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The cult of the Virgin Mary went global during the early modern period, as Catholics embraced her with renewed fervor in the wake of Protestant attacks. Using one of Mary’s most famous advocations as a case study, this chapter investigates the origins, spread, and reinvention of the cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Extremadura, Mexico, and in the Philippines, demonstrating both the causes and limitations of her success across different parts of the Spanish empire.
When Catholicism went global during the early modern period, it did so through the practices, idioms, and procedures of sanctity, in an uneven, messy, embodied process that often escaped control. Well beyond the papacy’s formal processes of beatification and canonization, the worldwide early modern Catholic community was united by belief in the continued immanence of the sacred and the supernatural in everyday life, especially through the cult of saints. The quest for and defense of sanctity defined early modern Catholicism. Every aspect of its pursuit also refuted the new Protestant dogmas of sola fide, sola Scriptura, and sola gratia. This Companion therefore offers sanctity as a new prism through which to envision the Catholic Church in the early modern era.
Chapter 3 provides a comparison to show the differences between the new era and the previous period. This chapter discusses the centre–periphery relationship through Wahhabism in what I call “the age of caravans and manuscripts”. Accordingly, I constructed this chapter around three stories: the story of a person, a pamphlet and a land. The first is about a scholar from Istanbul who was sent to speak with the Wahhabis in 1803. It shows just how far away the capital city was from their location, as the journey to Mecca took about six months. The second is about a pamphlet that was penned by Ottoman ulema who had once served in the Hejaz. It demonstrates that one pamphlet could have provided more than enough information about the Wahhabi movement even during the peak of the rebellion. The third is about the Hejaz, and it shows how Wahhabism was perceived as an illegitimate faction by examining news about the Hejaz occupation as a key point. Through the detailed examples in these three stories, I argue that the Ottomans saw Wahhabism as a local problem before the age of steam and print, as the centre and periphery were very far from each other.
The conclusion offers a broader look into the role of emotions in alliances and the similarities and differences between Sino-North Korean friendship and other Cold War alliances. It shows how the idea of Sino-North Korean friendship limited emotional freedom in China and North Korea.
From the summer of 1957 and throughout the Mao era, “poisonous weed” was a label to be avoided at all costs. Having fallen for the flowers in early 1957, Xu Chengmiao would find himself labeled a “poisonous weed” by the end of the year. As with the Hundred Flowers, the advent of this pernicious botanical label has its own history. This chapter explores how “poisonous weeds” entered the Chinese garden, the role of the Soviet Union in the Chinese Arcadian turn, and how lionized writers such as Guo Moruo gave an endogenous spin to writing that celebrated an idyllic rural life. This then deepened the creative engagement with the Hundred Flowers as it traveled back to the Soviets and into internal circulars. It also studies how the circulation of the Hundred Flowers helped Mao navigate the fallout from Khrushchev’s “secret speech,” and what happened after the chairman stepped into the garden with his own take on the flowers.
Catholics continued to make pilgrimages, near and far, during the early modern period, despite the challenges of the Reformation. Drawing on examples from Western Europe and beyond, this chapter follows pilgrims on their quests for healing, penitence, and spiritual growth and demonstrates that shrines and saints continued to act as focal points for devotion.
Speaking about his early experiments with the camera, the Nobel Prize winning novelist J. M. Coetzee acknowledged the seminal influence of images on his writing: 'The marks of photography and of the cinema are all over my work, from the beginning.' This book presents an archivally grounded examination of the influence of the camera on Coetzee's creative practice, providing insights that can help us read the novels in new ways. In this comprehensive examination of the formative role that photographic images play in Coetzee's oeuvre, Wittenberg offers evidence from biographical and archival sources, Coetzee's own critical writings, and the whole range of fictions themselves to gauge the extent of Coetzee's visual imagination. This book argues that the images that Coetzee writes into his fictions are charged with an affective and ethical force that connects them to larger questions relating to the truth, a relationship in which the autobiographical self is implicated.
For a plant as renowned and beloved in China as the plum blossom (meihua 梅花), there is conspicuously little written in English about eating it. However, without understanding the historical affection for consuming plum blossoms, our comprehension of it as a cultural icon misses an important dimension. This article explores the intriguing discourse surrounding plum blossom consumption in three sections. The first section introduces the key concept of qing 清 (“purity”) and its relation to the “poet’s spleen” (shiren pi 詩人脾), which provides a theoretical framework for a relationship between eating it and writing poetry. The second section examines Song-dynasty poems on this eating practice, particularly those by Yang Wanli 楊萬里 (1127–1206) and the Rivers and Lakes poets (jianghu shiren 江湖詩人). Their poetry was closely tied to new developments in the notion of qi 氣 and “poetic spleen” (shipi 詩脾). The third section turns to culinary recipes, primarily from the Rivers and Lakes poet Lin Hong 林洪 (fl. 1224–1263), who promotes qing aesthetics in plum blossom dishes. I argue that the discovery of culinary value in a flower long regarded as more symbolic than edible marks a significant development in Song-dynasty (960–1279) literati culture, aesthetics, intellectual history, and medicine.
In this paper, I explore the millennium-long presence of the chickpea in premodern China by highlighting three key historical moments. The legume had its first rise to prominence as a cosmopolitan “Muslim Bean” in the Mongol Yuan (1271–1368) imperial diet. It then experienced a phase of obscurity, as the most renowned Chinese herbalist, Li Shizhen 李時珍 (1518–1593), conflated it with the pea. A disparate identity of the legume emerged around the same time, as the bean garnered attention from famine relief specialists, consequently transforming into a source of sustenance. The multiple lives of the chickpea were characterized with a common emphasis on its foreignness, drawing connections to various Eurasian cultures beyond China. The plant’s enduring presence, coupled with ongoing allusions to its alienness, makes it a perpetual foreigner in the broad expanse of the Chinese empire.