Admiration

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘Great job. You have done very well, Squire,’ the Franklin said to him. ‘You have spoken nobly. I can only praise your wit and invention. Considering how young you are, you really got into the spirit of the story. I loved the falcon! In my judgement there is no one among us here who is your equal in eloquence. I hope you live a long life and continue to exercise your skill in words. What an orator you are. I have a son myself, about your age. I wish that he had half of your discretion. I would give twenty pounds of land to the person who could instil some common sense into him. What’s the point of property, or possessions, if you have no good qualities in yourself? I have remonstrated with him time and time again. I have rebuked him for following the easy path to vice. He wants to play at dice all day, losing his money in the process. He would sooner gossip with a common serving-boy than converse with a gentleman, from whom he might learn some manners.’ ‘Enough of your manners,’ called out our Host. ‘You have a task to perform. You know well enough, sir Franklin, that each of the pilgrims must tell a tale or two on our journey. That was the solemn oath.’ ‘I know that, sir,’ replied the Franklin. ‘But am I not allowed to address a word or two to this worthy young man?’ ‘Just get on with your story.’ ‘Gladly. I will obey you to the letter, dear Host. Listen and I will tell you all. I will not go against your wishes. I will speak as far as my poor wit allows me. I pray to God that you enjoy my tale. If it pleases you, I will be rewarded.’ The Franklin’s Prologue The Prologe of the Frankeleyns Tale The noble Bretons of ancient times sang lays about heroes and adventures; they rhymed their words in the original Breton tongue, and accompanied them with the harp or other instrument. Sometimes they wrote them down. I have memorized one of them, in fact, and will now recite it to the best of my ability. But, sirs and dames, I am an unlearned man. You will have to excuse my unpolished speech. I was never taught the rules of rhetoric, that’s for sure. Whatever I say will have to be plain and simple. I never slept on Mount Parnassus, or studied under Cicero. I know nothing about flourishes or styles. The only colours I know are those of the flowers in the field, or those used by the dyer. I know nothing about chiasmus or oxymoron. Those terms leave me cold. But here goes. This is my story. [image file=images/ackr_9781101155639_oeb_009_r1.jpg] The Franklin’s Tale Here bigynneth the Frankeleyns Tale.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Renaissance religion recoiled from the arid theology of the late scholastics and had absorbed the personalized emphasis of much fourteenth-century spirituality. Lorenzo Valla (1405–57) had already stressed the futility of mixing sacred truth with “tricks of dialectics” and “metaphysical quibbles.”16 The humanists wanted the kind of emotive religion described by the Italian poet Francesco Petrarch (1304–74), who had argued that “theology is actually poetry, poetry concerning God,” effective not because it “proved” anything but because it reached the heart.17 The humanists’ textual study of the New Testament was part of their attempt to return, like any premodern reformers, ad fontes, to the “wellsprings” of their tradition, shaking off the medieval legacy in order to rediscover the gospels and the fathers of the Church. They were particularly drawn to the affective spirituality of Paul and Augustine, whom they revered not as doctrinal authorities, but as individuals like themselves, who had embarked on a highly personal and emotional quest. The humanists were largely responsible for creating the concept of the individual that would be crucial to the modern ethos. Only a person free of communal, social, or dogmatic shibboleths could innovate freely, experiment boldly, reject established authority, and risk the possibility of error. The hero of the early modern period was the explorer, who could penetrate new realms of thought and experience independently but was ready to cooperate with others. Even though they were conscious of their great achievements, the humanists nevertheless retained a traditional sense of the limitations of the human mind; their study of the early Christian writers and the classical authors of Greece and Rome, whose world had been so different from their own, had made them aware not only of the diversity of human affairs but of the way all ideas and attitudes—including their own—were indelibly influenced by historical and cultural conditions.18 Current norms could never be absolute.19 The reports of explorers, who brought back tales of civilizations that were based on quite different premises, had also enlarged their sympathies. The humanists had a passionate interest in rhetoric, fine speech, and the arts of persuasion, and Aristotle had taught them to examine the particular context of any given argument. Instead of simply concentrating on what was said, it was essential to understand how local circumstances affected any truth. Here humanists represented the more liberal ethos of modernity.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  The Dutch humanist Desiderius Erasmus (1466–1536) wanted to read the scriptures in the original languages and translate them into a more elegant Latin, and his textual work was of immense importance to the reformers. Renaissance art benefited from the anatomical drawings of Andreas Vesalius (1515–64). Other painters exploited the new mathematical understanding of space: in their own field, they were striving for a vision that was as rational as the dawning scientific ethos. The technical inventions of the period helped artists achieve an empirical accuracy and fidelity to nature that was unprecedented, based on the depiction of objects viewed from a single, objective perspective and placed in relation to one another in a unified space. 14 But this “objectivity” did not mean an abandonment of the transcendent: this “scientific art” achieved a numinous vision, just as early modern scientists sought a solution that was elegant, aesthetic, and redolent of the divine. 15 Renaissance religion recoiled from the arid theology of the late scholastics and had absorbed the personalized emphasis of much fourteenth-century spirituality. Lorenzo Valla (1405–57) had already stressed the futility of mixing sacred truth with “tricks of dialectics” and “metaphysical quibbles.” 16 The humanists wanted the kind of emotive religion described by the Italian poet Francesco Petrarch (1304– 74), who had argued that “theology is actually poetry, poetry concerning God,” effective not because it “proved” anything but because it reached the heart. 17 The humanists’ textual study of the New Testament was part of their attempt to return, like any premodern reformers, ad fontes, to the “wellsprings” of their tradition, shaking off the medieval legacy in order to rediscover the gospels and the fathers of the Church. They were particularly drawn to the affective spirituality of Paul and Augustine, whom they revered not as doctrinal authorities, but as individuals like themselves, who had embarked on a highly personal and emotional quest. The humanists were largely responsible for creating the concept of the individual that would be crucial to the modern ethos. Only a person free of communal, social, or dogmatic shibboleths could innovate freely, experiment boldly, reject established authority, and risk the possibility of error. The hero of the early modern period was the explorer, who could penetrate new realms of thought and experience independently but was ready to cooperate with others. Even though they were conscious of their great achievements, the humanists nevertheless retained a traditional sense of the limitations of the human mind; their study of the early Christian writers and the classical authors of Greece and Rome, whose world had been so different from their own, had made them aware not only of the diversity of human affairs but of the way all ideas and attitudes—including their own—were indelibly influenced by historical and cultural conditions. 