The KFG’s annual conference on Urban Heterarchies will take place from 11 to 13 December 2019. It is organised by Emiliano Urciuoli, Susanne Rau and Jörg Rüpke. To register, pelase contact Valeria Wahl.
According to archaeologist Carole L. Crumley, heterarchies are systems in which the component elements have ‘the potential of being unranked (relative to other elements)’ and/or the potential of being ‘ranked in a number of ways, depending on systemic requirements’. In contrast, explains archaeologist Alison E. Rautman, the concept of a ‘hierarchy’ ‘involves three assumptions regarding the organization of the constituent elements of a system: that a lineal ranking of constituent elements is in fact present; that this ranking is permanent (that is, the system of ranking has temporal stability); and the ranking of elements according to different criteria will result in the same overall ranking (that is, the relationships of elements is pervasive and integral to the system, and not situational)’.
For the issue of the reciprocal formation of religion and urbanity, ‘heterarchies’ open up diverse directions of analysis within cities as well as with regard to interurban networks. In both fields, the conference papers will deal with institutional arrangements as much as media of representation, narratives of legitimation, practices of comparison, strategies of mutual recognition or critique and interference up to the point of violence.
As a result, we will try to develop more complex models of constellations and paths of development that will help us to better understand and explain religious change and changes of urbanity. The conference will bring together leading experts focusing on empirical and theoretical questions and representing multiple disciplines, such as religious studies, Asian studies, history, classics, archaeology, geography, and sociology, in order to bring the heuristically promising concept of heterarchy to bear on the study of the cross-cultural and cross-temporal entanglements of religion and urbanity.
For the programme and further Information, see here.
After decades of disputes, legal challenges and negotiations, the body of Francisco Franco, Spain’s infamous dictator, was moved from a grande Catholic mausoleum to a municipal cemetery this week. In 1975, Franco’s body was placed in the Valley of the Fallen (Valle de los Caídos) memorial near Madrid. He ruled Spain from 1939 onwards, after emerging victorious from the Spanish Civil War. Proponents of the exhumation and movement of the body argued that the Franco’s commemoration glorified the dictator and his deeds. Opponents of the decision argued the exhumation disturbed the peace of the dead and gave further, politically motivated reasons for their criticism. Santiago Abascal, the leader of the far-right Vox party, tweeted: “This is how the socialist campaign begins, profaning tombs, digging up hatreds, questioning the legitimacy of the monarchy. Vox alone has the courage to defend freedom and common sense in the face of totalitarianism.” The debate around the proper burial and commemoration of Franco gave parties like Vox the opportunity to use some popular tropes of the far right: Portraying themselves as victims, railing against a supposed undermining of liberties and claiming a role as protectors of freedom of speech. Particularly objectionable to those opposing the move was the fact that the body was moved to a simple graveyard and the decedants of Franco wanted to, at least, move the body to the seat of the Archidiocese of Madrid, Almudena Cathedral in Madrid; a request that was eventually denied for reasons of safety. Eventually, Franco’s body was moved to the cemetery where his wife is buried. The mausoleum, municipal cemetery and cathedral all carry different symbolic, religious and political meanings, leading to fierce arguments between proponents of one or the other burial space. Where a body lies matters.
The placement of
the dead was always important. Ever since humans started to bury their dead,
where burials took place was of great significance. In many cases, specific
areas were assigned, where the dead were placed and rituals of commemoration
were performed. In many of these sites, religious, occult or spiritual
practices played a particularly important role, also giving rise to stories of
miracles, ghosts or other activities that connect the living and the dead.
Pressures of persecution, for example among early Christian martyrs, or
political display, for instance when it came to the building of royal
mausoleums near churches, all played an important part in the constructions,
real and metaphorical, of these burial sites.
But the meaning of these sites was never fixed and what may have been an honourable and desirable burial space in one century could be turned into an undesirable spot in the next. These shifting interpretations of cemeteries, graveyards, execution sites and other places, where dead bodies went, are particularly visible in towns. In urban centres, many changes were implemented because of an increasing density and the need for more space for other buildings or living quarters. In Erfurt, a park and parking spaces were built on top of the former execution site. At the same time, intellectual discourses on religion and hygiene spread more quickly in urban settings, meaning that their influence was felt more strongly in an urban context. The desire to show oneself as wealthy, sophisticated or well-travelled, elements that shaped what grave stones and epitaphs looked like, was also particularly pronounced in urban settings, where one could show off to the whole urban community and have a funerals commemorated in pamphlets and broadsheets.
In the period 1500 to 1800 we see several such shifts in urban cemeteries. Some burial spaces were moved during or soon after epidemics. This happened throughout the medieval and early modern periods, but one of the most famous cases of such a movement of a cemetery came in the early sixteenth century, prior to the Reformation. In Nuremberg, in 1517/18, the cemeteries of St. Lorenz and St. Sebald were moved to spaces outside of the town, creating the cemeteries of St. Rochus and St. Johannis. These cemeteries were deliberately moved outside of the city centre to prevent any spread of the plague among the densely populated town. Rochus was named after one of the most famous plague saints, illustrating the continued relevance of religion, even when cemeteries were no longer directly attached to churches.
