Artículos de revistas sobre el tema "Pietists in literature"

Abstract The historiography of medieval Jewish pietism has duly described the development of new discourses of pietistic ethics in Judeo-Arabic, as well as the corpus of Hebrew pietistic and penitential literature composed by the Rhineland pietists. Scholars have long clung to the consensus that the contemporaneous appearance of Kabbalah did not give rise to a characteristic mode of penitential pietism of its own prior to early modern period. This article argues against that consensus. Evidence from Moses de León’s writings points to the conclusion that, already in thirteenth-century Castile, kabbalists sought to impart modes of supererogatory living in accord with their esoteric speculations. This article shows how de León constructed at least three different penitential programs based upon his Kabbalah. Focusing on the program of the “Unnamed Composition,” this article coordinates the appearance of kabbalistic pietism with a variety of historical factors, including the proliferation of Franciscan mendicants in medieval Castile.

Abstract This article explores the metaphysical, epistemological, and mystical aspects of happiness in the Judeo-Arabic Treatise on Ultimate Happiness (Kitāb as-Saʿāda al-Ākhira), of which only two chapters have survived from what is thought to have been a more comprehensive text. Although the treatise is attributed to Moses Maimonides, the conception of happiness (saʿāda) it presents is clearly that of the Pietists (Ḥasīdīm), the Jewish-Sufi circle of thirteenth-century Egypt. The discussion of happiness in this short treatise constitutes an important chapter in the philosophical and mystical discourse about happiness in medieval Jewish-Islamic thought, especially within the Jewish-Sufi mystical stream led by Maimonides’s descendants.

The present article is, firstly, a review of a recent publication by Elisha Russ-Fishbane that will, secondly, seek to develop an entanglement perspective on piety in the Ayyubid age. Elisha Russ-Fishbane’s book offers the first systematic presentation of the Jewish pietist movement in late twelfth- and early thirteenth-century Egypt. It is largely based on a selection of Genizah documents, the writings of the movement’s pivotal figures, as well as a synthetic and critical discussion of the disparate remarks in previous publications. The present text will seek to summarize Russ-Fishbane’s book, discuss it in relation to other pertinent literature, and suggest some thoughts on Jewish-Muslim relations, parallels to Jewish pietism in Germany, and the book’s relevance for the perspective of entanglement.

German Pietism and cognate movements in the Reformed world, especially in the Netherlands, the Rhineland, Switzerland and Hungary, continue to be one of the most strenuously contested and assiduously worked fields not only of modern church history, but of the history of religious belief and practice not ecclesiastically orientated. Their bibliography is augmented by some 300 contributions a year by scholars from Finland to the United States, though the bulk of the work is German, and much of the rest is presented in German. A brief survey (which must necessarily exclude the literature relating to Austria and Salzburg) can do no more than sample what has been happening in this area since the Second. World War, and suggest its connexions with the older work, some of which remains of first class significance. Fortunately the journal Pietismus und Neuzeit (now published at Gottingen by Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht) has since its inception in 1974 carried not only papers of high quality, but a bibliography of the year's work. This was the achievement, until his untimely death in 1990, of Klaus Deppermann, and aimed strenuously to be complete. His successors have been daunted by the magnitude of this task, and do not promise to compass all the non-German literature; but no doubt will trace most of what is really important.

Abstract Various eighteenth-century works discussed the language of Dutch pie-tists. This article analyses how those works represented the pietistic language and to what extent the sources overlap regarding the representation of the pietistic lan-guage. There is indeed conformity between the sources. The overlap in represen-tation between the works Kralingiana and Historie van mejuffrouw Sara Burgerhart is most striking. However, the pietistic language is also represented in slightly different ways in Sara Burgerhart. An important question for future research is how the eighteenth-century representation of Dutch pietistic use of language cor-responded to the actual eighteenth-century pietistic use of language.

Der Beitrag behandelt Johanna Eleonora Petersens Gespräche des Hertzens mit GOTT (1689) vor dem Hintergrund des traditionellen religiösen Selbstgesprächs, wie es in den pseudo-augustinischen Soliloquia animae ad deum auf für die frühe Neuzeit wirkungsmächtige Weise gestaltet wird. Der Vergleich beider Texte lässt die Transformation eines rhetorischen Textmodells der Selbstüberredung in ein autobiographisch fundiertes Modell des Selbstausdrucks erkennen. Die normativen, im Selbstgespräch einzuübenden religiösen Gehalte werden bei Petersen einer biographisch-narrativen Konkretion und Beglaubigung zugeführt und damit einem Diskurs des Authentischen zugeordnet, der die latente Polarität des Soliloquiums zwischen einem formal-abstrakten und einem narrativ-empirischen Modus von Subjektivität offenlegt.

Carefully reevaluating the available sources, this essay sheds new light on Cotton Mather's correspondence with German Pietist August Hermann Francke. Far from being a model of early modern cross-Atlantic intellectual exchange, theirs was just an intermittent, limited contact that, for many reasons, failed to grow into a mutually stimulating discourse.

Abstract This article focuses on an aspect of Pietist education that may be regarded as a reform, namely a new way of upholding the role model to educational ends – or, more simply put, of teaching by example. This new approach to the example, according to my thesis, manifests itself in an implicit, narrative didactics of piety. This will be illustrated by reference to a popular genre of children’ and young people’s literature dating from the 17th and 18th centuries, namely ‘exemplary children’s stories’ (Kinderexempelgeschichten). Such stories consist of biographical model narratives concerning exemplary pious boys and girls. To demonstrate how this implicit, religious didactic was made explicit, I draw on the text ‘Christliche Lebens=Regeln’ (Christian Rules of Life), which was especifically conceived as a systematic elucidation of exemplary stories.

In the mid–1700s, America's religious leaders feared deism, but by the early 1800s, it had faded from view. The death of its leaders and the rise of pietistic Christianity have been charged with its downfall. At one of its purported hotbeds—Harvard College—another possibility emerges: deism disappeared because, at least in some crucial arenas, it had triumphed, and thus deists were appeased.

A proposta deste artigo é delinear a literatura de folhetos nordestinos, genuinamente brasileira e definir suas características próprias que são a oralidade e a versificidade. Os ciclos da literatura de folhetos são distintos entre si, sendo o ciclo religioso o de maior ênfase, pois traz consigo, o pietismo popular do povo nordestino. Ressalta-se a figura do poeta Patativa do Assaré. Os procedimentos metodológicos foram: evidenciar o catolicismo como uma fonte rica de nossa cultura religiosa, e como o eixo da religiosidade popular nas classes simples do Brasil se expande pelas benzedeiras, rezadeiras e “ladainhas”. Nas linhas gerais, o trabalho informa o leitor sobre essa preciosa literatura que tem traços culturais: regionais e religiosos em sua formação, quais os seus primeiros passos e como continua a se expande por todos os estados. Exalta-se a religiosidade e sua repercussão. Valorizando assim nossa cultura pela piedade popular de modo através da literatura de Folhetos Nordestinos.

In the missionary activities that Halle theologians developed in the first half of the 18th century Grotius’ De veritate plays an interesting role that deserves exploration. To that purpose, the history and nature of the publication of missionary tracts in Halle will be surveyed, the role therein of Johann Heinrich Callenberg and his Institutum Judaicum at Muhammedicum described and the distribution and reception of the texts among the Muslims and Jews that were the target of the Halle missions all over the world summarized and analysed. It is suggested that Grotius’ De veritate, which was an atypical piece of apology in the Halle pietist setting, stands out among the other literature for its efficacy in the missionary process, due to its non-dogmatic character.

Innerhalb des Projektes "Johann Gerhard (1582-1637)" sind u.a. erstmals historisch-kritische Editionen von Schriften eines der bedeutendsten protestantischen Theologen des 17. Jahrhunderts erarbeitet worden. Darüber hinaus wurde eine umfangreiche Bibliographie sämtlicher Druckschriften Gerhards erstellt, die neben dem Kleinschrifttum auch Neuauflagen aller Werke bis in die Gegenwart berücksichtigt. Zudem wurde die Rekonstruktion der Bibliotheca Gerhardina, einer ihrem Charakter nach einmaligen Gelehrtenbibliothek, zum Abschluß gebracht. Somit ist ein Teilstück der in den vergangenen Jahren zunehmend in Gang kommenden Erforschung des barocken Luthertums und damit der Epoche zwischen der Reformationszeit und dem Pietismus geleistet worden.

A gender analysis of some of the representations of women in Sefer Hasidim and related texts finds that the German-Jewish pietiests of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries express a profound ambivalence toward women. While Sefer Hasidim places great importance on happy marital relations, its authors also see potential adulteries at every turn. Moreover, in their mystical yearning to transcend the physical pleasures of the material world, they go beyond rabbinic norms in their displacement of women in favor of devotion to the divine. This essay suggests that situating this ambivalence, and the frequent objectification of women which results from it, within the larger context of medieval social history can expand and enhance our knowledge of Jewish social norms, family life, and spirituality in medieval Ashkenaz.

Abstract Though sociability was not a guiding principle of early modern Lutheran ethics, it was not simply rejected by theologians in an indiscriminate manner. The following article outlines basic tenets of the 17th century Lutheran discussion of sociability in the framework of the adiaphora doctrine. The evaluation of phenomena like dance and theatre were strongly influenced by ‘confessional competition’. In demarcation to both ‘Calvinism’ and ‘Pietism’, Lutheran theologians stressed the positive function of dance and theatre, but also of gambling, for conviviality. Thus, in addition to the demand for the regulation of sociability by the government and the Church, the insight of an inherent rationale of early modern sociability gradually emerged.