18 Current norms could never be absolute. 19 The reports of explorers, who brought back tales of civilizations that were based on quite different premises, had also enlarged their sympathies.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  Walter, in the course of his many hunting expeditions, had often seen this maid. He had not looked upon her in lust. Far from it. He had gazed and gazed and sighed. He had contemplated her beauty. He had recognized her to be the very image of a virtuous woman, passing all others of her age. He had seen feminine grace in her manner and appearance. It is true that many people have no insight into these things. But the marquis was an exception. He decided that he would marry Griselda and no other. The day appointed for the wedding had come. But no one in the land knew who, if anyone, was to be the bride. Many of them wondered aloud. Others asked each other in private if the marquis had broken his promise. ‘Is he not going to be married after all?’ they complained. ‘Is he going to make a fool of himself? And of us, as well?’ Yet secretly the marquis had already ordered rings and brooches and other precious gems, set in gold and azure, for the sake of Griselda. He had also found a young woman of the same stature, and had measured her for the dresses of his new bride. Griselda was sure to have a full trousseau as well as every adornment for her wedding day. It was nine o’clock on the morning of the wedding day. All the palace had been decorated. Every hall, and every little chamber, had been made ready for the celebrations. The kitchens and storerooms had been stuffed with food and drink. You could not have seen better fare in the whole of Italy. The marquis rode out in state, attended by all the company of his lords and ladies who had been invited to the wedding feast. The knights in his service also accompanied him on the royal journey. To the sound of lutes and trumpets, then, the procession wound its way to the little hamlet where Janiculus and Griselda lived. Griselda had of course no idea that all this magnificence and display were for her sake. She had gone to the well to fetch water, as usual, and was now hurrying back home to see the grand spectacle. She knew that the marquis was going to be married that day, and didn’t want to miss it. ‘I will stand with the other girls,’ she said to herself, ‘outside the door and take a look at the bride as she rides past. I will get through all the work at home as quickly as I can. Then I’ll have time to catch a glimpse of her on the way to the palace. I hope she comes this way.’

• From The Case for God (2009)

  One of the earliest of these apologists was Justin (100–160), a pagan convert from Samaria in the Holy Land. He had dabbled in Stoicism and Pythagorean spirituality but found what he was looking for in Christianity, which he regarded as the culmination of both Judaism and Greek philosophy. Philosophers also saw their great sages— Socrates, Plato, Zeno, Epicurus—as “sons of God,” and Christians used the same kind of terminology—Logos, Spirit, and God—as the Stoics. In the prologue to his gospel, Saint John had said that Jesus was the incarnate “Word” or “Logos” of God72—the very same Logos, Justin argued, that had inspired Plato and Socrates. There was no Greek equivalent to the Hebrew Shekhinah, so increasingly Christians used the term Logos to describe the divine Presence that they could experience but that was essentially separate from God’s inmost nature. Justin was not an intellectual of the first caliber, but his conception of Christ as the eternal Logos was crucial to the theologians who developed the seminal ideas of Christianity and are therefore known as the “fathers” of the Church. The Greek-educated fathers sought references to the Logos in every sentence of the Hebrew Bible. Finding the Hebrew texts difficult to understand and the ancient biblical ethos somewhat alien, they transformed them into an allegory, in which all the events and characters of what they called the Old Testament became precursors of Christ in the New. The Christians of Antioch preferred to concentrate on the literal sense of scripture and discover what the biblical authors themselves had intended to teach, but they were not as popular as the exegetes of Alexandria, who followed in the footsteps of Philo and the Greek allegorists. One of the most brilliant and influential of these early exegetes was Origen (185–254), who had studied allegoria with Greek and Jewish scholars in Alexandria and midrash with rabbis in Palestine. In his search for the deeper significance of scripture, Origen did not cavalierly cast the original aside but took the plain sense of scripture very seriously. He learned Hebrew, consulted rabbis about Jewish lore, studied the flora and fauna of the Holy Land, and, in a mammoth effort to establish the best possible text, set the Hebrew alongside five different Greek translations. But he believed that it was impossible for a modern, Greek-educated Christian to read the Bible in a wholly literal manner. How could anybody imagine that God had really “walked” in the Garden of Eden? What possible relevance to Christians were the lengthy instructions for the construction of a tabernacle in the Sinai wilderness? Was a Christian obliged to take literally Christ’s instruction that his disciples should never wear shoes? What could we make of the highly dubious story of Abraham selling his wife to Pharaoh? The answer was to treat these difficult texts as allegoria, the literary form that describes one thing under the guise of another.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  This reminds us that in any age, the religious life is always multifarious, varied, and contradictory—even within a single individual. One of the most famous Europeans of the period was Francis of Assisi (1181–1226). His life and career show us that while some Europeans were engaged in scholarly rationalism, others like Francis had no time for theology of any kind and were far more literal-minded than the apophatic Anselm. Yet Francis’s literalism, like that of the pilgrims, was neither intellectual nor doctrinal but practical. He represented a strand of popular piety that saw the life of Christ as primarily a miqra to be imitated literally down to the last detail. Francis emulated the absolute poverty of Christ in his own life; he and the Franciscan friars who followed him begged for their food, went barefoot, owned no property, and slept rough. He even reproduced the wounds of Christ in his own body. And yet this gentle saint seems to have approved of the Crusades and accompanied the Fifth Crusade to Egypt, though he did not take part in the fighting but preached to the sultan. As I explained at the outset, my aim is not to give an exhaustive account of religion in any given period, but to highlight a particular trend—the apophatic—that speaks strongly to our current religious perplexity. This was, of course, not the only strand of medieval piety, but it was not a minor movement; it was promoted by some of the most influential thinkers and spiritual leaders of the time. In the Eastern Church, it had been crafted by Athanasius, the Cappadocians, and Maximus, who were revered as heroes of Orthodoxy. In the West, we see it in both Augustine and Anselm, as well as in the towering figure of Thomas Aquinas (1225–74). Nobody did more to absorb Aristotelian rationalism than Thomas. Destined for a monastic life, at the age of fourteen Thomas was attracted to the Dominican friars he encountered at the University of Naples, the only school in Christendom at that time to teach Aristotelian logic and philosophy. Like the Franciscans, the Dominicans were the men of the hour; these friars were not monks sequestered in a monastery but lived a life of evangelical poverty in the world, putting themselves at the service of the people. After a struggle with his family, Thomas threw in his lot with the Dominicans, studied in Paris under Albert the Great (1200–80), who was completing his magisterial commentary on Aristotle, and at the tender age of thirty-two, succeeded to his chair. Like the faylasufs, Thomas was wide open to change and new ideas. He quoted Arab and Jewish philosophers while most of his contemporaries were still committed to crusading, and his voluminous writings integrated the new sciences with traditional faith at a time when Aristotle was still a controversial figure.28

