Wordtrade.comThomas Bradwardine, Insolubilia edition, translation and introduction by Stephen Read, series editor Philip W. Rosemann (Dallas Medieval Texts and Translations Series, 10: Peeters) Read's introduction, edition, and translation familiarize us with the roots of the medieval discussion of the insolubles in Aristotle's works, and with the more immediate context of Bradwardine's treatment, in particular his refutation of the views of contemporaries such as Walter Burley. The appendices include material that post-dates Bradwardine, yet shows clear signs of its dependence on the prince of the natural philosophers, as Ralph Strode called him half a century later. On the other hand, Professor Read's introduction brings Bradwardine's solution of the problem of insolubles into direct dialogue with modern logic, represented by the theories of figures such as Alfred Tarski, Saul Kripke, and Frederic Fitch. What is fascinating here is that the univocity of logical language, its quasi-mathematical precision, appears to render such a dialogue relatively uncomplicated. In cases where thinkers from different periods do not adopt such logical language, it is much more difficult to offer mutual translations of their systems of thought, which remain more closely tied to metaphors, literary genres, and other non-philosophical factors. Philipp W. Rosemann. More
A Companion to Philosophy in the Middle Ages edited by Jorge J.
E. Gracia, Timothy B. Noone (Blackwell Companions to Philosophy:
Blackwell Publishers) This comprehensive reference volume features
essays by some of the most distinguished scholars in the field.
The volume is organized into two sections. In the first, essays
cover the historical context within which philosophy in the Middle
Ages developed. Topics include the ancient philosophical legacy, the
patristic background, the School of Chartres, religious orders,
scholasticism, and the condemnation of various views in Paris in the
thirteenth century. Within these clear, jargon-free expositions, the
authors make the latest scholarship available while also presenting
their own distinctive perspectives.
The second section is composed of alphabetically arranged entries on
138 philosophically significant authors – European, Jewish, and
Arabic – living between the fourth and fifteenth centuries. These
essays contain biographical information, summaries of significant
philosophical arguments and viewpoints, and conclude with
bibliographies of both primary and secondary sources.
A Companion to Philosophy in the Middle Ages is extensively
cross-referenced and indexed, constituting a complete source of
information for students and professionals alike.
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Exorcism and Its Texts: Subjectivity in Early Modern Literature of England and Spain by Hilaire Kallendorf (Romance Series: University of Toronto Press) Exorcism and demonic possession appear as recur-rent motifs in early modern Spanish and English literatures. In Exorcism and Its Texts, Hilaire Kallendorf demonstrates how this `infection' was represented in some thirty works of literature by fifteen different authors, ranging from canonical classics like Shakespeare, Cervantes, Ben Jonson, and Lope de Vega, to obscure works by anonymous writers.
In comic and tragic drama, picaresque narrative, and other genres, possession worked as a paradigm through which authors could convey extraordinary experience, including not only demonic possession but also madness or even murder. The devil was thought to be able to enter the bodily organs and infect memory, imagination, and reason. Some came to believe that possession was tied to enthusiasm, poetic frenzy, prophecy, and genius. Authors often drew upon sensational details of actual exorcisms. In some cases, such as in Shakespeare, curing the body (and the body politic) meant affirming cultural authority; in others, as with Zamora, it clearly meant subverting it. Drawing on the disciplines of literary theory and history, Exorcism and Its Texts is the first comprehensive study of this compelling topic.
Why should demonic possession matter to all students and scholars of the early modern period? One answer – and, Kallendorf believes, the most important one – is that potential possession by a demon both threatened and enhanced the integrated notion of selfhood which scholars from Jacob Burckhardt to Stephen Greenblatt have pointed to as a hallmark of the Renaissance.) This early modern attention to the self and the individual identity has been contrasted broadly with the medieval insistence on anonymity: the emphasis in medieval manuscripts copied by anonymous scribes was on what was being said, not on who was saying it. Thus medieval literature was largely communal or anonymous (at least by conventional distinction), while the new-found preoccupation with authorship may be under-stood to be linked closely with the advent of the printing press and the economic concept of private ownership.
The idea of a coherent self is central to emergent notions of individuality and subjectivity in the early modern period. From Montaigne and Machiavelli to Castiglione and Queen Elizabeth, early modern people carefully fashioned and scrutinized both their private selves and their public images. It is only logical that any external force, supernatural or otherwise, which was perceived as a possible threat to – or enhancement of – the self was potentially viewed with extreme interest combined with at least moderate (if not hysterical) alarm.
Demons were a threat to the self in that they were believed by some to have the ability to take over a person's identity – body, mind, and soul. As Nancy Caciola asserts: `It is the primal ability of the body to maintain its borders, to recognize the self and keep other things out, that defines identity'; when this ability is lost, as in the case of demonic possession, then so is identity. For this reason, exorcisms addressed individual adjurations to each body part, sealing them against diabolical incursion. In fact, the idea of identity was so inextricably bound up with notions of possession that the early modern self, in the face of a demon, could fear `the total transformation of her own essence, rather than the integration of a supplemental spirit into her heart or soul.' In this sense, demonic possession could mean a complete loss of, or change of, identity. The possessed person could even conceivably fluctuate between identities as a result of the demon's inconstant visitations: `the devil's mark is a cloud gliding through the flesh in an "inconstant" manner, a text erasing itself and rewriting itself at random.'
