclusion that Amichai's writing has not significantly deviated from the major trends prevailing in Hebrew literature through the nearly four decades of his literary activity. However, that fact has never been a stumbling block on Amichai's way to mold his own original poetics, his innovative style and, notably, his figurative language. Although Amichai considers his writing a rebellion against the celebrated Shlonsky and Alterman, who were strongly influenced by Russian and French symbolism which emphasized, among other things, the intricate and daring metaphor, Amichai's figurative language is perhaps less complex, but not less original, colorful, and daring. The first chapter of the book is dedicated to Amichai's poetry. As Amichai is first of all a poet and most of his literary creation is in the genre of poetry, this is the longest of the book's four chapters. It is divided into six sections. The first section, "Biography and Autobiography," examines autobiographical "stratum" in Amichai's poetry and the way autobiographical materials are molded to fit in Amichai's lyrical poetry. Abramson maintains that autobiographical materials in Amichai's poetry often interact with mythic motifs such as exile from a birthplace; the loss of a beloved and innocent girl who dies as a sacrificial victim to be sought subsequently through the love of many women; war and the hero-aswarrior ; the putative killing of the father through rejection of his teaching; and a concomitant rebellion against God. Time, naturally, acts as a prominent protagonist in poems by Amichai which display the presence of autobiographical materials. Nevertheless, in the bulk of Amichai's poetry time does not represent an objective chronological process "but constitutes the framework that contains the remembering and forgetting: an individual , personal, existential time" (p. 25). The second section of the poetry chapter is "Allusion and Irony." Abramson argues that the major source for allusions in Amichai's poetry is Hebrew Studies 31 (1990) 88 Reviews the Bible and Jewish liturgical texts. In many poems by Amichai, allusions and irony meet and interact while fonning expressive patterns. Amichai's "mobilization" of the biblical allusion is rarely an innocent one, for a subtle deviation from the original text produces a witty, piercing irony. Abramson emphasizes that allusion in Amichai's poetry is not just a local literary device but is indeed "a system of thought" (p. 35). She compares Amichai to Joyce, Eliot, and John Donne "in his employment of classical texts for the purpose of ironic pointedness, leading to a kind of subversive intertextuality" (p. 35). Amichai utilizes-ironica1ly-the biblical allusion in three major ways: by parodying the original text; by quoting from it verbatim and then providing a commentary to it; and by alluding to it through misquotation, distortion, wordplay, and so on. The third section of the book's poetry chapter is ''The Father and God." Abramson discerns in Amichai's early poetry a continuous track of blatant criticism against God: "0 Lord full of mercy I If the Lord were not so full of mercy I There would be mercy in the world I And not only in him..." (from "God Full of Mercy"). In Amichai's later poetry, however, God's presence is still strongly evident. Nevertheless, in the later poetry, God is less universal and more of a Jewish character. Abramson cogently shows that in his later poetry the father figure is emphasized. That emphasis on the father figure calls for a comparison with God's portrait: while God appears as capricious and even cruel, the father stands for tradition and Jewish values as well as spiritual morality. Also, in contrast to God, the father is depicted as a tender, loving, devoted, and pious man. Thus, the father in Amichai...