Summary The paper deals with the Bohemian Reformation literature. Culture of the Bohemian Reformation belongs to a little-known phenomenon in Czech historiography. Art and culture historians have focused mostly on the Hussite period and less on the 16th and 17th centuries. An important issue is the reception of German Lutheran religious educational literature in Protestant Circles of the Czech lands. The author focuses primarily on books in which the genre of mediation dominates, and explores the prompt Czech reaction to several German authors (Martin Moller, Johann Gerhard etc.) active between approximately 1580–1620 who found intensive response in the Bohemian Lands. The second important field is the Czech hymnography in the 17th–18th centuries. The author finds German inspiration for Czech hymnbooks. He deals with Luther’s songs in the hymnbook Cithara sanctorum by Jiří Třanovský and especially with late baroque Protestant exile hymnbooks influenced by the Pietistic Circle in Halle and Herrnhut (Harfa nová [‘A New Harp’] by Jan Liberda, Lipský kancionál [‘Hymnbook of Leipzig’] by Georg Sarganek). Owing to the German stimuli, the spectrum of genres, ideological processes and stylistic registers in Czech literature from the 16th to 18th centuries is comparatively rich and diversified.

Not to mince words: everyone seriously interested in Victorian fiction should read the newest books by Elaine Freedgood and Anna Kornbluh—and preferably read them together, as I've read them for this review. Worlds Enough and The Order of Forms mount sharp, polemical, hugely stimulating arguments about the basic categories, form and realism, that structure their topic. A side-by-side reading highlights radical differences between the two in their conception and use of those categories, as well as their shared political commitment to a criticism that reaches beyond tearing down received pieties to elicit alternative ways of imagining and inhabiting what we take to be the real world.

Caspar Stieler (1632-1707), chiefly known today as the author of erotic love song texts and melodies, serio-comic musical dramas, a treatise of journalism , and his ground-breaking dictionary, also wrote devotional texts and published compilations of prayers together with devotional song texts and their melodies that combined his own creations with those of other authors of Evangelical Lutheran Germany. His four surviving compilations (and their various later editions) are discussed in the context of treatment of the religious practices of the times, especially private and domestic devotional exercises. In addition, the study places the compilations in the spiritual movements with which Stieler became involved in the period from around 1665 through 1686, and in particular examines the evidence in these collections of his relationship with Ahasverus Fritsch, an early proponent of Philipp Jakob Spener's Pietism. This study of the devotional handbooks also relates them to Stieler's life, to his other publication activities, and to his life-long involvement with vocal music as composer and as poet of texts designed to be set to music.

This paper offers a novel perspective regarding the interface between law, mysticism, and social reality. The inner turn that characterizes Hasidism is often understood through a binary model defined by the Christian Hebraists, and followed by many academic scholars, in which law and spirit exist in intractable tension. We suggest, however, that in the specific contexts of Hasidism, nomos, eros, and mystical piety often merged in distinctive ways, and that these are visible in novel forms of Jewish legal method and discourse. Our appreciation of the multifaceted Jewish religious and pietistic expressions of modernity should not be made to conform to the generally accepted definition of an era of strict “Orthodox” formulation and monolithic, conservative legal stagnation. Instead, we argue that the spiritual and legal ethos of Hasidism took on new forms in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as local identities became increasingly complex and new cultural fusions led to creative re-expressions of law and theology.

An Islam of Her Own is a valuable addition to the growing literature on Muslimwomen’s pietistic subjectivities. Unlike others, however, Sherine Hafezis unsatisfied with the unitary portrayal of the identities of Muslim female activistsas a struggle between secular and religious subjectivities. Locating herselfand the women she studies at the permeable boundaries of these tropes,her study problematizes the neatly bordered parameters of each and argues, instead, for movement, mobility, and transition between religious and secularspaces. She moves the discussion of religious subjectivities from Saba Mahmood’sinfluential study of non-liberal subjectivity in the Egyptian women’smosque movements (p. 11) to “the complexity of negotiation” and the “inconsistentappropriation” of both secular and religious spaces in fashioningdesire among female activists (p. 5).The articulation between the secular and religious, Hafez explains, isseamless. Activists move easily in the spaces between “pious self-ameliorationand secular political values” (p. 5). They make “normalised distinctions betweenreligion and secularism” that are “liberal in principle and secular inpractice,” and yet simultaneously view “Islam as encompassing all aspects oflife” (p. 13). These slippages, she argues, confirm that the subjectivities of activistMuslim women in Egypt are “varied, heterogeneous and unstable” (p.13) and not fully understood when packaged as non-liberal ...

Reading Franco Moretti's Graphs, Maps, Trees as a late-stage graduate student in 2008 was invigorating. Here was an approach to literary history free from the pieties of close reading, committed to empiricism, seeking to fulfill, with its “materialist conception of form,” the promise of the sociology of literature (92). And, at the time, it seemed natural that the way to follow the path laid out by Moretti in Graphs and in the essays he had published over the previous decade was to go to my computer, polish my rusty programming skills, and start making graphs. Yet reconsidering Moretti's Distant Reading now, one is struck by how nondigital the book is. In fact, the meaning of distant reading has undergone a rapid semantic transformation. In “Conjectures on World Literature,” originally published in 2000, Moretti introduces the phrase to describe “a patchwork of other people's research, without a single direct textual reading” (Distant Reading 48). Today, however, distant reading typically refers to computational studies of text. Introducing a 2016 cluster of essays called “Text Analysis at Scale,” Matthew K. Gold and Lauren Klein employ the term to speak of “using digital tools to ‘read’ large swaths of text” (Introduction); in his contribution to the cluster, Ted Underwood embraces “distant reading” as a name for applying machine-learning techniques to unstructured text. Discussions of distant reading have become discussions of computation with text, even if no section of Distant Reading features the elaborate computations found in the Stanford Literary Lab pamphlets to which Moretti has contributed.

AbstractThis paper will examine the narrative of Salmān al-Fārisī/”the Persian” and his conversion to Islam, as recounted in the eighth-centurySīraof Ibn Isḥāq, as a lens into the laudatory interpretation of Christian monasticism by early Muslims. This account of Salmān al-Fārisī (d. 656 CE), an originalCompanion(ṣaḥābī) of the Prophet Muḥammad, vividly describes his rejection of his Zoroastrian heritage, his initial embrace of Christianity, and his departure from his homeland of Isfahan in search of a deeper understanding of the Christian faith. This quest leads the young Persian on a great arc across the Near East into Iraq, Asia Minor, and Syria, during which he studies under various Christian monks and serves as their acolyte. Upon each master’s death, Salmān is directed toward another mystical authority, on a passage that parallels the “monastic sojourns” of late antique Christian literature. At the conclusion of the narrative a monk sends Salmān to seek out a “new Prophet who has arisen among the Arabs.” The monks, therefore, appear to be interpreted as “proto-Muslims,” as links in a chain leading to enlightenment, regardless of their confessional distinction. This narrative could then suggest that pietistic concerns, shared between these communities, superseded specific doctrinal boundaries in the highly fluid and malleable religious culture of the late antique and early Islamic Near East.

In writing a trilogy of novels on the life and times of Nathan Zuckerman, American Jewish Writer, Philip Roth has waded manfully into a tradition even more thickly and brilliantly populated than the one he selected as literary background for The Breast. If the grotesque metamorphosis of David Kepesh into a six–foot, one–hundred–and–fifty–pound female breast compels us to compare Roths novel with some of the great texts of Kafka and Gogol, in Zuckerman Bound Roth invokes the more formidable context of James, Proust, Joyce, Lawrence, Mann, and Gide (to mention only a few), several of whose artist–portraits are identified in the trilogy and all implied. Roth has said in an interview that the novelty of this particular portrait is that it describes the comedy that an artistic vocation can turn out to be in the U.S.A.1 The comedy pertains not only to the career of Zuckerman himself, a series of zany encounters with writers, readers, and critics, whose responses to one Zuckerman fiction become the action of the next, but also to Roths typical strategy of challenging and recreating any prior tradition or convention, however sacrosanct. The crux of Rothian comedy is to expose, embarrass, and ridicule, to break bonds and boundaries, pieties and platitudes.

A la guerra me llevami necesidad;si tuviera dinerosno fuera en verdad.My poverty takes me off to war;if I had money, believe me, I wouldn�t go.War is everywhere and nowhere in don quijote. It consumes don quijote's thoughts but seldom appears in the guise he expects. War animates the protagonist's most elaborate, potent fantasy of self-aggrandizement and social climbing, in which he lends his strong arm to a king to help him fight his wars and is rewarded with the king's daughter (Cervantes, Don Quijote 211–15). Yet as Don Quijote sets about trying to make his name through daring feats, actual war seems both elusive and overwhelming. Instead, Cervantes gives us a series of fantasies that ironize the conventional representation of heroism in a romance key, registering the anachronism of the single knight in a world marked by the collective allegiances of epic. At the same time, through a series of burlesque battles, the text reflects on the incommensurability of humanist pieties about war and its actual experience. Finally, in its engagement with problems of religious and ethnic difference, Don Quijote registers the contrast between war as it might be and the conflicts Spain actually experienced both within and beyond its borders.

