Moving away from the quantitative approach of Chapters 1 and 2, Chapter 3 considers service magicians’ social position. The chapter begins by exploring the official stance towards magic and magicians over the period: what sort of archetypal image is painted by ecclesiastical and secular authorities, and how this changed over the centuries. This (overwhelmingly negative) characterisation acts as a point of comparison against popular attitudes towards service magic, and treatment of wizards in reality. The second section considers magicians living in London and uses their domiciliary location as a lens to look at how they lived and practised. Through this approach we see that most practitioners, though living on the edge of the city, were nevertheless carefully positioned to be as accessible to their client base as possible. Further investigation of court records and popular media (primarily plays) of the time demonstrates that service magicians were a recognised, even occasionally celebrated, part of London life. This leads to a conclusion that magic was broadly accepted in wider society, at least in an urban context.

The debate surrounding the ‘degradation’ (removal of degrees) of the Revd William George Ward by fellow graduates of Oxford University in February 1845 raised fundamental questions: Who teaches the true faith and on what authority? This chapter focuses upon two means of communication that came to the fore in response to the Ward case, which was more to do with theological beliefs and principles than liturgical practices: first, the almost daily exchange of private letters between key individuals, enabling anxieties to be expressed and party tactics worked out; and second, the printing of pamphlets, often in the form of open letters, which provided a means by which more fully developed arguments could be circulated rapidly. Once again, the communication revolution associated with the uniform penny post and the expansion of the railways changed the pace of events and of the exchange of ideas. Opposing sides in the battle for votes in the Ward case shared drafts of pamphlets by post, offered moral support to colleagues and vented strong emotions on ecclesiastical matters that meant the world to them.

This new collection enables students and general readers to appreciate Coleridge’s renewed relevance 250 years after his birth. An indispensable guide to his writing for twenty-first-century readers, it contains new perspectives that reframe his work in relation to slavery, race, war, post-traumatic stress disorder and ecological crisis. Through detailed engagement with Coleridge’s pioneering poetry, the reader is invited to explore fundamental questions on themes ranging from nature and trauma to gender and sexuality. Essays by leading Coleridge scholars analyse and render accessible his extraordinarily innovative thinking about dreams, psychoanalysis, genius and symbolism. Coleridge is often a direct and gripping writer, yet he is also elusive and diverse. This Companion’s great achievement is to offer a one-volume entry point into his incomparably rich and varied world.

This new collection enables students and general readers to appreciate Coleridge’s renewed relevance 250 years after his birth. An indispensable guide to his writing for twenty-first-century readers, it contains new perspectives that reframe his work in relation to slavery, race, war, post-traumatic stress disorder and ecological crisis. Through detailed engagement with Coleridge’s pioneering poetry, the reader is invited to explore fundamental questions on themes ranging from nature and trauma to gender and sexuality. Essays by leading Coleridge scholars analyse and render accessible his extraordinarily innovative thinking about dreams, psychoanalysis, genius and symbolism. Coleridge is often a direct and gripping writer, yet he is also elusive and diverse. This Companion’s great achievement is to offer a one-volume entry point into his incomparably rich and varied world.

“The Longest Day in Graignes,” recounts the three German assaults on the village on 11–12 June. The paratroopers rebuffed the numerically superior enemy, until they ran out of ammunition. The 17th SS Panzergrenadier Division also employed heavy guns, including artillery, against the village. The Germans damaged the twelfth-century Romanesque Church. Once they seized the center of the village, the SS troops proceeded to murder the village priest, Father Albert Le Blastier, and his aides for tending to wounded Americans. The Nazi troops terrorized other villagers. The Nazis also executed nineteen US prisoners, many of whom had been wounded in action. The length of the battle held the 17th SS Panzergrenadier Division back from its central mission, namely the recapture of the strategically vital port town of Carentan.

This essay argues that Simone Weil and her early editors fashioned her as a modern iteration of the medieval mystics, replicating a key feature of the archive of medieval women’s mystical writing: the construction of medieval women’s textual afterlives by male clerics. Though scholars have often observed parallels between Weil and the medieval mystics, the ways in which Weil and her editors effect this parallel have not been thoroughly explored. Weil and her editors constructed her as a Christian mystic – drawing both on contemporary discussions of the topic, and on the archive of medieval mysticism for points of comparison – in a distinctly modern sense of the term, as it was coming to be understood in twentieth-century France. Together, they transform her image much as the advisors and amanuenses of the medieval mystics did in transmitting their works into modernity.