• From The Case for God (2009)

  It was in this grim political climate that the Italian astronomer Galileo Galilei (1564–1642) announced that he had proved Copernicus right. Unlike Kepler and Bruno, Galileo had no interest in the occult; instead of seeing the universe as a numinous reflection of the divine mystery, he described it as a cosmic mechanism ruled by mathematical laws. By observing the oscillation of a swinging lamp in the cathedral of Pisa, he had inferred the value of a pendulum for the exact measurement of time. He had invented a hydrostatic balance, written a treatise on specific gravity, and proved mathematically that all falling bodies, whatever their size, descended to earth at the same velocity. One of his most famous achievements was to perfect the refracting telescope, through which in 1609 he observed the craters of the moon, sunspots, the phases of Venus, and the four moons of Jupiter. The spots on the sun and the pitted surface of the moon proved that these were not the perfect bodies described by Aristotle. It was now clear that Jupiter was a moving planet and was circled by satellites similar to our own moon. All this, Galileo concluded, was proof positive of the Copernican hypothesis. In 1610, he published The Sidereal Messenger to immediate acclaim. All over Europe, people made their own telescopes and scanned the heavens themselves. When Galileo visited Rome the following year, the Jesuits publicly confirmed his discoveries and, to enormous applause, Prince Federico Cesi made him a member of the Accademia dei Lincei. The case of Galileo has become a cause célèbre, emblematic of what is thought to be the eternal and inherent conflict between science and religion. But, in fact, Galileo was a victim not of religion per se but of the post-Tridentine Catholic Church at a time when it felt an endangered species. Pope Urban VIII (1568–1644) made an appalling error when he silenced Galileo, but Galileo also made mistakes. Each represented the intolerance of modernity, which was beginning to overtake the more open, liberal, and healthily skeptical spirit of the Renaissance.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  That is why he was, despite his reputation for bravery, modest and prudent. In appearance he was meek as any maid, and no oath or indecency ever passed his lips. He was never insolent or condescending. He was the very flower of chivalry, in this springtime of the year; he was a true and noble knight. Do you see him in front of you? He did not wear the robes of office but a tunic of coarse cloth that would have better suited a monk than a soldier; it was discoloured, too, by the rust from his coat of mail. He had a good horse but it was not festooned with bells or expensive cloths. It was the horse of a pilgrim. He told me that he had come from an expedition in order once more to pledge his faith. He asked me about myself then - where I had come from, where I had been - but I quickly turned the conversation to another course. He was travelling with his son, a young SQUIRE, a lusty and lively young man who also aspired to knighthood. He was of moderate height, but he was strong and agile. It is said that the hair is a token of vitality; the more virile a man is, the more hair he will have. His was knit in tight blond curls that flowed down his neck and across his shoulders. He was about twenty years of age, and had already taken part in cavalry expeditions in northern France. In that short time he had made a good impression on his comrades, but the only person he really wished to impress was a certain lady of his acquaintance. I did not discover her name. His tunic was embroidered with flowers, white and red and blue; it was as if he had gathered up a sweet meadow and placed it upon his shoulders. He wore a short gown, with wide sleeves, as suited his rank. He rode well and easily with the grace of a natural horseman. He was always singing, or playing the flute. He wrote songs, too, and I learned that he could joust, and write, and draw, and dance. All the finer human accomplishments came naturally to him. In his company it was always May-time. He had good cause for high spirits. He was so passionately in love that he could scarcely sleep at night; he enjoyed no more rest than a nightingale. Yet he never forgot his manners. He had been instructed in all the arts of courtesy, and carved the meat for his father at the table. When he spoke to me, he took off his hat; he did not glance down at the ground, but looked at me steadfastly in the face without moving his hands or feet. These are good manners.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  The company all had different opinions and different questions. Some of them praised marriage. Others criticized it. They all had stories and examples to confirm their points of view. They argued all of that day, in a good-humoured fashion, but in the end the main argument was between two of his closest friends. One of them was named Placebo, a pleasing sort of fellow, and the other was known as Justinus, or ‘the just one’. This was Placebo’s point. ‘Oh January, dear friend, you really have no need to ask any of us for our opinions. You are wise enough to know that it is best to follow the judgement of Solomon in this matter. Do you remember what he said? “Work out what is the best advice. Then follow it. You will not regret it.” That was the sum of his wisdom, I believe, and I agree with every word of it. Except on this occasion, dear brother, weighing one thing with another, I am inclined to believe that you should follow your instinct. Consult your heart, my friend. Let me tell you something. I have been a courtier all my life. God knows I am unworthy of the honour, but I have been privileged to serve some of the greatest lords of our land. Never once have I argued with them. I have never contradicted them. I knew well enough that they had more judgement than I could possibly claim. I agree with every word they say. I say the same, in fact, or something very similar. A courtier would be a great fool if he dared to presume that he had more wit than his lordship. He must not even think it! No. Our lords are not idiots. I will say that for them. ‘This is my point, dear January. You have shown such eloquence and wisdom here today that I fully agree with everything you say. I would not change one word. There is not a man in all of Italy who could have spoken more nobly. Christ himself would concur. It is truly a courageous act for a man of your years to take on a young wife. It is bold. It is magnanimous. You are a good creature! So this is my opinion. Do whatever you think is best. I am sure that will be the right course.’

