Medievalism Re-oriented

2021 ◽  
pp. 72-108
Author(s):  
Louise D'Arcens

This chapter examines interfaith encounter and conflict in the Islam Quintet, a suite of historical novels written between 1992 and 2010 by British-Pakistani author and commentator Tariq Ali. It explores the novels’ engagement with ‘Clash of Civilisations’ ideologies and with neocolonial politics, particularly in the three novels that are set in medieval Islamicate contexts shaped by interfaith and intercultural encounters: Shadows of the Pomegranate Tree, set in fifteenth-century al-Andalus, A Sultan in Palermo, set in twelfth-century Sicily, and The Book of Saladin, set in Crusade-era Egypt, Syria, and Palestine. The chapter argues that the novels develop a tension between convivencia, interfaith cohabitation achieved under Arab governance, and occupation, a hostile monocultural regime imposed under Christian rule. The chapter does not recuperate the Islamicate world into Western chronologies; rather, it complicates Western understandings of ‘the medieval’ by exploring how these novels highlight the linked destinies of Western and Islamic societies.

1978 ◽  
Vol 29 (1) ◽  
pp. 1-21 ◽  
Author(s):  
Christopher Harper-Bill

The episcopate of John Morton has received little attention from historians, possibly because it falls in time between the traditional interests of medievalists and of reformation specialists. Previous treatments, notably that of dean Hook in his Lives of the Archbishops of Canterbury and the biography by Woodhouse, published in 1895 and heavily reliant on Hook, have concentrated on Morton's political role as ‘foster father of the Tudors’, and while Professor Claude Jenkins provided an excellent survey of the Canterbury register, he was more concerned with the evidence which it provides for die condition of the Church in die late fifteenth century than widi the archbishop himself. The purpose of this paper is to outline the salient characteristics of the episcopate and to examine the ecclesiastical policies pursued by Morton. Two qualifications must immediately be added. First, despite the wealth of material in the archiepiscopal register, supplemented by the records of the cathedral priory, there is almost nothing of a personal nature, and as always it is more difficult to estimate the character or sentiments of a fifteenth-century bishop than of his twelfth-century counterpart Secondly, it has been remarked how a hard and fresh look has upgraded the reputation of Hubert Walter, ‘that old model of secular prelacy’.


1986 ◽  
Vol 55 (3) ◽  
pp. 294-306 ◽  
Author(s):  
Susanna K. Treesh

From their origins in the twelfth century to their support for and involvement in the Reformation in the sixteenth, the Waldensian heretics professed nonviolence as one of their beliefs. Later Protestant and Catholic polemicists equated the profession of nonviolence with a policy and bestowed upon the sect a reputation as one of the precursors of religious pacifism. More recent scholars have noted that the heretics at least occasionally employed violence. I will argue that lay Waldensian believers, called credentes, reacted violently to persecution and learned to employ aggression in pursuit of political goals. In the later Middle Ages, at least, Waldensians resorted to violence on enough occasions and in enough different locations to justify dropping the idea that they were a nonviolent group. Their use of violence did become more sophisticated—that is, more closely connected to political goals—during the fifteenth century as access to representatives of the state increased.


1981 ◽  
Vol 17 ◽  
pp. 59-76
Author(s):  
Derek Baker

When I accepted, a year ago, Professor Hay’s invitation to join ‘his team of main speakers, and contribute a paper to this volume it was not without hesitation and trepidation. Religion, in some of its aspects, I knew a little about: of Humanism virtually nothing. Like many another historian I use the term in discussion of twelfth-century renaissance, but hardly in any articulated fashion, or with any precise meaning, and from time to time I have paid a passing acknowledgement to Renaissance humanism—a nodding acquaintance at best. I was, however, reassured by the prospect of a sabbatical term, and by the proximity of Professor Hay himself: at leisure and with proper guidance all would be made clear in time for this first paper of the new decade. In fact, otium has been replaced by negotium, and however much the fifteenth-century humanist might approve the change, the whole glory of man lying in activity, as Vittorino de Feltre observed, I find myself in little better state now than I was a year ago—like Auden’s ‘Artistic souls that lie out in the weed and pollen belt the need for sympathy is felt’.


2015 ◽  
Vol 21 (2-3) ◽  
pp. 232-249 ◽  
Author(s):  
Benjamin Weber

Contacts between Ethiopia and the papacy may have developed since the twelfth century and are securely documented from the first half of the fourteenth century. Information and mutual knowledge, very vague at the beginning, slowly increased through merchants, missionaries, and official embassies; both sides learned from each other. But numerous misunderstandings remained and fabulous tales about Ethiopia were diffused in papal documents until the fifteenth century. This was caused, of course, by the difficulty of obtaining precise and genuine information about these remote lands but it was also the consequence of an intentional confusion and distortion of reality, fed by the papacy in order to highlight its universal power.


