Academic literature on the topic 'Spirituality History Middle Ages, 600-1500'

Mysticism is on the rise as a topic of cultural interestand as a part of the burgeoning interest in “spirituality” that has defined the cultural temperament of our times. This shift has had a predictable effect on the kinds of students enrolling in mainline Protestant seminaries, as well on as the interests they bring. All this would have surprised faculty members of an earlier generation. If mysticism was touched upon at all in the seminary curriculum of, say, 1980, it was a topic left to the historians; survey courses in systematic theology generally would not have ventured into such arcane territory. When referred to, sources categorized as mystical—for example, Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, Julian of Norwich—were relegated to a shaky status at the fringes of theology; the “real” theological contributors included such great scholastics as Anselm, Aquinas, and Bonaventure. The textbooks used during this period illustrate the point: Williston Walker's standard History of the Christian Church, which appeared in its first edition in 1918 and was in steady use in many theological schools, was significantly revised by a team of historians from Union Theological Seminary only for the fourth edition of 1985. Until that time, the narrative focus moved rather quickly from an exploration of Christian origins and the early fathers to the great Protestant reformers with a relatively cursory overview of the Middle Ages and almost no reference to medieval mystics.

Tall Abu al-Kharaz, in the central Jordan Valley, was occupied during approximately five millennia. A walled town, which had a dominant position in the Jordan Valley, existed already in the Early Bronze Age IB, viz. before 3050 BC. Walled settlements also flourished at the end of the Middle Bronze Age (around 1600 BC), during the Late Bronze Age (roughly 1500–1200 BC) and throughout the entire Iron Age (roughly 1200–600 BC). It is most likely that Tell Abu al-Kharaz is identical with Jabesh Gilead: this city is mentioned frequently in the Old Testament. During earlier seasons most of the Early Iron Age remains were found to have been disturbed by later settlers. It is, therefore, essential for the documentation of the settlement history of this city, that the expedition of 2009 unearthed an extremely well-preserved city quarter dating to the 12/11th century BC (according to high-precision radiocarbon dates). The excavations were extended in autumn 2010 and a stone-built, architectural compound was uncovered. Fourteen rooms (state October 2010), with walls still upright and standing to a height of more than 2 m, were exposed. The inventories of these rooms, which comprised more than one hundred complete vessels and other objects, were remarkably intact. Amongst the finds were numerous imports from Egypt and Lebanon. There are also finds which should be attributed to the Philistines, according to several Aegean-style vessels. The find context points to a hasty abandonment of the city. In the past, the beginning of the Iron Age has often been described as “the Dark Ages”—a period of cultural regression: this categorization is not relevant to the find situation at Tall Abu al-Kharaz where the remains of a wealthy society, which had far-reaching intercultural connections, can be identified.

The early history of the mouldboard plough – from the Late Roman Iron Age to the Middle AgesUntil quite recently, the introduction of the mouldboard plough to Denmark was seen as being closely linked to a new efficient Medieval cultivation system, the open-field system, which was considered to be the foundation for dynamic social changes evident in the area from c. AD 1000-1300. The open-field system is often explained in the context of a Medieval agricultural and technological revolution, whereby the mouldboard plough, ridge-and-furrow cultivation and crop rotation were introduced as a kind of package solution. Studies of Danish Medieval written sources suggest that these agrarian changes took place in AD 1000-1200, with use of the mouldboard plough consequently not being thought of as much older.Until the late 1990s, this idea was not contradicted by the significant body of evidence in the Danish archaeological record relating to the mouldboard plough, which in many ways is unique in a European perspective. Subsequently, new archaeological finds of well-preserved furrows made by a mouldboard plough have been discovered which clearly show that this implement was introduced to Denmark about 700-800 years earlier than previously thought, i.e. in the Late Roman Iron Age, c. AD 200-400. This challenges our understanding of the introduction of the mouldboard plough and the history of cultivation systems in Denmark prior to the Middle Ages and the evidence has therefore been subjected to new investigations.Archaeological finds of plough componentsThe archaeological record contains the only known finds of wooden plough components such as the beam, sheath, sole and mouldboard, as well as finds of the coulter, draught chains and shares (fig. 1). These finds can be dated to the period from the Late Viking Age to the Late Middle Ages or Renaissance.The archaeological record, together with pictorial representations on frescoes and seals from Denmark, provides a relatively tangible picture of the plough as basically a quadrilateral construction