Chapter 8 explains why the most powerful chiefs in Hawaii decided to be baptised a few years after dispensing with their old cult. The most important of these factors revolved around immanent power: The ability of the new god to deliver victory in battle in the immediate aftermath of the abolition, and to Christian forces at the battle of Waimea in 1824, made a great impression, while healing was, as always, also a matter of concern. The impotence of the old gods was confirmed by deliberate challenges to the volcano goddess Pele and the female prophets who spoke for her and by the iconoclastic tours of Ka‘ahumanu, who was now taking centre stage. Meanwhile, the high chiefs also felt the need to repair the sacral basis to their authority, if now in a more righteous mode, while the strict form of Protestantism provided a way of ‘restoring the tabus’, disciplining both their subjects and the Euro-American inhabitants of Honolulu.

Chapter 2 tells the story of the conversion of the kings of Kongo. Nzinka a Nkuwu (King João) was baptised in 1491 but later apostatised and was succeeded by his son, King Afonso, who established an enduring Catholic dynasty in west central Africa. After acknowledging the significance of religious diplomacy, the chapter shows how the realm of immanent power was the most critical factor in the Kongo case. A close reading of the evidence indicates that the Portuguese or their ruler may have been considered to have a special association with the realm of the ancestors, while baptism was received as an initiation granting unusual powers, particularly in battle. This helps explain King João’s apostasy and is most apparent in the miraculous interpretation of the military victory that brought Afonso to the throne in 1506. However, it is also argued that conversion may have helped Afonso solidify his control of the religious field, as expressed in the iconoclastic sweeps that happened at several points in 1480–1530. The theme of cultural appeal is illustrated by a more general importation of the Portuguese culture by elites. Afonso is presented as a visionary with ambitions for societal recreation.

Chapter 4 explains why Christianity did not become the faith of more than a small minority of warlords and why it was rejected and ultimately persecuted by the rulers who unified Japan in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The plural religious scene – including competing sects of Buddhism, alongside Confucianism and Shinto – afforded an intellectual opening for Christianity. This mattered in particular to the conversion of certain elites in the Gokinai of the 1560s. However, the most emotional debates centred on the dynamics of immanent power noted in the last chapter, and here Buddhism, as a transcendentalist system, found ways of countering the force of Christian arguments. Indeed, on an institutional level, too, the sangha represented a formidable enemy for daimyo contemplating conversion. This chapter then proceeds to analyse the actions, diplomatic letters and anti-Christian edicts of Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu in order to identify the terms by which Christianity was identified as a subversive and unnecessary force. The transcendental elements of Japanese religion therefore played a decisive role in constraining the reach of the Japanese Christian movement. Lastly, the unifiers were intent on sacralising their authority, particularly post-mortem, and Christianity had little to offer in this regard.

Erasmian humanism paved the way for the spread of the Protestant Reformation in the Swiss Confederation. Basel’s printing houses played a major role in the diffusion of Luther’s ideas, which were then further disseminated by preachers in other cities. Supported by Zurich’s ruling council, Huldrych Zwingli played a key role in spreading the Evangelical movement in Switzerland. Anabaptism also attracted many adherents, but persecution effectively marginalised the movement and limited it to rural areas. Central Switzerland remained staunchly Catholic, and a brief war broke out between Catholic and Protestant Confederates in 1531. The resulting Peace of Kappel rolled back the progress of reform and created a bi-confessional structure within the Confederation. The Catholic cantons formed a majority but they were countered by the powerful Reformed cities of Zurich, Basel, Bern and Schaffhausen. Through the second half of the century these cities allied with Geneva and developed a strong Swiss Reformed identity in response to both German Lutherans and the Tridentine Catholicism that spread from Italy. Confessional tensions were particularly marked in areas jointly governed by Protestant and Catholic members of the Confederation, but competing religious loyalties were never strong enough to overcome their shared political identity as Swiss.

This chapter offers a comparative analysis of the territories along the southern Baltic littoral, namely Poland, Pomerania and Mecklenburg, with a primary focus on identifying the overarching patterns in the development of the Reformation in the region. The emergence and dissemination of the Reformation in the Baltic region can be traced back to Martin Luther’s prominent public appearance in Worms in 1521. Subsequently, the reform movement rapidly transcended the political and ecclesiastical boundaries in this area. Drawing upon pre-existing institutional frameworks, this article delves into the mechanisms behind the propagation of the new religious message, the establishment of reform networks and the responses of secular authorities. By shedding light on the content of Evangelical preaching and the phenomenon of Baltic iconoclasm, this study aims to discern the identity of the earliest proponents of the burgeoning reform movement. The chapter argues, however, that the subsequent monolithic Lutheran character of the region was a result of the collective decision of princes and secular authorities to adopt the Reformation according to the Wittenberg model.