The residents of the historical region of Tirol had long played the role of various projection platforms. However, love for the written word was not a characteristic commonly attributed to them — on the contrary: “It is impossible for the insights of the latter to attract a favorable opinion if one considers that often in large villages hardly anyone can read and write, and those who can do it very poorly; and yet these are exercises enabling people to shape their minds.”That is why the project “Reading in the Alps. Book Ownership in Tyrol 1750–1800” carried out at the University of Innsbruck and the Austrian Center for Digital Humanities and Cultural Heritage of the Austrian Academy of Sciences (ÖAW), and financed by the FWF (Research Support Fund) and the Tiroler Matching Fund, seeks to explore the historical reading customs of people living in the Alps. Drawing on inventories (usually probate inventories), we examine — as has already been done many times with regard to regions under Protestant-Pietist influence — private book collections in the Catholic-dominated Alps. The present article is a report on the main directions of the project as well as its first results.Starting from Joseph Rohrer’s 1796 diagnosis that the rural population of Tyrol in the eighteenth century was largely illiterate, we examine the available information about book resources from that era on the basis of an analysis of over 1500 inventories, inheritance proceedings, purchase and tenancy contracts etc. They suggest that people read quite a lot. However, an important matter is the kind of books preferred by readers at the time. It turns out that they were primarily widely popular religious books. It was mainly the “bestsellers of Catholic edifying literature”, which could be found in households in Bruneck in the South Tyrolean Puster Valley and its surroundings.

The residents of the historical region of Tirol had long played the role of various projection platforms. However, love for the written word was not a characteristic commonly attributed to them — on the contrary: “It is impossible for the insights of the latter to attract a favorable opinion if one considers that often in large villages hardly anyone can read and write, and those who can do it very poorly; and yet these are exercises enabling people to shape their minds.”That is why the project “Reading in the Alps. Book Ownership in Tyrol 1750–1800” carried out at the University of Innsbruck and the Austrian Center for Digital Humanities and Cultural Heritage of the Austrian Academy of Sciences (ÖAW), and financed by the FWF (Research Support Fund) and the Tiroler Matching Fund, seeks to explore the historical reading customs of people living in the Alps. Drawing on inventories (usually probate inventories), we examine — as has already been done many times with regard to regions under Protestant-Pietist influence — private book collections in the Catholic-dominated Alps. The present article is a report on the main directions of the project as well as its first results.Starting from Joseph Rohrer’s 1796 diagnosis that the rural population of Tyrol in the eighteenth century was largely illiterate, we examine the available information about book resources from that era on the basis of an analysis of over 1500 inventories, inheritance proceedings, purchase and tenancy contracts etc. They suggest that people read quite a lot. However, an important matter is the kind of books preferred by readers at the time. It turns out that they were primarily widely popular religious books. It was mainly the “bestsellers of Catholic edifying literature”, which could be found in households in Bruneck in the South Tyrolean Puster Valley and its surroundings.

The English edition of the Bibliotheca Malabarica, a manuscript catalogue of the Tamil works collected by the young Lutheran missionary Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg during his first two years in India (1706-8), attests to his prodigious effort to acquire, read, and summarize all the works of the “heathens” of South India that he could possibly get hold of. Most of this literature seems to have originated from local Śaiva mattams. Besides epics and puranas, the collection included many popular works on ethics, divination and astrology, devotional poetry, or folk narratives and ballads. Ziegenbalg seems to have acquired these through his Tamil teacher in Tranquebar—an elderly schoolmaster—and his son. In this respect, a focus on the social and cultural dynamics by which local knowledge was transmitted to Europeans is no less important than identifying the literary sources for their interpretation of Hinduism. A fascinating work, the Tamil correspondence conducted between 1712 and 1714 by the Lutheran missionaries with a number of learned Hindus reveals their desire to embark on a kind of inter-religious dialogue as a foundation for their Christian apologetics. The replies received from his “heathen” correspondents would inform much of Ziegenbalg’s interpretation of Śaivism as a form of natural monotheism. Translated into German and published in Halle, they also became part of the Pietist propaganda concerning the mission, exerting a much wider impact than Ziegenbalg’s unpublished monographs about Hindu doctrines and theology. But how authentic were these Tamil voices? Close analysis suggests that even if we conclude with the editors that the letters were what they claim to be, that is a direct translation of the work of many independent Tamil correspondents, the extent to which there was a religious “dialogue” based on reciprocity is open to question.

AbstractOver the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries an immense body of morality literature emerged in the Ottoman Empire as part of a widespread turn to piety. This article draws upon the anthropology of Islamic revival and secularism to reassess this literature's importance and propose a new view of the history of political thought in the empire. It does so through a close analysis of a fundamental concept of Ottoman political life: “naṣīḥat, ” or “advice.” Historians have used “advice books” to counter the presumption that the Ottoman Empire declined after the sixteenth century, but in doing so they have overlooked the concept's broader meaning as “morally corrective criticism.” I analyze two competing visions of naṣīḥat at the turn of the eighteenth century to reveal how the concept was deployed to politically transform the empire by reforming its subjects’ morality. One was a campaign by the chief jurist Feyżullah Efendi to educate every Muslim in the basic tenets of Islam. The other was a wildly popular “advice book” written by the poet Nābī to his son that both explicates a new moral code and declares the empire's government and institutions illegitimate. Both transformed politics by requiring that all subjects be responsible moral, and therefore political, actors. The pietistic turn, I argue, turned domestic spaces into political battlegrounds and ultimately created new, individualistic political subjectivities. This, though, requires challenging functionalist conceptions of the relationship between religion and politics and the secularist inclination among historians to relegate morality to the private sphere.

At the beginning of the 17th century, the Danish East India Company (Dansk Østindisk Kompagni) was established in Europe. The stronghold of the Danes in India was the city of Tranquebar (Dansborg fortress). At the beginning of the 18th century, the first Lutheran missionaries landed on the Coromandel Coast. They came to India from the German city of Halle. The University of Halle at this time was a center of pietism closely associated with the “Danish Royal mission” in Southern India. This mission was funded by king Frederick IV, but from the very beginning of its existence was staffed mainly by Germans. One of the first missionaries in Tranquebar was Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg. He lived in India from 1706 to 1719. His name is well known to modern orientalists, as he was among the first Europeans to study Indian languages and Indian culture. All the years of his life in Tranquebar, Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg was engaged in translating Christian literature into Tamil, and he also compiled the first grammatical reference of this language. A large number of the pastor’s letters to his friends and colleagues have been preserved. Most of these letters have been published for today. But part of it is still stored in the archives. Mainly in his letters, the pastor talks about the work of the mission: converting local residents to Christianity, creating a printing house and publishing Christian literature, opening a school for children in Tranquebar and working in it. Only a small part of the letters contains detailed stories about Tranquebar, local traditions, religious views of the natives, etc. This publication provides a translation of one of Ziegenbalg’s letters, which includes answers to questions about India that the pastor’s friends asked in their messages.

In recent years, the analytical concept of structural depth has been subjected to intense critical scrutiny. But amid debates over the relative merit of depth- and surface-oriented modes of listening and analysis, surprisingly little attention has been devoted to the history of the two terms in music journalism. Focusing on the period around 1800, this article examines the entry of the term "depth" into German literature on music and explores the metaphorÕs diverse, even contradictory, meanings. Writers like Wilhelm Heinrich Wackenroder and E. T. A. Hoffmann endorsed the idea, prominent in German Pietism and the criticism of Johann Gottfried Herder, that sound was uniquely able to access the deepest regions of subjectivity. At the same time, such writers began to imagine a musical inner space uncannily similar to the inner space of the listening subject. Unlike earlier aestheticians of a poetic bent, Hoffmann thought that the "deepest" works--works that stirred the soul with special force--required the critic to "penetrate" their "inner structure." Given that earlier technical discourse had treated music essentially as a linear sequence of periods, HoffmannÕs writings exhibit a momentous shift in perspective from the sequential to the vertical. By adding a new dimension to music complementing its axis of horizontal or temporal unfolding, Hoffmann imported the full spectrum of depthÕs meanings, ranging from the scientific to the spiritual, the rational to the irrational, into the modern notion of the masterwork.

This review essay brings a closer look at two books about Serbian saint and theologian Justin Popović, both were published in 2019 in Serbian. The first one, presented and analysed in this review, is the international thematic conference proceedings Mission and thought of St Justin Popović, edited by Vladimir Cvetković and Bogdan Lubardić from the Orthodox Theological Faculty in Belgrade (Serbia). The second one, presented in the next review, is Justin of Ćelije and England: Ways of Reception of British Theology, Literature and Science, written by Bogdan Lubardić. There is no need to introduce the life and work of Justin Popović (1894–1979) to the readers of this journal as it is generally known: monk and saint of the Orthodox Church (St Justin the New of Ćelije), professor at the University of Belgrade, co-founder of the Serbian Philosophical Society, one of the most prominent and important Orthodox theologians of the twentieth century. In my modest opinion, these two books open a new chapter in the research of Justin Popović’s legacy, in contrast to revival-apologetic and descriptive approach that previously dominated the reception of Justin Popović’s thoughts. This new approach is characterized by a non-ideological approach to Justin’s work and balances between two extremes, in a certain sense it proposes a middle path. The first extreme, pietistic and defensive-panegyric, considers any criticism of Justin’s work to be a direct attack on his holiness. The second extreme finds in Justin’s work a justification to reject the Serbian Church and all Orthodoxy due to their anti-modern and retrograde nature. Both extremes had fed each other for years and insist on the objectivity and complete truthfulness of their own interpretation of Justin’s work. The proposed middle ground no longer has as the starting point of whether Justin’s views are correct or not, but it considers the reasons and circumstances in which Justin’s work occurs.