with the mouldboard attached to the right side. How far back in time this plough construction was used is not known for sure, but it is possible that it was developed by farmers as far back as the Iron Age, possibly being best suited to the asymmetrical function of the plough. It is obviously unlikely that an implement which was used for more than 1500 years remained static and unchanged in every way. As a consequence, the possibility cannot be ruled out that other versions of the mouldboard plough, either simpler or more complex, have existed over time.Ploughing tracesArchaeological investigations have unearthed several minor occurrences of fossil ploughing traces dated to between the Late Iron Age and the Middle Ages. These take the form of ridge-and-furrow systems, turned furrows and furrow strips possibly correlated with the plough (fig. 6).In the light of the traces found at Tating-Haferacker, St. Peter-Ording, Joldelund and Danevirke, it must be assumed that the mouldboard plough was known and used across larger parts of South Schleswig in the Late Roman Iron Age. It may be possible to show that the plough was used even further north Jutland at this time, as the ploughing traces found in Henneby may date from the Late Roman Iron Age rather than the Germanic Iron Age. Notwithstanding the uncertainty regarding Henneby, the traces from Dommerhaven in Ribe and Klinkerne (figs. 2 and 3) show that the plough was known and used in significant parts of western Jutland by the Late Germanic Iron Age at the latest. There are presently no ploughing traces from other parts of Denmark dating from this period, although the furrows found beneath the burial mound Grydehøj on Zealand could have been produced by this plough. Similarly, the traces dated to the Viking Age, found at Hedeby, Fjand, Viborg (fig. 4), Lindholm Høje and Löddeköpinge, show that the plough must have been known and used across significant parts of Jutland and in Scania before the end of the Viking Age. Early Middle Ages ploughing traces have been found at Filsø and some other locations in Jutland and on Funen, but so far no definite ploughing traces are known from Zealand and Scania. There are only a few localities with ploughing traces dating from the rest of the Middle Ages: Ringkøbing, Puggårdsgade in Ribe, Amrum and Südfall in the western part of Denmark. The traces found at Ulbjerg Klint are unlikely to be later than the 15th-16th centuries (fig. 5).At first sight, this review of the fossil ploughing traces can be broadly interpreted as showing that the introduction of the plough to Denmark was an extended process, which began in South Schleswig no later than the Late Roman Iron Age and continued into the western parts of Denmark no later than the Germanic Iron Age, and reached the remaining parts of Denmark no later than the Viking Age. The question is, however, whether the review has given a better basis for determining when and how the mouldboard plough became a regular implement in various parts of Denmark. All things considered, the archaeological record only shows where the conditions for preservation have been particularly good for these specific types of finds, and where excavators happen to have found turned furrows when carrying out archaeological investigations. In western Jutland, peaty/boggy soils and sand drift have given good conditions for the preservation of fossil turned furrows, while the same conditions seldom exist in other parts of Denmark. This is emphasised by the fact that the finds of turned furrows dating from the Middle Ages have almost exclusively been found in western Jutland, even though the plough is considered to have been common across most of Denmark at this time. Consequently, the absence of fossil turned furrows cannot be used as evidence of the plough not having been known and used in the area in question. It would therefore be irresponsible to make dogmatic unambiguous statements about regional variations in the introduction of the plough to Denmark.Rye cultivation as an indicator of the use of the ploughThe problem can be addressed indirectly by turning to another source material. Perhaps the the more widespread cultivation of rye may be used as an indicator of the presence of the plough in a given area.Rye, as known from historical times, does not make great demands as to the type of soil, but it does require that the soil has been loosened and is not waterlogged; surface water can also destroy the rye. The mouldboard plough has therefore been considered as a prerequisite for more widespread and systematic cultivation of rye, especially winter rye, on the wet northwest European lowlands. This is because the plough could efficiently loosen the soil and gather it into ridged strips, facilitating field drainage.General developments clearly show that, after a cautious start in Late Roman Iron Age, rye was found increasingly during the Germanic Iron Age and subsequent periods. It would be irresponsible to draw too far-reaching conclusions with respect to relations between rye and the plough. However, if we accept the idea of a connection between the mouldboard plough and the more widespread and systematic cultivation of rye – especially winter rye, then it is tempting to claim that the results of the present review reflect a form of agriculture in which the mouldboard plough was in use across most of Denmark during the Germanic Iron Age.Perspectives on the