• From The Case for God (2009)

  The point of the story was to show that the universe, based as it was on the forms, was intelligible. The cosmos was a living organism, with a rational mind and soul that could be discerned in its mathematical proportions and the regular revolutions of the heavenly bodies. Participating in the divinity of the archetypal forms, the stars were “visible and generated gods” and Earth, the mythical Gaia, was the principal deity. So too the nous of each human person was a divine spark that, if nourished correctly, could “raise us up away from the earth and toward what is akin to us in heaven.” 67 Plato had helped to lay the foundations of the important Western belief that human beings lived in a perfectly rational world and that the scientific exploration of the cosmos was a spiritual discipline. Aristotle (c. 384–322), Plato’s most brilliant pupil, brought philosophical rationalism down to earth. A biologist rather than a mathematician, he was intrigued by the process of decay and development that so disturbed Plato, because he saw it as the key to the understanding of life. Aristotle spent years in Asia Minor dissecting animals and plants and writing detailed descriptions of his investigations. He had no interest in leaving Plato’s cave but found beauty and absorbing interest in the fascinating design that he saw everywhere in the physical world. For Aristotle, a “form” was not an eternal archetype but the immanent structure that determined the development of every single substance. Aristotelian science was dominated by the idea of telos: like any human artifact, everything in the cosmos was directed toward a particular “end” and had a specific purpose, a “final cause.” Like the acorn that was programmed to become an oak tree, its entire being was devoted to achieving this potential. So change should be celebrated, because it represented a dynamic and universal striving for fulfillment. Aristotle’s writings are often inconsistent and contradictory, but his aim was not to devise a coherent philosophical system, rather to establish a scientific method of inquiry. His writings were simply lecture notes, and a treatise was not meant to be definitive but was always adapted to the needs of a particular group of students, some of whom would be more advanced than others and would need different material. In the Greek world, dogma (“teaching”) was not cast in stone once it was committed to writing but usually varied according to the understanding and expertise of the people to whom it was addressed. Like Plato, Aristotle was chiefly concerned not with imparting information but with promoting the philosophical way of life. 68 His scientific research was not an end in itself, therefore, but a method of conducting the bios theoretikos, the “contemplative life” that introduced human beings to the supreme happiness. What distinguished men— Aristotle had little time for the female—from other animals was their ability to think rationally.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  But her friends eventually persuaded her to marry. She betrothed herself to a prince of that country, Odenathus by name, although she made him wait a long time for the ceremony. You should realize, too, that he was as fanciful and as wayward as she was. Nevertheless they were happy. They lived in married bliss. Except for one thing. She insisted that he could have intercourse with her only once. She wanted to have a child. That was all she wished for. If she discovered that she was not pregnant after the first time, Odenathus was allowed to do it again. Just the once, of course. If she was with child after that, then her husband was not permitted to touch her for forty weeks. Then he would be allowed another go. It did not matter if he complained, or wept, he got nothing more from her. She used to tell him that sex for its own sake was a sin. It was lechery, and a reproach to all women. She bore two sons, whom she brought up to be virtuous as well as learned. But let me tell you the story. So here we have Cenobia before us, esteemed, wise, generous without being profligate; she was indefatigable in war, and modest in peace. There was no one like her in the wide world. Her way of life was affluent beyond measure. She was rich in treasures. She was dressed in the finest robes of gold and pearl. She still loved the hunt, but she also strove to learn as many languages as she could. She studied books, earnestly trying to discover the most virtuous form of life. To cut a long story short, she and her noble husband were so expert in arms that they conquered many kingdoms in the East and occupied many famous cities in lands as far away as Turkey and Egypt. No enemy could escape them, at least while Odenathus lived. You may read all about their battles against Shapur, king of Persia, and against other monarchs. You can learn about their victories - and of their defeats. Petrarch, my great master, has told the story of Cenobia’s downfall in abundant detail. He has described how she was captured and taken. It had all been going so well. After the death of her husband her strength and courage seemed to be redoubled. She fought so fiercely against her enemies that there was not a king or prince in that region who could withstand her. So they made treaties with her, and exchanged gifts with her. They promised anything if she would only leave them in peace. The Roman emperor, Claudius, dared not enter the field against her. Neither did his predecessor, Gallienus. The kings of Armenia and of Egypt, of Syria and Arabia, all quailed before her. They were terrified of being slain by her, their armies in flight.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Horace Bushnell (d. 1878): The Character of Jesus: forbidding his possible classification with men. N. York, 1861. (A reprint of the tenth chapter of his work on, "Nature and the Supernatural," N. York, 1859.) It is the best and most useful product of his genius. C. J. Elliott (Bishop): Historical Lectures on the Life of our Lord Jesus Christ, being the Hulsean Lect. for 1859. 