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This article applies van Gennep’s structure of the ritual to the patent application process, arguing that information undergoes several ontological transformations on the way to patentability. The second half of the article applies Turner’s focus on the liminal space. From this perspective, the ‘pure possibility’ of the liminal space is essential to patent law, because it helps negotiate between strong boundaries (as a form of property) and the almost improvisational way in which general rules are applied to specific patents. Taken together, these two approaches provide a more nuanced understanding of how patent law comes into existence and how the patents themselves operate as distinct social and cultural artefacts. The analysis does not intend to replace the economic understanding of patent law, but instead seeks to reflect more completely how it actually functions.
Cat Island, South Carolina, was once the location of slave trade activities, including capture of Native Americans for export and the rise of plantations in the Lowcountry for indigo and rice production, from the sixteenth to mid-nineteenth centuries. This Element examines the Hume Plantation Slave Street Project led by the author, and archaeological evidence for hoodoo magic and ritual practices involving “white magic” spells used for protection and treatments for illness and injury, and, alternately, for 'black magic,' in spells used to exact harm or to kill. This Element is intended as a contribution to the collective knowledge about hoodoo magic practices in the Lowcountry, centered on the Hume Plantation grounds during this period of American history. It is an attempt to examine how attitudes and practices may have changed over time and concludes with a look at select contemporary hoodoo activities conducted in local cemeteries.
To explore the potential of incorporating personally meaningful rituals as a spiritual resource for Western secular palliative care settings. Spiritual care is recognized as critical to palliative care; however, comprehensive interventions are lacking. In postmodern societies, the decline of organized religion has left many people identifying as “no religion” or “spiritual but not religious.” To assess if ritual could provide appropriate and ethical spiritual care for this growing demographic requires comprehensive understanding of the spiritual state and needs of the secular individual in postmodern society, as well as a theoretical understanding of the elements and mechanisms of ritual. The aim of this paper is to provide a comprehensive and theoretically informed exploration of these elements through a critical engagement with heterogeneous literatures.
Methods
A hermeneutic narrative review, inspired by complexity theory, underpinned by a view of understanding of spiritual needs as a complex mind–body phenomenon embedded in sociohistorical context.
Results
This narrative review highlights a fundamental spiritual need in postmodern post-Christian secularism as need for embodied spiritual experience. The historical attrition of ritual in Western culture parallels loss of embodied spiritual experience. Ritual as a mind–body practice can provide an embodied spiritual resource. The origin of ritual is identified as evolutionary adaptive ritualized behaviors universally observed in animals and humans which develop emotional regulation and conceptual cognition. Innate human behaviors of creativity, play, and communication develop ritual. Mechanisms of ritual allow for connection to others as well as to the sacred and transcendent.
Significance of results
Natural and innate behaviors of humans can be used to create rituals for personally meaningful spiritual resources. Understanding the physical properties and mechanisms of ritual making allows anyone to build their own spiritual resources without need of relying on experts or institutionalized programs. This can provide a self-empowering, client-centered intervention for spiritual care.
Worship is typically understood as an act of religious reverence and devotion to a deity, usually involving some ritual. I aim here to explore whether, and how far, we might make sense of the idea of worship even on robust atheistic assumptions, according to which there is good reason to believe that there is no deity, nor supernatural beings of any kind, so that the only live beings in the world are humans, animals, plants and the like. We shall call this Atheist Worship (AW). Beyond that, I wish to explore the possible value of such practice. If there is no God, then in some sense AW is normatively the only possible form of worship that is not based on error or pretence. But as we shall see, there is no reason why theists cannot also engage in many forms of “AW” (in the sense of engaging in practices expressing attitudes of reverence and devotion towards something held to be of great value and importance, without theistic assumptions), so the value of this project does not depend upon atheism.
Time, place, and the rhythm of the seasons, essential constituents of ancient ritual, collaboratively shaped and channeled the experience of religious performance. Focusing on agricultural and civic time reckoning, this article investigates the orientations of the monuments at the extra-mural Sanctuary of the Thirteen Altars at Lavinium and their coordination with viticultural activities amid the shifting social and religious circumstances of the 6th and 5th c. BCE. The article will argue that the 6th- and 5th-c. altars were aligned in such a way as to face sunrise at a particular location on the horizon on two very particular days in the seasonal year. The altars at Lavinium, playing an important role in the emerging urban community's economic life, will be shown to be themselves a form of agentic seasonal timekeeping that closely determined the integration of local agricultural, religious, and economic practices.