Female Rebels and Patriarchal Paradigms in Some Neoclassical Works

Female Rebels and Patriarchal Paradigms in Some Neoclassical Works J. DOUGLAS CANFIELD Recent criticism of Nicholas Rowe’s Fair Penitent has tended to champion Calista as a proto-feminist heroine. Annibel Jenkins sees Calista as a Francesca-like heroine of defiant, romantic love.1 Richard H. Dammers sees Calista—and Clarissa too, to whom I shall return later—as “saint-like victims of a society that limited the arena in which they could exercise free will and then, ignoring the injustice of its pressures and demands, condemned them when they fell short of its expectations.”2 Jean H. Hagstrum asserts, “Calista’s fine [rebellious] speech [“How hard is the condition of our sex”] rings in our ears, especially after Rowe bows his neck to the yoke of conventional rules and rigors. One suspects that he distrusts them; at least he cannot make his bold and attractive heroine bend to them too easily. He transforms frustrated will into the death wish, which is better than meek submissiveness.”3 Janet E. Aikins asserts, “The cause of Calista’s difficulty is society’s unnatural insistence on women’s subordination to men rather than her own moral failure,” and she concludes, “Enduring adversity, not repentance is what qualifies her for salvation.”4 J. M. Armistead argues that Calista’s indignation is central to our response to the play and that “its primary source is her tragic recognition, persistent to the play’s end, that the dominant institu­ tions and social rituals, albeit supervised by pious men and designed to secure society from mankind’s imperfections, cannot fulfill her own most 153 / 154 / CANFIELD profound, most ‘soulful’ needs.”5 And most recently, at a session on Rowe at the 1987 American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies con­ vention in Cincinnati, Paul Johnston argued that for Calista happiness lies not in the religious or moral realm but rather in freedom from the tyranny of the male imagination.6 While I am in sympathy with their response to Calista’s plight, these recent interpretations seem to me based on a notion of character, specifi­ cally female character, that warrants analysis. When Jenkins champions Calista’s “self’—“her character, her problems, her sorrows” (66)—or when Dammers says “Although Lavinia may be the pattern of ideal virtue, it is clear from the substantial lines given to Calista that Rowe’s interest gravitates almost completely toward his ambiguously weak, clearly human creation” (32); or when Hagstrum says “Rowe has given us a glimpse of what a greater and freer spirit might have done with a character determined to realize her identity in unconventional sexual behavior” (121); or when Aikins says “Calista is a victim of forces over which she has no control” (270); or when Armistead speaks repeatedly of Calista’s “true identity” (177 and passim); or when Johnston says Calis­ ta’s “sole wish is to be her own person”: we can detect that each critic is thinking of Calista as a real human being or at least the sign of such a being. I do not wish to call attention to the truism that Calista is a character in a play. I wish rather to call attention to the fact that there is no such neutral a thing as a “real human being,” that character is always a construct in a fictional discourse that is constitutive of each society’s “reality,” imbued with each age’s hegemonic codes, and that fictional character belongs to a discourse that is no less constitutive. Calista’s character does not, pace Dammers, passively “reflect” real-life “counter­ parts in eighteenth-century life” (28). As recent work in eighteenthcentury studies by Nancy Miller, Laura Brown, Ellen Poliak, and Nancy Armstrong, among others, has shown, Calista’s character, as well as the characters of other familiar fictional female rebels, is part of the consti­ tution not of some true female self but of a figure of woman defined by and only meaningful in a patriarchal paradigm in a stage of transition from a feudal to an emerging bourgeois ideology.7 Calista is a figure of uppity woman. Like the collegiate ladies in Ben Jonson’s Silent Woman or the members of the female...

Pain: points of view of Islamic theology.

It is told that a pious man in the seventh century was in need of an operation on his arm. This man, however, refused any form of anesthesia which consisted, at that time, of alcohol and narcotics, as they are prohibited in Islam; although they are allowed when necessary. After several unsuccessful attempts to persuade him, his doctor was advised to perform the operation while the patient was deep in prayer, as his attention would be solely directed to communicating with his Creator.

Calista and the "Equal Empire" of Her "Sacred Sex"

