Əsas səhifə The Heythrop Journal Crown of Thistles: The Fatal Inheritance of Mary Queen of Scots. By Linda Porter. Pp. xvii, 523,...
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HeyJ LVIII (2017), pp. 446–576 BOOK REVIEWS The Wise King: A Christian Prince, Muslim Spain, and the Birth of the Renaissance. By Simon R. Doubleday. Pp. xxix, 304, NY, Basic Books, 2015, $16.87. Known as El Sabio, ‘the Wise’, Alfonso X (1221-84) was king of Castile and Leon during a pivotal period of the Reconquista when for the first time it appeared that the latter might succeed. What Doubleday reveals about Alfonso, however, is his appreciation for the rich Islamic culture of the south in science, philosophy, architecture and art, and his determination to appropriate this for the benefit of his people, and beyond that for Christian Europe as a whole. For Doubleday’s larger thesis is that Alfonso saw himself as a sovereign on the model of Solomon in Jerusalem, who both built the Temple and increased the prosperity of Israel beyond anything reached so far. Specifically, Alfonso modelled himself on Charlemagne and aspired to become Holy Roman Emperor. Early on he was successful in both military and cultural affairs. He mastered noble diversions from the Arabs, such as chess and falconry, began a stream of translations from their sophisticated commentaries, by both Jewish and Moslem scholars, on the Greek philosophical classics, and collected and produced a ‘mirror of princes’ describing how a ruler should form and conduct himself. Thus what we consider ‘Spanish’ culture was from this date a ‘hybrid’ – and this was all to the good. Everything in the world was connected, with the higher realms controlling the lower; astronomy therefore had both theoretical and practical significance, since as ‘applied astronomy’ or ‘astrology’, it allowed one to know the best date on which to begin a project. In this sense Alfonso helped start the Renaissance, which most scholars think began in Italy. Most of all this book makes us aware of the gulf between pre-modern and modern ideals of statecraft – specifically the notion that the ruler is dramatically super-sized and should incarnate the highest ideals of his people.; Rather than retiring modestly to look after the practical details of running a state in bureaucratic fashion while maximizing the freedom of his citizens, a pre-modern king was expected to thrust himself forward and cut an impressive figure on the world stage, interacting on a basis of equality and respect with other world leaders, concentrating the prestige of his people in his own person. Since he was king for life, he was expected to model wisdom in practical affairs and proper deference and service on theoretical and spiritual topics. Friendship with other rulers on common enterprises, from dynastic marriages to military alliances, was a high priority, and shows us how a common culture has been lost in the transition to the democratic, functional, non-dynastic modern world. The king must have regard for the morals of his aristocrats and people as much as his own, and should be as much feared as loved. ‘Oh what people have laws as good as our laws?’ asks the psalmist; laws are not viewed as something under which one chafes, but rather as a guide to happiness, a marker of identity and a point of pride. Alfonso had a difficult end to his life, but managed to strike the spark of cultural exchange and love of learning that transformed Europe, catapulting it ahead during the Renaissance into what it became in the modern period. We have lost his wisdom, and thus the unity to which he aspired; Doubleday here brings him back to life, perhaps to allow us to try again. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan The Stoic Origins of Erasmus’ Philosophy of Christ. By Ross Dealy. Pp. xii, 407, Toronto/London, University of Toronto Press, 2017, $90.00. Dealy has devoted a lifetime to defending the thesis that Erasmus discovered the true doctrine of Stoicism, after it had been lost after its final detailed presentation during the classical era in the works of Cicero, that this philosophy is true or the most adequate to man’s ethical-political C 2017 Trustees for Roman Catholic Purposes Registered. Published by JohnWiley & Sons Ltd, 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK and V 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA. BOOK REVIEWS development (superior in particular to Platonism, Aristotelianism, and Epicureanism), and finally that it resolves a dilemma affecting the Christian depiction of Jesus’ passion that otherwise cannot be untangled, and thereby restores coherence to the Christian vocation. Basically Stoics react against the two-story Platonic world to argue instead for a single ‘horizontal’ world where divinity is immanent within nature itself. The two-story Platonic world created a need for humans to align themselves with or mount to a ‘higher’ realm of Reason and stable Forms, and to regret, disparage, or suppress the ‘irrational’ passions as illusory, less real, and the cause of human misery. Dealy presents a picture of Erasmus, plagued with a finicky, freakish or idiosyncratic digestion, impatient with rituals and ceremonies, and unable to accept any authority or restriction upon his freedom, being encouraged as an impoverished, illegitimate, but sensitive and discerning student to become an Augustinian monk, where his physical-psychological constitution left him unable to conform to the austere, even penitential lifestyle enjoined by the order. He was initially racked with guilt at his failure to live up to the traditional regimen of Christian perfection. His reading of Cicero, however, and discovery of ‘true Stoicism’ (as opposed to the simplistic version that was the whipping boy and convenient foil for Renaissance humanists), enabled him to see that the problem was not his, but afflicted an ideal that was unrealistic, not true to human nature – and which therefore should be changed. There is no ‘bad part’ of human nature that has to be whipped into submission; each of us has to discover and accept the nature they are born with; in fact, there is much greater variety to ‘human 447 nature’ than is normally recognized or taken into account, which means there is no one ideal or lifestyle we should all be trying to emulate. Instead, according to Stoicism there are two ‘duties’ around which we are called to arrange our lives and develop our comportment: an ‘unbending’ allegiance to principles that make an absolute claim upon us, and then a ‘bending’, pliant or ingenious skill at ‘working through’ or ‘applying’ these principles to the myriad circumstances in which we find ourselves, where contrary obligations can pull us in opposite directions. No part is to be left out; the goal is integration rather than unhealthy suppression of an intolerable ‘other’. Certain basic instincts or temperaments make the cultivation of certain virtues easier, but we should not be given credit for this – or guilt or shame for virtues we have little chance of cultivating for the same reason. It is not our fault. When the situation does not allow any application of our principles, however, Erasmus seems committed to a ‘schizophrenia’ or ‘split personality’ in the mind of the individual, that would seem to render impossible the calmness and serenity that is supposed to characterize the Stoic ‘wise man’. Presumably his response then is suicide, which Seneca committed, while Cicero bared his neck to his government assassin. This option was not available for Christ, who is depicted by Erasmus on the cross experiencing the greatest pain in world history because of his uniquely sensitive and vulnerable nature, but at the same time the greatest joy as he saw that he thereby fulfilled the Father’s wishes. The integration of these two is left unexplained. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan Truth and Irony: Philosophical Meditations on Erasmus. By Terence J. Martin. Pp. x, 258, Washington, DC, The Catholic University of America Press, 2015, $65.00. Martin celebrates Erasmus as an ironist, by which he means someone who is skilled at using language to reveal the truth indirectly, obliquely, or gently, rather than expressing it directly and roughly; like comedy, irony makes us aware of the gap between the ideal and the real. It thereby prods us into working to bring them into closer alignment, or makes us realize that, no matter how hard we work, reality will always fall short of the ideal. This gap was first made prominent by Socrates, who according to Alcibiades was an ‘ironic deceiver’; like a Silenus, on the outside he was ugly, but when you looked within you found a god. Further, his questioning of the great, powerful, or pompous seemed innocent or stupid, but over time revealed itself as the most wonderful wisdom. As a rhetorical strategy, therefore, irony has the advantage of delivering a harsh or unpleasant truth in the gentlest or most sugared fashion – and making the hearer or reader think it was his own idea! – thereby protecting the speaker from a violent backlash by the person whose views are being criticized, and extending the career of this seeker of truth for the benefit of the community. 448 BOOK REVIEWS Martin sees Erasmus as operating between, and opposed to ‘dogmatists’ and ‘sophists’. The former think the institutions of the day to be fully adequate, and the latter are ‘inverse Sileni’, lovely and impressive on the outside, but empty or malicious within, and who ultimately believe that nothing is true. He pushes Erasmus close to sceptics like Montaigne, Edward Gibbon, and David Hume, who were expert at making the familiar appear ‘strange’, specifically at making the heroes of Christian culture appear as monsters of religious extremism and fanaticism, and proposing instead a more appropriate agnosticism in matters of religious speculation and a moderate epicureanism in personal ethics. In this he does not do justice to the historical situation Erasmus knew he confronted, and to which there were two contemporary responses. Erasmus lived a century before Descartes, before ‘modernity’ had really gotten started. He was faced with the dregs of the Middle Ages, when the feudal institutions which had been carried over were no longer appropriate for their time and had been seriously distorted through abuses, so that they no longer worked for the good of the individual or the community. Alles ging schief!, as the Germans say; everything came out crooked or bent at a crazy angle. In the Christian tradition, the martyrdom which had responded to earlier persecutions was no longer needed or relevant, and the ascetism that had taken its place, with no foundation in the New Testament, was subject to exaggeration and unhealthy emphasis. Politically, rather than acting as a leaven to civilize the warlike tribes invading Western Europe, the Church had largely capitulated, adopting feudal titles and power positions itself, making war part of the culture of the day and itself part of the problem rather than part of the solution. At the universities an insistence on literal univocity produced a crude voluntarism and an overly-subtle nominalism that debased the authentic attempts by earlier schoolmen to reconcile faith and reason by doing justice to the phenomenon of human conversion; thereby intellectual expertize became severed from popular piety, and the latter fell into relic veneration and miracle mongering. In sum, the first millennium of the Christian era had concluded without the expected ‘Second Coming’ or ‘end of the world’, and Western culture was not sure what to do; it was bored! It had done everything right once, and was now often doing the same thing badly, if only to make it interesting! New virtues, and a deeper maturity, were called for. To this dispiriting situation, two responses were possible: reform or revolution. ‘Modernity’ chose revolution: out of subjective creativity ever new ingenious, marvelous, or sophisticated solutions would be forthcoming to replace institutions and conventions which had manifestly fallen short. This option had already begun with Luther, and Erasmus was aware of it, but he chose reform – for the important reason that there is a glimmer of truth still contained in the existing institutions. There is still an element of asceticism or penitential suffering contained in every authentic conversion, the separation of powers and fundamental social institutions still have a valid point and important role to play for the prospering of the individual, and if in our political and intellectual institutions we have abused or misused our powers, we can ‘touch bottom’ and correct this practice. In short, what is currently being done badly can now be done well. Most deeply, the Christian motif of the Trinity, of the Father sending his Son on a sacrificial mission beyond the original creation towards the salvation of a supposedly ‘Christian’ society gone seriously astray describes the basic structure of the universe rather than an arcane and obscure religious doctrine. It retains continual, and probably permanent, relevance for Christian discipleship – all the more so since ‘modernity’ chose revolution over reform as its response to this crisis and has mired itself in worse errors. Martin shaves off this historical dimension to offer us Erasmus as a timeless ‘Christian Epicurean’; better to have the third dimension restored. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan Dominus Mortis: Martin Luther on the Incorruptibility of God in Christ. By David J. Luy. Pp. x, 266, Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 2014, $25.99. Coming from inside the Lutheran camp, this historical study demolishes the claim that Martin Luther either intended or in fact carried out a revolution in Christology by freeing the latter from the abstract, non-biblical categories of Greek metaphysics (which produced the ‘two natures, one person’ formula of Chalcedon) but supposedly interpreted the ‘transcendence’ of the divine nature in a quantitative manner so as to remove it an infinite distance from the human and to set the two in mutual opposition. Specifically this meant that God could not change, and in particular that he could not BOOK REVIEWS suffer. This supposedly produced a ‘deistic’ divinity who was distant, self-pre-occupied, and uninvolved in the travails of the humans he was supposed to be redeeming. Cutting the Gordian knot, Luther is said to have produced instead a soteriologically-based Christology that starts off from the scriptural fact that we are saved by a single subject who is simultaneously divine and human; he stressed the immanence of the deity, his embeddedness and solidarity with the world of struggling, suffering, sinful humanity to the extent that he took the unprecedented, revolutionary step of asserting that on the cross not only the person of Christ suffered, but even Christ’s divine nature suffered. This theory delivers a melodramatic supercharge that may be introduced into homilies to produce an intense ‘Pow!’ effect, and hopefully an equally intense response by the congregation to this unexpected and metaphysically embarrassing manifestation of the deity’s concern and selftrouble on our behalf – as well as a sense of superiority that they have returned to or retrieved a ‘purer’ or ‘more biblical’ appreciation of the dynamics of the cross. Unfortunately, as Luy calmly and patiently demonstrates, this thesis is totally without foundation. In fact, Luther insisted that it is only because the divine nature of Christ cannot suffer or die that he 449 has something to ‘offer us’ above other people in the work of salvation. Without his nature free from suffering and death, he would be like a lifeguard approaching a drowning swimmer who would be pulled down into the depths by the individual he is trying to save, rather than grabbing him and the two bobbing together up to the surface and new life. Luther in fact returns to the traditional formula of the Greek theologians. Even here, however, it is disappointing that there is little emphasis on the conversion, transformation, or ‘meta-noia’ of the drowning person; instead, ‘salvation’ is imposed and works externally, as we are ‘absorbed’ into the immortality of the divine nature as a result of the ‘communication of idioms’. Rather than converting, we can remain ‘simul justus et peccator’ – how convenient! Lutheran spirituality among its clergy stressing the ‘suffering of God in Christ’ is revealed here as more a style than a substance, a muscular and melodramatic appearance of busyness and practical improvement impatient with other-worldly, contemplative ruminations leading to ‘quietistic’ union. They construct a theory to fit a style they find appealing, rather than the other way around. And ‘if you don’t fly in formation, we shoot you down.’ Heythrop College Patrick Madigan Luther’s Jews: A Journey into Anti-Semitism. By Thomas Kaufmann. Trans. By Lesley Sharpe & Jeremy Noakes. Pp. vii, 193, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2017[original German 2014], £18.99. Kaufmann sets himself to resolve the paradox created by the seeming tolerance of the Jews in Luther’s That Christ was born a Jew (1523) and the rabid anti-Judaism of On the Jews and their Lies (1543). From the final chapter of the book, we learn that Luther’s early work was indeed interpreted during the Enlightenment as a basis for granting greater freedom to Jews in German society. The later work, however, was a principal source for Nazi anti-Semitism, both in language and policy. In the course of a detailed and careful study of Luther’s dealings with actual Jews, and even more of the way in which he imagined Jews, Kaufmann resolves the paradox in two ways: one textual and one biographical. In the introduction to the 1523 work, Kaufmann highlights Luther’s phrase ‘until I can see what effect I have had’ (62, 75). Tolerance is to be granted to Jews in the hope that they will be converted to Christianity. Luther can appreciate that they would have difficulty believing in Christ when He was only known through the ‘stupid donkeys’ (59), the ‘popes, bishops, sophists and monks’ (59), but now that Luther had based faith on Scripture alone, it seemed clear to him that the message of the Old Testament pointed only to Jesus as the Christ and hence any Jew who read Scripture aright would come round to his view. Luther also called for kindness to Jews, in the hope of their conversion, just as the Jewish Apostles had treated the Gentiles kindly in the early Church (60). Luther’s optimism regarding mass conversion of Jews was not realised. Instead, he found that the ‘effect’ of his work was to encourage the Jews to be even bolder in stating their own faith. Furthermore, certain Protestants were also encouraged to read the Hebrew Bible and to translate it strictly according to the text and not according to the Christian hermeneutic that Luther saw as the only correct method of interpretation. Thus, the shift in his views twenty years later is already in germ in the early work. The second factor that helps to explain the paradox is a purely personal matter in Luther’s own 450 BOOK REVIEWS family: the death of his 13 year-old daughter. This shook him so much that he was led to vent his anger and rage against the Jews as a way of coping with grief. The language in the 1543 text as well as in an even cruder work from the same year, On the Shem Hamphoras, led even his friends to think he had gone overboard. Besides resolving this paradox, Kaufmann also succeeds very well in pointing out that the ‘Jews’ Luther attacks or discusses are not concrete persons of his own time, since he had little actual contact with real Jews. Rather, they are projections of his imagination fed by his reading of scripture, his reading of contemporary works and his familiarity with the ambient culture in all its forms, including the carvings on the church in Wittenberg. This is a timely message since it is also a warning for us today when we project on to little-known minorities and peoples, stereotypes and false images that have virtually no hold on reality. The only point at which I would take issue with the author is where he stresses that the novelty of Luther’s early approach is that he rejects the habitual ‘accusations of ritual murder, desecration of the host, and poisoning of wells’ (51) attributed to Jews. It should be borne in mind that the Popes had a long tradition of denouncing these rumours, even if popular preachers and Christians continued to spread them and use them as an excuse to persecute Jews. Thus, in this respect Luther’s restraint is similar to the standard policy of the Popes, over and against popular forms of expression. Sadly, Luther did not keep to this view, and in his later writings he also repeats the accusations to which he had earlier given no credence. For all that, Kaufmann’s work, in an excellent translation, is an outstanding book, equally useful in its contribution to an appreciation of Luther and his times, and in uncovering the unpleasant history of anti-Judaism that is a blight on European cultural history. Fu Jen Catholic University, Taiwan Edmund Ryden The Serpent and The Lamb: Cranach, Luther, and The Making of the Reformation. By Steven Ozment. Pp. x, 325, New Haven/London, Yale University Press, 2011, $25.00. Along with A Mighty Fortress: A New History of the German People (2005), this book crowns Ozment’s career as Harvard’s professor of Renaissance and Reformation history, and a disappointing performance it is. He interprets his role to be the spokesman and advocate for the persons he is studying (here Cranach, Luther, and the movement stirring at Wittenberg and Ernestine Saxony generally from c. 1505 to the defeat of the Schmalkaldic League in 1547) so far as to suspend critical investigation of the truth of what they were saying about themselves, Christian history, the ‘reforms’ they were proposing, and the consequences of their actions. Having a sympathetic point of view for the persons one is studying is one thing, but it leads this historian to commit sins of both commission and omission that compromise the depth of his study and reduce it to the level of propaganda. Cranach ‘made’ Luther’s Reformation by supplying the media tools – both traditional folk art such as altar panels and paintings in churches, renderings of classical and biblical stories, and broadsides and pamphlets making use of the new technology of printing – to advertize the Augustinian monk’s vituperative denunciations of corrupt clerics both locally and in Rome as well as a selective and distorted view of the institutional principles and the practice of Christian life, in an orgy of ‘victimhood’ such that all of our unhappiness could be cured if we just made a few fundamental changes. This was the immature response to the ‘mixed’ situation one encounters whenever one views the Church at any point short of Judgment Day; rather than seeing valid principles working with imperfect human beings, it rejected the principles for making the people feel imperfect. Remove the principles, and happiness would return. Perform a lobotomy, and you will no longer experience your psychological anxieties. Actually, Cranach emerges as a ‘fixer’ to Luther and the Saxon Elector Frederick the Wise, the way Thomas Cromwell served Henry VIII. He had no deep ideology himself, and was willing to ‘play both sides of the street’ to obtain artistic commissions for his workshop, which eventually made him one of the richest men in Wittenberg, and three times Burgomeister! ‘Making the bible stories available to the poor and illiterate’ rings false, when the folk arts of elaborate wood cuts, altar panels and biblical paintings were established genres that festooned churches generally. Celibacy was not originally a requirement for the priesthood, but was actually demanded by the people (in the East, at least for bishops) as a way of combining the holiness of the monks with the stature of a church BOOK REVIEWS dignitary, to more closely follow Jesus who – untypically for a Jew – was unmarried and gave counsels regarding celibacy, and as a way of reducing the danger of nepotism and related abuses. The same holds true for collections of relics that secular rulers assembled at this time, to which indulgences came to be attached for certain practices; there was competition with neighboring estates and shrines, and people wanted to take pride in their ‘local team’. The gospel message tried to convert the warlike tribes that invaded the empire, and feudalism was the result. It lasted past its ‘use by’ date, 451 but Luther’s was an extreme and inappropriate response. All of these practices were adiaphora – indifferent matters not essential for salvation; use them if they help you. Most deeply, Luther’s reform took away the eschatological fibre in Christianity – the conviction that we are living in the ‘final age’ – and that our actions should reflect this. Instead all is flattened out so that there is no end or telos – just one thing after another. This is the boring essence of secularism. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan The Oxford Illustrated History of the Reformation. Edited by Peter Marshall. Pp. xv, 303. Oxford University Press, 2015, $34.73. For this new history of the Reformation the editor has certainly cast his net widely so as to cover the main stream of European history over the past six centuries, not without remarkable success – which inevitably varies with his seven contributors. He may boast that these are all ‘distinguished authorities in their field’, but his boast has to be qualified by the wise old saying that distinction is as distinction does. Anyhow, it may be added that seven is a mystical number, and that the titles to each contribution seem to reflect the various aspects of the Reformation. These aspects even go back to the eve of the Reformation in the fifteenth century, when, contrary to a common opinion, the Catholic Church is shown as not so widely corrupted as it was maintained by the Protestant reformers with their apocalyptic presuppositions. Then there are two excellent chapters devoted to each of the two outstanding reformers, Martin Luther and John Calvin. If only, one sighs, the subsequent chapters could have been similarly devoted to notable individuals in one or other camp. Still, the following chapter interestingly deals with what is called “the radical Reformation”, that is, with those reformers who placed less reliance on the civil power and looked to the inner light of the Spirit, such as the Anabaptists of Munster, the Family of Love, and the later Quakers. In contrast, one is led to anticipate ‘the Catholic Reformation’, centred on the Council of Trent and the Society of Jesus. But no! Now the emphasis is laid on the peripheries of the New World in Asia and America, as newly discovered by Vasco da Gama and Christopher Columbus with their undeniable impact on the old world and ushering in the modern age. Then, considering that this book is in English and presumably destined for English readers, the editor has himself contributed a chapter on what he calls ‘Britain’s Reformations’, embracing all the lands of the (oldfashioned) ‘British Isles’. Finally, to make up the mystical number of seven, we have a concluding chapter on ‘Reformation Legacies’, showing how both sides, Protestant and Catholic, have contributed to the subsequent history of Europe from the Peace of Westphalia till the twenty-first century. As for the illustrations, which enter into the title of this volume, they are for the most part disappointingly in black and white, apart from twelve illustrations in colour grouped together in the middle. On reflection, however, this was unavoidable, considering that so much material worthy of illustration was itself black and white owing to the impact of printing, as exploited so effectively by Luther himself and other reformers. All the same, the generous casting of the net to catch so many of the fishes of the Reformation may be criticized as too generous, jumping as it does (or as the fishes do) from one country to another and from one period to another with disconcerting rapidity. Even the opening chapter, for all its welcome maintenance of Catholic vitality up to the very eve of the Reformation, as it were in the very teeth of the well- known Waning of the Middle Ages by Johan Huizinga, is a notable offender in this respect. It thus contrasts with the two chapters that follow on the personalities and proclivities of the two leading reformers, whose only defect consists in the lack of sufficient reference to the other reformers, mainly German and Swiss of the same period. In particular, more attention might have been paid to the Centuriators of Magdeburg, for their contribution of a mine of cases of Catholic corruption during the Middle Ages. I have no quarrel to make with the chapter on the lesser but more radical, or ‘spiritual’, 452 BOOK REVIEWS reformers who may be seen as standing for the original inspiration of Martin Luther, with his ‘Here I stand’ – standing for himself and no one else. On the other hand, the low water mark among all these contributions is surely plumbed by the chapter on ‘Catholic Reformation’ with its unusual emphasis on the peripheries of global Catholicism, beginning in Goa, as it were snubbing the expected discussion of the Council of Trent and the impact of the Society of Jesus in stemming the advance of Protestantism with their schools and missions, not to mention their controversies. As for the religious situation in the British Isles, a whole chapter might well have been filled with the corpulent figure of Henry VIII, with his henchman Thomas Cromwell, and another chapter on what I would like to call (with John Knox) ‘The Monstrous Regiment’. After all, so much of the history of the Reformation in the sixteenth century depended on the presence of women, on the six wives of Henry VIII, beginning with Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn and culminating in Catherine Parr, then on the varying contrasts between Mary Tudor and Elizabeth, between Elizabeth and Mary Stuart, between Elizabeth and Catherine de’ Medici in France. Finally, I would like to see an Epilogue devoted not to the contested legacies of the Reformation, which has only invited an excess of generalization, but to the rise of secularization transforming medieval England (as upheld by William Shakespeare) into modern Britain (as heralded by Sir Francis Bacon), and developing into the British Empire. Lastly, I have to add that both the editor and the publisher have been remiss in allowing this volume to pass through the printing without having duly checked the consistency of the spelling of so many different names and places, not to mention the occasional typographical errors. Sophia University, Tokyo Peter Milward Machiavelli’s Gospel: The Critique of Christianity in THE PRINCE. By William B. Parsons. Pp. x, 275, Rochester, NY, University of Rochester Press, 2016, $55.00. Contemporary interpreters of Machiavelli tend to fall either into the textually-oriented Straussian school, who view Machiavelli as an original and profound thinker, engaged in dialogue with thinkers from the classical and Christian traditions (Harvey Mansfield is the most prominent current representative), or the ‘Cambridge School’ established by J. G. A. Pocock and Quentin Skinner, who submerge Machiavelli in his 15th century context and interpret his texts through his engagements with other Italian political thinkers. They argue that his chief goal was the restoration of republicanism in his beloved Florence and in Italy as a whole. Parsons is closer to the Straussians, but he is distinguished by the stark and bold nature of his thesis. He paints a disturbing portrait of Machiavelli as advancing an almost Nietzschean critique of Jesus, the ‘unarmed prophet’, and the religion he founded, as having made citizens feel guilty about the more ‘masculine’ virtues promoted by classical culture essential both for the practice and defence of republicanism, as well as to fend off the new attack from the Ottoman empire currently threatening to overwhelm Europe - which is less squeamish about using force, due to its origin by an ‘armed prophet’, Mohammed. Thus Machiavelli is not writing as a speculative agnostic or atheist, proposing in desultory, disinterested terms an alternative possibility to the theistic framework that has undergirded the Western conversation for fifteen hundred years, but as a ‘culture critic’ or ‘therapist’ alarmed by the low level of vitality and strength that the ‘feminine’ Christian culture inculcating trust, hope, and faith – not in God, but in their fellow men – has brought about, as this culture is consequently not properly prepared to handle deceit and betrayal, which Machiavelli feels are universal and unavoidable. Ironically only the papacy, because of its corruption has thrown off the effects of its emasculating ideology, which it nevertheless deploys to exploit and enslave its own members; that is, it has made itself the one exception, as currently the most expert practitioner of the black arts based on suspicion and a pre-emptive use of force to destroy its enemies. Thus only an extirpation root and branch by a single strong and ruthless ‘Prince’ - not a ‘reformation’, let alone a ‘restoration’ – will be able to overthrow what is in reality an ‘anti-Christ’, to arrest the downward spiral, and to establish the pedagogical regime to inculcate pre-Christian virtues to the population sufficient for republican practice. Machiavelli’s works are chiefly the search, invitation, BOOK REVIEWS and summoning of such a strong, ambitious, and amoral individual to begin this Herculean labor. This is the work of a lifetime. Parsons gives exhaustive commentaries on all the important texts, but chiefly The Prince and the Discourses, to 453 substantiate his deliberately shocking thesis. He has produced a work that every serious student of Machiavelli will henceforth have to engage. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan Thomas More. By Joanne Paul. Pp. xiv, 178. Cambridge, Polity Press. 2017, £15.99. My sincere compliments are due, as reviewer, both to the publisher and to the lady author of this unique publication of Thomas More as thinker. In the proposed series of ‘Classic Thinkers’ More is rated eighth in line of succession to Leibniz, Berkeley, Hegel, Hobbes, J. S. Mill, Locke and Kant, as it were setting aside such other claimants as Bacon, Rousseau, Marx and Engels, not to mention Darwin. Needless to say, much has been written over the past few centuries on the personality and the writings of More, above all what the French would call his one jeu d’esprit, Utopia. But what is so inestimably unique about this slender volume is its concentration on More’s thought as shown in his writings, with special attention to his underlying or overriding consistency, in contrast to the often emphasized discrepancy between the humanist, as notably revealed in Utopia, and the controversialist, as manifest in his critique of Luther and his English followers from then onwards. In this volume the consistency may be said to consist in More’s insistence on what is common to most members of a community, in particular their equality as human beings; for Christians living in Europe (up till the time of Luther) this community is identified as ‘the corps of Christendom’. As for the discrepancy, it is recognized in the individualism or egocentrism, in other words the Luciferian pride, of those who venture to challenge this community, as heretics or schismatics. Hence comes the apparent division between the humanism of More’s writings (in his association with Erasmus) up till his publication of Utopia in 1516 and their controversial character first against Luther on behalf of Henry VIII, then against Tyndale and other English followers of Luther on behalf of the Bishop of London, Cuthbert Tunstall, from 1520 onwards. Moreover, over and above these writings of More, composed as they were during a lifetime busied with affairs of state on behalf of both the city and the country, further consideration is paid to their various influence on subsequent generations of thinkers and writers during the four centuries following on an unusual number of supportive biographies, or what might be termed ‘hagiographies’, including such representative thinkers as Bacon and Hobbes in the early seventeenth century, Marx and Engels in the late nineteenth century. All in all, it seems as if More is not just one among many such thinkers, whether in England or abroad, but rather towers head and shoulders above them all. On the other hand, I find I have also to offer the lady author my equally sincere condolences on having had to undertake such an impossible task as she has, with the connivance of her publisher, set herself. For this reason it is now my thankless task to draw attention to the many gaps she has left in her narrative. First, she speaks of ‘humanism’ as if it wears the same uniform face in a multitude of authors, whether in Italy or in Germany, whether among Catholics or among the so-called ‘evangelicals’, whether in the truly learned or in mere pedants (such as C. S. Lewis has stigmatized in the Introduction to his magisterial English Literature in the Sixteenth Century). Secondly, she speaks of medieval scholasticism, as if it mostly consisted in the logic-chopping of the so-called via moderna cultivated by the followers of William of Ockham (which is itself confused with the devotio moderna of Thomas A Kempis), whereas the earlier via antiqua, associated with the revered name of Thomas Aquinas, attracted the interest of Erasmus until he was dissuaded by John Colet. Thirdly, with regard to Erasmus, the lady author seems to ignore the importance of his publication of the Greek New Testament in 1516 (about the same time as More’s Utopia) in fostering the novel ideas of Luther from 1517 onwards, nor does she mention his subsequent publication, in consequence of More’s repeated persuasion to come down from the fence, of his anti-Lutheran treatise De Libero Arbitrio to which Luther responded with his De Servo Arbitrio (while recognizing this