Chapter 4 explores the kinds of extraordinary situations experienced in the lives of royal ladies-in-waiting, asserting their prominent roles in coronations, marriages, christenings, and other ceremonies designed to cement and further dynastic prestige, such as Order of the Garter tournaments and the Field of Cloth of Gold extravaganza. Serving the queen at important life-cycle rituals, seasonal events, and diplomatic spectacles contributed to the monarchy’s propaganda program, thereby bolstering royal authority and encouraging dynastic loyalty. When kings dispatched their daughters and sisters to foreign lands, their entourages signaled the wealth and status of the English monarchy. Highborn female attendants not only assisted the queen and female royals, but also reinforced hierarchical order by their very placement in these rituals, order that was displayed, I argue, both in processions and their particular assigned responsibilities. This chapter reveals how the spectacle of such pageantry had significant political dimensions, even if such was not always recognized by the subjects who witnessed royal processions.
Located on the North Anatolian Fault, Constantinople was frequently shaken by earthquakes over the course of its history. This book discusses religious responses to these events between the fourth and the tenth century AD. The church in Constantinople commemorated several earthquakes that struck the city, prescribing an elaborate liturgical rite celebrated annually for each occasion. These rituals were means by which city-dwellers created meaning from disaster and renegotiated their relationships to God and the land around them in the face of its most destabilizing ecological characteristic: seismicity. Mark Roosien argues that ritual and theological responses to earthquakes shaped Byzantine conceptions of God and the environment and transformed Constantinople's self-understanding as the capital of the oikoumene and center of divine action in history. The book enhances our understanding of Byzantine Christian religion and culture, and provides a new, interdisciplinary framework for understanding Byzantine views of the natural world.
This chapter explores the relationship between the Four Quartets (1936–42) and Eliot’s roughly contemporaneous Greek-inspired verse plays, The Family Reunion (1939) and The Cocktail Party (1949). The author traces the development of Eliot’s programmatic use of increasingly distant reading, and of his implicit argument for not translating Greek. Eliot’s letters to Emily Hale reveal that Eliot deliberately thought about the use of Greek prototypes in the late 1930s, assessing both his own earlier effort with Aeschylus’s Agamemnon and other Greek-inspired plays. The author examines the theoretical questions that prompt and frame Eliot’s approach and that tie the plays together with his last great poetic work. She thus outlines major aspects of his late poetics which surprisingly depend on his treatment of Greek materials, showing how they bring to a close his first foray into such materials in the late 1910s/early 1920s. Finally, she suggests that Eliot’s own Herakles character in The Cocktail Party is indebted to H.D.’s portrayal of Freud in Tribute to Freud.
Chapter 9 suggests how Hinduism and Confucianism may be understood in relation to the construct of transcendentalism in order to set up a discussion of India and China in the final chapter. (Unearthly Powers had largely taken Christianity, Islam and Buddhism as the main examples of transcendentalist traditions.) This involves a consideration of distinct forms that the Axial Age took in both regions and the religious and philosophical traditions that emerged from them. The diverse traditions coming under the umbrellas of Hinduism and Confucianism represent very substantial continuity with the immanentist pre-Axial past, especially in a fundamental emphasis on the role of ritual action. However, they also incorporated Axial elements, particularly an emphasis on liberation/salvation in the case of Hinduism and ethical rectitude in the case of Confucianism. Confucianism remains the most awkward fit within the mould of transcendentalism because of the absence of a soteriological imperative.
George Eliot and Mary Ward explicitly reject orthodox Christianity and hold a prominent place in standard accounts of Victorian doubt. However, their professed unbelief and yet simultaneous interest in liturgy reveals once again the problem with excarnated accounts of religion. To reduce religion merely to interior belief is to miss how Eliot and Ward use ritual forms to embody their post-Christian ethics. In Eliot’s Daniel Deronda (1876), Jewish ritual galvanizes Daniel’s own ethical aspirations, and Christian liturgy frames key scenes in Gwendolen Harleth’s moral progress. Similarly, the protagonist of Ward’s Robert Elsmere (1888) is more than just a moral exemplar who imitates a purely human Jesus by working for social justice. Rather, he founds a new religion with its own liturgical forms, some of them borrowed directly from traditional liturgies. Thus, even the unorthodox Eliot and Ward feel the threat of excarnation and the attraction of ritual.