The diversity of Masurian dialects, the lack among the Masurian society of well-educated people who use these dialects on a daily basis made it impossible to develop a uniform dialect pattern. This, in turn, caused that there are no examples of Masurian dialect literature. In 1975, Prof. Wojciech Chojnacki described John Bunyan’s “The Holy War”, which was published in 1900 in Herne, Westphalia, translated into the Masurian dialect and given the dialect title “Ta Swenta Woyna”. The book was translated and published by a miner, Jacob Sczepan. A renewed interest in the translation of Bunyan’s work appeared after the publication of its digitized version by the University Library of the University of Warmia and Mazury in Olsztyn in 2017. The analysis of the dialect used by Sczepan allowed to classify it to the West Masurian dialect in its Nidzica form. Research queries of address and parish registers revealed only one person who could have been the author of the translation, i.e. Jacob Sczepan, born on 21.7.1867 in Witówko (Nidzica Poviat). The same Jacob Sczepan, a mining foreman, was recorded in the address register of the city of Herne in 1900. The Westphalian miner from Masuria was probably a member of the Fellow-ship Movement, while Bunyan’s work was one of the most significant and popular pietistic works. Sczepan ad-dressed his translation to pious Masurian exiles like him. For this reason, his dialect is faithful to the language spo-ken at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries by the inhabitants of the Nidzica, Działdowo and Szczytno areas. This authenticity of Sczepan’s dialect makes his work unique. There is no other such extensive and authentic record of the already extinct dialect in the Masurian culture. The translation of Bunyan’s book was intended to enlighten and comfort his countrymen torn from steeped-in-traditional-piety Masuria, who were thrown into the industrialised world of the Ruhr region. However, for us, it is a valuable monument of the culture that no longer exists today.

The Field Day Theatre Company was founded in 1980 by Stephen Rea, the actor, and Brian Friel, the playwright, at the former's suggestion. The combination of a playwright and an actor in the founding of a theatre in response to a crisis which is both cultural and political recalls the Irish National Theatre Society and the founders of Field Day were conscious that such parallels would be drawn. For both Friel and Rea, the only available models were the Irish Literary Theatre and the Ulster Literary Theatre. The differences between Field Day and other such ventures are however as instructive as the parallels. The Irish National Theatre Society and the Abbey were always Yeats's project; his plays, his theories on drama and speech, and his cultural politics were the informing elements in the development of the theatre. Field Day's founders, however, quickly took on four other fellow-directors – Seamus Deane, Seamus Heaney, David Hammond and Tom Paulin – for just as the Abbey had had Beltaine, Samhain, and The Arrow so Field Day has had its pamphlets and other non-theatrical projects, although in the case of Field Day, these are once again open to contributors from outside the company. The purpose of the pamphlets has been to re-examine the various pieties of Irish cultural life in this past century. In its short history Field Day has already attracted widespread attention, but the time seems right for a stock-taking since by the end of 1988 the company will have reached a plateau of sorts in its development. Since 1980 it has produced eight plays, twelve pamphlets, and one volume of poetry, not to mention the work its directors have produced outside the confines of the company; this work places Field Day at the centre of Irish cultural debate. 1988 saw the production of a new play by Friel, Making History – his first for Field Day since The Communication Cord (1982) – the publication of another set of pamphlets, which for the first time were by non-Irish critics – Terry Eagleton, Frederic Jameson, and Edward Said – and preparations for its anthology of Irish writing. The completion of these three projects should consolidate the company's position.

Anabaptist studies in Canada have been marked by an exceptional degree of productive, inter-confessional (or non-confessional) engagement, most notably between Mennonites, Baptists, and Lutherans. The institutions making the greatest contributions have been at the University of Waterloo (including, but not exclusively, Conrad Grebel University College), Queen’s University, and Acadia Divinity College. The geographic expansion of Anabaptist studies beyond the traditional Germanic centres into eastern Europe and Italy, and the re-orientation of analysis away from primarily theological or intellectual history toward a greater focus on socio-political factors and networking, have been particular areas in which Canadian scholars have impacted Anabaptist studies. The relationship of Spiritualism (and later Pietism) to Anabaptist traditions and the nature of Biblicism within Anabaptism, including the greater attention to biblical hermeneutics with the “Marpeck renaissance,” have also been studied extensively by Canadians. International debates concerning “normative” Anabaptism and its genetic origins have also been driven by the past generations of Canadian scholars (monogenesis, polygenesis, post-polygenesis). Les études anabaptistes ont été marquées au Canada par un degré exceptionnel de collaboration productive, interconfessionnelle et non-confessionnelle, en particulier entre les mennonites, les baptistes, et les luthériens. Les institutions qui ont le plus contribué à cette collaboration sont les établissements de Waterloo (y compris, entre autres, le Conrad Grebel University College), la Queen’s University et l’Acadia Divinity College. Les études anabaptistes ont déployé leurs intérêts au-delà des centres germaniques traditionnels vers l’Europe de l’Est et l’Italie. Les chercheurs canadiens en études anabaptistes ont contribué de façon importante aux transformations de leur discipline, qui ont amené cette dernière à s’éloigner de l’histoire théologique et intellectuelle fondamentale pour se concentrer davantage sur les facteurs et les réseaux socio-politiques du mouvement anabaptiste. Les chercheurs canadiens ont aussi approfondi les thèmes de la relation du spiritisme (et plus tard, du piétisme) avec les traditions anabaptistes, et du biblicisme propre à l’anabaptisme, incluant l’intérêt croissant pour l’herméneutique biblique dans le cadre de la Renaissance de Marpeck. Des générations de chercheurs canadiens ont également fait leur marque dans les débats internationaux au sujet de l’anabaptiste « normatif » et de sa généalogie (monogenèse, polygenèse, post-polygenèse).