5th ed. Lond. 1869; republ. in Boston, 1862. Samuel J. Andrews: The Life of our Lord upon the earth, considered in its historical, chronological, and geographical relations. N. York, 1863; 4th ed. 1879 Ernest Renan: Vie de Jésus. Par. 1863, and often publ. since (13th ed. 1867) and in several translations. Strauss popularized and Frenchified. The legendary theory. Eloquent, fascinating, superficial, and contradictory. Daniel Schenkel: Das Characterbild Jesu. Wiesbaden, 1864; 4th ed. revised 1873. English transl. by W. H. Furness. Boston, 1867, 2 vols. By the same: Das Christusbild der Apostel und der nachapostolischen Zeit. Leipz. 1879. See also his art., Jesus Christus, in Schenkel’s "Bibel-Lexikon," III. 257 sqq. Semi-mythical theory. Comp. the sharp critique of Strauss on the Characterbild: Die Halben und die Ganzen. Berlin, 1865. Philip Schaff: The Person of Christ: the Perfection of his Humanity viewed as a Proof of his Divinity. With a Collection of Impartial Testimonies. Boston and N. York, 1865; 12th ed., revised, New York, 1882. The same work in German, Gotha, 1865; revised ed., N. York (Am. Tract Soc.), 1871; in Dutch by Cordes, with an introduction by J. J. van Oosterzee. Groningen, 1866; in French by Prof. Sardinoux, Toulouse, 1866, and in other languages. By the same: Die Christusfrage. N. York and Berlin, 1871. Ecce Homo: A Survey of the Life and Work of Jesus Christ. [By Prof. J. R. Seeley, of Cambridge.] Lond. 1864, and several editions and translations. It gave rise also to works on Ecce Deus, Ecce Deus Homo, and a number of reviews and essays (one by Gladstone). Charles Hardwick (d. 1859): Christ and other Masters. Lond., 4th ed., 1875. (An extension of the work of Reinhard; Christ compared with the founders of the Eastern religions.) E. H. Plumptre: Christ and Christendom. Boyle Lectures. Lond. 1866 E. de Pressensé: Jésus Christ, son temps, sa vie, son oeuvre. Paris, 1866. (Against Renan.) The same transl. into English by Annie Harwood (Lond., 7th ed. 1879), and into German by Fabarius (Halle, 1866). F. Delitzsch: Jesus und Hillel. Erlangen, 1867; 3rd ed. revised, 1879. Theod. Keim (Prof. in Zürich, and then in Giessen, d. 1879); Geschichte Jesu von Nazara. Zürich, 1867–’72, 3 vols. Also an abridgment in one volume, 1873, 2d ed. 1875. (This 2d ed. has important additions, particularly a critical Appendix.) The large work is translated into English by Geldart and Ransom. Lond. (Williams & Norgate), 1873–82, 6 vols. By the same author: Der geschichtliche Christus. Zürich, 3d ed. 1866. Keim attempts to reconstruct a historical Christ from the Synoptical Gospels, especially Matthew, but without John.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Jesus no doubt accommodated himself in dress and general appearance to the customs of his age and people, and avoided all ostentation. He probably passed unnoticed through busy crowds. But to the closer observer he must have revealed a spiritual beauty and an overawing majesty in his countenance and personal bearing. This helps to explain the readiness with which the disciples, forsaking all things, followed him in boundless reverence and devotion. He had not the physiognomy of a sinner. He had more than the physiognomy of a saint. He reflected from his eyes and countenance the serene peace and celestial purity of a sinless soul in blessed harmony with God. His presence commanded reverence, confidence and affection. In the absence of authentic representation, Christian art in its irrepressible desire to exhibit in visible form the fairest among the children of men, was left to its own imperfect conception of ideal beauty. The church under persecution in the first three centuries, was averse to pictorial representations of Christ, and associated with him in his state of humiliation (but not in his state of exaltation) the idea of uncomeliness, taking too literally the prophetic description of the suffering Messiah in the twenty-second Psalm and the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah. The victorious church after Constantine, starting from the Messianic picture in the forty-fifth Psalm and the Song of Solomon, saw the same Lord in heavenly glory, "fairer than the children of men" and "altogether lovely." Yet the difference was not so great as it is sometimes represented. For even the ante-Nicene fathers (especially Clement of Alexandria), besides expressly distinguishing between the first appearance of Christ in lowliness and humility, and his second appearance in glory and, majesty, did not mean to deny to the Saviour even in the days of his flesh a higher order of spiritual beauty, "the glory of the only-begotten of the Father full of grace and truth," which shone through the veil of his humanity, and which at times, as on the mount of transfiguration, anticipated his future glory. "Certainly," says Jerome, "a flame of fire and starry brightness flashed from his eye, and the majesty of the God head shone in his face." The earliest pictures of Christ, in the Catacombs, are purely symbolic, and represent him under the figures of the Lamb, the good Shepherd, the Fish. The last has reference to the Greek word Ichthys, which contains the initials of the words jIhsou'" Cristov" Qeou' JUio;" Swth;r. "Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour." Real pictures of Christ in the early church would have been an offence to the Jewish, and a temptation and snare to the heathen converts.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  cross the threshold. For hygienic purposes, the monks bled themselves five times a year, and were shaved six times a year.707 They avoided adornment in their churches and church dignities.708 They borrowed books from Cluny and other convents for the purpose of copying them.709 The heads of the Carthusian convents are called priors, not abbots. In its earlier history the order received highest praise from Innocent III. and Peter the Venerable, Bernard, and Peter of Celle. Bernard shrank from interrupting their holy quiet by letters, and lauded their devotion to God. So at a later time Petrarch, after a visit to their convent in Paris, penned a panegyric of the order. In England the Carthusians were not popular.710 They never had more than eleven houses. The first establishment was founded by Henry II., at Witham, 1180. The famous Charterhouse in London (a corruption of the French Chartreuse), founded in 1371, was turned into a public school, 1611. In Italy the more elaborate houses of the order were the Certosa di San Casciano near Florence, the Certosa at Pisa, and the Certosa Maria degli Angeli in Rome.711 