early introduction of the mouldboard ploughThe mouldboard plough is interesting in both an ecological and a socio-economic context, because it was of major significance for tillage and prompted a reorganisation of field structures that, with time, had a knock-on effect on the structures of settlements and properties.The idea of a technological revolution around AD 1000 acting as a catalyst for dynamic social changes is no longer tenable. The earlier dates now established for the mouldboard plough, the ridged strips and crop rotation clearly show that these significant agricultural prerequisites for a new and effective Medieval system of cultivation, the open-field system, were very well-known in Denmark before this form of agriculture took shape at the beginning of the Early Middle Ages, AD 1000-1200. There is, therefore, no reason to stick to the idea of a technological revolution at this time. The dynamic changes evident in the Middle Ages are, instead, more likely to be a consequence of a general economic expansion, which saw expression for example in an increase in new villages and an associated expansion of the cultivated landscape during the Early Middle Ages.The context in which the earlier introduction of the mouldboard plough should be understood is as yet far from clear. Our knowledge of the plough is still very inadequate and unevenly distributed in time and space, and the archaeological record relating to the cultivation systems of the Late Iron Age, AD 200-1050, is similarly very sporadic.It seems that the introduction of the plough was very likely associated with the significant changes that took place at the transition between the Early and Late Roman Iron Age, c. AD 200, and which characterised society in the subsequent centuries.The earlier introduction of the plough and of ridged- and/or flat-field systems of cultivation must have influenced the organisation of the infield and gradually rendered it impractical to move the settlement around within the resource area, as had been the case since the last centuries BC. Estimates of the percentage of cultivated land at different locations in Denmark show that some settlements must have had cultivated areas corresponding to those of Medieval times as early as the Germanic Iron Age, while other settlements had far smaller areas. This could be one of the reasons that some villages clearly became fixed at their present location already in Late Germanic Iron Age, and not exclusively at the transition between the Viking Age and Middle Ages, c. AD 900-1100, as was previously thought.There are a number of indications that the agrarian society of the Late Iron Age was increasingly able to generate a surplus, which could mobilise an ever more complex social structure: For example, the establishment of large, rich productive sites, especially in the 6th and 7th centuries AD, the founding of the earliest towns, such as Ribe, Aarhus and Hedeby in the 8th and 9th centuries, the emergence of regional kingdoms and the waging of several wars for resources in the period AD 200-600. The earlier introduction of the effective mouldboard plough fits well into this sequence of developments – as one of several significant factors.Lars Agersnap LarsenViborg Museum

The concept of the “other” is starting to get a little worn out, as it has been used extensively. Despite this it still is a clarifying term to be used when we talk of things that we tend to marginalize. The concept is largely built on fear, for it is that which we find distant, different and threatening that we name the “other”. We construct others because of fear and then fear them because of their otherness. (Cohen 1996). One forgotten group of “others” are animals. Of course, we don’t always see the animals as others, and maybe are heading more into the direction of seeing similarities instead of differences between them and ourselves. Still, the animals are often seen as our opposites. It is through the animal that anthropocentric cultures have defined “humanity”: we are what animals are not (see Clarke & Linzey 1990). One differentiating thing is their “wildness”, and it is often the cause of fear. Unlike us supposedly “cultural” creatures, we like to see (biased as ever) the animals as irrational and instinctual beings that threaten our control. Together with wildness also the “unknown” nature of animals makes us fearful, for the silent animals (especially when lurking in the waters or forests) remain beyond our reach. This fear has given birth to animal monsters that have been meddling with our imagination for centuries: the folklores tell about wear wolves, hell hounds and dragons that brave nights have to kill so that human cultures can flourish, the Bible suggests that the fallen angle is a dragon and the anti-christ a “beast”. Especially in the Middle Ages animals were often seen as demonic beings not to be messed with. (Salisbury 1997; Serpell 1986, 46). It does not seem like a big leap to claim that sometimes we see the animal as the silent, immoral, instinctual, material and even evil enemy that needs to be destroyed so that human rationality, morality and spirituality can prevail. The animal monster has not gone anywhere. They still live in the media, in the horror films and in the urban stories. Natural nasties The animal monsters became increasingly popular in the 70’s horror film. Andrew Tudor has called the genre “eco-doom” and refers to the