Elizabeth Gaskell used Gothic as a symbolic language to explore the dark side of Unitarian thought. She explores, in rationalist terms, evils origins, effects, and remedy, using Gothic tropes as metaphors for humanly created misery. Gaskell locates the roots of ‘evil’ in an unenlightened social order – in ‘The Crooked Branch’ erroneous parenting, and in ‘The Poor Clare’ wider social structures, both distorted by the ideology of privilege. ‘The Poor Clare’ also engages with the tension between moral determinism and personal responsibility, and defends a Unitarian salvation. This tale also demonstrates Gaskell‘s views on aspects of Roman Catholicism.
This article examines the ways in which James Herbert‘s The Spear (1978) attempted to combine nineteenth century gothic with the contemporary thriller. The novel deals with the activities of a neo-Nazi organisation, and the essay draws parallels between Herberts deployment of National Socialism and the treatment of Roman Catholicism in earlier Gothic texts. Contextualising the novel within a wider fascination with Nazism in 1970s popular culture, it also considers the ethical difficulties in applying techniques from supernatural Gothic to secular tyranny.
Following an extended period of neglect, the early 1840s saw a dramatic revival
of interest in English church music and its history, which coincided with the
period of heightened religious sensitivity between the publication of Newman‘s
Tract 90 in early 1841 and his conversion to Roman Catholicism in October 1845.
This article examines the activities and writings of three men who made
important contributions to the reformation of the music of the English church
that took place at this time: Rev. Frederick Oakeley; Rev. John Jebb and the
painter William Dyce. It pays particular attention to the relationship between
their beliefs about and attitudes towards the English Reformation and their
musical activities, and argues that such important works as Jebb‘s monumental
Choral Service of the United Church of England and Ireland
(1843) are best understood in the context of the religious and ecclesiological
debates that were raging at that time.
Drawing upon a multi-disciplinary methodology employing diverse written sources, material practices and vivid life histories, Faith in the Family seeks to assess the impact of the Second Vatican Council on the ordinary believer, alongside contemporaneous shifts in British society relating to social mobility, the sixties, sexual morality, and secularisation. Chapters examine the changes in the Roman Catholic liturgy and Christology, devotion to Mary, the rosary and the place of women in the family and church, as well as the enduring (but shifting) popularity of Saints Bernadette and Thérèse. Appealing to students of modern British gender and cultural history, as well as a general readership interested in religious life in Britain in the second half of the twentieth century, Faith in the Family illustrates that despite unmistakable differences in their cultural accoutrements and interpretations of Catholicism, English Catholics continued to identify with and practise the ‘Faith of Our Fathers’ before and after Vatican II.
, and the
reverse is the case in eight. However, in only four do Roman Catholics outnumber
Protestants – Belize, Canada, Grenada and St Lucia.
The realms collectively constitute, then, a population of subjects of the monarch that are predominantly Christian of unknown degrees of commitment
but with a substantial minority with other religions, no recorded religion or no
religion. The two largest Christian denominations, Anglicanism and RomanCatholicism, each have the attachment of about one-fifth of the combined
population, but the Anglican support is heavily
ofﬁcial spokesman for the Laudian movement, what
broader ideology did he present in his works? This chapter is intended to scrutinize the dominant themes in his published works of this decade, relating
in particular to the nature of the English Reformation, puritanism, RomanCatholicism, and the foreign Reformed churches. We will seek in part to
determine whether these reveal a uniﬁed and consistent vision, or whether
tensions and ambiguities can be observed. Given that the best picture that
historians now have of Laudianism is one that has consciously synthesized
National identity in The Wild Irish Girl and Sybil
one of Queen Victoria’s prime
Disraeli, of course, became another. By the time that
Sybil was published, the Reform Bill had widened the
franchise a little, and the Act of Toleration had put RomanCatholicism
on a better footing. Both of the nations which are in conflict in
Sybil are British – we might now prefer to call them
two cultures – the rich
Hutchinson in the 1720s was merely convinced that the Church and
state in Ireland would be better served by devising and implementing
conversion schemes designed to remove the political threat posed by
the mass of the population’s adherence and political deference to RomanCatholicism and the pope. Once this sense of Catholic threat retreated
Burns, Irish Parliamentary politics, ii, pp. 17–22; Edith Mary Johnston, Ireland in
the eighteenth century (Dublin, 1974), p. 29.
LJ, iii, 245– 6.
Bishop of Down and Connor
in Hutchinson’s mind during the
When the Spanish invasion force of 1588 met with successful English resistance and disastrous weather, losing thousands of men and 62 of 130 ships, contemporary observers and participants on both sides believed the outcome reflected God’s intervention. English sermons used Bible stories to develop a patriotic and providentialist interpretation of the gathering threat and subsequent Spanish defeat. Sermons before the attempted invasion, by Thomas Drant, Meredith Hanmer, and William Gravet, demonstrate the comparison preachers drew a between Islam and Roman Catholicism (as Spenser created a Muslim sultan to represent the Roman Catholic Spanish threat). Sermons celebrating the English victory, by John Prime, Thomas White, Roger Hackett, and Stephen Gosson, show that Spenser and the preachers drew on the same biblical theme of God’s judgment and motifs of horses, chariot, and hardware.
This book offers the first ever ethnography of the Orange Order in Scotland via an in-depth analysis of ‘The Good’ of exceptionalism. While stylistically similar to Freemasonry, the Orange Order differs in being a strictly Protestant-only fraternity committed to preserving the Reformation and the constitutional union of the United Kingdom. Established in late eighteenth-century Ulster, the Order today is not only ultra-Protestant and ultra-unionist, but, according to critics, is also deeply sectarian, viewing Roman Catholicism as a despotic religious-cum-political ‘menace’ dedicated to destroying Great Britain. Through a fine-grained anthropological account of Orangeism during the Scottish independence debate, this book takes readers inside Scotland’s most infamous fraternal organisation – an organisation which members refer to not as a secret society, but as a ‘society with secrets’. What, according to these Scottish Orangemen, should a good Protestant life look like? By drawing on new literature within the anthropology of ethics and morality, this book answers this central question by examining the culture of Scottish Orangeism in the widest possible sense, assessing the importance not only of loyalist marches and unionist political campaigning, but also Orange gossip and fraternal drinking, the performance of ritual and secrecy, celebrations of football fandom and sectarian hate, as well as the formation and sharing of anti-Catholic conspiracy narratives. Combining ethnographic depth with analytical breadth, this book argues that what makes the Order so compelling to members yet so repugnant to its critics is its steadfast refusal to separate religion from politics and fraternity from ethnicity.