In recent times the monks of the Chartreuse became famous for the Chartreuse liqueur which they distilled. In its preparation the young buds of pine trees were used. 4. The Carmelites, or the Order of the Blessed Mary the Virgin of Mt. Carmel, had their origin during the Crusades, 1156.712 The legend carries their origin back to Elijah, whose first disciples were Jonah, Micah, and Obadiah. Obadiah’s wife became the first abbess of the female community. Their history has been marked by much division within the order and bitter controversies with other orders. Our first trustworthy notice is derived from Phocas, a Greek monk, who visited Mt. Carmel in 1185. Berthold of Calabria, a Crusader, made a vow under the walls of Antioch that in case the Christians were victorious over Zenki, he would devote himself to the monastic life. The prayer was answered, and Berthold with ten companions established himself on Mt. Carmel.713 The origin of the order became the subject of a violent dispute between the Carmelites and the Jesuits. The Jesuit Papebroch precipitated it in 1668 by declaring that Berthold was the founder. He was answered by the Carmelite Daniel714 and others who carried the origin back to Elijah. Appeal was made to Innocent XII., who, in 1698, in the bull redemptoris, commanded the two orders to maintain silence till the papal chair should render a decision. This has not yet been done.715 The community received its rule about 1208 from Albert, afterwards patriarch of Constantinople. It was confirmed by Honorius III., 1226. Its original sixteen articles gave the usual regulations against eating meat, enjoined daily silence, from vespers to tierce (6 P. M. to 9 A. M.), and provided that the monks live the hermit’s life in cells like the Carthusians. The dress was at first a striped garment, white and black, which was afterwards changed for brown.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Protestant church historiography has thus far flourished most on German soil. A patient and painstaking industry and conscientious love of truth and justice qualify German scholars for the mining operations of research which bring forth the raw material for the manufacturer; while French and English historians know best how to utilize and popularize the material for the general reader. The following are the principal works: Matthias Flacius (d 1575), surnamed Illyricus, a zealous Lutheran, and an unsparing enemy of Papists, Calvinists, and Melancthonians, heads the list of Protestant historians with his great Eccelesiastica Historia Novi Testamenti, commonly called Centuriae Magdeburgenses (Basle, 1560–’74), covering thirteen centuries of the Christian era in as many folio volumes. He began the work in Magdeburg, in connection with ten other, scholars of like Spirit and zeal, and in the face of innumerable difficulties, for the purpose of exposing the corruptions and, errors of the papacy, and of proving the doctrines of the Lutheran Reformation orthodox by the "witnesses of the truth" in all ages. The tone is therefore controversial throughout, and quite as partial as that of the Annals of Baronius on the papal side. The style is tasteless and repulsive, but the amount of persevering labor, the immense, though ill-digested and unwieldy mass of material, and the boldness of the criticism, are imposing and astonishing. The "Centuries" broke the path of free historical study, and are the first general church history deserving of the name. They introduced also a new method. They divide the material by centuries, and each century by a uniform Procrustean scheme of not less than sixteen rubrics: "de loco et propagatione ecclesiae; de persecutione et tranquillitate ecclesiae; de doctrina; de haeresibus; de ceremoniis; de politia; de schismatibus; de conciliis; de vitis episcoporum; de haereticis; de martyribus; de miraculis et prodigiis; de rebus Judaicis; de aliis religionibus; de mutationibus politicis." This plan destroys all symmetry, and occasions wearisome diffuseness and repetition. Yet, in spite of its mechanical uniformity and stiffness, it is more scientific than the annalistic or chronicle method, and, with material improvements and considerable curtailment of rubrics, it has been followed to this day. The Swiss, J. H. Hottinger (d. 1667), in his Historia Ecclesiastica N. Testamenti (Zurich, 1655–’67, 9 vols. fol.), furnished a Reformed counterpart to the Magdeburg Centuries. It is less original and vigorous, but more sober and moderate. It comes down to the sixteenth century, to which alone five volumes are devoted. From Fred. Spanheim of Holland (d. 1649) we have a Summa Historia Ecclesiasticae (Lugd. Bat. 1689), coming down to the sixteenth century. It is based on a thorough and critical knowledge of the sources, and serves at the same time as a refutation of Baronius.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Dionysius was bishop of Corinth (probably the successor of Primus) in the third quarter of the second century, till about A.D. 170. He was a famous person in his day, distinguished for zeal, moderation, and a catholic and peaceful spirit. He wrote a number of pastoral letters to the congregations of Lacedaemon, Athens, Nicomedia, Rome, Gortyna in Crete, and other cities. One is addressed to Chrysophora, "a most faithful sister." They are all lost, with the exception of a summary of their contents given by Eusebius, and four fragments of the letter to Soter and the Roman church. They would no doubt shed much light on the spiritual life of the church. Eusebius says of him that he "imparted freely not only to his own people, but to others abroad also, the blessings of his divine (or inspired) industry."1390 His letters were read in the churches. Such active correspondence promoted catholic unity and gave strength and comfort in persecution from without and heretical corruption within. The bishop is usually mentioned with honor, but the letters are addressed to the church; and even the Roman bishop Soter, like his predecessor Clement, addressed his own letter in the name of the Roman church to the church of Corinth. Dionysius writes to the Roman Christians: "To-day we have passed the Lord’s holy day, in which we have read your epistle.1391 In reading it we shall always have our minds stored with admonition, as we shall also from that written to us before by Clement." He speaks very highly of the liberality of the church of Rome in aiding foreign brethren condemned to the mines, and sending contributions to every city. Dionysius is honored as a martyr in the Greek, as a confessor in the Latin church. § 182. Irenaeus Editions of his Works. S. Irenaei Episcopi Lugdun. Opera quae supersunt omnia, ed. A. Stieren. Lips. 1853, 2 vols. The second volume contains the Prolegomena of older editors, and the disputations of Maffei and Pfaff on the Fragments of Irenaeus. It really supersedes all older ed., but not the later one of Harvey. S. Irenaei libros quinque adversus Haereses edidit W. Wigan Harvey. Cambr. 