animal monsters as “natural nasties” (Tudor 1989, 48-62). In his opinion the increased number of animal monsters can be tied to the fear of ecological catastrophe. I’d like to add the growing attention to animal rights issues and animal welfare. All of a sudden the superior status of humans was being critically examined, and animal monsters were one way to deal with the fear of loosing the old safe position. Tudor points out that at the same time also paranoia and helplessness were being emphasised: it was in the presumably safe environment that monsters all of a sudden emerged from, and the heroes were no longer quite as strong in protecting the society against them. This could be linked to the awareness of environmental and animal welfare issues: it was the supposedly controlled area that was attacking humanity. The most famous example of “zoohorror” (perhaps a better term for specifically animal monster horror) is of course Jaws (Spielberg, USA 1975). In the film an idyllic small town with happy holiday enjoyers is attacked by a seemingly psychopathic shark. Through out the film the difference and otherness of the shark are emphasised, and it is described as an instinctual “eating machine”. The humans trying to fight it are morally upright people who care for the community, the shark on the other hand is an aggressive killer who’s only motive seems to be to eat as many people as possible. The otherness is underlined with the way the shark is constructed. He remains out of sight for the majority of the film, neither the swimmers or the viewers get to see it. When it is seen for brief few seconds it is shown as a bodily spectacle of a fin, grey glittering body and – of course – huge jaws. Tudor calls these kinds of monsters “alien”, but I think a better term in this case would be “physical”. The monster lacks all personality and its motives are nonexistent. It becomes known only through its body and aggressive actions: it is constructed as an acting body. Otherwise it remains hidden, causing fear with its invisibility and absence. This goes well together with the idea that the animal is the opposite of humans – where as the humans in the films are intentional, rational and moral heroes the animal remains an instinctually acting violent body that is unseen, unknown – and frightning. Pets gone bad As said, it is the wildness and uncontrollability of animals that often causes us to view them as “others” and make us fear them. This is most evident with wild animals, but also present when it comes to domesticated animals. Domestication has often been understood as a process of improvement, of bringing animals from the natural state into culture that is supposed to be somehow “higher” (Thomas 1980; Harris 1996). Domestication also makes it possible to take control over animals (Passariello 1999). The threatening wildness disappears, and animals are made tame creatures that follow our control (of course, this is not always the motive behind domestication). Still, the wildness never completely disappears. As Steve Baker (1993) has claimed, it seems that there always is a fear of our control breaking and the animal going back to its natural stage. A nice little puppy can turn into a hellhound over night and kill the mailman. These stories make the headlines regularly causing even hysteria. The feared others can be domesticated and tamed, but they can still any time break free. The most famous example of an animal monster that causes fear because of “dedomestication” is Cujo (Teague, USA 1983). In the film a friendly family dog turns into a killer after being bit by a bat, and goes after the local villagers with amazing determination to kill everyone in sight. Another example is Man’s Best Friend (Lafia, USA 1993), where a genetically engineered Rottweiler kills all the people he considers rivals in respect to the owner. These (and many more) films construct animal monsters on the basis of our fear that something might go wrong with the domestication. The differences to the “natural nasties” are interesting. Where as wild animals are often physical monsters, domesticated animals are closer to the “anthropomorphic” (the term from Tudor 1989, 115) or “individual” monsters, for unlike wild animals, we are familiar with them. They are not hidden away like the wild animals, but remain in the viewers’ sight. They are also not as instinctual, and we can even understand their motives. Still, they are monsters that cause fear, for they have fought our cultural control and gone back into being “wild”. Psychopathic primates Where as wild animals are far away and domesticated animals close to us, primates are understood to be like us. Their cognitive skills and DNA’s have made it difficult to categorise them, and we feel a little embarrassed of how much they are like us. Still, and perhaps even because of this, they also cause fear. Planet of the Apes (Schaffner USA 1968) plays with the idea of roles being turned upside down, Link (Franklin 1985) and Congo (Marshall 1995) on the other hand show us primates as monsters. In these films the main motive seems to be to find a difference between humans and primates. Eventually it is claimed to be (when all else fails) morality. In Link a domesticated chimpanzee, who can use language, dresses in clothes and even works as a butler for a scientist, turns into a psychopathic killer when he discovers he might be replaced. In the film the scientist