To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure firstname.lastname@example.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
This chapter focuses on recent scholarly discussion of how the visual arts may be considered capable of “visual exegesis” (a term first coined by the art historian Paolo Berdini and now widely used). It argues that, when we read the Bible in the company of visual art, we are asked to countenance our implication in each other, in a single world full of many meanings, in the shared conditions that sustain human communication across difference and in the encompassing existential questions that the biblical texts pose.
This chapter discusses the different ways textual criticism and reception history are interrelated. Textual criticism is not simply the prerequisite to the task of interpretation but can help to illuminate the compositional growth, transmission, and early interpretation of biblical texts.
This chapter explores the fledgling countercultural popular music industry in Germany in the 1960s and 1970s and summarises the economic conditions under which Krautrock developed. Compared to Britain and the United States, Germany was a disadvantaged place for popular music production. The chapter gives an overview of the places, events, and people that prepared the ground for independent popular music production away from the Schlager-focused major labels. The role of music journalist Rolf-Ulrich Kaiser in organising Krautrock’s founding event, the International Essen Song Days in 1968, and his three influential record companies Ohr, Pilz, and Kosmische Kuriere, is highlighted. Independent record labels like Kaiser’s and others such as Brain and Sky enabled musical experimentation and allowed a German avant-garde interpretation of rock music to thrive. The chapter outlines Krautrock’s reception on the international market, considering commercial successes (Tangerine Dream, Kraftwerk) and failures (Faust). Independent record producers, most notably Conny Plank and Dieter Dierks, were indispensable for their creative contribution to many Krautrock records and as intermediaries between Krautrock artists and their record companies.
The Low German translations of two of the earliest surgical handbooks printed in the High German language area (Brunschwig’s and von Gersdorff’s) represent two different and, in many respects, opposite forms of the use of medical texts.
In this chapter these two Low German translations are contrasted and discussed, with particular attention paid not only to their medium of transmission (print vs manuscript) and genre (handbook vs commonplace book), but also to their aim, function, and intended audience.
This chapter provides an overview of the three main objectives of the book. I trace the reception of Plutarch’s work in French and English political thought. This also offers an alternative to dominant narratives regarding the centrality of civic humanism, republicanism and constitutionalism as key idioms in the history of political thought. Through the lens of Plutarch I demonstrate the importance of a tradition of public humanism, focused on a consideration of the unique and complex ethos of public service.
This chapter investigates a selected translation and reception history of Catullus 85 in English, with a focus on Brandon Brown’s embodied retranslation. The chapter argues that embodied, iterative, intersemiotic, and pedagogicial translation strategies create ruptures in the hegemonic approaches to translating Catullus 85 in particular and canonical ancient Classical texts in general. These ruptures invite readers to engage more critically with old texts in new and renewed ways.
One particular twentieth-century scholar stands out in how influential he was in ensuring Gentili’s position as a key protagonist in the history of international law: Carl Schmitt. This chapter argues that Schmitt’s influential emphasis on Gentili is not simply an inheritance of nineteenth-century narratives. Rather, Schmitt places Gentili at the heart of his history of the development of international law and the evolution of the concept of war in a move that should be understood as part of his broader attempt to defend authoritarian rule. In particular, I argue that placing so much emphasis on Gentili provided Schmitt with a way to make absolutist forms of rule seem normatively desirable. Schmitt came to associate absolutism with the humanization and the rationalization of warfare, not through an analysis of historical facts (which would have made the endeavor difficult) but through a partial interpretation of the works of some “great” thinkers, most importantly Gentili’s treatise on war.
This chapter tells the remarkable story of how, in the late nineteenth century, Gentili was revived and presented as a challenger to Grotius for the broad title of “true founder of international law.” While in the end he did not become as famous as Grotius – and later Vitoria – across the literature on the history of international law, he was pushed to center stage by a group of prominent individuals who claimed he was potentially the true founder of international law, and on this basis, he eventually came to occupy a newly important place in the history of international law, particularly within histories of the laws of war.
This chapter considers Telemann’s professional networks in Hamburg’s environs, using Lüneburg as a case study. Among the works acquired by institutions and individuals in Lüneburg were numerous manuscript overture-suites and several published collections by Telemann, including the Musique de table (Hamburg, 1733), Nouveaux quatuors en six suites (Paris, 1738), and the Musikalisches Lob Gottes in der Gemeine des Herrn (Nuremberg, 1744). Regular performances of the music are likely to have occurred in the city, even if these were seldom documented. The composer’s personal contacts with Lüneburg led to a visit there in 1735. Additionally, two of his former students auditioned for the organist position at St. John’s Church, both bearing letters of recommendation from him. Johann Christoph Schmügel was unsuccessful in 1754, but obtained the position in 1758 (when the auditions involved two fugue themes by Telemann); Caspar Daniel Krohne was unsuccessful in his bid to succeed Schmügel in 1766. The chapter also establishes that the theologian Roger Brown, who spent much of his career in Lüneburg as senior pastor of St. Michael’s Church and the city’s school superintendent, had previously copied out works by Telemann while working as a scribe for the Hamburg Opera’s archive.