The book reviewed here is a welcome addition to the library of works seek- ing to construct a richer picture of the early Islamic landscape after the wane of radical revisionist theories of Islamic origins of Islam. Salem has presented a thoughtful study of the scholar-ascetic-warrior ‘Abdallāh ibn al-Mubārak (d. 181/797), and what the outlines of his life reveal about the proto-Sunnī milieu of the second Islamic century. Whereas early academic explorations of the development of Sunnī orthodoxy focused on theology and law, with Scott Lucas later highlighting the crucial role of ḥadīth, Salem has focused on the hitherto neglected dimension of ethics. The book is well laid out with an introduction, then a chapter outlining Ibn al-Mubārak’s life, followed by chapters analyzing his activities in the fields of ḥadīth, ji- hād, and zuhd respectively, wrapped up with a brief concluding chapter. Chapter 1 begins with a succinct overview of the ‘descriptive’ and ‘skeptical’ approaches among scholars of early Islamic history, followed by the relevant observation that interpretation of source material almost in- evitably reflects some of the assumptions of the scholar interpreting them. Salem makes the (unobjectionable) assertion that the contents of historical reports in early sources are indicative of attitudes and conceptions that ex- isted among Muslims at the time of authorship, regardless of whether they are historically genuine in all their details. She then presents a representa- tive selection of biographical details that paint Ibn al-Mubārak as a devout worshipper with high moral character, a scholar of ḥadīth and fiqh, yet also a wealthy and philanthropic trader and a brave man who spent much time guarding the frontiers. Nathan Hofer, in his review of the book, has cor- rectly pointed out that the historical sources Salem draws on span eight centuries, and criticizes her for failing to distinguish between material from different time periods. This criticism could have been avoided had Salem included an acknowledgment of this fact, along with a brief exposition of her assumptions about the nature of the sources and transmission into later biographies of materials not found in extant earlier chronicles. It is likely that excluding later biographical sources would not radically alter Salem’s central arguments—but the historiographically curious reader might won- der about some of the details, such as (for example) the genuineness of attribution of certain theological positions to Ibn al-Mubārak, given the highly-charged sectarian tensions that emerged in subsequent centuries, and the rather diverse early milieu that makes it difficult—as hadith master al-Dhahabī (d. 748/1348) observed—for adherents of later orthodoxy to find pure ideologues from that early period. Chapter 2 details Ibn al-Mubārak’s prowess in hadith. The sourc- es seem to be in agreement that he amassed a large number of hadiths, a feat that Salem traces to a combination of his wide travels in search of knowledge and his readiness to write down hadiths at a time when such re- cording was still controversial. (Chapter 3 brings up a third relevant factor: his interactions with other scholars while guarding the frontiers.) We are also given a useful overview of Ibn al-Mubārak’s works, both unpublished (including lost) and published. The absence of mention of one edited ver- sion of the Kitāb al-Zuhd (Sa‘īd al-Asmarī’s 824-page MA dissertation at Umm al-Qurā University from 2012) is understandable given it was not yet available at the time Salem finished her initial manuscript. This survey is followed by a sketch of Ibn al-Mubārak’s scholarly network, including both his major teachers and prominent students. Salem asserts that these net- works show the importance of both direct teacher-to-student transmission of knowledge, a mutual awareness among its members, and acknowledged (theological and ethical) criteria amongst them for legitimation of scholar- ly authority through acceptance in this network. Salem has made reference to Lucas’ important work on this, but does not reference William Graham’s essay on Traditionalism, a source that I think deserves mention regarding the continuity of the Islamic scholarly tradition. Chapter 2 also contains some important historiographical observa- tions. Salem finds that the biographical sources show an internal consis- tency and coherence that strongly suggest their overall reliability, and make it difficult to accept revisionist theories that dismiss them entirely as later inventions that were back-projected. For example, the critique of Ḥasan al-Baṣrī as a hadith narrator, in spite of the near-unanimous praise for his piety, suggests the hadith biographers were resistant to the natural tenden- cy to “aggrandize” popular persons. Salem also rightly observes that the in- formation from biographical dictionaries can undermine some of Schacht’s assumptions, but I would have liked to have seen more engagement with the academic debates (involving Schneider, Berg, Motzki and others) over whether the biographical dictionaries are actually independent sources of information. In Chapter 3, Salem argues that although the concept of martial valor as a form of piety was well known in the Late Antique Near East, it is a mistake to assume that post-expansion Muslims simply adopted it from the Christians they came in contact with. She cites Qur’ānic references to these concepts as well as numerous narrations in Ibn al-Mubārak’s Kitāb al-Jihād that chronologically mention battles in which the Prophet Muhammad was involved, as evidence that early pietist-martial men like Ibn al-Mubārak saw their activity as a continuation of indigenous Islamic teaching and practice regarding noble and ethical combat (granted of course that their understanding may have continued to evolve under other influences). For Islamic scholars to participate in guarding the frontiers, she adduces, was considered a superior form of piety than for them to live a luxurious city life. The existence of ‘religious scholars’ and ‘Qur’ānic reciters’ as a distinct class of people during this time ties in well with Salem’s assertions in the previous chapter about the transmission of religious knowledge. It might have been useful for her to cite here the work of Mustafa Shah and oth- ers who have discussed the early qurrā’ communities. A significant part of Chapter 3 discusses selected hadiths from the Kitab al-Jihād with regard to how Ibn al-Mubārak (and the community at that time) perceived jihād. In Chapter 4, Salem shows, through a comparative analysis of the early zuhd literature, that the virtuous ideal of zuhd was interpreted in diverse ways in the early community. Ibn al-Mubārak, in his own Kitāb al-Zuhd as well as in what biographical sources coherently tell us about his personal life, was a proponent of a “sober and moderate” form of zuhd as detachment of the heart from material things, along with an overarching attitude of piety, so that there is no contradiction between being wealthy and practic- ing zuhd. This stands in sharp contrast to more austere interpretations of zuhd (such as that of his contemporary, Mu‘āfā ibn Ibrāhīm) who advocat- ed a renunciation of the things of this world. While this latter group might well have been influenced by Christian ascetic practices, Salem credibly argues that a major sector of the community (typified by Ibn al-Mubārak) viewed zuhd as a broad ethical framework taken from the teachings of the Qur’ān and the Prophet Muhammad. This normative early zuhd literature, she proffers, formed the kernel of what later became Sufism, although later Sufism (and in particular the ṭarīqas) came to differ in sometimes signif- icant (and potentially problematic) ways from the earlier zuhd tradition. Hence, Salem makes a case for a “primitive” Sufism that represents a primal ethical core of Islam, in contrast to later Sufism that probably did syncreti- cally incorporate beliefs and practices from other (non-Islamic) religious traditions. Even though the book is geared towards bigger-picture arguments more than details, there could have been more precision in translation in some cases. I understand the pressures of completing a dissertation and the impossibility of perfection, and hence these critiques should not be taken to undermine the book’s worth. I found rather jarring the anachronism of translating ṣannafa/taṣnīf as “printing” (rather than the expected “author- ing” or “compilation”) when attributed to figures in the early centuries of Islam. A description of the famous Egyptian judge Ibn Lahī‘ah (d. 174/790) as muḍṭarib...yuktabu ḥadithuhū ʻalā al-iʻtibār (59), is correctly identified by Salem as a critique of his accuracy in hadith transmission, but is rather opaquely translated as “problematic....wrote hadiths for recognition.” I per- sonally would have preferred that titles like “al-Ḥāfiẓ”, “al-Imām”, and “al- ‘Alam” (at 10, for example) be translated, or at least placed before the actual name of the person in question, rather than risk non-specialists assuming these to be part of the name (though I understand that the book is directed towards specialists). Vocalizations of uncommon Arabic names are some- times inaccurate (e.g. “Sammāk” should be “Simāk”), but Salem has been exceptionally meticulous in marking in diacritics. She demonstrates a solid grasp of the overall framework of hadith-sciences and of the Arabic lan- guage, and so there are no imprecisions so egregious as to undermine her broad arguments and conclusions. Grammatical errors are extremely few. I understand that Salem’s more recent work focuses on later time pe- riods, but I would welcome further articles from her that leverage her ex- perience with the figure of Ibn al-Mubārak and her familiarity with the source materials. One possible area of further exploration for which the constraints of the dissertation did not allow but which would be useful, is some quantitative prosopographical data analysis. This could include stud- ies of the narrators of ḥadīths in Ibn al-Mubārak’s books as well as a thematic classification of all the narrations therein, which might show more clearly that the data she has cited in support of her assertions is indeed representative of the overall contents. Salem’s conclusion reads extremely well, and she has adeptly summa- rized her major findings and observations. In my estimation, the major contribution of her book has been to articulate a two-pronged centrality of ethics and morals in Sunnī orthodoxy: first, that the early zuhd genre of literature was the carrier of ethics before being subsumed later by the field of taṣawwuf; and second, that the living practice of morality and eth- ics by identified individuals in early society was central to the processes of legitimation, authority, and formation of orthodoxy (as shown by the importance of moral accreditation for being an acceptable transmitter of knowledge). Suheil LaherDean of Academics and Senior InstructorFawakih Institute for Classical Arabic