keeps saying humans should never forget that they are “the dominant species” and that primates “lack morality”. In Congo there is both a well behaving domesticated gorilla, and a pack of wild gorillas. The scientist, who owns the domesticated one decides to bring her back to the jungle (where she supposedly “belongs”) and has to fight back a group of monstrous wild gorillas. In the course of the film he becomes to understand that not all primates are as nice as the one he’s had, and that some are “killer apes”. The lesson seems to be quite clear: primates can resemble us, but because they lack morality they can ultimately become viscious monsters. Where as wild animals are physical and domesticated animals somewhat closer to individual monsters, primates are completely individuated – after all, they are “closest” to us. In the films the primate monsters are portrayed much like traditional human villains: we understand their motives and they remain visible to us most of the time. Monstrosity is built on individuality that lacks a crucial feature. Conclusion The existence of animal monsters depends on our understanding of what animals are. When we want to emphasise their difference, we create dualisms and classify animals under the one headline “animal”. Through this “generic animal” we can distance ourselves from animality and nature: we are individuals, they are all part of the class of “animals”, who are determined by animality and attributes that go with it (Birke & Parisi 1999). Cultural studies generally ignore the animal others. Nature and animals are mentioned as the opposites to culture and human beings (Haraway 1991), but they usually remain just that – a mention. Certain understandings of their meaning still make us tend to believe that the analyses of animals is somehow disinteresting (Baker 1993; Steeves 1999; Simons 1997). Paradoxically animals are made the opposite of human beings, and then marginalized even in cultural studies as the disinteresting “other”. Analysing what we understand “animality” to be and why we make it our opposition is crucial in seeking to find new ways to relate to animals. Maybe if this was done, the next time the wolf from the national park or the dog that bit the mailman would not cause fear, panic, and hatred. References Baker, Steve. Picturing the beast. Animals, identity and representation. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1993. Birke, Lynda and Parisi, Luciana. “Animals, Becoming.” Animal Others: On Ethics, Ontology and Animal Life. Ed. Peter Steeves. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999. 55-75. Clarke, Paul & Linzey, Andrew. Political Theory and Animals Rights. London: Pluto Press, 1990. Cohen, Jeffrey. ”Monster Culture: Seven Theses.” Monster Theory: Reading Culture. Ed. Jeffrey Cohen. Minneapolis: UMP, 1996. Haraway, Donna. Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New York: Routledge, 1991. Harris, David. “Domesticatory Relationships of People, Plants and Animals.” Redefining Nature: Ecology, Culture and Domestication. Eds. Roy Ellen, Katruyoshi Fukui. Berg: Oxford International Publishers, 1996. Passariello, Phylis. “Me and my totem: cross-cultural attitudes toward animals.” Attitudes to Animals: View to Animal Welfare. Ed. Francine Dolins. Cambridge: CUP, 1999. 12-26. Salisbury, Joyce. “Human Beasts and Bestial Humans in the Middle Ages.” Animal Acts: Configuring the Human in Western History. Eds. Jennifer Ham and Matthew Senior. London: Routledge, 1997. 9-23. Serpell, James. In the Company of Animals. New York: Basil Blackwell, 1986. Simons, John. “The Longest Revolution: Cultural Studies after Speciesism.” Environmental Values vol. 6, no 4 (1997): 483-497. Steeves, Peter. Introduction. Animal Others: on Ethics, Ontology and Animal Life. Ed. Peter Steeves. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999. 1-14. Thomas, Keith. Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500-1800. London: Penguing Books, 1983. Tudor, Andrew. Monsters and Mad Scientists: A Cultural History of the Horror Movie. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Aaltola, Elisa. "Animal Monsters and the Fear of the Wild" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.1 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/animals.php>. Chicago Style Aaltola, Elisa, "Animal Monsters and the Fear of the Wild" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 1 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/animals.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Aaltola, Elisa. (2002) Animal Monsters and the Fear of the Wild. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(1). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/animals.php> ([your date of access]).

In fourteenth-century England, a form of lay spirituality emerged, influenced by the writings and example of the famous mystics, both English and continental, of that period, but much affected by other developments as well. Against the background of socio-economic and political change, the emergence of lay spirituality is examined, with particular emphasis upon continuity and change within the church, the religious instruction of the age, and the spirituality of the English mystics. Finally, the sole surviving written record of lay spirituality of the period, The Book of Margery Kempe, is investigated, along with its author, Margery Kempe - pilgrim, visionary, and aspiring mystic.