Calista and the "Equal Empire" of Her "Sacred Sex" J. M. ARM1STEAD If we look at Rowe's The Fair Penitent from the viewpoint of Chris­ tian doctrine, as Douglas Canfield has so usefully done in his recent book, we must, I think, come out with a reading very like his: the play is a dramatic essay on the power of forgiveness.1 And if we look at it with genre uppermost in our minds, then we can hardly dispute Frank Kearful's conclusion that it is an early attempt "to fuse the nat­ uralism of domestic tragedy and the patheticism of 'sentimental' tragedy with a new didacticism."2 It is only when we keep Calista central to our response, as most critics have always found themselves irresistibly doing, that major difficulties of interpretation arise. Canfield knows he is in the minority when he argues that Calista fully and effectively repents. The prevailing view, in the eighteenth cen­ tury and now, was concisely stated by Samuel Johnson in his "Life of Rowe"; Calista "shows no evident signs of repentance, but may be reasonably suspected of feeling pain from detection rather than from guilt, and expresses more shame than sorrow, and more rage than shame."3 Lately, Annibel Jenkins and Richard Dammers have differed as to the reality of Calista's penitence even as they have agreed that, in Dammers' words, "Calista embodies tragic destruction caused by the unreasonable domination of women by men."4 The most recent readings that I know of, those by Janet Aikins and Jean Hagstrum, shift the emphasis from this social dilemma to the contours of Calis­ ta's feelings—Aikins finding that "Rowe is interested in examining 173 174 / ARMISTEAD the condition of a person in a hopeless situation, not in effecting change in the society that renders such a situation hopeless," Hagstrum con­ centrating on what he calls the "substructural movement of the play" that pivots on Calista's death wish.5 These recent interpretations are not fundamentally wrong, that is, unfaithful to the dynamics of the play itself, but they remain partial so long as they fail to account for the deep integrity of Calista's pro­ test against moral conventions. By examining the literary contexts of that protest we can see that her penitence, though real, does not in­ volve a capitulation to the moral values embodied in her father. What Aikins reads as psychic torment can then be understood as an an­ guished search for a language and moral code to explain and legiti­ mize unorthodox behavior, and what Hagstrum sees as her death wish can be found giving way to the invocation of a higher law. This higher law is heavenly, even Christian, but is understood only by those who can share Calista's vision of an "equal empire" of her "sa­ cred sex," and it is not operative in the social forms which Sciolto currently "fathers" and which Horatio and Lothario enforce in their antithetical ways. Thus, to some extent Dr. Johnson saw true: while penitence and forgiveness may calm, they cannot cure Calista's "rage," for it springs only secondarily from a sense of the specific sins of individuals, including herself. Its primary source is her tragic recog­ nition, persistent to the play's end, that the dominant institutions and social rituals, albeit supervised by pious men and designed to secure society from mankind's imperfections, cannot fulfill her own most profound, most "soulful" needs. So the play is very much about psychic torment, the "melancholy . . . woes" of "private" persons trying to socialize and sanctify their fallen natures (Prologue, 1. 16).6 The extent to which they are tragi­ cally unsuccessful in doing so is accented by the pervasive shipwreck imagery. Sciolto feels that Calista has "rashly ventured in a stormy sea" (5.1.249). Horatio thinks that Altamont has been "wrecked upon the faithless shore" of his bride (3.1.261). Lothario gives in to a "storm of passion" (4.1.81), but Calista welcomes a different storm that will sink her to the peaceful ocean floor (4.1.133-39). Lavinia, having twice endured the shipwreck of her fortunes, fancies herself a "helpless wanderer" (3.1...

The Pathos of Exile: Old Lutheran Refugees in the United States and South Australia

Beginning in 1613, when the Prussian royal family converted to Calvinism while the vast majority of its subjects remained part of the state-regulated Lutheran church, the Hohenzollern kings found themselves living with an anomalous religious situation. Royal discontent with this circumstance had always existed, but efforts to bring about a change failed until, in the years after the Napoleonic Wars, Frederick William III resolved to take decisive action. A pious man and conscientious theologian, the king was deeply troubled by the continuing existence among large numbers of his subjects of rationalism and religious indifferentism, legacies of the Enlightenment. Moreover, reflecting on the defeat of Prussia by the French in 1806, he was also committed to national regeneration, which seemed blocked not only by the lack of religiosity he perceived, but by the disunity inherent in the religious gulf which separated Reformed monarch and Lutheran subject. In 1817, with the three-hundredth anniversary of the Reformation in mind, he proclaimed the intention to merge the Reformed and Lutheran churches of Prussia, and proceeded actively to involve himself in framing a common agenda for the doctrine of the new church. Serving God and the state in one bold stroke, the king was doubtless proud of the decision, and the large majority of his Lutheran subjects and their pastors unquestioningly accepted it.

