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This book began its journey with two texts and two conjectures. The texts were chosen to represent two alternative models for listing the names of God: an open-ended list and a closed series of seventy-two names. Both lists presume to be exhaustive. Their respective understandings of “all,” however, are not identical. If they both comply with the axiom of monotheist onomatology that the single divinity has many names, each reflects a different position as to exactly how many they are. Theology vouches for an infinite number. Magic counters with seventy-two, the numerical equivalent of finitude. The central pronouncement of Christian theology on the naming of God—attributed to the authority of St. Dionysius the Areopagite—endorses the infinite list of names as the most adequate “name” for the unnamable divinity. It may be concluded that the theological vision emerging from the text of Dionysius presents an asymmetrical system of order that posits its “beyond” as its condition of possibility—a transcendent divinity exempt from the order it generates. The idea of order presented by the amulet The 72 Names of the Lord is based on an entirely different principle.

Ana de San Bartolomé (1549–1626), a contemporary and close associate of St. Teresa of Àvila, typifies the curious blend of religious activism and spiritual forcefulness that characterized the first generation of Discalced, or reformed Carmelites. Known for their austerity and ethics, their convents quickly spread throughout Spain and, under Ana's guidance, also to France and the Low Countries. Constantly embroiled in disputes with her male superiors, Ana quickly became the most vocal and visible of these mystical women and the most fearless of the guardians of the Carmelite Constitution, especially after Teresa's death. Her autobiography, clearly inseparable from her religious vocation, expresses the tensions and conflicts that often accompanied the lives of women whose relationship to the divine endowed them with an authority at odds with the temporary powers of church and state. Last translated into English in 1916, Ana's writings give modern readers insights into the nature of monastic life during the highly charged religious and political climate of late-sixteenth- and early-seventeenth-century Spain.

Early Christian monastic spiritual practices of self-formation became increasingly popular in late medieval and early modern Catholicism. Now, for the first time in the history of Christian spirituality, religious orders, first and foremost among them Franciscans and Jesuits, trained devout people, men and women, lay and religious, in practices of meditation, introspection, and subjectivization. Thousands, if not ten of thousands of lay people now acquired techniques of self examination that enabled them to pursue life goals and transform themselves. The book examines four of the major spiritual practices of the period, traces their history, diffusion, and the challenges they presented to clerical authority. Spiritual direction and general confession, two of the practices of self-formation discussed in the book, served as safety belts to guarantee that practitioners remained subjected to the teachings of the church. But spiritual exercises, general examination of conscience, and general confession supplied practitioners with techniques of self-construction and self -affirmation. Using insights from Michel Foucault's later work on practices of truth-telling and subjectivization, the book proposes the first systematic investigation of the complexity of subjectivization in early modern Catholicism as both a mechanism of self-formation and of subjugation

Imbued with character and independence, strength and articulateness, humor and conviction, abundant biblical knowledge and intense compassion, Katharina Schütz Zell (1498–1562) was an outspoken religious reformer in sixteenth-century Germany who campaigned for the right of clergy to marry and the responsibility of lay people—women as well as men—to proclaim the Gospel. As one of the first and most daring models of the pastor's wife in the Protestant Reformation, she demonstrated that she could be an equal partner in marriage; she was for many years a respected, if unofficial, mother of the established church of Strasbourg in an age when ecclesiastical leadership was dominated by men. Though a commoner, Schütz Zell participated actively in public life and wrote prolifically, including letters of consolation, devotional writings, biblical meditations, catechetical instructions, a sermon, and lengthy polemical exchanges with male theologians. The complete translations of her extant publications, except for her longest, are collected here, offering modern readers an opportunity to understand the work of women in the formation of the early Protestant church.

Images of suffering male bodies permeate Western culture, from Francis Bacon's paintings and Robert Mapplethorpe's photographs to the battered heroes of action movies. Drawing on perspectives from a range of disciplines—including religious studies, gender and queer studies, psychoanalysis, art history, and film theory—this book explores the complex, ambiguous meanings of the enduring figure of the male-body-in-pain. Acknowledging that representations of men confronting violence and pain can reinforce ideas of manly tenacity, it also argues that they reveal the vulnerability of men's bodies and open them up to eroticization. Locating the roots of our cultural fascination with male pain in the crucifixion, the book analyzes the way narratives of Christ's death and resurrection both support and subvert cultural fantasies of masculine power and privilege. Through readings of works by Georges Bataille, Kaja Silverman, and more, it delineates the redemptive power of representations of male suffering and violence.

This book explores how the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), and its spiritual successor the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), studied and engaged religious traditions around the world in the service of US national security. Between World War II and the 1979 Iranian Revolution, OSS and the CIA honed this strategy in the context of two thriving discourses in American culture: a renewed attention to religious pluralism as well as a newfound national interest in “world religions.” These efforts came to represent what this book calls the “religious approach” to intelligence, a term borrowed from World War II American spies. Influenced by popular American ideas about the nature and function of religion as a global public good, US intelligence saw “world religions” as an element of US national security. These assumptions about the nature of religion were folded into an existing and powerful tradition of American exceptionalism, encouraging intelligence officers to view the United States and the world’s religions as natural allies. Over time, US intelligence work abroad bled into debates about religion at home as Roman Catholicism became the model through which the intelligence community understood and manipulated other “world” religions. In its investigation of this religious approach to intelligence, this book grapples with intersecting developments in American and “world” religions, US history, the growth of US empire, and the academic study of religion after World War II.