1857, in 2 vols. Based upon a new and careful collation of the Cod. Claromontanus and Arundel, and embodying the original Greek portions preserved in the Philosoph. of Hippolytus, the newly discovered Syriac and Armenian fragments, and learned Prolegomena. Older editions by Erasmus, Basel 1526 (from three Latin MSS. since lost, repeated 1528, 1534); Gallasius, Gen. 1570 (with the use of the Gr. text in Epiphan.); Grynaeus, Bas. 1571 (worthless); Fevardentius (Feuardent), Paris 1575, improved ed. Col. 1596, and often; Grabe, Oxf. 1702; and above all Massuet, Par. 1710, Ven. 1734, 2 vols. fol., and again in Migne’s "Patrol. Graeco-Lat." , Tom. VII. Par. 1857 (the Bened. ed., the best of the older, based on three MSS., with ample Proleg. and 3 Dissertations).

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  He addressed an Apology or Intercession in behalf of the Christians to the Emperors Marcus Aurelius and Commodus.1364 He reminds the rulers that all their subjects are allowed to follow their customs without hindrance except the Christians who are vexed, plundered and killed on no other pretence than that they bear the name of their Lord and Master. We do not object to punishment if we are found guilty, but we demand a fair trial. A name is neither good nor bad in itself, but becomes good or bad according to the character and deeds under it. We are accused of three crimes, atheism, Thyestean banquets (cannibalism), Oedipodean connections (incest). Then he goes on to refute these charges, especially that of atheism and incest. He does it calmly, clearly, eloquently, and conclusively. By a divine law, he says, wickedness is ever fighting against virtue. Thus Socrates was condemned to death, and thus are stories invented against us. We are so far from committing the excesses of which we are accused, that we are not permitted to lust after a woman in thought. We are so particular on this point that we either do not marry at all, or we marry for the sake of children, and only once in the course of our life. Here comes out his ascetic tendency which he shares with his age. He even condemns second marriage as "decent adultery." The Christians are more humane than the heathen, and condemn, as murder, the practices of abortion, infanticide, and gladiatorial shows. Another treatise under his name, "On the Resurrection of the Dead, is a masterly argument drawn from the wisdom, power, and justice of God, as well as from the destiny of man, for this doctrine which was especially offensive to the Greek mind. It was a discourse actually delivered before a philosophical audience. For this reason perhaps he does not appeal to the Scriptures. AlI historians put a high estimate on Athenagoras. "He writes," says Donaldson, "as a man who is determined that the real state of the case should be exactly known. He introduces similes, he occasionally has an antithesis, he quotes poetry but always he has his main object distinctly before his mind, and he neither makes a useless exhibition of his own powers, nor distracts the reader by digressions. His Apology is the best defence of the Christians produced in that age." Spencer Mansel declares him "decidedly superior to most of the Apologists, elegant, free from superfluity of language, forcible in style, and rising occasionally into great powers of description, and in his reasoning remarkable for clearness and cogency."

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Basil the Great († 379) says "I confess the appearance of the Son of God in the flesh, and the holy Mary as the mother of God, who bore Him according to the flesh. And I receive also the holy apostles and prophets and martyrs. Their likenesses I revere and kiss with homage, for they are handed down from the holy apostles, and are not forbidden, but on the contrary painted in all our churches."1208 His brother, Gregory of Nyssa, also, in his memorial discourse on the martyr Theodore, speaks in praise of sacred painting, which "is wont to speak silently from the walls, and thus to do much good." The bishop Paulinus of Nola, who caused biblical pictures to be exhibited annually at the festival seasons in the church of St. Felix, thought that by them the scenes of the Bible were made clear to the uneducated rustic, as they could not otherwise be; impressed themselves on his memory, awakened in him holy thoughts and feelings, and restrained him from all kinds of vice.1209 The bishop Leontius of Neapolis in Cyprus, who at the close of the sixth century wrote an apology for Christianity against the Jews, and in it noticed the charge of idolatry, asserts that the law of Moses is directed not unconditionally against the use of religious images, but only against the idolatrous worship of them; since the tabernacle and the temple themselves contained cherubim and other figures; and he advocates images, especially for their beneficent influences. "In almost all the world," says he, "profligate men, murderers, robbers, debauchees, idolaters, are daily moved to contrition by a look at the cross of Christ, and led to renounce the world, and practise every virtue."1210 And Leontius already appeals to the miraculous fact, that blood flowed from many of the images.1211 Owing to the difficulty, already noticed, of worthily representing Christ Himself, the first subjects were such scenes from the Old Testament as formed a typical prophecy of the history of the Redeemer. Thus the first step from the field of nature, whence the earliest symbols of Christ—the lamb, the fish, the shepherd—were drawn, was into the field of pre-Christian revelation, and thence it was another step into the province of gospel history itself. The favorite pictures of this kind were, the offering-up of Isaac—the pre-figuration of the great sacrifice on the cross; the miracle of Moses drawing forth water from the rock with his rod—which was interpreted either, according to 1 Cor. x. 4, of Christ Himself, or, more especially—and frequently, of the birth of Christ from the womb of the Virgin; the suffering Job—a type of Christ in His deepest humiliation; Daniel in the lion’s den—the symbol of the Redeemer subduing the devil and death in the underworld; the miraculous deliverance of the prophet Jonah from the whale’s belly—foreshadowing the resurrection;1212 and the translation of Elijah—foreshadowing the ascension of Christ.