The Language of Persecution: John of Salisbury and the early phase of the Becket Dispute (1163–66)

Medieval churchmen who became involved in ecclesiastical disputes or in disputes with secular authority, had access to a rich ‘language’ of phrase and imagery with which to strengthen their case. This ‘language’, drawing on Scriptural sources and on standard interpretations of Scripture, could be used to depict almost any dispute as a struggle between good and evil, as the persecution of pious men by the impious, as the renewed persecution of the Church Universal, as a latterday trial and passion of Christ, or as an assault on church liberties.

A Playwright Looks at Mozart: Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus

A Playwright Looks at Mozart: Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus C. J. Gianakaris British writer Peter Shaffer has earned an elevated position among today’s living dramatists. His Five Finger Exercise (1958), Royal Hunt of the Sun (1964), Black Comedy (1965), and Equus (1973) have educed uniformly popular and critical acclaim. It can be argued that none of Shaffer’s plays revolu­ tionized theater techniques in radical ways, as did the early works of Beckett, Ionesco, or Shaffer’s fellow countrymen Pinter and Edward Bond. Shaffer’s method is more evolutionary than revolutionary. But his works taken together define a fresh and virile version of total theater that effectively utilizes striking visual and aural qualities. Amadeus, Shaffer’s newest drama, further displays the play­ wright’s unmatched talent for conveying provocative topics through stunning theater effects. Nothing less than elemental matters facing human beings and their perception of God is involved. One result is that since first opening at Britain’s National Theatre in November of 1979, Amadeus has continued to play to full houses in London. The standing-room-only pattern was repeated with the play’s American premier at the National Theatre in Washington, D.C., in November of 1980 and yet again after its Broadway opening in December of that same year. Critical appraisals of Amadeus, both in London and particularly in the United States, mostly have ranged from positive endorsement to wild raves, with but a small minority of reviewers voicing serious reservations. Speaking for many who saw the London production was Bernard Levin of The Times of London, who declared that “those who go to it pre­ pared to understand what it is about will have an experience that far transcends even its considerable value as drama.” In a similar vein, Frank Rich of the New York Times called the 37 38 Comparative Drama later Broadway version a “triumphant production” that “fills the theater with that mocking, heavenly silence that is the over­ whelming terror of life” (18 December 1980).! How does Shaffer so effectively engage his audiences in Amadeus? The answer is the same as with his best earlier works: the dramatic presentation of a fascinating conundrum regaling human behavior drawing on the special metaphoric and physical attributes available to the theater. On the surface, Amadeus begins with the legend-blurred circumstances surrounding the tragically premature death of Mozart. Nagging questions have lingered since that occurrence in 1791, including the matter of Mozart’s relationship with Antonio Salieri, his colleague and competitor in the court of Joseph II. During the last weeks of his life, the ailing Mozart claimed aloud that his mortal illness was caused by someone poisoning him; and he repeatedly accused Salieri of the alleged deed. The rumors became louder when, over thirty years later, the aged and by then deranged Salieri confessed in writing that he had poisoned Mozart. Records reveal that there always were some who believed and repeated that charge—Beethoven’s nephew, for instance. Yet medical authorities of the time denied absolutely any such pos­ sibility. “Rheumatic and inflammatory fever” followed by “a deposit on the brain” was their medical diagnosis. The vast majority of people therefore have discounted Salieri’s confes­ sions as ravings of an old and senile man.2 All the same, Shaffer very early become intrigued by the fact that Salieri alone from the court circles attended Mozart’s pauper’s funeral. Salieri thus seemed worth pursuing in greater detail. What Peter Shaffer discovered was that according to history Salieri acted as counterpoise to Mozart—a dynamic Shaffer carried over into Amadeus. A sophisticated and pious man, Salieri apparently had enjoyed God’s bounty: he held high posts in Viennese musical circles and was recognized as one of the foremost composers of the day. (Indeed, some of his music remains available to us today by way of recordings.) Salieri’s talent proved mediocre in any long term aesthetic sense, how­ ever, as found by Shaffer, a musically knowledgeable person in his own right. Thus, history showed that although Mozart ex­ perienced only moderate success during his short lifetime, his exceptional genius soon afterwards grew to overshadow the pale abilities of Salieri. And what must...