Throughout the course a long life in which he served as a cleric, a Cluniac monk, and an archbishop, Hugh of Amiens (c. 1085-1164) wrote a number of works including poems, biblical exegesis, anti-heretical polemics, and one of the early collections of systematic theology. This dissertation aims to provide an intellectual biography of Hugh which grants a better understanding not only of his motivations and ideals, but also some of those of the wider clerical and monastic world of the twelfth century. It examines each of Hugh's theological and literary compositions with their manuscript distribution, chronology, and contemporary setting, giving an in-depth exegesis of the texts including their concerns, sources of material, and their meaning within the context of their day. So too does it compare him with contemporaries who were writing similar works, from the compilers of sentences to biblical versifiers. Many themes surface in this work. One of these is the influence that both the scholastic and the monastic worlds had on Hugh. His writings show that he, along with many of his contemporaries, was secure in drawing inspiration from the contemplative spirit of the cloister as well as the methodical and disputatious endeavours of the schools. Another key theme is the extensive influence of St. Augustine, not just upon Hugh's thought, but also upon the thought of most of Hugh's contemporaries. The role of Hugh's works in the origin of systematic theology also emerges, as does their relation to events in the larger religious, social, and political scene, such as the rise of popular heresies and new religious movements, the condemnation of Gilbert de la Porree (c. 1076-1154), and the schism under Pope Alexander III (c. 1100-81). It concludes that Hugh was not only an intriguing individual, but also a representative of many of the important and widespread trends of his day.

The subject of this thesis is the theology of the late 13th- early 14th century churchman 'Abdisho' bar Brikha. Better known by modern scholars for his poetry and canon law, he is far less recognised as a religious controversialist who composed works in Arabic as well as Syriac to answer Muslim criticisms. My overall argument contends that 'Abdisho''s hitherto neglected theological works are critical to our understanding of how anti-Muslim apologetics had by his time become central to his Church's articulation of a distinct Christian identity in a largely non-Christian environment. 'Abdisho' wrote his apologetic theology at a time when Christians experienced increasing hardship under the rule of the Mongol Ilkhans, who had officially converted to Islam in 1295. While the gradual hardening of attitudes towards Christians may well have informed 'Abdisho''s defensive stance, this thesis also demonstrates that his theology is built on a genre of apologetics that emerged as early as the mid-8th century. Our author compiles and systematises earlier debates and authorities from this tradition while updating them for a current authorship. In doing so, he contributes to the formation of a theological canon that would remain authoritative for centuries to come. My analysis of 'Abdisho''s oeuvre extends to three doctrinal themes: the Trinity, the Incarnation, and devotional practices (viz. the veneration of the Cross and the striking of the church clapper). I situate his discussion of these topics in a period when Syriac Christian scholarship was marked by a familiarity with Arabo-Islamic theological and philosophical models. While our author does not engage with these models as closely as his better-known Syriac Christian contemporary Bar Hebraeus (d. 1286), he nevertheless appeals to a literary and theological idiom common to both Muslims and Christians in order to convince his coreligionists of their faith's reasonableness against centuries-long polemical attacks.

The Red Jews are a legendary people; this is their history. From the late thirteenth to the late sixteenth century, vernacular German texts depicted the Red Jews, a conflation of the Biblical ten lost tribes of Israel and Gog and Magog, as a savage and unnaturally foul nation, who are enclosed in the 'Caspian Mountains', where they had been walled up by Alexander the Great. At the end of time, they will break out and serve the Antichrist, causing great destruction and suffering in the world. The hostile identification (c. 1165) of Jews with the apocalyptic destroyers of Ezekiel 38-39 and Revelation 20 expresses a new and virulent antisemitism that was integrated into the powerful apocalyptic traditions of Christianity. None of the few scholars who have noticed the Red Jews in medieval and early modern vernacular texts has sought out, collected and examined the complete body of medieval and early-modern sources that feature the Red Jews. This study provides a long-term analysis of the intimate connections between antisemitism and apocalypticism via a forgotten and submerged piece of German 'medievalia', the Red Jews. The legend gradually dissipated. Until the beginning of the seventeenth century it was a medieval lens through which Germans saw events relating to the Turkish threat in the East; after that time, the Red Jews disappeared from European texts.