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  In this long contest between the two leading patriarchs of Christendom, the patriarch of Rome at last carried the day. The monarchical tendency of the hierarchy was much stronger in the West than in the East, and was urging a universal monarchy in the church. The patriarch of Constantinople enjoyed indeed the favor of the emperor, and all the benefit of the imperial residence. New Rome was most beautifully and most advantageously situated for a metropolis of government, of commerce, and of culture, on the bridge between two continents; and it formed a powerful bulwark against the barbarian conquests. It was never desecrated by an idol temple, but was founded a Christian city. It fostered the sciences and arts, at a time when the West was whelmed by the wild waves of barbarism; it preserved the knowledge of the Greek language and literature through the middle ages; and after the invasion of the Turks it kindled by its fugitive scholars the enthusiasm of classic studies in the Latin church, till Greece rose from the dead with the New Testament in her hand, and held the torch for the Reformation. But the Roman patriarch had yet greater advantages. In him were united, as even the Greek historian Theodoret concedes,522 all the outward and the inward, the political and the spiritual conditions of the highest eminence. In the first place, his authority rested on an ecclesiastical and spiritual basis, reaching back, as public opinion granted, through an unbroken succession, to Peter the apostle; while Constantinople was in no sense an apostolica sedes, but had a purely political origin, though, by transfer, and in a measure by usurpation, it had possessed itself of the metropolitan rights of Ephesus523 Hence the popes after Leo appealed almost exclusively to the divine origin of their dignity, and to the primacy of the prince of the apostles over the whole church. Then, too, considered even in a political point of view, old Rome had a far longer and grander imperial tradition to show, and was identified in memory with the bloom of the empire; while New Rome marked the beginning of its decline. When the Western empire fell into the hands of the barbarians, the Roman bishop was the only surviving heir of this imperial past, or, in the well-known dictum of Hobbes, "the ghost of the deceased Roman empire, sitting crowned upon the grave thereof." Again, the very remoteness of Rome from the imperial court was favorable to the development of a hierarchy independent of all political influence and intrigue; while the bishop of Constantinople had to purchase the political advantages of the residence at the cost of ecclesiastical freedom. The tradition of the donatio Constantini, though a fabrication of the eighth century, has thus much truth: that the transfer of the imperial residence to the East broke the way for the temporal power and the political independence of the papacy.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Tómate tu tiempo. Quería tanto alejarme de mis padres, y entonces fue cuando descubrí que no tenía dinero, porque pagar las cuentas eran más responsabilidades de lo que podía manejar, y corrí de regreso a casa. —Toma su vaso y lo sostiene contra sus labios, lanzándole una mirada a los chicos—. Aunque estoy feliz de que Pike haya conseguido algo de compañía. Esa casa es demasiado grande para una sola persona. Tomo un trago de mi botella de agua, siguiendo su mirada. Odio pensar en Pike viviendo solo en esa casa cuando me vaya. De verdad debería compartir su vida con alguien más. —Conozco un par de mujeres solteras que no lo pensarían si les diera la oportunidad —comento, pensando en April, mi hermana, y la mitad de las mamás de nuestra cuadra que coquetean con él cuando pasan por su casa mientras trotan. —Sí, pero él es un solitario —replica. Asiento, sonriendo en acuerdo. —Sí, estoy empezando a entender eso. —No siempre fue así. —Me mira, tomando un sorbo de su bebida—. Se parecía mucho a Cole en ese entonces. Festejando, riendo, excediendo la velocidad, rompiendo las reglas… Incluso pasó la noche en la cárcel una vez. Mis cejas se levantan en un salto. ¿En serio? Dirijo mis ojos de regreso a él y lo veo sacar la gorra de béisbol de su bolsillo trasero y ponerla sobre su cabello castaño claro, los músculos de sus brazos tatuados sobresaliendo contra su camiseta. —Pero luego nació Cole —digo, adivinando la historia desde allí. —Sí. —Suspira Teresa, meciéndose de izquierda a derecha con la música que suena desde un altavoz en una de las casas—. Alguien tenía que ser el adulto, y Lindsay… —se voz se desvanece y luego se endereza, aclarando su garganta—, lo siento. No pretendo ser una chismosa. —Está bien —le digo—. Evidentemente es muy reservado. He visto a la madre de Cole aquí y allá, y es difícil imaginarla con Pike. Es bastante ostentosa, y siento que el Pike que conozco sufriría un latigazo tratando de seguirle el ritmo. Al menos, por lo que Cole me ha dicho, sé que el asunto entre sus padres no duró mucho tiempo, y si él no tuviera los mismos rasgos de su padre, me pregunto si Pike estaría seguro que Cole es su hijo. Ella ha tenido al menos cuatro novios a quienes he visto en los últimos años. Teresa exhala y baja la voz. —Pike es una prueba de que aprendemos cuando nos vemos obligados a hacerlo y la madurez es más el resultado de la experiencia que de la edad —me dice—. Era el único chico de veinte años que sabía que trabajaba en dos empleos, sin siquiera pensar un segundo en todos los amigos que estaba perdiendo porque nunca podía salir. Miro hacia ella, queriendo repentinamente saberlo todo. Quiero saber cualquier información sobre quién era antes de conocerlo.