A second change in this period saw the Reformation create what Craig Koslofsky has called a “separation of the living and the dead”. By this he means that both theologically and spatially the living and the dead were separated by important evangelical reformers. As prayers for the souls of the deceased no longer functioned to decrease the time of souls spent in purgatory, cemeteries were moved outside the city walls. Instead of indulgences and saintly intercession, men and women were supposed to focus on the promise of eternal life and divine mercy. How much the movement during these times was a ‘wave’, as it has been called in litertaure on the topic, and if the advice of the reformers was really put into place in many German towns, further research will have to show.
In Reformation Switzerland, we can see that the political and religious demands did not always lead to permanent change when it came to burials and graves. Town councils ordered that family coats of arms and elaborate crosses should be removed from tomb stones, so as to ensure no undue display of wealth in cemeteries. Just like the changes of the Reformation were felt in towns more broadly, so they also influenced the urban cemeteries and changed the way they looked. Tellingly, however, this particular Reformation change was reversed in the seventeenth century, when patricians started adding elaborate coats of arms and depictions to their tomb stones once more. While many Swiss territories were thoroughly Reformed, some changes were not permanent. Apparently, some aspects of burial cultures were so deeply engrained in the self-understanding of the elites that they were not willing to give them up, even if it meant going against the advice of important reformers.
In the seventeenth century, the turmoil of the Thirty Years War led to some repositioning of burial spaces, for example when towns were besieged. On the battlefield, other kinds of burials and commemorations were used. Military chaplains played an important role in making sure that soldiers who had died were buried, but there are also instances where mass graves were used to hold the many bodies of the deceased. Archaeological work has uncovered a range of such graves at important sites of the Thirty Years War, for example fifty skeletons discovered in Nördlingen.
However, as the work of Peter Wilson has shown, that is not to say that during the Thirty Years War chaos ruled in the German lands. There were still significant attempts to bury individuals with at least some of the proper rites. For example, when Gustavus Adolphus died in Lüzen, his body was transported back to Sweden, so that he could receive all the proper rites there and be buried in the royal crypt. The funeral ceremonies influenced Sweden, particularly royal residences, for months. It was of crucial importance that important leaders like Gustavus Adolphus were buried and commemorated in the appropriate manner, even it meant a compliacted transport.
At the same time, the increasing European colonization lead to significant shifts in the burial cultures of European colonial powers. Men and women dying on ships could be thrown over board, as there was too much risk that they might contract diseases. In the colonies, funeral rituals and grave spaces could also be adapted. In Asia, the commemoration of Jesuit missionaries and martyrs could take on elements of the local populations, for example, leading to kinds of syncretism, which historians have uncovered in a range of contexts recently. Dying away from one’s home country, whether as mercenary, trader or missionary meant that burials and funerals had to be adapted. Although people died travelling in the Middle Ages, of course, the increasing inter-connectedness of the early modern world meant that deaths abroad became more common.
If we return to Europe and its towns, there was one further big change and that came in the eighteenth century. Increasingly, town inhabitants and councilors wanted to move cemeteries for reasons of hygiene, a trend explored by Norbert Fischer and others. For example, in late eighteenth century Munich, a public campaign ensued to force urban dignitaries to move the cemetery from the town’s centre to the outskirts. For medical considerations and a fear that diseases might spread, letters argued that ‘poisonous exhalations’ would ‘damage the health of the town’s inhabitants’. Alongside these changes to the burial spaces also came other considerations. In the late eighteenth century, Joseph II. of Bavaria argued, for instance, that the state at large would benefit from a thorough investigation of the corpses (Leichenbeschau) in order to ascertain why someone had died and to protect towns from further outbreaks of disease. In another text, an anonymous author criticized that the burials underneath the church could harm people while they were worshipping: ‘The foul air locked in the crypts can even damage the people present in the church, the Temple of God’. In the margins, the author wrote that the tomb stones can be put into the church walls, as is deemed fit, suggesting an awareness that many families would have wanted their family epitaphs and tomb stones to survive any changes in the church space.
As a result of the campaigns, Munich’s former plague cemetery, the Alter Südfriedhof, located outside of the city walls anyway, became the main burial site for the town’s inhabitants. To use a term coined by Thomas Laqueur, the town’s necrogeography changed. The movement of the cemetery changed how and where people were buried, but also what a town looked like and how it would have been experienced by inhabitants and visitors alike. The movement of cemeteries also meant that the church lost some of ist influence, as it no longer received money from the burial spaces, which used to be attached directly to the churches.