What I seek to do in this chapter is to build on the existing methodological reflections put forward by historians in order to put forward an alternative form of “serial contextualism,” focused on the reception of an author rather than of a concept, and anchored in that author’s original context of writing. In doing so, I am also building on existing studies of actual reception processes in IR, history, and international law, but my aim is to give a more systematic account of how one might go about studying the reception of a famous author and what this type of inquiry can contribute.
The introduction outlines the conventional narrative that this book seeks to question: The idea that the allocation of the legal right to wage war only to sovereign states, penned by a humanitarianly minded Gentili and implemented in practice through the seventeenth century, became one of the core stabilizing factors of the new states-system in the aftermath of the cataclysmic Wars of Religion. It then lays out the book’s core argument along with its stakes for contemporary debates about the regulation of warfare in the international order.
New documents reveal an intensive cultivation of Telemann’s church music in some unlikely places during the eighteenth century. Especially striking evidence comes from Breslau, where Gottfried Sauer, cantor at St. Maria Magdalena from 1740 to 1757, compiled an inventory containing no fewer than eight annual cycles of church cantatas by Telemann. From this one may conclude that during Sauer’s tenure at the city’s most important church, fully half of the music he performed was by Telemann. A similarly intensive use of Telemann’s cantata cycles occurred in Augsburg. In both cases, the driving force behind the cultivation of this repertory was a cantor who had contact with Johann Sebastian Bach. Yet despite these personal connections, it was not the church music of the Leipzig Thomaskantor that was performed but the cantata cycles of Telemann – works that were heard again and again. Thus, we may justifiably regard Telemann as the unofficial church music director of Protestant Germany as a whole.
Who has the right to wage war? The answer to this question constitutes one of the most fundamental organizing principles of any international order. Under contemporary international humanitarian law, this right is essentially restricted to sovereign states. It has been conventionally assumed that this arrangement derives from the ideas of the late-sixteenth century jurist Alberico Gentili. Claire Vergerio argues that this story is a myth, invented in the late 1800s by a group of prominent international lawyers who crafted what would become the contemporary laws of war. These lawyers reinterpreted Gentili's writings on war after centuries of marginal interest, and this revival was deeply intertwined with a project of making the modern sovereign state the sole subject of international law. By uncovering the genesis and diffusion of this narrative, Vergerio calls for a profound reassessment of when and with what consequences war became the exclusive prerogative of sovereign states.
Even as Georg Philipp Telemann's significance within eighteenth-century musical culture has become more widely appreciated in recent years, the English-language literature on his life and music has remained limited. This volume, bringing together sixteen essays by leading scholars from the USA, Germany, and Japan, helps to redress this imbalance as it signals a more international engagement with Telemann's legacy. The composer appears here not only as an important early Enlightenment figure, but also as a postmodern one. Chapters on his sacred music address the works' sensitivity to Lutheran and physico-theology, contrasting of historical and modern consciousness, and embodiment of an emerging opus concept. His secular compositions and writings are brought into rich dialogue with French musical and aesthetic currents. Also considered are Telemann's relationships with contemporaries such as Johann Sebastian Bach, the urban and courtly contexts for his music, and his influential position as 'general Kapellmeister' of protestant Germany.
Thecla is one of the most prominent figures of early Christianity, and her tale, the Acts of Paul and Thecla, one of the most popular. She has been widely celebrated as the apostle Paul’s disciple and heralded as an apostle in her own right, as a preeminent saint, model of chastity, charismatic confessor, teacher, leader, intercessor, and proto-martyr. Thecla and her tale have been studied from multiple angles (ancient romance, church history, cult, gender, women’s story-telling). However, the tremendous impact Thecla and her tale had on shaping the Lives of saints and their storyworlds remains little studied. This volume offers, for the first time, a collection of papers that explores the reception of Thecla and her tale in medieval (broadly defined) hagiographical texts composed in a variety of languages across Eurasia and North and East Africa. The introduction, thus, sets the stage for analyses by offering a synopsis of the tale, its more famous aspects for medieval readers and modern scholars, and its impact on a broad range of hagiographical tales. It also highlights the most prominent techniques that hagiographers deployed to model their protagonists on Thecla and the methodologies (intertextuality, reception) used across the volume that call them forth.
