Focusing on the various rounds of debates between the 1620s and 1640s on whether or how to seek peace or truce in the war with the Dutch Republic, this explores how agents and counsellors from different parts of the Spanish monarchy navigated the conflict between ideology and necessity-driven pragmatism in contexts of concrete decision-making. Directed at preserving and re-establishing dominion over the various realms of the monarchy, reason of state was at the heart of this weighing of principle and pragmatism. Agents were at the centre of a constant cycle of collecting and assessing information, projecting likely future courses and searching for the utmost expedience within the boundaries of royal conscience and obligations. What solutions were conceivable when attempts to preserve dominion over the Low Countries ran contrary to the demands of the Catholic faith and the preservation of the rest of the monarchy? Could special circumstances allow for special measures or concessions that might deviate from the princely obligations towards justice and the Faith? The chapter shows that as each decade of the war added to its own history, pragmatic arguments and solutions were often inspired by experience, together with a notion of extenuating necessity.

Chapter 1 introduces the major themes of the book. I argue that the idea of divine revelation does not make much sense in the contemporary world, because it is primarily thought about in terms of beliefs rather than experience. Philosophically, experience is (i) what happens at the point of opening in the world, which is a given instance of life, as well as (ii) conscious reflection on that experience as it is lived. For both senses of the word, using a hermeneutic-phenomenological methodology, it is possible to speak of prepredicative experience – that is, what takes place (or 'events') prior to thematisation in language. I argue that it is the prepredicative sense of experience that is engaged in revelation. This is because God cannot be made an 'object' of experience. Now, since in modern life, the word ‘belief’ risks coming to mean simply what is untrue or subjective, it is no longer very helpful in communicating something about God. In contrast, 'the event' can be used to consider the possibility of encountering a God who reveals Godself in person. To conclude the introduction, I set out how my argument about experience and the 'event' is carried through each chapter.

This chapter explores the beginning of the end of the emotional regime of Romantic sensibility and the origins of surgical scientific modernity. It illuminates this crucial period of transition through the juxtaposition of two distinct but conceptually and ideologically intertwined moments in surgical history. These are, firstly, the debates surrounding the practice of anatomical dissection that came to the fore in the 1820s and culminated in the passage of the Anatomy Act in 1832, and, secondly, the introduction and early use of inhalation anaesthesia in the later 1840s. In both instances it highlights the powerful influence of utilitarian thought in divesting the body, both as object and subject, of emotional meaning and agency. In the former instance it demonstrates how an ultra-rationalist understanding of sentiment was set in opposition to popular ‘sentimentalism’ in order to divest the dead bodies of the poor of emotional value. Meanwhile, in the latter, it considers how the emotional subjectivity of the newly anaesthetised patient was swiftly tamed by the operations of a techno-scientific rationale.

This chapter considers Romantic surgery from the patient’s perspective. It uses Astley Cooper’s rich archive of personal correspondence to explore the complex emotions associated with the experience of surgical illness and its treatment, as well as the ways in which emotional expression functioned as a form of agency within the private surgical relationship. In addition to considering private patients, this chapter also examines how emotions expressed and mediated agency within what, following Michel Foucault, we might consider the ‘disciplinary’ space of the hospital. The pre-anaesthetic surgical patient was a deeply unstable and ‘messy’ ontological entity whose pre-operative health and post-operative recovery were determined by a complex melding of constitutional, nervous, and emotional factors. Thus, as this chapter demonstrates, the patient’s own body could exert an unconscious material agency, often frustrating both surgical intervention and the patient’s own will, something that was most evident in the associations between irritability and obstreperousness that characterised contemporary discourses on amputation and its discontents.

In the final chapter, I examine the question of revelation by looking again at the Emmaus story. In the generally accepted reading of this text, it is a story about moving from blindness to sight. I argue that the event of revelation is more nuanced than this reading allows. God is revealed to the disciples in the event of their burning hearts on the road, in a presence in the affect to which they only advert afterwards (Lacoste). The disciples personally recognise Jesus in the event of the breaking of the bread, in the saturated phenomenon of his appearing and disappearing (using the tools of Marion, otherwise). And Cleopas and his companion reveal the God of Jesus Christ in the event of their joyful witness to the other disciples back in Jerusalem, and in their personal transformation (Romano). That divine revelation might be one of the possibilities of a hermeneutic of the event allows sufficient ambivalence between the immanent and the transcendent to accommodate readings that might sometimes be plausible either way. Learning to discern the movements of the affect takes seriously, however, the possibility that God reveals Godself in experience through a love that appears to freedom.

Chapter 7 re-examines the ‘book-farming’ controversy of the late eighteenth century. It first highlights the precarious power of book-knowledge, which offered mastery to an educated landowning class, but was a poor substitute for experience. The analysis distinguishes between a weak and a strong critique of agricultural books. The weak critique expressed by authors themselves condemned an overly theoretical approach or the overly speculative ideas in books. The strong critique was expressed in the reported hostility of working farmers, which was fundamentally suspicious of the value of learning about farming from books and challenged the proclaimed authority of writers. It argues that the strong opposition to book-farming can only be understood by considering the balance of power within agricultural labour relations. Hostility to book-farming was a form of ‘everyday resistance’ to the subordination of customary knowledge and the use of books as tools of management in the running of estates and large farms.

This chapter examines cultural exchange, change, and continuity through the lens of population movement: migration, immigration, refugees, displacement, diaspora, and the modes of transportation that brought diverse people into direct engagement with each other.

Schools, hospitals, prisons, and other institutions shape physical experiences and act as organizational entities for many material endeavors. This chapter examines how institutions shape how we interact with material worlds.

Some disagreements are serious, others are footling. There are two disagreements about dreaming. They concern the questions ‘Do we wake or dream?’ and ‘Should we have confidence in dreams or in waking experience?’. The answer, said the Sceptics, is in each case: ‘Who knows?’. According to Galen, the sceptics aren’t serious, and no-one is genuinely puzzled by the questions — the disagreements are of the footling sort. That is true, and philosophically uninteresting. But the sceptical arguments which have exercised philosophers are, as Galen suggests, trifles; and in this case at least it is not difficult to let the fly out of the fly-bottle.

The chapter focuses on the methodological debate between Empiricist and Rationalist schools of medicine, as portrayed in Galen’s early treatise On Medical Experience (Med.Exp.). This dense and philosophically-sophisticated text, preserved for the most part only in an Arabic translation, supposedly presents the substance of a dispute, witnessed by the young Galen, between his Rationalist teacher Pelops and an Empiricist opponent, about the respective roles of experience and reason in medicine. Analysing the arguments on both sides, in particular as they concern the question of inductive generalisation and the nature and validity of the empirical procedure known as epilogimos, the chapter shows how Galen’s presentation of a sequence of responses and counter-responses between the two protagonists serves to prefigure his own complex and hugely influential synthesis of the empirical and rationalist procedures in his own mature methodology.

What does ‘write what you know’ mean? The bedrock of human experience is essentially the same in any age and this is part of what writers ‘know’. We bring imagination – and sometimes research – to our own experience when we write. Everything we have lived through is potentially valuable material; writing involves transforming this material. Even inspiration comes from within. The need to top up our own personal reservoir of experience. All ideas begin ‘What if…’ The importance of pushing beyond what we know we can do easily: creativity thrives when we are outside our comfort zone.

‘The magic isn’t out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered: the ingredients are in you right now, in your experience and in your imagination, waiting for you to make the unique connections that will enable you to discover it.’