The book reviewed here is a welcome addition to the library of works seek- ing to construct a richer picture of the early Islamic landscape after the wane of radical revisionist theories of Islamic origins of Islam. Salem has presented a thoughtful study of the scholar-ascetic-warrior ‘Abdallāh ibn al-Mubārak (d. 181/797), and what the outlines of his life reveal about the proto-Sunnī milieu of the second Islamic century. Whereas early academic explorations of the development of Sunnī orthodoxy focused on theology and law, with Scott Lucas later highlighting the crucial role of ḥadīth, Salem has focused on the hitherto neglected dimension of ethics. The book is well laid out with an introduction, then a chapter outlining Ibn al-Mubārak’s life, followed by chapters analyzing his activities in the fields of ḥadīth, ji- hād, and zuhd respectively, wrapped up with a brief concluding chapter. Chapter 1 begins with a succinct overview of the ‘descriptive’ and ‘skeptical’ approaches among scholars of early Islamic history, followed by the relevant observation that interpretation of source material almost in- evitably reflects some of the assumptions of the scholar interpreting them. Salem makes the (unobjectionable) assertion that the contents of historical reports in early sources are indicative of attitudes and conceptions that ex- isted among Muslims at the time of authorship, regardless of whether they are historically genuine in all their details. She then presents a representa- tive selection of biographical details that paint Ibn al-Mubārak as a devout worshipper with high moral character, a scholar of ḥadīth and fiqh, yet also a wealthy and philanthropic trader and a brave man who spent much time guarding the frontiers. Nathan Hofer, in his review of the book, has cor- rectly pointed out that the historical sources Salem draws on span eight centuries, and criticizes her for failing to distinguish between material from different time periods. This criticism could have been avoided had Salem included an acknowledgment of this fact, along with a brief exposition of her assumptions about the nature of the sources and transmission into later biographies of materials not found in extant earlier chronicles. It is likely that excluding later biographical sources would not radically alter Salem’s central arguments—but the historiographically curious reader might won- der about some of the details, such as (for example) the genuineness of attribution of certain theological positions to Ibn al-Mubārak, given the highly-charged sectarian tensions that emerged in subsequent centuries, and the rather diverse early milieu that makes it difficult—as hadith master al-Dhahabī (d. 748/1348) observed—for adherents of later orthodoxy to find pure ideologues from that early period. Chapter 2 details Ibn al-Mubārak’s prowess in hadith. The sourc- es seem to be in agreement that he amassed a large number of hadiths, a feat that Salem traces to a combination of his wide travels in search of knowledge and his readiness to write down hadiths at a time when such re- cording was still controversial. (Chapter 3 brings up a third relevant factor: his interactions with other scholars while guarding the frontiers.) We are also given a useful overview of Ibn al-Mubārak’s works, both unpublished (including lost) and published. The absence of mention of one edited ver- sion of the Kitāb al-Zuhd (Sa‘īd al-Asmarī’s 824-page MA dissertation at Umm al-Qurā University from 2012) is understandable given it was not yet available at the time Salem finished her initial manuscript. This survey is followed by a sketch of Ibn al-Mubārak’s scholarly network, including both his major teachers and prominent students. Salem asserts that these net- works show the importance of both direct teacher-to-student transmission of knowledge, a mutual awareness among its members, and acknowledged (theological and ethical) criteria amongst them for legitimation of scholar- ly authority through acceptance in this network. Salem has made reference to Lucas’ important work on this, but does not reference William Graham’s essay on Traditionalism, a source that I think deserves mention regarding the continuity of the Islamic scholarly tradition. Chapter 2 also contains some important historiographical observa- tions. Salem finds that the biographical sources show an internal consis- tency and coherence that strongly suggest their overall reliability, and make it difficult to accept revisionist theories that dismiss them entirely as later inventions that were back-projected. For example, the critique of Ḥasan al-Baṣrī as a hadith narrator, in spite of the near-unanimous praise for his piety, suggests the hadith biographers were resistant to the natural tenden- cy to “aggrandize” popular persons. Salem also rightly observes that the in- formation from biographical dictionaries can undermine some of Schacht’s assumptions, but I would have liked to have seen more engagement with the academic debates (involving Schneider, Berg, Motzki and others) over whether the biographical dictionaries are actually independent sources of information. In Chapter 3, Salem argues that although the concept of martial valor as a form of piety was well known in the Late Antique Near East, it is a mistake to assume that post-expansion Muslims simply adopted it from the Christians they came in contact with. She cites Qur’ānic references to these concepts as well as numerous narrations in Ibn al-Mubārak’s Kitāb al-Jihād that chronologically mention battles in which the Prophet Muhammad was involved, as evidence that early pietist-martial men like Ibn al-Mubārak saw their activity as a continuation of indigenous Islamic teaching and practice regarding noble and ethical combat (granted of course that their understanding may have continued to evolve under other influences). For Islamic scholars to participate in guarding the frontiers, she adduces, was considered a superior form of piety than for them to live a luxurious city life. The existence of ‘religious scholars’ and ‘Qur’ānic reciters’ as a distinct class of people during this time ties in well with Salem’s assertions in the previous chapter about the transmission of religious knowledge. It might have been useful for her to cite here the work of Mustafa Shah and oth- ers who have discussed the early qurrā’ communities. A significant part of Chapter 3 discusses selected hadiths from the Kitab al-Jihād with regard to how Ibn al-Mubārak (and the community at that time) perceived jihād. In Chapter 4, Salem shows, through a comparative analysis of the early zuhd literature, that the virtuous ideal of zuhd was interpreted in diverse ways in the early community. Ibn al-Mubārak, in his own Kitāb al-Zuhd as well as in what biographical sources coherently tell us about his personal life, was a proponent of a “sober and moderate” form of zuhd as detachment of the heart from material things, along with an overarching attitude of piety, so that there is no contradiction between being wealthy and practic- ing zuhd. This stands in sharp contrast to more austere interpretations of zuhd (such as that of his contemporary, Mu‘āfā ibn Ibrāhīm) who advocat- ed a renunciation of the things of this world. While this latter group might well have been influenced by Christian ascetic practices, Salem credibly argues that a major sector of the community (typified by Ibn al-Mubārak) viewed zuhd as a broad ethical framework taken from the teachings of the Qur’ān and the Prophet Muhammad. This normative early zuhd literature, she proffers, formed the kernel of what later became Sufism, although later Sufism (and in particular the ṭarīqas) came to differ in sometimes signif- icant (and potentially problematic) ways from the earlier zuhd tradition. Hence, Salem makes a case for a “primitive” Sufism that represents a primal ethical core of Islam, in contrast to later Sufism that probably did syncreti- cally incorporate beliefs and practices from other (non-Islamic) religious traditions. Even though the book is geared towards bigger-picture arguments more than details, there could have been more precision in translation in some cases. I understand the pressures of completing a dissertation and the impossibility of perfection, and hence these critiques should not be taken to undermine the book’s worth. I found rather jarring the anachronism of translating ṣannafa/taṣnīf as “printing” (rather than the expected “author- ing” or “compilation”) when attributed to figures in the early centuries of Islam. A description of the famous Egyptian judge Ibn Lahī‘ah (d. 174/790) as muḍṭarib...yuktabu ḥadithuhū ʻalā al-iʻtibār (59), is correctly identified by Salem as a critique of his accuracy in hadith transmission, but is rather opaquely translated as “problematic....wrote hadiths for recognition.” I per- sonally would have preferred that titles like “al-Ḥāfiẓ”, “al-Imām”, and “al- ‘Alam” (at 10, for example) be translated, or at least placed before the actual name of the person in question, rather than risk non-specialists assuming these to be part of the name (though I understand that the book is directed towards specialists). Vocalizations of uncommon Arabic names are some- times inaccurate (e.g. “Sammāk” should be “Simāk”), but Salem has been exceptionally meticulous in marking in diacritics. She demonstrates a solid grasp of the overall framework of hadith-sciences and of the Arabic lan- guage, and so there are no imprecisions so egregious as to undermine her broad arguments and conclusions. Grammatical errors are extremely few. I understand that Salem’s more recent work focuses on later time pe- riods, but I would welcome further articles from her that leverage her ex- perience with the figure of Ibn al-Mubārak and her familiarity with the source materials. One possible area of further exploration for which the constraints of the dissertation did not allow but which would be useful, is some quantitative prosopographical data analysis. This could include stud- ies of the narrators of ḥadīths in Ibn al-Mubārak’s books as well as a thematic classification of all the narrations therein, which might show more clearly that the data she has cited in support of her assertions is indeed representative of the overall contents. Salem’s conclusion reads extremely well, and she has adeptly summa- rized her major findings and observations. In my estimation, the major contribution of her book has been to articulate a two-pronged centrality of ethics and morals in Sunnī orthodoxy: first, that the early zuhd genre of literature was the carrier of ethics before being subsumed later by the field of taṣawwuf; and second, that the living practice of morality and eth- ics by identified individuals in early society was central to the processes of legitimation, authority, and formation of orthodoxy (as shown by the importance of moral accreditation for being an acceptable transmitter of knowledge). Suheil LaherDean of Academics and Senior InstructorFawakih Institute for Classical Arabic