as the basic issue). Fourthly, as for More himself, the lady author pays more attention to his early ‘humanist’ writings 454 BOOK REVIEWS and disappointingly less to his later controversial writings, lumping them all together under one chapter heading, ‘The Common Corps of Christendom’, whereas each of them might well have been dwelt on in fuller detail, especially considering the seeming obstacle they raise in the minds of many modern readers. Then, too, in contrast to the emphasis laid on John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs with its denigration of More as hammer of heretics, she might well have pointed out that the book was authorized by that other hammer of Catholics, Sir William Cecil. Yet again a more thorough contrast might well have been drawn between those two literary Lord Chancellors, More with his Utopia, and Bacon with his New Atlantis, in that More as a Catholic author is basically looking into what Prospero calls ‘the dark backward and abysm of time’, whereas Bacon as a follower of Luther is aiming to do for the academic world what Luther has already done for the ecclesiastical world. Fifthly, with regard to Shakespeare, whereas she justly attends to his indebtedness to More in his historical play of Richard III and in his contribution to the MS play of Sir Thomas More (though that contribution on the May Day Riots of 1517 was his own invention), she overlooks the Utopian significance of Gonzalo’s ideal commonwealth in The Tempest, not so much in itself (based as it is on Montaigne’s Essay on Cannibals) but rather as described by the speaker as a ‘kind of merry fooling’, which is vintage More. Sophia University, Tokyo Peter Milward The Text and Contexts of Ignatius Loyola’s “Autobiography”. By John M. McManamon, S. J. Pp. xv, 230, NY, Fordham University Press, 2013, £63.18. After a long hesitation and at the instance of several of his companions, especially Jeronimo Nadal, who wanted to know ‘the way in which God instructed’ him, Ignatius Loyola dictated the recollections of his religious experiences to Luis Gonçalves da C^amara between August 1553 and 20 October 1555. The Portuguese Jesuit took no notes. He then dictated from memory to amanuenses, partly in Spanish and partly in Italian, those recollections concerning Ignatius’s spiritual life between 1521, the siege of Pamplona, and 1538, his arrival in Rome. A Latin translation by the French Annibal Du Coudray followed between 1559 and 1561. Ignatius’s recollections did not stay in circulation for long. In 1567, the general of the Society, Francis Borgia, recalled all manuscript copies. In the meantime he had instructed Father Pedro Ribadeneira to write a biography of Ignatius, which would in due course become the official biography. This was the only biography that Jesuits were permitted to read for more than two centuries. Ignatius’s reminiscences were kept, unread, in the Jesuit archives in Rome. Even after the Bollandists published the Du Coudray Latin version in 1773, Ribadeniera’s remained the official biography. Two critical editions were published, the first in 1904 (Monumenta Historica), the second in 1943 (Fontes Narrativi). It was not until the middle of the twentieth century that Ignatius’s recollections gained recognition. Variously referred to as an ‘autobiography’, ‘reminiscences’, a ‘testament’, ‘acta quaedam’ and ‘acts’, the text has been edited and translated several times in the last sixty years or so (1956, 1974, 1996, 2003). It has been read not so much as an autobiography, but rather as a spiritual journey, a book of inward transformation and spiritual growth, showing how Ignatius gradually learnt to find the voice of God and learned the principles of ‘discernment’ through experience. McManamon’s book is a remarkable contribution to the study of Ignatius’s Acta. Written by a scholar, a spiritual guide and Jesuit, the volume has a carefully planned structure. The first chapter deals with the genesis of the Acta and sets the tone for the rest of the volume. Following twentieth-century editors and scholars, McManamon emphasizes that Ignatius’s Acta is a ‘privileged and new source’, one that takes precedence over Ribadeneira’s biography, and criticizes the suppression of the Acta in favour of official biographies composed by, in his words, ‘Jesuits with impeccable counterreforming credentials’. After explaining the motivations of Borgia’s decision to remove the text from circulation, McMananon tactfully points out how Ribadeneira made a significant chronological alteration in his life of Ignatius. Ribadeneira, of course, consulted the Acta and so knew that Erasmus was mentioned there in an episode which happened in Alcala in 1526. However in his biography Ribadeneira mentions Erasmus only in connection with an event that occurred in 1524 in Barcelona, namely when Ignatius gave up reading Erasmus’s Enchiridion in disgust. The change enabled him to represent Ignatius as opposing Erasmus early on in life. McManamon intimates from the start that the Acta should be read as an examen of consciousness rather than an autobiography. What, he asks, led Ignatius to dictate his reminiscences in the form of an examen of consciousness? What brought him to BOOK REVIEWS make public his reflections on the actions of God in his life? In the second and third chapters, inspired respectively by Marjorie O’ Rourke Boyle’s monograph (1997) on Ignatius’s Acta and O’Malleys’s work on the mission of the early Jesuits (1993), McManamon suggests that Ignatius’s main purposes in dictating his reminiscences were twofold. One was to deter his men from the sin of vainglory, which O’Rourke Boyle identifies as Ignatius’s ‘typical vice’. The other was to remind them of the importance of apostolic service, which O’Malley highlights as characteristic of the early Jesuits vocation. After a succinct account of the meaning of vainglory gathered from the Scriptures, the Fathers, Eastern and Western spiritual writers up until Cassian, McManamon shows that Ignatius’s major concern was to avoid this sin, an emphasis also evident in the The Spiritual Exercises. He leads the reader through the Acta, showing how Ignatius’s preoccupation with vainglory surfaces in the text. ‘Every aspect of Ignatius’s life,’ McManamon comments ‘as he remembered it, was infected by the thirst for public recognition’. ‘Foolhardiness in war, defending Pamplon or voyaging through fleets of pirates, flamboyant asceticism, bravado in captivity’ emphasize, in McManamon’s view, Ignatius’s ‘narcissistic’ personality. He concludes that Ignatius had recounted the course of his spiritual life to Gonçalves da C^amara because ‘at that point in their lives, they both needed to reflect seriously on the vice of vainglory’. To teach Jesuits not to be vainglorious was Ignatius’s way of assisting his companions. Ignatius’s second purpose was to remind his fellow Jesuits to follow their apostolic vocation, and encourage them to steel themselves for the controversies that their apostolic mission would engender. McManamon leads the reader through the Acta, illustrating the kind of life that Ignatius expected his men to follow. He wanted for them a life very similar to that of the early apostles: a long pilgrimage in the service and help of their neighbours through the teaching of catechism, work in hospitals and prisons, and care of prostitutes and orphans. All this done for the greater glory of God. The fourth chapter, entitled ‘the Acta as mirror of Luke’, is McManamon’s original contribution to the reading of Ignatius’s reminiscences. His comparison between the Acta and Luke’s gospel follows his explanation, in chapters two and three, of the importance of the themes of vainglory and the apostolic life. The call to conversion, the importance of humility and consolation and the dynamism of apostolic life are typical traits of Luke’s gospel as they are in Ignatius’s Acta. In McManamon’s view 455 Luke’s narrative made Ignatius reflect on the ‘acts’ of God in his own life. Ignatius’s recourse to Luke was deliberate. Whether Ignatius was directly influenced - or inspired as McManamon believes - by the writings of Luke we shall never know for certain. His suggestion, however, has much to commend it. Above all the comparison between the two texts highlights further aspects of the Jesuits’ way of proceeding as evinced in Ignatius’s narrative, especially the cost of discipleship and the universalism of ministry in the Spirit of Jesus. It also explains how Ignatius came to think of an innovative society of vowed religious dedicated to a mendicant life in the world. The fifth chapter returns to the theme of historical contextualization that characterizes the opening chapter by setting the Acta in the broader context of its times. Here the themes of the three preceding chapters are related to Renaissance culture rather than the Catholic agenda of the Counter-Reformation. McManamon shows how the ‘world affirming style of holiness’ through which Ignatius discerned God’s calling had much in common with Italian Renaissance developments, especially with humanism and its concerns with learning and education, the principles of charity and solidarity, the appreciation of the Incarnation and the desire for the rebirth of the apostolic of age. The endorsement of dialogue and the flexibility of the practice characteristic of the Spiritual Exercises also derive from Renaissance culture. McManamon’s book, especially chapters 1 and 5, will appeal to those interested in the genesis and historical context of Ignatius’s Acta. It will also appeal to readers seeking for spiritual nourishment inasmuch as chapter 2, 3 and 4 develop into parallel commentaries on the Acta. It is a scholarly piece of work but one that is accessible to the non-specialist. All scholarly documentation is relegated to endnotes at the end of the book. McManamon invites the reader to ‘savour’ (to use an expression dear to Ignatius) a text that is the closest we shall ever have to an autobiography of St Ignatius. There are perhaps some points in McManamon’s interpretation that are open to question. In particular, was Ignatius’s aim in dictating his reminiscences, as McManamon claims, to teach Jesuits not to be vainglorious? Or could it be that the main purpose of the Acta was simply to describe how God had led him to Rome and to the founding of the Society through a long series of experiences during which his mind, in particular his vainglory, had been rectified and brought into harmony with Truth? And could it be, too, that Ignatius delayed recounting the story of his spiritual life because he 456 BOOK REVIEWS suspected that such an account might be prompted by vainglory? However we answer these questions future studies of Ignatius’s recollections will owe much to McManamon’s volume. It marks, essentially, the moment when the modernist tendency of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century has come to fruition. In 1900 the first English translation of Ignatius’s Acta was published in London with the title The Testament of Ignatius Loyola. It contained a preface by George Tyrrell SJ, a translation by a certain E.M. Rix, quite possibly Tyrrell himself, together with ample notes at the end of each chapter, and a bibliographical appendix by Tyrrell’s fellow Jesuit Herbert Thurston. The volume was not well received in the Order. In a letter dated 3 May 1900 Fr Richard Clarke SJ from Campion Hall Oxford reported Tyrrell to the Jesuit Curia in Rome, beseeching his superiors to have the book withdrawn from circulation. What horrified him was Tyrell’s insistence that we should ‘study things in the light of their origin and growth’, the Acta included. This is exactly what McManamon has achieved and, in so doing, he has portrayed Ignatius as, not so much the Counter-Reformation Saint and soldier, but as a graced sinner and spiritual leader fashioned by the Renaissance world in which he grew up and lived. Above all he has provided us with a study of, to quote Thurston, ‘that primary document which must always serve as the foundation for any rational study of his [viz Ignatius’s] life’. Heythrop College Francesca Bugliani Knox Music as Cultural Mission: Explorations of Jesuit Practices in Italy and North America (Early Modern America and the Visual Arts Series Vol.9). Edited by Anna Harwell Celenza and Anthony DelDonna. Pp. xii, 229, Philadelphia, St Joseph’s University Press, 2014, hardback, $65.00. The ten papers collected here have their origins in a conference held in 2008 at Georgetown University’s Villa Le Balze in Fiesole, entitled The Jesuits and Music: Scholarship, Patronage and Performance. The focus of attention is on Italy and particularly Naples (there is one paper on Milan) from the foundation of the Jesuits in the