Circumdederunt Me Canes Multi: Christ's Tormentors in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages and Early Renaissance

One of the best-known aspects of the piety of the late Middle Ages is the rise of devotion to the suffering Christ.1 The desire of pious men and women to approach the divine through intimate knowledge and empathic experience of Christ's humanity and Passion led to profound developments in religious literature and art: content and style underwent evolutionary changes mirroring the humanized and emotional religiosity of the period, and entirely new genres were created, for example, Passion Plays, and the visual representations known as Andachtsbilder, or devotional images. Interest in the specifics of Christ's life and sufferings produced analogous transformations in literature and art. In both we find a growth and popularization of narrative treatments of Christ's life and Passion, particularly those that supplement the meager accounts of the Gospels by introducing descriptive details and anecdotes not reported by the four Evangelists. Literary evidence for this development first appears in concerted form ...

Historical and Literary Views of Yusuf, African Conqueror of Spain

In 1086, Yusuf ibn-Tashufin, an African, defeated Alfonso VI of Castile in a battle at Zallaca, and thus initiated the Almoravid occupation of the southern half of the Iberian Peninsula. With the conquest of Al-Andalus (Moslem Spain), the Almoravid Empire extended from the basin of the Senegal River in Africa to the Tagus River in Europe. The reign of the Almoravids in Spain was, however, shortlived, for the loss of Saragossa in 1118 ushered in a period of decline which culminated in a series of popular rebellions in 1144, and the defeat of the African Moslems in 1145. Opinion about the Almoravid rule is varied: some scholars, including several of the foremost Hispanic and French Arabists, bemoan the Africanization of Spain, while others, primarily Arab and Jewish writers, speak of a Golden Age of letters under the Almoravids, who unified Moslem Spain and imposed order on the warring Arab caliphs. Much of the controversy surrounding the Almoravids is centered in the person of their leader, Yusuf ibn-Tashufin, who was vividly portrayed in Arab, Latin and Castilian chronicles of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and who figured prominently in Castilian epic poetry, including the twelfth-century Poema de Mio Cid, as well as in Galician-Portuguese lyric poetry, such as the Cantigas of Alfonso X of Castile. Much of the information about Yusuf is distorted, depending upon the religious or political views of the chronicler; thus, Spanish Catholics tended to minimize the importance of Yusuf, emphasizing, instead, his cruelty, intolerance, alleged arrogance or stupidity, and his persecution of non-Moslems; while Moslem writers exalted him as the saviour of Al-Andalus, a tolerant, deeply religious and pious man. It is difficult in the case of Yusuf to separate historical truth from literary fantasy, for a host of legends, humorous anecdotes and bogus letters were later attributed to the African conqueror; the truth was further distorted by poets, who were more concerned with dramatic effect and literary style than with historic fact.