This section provides the main argument of the book, followed by historical background on the development of doctrine and devotion to the Virgin Mary up to the end of the fifth century and the flourishing of the cult from that period onward. This section is followed by one on literary genre, which attempts to justify the structure and argument of the book as a whole. A section on gender, which takes into account recent approaches to this subject in the Byzantine context, develops a methodology for studying the cult of the Virgin Mary. The Introduction finishes by outlining once again the goal of this study: it is to assess early and middle Byzantine texts on the Byzantine Virgin according to the diverse settings and audiences for which these were intended.

The chapter outlines the biographical context of 1848, when Denmark underwent a revolution and its Church was reconstituted. In 1848 Kierkegaard felt himself at a turning point in his own life: He was looking back at his difficult childhood and Christian upbringing and considering his professional future. The same year was also a turning point in his relationship to the Danish State Church and its head, Bishop Mynster. Having declared an end to his authorship, Kierkegaard was trying to decide how to express his developing views and how far he should go in his critique of the Church. From a literary point of view, The Sickness unto Death signaled the increasing prominence of the genre of the religious discourse, while from a theological point of view it shows Kierkegaard drawing closer to the ideal of imitating Christ. At the same time, The Sickness unto Death presents his mature philosophical position, in continuity with his earlier works, consolidated in his analysis of the human being’s spiritual condition and the ideal of faith as “resting transparently in God.” The personal, philosophical, and professional questions underlying The Sickness unto Death caused a long delay in its publication; these questions were eventually resolved by the invention of a new pseudonym, Anti-Climacus.

This chapter introduces the setting and context of the narrative. The Low Countries were a heavily urbanized corner of Europe situated at the delta of several of the continent’s major river systems. The region was economically prosperous, thanks to well-developed systems of trade, manufacturing and agriculture. Its three million inhabitants were linguistically and ethnically diverse and ranged from high-ranking nobles to middling business to hardscrabble farmers. The region was divided economically between an urban, commercial, maritime west and a rural, agricultural east. Political power was local and decentralized, although the Habsburg dynasty, especially Charles V, was engaged in an ongoing effort to centralized and consolidate their dynastic power at the expense of local nobles and city governments. The chapter also describes the vibrant state of late medieval Christianity in the region, including lay enthusiasm for devotional practice and the emergence of Christian humanism.

Continuing the volume’s second thematic strand (Space and Society), this chapter addresses the topic of Church and society in the age of William the Conqueror. It commences with a discussion of the Church in Normandy, before considering the corresponding situation across the Channel in England. It then develops a comparative perspective that draws attention to some fundamental issues surrounding the Anglo-Norman Church and its legacy, including William the Conqueror’s relationship with the episcopate and the Anglo-Norman monastic landscape, the importance of stability and authority, and the use of violence by and against members of the clergy.

Chapter 11, “Sacred Dimensions: Church Building and Ecclesiastical Practice,” examines the relationship between church building and ecclesiastical practice in Byzantine Constantinople. It outlines the ways in which architecture accommodates and responds to the exigencies of ritual both on a practical, and on a symbolic level to reveal how church buildings were understood symbolically as worship spaces, manifestations of piety, wealth, power, and prestige, and places of perpetual commemoration.

Chapter 7, “Matters of Faith: Catholic Intelligentsia and the Church,” asks how Catholics behaved in Warsaw and why. Roman Catholicism was the religion of the majority of Varsovians and had played an important role in the development of the Polish national project. In the absence of a Polish government, the Church provided a potential locus of authority for Poles. Warsaw’s priests drew particular negative attention from the Nazi occupation for their potential influence and they were viciously persecuted, imprisoned, and often sent to the concentration camp at Dachau. Nevertheless, leaders of the Church, from the pope in Rome to local bishops, were hesitant to provide guidance, support Nazi occupation, or encourage opposition to it. Despite the lack of a top-down Catholic policy, this chapter argues that individual priests and lay Catholic leaders were motivated by their religious faith to form everything from charities to a postwar clerical state. Crucial among Catholics was the question of the developing Holocaust and the role of Polish Jews in Polish Catholic society, which sharply divided them.