This chapter is devoted entirely to the Roman church of Santa Prassede, the principal surviving architectural project of Pope Paschal I (817–824). Its function as a major urban repository for the relics of the city’s Early Christian saints and martyrs, more than 2000 of which were brought here from the extramural catacombs, determines both the architectural model (Saint Peter’s) and many aspects of the decoration in mosaic, mural painting and sculpture. Special attention is devoted to the San Zeno chapel, the burial site of Paschal’s mother, Theodora, whose mosaic programme, including her portrait, is completely preserved and reflects that function. Consideration is given to Richard Krautheimer’s suggestion that this church constitutes evidence for a ‘Carolingian renascence’ of architectural forms associated with the first Christian emperor, Constantine.

This chapter provides a broader context for the achievement represented by Santa Prassede through an examination of what is known about Paschal’s numerous other building projects and patronage of material culture. Some of these survive (mosaics in the churches of Santa Maria in Domnica and Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, enamel and gilded silver reliquaries in the Sancta Sanctorum) and some are recorded in contemporary and subsequent antiquarian descriptions (funerary chapel in Saint Peter’s, restructuring of the presbytery at Santa Maria Maggiore). All can be related to papal concerns regarding relics, liturgy and the pope’s personal salvation.

In this chapter I explain Jean-Luc Marion’s developing uses of the word “icon,” not primarily as a painted image, but precisely as the way God shows himself, breaking through the idolatry of the finite human perspective through the counter-gaze, or reversal of intentionality. Despite his language that appears to be iconoclastic, I argue that Marion’s discussion of the kenosis of the sacred image is deeply faithful to the patristic iconophile spirit, transposed to a phenomenological key. In this, Marion opens up a third way of understanding mediation, which I explain through the metaphor of the transparent window. Just as glass is not an obstacle to the rays of the sun, provided it is cleared of smudges or flaws, the finite limits of creatures are no obstacle for the infinite, as long as they are open to receive what is communicated.

In this chapter I first draw from the results of the study of the Byzantine icon to establish the definition of an “iconic mediation” in general. In a second move, I then dissolve the adequation model of mediation, or “seashell model” as inherently iconoclastic. I also outline key assumptions held by the “sonic resonance” model of mediation in Gadamer and the “window” mediation of Marion, concluding neither of them are adequate to account for the mediation of the icon. I thus develop a new schema of mediation, based on the model of a love letter, to guide our understanding of the paradoxical character of iconic mediation which preserves the visceral tension between “everything matters” and “nothing matters.” The love letter, like the icon, can be understood rigorously, but only from a higher point of view, from the horizon of love.

This chapter raises the problematic of mediation as illustrated through the schema of a finite seashell trying to capture an infinite ocean. After providing a provisional definition of “mediation,” I lay out my central approach to a solution: to shed light on how such mediation can work in general by exploring how it works in the particular case of the Eastern Christian icon.

This chapter surveys art history, patristic theology, and modern Orthodox theology to identify a starting point that can address the mediating function of the icon. However, each of these approaches is also marked by limitations that ultimately leave them unable to sufficiently address two questions that are essential to this inquiry: (a) What is a painted image, and how does it mediate the truth of what it shows by its specific, finite capacities and aesthetic devices? (b) What would it mean for God to “show himself,” or what kind of “visibility” would God have? I make a case that phenomenology will be a powerful tool to address both questions.

‘Cancel culture’ is a new variant of an old phenomenon. The growth or spread that we associate with the contagion of cancellation has ‘making’ at its heart. The initial judgment plants the germ in Inventive mode. Causing the judgment to increase in consequence and extent makes it grow in Creative mode. Giving the judgment the air of publicity makes something new of it in Productive and co-Productive mode. Making a mistake triggers a whole series of making processes, and our language reflects this. The dominance of ‘making’ language in relation to individual errors and collective responses to those errors indicates that in social contexts an individual’s fracture of the social fabric is more than made up for by the fabricating impulses of society at large. The clustering of criticism operates in this sense almost like the cells of a body that rush to heal cuts in skin and breakages of bone – sometimes leaving the re-created tissue stronger than it was to begin with. On the other hand, where judgments are made hypocritically, too quickly, or with an inadequate grasp of the materials, the Product can be as shoddy as the original infraction.

The essay chronicles the Protestant objections to images and the Catholic response in the decree “On the invocation, veneration, and relics, of salnts, and on sacred images” of the Council of Trent. Paintings created as ecclesiastical decoration in the wake of the decree in Italy and in the Netherlands are examined.

The festal homilies of the middle Byzantine period are covered in this chapter, following the introduction of major Marian feasts between the sixth and early eighth century. These works provide a combination of Christological teaching, which is often presented by means of typological rather than discursive methods, along with narrative – some of which comes from apocryphal rather than canonical biblical texts. Although the Virgin remained important as the guarantor of Christ’s humanity and divinity in this period, growing interest in her own legendary story and personal holiness is reflected in the festal homilies. The homiletic category called ‘occasional’ meanwhile provides narrative concerning Mary’s intervention in human catastrophes such as the siege of the Avars and Persians on Constantinople in 626 CE. The homiletic genre, as practised by preachers of the middle Byzantine period, thus encompassed a range of didactic and panegyrical purposes.