The thesis attempts a portrait of The Cloud in the context of its position in the history of Christian mysticism. That the anonymous work owed much to spiritual writers of the preceding twelve hundred years is not debatable; what it owed maybe slightly less obvious. The Cloud is essentially a work of Dionysian mysticism, and various writers within that tradition who may have influenced or affected the teaching of The Cloud are examined. At the same time, however, the anonymous writer owes much to the western tradition of Augustinian theology, and the role of this, complementary to the Dionysian mysticism, is also considered. In Chapter II we look at the theological doctrine underlying the mystical doctrine of the Cloud corpus. Chapter III has two major parts, both concerned with the influence of The Cloud on the subsequent development of spiritual writing in England. The first considers the relationship with Walter Hilton. The second examines aspects of Puritan thought which may indicate that the influence of The Cloud, after the Reformation, was not restricted to Catholic thought.

John of Damascus was an early eighth century theologian in the Jerusalem Patriarchate. His family supplied financial administrators in Syro-Palestine for most of the seventh century, who were involved in surrendering Damascus to the Arabs if not also to the Persians. They thrived in the sectarian environment under the Umayyads. Numerous Greek Lives paint John in legendary terms; however, these are late and unreliable. I deconstruct the Lives decoupling his timeline from Byzantine Iconoclasm, arguing that there is no evidence and good reason to think that he did not leave the Arab administration because of vexed piety, persecution or administrative language change. Rather, focusing on the chronicler's treatment of John's family, I argue that John left office for his own reasons. I propose that John was instrumental in a quid pro quo: cathedral for patriarchate negotiation. Consequently, the Arabs built the Damascus Mosque on the site of the cathedral church of St John the Baptist, and the (dyothelite) Chalcedonian party moved to Jerusalem, where they reestablished the Jerusalem Patriarchate. Thus, I argue the context of John's polemical works is Jerusalem and patriarchal policy. Further, I argue that John was commissioned to produce something like 'proto-school' texts in the context of debate in the Anastasis with internal Maronite and external West and East Syrian interlocutors. Then I look at one example of John's theological creativity to show how this context impinged on his theological program. John appropriates Maximus the Confessor's term perichoresis and reduces its scope to the Incarnation while moving it into the doctrine of God for the first time. I show that he does this for polemical reasons in order to contravene each of his interlocutors with a simple biblical rhetorical model providing Chalcedonian monks in debate with a simple formula against better educated foes. This thesis demonstrates that reading John out of context fails to appreciate his creative response to these local exigencies.

This thesis examines the representation of weeping rulers in early medieval sources, focusing on the Carolingian empire between 790 and 888. The meanings applied to tears are culturally specific: thus, exploring how, why, when and where rulers cried can illuminate the dynamics of power and ideals of kingship in this period. This thesis provides a survey of a poorly understood phenomenon. It also challenges several assumptions about the nature of early medieval power. Rulers wept not only over their own sins (a well-recognised phenomenon), but also over the sins of others and out of a desire for heavenly glory. Thus, they wept in a ‘monastic' or ‘priestly' way. This was something associated more with certain rulers than others. As such, tears can be used as a lens through which developments in ideas about the relationship between secular rulers and the ecclesiastical hierarchy can be traced. The thesis is divided into six sections. The historiographical importance of this topic is discussed in the introduction. Chapter one assesses the understanding of tears in biblical, Roman and Merovingian sources. Chapter two focuses on the representation of tears in texts associated with the court of Charlemagne (d. 814). Chapter three explores how authors loyal to Louis the Pious (d. 840) used tears to respond to criticisms of him and his wife, the Empress Judith (d. 843). Chapter four turns to exegetical material written between 820 and 860 and examines how biblical rulers were represented weeping. In particular, the reception of these previously unrecognised images in royal courts and their influence on narrative sources will be considered. Chapter five explores sources from the later ninth century, focusing particularly on the writings of Hincmar of Reims (d. 882) and Notker of St Gall (d. 912). Chapter six considers tears in three case studies drawn from post=Carolingian sources. Finally the concluding section outlines the significance of this thesis for our understanding of Carolingian and post Carolingian political culture and the history of weeping in the middle ages.