G. W. F. Hegel is one of the most significant philosophers in history yet the reception afforded to him in International Relations (IR) does not compare with his peers, most notably Immanuel Kant. Although by no means absent from IR he cannot be described as a canonical figure. Given his stature in philosophy this comparatively minor interest in Hegel prompts investigation into his failure to enter the pantheon of ‘Great Thinkers’ in IR. The critical-historical investigation of Hegel’s reception in IR undertaken in this article reveals that Hegel, unlike Kant, was cast as an intellectual villain – a blood-soaked Priest of Moloch, whose demonic ideology of state-worship led to the slaughter of the First World War, the rise of the Nazis, and the catastrophe of the Second World War. Condemned by an array of leading intellectuals from John Dewey to Karl Popper, Hegel was side-lined and erased until his work was reconsidered by revisionist scholarship in philosophy and – eventually – in International Relations. From the 1980s, a number of hotly contested, decidedly uncanonical ‘Hegels’ have found expression in IR, from a ‘realist’ Hegel to a postcolonial Hegel. Ultimately, the article argues that the treatment of Hegel reveals that the formation of the IR canons was not an innocent, dispassionate process but rather was imbricated in the great ideological and military conflicts of modernity.
Philosophical Letters by Margaret Cavendish is a peculiar text in which Cavendish engages with the views of some of the great philosophers and scientists of her time, but it is not a correspondence in which she communicates with those figures directly. Instead, she discusses a cross-section of their views with a third-person, a fictional “Madam.” Cavendish did succeed in having a small amount of back-and-forth correspondence with the leading intellectual men of her generation but there is no philosophical or scientific exchange between Cavendish and the four philosophers who are her prime “interlocutors” in Philosophical Letters – René Descartes, Thomas Hobbes, Henry More, and Jan Baptista Van Helmont. This chapter addresses an argument that a being depends for its social and political properties on the behavior of the beings that surround it, and more specifically that the status of an individual as a member of the philosophical community depends on the willingness of that community to regard the individual as authoritative.
Margaret Cavendish has recently become the subject of intense academic interest among scholars from a wide range of disciplines. In addition, she is increasingly becoming visible in popular culture. In the Introduction of this collection, Brandie R. Siegfried and Lisa Walters explore Cavendish’s influence upon Western philosophy, science, literature and women’s rights. The Introduction also provides contextual information about Cavendish’s life and works and her importance in early modern literary culture as well as the scientific revolution. Indeed, Cavendish is an important figure for understanding the seventeenth century’s collective efforts at advancing knowledge, particularly in philosophy. However, no other natural philosopher of the early modern era developed the sheer breadth of literary versatility and inventiveness peculiar to Cavendish, who explored her philosophy and science in poetry, romance, orations, fictional letters, science fiction, and drama. Hence, this chapter emphasizes the importance of understanding of Cavendish’s diverse and wide-ranging body of thought by situating her ideas within a multidisciplinary conversation among scholars.
This chapter compares two reading lists of Greek literature, one from the Augustan Age and one from the Second Sophistic: Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ On Imitation and Dio of Prusa’s letter On Training for Public Speaking (oration 18). Although several scholars have argued that the two lists are similar, this chapter argues that they are fundamentally different. Dionysius prefers Homer, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Herodotus and Demosthenes, he ignores Hellenistic and imperial writers, and he demands that his students work hard. Dio recommends Menander, Euripides, Xenophon and Aeschines, he includes orators from the Augustan Age, and he tells his addressee that laborious training is not needed. In many points Dio’s reading list corresponds more closely to Quintilian’s contemporary canon (in Institutio oratoria book 10) than to Dionysius’ On Imitation. Three factors can explain the differences between the reading lists presented by Dionysius and Dio: their audiences, the literary preferences of the Augustan Age and the Flavian Age, and the genres of their works. Dionysius’ reading list is part of a serious rhetorical treatise which foregrounds the ‘beauty’ of classical Greek literature. Dio’s reading list is presented in a light-hearted letter which adopts a more pragmatic (and at times humoristic) approach to rhetorical imitation.
Britten’s relationship to his predecessors and contemporaries in the ‘English Musical Renaissance’ was complicated. He found the Royal College of Music parochial and amateurish, and was frustrated by composition lessons there with John Ireland, not least in comparison to his private study with Frank Bridge. He largely rejected the influence of English folk traditions and Tudor music important to the ‘pastoral school’, favoring the more cosmopolitan example of Bridge, and his own exploration of continental European modernism. Britten’s view of composers such as Vaughan Williams as insular and regressive has shaped the historiography of British music in ways that still reverberate today. Scholars have typically taken such attitudes at face value; but this obscures a more complex reality, in which the composer attempted to annex and reimagine, rather than simply reject, core achievements of his predecessors, incurring conceptual if not direct stylistic debts to them. In the case of Holst in particular, whom Britten came to embrace in later life, insufficient attention has been paid to this legacy.