The Young Grundtvig and NorwayBy Gustav AlbeckThis article is a revised and extended version of the lecture given by Professor Albeck on April 30th 1984 at the annual general meeting of the Grundtvig Society in Oslo. It describes Grundtvig’s close relationship to a number of Norwegian friends he made during his residence at the Walkendorf hostel in Copenhagen in the years 1808-11; this circle of friends lasted and widened to include other Norwegians in his later life.Grundtvig was 67 before he set foot on Norwegian soil, but from his early youth he had familiarised himself with the Norwegian landscape and history through Norwegian literature. His feeling of kinship with the spirit and history of Norway was for a time stronger than his consciousness of being Danish. In his youth Norway and the Norwegians played a major role in opinion-making in Denmark, and in this respect Grundtvig was no different from his contemporary Danes. But the idea of Norway’s future continued to concern him long after his youth was over. The lecture, however, confines itself to the way certain Norwegians regarded Grundtvig between 1808 and 1811.When Grundtvig returned to Copenhagen from Langeland in 1808 he had no friends in the capital. But at the Walkendorf hostel he met first and foremost Svend B. Hersleb, a Norwegian theologian, to whom he addressed a jocular poem in the same year, revealing that Grundtvig now felt himself young again and among young people following his unrequited passion for Constance Leth. Otherwise we have only a few witnesses to this first period of happiness, with Grundtvig gaining a foothold on the Danish parnassus through his first Norse Mythology and Scenes from Heroic Life in the North.The fullest accounts of Grundtvig’s relationship to the Norwegians in the period following his nervous breakdown and religious breakthrough in 1810 come from the journals of the Norwegian-Danish dean and poet, Frederik Schmidt, made during various trips to Denmark. These journals were published in extenso between 1966 and 1985 in three volumes, the last of which includes a commentary by the editors and a postscript by Gustav Albeck. Many of the valuable notes about Grundtvig are repeated in the lecture. Frederik Schmidt was the son of a Norwegian bishop; he became a rural dean and later a member of the first National Assembly at Eids voll in 1814. He was a Norwegian patriot but loyal to the Danes and in fact returned to Denmark in 1820. His descriptions of Grundtvig’s conversations with Niels Treschow, the Norwegian-born Professor of Philosophy at Copenhagen University, give an authentic and concentrated picture of Grundtvig’s reflections on his conversion to a strict Lutheran faith, which for a time threatened to hinder his development as a secular writer. Schmidt found their way of presenting their differing views “very interesting and human”, and Grundtvig’s Christian faith “warm, intense and sincere”. “In the animated features of his dark eyes and pale face there is something passionate yet also gentle”. When Schmidt himself talked to Grundtvig about a current paper which stated that in early Christianity there was a fusion between Greek thought and oriental feeling, Grundtvig exclaimed, “Yet another Christianity without Christ!” A draft of a reply to one of Schmidt’s articles shows that at that point, April 1811, Grundtvig did not believe in the working of “the living word” in its secular meaning. The draft was not printed and Grundtvig does not appear to have discussed it with Schmidt. There is a very precise description of Grundtvig’s appearance: “There is... something confused in his eyes; he sometimes closes them after a tiring conversation, as if he wants to pull his thoughts together again.” Schmidt in no way agrees with Grundtvig’s point of view, which he partly puts down to “disappointed hopes, humbled pride and the persecution... he has been subjected to...” But he does find another important explanation in Grundtvig’s “need for reassuring knowledge” and his conviction “that the misery of the age can only be helped by true religious feeling”.There are also descriptions of Grundtvig in a more jovial mood, for example together with Professor George Sverdrup, where Grundtvig repeated some rather unflattering accounts of the playwright Holberg’s behaviour towards a couple of professors who were colleagues. The same evening he and Schmidt set about attacking Napoleon while Treschow and Sverdrup defended him. Schmidt considered Grundtvig’s little book, New Year’s Eve, “devout to the point of pietist sentiment”, but thought the error lay rather in Grundtvig’s head than his heart. Lovely is the Clear Blue Night (Dejlig er den himmel blaa), published in April 1811 was even read aloud by Schmidt to a woman poet; but he criticised The Anholt-Campaign.After 1814 Schmidt adopted a somewhat cooler tone towards Grundtvig’s books. He was unable to go along with Grundtvig’s talk of a united Denmark- Norway as his fatherland. He criticised the poems Grundtvig published in his periodical, Danevirke, including even The Easter Lily for its “vulgar language”, which Grundtvig appeared to confuse with a true “language of power”. It is impossible to prove any close relationship between Schmidt and Grundtvig, but he was an attentive observer when they met in Copenhagen in 1811.With the opening of the Royal Frederik University in Christiania in 1813 Grundtvig became separated from his Norwegian friends, as Hersleb, Treschow and Sverdrup were all appointed to the new Norwegian university. They were keen for Grundtvig to join them as Professor of History. Sverdrup in particular was captivated by his personality, and in a letter dated April 21st 1812 he informed Grundtvig that he was among the candidates for the post proposed by the commission to the King. But Grundtvig himself hesitated; he felt “calm and quietly happy” in Udby “as minister for simple Christians”. To his friend, the Norwegian-born Poul Dons, he wrote, “... something in me draws me up there, something keeps me down here.” The fact that he never got the job was in many ways his own fault. His World Chronicle (1812) could not but offend scholars of a rationalist approach, in particular the prediction at the end of the book about the new university’s effect. It is linked to Grundtvig’s interpretation (1810) of the letters to the seven churches in Revelation, which are seen as a prediction of the seven great churches in the historical advance of Christianity.“It was an idea,” says Albeck, “which in spite of its obvious irrationality never left Grundtvig, and as late as 1860 it found poetic form in the great poem, The Pleiades of Christendom (Christenhedens Syvstjerne).” Grundtvig “was in no doubt that the sixth church was the Nordic, and that it would grow out of the Norwegian university, the new Wittenberg.” In 1810 Grundtvig felt himself “chosen to be the forerunner of a new reformer, a new Johan Huss before a new Luther.” From a scholarly point of view there is no reason to reproach the Danish selection panel for the negative judgment they reached regarding Grundtvig’s qualifications as a historian. His name was not even mentioned in the appointments for the new professorships. He had caused quite a stir not long before by writing a birthday poem for the King in which he directly expressed his wish that the new university might become a Wittenberg. The poem took the form of a series of accusations against Norway and the Norwegians, and in particular against Nicolai Wergeland, who in a prize-winning essay on the Norwegian university entitled Mnemosyne had stuck a few needles into Denmark and the Danes. Grundtvig accused the Norwegians of ingratitude to Denmark and unchristian pride. Even his good friend Hersleb reacted to such an attack.From the diaries of the Norwegian, Claus Pavels, we know how the Norwegian poet, Jonas Rein, wrote and told Grundtvig that “a greater meekness towards people with a different opinion would be more fitting for a teacher of Christianity.” Grundtvig replied that he had had to speak the truth loud and clear in a degenerate age. The Bishop of Bergen, Nordal Brun, also considered Grundtvig’s views as expressed to the King “misplaced and insulting”. He was particularly hurt that Norway “should have to thank Denmark for its Christianity and protestantism”. When Grundtvig printed the poem in Little Songs (Kv.dlinger) in 1815, Nicolai Wergeland was moved to write Denmark’s Political Crimes against the Kingdom of Norway, published in 1816.For Grundtvig’s Norwegian friends it was a matter of regret that he did not come to Norway, not least for Stener Stenersen, who in 1814 became a lecturer and in 1818 a professor of theology at the Norwegian university. His correspondence with Grundtvig from 1813 is now regarded as a valuable source for Grundtvig’s view of Christianity at that time. In his diary entry for August 27th 1813 Pavels notes that Stenersen had proposed that the Society for the Wellbeing of Norway should use all its influence to get Grundtvig to Norway. In his proposition Stenersen asked who possessed such unity and purity of thought as to be able to understand fully the importance of scholarship; he himself had only one candidate - Grundtvig. From a contemporary standpoint he had won his way to the Christian faith. But the rationalist Pavels, the source of our information, was far from convinced that “no man in the whole of Norway” possessed these abilities in equal measure to Grundtvig”. He therefore had misgivings about “requesting him as Norway’s last and only deliverer”.When Grundtvig heard of Stenersen’s proposition he sought an audience with the King on September 8th at which he clearly expressed his desire to become Professor of History at the Norwegian University. Two Danish professors, Børge Thorlacius and Laurids Engelsto. found it strange, however, that Treschow, Sverdrup and Hersleb could “deify Grundtvig”. And his great wish was never fulfilled. Nonetheless he did not give up. On November 15th he saw that the post of curate was being advertised at Aggers church near Christiania and applied for the job. From his book Roskilde Rhymes (published on February 1st 1814) it is clear that he believed that it was there that his great work was to be accomplished. But in those very days Frederik VI was signing the peace of Kiel which would separate Norway from Denmark, and Grundtvig from his wish.In the preface to Danevirke (dated May 1817) he realised that he had deserved the scorn of the Norwegians, for he had expected too much of them. But he never forgot his Norwegian friends. He named one of his sons after Svend Hersleb, and another son married Stenersen’s daughter. When he himself visited Norway in 1851 he was welcomed like a prince.