Sharp-witted and sharp-tongued, Arcangela Tarabotti (1604–1652) yearned to be formally educated and enjoy an independent life in Venetian literary circles. But instead, at sixteen, her father forced her into a Benedictine convent. To protest her confinement, Tarabotti composed polemical works exposing the many injustices perpetrated against women of her day, the first of which, presented in this book, is a fiery, but carefully argued, manifesto against the oppression of women by the Venetian patriarchy. Denouncing key misogynist texts of the era, she shows how despicable it was for Venice to deprive its women of rights accorded even to foreigners, and accuses parents of treating convents as dumping grounds for disabled, illegitimate, or otherwise unwanted daughters. Tarabotti also demonstrates that women are clearly men's equals in God's eyes. An avenging angel who dared to speak out for the rights of women nearly four centuries ago, Arcangela Tarabotti can now finally be heard.

The letters of Paul have been used to support and condone a host of evils over the span of more than two millennia: racism, slavery, imperialism, misogyny, and anti-Semitism, to name a few. Despite, or in some cases because of, this history, readers of Paul have felt compelled to reappropriate his letters to fit liberal or radical politics, seeking to set right the evils done in Paul’s name. Starting with the language of excrement, refuse, and waste in Paul’s letters, Profaning Paul looks at how Paul’s “shit” is recycled and reconfigured. It asks why readers, from liberal Christians to academic biblical scholars to political theorists and philosophers, feel compelled to make Paul into a hero, mining his words for wisdom. Following the lead of feminist, queer, and minoritized scholarship, Profaning Paul asks what would happen if we stopped recycling Paul’s writings. By profaning the status of his letters as sacred texts, we might open up new avenues for imagining political figurations to meet our current and coming political, economic, and ecological challenges.

Jeanne de Jussie (1503–61) experienced the Protestant Reformation from within the walls of the Convent of Saint Clare in Geneva. In her impassioned and engaging Short Chronicle, she offers a singular account of the Reformation, reporting not only on the larger clashes between Protestants and Catholics but also on events in her convent—devious city councilmen who lied to trusting nuns, lecherous soldiers who tried to kiss them, and iconoclastic intruders who smashed statues and burned paintings. Throughout her tale, Jussie highlights women's roles on both sides of the conflict, from the Reformed women who came to her convent in an attempt to convert the nuns to the Catholic women who ransacked the shop of a Reformed apothecary. Above all, she stresses the Poor Clares' faithfulness and the good men and women who came to them in their time of need, ending her story with the nuns' arduous journey by foot from Reformed Geneva to Catholic Annecy. First published in French in 1611, Jussie's Short Chronicle is translated here for an English-speaking audience, providing a fresh perspective on struggles for religious and political power in sixteenth-century Geneva and a rare glimpse at early modern monastic life.

Europe's formative encounter with its “others” is still widely assumed to have come with its discovery of the peoples of the New World. But, as the book argues, long before 1492 Christian Europe imagined itself in distinction to the Jewish difference within. The presence and image of Jews in Europe afforded the Christian majority a foil against which it could refine and maintain its own identity. In fundamental ways this experience, along with the ongoing contest between Christianity and Islam, shaped the rhetoric, attitudes, and policies of Christian colonizers in the New World. This book proposes that questions of difference inside Christian Europe not only are inseparable from the painful legacy of colonialism, but also reveal Christian domination to be a fragile construct. It compares the Christian efforts aimed toward European Jews and toward indigenous peoples of the New World, bringing into focus the intersection of colonial expansion with the Inquisition and adding significant nuance to the entire question of the colonial encounter. Revealing the crucial tension between the Jews as “others within,” and the Indians as “others without,” this book is a major reassessment of early modern European identity.

The author, a crime writer, is known the world over for her acclaimed series of mysteries starring Chicago private investigator V. I. Warshawski. Before she started a writing career, the author earned a PhD in history from the University of Chicago with a dissertation on moral philosophy and religion in New England in the early and mid-nineteenth century. Now, for the first time, fans of the author can read that earliest work. The book analyzes attempts by theologians at Andover Seminary to square and secure Calvinist religious beliefs with emerging knowledge from history and the sciences. It carefully shows how the open-minded scholasticism of these theologians paradoxically led to the weakening of their intellectual credibility as conventional religious belief structures became discredited, and how this failure then incited reactionary forces within Calvinism. That conflict between science and religion in the American past is of interest on its face, but it also sheds light on contemporary intellectual battles. An afterword discusses where this work fits into the contemporary study of religion. And in a sobering—sometimes shocking—preface, the author paints a picture of what it was like to be a female graduate student at the University of Chicago in the 1970s. A treat for the author's many fans, this book offers a glimpse of the development of the mind behind the mysteries.