The fin-de-siècle aesthetes, of course, react against the moral project expressed in realist novels like Eliot’s and Ward’s. Indeed, Oscar Wilde uses liturgy to attack what he sees as realism’s stunted imagination. But, as this chapter and the next show, aestheticism too is deeply suspicious of how excarnation separates the material and the spiritual. Again, if modernity typically sunders these realms, liturgy joins them. It therefore offers the perfect channel for aestheticism’s veneration of material reality – of beautiful bodies, lovely objects, and stimulating experiences. Such devotion pervades Walter Pater’s novel Marius the Epicurean (1885) – itself a kind of liturgical and aesthetic bildungsroman. Set in second-century Italy, the novel follows the pious Marius, who cherishes the pagan rituals of his boyhood and finds their fulfillment in the early Christian Mass. For Marius, the Eucharist not only sacralizes material objects but also defends matter – specifically the body – against the ritual violence of imperial Rome. Just as Wordsworth depicts industrialism as a liturgy of desecration, Pater sees Roman imperial power in similar terms.
In The Prelude (1805/1850), Wordsworth reimagines time through the ritual calendar and festivals of revolutionary France. The Revolution’s rituals, moreover, complicate the common notion that Wordsworth retreats from politics into poetry. By way of ritual, Wordsworth enters what Walter Benjamin calls now-time or higher time, moments in which the past – via memory – becomes simultaneous with the present. Such now-times allow Wordsworth to juxtapose, on the one hand, his own past calling to a poetic vocation with, on the other hand, the Revolution’s founding vocation to bring liberty. In that juxtaposition, Wordsworth’s own faithfulness to his poetic calling tacitly critiques the Revolution’s infidelity to its origins. The higher time of ritual, then, mediates between Wordsworthian memory and revolutionary history. Wordsworth provides foundations for many Victorian liturgies. His sacralization of material reality, his resistance to the market’s dehumanizing rituals, his imbrication of memory and higher time – each of these undergoes further elaboration as the century unfolds.
The liturgical forms depicted in William Wordsworth’s Excursion (1814) provide the foundational instance of the nineteenth-century resistance to excarnation and the natural/supernatural binary. Rather than naturalizing otherworldly Christian doctrines – as seminal readings of Romanticism suppose – The Excursion’s rituals disclose how material reality already participates in the divine. This participatory vision challenges voluntarist pictures of God as a large, powerful being who exercises his arbitrary will over creation – a picture of God often unwittingly adopted by modern readers. Divine participation, moreover, challenges typical readings of Wordsworth’s lyrical inwardness. For, liturgy not only draws the poem’s characters out of themselves, it also sacralizes nature. Nature’s sacredness in turn opposes the desecrating rituals – or anti-liturgies – of industrialization. Via liturgy, then, Wordsworth comments on material conditions and remains historically engaged. The Victorians will repeatedly echo this use of liturgy to sacralize material reality and to resist any forces that would violate that sacrality.
John Keble and his protégé Charlotte Yonge take ritual time in a seemingly humbler, domestic direction. Rather than using higher time to engage an overarching political project as Wordsworth did with the Revolution, they see the church calendar as sacralizing even the smallest mundane tasks – the trivial round, as Keble calls it. Yet, for Keble, the transfiguration of daily work performed in linear time leads to nothing less than humanity’s deification or theosis, to use the language of the Greek Church Fathers venerated by the Oxford Movement. For Yonge, higher time and the Prayer Book’s liturgies not only reconcile reason and faith but also structure the material work of parish reform – the building of a local school, the repair of a dilapidated neighborhood, the hiring of a responsible priest to replace an absentee one. Through liturgy, therefore, the Tractarians can attend to everyday life while still seeing that life as sharing in the divine.