A Rooted Man and a Sacred PoetBy Viggo MortensenA Review of A.M. Allchin: N.F.S. Grundtvig. An Introduction to his Life and Work. With an afterword by Nicholas Lossky. 338 pp. Writings published by the Grundtvig Society, Århus University Press, 1997.Canon Arthur Macdonald Allchin’s services to Grundtvig research are wellknown to the readers of Grundtvig Studier, so I shall not attempt to enumerate them. But he has now presented us and the world with a brilliant synthesis of his studies of Grundtvig, a comprehensive, thorough and fundamental introduction to Grundtvig, designed for the English-speaking world. Fortunately, the rest of us are free to read as well.It has always been a topic of discussion in Denmark whether Grundtvig can be translated, whether he can be understood by anyone except Danes who have imbibed him with their mother’s milk, so to speak. Allchin is an eloquent proof that it can be done. Grundtvig can be translated and he can be made comprehensible to people who do not belong in Danish culture only, and Allchin spells out a recipe for how it can be done. What is required is for one to enter Grundtvig’s universe, but to enter it as who one is, rooted in one’s own tradition. That is what makes Allchin’s book so exciting and innovative - that he poses questions to Grundtvig’s familiar work from the vantage point of the tradition he comes from, thus opening it up in new and surprising ways.The terms of the headline, »a rooted man« and »a sacred poet« are used about Grundtvig in the book, but they may in many ways be said to describe Allchin, too. He, too, is rooted in a tradition, the Anglican tradition, but also to a large extent the tradition taken over from the Church Fathers as it lives on in the Orthodox Church. Calling him a sacred poet may be going too far.Allchin does not write poetry, but he translates Grundtvig’s prose and poetry empathetically, even poetically, and writes a beautiful and easily understood English.Allchin combines the empathy with the distance necessary to make a renewed and renewing reading so rewarding: »Necessarily things are seen in a different perspective when they are seen from further away. It may be useful for those whose acquaintance with Grundtvig is much closer, to catch a glimpse of his figure as seen from a greater distance« (p. 5). Indeed, it is not only useful, it is inspiring and capable of opening our eyes to new aspects of Grundtvig.The book falls into three main sections. In the first section an overview of Grundtvig’s life and work is given. It does not claim to be complete which is why Allchin only speaks about »Glimpses of a Life«, the main emphasis being on the decisive moments of Grundtvig’s journey to himself. In five chapters, Grundtvig’s way from birth to death is depicted. The five chapters cover: Childhood to Ordination 1783-1811; Conflict and Vision 1811-29; New Directions, Inner and Outer 1829-39; Unexpected Fulfilment 1839-58; and Last Impressions 1858-72. As it will have appeared, Allchin does not follow the traditional division, centred around the familiar years. On the contrary, he is critical of the attempts to focus everything on such »matchless discoveries«; rather than that he tends to emphasize the continuity in the person’s life as well as in his writings. Thus, about Thaning’s attempt to make 1832 the absolute pivotal year it is said: »to see this change as an about turn is mistaken« (p. 61).In the second main section of the book Allchin identifies five main themes in Grundtvig’s work: Discovering the Church; The Historic Ministry; Trinity in Unity; The Earth made in God’s Image; A simple, cheerful, active Life on Earth. It does not quite do Allchin justice to say that he deals with such subjects as the Church, the Office, the Holy Trinity, and Creation theology.His own subtitles, mentioned above, are much more adequate indications of the content of the section, since they suggest the slight but significant differences of meaning that Allchin masters, and which are immensely enlightening.It also becomes clear that it is Grundtvig as a theologian that is the centre of interest, though this does not mean that his work as educator of the people, politician, (history) scholar, and poet is neglected. It adds a wholeness to the presentation which I find valuable.The third and longest section of the book, The Celebration of Faith, gives a comprehensive introduction to Grundtvig’s understanding of Christianity, as it finds expression in his sermons and hymns. The intention here is to let Grundtvig speak for himself. This is achieved through translations of many of his hymns and long extracts from his sermons. Allchin says himself that if there is anything original about his book, it depends on the extensive use of the sermons to illustrate Grundtvig’s understanding of Christianity. After an introduction, Eternity in Time, the exposition is arranged in the pattern of the church year: Advent, Christmas, Annunciation, Easter and Whitsun.In the section about the Annunciation there is a detailed description of the role played by the Virgin Mary and women as a whole in Grundtvig’s understanding of Christianity. He finishes the section by quoting exhaustively from the Catholic theologian Charles Moeller and his views on the Virgin Mary, bearing the impress of the Second Vatican Council, and he concludes that in all probability Grundtvig would not have found it necessary to disagree with such a Reformist Catholic view. Finally there are two sections about The Sign of the Cross and The Ministry of Angels. The book ends with an epilogue, where Allchin sums up in 7 points what modem features he sees in Gmndtvig.Against the fragmented individualism of modem times, he sets Gmndtvig’s sense of cooperation and interdependence. In a world plagued with nationalism, Gmndtvig is seen as an example of one who takes national identity seriously without lapsing into national chauvinism. As one who values differences, Grundtvig appeals to a time that cherishes special traditions.Furthermore Gmndtvig is one of the very greatest ecumenical prophets of the 19th century. In conclusion Allchin translates »Alle mine Kilder« (All my springs shall be in you), »Øjne I var lykkelige« (Eyes you were blessed indeed) and »Lyksaligt det Folk, som har Øre for Klang« (How blest are that people who have an ear for the sound). Thus, in a sense, these hymns become the conclusion of the Gmndtvig introduction. The point has been reached when they can be sung with understanding.While reading Allchin’s book it has been my experience that it is from his interpretation of the best known passages and poems that I have learned most. The familiar stanzas which one has sung hundreds of times are those which one is quite suddenly able to see new aspects in. When, for example, Allchin interprets »Langt højere Bjerge« (Far Higher Mountains), involving Biblical notions of the year of jubilee, it became a new and enlightening experience for me. But the Biblical reference is characteristic. A Biblical theologian is at work here.Or when he interprets »Et jævnt og muntert virksomt Liv paa Jord« (A Simple Cheerful Active Life on Earth), bringing Holger Kjær’s memorial article for Ingeborg Appel into the interpretation. In less than no time we are told indirectly that the most precise understanding of what a simple, cheerful, active life on earth is is to be found in Benedict of Nursia’s monastic mle.That, says Allchin, leads us to the question »where we are to place the Gmndtvigian movement in the whole spectmm of Christian movements of revival which are characteristic of Protestantism« (p. 172). Then - in a comparison with revival movements of a Pietistic and Evangelical nature – Allchin proceeds to give a description of a Grundtvigianism which is culturally open, but nevertheless has close affinities with a medieval, classical, Western monastic tradition: a theocentric humanism. »It is one particular way of knitting together the clashing archetypes of male and female, human and divine, in a renunciation of evil and an embracing of all which is good and on the side of life, a way of making real in the frailties and imperfections of flesh and blood a deeply theocentric humanism« (p. 173).Now, there is a magnificent English sentence. And there are many of them. Occasionally some of the English translations make the reader prick up his ears, such as when Danish »gudelige forsamlinger« becomes »meetings of the godly«. I learnt a few new words, too (»niggardliness« and »esemplastic«) the meaning of which I had to look up; but that is only to be expected from a man of learning like Allchin. But otherwise the book is written in an easily understood and beautiful English. This is also true of the large number of translations, about which Allchin himself says that he has been »tantalised and at times tormented« by the problems connected with translating Grundtvig, particularly, of course, his poetry. Naturally Allchin is fully aware that translation always involves interpretation. When for example he translates Danish »forklaret« into »transfigured«, that choice pulls Grundtvig theologically in the direction that Allchin himself inclines towards. This gives the reader occasion to reflect. It is Allchin’s hope that his work on translating Grundtvig will be followed up by others. »To translate Grundtvig in any adequate way would be the work of not one person but of many, not of one effort but of many. I hope that this preliminary study may set in train a process of Grundtvig assimilation and affirmation« (p. 310)Besides being an introduction to Grundtvig, the book also becomes an introduction to past and contemporary Danish theology and culture. But contemporary Danish art, golden age painting etc. are also brought in and interpreted.As a matter of course, Allchin draws on the whole of the great Anglo-Saxon tradition: Blake, Constable, Eliot, etc., indeed, there are even quite frequent references to Allchin’s own Welsh tradition. In his use of previous secondary literature, Allchin is very generous, quoting it frequently, often concurring with it, and sometimes bringing in half forgotten contributions to the literature on Grundtvig, such as Edvard Lehmann’s book from 1929. However, he may also be quite sharp at times. Martin Marty, for example, must endure being told that he has not understood Grundtvig’s use of the term folkelig.Towards the end of the book, Allchin discusses the reductionist tactics of the Reformers. Anything that is not absolutely necessary can be done away with. Thus, what remains is Faith alone, Grace alone, Christ alone. The result was a radical Christ monism, which ended up with undermining everything that it had originally been the intention to defend. But, says Allchin, Grundtvig goes the opposite way. He does not question justification by faith alone, but he interprets it inclusively. The world in all its plenitude is created in order that joy may grow. There is an extravagance and an exuberance in the divine activity. In a theology that wants to take this seriously, themes like wonder, growth and joy must be crucial.Thus, connections are also established back to the great church tradition. It is well-known how Grundtvig received decisive inspiration from the Fathers of the Eastern Church. Allchin’s contribution is to show that it grows out of a need by Grundtvig himself, and he demonstrates how it manifests itself concretely in Grundtvig’s writings. »Perhaps he had a deep personal need to draw on the wisdom and insight of earlier ages, on the qualities which he finds in the sacred poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, in the liturgical hymns of the Byzantine Church, in the monastic theology of the early medieval West. He needs these resources for his own life, and he is able to transpose them into his world of the nineteenth century, which if it is no longer our world is yet a world in which we can still feel at home. He can be for us a vital link, a point of connection with these older worlds whose riches he had deciphered and transcribed with such love and labour« (p. 60).Thus the book gives us a discussion - more detailed than seen before – of Grundtvig’s relationship to the Apostolic Succession, the sacramental character of the Church and Ordination, and the phenomenon transfiguration which is expounded, partly by bringing in Jakob Knudsen. On the background of the often observed emphasis laid by Grundtvig on the descent into Hell and the transfiguration, his closeness to the orthodox form of Christianity is established. Though Grundtvig does not directly use the word »theosis« or deification, the heart of the matter is there, the matter that has been given emphasis first and foremost in the bilateral talks between the Finnish Lutheran Church and the Russian Orthodox Church. But Grundtvig’s contribution is also seen in the context of other contemporaries and reforming efforts, Khomiakov in Russia, Johann Adam Möhler in Germany, and Keble, Pusey and Newman in England. It is one of Allchin’s major regrets that it did not come to an understanding between the leaders of the Oxford Movement and Grundtvig. If an actual meeting and a fruitful dialogue had materialized, it might have exerted some influence also on the ecumenical situation of today.Allchin shows how the question of the unity of the Church and its universality as God’s Church on earth acquired extreme importance to Grundtvig. »The question of rediscovering Christian unity became a matter of life and death« (p. 108). It is clear that in Allchin’s opinion there has been too little attention on this aspect of Grundtvig. Among other things he attributes it to a tendency in the Danish Church to cut itself off from the rest of the Christian world, because it thinks of itself as so special. And this in a sense is the case, says Allchin. »Where else, at the end of the twentieth century, is there a Church which is willing that a large part of its administration should be carried on by a government department? Where else is there a state which is still willing to take so much responsibility for the administration of the Church’s life?« (p. 68). As will be seen: Allchin is a highly sympathetic, but far from uncritical observer of Danish affairs.When Allchin sees Grundtvig as an ecumenical theologian, it is because he keeps crossing borders between Protestantism and Catholicism, between eastern and western Christianity. His view of Christianity is thus »highly unitive« (p. 310). Grundtvig did pioneer work to break through the stagnation brought on by the church schisms of the Reformation. »If we can see his efforts in that way, then the unfinished business of 1843 might still give rise to fruitful consequences one hundred and fifty years later. That would be a matter of some significance for the growth of the Christian faith into the twentyfirst century, and not only in England and Denmark« (p. 126).In Nicholas Lossky’s Afterword it is likewise Grundtvig’s effort as a bridge builder between the different church groupings that is emphasized. Grundtvig’s theology is seen as a »truly patristic approach to the Christian mystery« (p. 316). Thus Grundtvig becomes a true all-church, universal, »catholic« theologian, for »Catholicity is by definition unity in diversity or diversity in unity« (p. 317).With views like those presented here, Allchin has not only introduced Grundtvig and seen him in relation to present-day issues, but has also fruitfully challenged a Danish Grundtvig tradition and Grundtvigianism. It would be a pity if no one were to take up that challenge.