Clerical Perspectives on Deism: Paine's The Age of Reason in Virginia

THOMAS PAINE has not always enjoyed the best press. Theodore Roosevelt labeled Paine a filthy little atheist. This attack epitomizes much misrepresentation and misunderstanding of the eighteenth-century Deist by Americans. Recent attempts to explain hiim and his approach to religion have not altogether cleared the air.' However, the clergy who attacked Paine after the publication of The Age of Reason have not themselves enjoyed a favorable press. These pious men of the cloth have been accused of accumulating lies about Paine and slandering him as an infidel and blasphemer. It is with this group of public-opinion makers in Virginia that the following remarks have to do. Secondary accounts of ecclesiastical combat with eighteenthcentury infidelity do not flatter the clergy. G. Adolf Koch traced the triumph of fidelity over the deistic clubs, lectureships, and newspapers which attempted to popularize infidelity. He maintains that the religious controversy became wretchedly abusive and vulgar after the publication of The Age of Reason.2 Herbert A. Morais, who has given most attention to the opposition to The Age of Reason, asserts that works masquerading under the pretentious titles of Answers were nothing but emotional diatribes directed against its author.3 More recently, Martin E. Marty has analyzed The Infidel as a foil for the maintenance of the orthodox order by men like

KESALEHAN SOSIAL SEBAGAI RITUAL KELAS MENENGAH MUSLIM

The emergence of social piety is an interesting phenomenon among recent middle class Indonesian muslim. The aims and scope of social piety which established is to redefine spirituality. Process of reconstucting social piety can be traced from the intersection from both material and spiritual aspect. Spiritual is a holy effort to pray God and material can be analyzed as a complementer factor in spirtual effort. To become pious man is the main thing however the most intention are both recognition and representation from others. This article will elaborate more deeply about the meaning of social piety in recent middle class Indonesian muslim.

Burke and Natural Rights

Edmund Burke was at once a chief exponent of the Ciceronian doctrine of natural law and a chief opponent of the “rights of man.” In our time, which is experiencing simultaneously a revival of interest in natural-law theory and an enthusiasm for defining “human rights” that is exemplified by the United Nations' lengthy declaration, Burke's view of the natural juridic order deserves close attention.Unlike Bolingbroke and Hume, whose outward politics in some respects resembled the great Whig statesman's, Burke was a pious man. “The most important questions about the human race Burke answered … from the Church of England's catechism.” He takes for granted a Christian cosmos, in which a just God has established moral principles for man's salvation. God has given man law, and with that law, rights; such, succinctly, is Burke's premise in all moral and juridical questions.

Gabriel Biel and the Brethren of the Common Life in Germany

Toward the close of the fourteenth century the Dutch mystic and revival preacher Gerhard Groote inaugurated in the Low Countries the religious movement known as the Devotio Moderna or the New Piety. Forced into silence by his enemies among the clergy, the popular preacher was devoting himself to the problems of giving permanent form and organization to his scattered groups of followers when death prematurely ended his career in 1384. But the small circles of pious men and women who under his inspiration had begun to practice the common life in imitation (so they believed) of the Christians of New Testament times, found a capable leader in Florentius Radewyns, the trusted friend and disciple of Groote and the leader of the Deventer circle of Groote's followers. In 1386 some of this group, with Rade-wyn's approval, founded the monastery of Windesheim, near Zwolle. This act constituted a definite division of the Devotio Moderna into two branches. One, with Windesheim as center, became monastic in character and was knolwn after 1395 as the Congregation of the Augustinian Canons Regular of Windesheim, The other, which reflected more nearly the ideals of Groote, continued the non-monastic traditions of the parent house in Deventer and took the name of the Brethren of the Common Life. The Congregation of Windesheim spread rapidly and numbered in the course of the fifteenth century many houses in the Low Countries and in Germany. The Brethren of the Common Life, on the other hand, because of their refusal to take monastic vows and because of their insistence upon manual labor as the chief means of financial support, encountered determined opposition from the regular clergy and therefore could not rival the development of their more acceptable brothers of Windesheim.