Walter Pater also anticipates Oscar Wilde’s liturgical moves. Pater depicts Marius the Epicurean as a liturgical subject – that is, Marius relishes the forms of liturgy and yet those forms do not become rigid structures but rather gateways into mystery. Wilde pushes this liturgical subjectivity still further. For him, the porosity of the liturgical subject leads to a full-blown liturgical constructivism: If the self remains open before the mystery of ever further aesthetic experience, then perhaps all things – not just the human self – are malleable. In his critical writings, Wilde denounces the mechanistically closed world of the realist novel, which he sees as slavishly imitating nature. By contrast, Wilde argues that art can reshape nature. Liturgical language and ritual action especially reveal how words remake reality: The priest’s Words of Institution and the drama of the Mass transform – even transubstantiate – the bread and wine. As it did for Wordsworth, liturgy helps Wilde imagine nature not as self-enclosed but rather as participating in a higher, transcendent reality.
This chapter locates a shift in beginning in the seventh century in which the power to halt quakes began to move away from collective repentance and toward saintly intercession. First, it examines the seventh-century Life of St. Symeon Stylites the Younger, a Syrian pillar saint with ties to Constantinople. It focuses in particular on hymns recorded in the Life for earthquakes that purportedly caused them to cease when sung by the holy man. The chapter shows how seventh-century Byzantines could have constructed the role of the saintly intercessor when faced with natural disasters. Next, it analyzes changes in Constantinople’s earthquake commemoration rite in the eighth century, specifically the introduction of the Theotokos as the city’s chief protection against earthquakes. Eighth-century liturgical editors borrowed from the rites commemorating the enemy invasions of Constantinople in 623, 626, and 717–18, in which the Theotokos was remembered to play a prominent role in protecting the city. It shows how the earthquake commemoration liturgy no longer saw earthquakes as divine judgment against the sin of the city, but as outside threats to the city for which powerful heavenly intercessions were needed.
The archaeological study of craft production investigates the role of household activities in broader social and political networks. In the Maya area, the production and distribution of ceramics, especially prestige ceramics including polychrome and fine ware pottery, relate to broader transformations in Maya society from the Classic to Terminal Classic periods. However, direct evidence for ceramic production in the form of kilns, workshops, or associated detritus can be elusive. We report the identification, excavation, and preliminary analysis of a large deposit of fine paste ceramics, including sherds representative of the Fine Orange and Fine Gray wares in the type-variety system of Maya ceramics, from a household group at the archaeological site of Benemérito de las Américas Primera Sección, located near the confluence of the Lacantún and Usumacinta Rivers. Discarded ceramics from this context exhibit several signs of overfiring consistent with pottery production. This deposit challenges notions of functional versus symbolic activity, as the members of this household used this deposit to dedicate a group of three burials accompanied by offerings including a figurine ensemble. We discuss the implications for this deposit in the context of economic shifts taking place across the Maya Lowlands during this period.
This chapter discusses how East Roman emperors utilized the theology of divine chastisement, particularly the efficacy accorded to repentance, to their advantage. During the earthquakes of 396 and 447, Emperors Arcadius and Theodosius II, respectively, led mass penitential rituals and performed public acts of humility until the quakes ceased. Such public acts of repentance posed a political risk to emperors since they could appear to confirm their responsibility for the disasters. However, imperial supporters like bishop Severian of Gabala and historian Socrates Scholasticus highlighted the quakes’ cessation rather than their cause, and located the power to halt quakes in the humble prayers of the rulers themselves rather than worshippers as a collective. In the aftermath of these earthquakes, authorities framed Roman emperors as “New Davids” – effective spiritual intercessors as well as military protectors – inaugurating a biblical typology for emperors that would continue throughout Byzantine history.
This chapter concerns Constantinople’s liturgical rite for the commemoration of earthquakes in its original, fifth-century form. Celebrated each year on the anniversary of certain quakes, worshippers ritually reenacted local earthquakes, performing a long, penitential procession that retraced the earthquake evacuation route. The rite was structured by biblical readings, hymns, and prayers that framed the people of Constantinople as the sinful, biblical people of God. In ritual performance, worshippers could envision quakes as manifestations of divine wrath against the sins of the city, and their collective repentance as effective in restoring stability to the earth and balance within the human-environment-divine relationship. After discussing the liturgical rite, its performance, and theology, the chapter locates the origins of its theology of divine chastisement in local homilies and ritual responses to earlier quakes, focusing in particular on the archbishop John Chrysostom’s Constantinopolitan homilies on earthquakes from the early fifth century.