sixteenth century until their suppression in 1773, and on Georgetown University in the United States from its foundation in 1789 until 1930. The main concern is the Jesuit mission in these locations and how they promoted their educational programme through music and theatrical performance using sung catechisms, oratorios and so on. The difficulty is that there is precious little music to examine as virtually all the scores have disappeared, possibly destroyed with other archive material at the Jesuit suppression in the late eighteenth century. For the most part, the authors who look to Naples have to examine libretti. The one score that has survived is the Trionfo per Assunzione della Sanctissima Vergine by Nicolo Ceva (a composer about whom we know next to nothing), written for four voices representing Maria, Divine Love, Glory and Zeal, with string accompaniment. The libretto has gone but the words have been preserved in the score. It seems to be typical of many of the works promoted by the Jesuits in their churches at this time: their words are said to be dignified but not inspirational, about saints, doctrines and liturgical events, but rarely scriptural. Other chapters describe how Andrea Perrucci’s theatrical treatise Dell’arte rappresentativa (On the Art of Acting) was influenced by and in turn influenced the practice of Jesuit theatrical performance in Naples; chart issues of the Gazzetta di Napoli from 1675 to 1768 for evidence of Jesuit performances; and show how musical events and spectacles supplemented the education of young aristocratic men – which included fencing and jousting – at the College of Nobles. There has been a debate, of course, about whether the Jesuits were ever interested in music given that they have never had an obligation to say or sing the daily office together. However, the authors have here unearthed enough evidence to show that, in order to further their religious and educational mission, they made sure that performances were put on, even if they did little by way of writing libretti and composing scores. At least they made it possible for other groups, such as religious confraternities, to flourish. Georgetown University was founded during the Jesuit suppression but they and their musical activities seem to have continued far from Rome in the newly liberated United States of America as well as Tsarist Russia, both non-Catholic countries. In this part of the book we have accounts of the academic appointments in music at Georgetown, and the musical activities, classical and popular BOOK REVIEWS (mandolin, banjo and glee clubs), up to 1930. The high point seems to have been the award of an honorary doctorate to Arturo Toscanini. Michael Zampelli SJ brings some liveliness to the research by describing how he revived four Jesuit-related theatrical works from the eighteenth century (two with music by Charpentier) in modern contexts, 457 including the emergence of child abuse in the Boston diocese. This is a finely produced and illustrated book that will be valued by those who interests correspond with the admittedly rather narrow research represented here. Harrogate, UK Geoffrey Turner Setting Off from Macau: Essays on Jesuit History during the Ming and Qing Dynasties (Jesuit Studies 5). By Kaijian Tang. Pp. ix, 331, Leiden/Boston, Brill, 2016 $187.00. The Jesuit Reading of Confucius: The First Complete Translation of the Lunyu (1687) Published in the West (Jesuit Studies 3). By Thierry Meynard SJ. Pp. ix, 675, Leiden/Boston, Brill, 2015, $210.00. The first Jesuit mission to arrive in China settled on the island of Macau under Portuguese protection in 1555. The Jesuits were soon joined by Franciscans, Dominicans and Augustinians. It was in Macau that the members of the Society and other missionaries to China were to be trained and from there that they made their way to the Chinese mainland and witnessed the later years of the Ming dynasty (which lasted until 1644) and much of the Qing dynasty (which came to an end in 1911). Hardly any of the authors of previous studies of the missions in China, Professor Kaijian Tang points out, were sufficiently proficient in both Chinese and the relevant European languages to be able to read all the documentation. His Setting Off from Macau, which draws heavily on Chinese sources as well as European ones, seeks to remedy the inevitable onesidedness of earlier research. At first the results are somewhat discouraging. The Chinese material which he uses seems to yield little – and very little indeed that is not contained in western documents. We get names, of individuals and of church buildings, and we get dates, but this makes for arid reading. Readers, moreover, might have preferred a more functional map of southern China to the eighteenth-century one which has been provided. As Kaijian Tang’s book progresses, however, it becomes increasingly interesting. Although the Catholic community in Macau formed what was regarded as a Portuguese settlement, the island was always open to intervention from the mainland. Attempts to build city walls without the authorisation of the Chinese, for example, ended in their being demolished. Nevertheless the island did become something of a safe haven for Christians in the Far East. Chinese Catholics from the mainland sought refuge there in times of persecution, and, to the concern of the Chinese government, it attracted Christians from Japan, first slaves who had been converted to Catholicism by the Portuguese, but also converts whose religion was banned in the late sixteenth century. A popular method of converting members of the local population to Catholicism was to pay them a small sum of money, and an intriguing aspect of the missions is the manner in which they were financed. Some of their income came from predictable sources – the papacy and the great western monarchs who, at various times, claimed to protect them, the kings of Portugal, Spain and France. Donations were also made by the Portuguese governors and merchants, and by rich Chinese converts. But there were two less obvious sources. There were the banks which the Society had established, the trade in which it indulged (as did the other missions), and the land it had bought. The banks earned interest on loans, the trade was profitable, and the land yielded rent. And then there were the salaries provided by the Chinese government to those missionaries who were employed by the royal court. The sums involved were seldom large, but they indicated the degree of influence which some of the Jesuits managed to exert. Another indication of the influence of the missions was the introduction of western art, music and artefacts. Tradition had it that western art entered China with that most famous of the Jesuits in the Far East, Matteo Ricci, who arrived in Macau in 1582. But Kaijian Tang argues that it was introduced many years earlier, in the 1540s by way of a trading base established by the Portuguese at Shangyu in Ningbo where the Chinese could admire a window painting and sculptures in the local church. Other churches followed – the cathedral in Macau made a deep impression – and local Chinese 458 BOOK REVIEWS artists took their place beside the European painters and architects who embellished Macau. In 1579 western art was carried to the Chinese mainland by a group of Franciscans. They had portraits in their baggage which delighted the governor general in Zhaoqing, and the visual arts soon became one of the missionaries’ most successful forms of propaganda. Thanks to the missionaries, too, western music and western instruments came into fashion amongst the Chinese, making their way from Macau to the mainland and fascinating the imperial court. But no western artefact was so popular in China as the clock, and the Society of Jesus consequently became noted for its ‘clock diplomacy’. Until well into the seventeenth century clocks could be relied on to gain the benevolence of the Chinese authorities. While the Chinese themselves became ever better at making copies, the western originals continued to maintain their prestige, not, as Kaijian Tang reminds us, because they were an accurate means of telling the time, but because they were regarded as status symbols, as desirable forms of decoration, and ‘as a kind of toy’. Perhaps the greatest difficulty facing missionaries in China was the language. Kaijian Tang gives us relatively little information about how Chinese was taught. To find out more we must turn to Thierry Meynard’s Jesuit Reading of Confucius: The First Complete Translation of the Lunyu (1687) Published in the West. The text which Fr Maynard has edited is the translation of a favourite Confucian work, the Lunyu or Third Book of Chinese Learning, with later commentaries, published as Confucius Sinarum philosophus, sive scientia sinensis. Many members of the Society in China had endeavoured to translate part, or the whole, of Confucius’ Four Books. Matteo Ricci’s popular translation has been lost, but it was with a manuscript of it that generations of Jesuits studied the Chinese language in Macau. Other translations followed and were put to the same purpose. In 1662 a team of Jesuits published the Sapientia Sinica which contained the Daxue and the first half of the Lunyu, in Chinese and with an interlinear Latin translation, and then, in 1667 and 1669, the Sinarum scientia politico-moralis including the Zhongyong and an expanded version of the ‘Life of Confucius’. The two editions, in Maynard’s words, ’share a number of similarities: a literal translation of the classical text, a juxtaposition of Chinese and Latin texts, a transliteration of the Chinese characters, and superscript numbers allowing the identification of a Chinese character with a Latin word. These books were clearly written with the intention of teaching the new missionaries how to understand, read aloud, and memorize the Chinese texts.’ Published in Paris in 1687, however, Confucius Sinarum philosophus could hardly be used to teach the Chinese language since the printer had no Chinese characters. It was thus entirely in Latin. Mainly prepared by four Jesuits named on the titlepage, Prospero Intorcetta, Christian Herdtrich, François de Rougement and Philippe Couplet, it can in fact be regarded as the crowning achievement of numerous members of the Society, including Ricci and Michele Ruggieri a century earlier and the later Inacio Da Costa. One of its most interesting features is the manner in which the Jesuits not only ‘interwove different Chinese interpretations of the same text’ but themselves adapted Confucius and his commentators to Catholic tastes and beliefs, emphasising those points in his philosophy and that of his later commentators which were most consonant with Christianity, stressing his dislike of Buddhism, and applying one of his prophetic statements to the advent of Christ. But caution was still necessary, and the suspicion that the Jesuits might regard Confucius as a saint was tempered by their emphasis on him as a philosopher. Meynard concludes his excellent introductory analysis of the Jesuit translation of the Lunyu with an assessment of its influence in Europe. A European readership had already been introduced to Confucius by Melchisedech Thevenot who published the Politico-moralis in 1672 but without the Chinese characters. An abridged version of the Sinarum Philosophus was produced in Paris in a French translation by Simon Foucher in 1688. In the same year another abridged French version appeared in Amsterdam. Although this too was attributed to Foucher, the authorship remains uncertain. In each case, however, Confucius was presented as a thinker whose morality was fully compatible with Christianity, and the ground was laid for his immense popularity in the Enlightenment when he gained the esteem of Leibniz, Wolff, Bayle and Voltaire. In his edition Meynard has added to the Latin original a fluent and elegant English translation as well as the Chinese of the quotations from Confucius. The result is an admirable contribution to a number of fields – the history of the Society and its missions, the history of the study of Chinese, and the reception of Confucius in the West. The Warburg Institute, London Alastair Hamilton BOOK REVIEWS 459 The Visitor: Andr e Palmeiro and the Jesuits in Asia. By Liam Matthew Brockey. Pp. x, 515, Cambridge/ London, Harvard University Press, 2014, $29.95. This is the biography of an exemplary Jesuit professor of theology in Portugal who became the ‘Visitor’ or official delegate of the superior general of the Jesuits during the rapid expansion of this missionary order during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, first visiting the Province of India, then the Province of Japan (which he never saw, operating out of Macau during the persecutions), and finally the ‘vice-province’ of China during the dying days of the Ming dynasty. Brockey uses this life as a prism through which to view the entire history of the Jesuit order during the extraordinary century after its foundation when it grew exponentially through the patronage of the late Renaissance monarchies of Portugal, Spain and France on their way to becoming ‘Absolute’ monarchies, and rode the waves of their colonial expansion to establish a network of collegios, parishes, and mission stations that literally circled the globe. Palmeiro in fact became the Visitor – and de facto superior – of the risky extension of their expansion beyond the control and protection of the Portuguese overseas empire, in Japan and China, where the success, and eventually the survival, of Christian foundations depended on the permission and tolerance of heathen rulers who were both greedy for the gifts, science, and possibility of profits these strange celibate proselytizers in black might bring, but also suspicious of their new doctrine of the ‘Lord of Heaven’ that might criticize or undermine their policies or lead to popular uprisings. Brockey’s treatment is encyclopedic and exhaustive, and he frames the story artfully as the Jesuits – and European colonial expansion – reaches a ‘tipping point’ in the persecution and expulsion of the Jesuits from Japan, symbolized powerfully by the apostasy under torture of the prominent professed Jesuit father Cristovao Ferreira in 1633. After this, the awe-inspiring Jesuit expansion goes into reverse, suffering repeated failures, expulsions, and withdrawals, with the various ‘suppressions’ of the order starting ironically in Portugal, then Spain and France, culminating in the suppression of the entire order in 1773. Strangely, Brockey offers no explanation for this eclipse, other than something like ‘Bad Luck’ or ‘They lost.’ Yet his account of the distinctive characteristics of the ‘Old Company’ shows the pernicious effects of the wedding of the Church to the feudal order that it was forced to accept when barbarian tribes invaded the late Roman empire. Initially trying to tame their warlike ways, abbots and bishops eventually became part of the system, rather than its corrective. The courtier Ignatius Loyola – proud, sensitive, and ambitious – imported this feudal mind-set as the unconscious presupposition for an order that became characterized by zeal for ‘the greater glory of God’. The Jesuits were speedily taken up and patronized by the ‘Absolute’ monarchs of Europe to supply an excellent education – and ideological foundation – for their early modern colonial ambitions. The European Enlightenment propagated a distemper and allegiance to ‘Absolute’ freedom to eclipse and counter the ‘Absolute’ allegiance of many colonists across the seas to their nominal rulers. Viewed as agents and ministers of the crown by which they were protected, Jesuits became scapegoats and targets for anger and resentments directed at the distant, but unreachable, political autocrat. Many Catholic orders were founded during the 19thcentury in the aftermath of the French Revolution, but strangely – or appropriately – none of them wanted to go back to the ancien r egime. A page had been turned. The Jesuits were allowed to come back in 1814 when – as with the Israelites who were forced to wander 40 years in the desert before entering the Promised Land – the entire generation that had sinned had died off. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan Envoys of a Human God: The Jesuit Mission to Christian Ethiopia, 1557-1632 (Jesuit Studies. Modernity Through the Prism of Jesuit History). By Andreu Martinez d’Alos-Moner. Pp. 419, Leiden/Boston, Brill, 2015, $203.00. Since the Middle Ages, Europeans have been obsessed with the existence of a legendary Christian King deep in heathen territory. On the mythical maps of medieval and early modern times, the realm of ‘Prester John’ was first located somewhere in India, and later also in Africa, where 460 BOOK REVIEWS the existence of a powerful Christian king had been assumed for centuries. It was the Portuguese rulers who, in the fifteenth century, started various expeditions in order to find Prester John and to establish contact with him. With the legendary king, whose dominions were assumed to be much vaster than they actually were, they hoped to find a formidable ally in their struggle against the archenemy of Christianity, Islam. A number of attempts by sea and by land to find the Preste were initiated under King Jo~ao II (1481-1495) with the expedition by P^ero da Covilh~a being finally successful in reaching the Christian kingdom in Ethiopia. In the coming decades a number of diplomatic exchanges between the Ethiopian and the Portuguese court ensued and in 1627 a first envoy of the Negus, the priest S€agga Z€a’ab, arrived in Lisbon. The Ethiopian envoy came to Portugal at a time of religious consolidation and his religious convictions were relentlessly scrutinized apparently in a rather undiplomatic manner. The result of repeated inquisitions was the emergence of fundamental ‘errors’ perceived to exist within the Ethiopian Church – from Christological differences to the ‘Jewish and Muhammadan’ practices of circumcision, observation of the Sabbath and dietary restrictions – and the beginning of the Jesuit missionary project which is the topic of this fascinating study by Andreu Martınez d’Alos-Moner. The book is by far the most detailed and most comprehensive account of the rise and the sudden collapse of the great Jesuit enterprise to reform the Ethiopian Church and to ‘bring her back’ into union with the Roman Catholic Church. The work covers the years 1555/7, when the first convoys of fathers arrived in Ethiopia, to the decade of 1630, when, after the death of the Ethiopian emperor Susenyos, the Jesuits lost their local support and the mission quickly collapsed. Based on the thorough study of an impressive range of published and unpublished Jesuit sources, the book tells the story of this missionary venture from multiple perspectives. One of its greatest achievements is the vivid impression it presents of the material conditions, the sociopolitical structure, the institutional setting, the geographical spread, and the theological rifts under which the Jesuits tried to fulfil their missionary vocation. Illustrated by a great number of informative tables, figures, maps and plates the reader can form a detailed idea of the dangers, challenges and even the costs of the journey to Ethiopia (51-8; Table 2, 59), of the average age of the Jesuits missionaries and the mean length of their services in Ethiopia or before that in India (Tables 4-5; 11), of the speed and main routes of communication for the mission (Table 7, 102-4), or of estimates of expenditure and revenues for the mission (Tables 14 – 16). Far from being idle details, these and the many other data the author has gathered from his sources provide revealing insights into the specific nature of the Ethiopian mission, its functioning, and its shortcomings. Hence the reader learns for example that the via ordinaria by which the Jesuits travelled was from the Gujarat port of Diu to Sawakin and Massawa in the Red Sea. An important implication of this information is not only that the Jesuits depended on the support of Armenian merchants and the protection of Ottoman officials if they wanted to travel the route via the Red Sea. It also makes immediately clear the strong influence Portuguese India had in shaping mission culture in Ethiopia. The author documents this influence in many areas, from the prior instruction and training of the missionaries, for example at the College of S~ao Paulo in Goa, to the similarities between the new Church buildings in Ethiopia and the Jesuit Indian Churches. The fact that a letter could take up to two and a half years to travel from Ethiopia to Portugal and up to four months to India, gave autonomy to the mission, for the day-to-day policies were in the hands of the missionaries themselves. (104) But it also highlights the importance of competent leadership on the spot and of the training and education of the missionaries. The lack of both was, according to Martınez d’Alos-Moner, one of the main reasons why the Jesuit mission in Ethiopia during its first period between 1555 and 1603 made hardly any headway. Its leader, the Spaniard Andres de Oviedo, who also became the Patriarch of Ethiopia, as well as his companions ‘had not been fully shaped according to the Jesuit modo nostro and, intellectually speaking, they might have been poorly prepared to work in difficult and distant latitudes.’ (88). This changed with the arrival of the Castilian Pedro Paez and a group of young and skilled missionaries who, ‘having gone through the full Jesuit curriculum in education, possessed an excellent intellectual preparation and had the confidence of belonging to an institution that was active over four continents’ (338). But the second phase of the Jesuit mission in Ethiopia also profited from a number of other factors set forth by the author. Among them is the important role played by the Ethio-Portuguese mixed-race group, which had its origin in a Portuguese military campaign against Muslim troops in the Northern Ethiopian provinces in the mid-sixteenth century. A highlight of the book is the chapter on Mission Politics and in particular the paragraph Beyond Absolutism (176-199), in which Martınez d’AlosMoner presents a revisionist approach to the alleged BOOK REVIEWS participation of the Jesuits in a project of state absolutism under the emperor Susenyos. He argues convincingly that decades of exchange with Europeans ‘brought about a transformation in the habits of Ethiopian nobility and sectors of the higher clergy’ (191). I am doubtful whether it is necessary to invoke Norbert Ellias’ idea of a process of civilization, with all its theoretical and ideological pitfalls, in order to explain this transformation towards a European inspired bureaucracy and state government. Martınez’ conclusion is compelling without it: ‘. . .the Catholic discourse emphasizing the human God, the earthy Iy asus, i.e. Jesus, was all too fitting for an ideology of power where the once divine king was giving way to a rational and prudent head of an expanding, bureaucratic state. Humanizing the concept of God thus went hand in hand with the process of rationalizing power’ (193). However, it is well known that the acceptance of the Roman Catholic religion in Ethiopian society was a transient phenomenon, and the book shows well how it was limited to certain layers and exponents of society and supported by a consciously subtle approach under the leadership of Pedro Paez. 461 Martınez’ discussion of the sudden collapse of the mission in the last part is as judicious as the rest of the book and tries to make sense of the failure of the mission from political, social, cultural, religious and even psychological perspectives. The Jesuits’ growing political and religious influence, their opposition to religious rituals and traditional practices deeply ingrained in Ethiopian society, as well as a myriad of religious and cultural clashes, both large and small, led to a growing discontent and to open rebellion against their presence. Andreu Martınez d’Alos-Moner has written a superb and comprehensive study of the origin, rise and fall of the Jesuit mission in Ethiopia. This great achievement will be the standard work on this venture for many years to come. Thoroughly researched and well structured, the book presents the vast material in a consistently interesting narrative, which is complemented by five appendices, an extensive bibliography and a detailed index. The University of Kent, Canterbury Jan Loop Book of Honors for Empress Maria of Austria. A translation with an introductory study and facsimile of the emblems. Prepared by Antonio Bernat Vistarini, John T. Cull and Tamas Sajo. Pp. 248 (plus facsimile). Philadelphia, Saint Joseph’s University Press, 2011, $65.00. Historians frequently ask the question: Who paid for the Counter-Reformation? From a Jesuit perspective, the Habsburgs could lay claim to the title. Various members of that dynasty founded Jesuit colleges in Spain, the Low Counties, and the Holy Roman Empire. However, in the succinct analysis of Hugo Rahner, S.J., Ignatius Loyola [and subsequent Jesuits] ‘owed his influence over the princes of this family largely to the friendly terms on which he stood with the ladies of the imperial house’ (Saint Ignatius Loyola. Letters to Women [Freiburg, 1960], p. 29). The Empress Maria was the oldest daughter of Emperor Charles V and Isabella of Portugal; she was the sister of King Philip II of Spain, the wife of Emperor