Ghost Ritual in Aeschylus

The Object of this brief survey is to discover, if we can, from the surviving plays of Aeschylus how, in the opinion of enlightened and pious men of his age, the spirits of the dead were to be approached when it was thought desirable to do so, and to compare the methods which were then in use with those of other, especially of later, epochs. I speak of enlightened and pious men, for surely Aeschylus was both. Had he been born a generation later, he would probably have been something of a philosopher, influenced, as Euripides was, by the critical opinions of the contemporary sophists and investigating the fundamental assumptions upon which the traditional beliefs of his country rested. As it was, he, like his contemporary and acquaintance Pindar, came sufficiently early to take the form of their beliefs from tradition, with no more than revisal of details here and there (Pindar will not believe impious myths and does not know what to make of tales which represent the gods as fighting one another, Aeschylus is not sure that a god will really feel human passion for a mortal woman), ennobling the whole with their own lofty thoughts and feelings, in which the Athenian goes further than the Theban, for he was the deeper of soul and even the Apolline religion of Pindar, lofty though it is, the fruit apparently of a genuinely religious mind which had something mystical in it, lacks the sublimity of Aeschylus' attitude toward Zeus.

The Hindu Temple

This two-volume work explains the religious and spiritual significance of the temple through copious references to Sanskrit texts. It depicts the Hindu Temple as not merely a heap of brick, stone or wood but a visible symbol of aspirations of pious men and women, the throbbings of their hearts in religious fervour and their endeavour for the attainment of salvation. This is most comprehensive and authoritative treatise of ancient Indian Temple Architecture.

The Use of Writing in Ancient China

Rukminl, Subhadra or the VindhyavasinT. She is only one of the anonymous girls who in their childhood played with Krsna and loved him, according to the oldest texts. She is the deified beloved of the hero. Her previous life in heaven, her marriage and her separation from Kiirsna, her grieving and her final happiness are told with many details and ample descriptions in Bv wherever a suitable place in the old story could be found (for details cf. Tdp). In Bv the simple station of the nomadic herdsmen (cf. the description in the author's Eisenschmiede 184) is changed into a marvellous town with wonderful palaces, etc., as they are described in fairy tales. The herdsman Nanda has become a powerful king whose pompous offerings are attended by the amazed neighboring kings. It is easy to recognize in these descriptions the fiction of some priests of the country of Braj, the villages around Mathurd, where the cult of Krsna is still living to-day, which is visited by thousands of pilgrims every year, where the life of Kirsna and Radha is played even to-day in pantomimic dances and popular plays. But it is a pity that the tradition of these festivals and rituals is rather recent. Only Caitanya and his followers have caused these cults to become such a famous centre of religious life, and the date of Caitanya (15-16th century A. D.) may be regarded as the terminus post quem of the Krsnacarita of Bv.2' In the eyes of these Vaisnavas, the heaven of Krsna, the Goloka (= the world of the cows) is nothing but the likeness of the sacred country of Braj. Kirsna, Rddha and her friends are divine beings who only temporarily have abandoned their domicile in heaven and chosen this country as a stage for their holy human life. Anybody who wanders in Braj from one sacred spot to the other, and hears the legends in the house where Krsna lived as a child (the so-called palace of Nanda in Mahavana), in the small temple at the side-branch of the Yamund where Krsna subdued Kdliya, or at the well of Radhd, etc., such a pilgrim is-one might say-in the heaven of his god, and by performing this pilgrimage (as a kind of magic by analogy) he gains the real access to heaven after his death. Hymns of the god are the proper contents of this pompous type of literature. They are sung and written, they protect the pious men who wear them as charms or keep them in their houses. Nothing in it is left of the wording of the old Krsna-story.

The Hebrew View of Sin

Previous articleNext article FreeThe Hebrew View of SinHenry Preserved SmithHenry Preserved Smith Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUS Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditEmail SectionsMoreDetailsFiguresReferencesCited by Volume 15, Number 4Oct., 1911 Article DOIhttps://doi.org/10.1086/479035 Views: 258 Citations: 1Citations are reported from Crossref Journal History This article was published in The American Journal of Theology (1897-1920), which is continued by The Journal of Religion (1921-present). PDF download Crossref reports the following articles citing this article:Tadaïchi Ueda, G. Stanley Hall The Psychology of Justice, The Pedagogical Seminary 19, no.33 (Sep 1912): 297–349.https://doi.org/10.1080/08919402.1912.10532824