This book aims both to shed light on the complex legal and procedural basis for early modern chaplaincy and to expand the understanding of what chaplains, in practice, actually did. Each chapter in the book treats in a different way the central question of how interactions in literature, patronage and religion made forms of cultural agency are available to early modern chaplains, primarily in England. The numerous case studies discussed in the book include instances of both the public and the more private aspects of chaplaincy. The book first focuses on the responsibility of the bishop of London's chaplains for pre-publication censorship of the press. It then examines the part played by ambassadorial chaplains such as Daniel Featley within wider networks of international diplomacy, interconfessional rivalry and print polemic. Patronage was evidently the key to determining the roles, activities and significance of early modern chaplains. Unsurprisingly, patrons often chose chaplains whose interests and priorities, whether theological or secular, were similar or complementary to their own. Episcopal chaplains had a politically significant role in keeping lay patrons loyal to the Church of England during the interregnum. Alongside patronage and religion, the book also considers the diverse array of literary activities undertaken by early modern chaplains.
. As indicated above, Practical Zionism arose largely from the Eastern European Hibbat Zion movement and emphasized cultural renaissance through building up the land of Israel irrespective of diplomatic developments (Reinharz 1993 ), while Western Political Zionists aspiring to establish a Jewish state turned to diplomacy. This divide had important geographical implications. Political Zionists recognized that achieving political autonomy and doing so in the ancient Jewish homeland were not the same thing. Therefore, they were open to ‘alternative Zions (Sinclair
importance of learning.
In his first book, the author focuses on liturgical and ecclesiastical affairs, whereas military matters are set aside for the second book. Still, this second book mostly deals with diplomacy and court ritual, i.e. not with the actual practice of warfare. The description of the Avar rings, for example, is followed by just a short narrative on the Saxon wars, which is followed by prolonged reports of the reception of Persian, Byzantine and Viking legations and an account of conspiracies directed
addressing disputes. See M. Vallejo Girvés, ‘The treaties between Justinian and Athanagild and the legality of the Byzantine possession on the Iberian Peninsula’, Byzantion , 66 (1996), 208–18, here 209.
J. Wood, ‘Defending Byzantine Spain. Frontiers and diplomacy’, EME , 18 (2012), 292–319, here 318.
would not prevail.
F. Wozniak, ‘Byzantine diplomacy and the Lombard-Gepidic wars’, Balkan Studies , 20 (1979), 139–58; W. Pohl, ‘The empire and the Lombards. Treaties and negotiations in the sixth century’, in W. Pohl (ed.), Kingdoms of the empire. The integration of barbarians in late Antiquity . The Transformation of the Roman World, 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 75
Daniel Featley, anti-Catholic controversialist abroad
general, that the role of embassy
chaplain was understood then, and should be now, to constitute something far
more strategically significant than a mere adjunct to diplomacy.
The Featley-Smith disputation in Paris 1612 has not greatly occupied historians
of post-Reformation religion and politics. Literary scholars have paid the
episode most attention, chiefly on account of Ben Jonson’s presence at the
dispute, midway through his European travels of 1611–13. Jonson’s role as
witness to the disputation is intriguing, especially given his own switches
called for the promotion and
intensification of diplomacy to end the conflict. This faction has sided,
at times fervently, with normalization between Israel and its neighbours,
and regarded the democratization of the Arab world as dependent on
peace with Israel. The opposing liberal faction, the ‘refusal camp’, has
rejected the terms of the diplomatic negotiations between Israel and
its neighbours and resolutely opposed normalization with Israel. This
faction has perceived the democratization of Arab societies as the necessary precondition for posing
helped to facilitate
diplomacy between the papacy and the British monarchy by providing a conduit
for contact and negotiations. That the scheme failed is clear. It was overtaken
not only by events such as the outbreak of Civil Wars but also by the increasing
public awareness of the scheme. Indeed, the papal–Stuart meetings of the 1630s
were successfully managed primarily because secrecy was observed.
However, increased public attention and the outbreak of the Civil War did
not end the activities of the network. Patrick Conn, a nephew of George Conn,
who had attended
one of the paradoxes of the British Chief
Rabbinate. Historically, it has carried enormous prestige but it has
also brought with it difﬁculties and worries for the incumbent; in many
ways it carries the advantages and disadvantages of any synagogue
pulpit, only magniﬁed. A Chief Rabbi needs many attributes if he is to
make a success of his ofﬁce, including tact and diplomacy, persuasive
skill, administrative ability and a solid grounding in Jewish learning.
He also needs to have a view of what Judaism is and ought to be, what
Jews should believe and how Jews should
‘before the whole world renounced war.’39
For Jewish pacifists like Cowan, who sought the complete renunciation
of war (it was, he wrote later, ‘mutual mass murder’),40 and as a matter of
urgency, the sting was in the tail of such sentiments. Orthodox Jewry had
itself not ‘renounced’ war: while preferring the settlement of international
dispute (the ‘present wreckage’) by diplomacy, and certainly committed to a
peaceful world and to ‘law and righteousness’, the orthodox rabbinical leadership saw war as, in the last resort, a necessary safeguard