PMLA ◽  
1906 ◽  
Vol 21 (1) ◽  
pp. 226-278
Author(s):  
Kenneth McKenzie

Before the revival of Greek learning in the fifteenth century, the Æsopic fables of classical antiquity were known in Europe through Latin collections derived from Phædrus. Two of these collections were particularly well known; one which goes under the name of Romulus, written in prose in the tenth century; and a metrical version of the larger part of Romulus, written in the twelfth century. This metrical collection, called in the Middle Ages Esopus, is now ascribed to Walter of England, but is often called Anonymus Neveleti. Another metrical version of Romulus was made a little later by Alexander Neckam, and the fables of Avianus, also, were known to some extent. These collections, with numerous recensions and derivatives in Latin, and translations into many different languages, form a body of written fable-literature whose development can for the most part be clearly traced. At the same time, beast-fables were extensively employed in school and pulpit, and were continually repeated for entertainment as well as for instruction. Thus there was current all over Europe a great mass of fable-literature in oral tradition. The oral versions came in part from the written fable-books; others originated as folk-tales in medieval Europe; others had descended orally from ancient Greece, or had been brought from the Orient. Many are still current among the people in all parts of Europe, and beyond. From this mass of traditional material, heterogeneous collections of popular stories, including beast-fables, were reduced to writing in Latin and in other languages. An example of this process is found in the Esope of Marie de France, the earliest known fable-book in a modern vernacular, which was translated into French in the twelfth century from an English work which is now lost. Forty of Marie's fables, less than two-fifths of the whole number, came from a recension of the original Romulus called Romulus Nilantii; the others from popular stories of various kinds. Similarly, the important Æsop of Heinrich Steinhöwel contains the Romulus fables in four books, followed by seventeen fables called Extravagantes, others from the recently published Latin version of the Greek fables, from Avianus, from the Disciplina Clericalis of Petrus Alphonsus, and from Poggio,—in all, nine books, printed in Latin with a German translation about 1480, and speedily translated into many languages (including English, by Caxton in 1484, from the French version). The Extravagantes, like other collections, and like the episodes of the beast-epic (little known in Italy), came from popular tradition. Many writers show by incidental references that they were familiar with fables, although they may not have regarded them as worthy of serious attention,—writers like Dante, and his commentator Benvenuto da Imola. Moreover, the animal-lore of the bestiaries and of works like the Fiore di Virtù is closely akin to that of the fables. It is evident, then, that the collections descended from Phædrus, important though they were, represented but a fraction of the fable-literature that was current in the Middle Ages.


Ars Adriatica ◽  
2014 ◽  
pp. 63
Author(s):  
Pavuša Vežić

In order to deepen our contemporary knowledge about the Romanesque cathedral of Dubrovnik, it is of utmost importance to turn to the archaeological remains and the documented material evidence in order to establish its ground plan. On the basis of the ground plan and in combination with the way the Cathedral was depicted in the art works produced during the period from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century, while also taking into account the contemporary written sources, we can propose a reconstruction of the Romanesque Cathedral together with a number of architectural features which have not been preserved. The Cathedral was an aisled basilica with a semi-circular apse which protruded at its east end. The nave was separated from the two aisles by means of arcades consisting of six piers resting on rectangular bases. The piers carried the vaults and these, in turn, supported the galleries above the aisles and the roof of the basilica. Such an arrangement was recorded by Diversis and Casola in the fifteenth century. In all likelihood, the two buttresses on the façade and eight more on each lateral wall were added later. At the top, the buttresses were connected by semi-circular arches and an exterior gallery existed above them. This gallery was connected to the one at the back of the church, creating thus an ambulatory which enabled the circumambulation of the basilica. This feature was mentioned by Casola and can be seen, to a certain degree, on the triptych painted by Nikola Božidarević. Most depictions show the Cathedral as having a dome on a round drum. However, the dome on the triptych painted by Pietro di Giovanni features a polygonal drum. The fact that the bases of the two piers situated under the dome are narrower compared to others, as can be seen on the ground plan recorded by Stošić, may have had something to do with that. The depictions of the dome regularly show exterior ribs which is a feature that requires further critical deliberation. At the same time, the dome does appear frequently in the architecture of Italian Romanesque churches. This can be seen in the architectural heritage of Apulia, Tuscany and Lombardy alike. When it comes to Dalmatia, however, only the cathedrals in its southern part, that is, at Dubrovnik and Kotor, were provided with a dome which is a phenomenon that points to the longevity of Byzantine tradition in these towns. The proposal put forward by Stošić, that the building of the Romanesque cathedral started during the last three decades of the twelfth century, when the Archbishop of Dubrovnik was Andrew of Lucca in Tuscany, seems convincing. Stošić also drew attention to the fact that the buttresses were added onto the exterior face of each lateral wall in order to carry the weight of the gallery in the upper part of the basilica. This may indicate that the initial concept was altered and it could be linked to an archival record of 1199 which mentions that a certain Eustace was required to carry out building works on the Cathedral. This Eustace was the son of Bernardo, a foreman (protomagister) in Trani in Apulia. This means that the twelfth century was not the time when the building works began, as Peković suggested, but the time when the building continued after the introduction of a new design with exterior galleries. Such galleries are found in Italian churches (in Apulia, Tuscany and Lombardy alike) as well as in some Dalmatian ones, for example on the lateral wall of Zadar Cathedral and on the wall of the semi-circular apse of the basilica of St Chrysogonus in the same town. On the other hand, fact remains that the exterior galleries in Apulian churches were supported by a series of robust buttresses which carried high vaults (Bari, Bitonto, Trani). These buttresses are much more solid in comparison to the narrow ones which were added onto the walls of Dubrovnik Cathedral. Perhaps this can be understood as a consequence of the change of design for the new cathedral which saw the replacing of what one might call a Tuscan project of the second half of the twelfth century with the Apulian one from the turn of the thirteenth. The building works continued long after this, well into the mid-fourteenth century, and in the process the cathedral acquired a number of Gothic elements. Its overall architectural composition was also imbued with the Gothic spatial articulation such as the testudines opere gothico. This makes it clear that during the thirteenth and fourteenth century, Dubrovnik experienced intense connections with Apulia.