Maximilian II, mother of Emperor Rudolf II, and both grandmother and aunt of King Philip III. [Inter-marriage between the Austrian and Spanish branches of the family created a complex family tree.] Upon the death of her husband in 1576, Maria returned to Madrid to live in the convent founded by her sister Juana of Austria, famous in Jesuit history as the only woman ever admitted into the Society of Jesus. The sisters shared a fervent devotion to the Jesuits and a fierce opposition to Protestantism. Maria, at her death in 1603, left most of her estate to the small Jesuit college, established in Madrid in 1566 in anticipation of the permanent move of the Spanish court to its new capital. [It should be noted here that Francis Xavier could not have approved the college’s foundation in 1566 because he had died in 1552. Surely the authors intend Francis Borgia.] The new college opened in 1608, eventually challenged the traditional Spanish universities for influence and importance, and closed with the expulsion of Jesuits from Spain in 1767. Jesuits of Madrid commemorated their benefactor’s death with elaborate funeral rituals, scheduled to coincide with the provincial congregation so that the major superiors and senior religious of the province could attend. Jesuit predilection for public displays of poetry and emblems was well established by Maria’s death. Moreover they promised to say 35,000 Masses for her. Banners and emblems decorated the church. The illustrious Jesuit theologian Juan Luis Cerda extolled the empress’s virtues and lauded the house of Habsburg for its defence of European Catholicism in a long Latin prayer. The even more illustrious Jesuit Jeronimo de Florencia used Job 39: 27-30 462 BOOK REVIEWS [‘Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up and makes his nest on high? On the cliff he dwells and lodges, upon the rocky crag, an inaccessible place. From there he spies out food: His Eyes see it from afar. His young ones also suck up blood; And where the slain are, there is he.’] for an even longer Spanish sermon. The eagle in the imperial coat-of-arms probably influenced the preacher’s selection of the text. With the possible exception of a miracle attributed to Maria, all emblems displayed illustrate and re-enforce Florencia’s principal points. Numerous anonymous poems most likely written by students of the college were included in the subsequent publication of the oration, sermon, and emblems. Few copies of the Spanish original, tastefully and tactfully dedicated to Maria’s daughter, Margaret of Austria, a nun in the same convent of the Poor Clares, Descalzas Reales, are extant. Buildings, chairs, lectures and programmes are named after today’s benefactors. The quiet voice of Shelley’s ‘traveller from an antique land’ intoning Ozymandias’s ‘Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair’ invokes a frisson of mortality. Maria received no naming rights. The Society of Jesus expressed its gratitude after her death with this Libro de las Honras (Book of Honors). One poet proclaims ‘The Empress has not died, but is still living; she who the empire has placed in the tomb of her fathers. For her soul is in heaven, her body ion the earth and her glory, heralding her virtues, remains everywhere.’ The poet invites an ‘old traveller’ to roll back the stone and look into Maria’s tomb: ‘For even if her body lies in the tomb and she withdrew from life, her virtue has not perished, but alone has survived the funeral pyre’ (p. 207). This is the fifth volume in the press’s Early Modern Catholicism and the Visual Arts Series. Like the others it is beautifully and carefully produced at a reasonable price. All concerned should be congratulated for a fine translation of an excellent example of a genre not well known in the English-speaking world. Jesuit Provincial Archives Thomas M. McCoog The Strange and Terrible Visions of Wilhelm Friess: The Paths of Prophecy in Reformation Europe. By Jonathan Green. Pp. xi, 207, Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 2014, $55.50. Following upon his Printing and Prophecy (2011), which covered the first century of printing (14501550), Green here traces the printing history of the most popular prophetic pamphlet of the late 16th century (and beyond), the prophecies of Wilhelm Friess of Maastricht. It is a sad fact from the history of technology that what first seems to be discovered are ways in which it can be exploited and abused before ways it can and should be used responsibly. With printing, broadsides and pamphlets were the most lucrative genre for printers to specialize in; before there were newspapers, the former offered information and commentary on current events with the frisson of uncovering secret information. They gave a voice and provided fodder for those who were disaffected and discontent under the guise of a supposedly expert or scholarly interpretation of the current political and religious scene. Produced cheaply, a sensational pamphlet could sell thousands of copies and go through numerous editions; it is hardly accidental that this new technology was taken up enthusiastically by the heterodox, rebellious, and subversive movements of the later middle ages, moving into the various reform movements of the early modern period. Astrological patterns or unusual climatic events from the almanac were retailed as confirming dire predictions, some going back as far as the Old Testament, some even proclaiming the imminent second coming of Christ or the End of the World. This genre fit in well with the provocative intent behind the reformers’ program to translate scripture into the vernacular (‘The authorities, civil and ecclesial, have kept the truth from you, but now for the first time we are going to make these facts available to you.’); biting criticisms of institutions the reformers wanted to remove or replace could be disguised behind scriptural symbolism and learned disquisitions on astronomical conjunctions. This early form of ‘yellow journalism’ or samizdat pandered to, fed off and stoked sentiments of bitterness, anger, r essentiment and victimization, as well as glee in tweaking authorities’ noses and getting away with buying and selling forbidden texts. This is certainly the case with these ‘strange and terrible visions’ – actually two different sets of prophecies attributed in succession to the same man, Wilhelm Friess, who is himself a fiction used to supply authority and anonymity to the true authors who ‘mixed and matched’ these visions as they moved from southern France in the time of the Cathars, to Antwerp, then to Basel, and finally to Strasbourg. It is no accident that they gravitated towards the group that was the most alienated and critical of the official (Hapsburg and French Royal) BOOK REVIEWS Society and the Roman Church – the Reformed wing of the Reformation who in the end lashed out even at their Lutheran brethren for having made too many compromises, and who reduced the true 463 church to ‘me and my brother – and I’m not sure about my brother’ Heythrop College Patrick Madigan The Astronomer & the Witch: Johannes Kepler’s Fight for his Mother. By Ulinka Rublack. Pp. xxxii, 359, Oxford University Press, 2015, £20.00. Johannes Kepler (1571-1630) is renowned for defending Copernicus’ sun-centred model of our universe, boldly announcing that planetary motion is not circular but elliptical, and defining three laws of planetary motion; that is, he took one step away from the ‘sacred’ view of the heavens and towards the secular. Less well known is the fact that in 1615, when he was at the height of his career, his widowed mother Katharina was accused of witchcraft. The proceedings led to a criminal trial that lasted six years, with Kepler conducting his mother’s defense. Rublack displays exemplary Tůtigkeit in conducting exhaustive research in the relevant archives and libraries. It turns out that the provocation for such labour is that the other scholars who have written on this episode repeat the spectrum of opinions on whether Katharina’s behaviour justified such a charge, given the beliefs and presuppositions of the period. It was clearly borderline, but she was old, illiterate, and had had a difficult life. Rublack transports us persuasively into the situation of an independent Lutheran scholarship boy getting into trouble for embracing a Calvinistic theory of the Eucharist and working frequently in Catholic Hapsburg territories; the strength of her presentation lies in showing how the religious, philosophical, political, social and ethical dimensions of society interconnected, and which rules an individual had to follow to navigate their way in a world that was worryingly in transition. This last point seems to have been decisive for explaining the rise in charges of witchcraft (with frequent public executions) that marked the late 16th and early 17th centuries. Hundreds of women, and some men, lost their lives to the craze during this period. While Rublack has all the data, she writes still in a heavily Germanic style rather than idiomatic English. She lacks contemporary reference points for comparisons that would brilliantly illustrate points she is making. For example, in discussing Kepler’s practice of casting horoscopes and his belief in astrology for accounting for character traits that condition, but do not remove, human freedom in action, she could have referenced contemporary psychological versions of the same relationship, such as the Myers-Briggs personality diagram or the Enneagram. She does not do so, which makes this age appear more distant from our own than it is. For an English-speaking audience she could have underlined the tremendous authority and respect accorded to a German Fachmann of any sort – and the corresponding responsibility he feels to be able to expound on any topic within this Fach. This leads to a deeper difference. The historian Frederick Jackson Turner claimed that, if you want to understand Americans, you must include the notion of the ‘frontier’ – the western boundary that meant there was always more land to go to on the far side. This functioned as a ‘safety-valve’ that people could use to escape social tensions wherever they found themselves – a kind of secular ‘sanctuary’. Modern air travel produces an analogous ‘frontier’ for many people today. This is relevant because there was no such ‘frontier’ in Germany – or any other European country, unless you emigrated to the ‘colonies’ – in the early modern period. People lived next to one another, and could not escape one another; they were closely, if discretely, observed (and judged) in all of their behaviour, and were forced to retaliate at least through observing and judging others. ‘Turn the other cheek’ was a luxury one could not indulge even in Christian countries – especially in Christian countries after the Reformation. The stresses and strains associated with the Reformation were only beginning to be felt as it celebrated its first centenary; happiness would give way to dismay and horror as Germany was sucked into the Thirty Years War. Making charges and retaliating in kind was almost mandatory behaviour if one wanted to survive; you had to always be ‘watching your back’ – because somebody else always was. Rublack could have done more with contemporary social-psychological theories of ‘scapegoating’ – a la Rene Girard – to explain what was happening. Greater stress was putting more pressure on everyone, and people responded by looking for sources for their pain, or at least towards spreading their pain around. Heythrop College Patrick Madigan 464 BOOK REVIEWS Faith and Magic in Early Modern Finland. By Raisa Maria Toivo. Pp. ix, 183, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2016, $99.00. Early Modern is taken to mean the early sixteenth to the mid eighteenth century. Finland requires more explanation. The country first declared independence in 1917 and from 1809 onwards the ‘Grand Archduchy of Lithuania’ was an independent region within the Russian empire. Before that, during the early modern period, the country had been part of the kingdom of Sweden. However, cultural, geographical and other factors, notably the Finnish language, had given the area (largely but not entirely coterminous with modern Finland) a certain identity. Faith means mainly Lutheranism, which was ‘adopted’ by Sweden at the Diet of V€aster€as in 1527 and ‘cemented’ by the council of Uppsala in 1593, though it was not until the accession of king Charles IX (1599-1611) that Lutheranism was established as the state religion (pp. 7 and 147). But it was Lutheranism with distinct Finnish characteristics. There were also Calvinist (for a short period), Catholic and Orthodox contributions. The concept of magic is discussed in chapter 