Demonic possession is linked to so many supernatural activities and paranormal phenomena of the early modern period that it has been difficult to draw these distinctions consistently. What distinguishes an exorcism from a conjuration? And what separates an exorcist from a wizard or witch? For that matter, what is the difference between bewitchment and possession, and are they not sometimes to be cured in the same way? In order to facilitate a widely intuitive, nontechnical understanding of the pages that follow, a few generalizations may be made here on the condition that they are understood as only the broadest brush-stroke view of what is happening in literature about demons.
An exorcism is an attempt to expel a demon or demons from a person or object which has been possessed by it or them. It is a highly formalized, ritualistic ceremony with common characteristics found in its Catholic, Protestant (Anglican, Puritan, or dissident), Jewish, and pagan (including, but not limited to, Greek) variations. For the purposes of this study it does not always matter which particular kind of exorcism is being portrayed. Sometimes the specific details are important for ideological or partisan reasons, but often the only point is that a demonic presence inhabits the person, and someone is trying to remove it. The exorcism ceremony almost always involves ritualistic language and – especially in its Catholic variations – includes the use of `props' such as a cross, relics, holy water, or rope to bind the limbs of the possessed. But because these `props' were often the object of intense sectarian divisiveness, it is better to leave them out of our most basic general definition.
The figure of the exorcist is likewise a highly variable one. The most obvious distinction to be made is that an exorcist expels demons, while a conjurer summons or calls them up. Witches and wizards fall into this latter category as well. Exorcists may be male or female, clerics or laymen, although a male priest or minister is the most typical exorcist figure during this time period. In Catholic countries the role of `exorcist' was one of the minor orders which could serve as a stepping stone to the priesthood but could also be taken by a layman. In fact, students in medieval universities were ordained to the lower orders as a matter of course; that is why all university students, such as those referred to as exorcists in Hamlet and Quevedo's Buscón, were expected to know how to perform an exorcism. Every such student who did become a priest would receive a book of exorcisms at the ordination ceremony.
Theoretically, a possession and a bewitchment produce the same symptoms in the patient: convulsions, loss of free will, manifestation of a different personality, and the feeling of being subjected to benign or malign spiritual influence. Technically, however, a possession arises spontaneously or through the agency of the demon only, while a bewitchment is always the result of human plus demonic intervention. In other words, a demon must use a human being to reach another human being in the case of bewitchment, instead of acting upon the person directly, as in demonic possession. Because the literature of witchcraft is so vast, and the complicating factors of the witch's culpability and subsequent prosecution so distracting, Kallendorf chose to focus on demonic possession to the more or less total exclusion of bewitchment.
Having made these distinctions, Kallendorf of course felt free to ignore them when the literature itself conflates these categories. Most literary authors were not such experts in these matters as the demonologists, although the degree of their particular knowledge about demons could be extraordinary. Later in the study Kallendorf develops more fully a pattern of what she calls the component `theologemes' of the exorcism ritual.
After a thorough (indeed, almost exhaustive) study of possession and exorcism in early modern literatures of England and Spain, Kallendorf ends this study with some concluding remarks about early modern literary theory and its treatment of the legitimate marvelous. It has often been commented on how little early modern authors and poets seemed to follow the prescriptions laid out for them in contemporaneous poetics manuals. While it certainly remains true that, in the realm of literature, theory did not always equal praxis, it is amazing to see how literary treatments of demons did seem to derive from, or at least agree with, poetical theory of the period. The discussion of demons (commonly perceived by postmodern scholars as `medieval' entities) in the Renaissance not only pushes us to make flexible the rigid boundaries of period distinctions but also forces us to concede that poets occasionally followed the advice of those who would instruct them on how to compose perfect examples of the different literary genres they chose to tackle. This maxim falls apart when confronted with the novel, a `new' literary genre for which no theory existed previously, but as we shall see, the appearance of a unique kind of exorcism in this unique genre seems to be the exception which proves the rule.
Kallendorf makes the point that demonic possession was not always the stable category we have assumed it to be for the purposes of this study. However this is not a palinode. But it is important to problematize sufficiently the theologemes and categories Kallendorf develops with in this study. Ultimately she asserts that the model developed in this study makes it clear that there is a difference between demonic possession and melancholy, demonic possession and ecstasy, demonic possession and enthusiasm, or demonic possession and poetic frenzy. But the boundaries between these phenomena could become blurred. It should not be forgotten that the Apostles were confused for drunkards and even Jesus himself was accused of being diabolically possessed. In fact, since the devil was the ape of God, it was believed that he intentionally constructed the experience of demonic possession to resemble closely the rapture, ecstasy, and visions of the mystics. Here the example of Hamlet may be applicable to all instances of demonic possession in all literary genres. Just as the Ghost appears Catholic, Protestant, devilish, or dead at various moments in the play, so too every demonic possession in literature could appear to some early modern readers or spectators as melancholy, epilepsy, or enthusiasm instead.
Only when the structuralist paradigm has been sufficiently problematized and historicized will it satisfy our craving for a real New Historicism. Just as there was no single early modern self, so there was no single experience of demonic possession and exorcism. But the recognition of this complexity is no excuse for not trying to analyse literature about demonic possession as literature with all of its `marvellous' genres and theologemes. Early modern selves could be remarkably vulnerable, remarkably open to demonic penetration. Perhaps we, as critics, ought to learn from them to be more open to seeing supernaturally influenced or genuinely religious figurations of the early modern self.
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