Balcanica ◽  
2006 ◽  
pp. 69-79 ◽  
Author(s):  
Smilja Marjanovic-Dusanic

Especially important for the development of the holy king concept with the Serbs appears to be the early period of Serbian sovereignty, initially in Zeta, and subsequently in Raska under Stefan Nemanja and his descendants. During the eleventh century, cults of royal martyrs arise across the Slavic world, receiving a most enthusiastic response connected with the spread of the martyrial and monastic ideals in Byzantium. The cult of St Vladimir is the earliest royal saint's cult with the Serbs, and it is rightfully set apart from the ideologically consistent whole encompassing the subsequent cults of the Nemanjic rulers. The cult of this royal saint undergoes a change in the twelfth century as regards the image of the exemplary ruler. The martyrial cults of holy kings emerge in medieval Serbia only in the fifteenth century, under the influence of completely different motives. The cults of national royal saints associate domestic dynasties with the Old Testament-based traditions of God-chosenness, which play a central role in the processes of securing political legitimation for ruling houses. At the turn of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, we can see both the national and universal relics being used for raising an awareness of chosen ness observable in expanding the sacred realm as the fatherland's prayerful shield. In that sense, all-Christian relics, especially those of Constantinopolitan provenance, become integrated into domestic traditions.


2020 ◽  
Vol 93 (260) ◽  
pp. 205-226
Author(s):  
Nigel Tringham

Abstract A fifteenth-century manuscript gives an account of how a post-Conquest lord of Tamworth castle expelled nuns from nearby Polesworth (Warwickshire), later restoring them after he had been admonished in a dream by the nuns’ patron, St. Edith. The story can be tested against copies of twelfth-century charters, which show that the nuns were installed in Polesworth church anew by Robert Marmion (d. 1144), acting with his high-born wife Milisent. Political considerations were probably foremost in this process, and close ties with the royal family help to explain the convent’s association with the prestigious Continental Benedictine house at Cluny.


Author(s):  
Chad Kia

Some of the world’s most exquisite medieval paintings, from late fifteenth-century Herat and the early Safavid workshops, illustrate well-known episodes of popular romances––like Leyla & Majnun––that give prominence to depictions of unrelated figures such as a milkmaid or a spinner at the scene of the hero Majnun’s death. This interdisciplinary study aims to uncover the significance of this enigmatic, century-long trend from its genesis at the Timurid court to its continued development into the Safavid era. The analysis of iconography in several luxury manuscript paintings within the context of contemporary cultural trends, especially the ubiquitous mystical and messianic movements in the post-Mongol Turco-Persian world, reveals the meaning of many of these obscure figures and scenes and links this extraordinary innovation in the iconography of Persian painting to one of the most significant events in the history of Islam: the takeover of Iran by the Safavids in 1501. The apparently inscrutable figures, which initially appeared in illustrations of didactic Sufi narrative poetry, allude to metaphors and verbal expressions of Sufi discourse going back to the twelfth century. These “emblematic” figure-types served to emphasize the moral lessons of the narrative subject of the illustrated text by deploying familiar tropes from an intertextual Sufi literary discourse conveyed through verses by poets like Rumi, Attar and Jami, and ended up complementing and expressing Safavid political power at its greatest extent: the conversion of Iran to Shiism.


Antiquity ◽  
2006 ◽  
Vol 80 (310) ◽  
pp. 919-936 ◽  
Author(s):  
Christopher M. Stevenson ◽  
Thomas L. Jackson ◽  
Andreas Mieth ◽  
Hans-Rudolf Bork ◽  
Thegn N. Ladefoged

A long section adjacent to a former obsidian quarry on Easter Island (Rapa Nui) reveals a sequence of agricultural strategies, beginning with the clearing of palm trees in the twelfth century AD, and the making of an open garden growing yams and taro, that continued through the fifteenth century. The later phases between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries include veneer and boulder gardens that reflect the broader strategy employed by the islanders to fight the increasingly arid soil.


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