1 ‘Introduction’; its place within religion in Finland is covered in chapter 5 ‘Conclusion: The Continuum of Magic and Religion’. The middle three chapters focus on the links between magic and, respectively, Lutheranism, Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The book makes fascinating reading. Magic may have had its roots in pre-Christian beliefs in Finland but then appears to have been baptized into Christian practices. The feast of Ukko, god of rain, thunder and (possibly) war, who was celebrated in the spring with a ritual drinking festival, was largely Christianized with the original songs replaced by Christian hymns; Kekri was supposedly an old pre-Christian harvest festival; Tapanin p€aiv€a was the day of St Stephen (26 December) and in Finnish culture also the day for visiting friends, a toast being drunk with a meal in the stables by the men to ensure good luck with the horses (p. 110). Toivo, however, urges caution. Regarding devotion to saints ‘One should be extremely cautious in attributing any features to a pre-Christian religion’ and any ‘pre-Christian practices’ appear in the surviving sources as ‘strongly influenced by Christian elements’. ‘On the other hand, it is equally clear that the saints day celebrations had taken on features that derived from the local and traditional needs of rural society’ (p. 110). Luther and even more Calvin sought to purge Christianity of medieval superstitions; the CounterReformation sought to purify practices and devotions in the Catholic church while maintaining its orthodoxy in doctrine from the medieval period. But all three of their respective communities in Finland had to come to terms with local conditions, including possible pre-Christian survivals, so there was some dilution, or alteration, in the purity originally intended. The Orthodox church was not similarly convulsed or changed in the sixteenth century, so the problem of radical adaptation and ‘purification’ did not arise. The difficulty for this church lay rather in its association with Russia, so that Orthodoxy was regarded by many Finns as an alien faith. Although Finland had its own identity, foreign influences appear throughout the book: those from Russia for Orthodoxy, as mentioned; from Sweden and Germany, principally, for Lutheranism; from Poland and missionaries from outside Finland, especially Franciscans and Jesuits, for Roman Catholicism. The book illustrates well this combination of the influence of outsiders and the reception and adaptation of their evangelization by Finns. However, an aspect that could have been highlighted more is that Christianity, whether Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran or Calvinist, is not a ‘pure religion’ - as if Christianity is separate from ‘worldliness’. Christ came to raise people up within their world, not to create them. So any attempt to separate religion and magic completely is based on a false premise - unless magic is defined in wholly evil terms. Another fundamental difficulty, which Toivo readily acknowledges, is the imbalance in the surviving evidence. Records of trials, especially of those charged with failures regarding Lutheran ideals and practices, and of women accused of witchcraft, are plentiful and informative - most land, beginnotably those of the Blåkulla trials in Å ning in 1666 and continuing for many years, which resulted in the execution of many women for witchcraft. But how far do these records represent the concerns of the prosecution rather than the beliefs and practices of the accused? Records of trials, moreover, inevitably highlight the exceptional rather than the normal. The book is the result of extensive research and discussion as well as generous funding, as listed in Acknowledgements (p. ix): the Early Modern Group at Tampere university in Finland, various conferences and seminars, historians of witchcraft and other individuals, for information and inspiration; the Academy of Finland for funding and support. Bibliography and Sources (pp. 165-178) lists the archives consulted in BOOK REVIEWS Finland and Sweden, the relevant primary material in print (some thirty publications), and an extensive bibliography of secondary works, many of them written in Finnish or Swedish. Seven maps and one chart provide useful geographical and statistical information. Index (pp. 179-183), covering persons, places and topics, concludes the work. 465 Publication of the book in English should capture a wide readership, thereby bringing Finland centre-stage in religious studies of early modern Europe. Readers can be very grateful to all those who made this possible, especially the author. Bournemouth Norman Tanner Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands 1520-1635. By Judith Pollmann. Pp. xvii, 239, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011, £55.00. Calvinists and Catholics during Holland’s Golden Age: Heretics and Idolators. By Christine Kooi. Pp. ix, 246, New York, Cambridge University Press, 2012, £65.00. Graphic Satire and Religious Change: The Dutch Republic, 1676-1707. By Joke Spaans. Pp. xii, 288, Leiden, Brill, 2011, e99.00. Over the centuries there has been a tendency to regard the Dutch war of independence against Spain as a war of religion, members of the Reformed Church fighting against Roman Catholicism. This, in a way, was what it became, but it was not so to start with and in recent years ever more attention has been paid to the role and the fate of the Dutch Catholics who originally far outnumbered the Calvinists. Many of them initially supported the revolt but then yielded to the Calvinists and were forced into exile or a clandestine existence in the northern provinces, while others were subsequently triumphant in the South. How, Judith Pollmann asks in her fascinating Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands 1520-1635, could this happen? The answers she gives are based to a large extent on the hitherto neglected diaries and memoirs of Catholics from various social backgrounds – the diaries of Cornelis and Peter van Campene, the former a cloth merchant, the latter a lawyer; of the corn inspector in Ypres Augustijn van Hernighem; of Willem Janszoon Verwer, a lawyer and a brewer who was a member of the city council in Haarlem; and of Willem Weijdts, a tailor in Bruges; as well as the memoirs of the curate Christiaan Munters, the beer porter Nicolas Soldoyer, and the patrician Marcus van Vaernewijck. Pollmann argues that, when the troubles originally broke out in the 1560s, the Catholic clergy in the Low Countries made hardly any effort to respond to the challenge posed by the Reformed Church. They continued to write what little propaganda they produced in Latin, preferred to recommend ‘individual penance rather than collective action’, and were eager to avoid any lay involvement in a Catholic reaction. This was in contrast to the situation in France where the priests reacted promptly against the Huguenots, encouraged attacks in the vernacular, and succeeded in involving a large part of the population which included a nobility that could provide leadership. And yet the laity in the Netherlands would have asked for nothing better than involvement. There was a high level of literacy and a pronounced interest in religious matters which obviously entailed criticism of the state of the Catholic Church but which could easily have been put to its service by a more enterprising clergy. This is something which the Jesuits, who were all but excluded from the Habsburg Netherlands until the 1570s, would later prove. The Dutch Catholic clergy, moreover, soon concentrated their attention on introducing measures recommended at the Council of Trent. They had little time or energy to devote to the interconfessional conflict and no desire to criticise the local authorities from whom they expected patronage within the Church. Only a small group of prelates, based mainly at the university of Louvain, endeavoured to organise a concerted reaction, but they did so in the face of strong official opposition. The arrival of the Duke of Alba in August 1567, and his objective of restoring Catholicism by force, were initially welcomed by many, but his methods - his refusal to make use of the Jesuits, the imposition of extra taxes, the public executions of grandees, and the licence given to his troops - soon antagonised a large number of his former supporters and did the Catholic cause more harm than good. It was not until he was replaced by Luıs de Requesens in 1573 that the climate began to change. Requesens welcomed the Jesuits, set about improving education, and might well have salvaged the situation had the bankruptcy of the Spanish government not led to mutinies. In the end, 466 BOOK REVIEWS however, while the North yielded to William of Orange and the Protestant rebels, the South was reconquered by able military commanders, such as Alessandro Farnese, and the basis for a Catholic revival was laid. It is clear that the Catholics had learnt from their mistakes. The Jesuits, who were ever more prominent, were admirably successful in their involvement of the laity, producing not only devotional literature in the vernacular but organising confraternities and reviving the traditional processions, feasts and ceremonies. ‘The extent to which Catholics themselves mobilized was partly dependent on clerical leadership’, writes Pollmann, ‘but above all on the extent to which clerics were prepared to give the laity a role in the defence of their faith.’ For all its great qualities Catholic Identity and the Revolt of the Netherlands 1520-1635 leaves the reader wondering what happened to the Catholics in the Northern Netherlands once the Calvinists had sealed their triumph. Many sought exile, especially in Cologne, and some could repair to the Southern Netherlands, but others also remained and of these Judith Pollmann seems to lose sight. An account of their fate, fortunately, is to be found in Christine Kooi’s Calvinists and Catholics during Holland’s Golden Age: Heretics and Idolators. Based on an impressive use of the Dutch archives, it deals with the situation from the Dutch revolt to the French invasion of the Northern Netherlands in 1672 and provides an immense amount of information about those Catholics who continued to worship after 1573 when the first placards were issued forbidding the actual practice of Catholicism. The position of the Catholics, granted freedom of conscience but not of worship, Kooi shows, varied greatly according to the time and the place. The most tolerant cities were Amsterdam and Haarlem; the highest number of Catholics was in the provinces of Holland and Utrecht; and the least tolerant town seems to have been Dordrecht, followed by Leiden and Gouda. The seventeenth-century statistics may not be totally reliable but they are nonetheless revealing. Catholics tended to form between 5 and 15% of the population. Although this does not seem very impressive we must remember that the Calvinist communities were not always that much larger – 30% of the population in Amsterdam and Leiden, 25% in Delft, and 20% in Haarlem. The rest of the inhabitants might form part of the many other religious communities that were tacitly admitted but not always officially acknowledged – Lutherans, Mennonites, Arminians, and Jews. Even if the minorities could not hold public offices or worship in public, their survival – and in some cases prosperity - was largely due to the men responsible for Holland being the tolerant and hospitable country which it was: the magistrates, who had always been far from any religious fanaticism, had opposed any form of religious coercion, and had always refused to implement the placards in all their severity. Although the Catholics sometimes had to resort to holding their services in cemeteries and obscure corners of cathedrals, or in the sometimes lavish chapels erected in private houses, and although they frequently had to bribe the local authorities, there was not only little persecution but there were numerous cases of intermarriage with members of the Reformed Church. The moments at which antiCatholic feeling made itself felt was at the time of the war against Spain in the 1620s and 1630s, but by the second half of the seventeenth century a form of peaceful coexistence was generally enforced and was helped by the acquisition by the various Churches of a clearer identity. If the magistrates were generally tolerant, the consistories of the Reformed Church were not. What emerges clearly from Kooi’s study is the degree of their alarm at what they believed to be a surreptitious Catholic advance. And indeed, one of the great differences between the two Churches was that the Calvinists never proselytised. Theirs were select communities of men and w