The features sketched out above show three general trends in the burial culture of early modern cities: A diversification, where not everyone was buried in their home town; some people died on ships, in wars or while travelling in an increasingly inter-connected world. Secondly, the way towns looked and where experienced changed because, generally speaking, many cemeteries were moved outside of towns, outside of city centres and town walls. Thirdly, the example of urban cemeteries shows one aspect of the mutual influence of religion and urbanity. Movements of cemeteries because of reformers’ demands, complaints by clerics that they no longer received money for burials, which went to the town instead and the spread of diseases in dense, urban environments were all connected to cultures of death. Whether one can interpret the movement of burial sites away from the churchyard, towards sites outside of towns administered by urban actors as a sign of an increasing secularisation is perhaps one of the most interesting questions connected to these dynamics. In the past, as today, cemeteries can tell us as much about death as they can about life.
— Martin Christ
Martin Christ is a KFG post-doctoral research fellow working on ducal burials and urban cemeteries in early modern Germany.
Norbert Fischer, ‘Topographie des Todes. Zur sozialhistorischen Bedeutung der Friedhofsverlegungen zwischen Mittelalter und Neuzeit‘ in: Fischer/Kobelt-Groch (Hrsg.): Außenseiter zwischen Mittelalter und Neuzeit, S. 81–98.
Norbert Fischer, Vom Gottesacker zum Krematorium. Eine Sozialgeschichte der Friedhöfe in Deutschland seit dem 18. Jahrhundert. Köln/Weimar/Wien 1996.
Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen, ‘Spacing Death – Facing Death: Conceptualizing the Encounter With Death During the Early Modern Period’ in: Tarald Rasmussen (Hg.), Jon Øygarden Flæten (Hg.), Preparing for Death, Remembering the Dead, S. 123-152.
Craig M. Koslofsky, The Reformation of the Dead: Death and Ritual in early modern Germany, 1450-1700. Basingstoke u.a.: Macmillan u.a., 2000 (= Early modern history).
Thomas W. Laqueur, The Work of the Dead. A Cultural History of Mortal Remains (Princeton 2015)
All images taken from Wikipedia. For details, see here, here and here.
Excavations at the urban site of Barikot (Swat, NW Pakistan)
The sound of the muezzin’s call to the first prayer of the day has been marking out the start of our working day for four weeks now. At dawn, while arriving by car from Saidu Sharif, the isolated steep hill of Barikot, overlooking a large stretch of the middle Swat river, has the capacity of capturing our glances usually distracted by the very busy bazaar road, by somehow reminding us of the substantial value of its strategic location exploited by all the communities who pretended to control the great economic resources of the Swat valley over centuries.
The Swat valley, or ancient Uḍḍiyāna, located between the extreme north-west of the Indian subcontinent, the extreme eastern offshoots of the Iranian Plateau and to the south of the vast Centro-Asiatic area, seems to materialize well the conceptual idea of a space of constant dialogue, negotiation, translation and remaking of cultural and political identities. The interactions between locals and people who politically dominated the Gandhāra region over centuries, triggered multiple and overlapping processes of cultural osmosis resultign in a complex picture of social and religious horizons.
The Swat area has been investigated by the ISMEO-Italian Archaeological Mission in Pakistan (hereafter MAIP), funded by ISMEO, MAECI and recently by the Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, since 1955. Since 2010 MAIP is under the direction of Dr L.M. Olivieri. The Swat valley has recently become one of the lenses through which we explore the mutual formations of “Religion and Urbanity”.
The 2019 excavation season of the MAIP opens a new chapter in the history of research of the urban site of Barikot (Swat valley, NW Pakistan) that has a clear intersection with the “Religion and Urbanity” research project.
The continuity of its occupation over more than one millennium and the reliability of its stratigraphic sequence make Barikot a crucial key-site in the urban archaeology of the Gandhāra region (i.e. NW Pakistan and part of NE Afghanistan). Thus, the site has the potential to offer reliable information on the real impact that Buddhism – the major organized religious phenomenon in Gandhāra – had on the local society and on the incidence of local and Brahmanic traditions to Buddhist spaces, practices, iconographies and vice-versa. Indeed, the overwhelming visibility of Buddhist remains in the rural area has risked to put into the background various socio-cultural and religious realities that might have had a crucial role in the formulation of a religious system and its relation with the “in-between” (urban/non-urban) context of the Swat area. Within the framework of the “Religion and Urbanity” project I will try to assess the connections between different religiosities and their meaningful and effective interactions. The latter will be analyzed within a long-term perspective in order to highlight variation and continuity, in their interplay with the socio-economic realities of the contemporary urban society. Barikot, of course, cannot but play a pivotal role in this study. Before going into details let me take a brief step back.
The excavations at the urban site of Barikot, the ancient Bazira/Beira of Alexander’s historians, started more than 30 years ago under the direction of Prof. P. Callieri with the aim to explore the socio-cultural and economic context of the urban society related to the well-known Buddhist Gandhāran art, which for years had monopolized the archaeological research in the area. The results went far beyond expectations. On the southern plain, at the foot of the hill, digs have exposed a good portion of an ancient town (c. 12 hectares including the acropolis) encompassed within an imposing defensive wall with massive rectangular bastions, dated on numismatic evidence and radiocarbon data to the Indo-Greek phase, c. 150 BCE (see map, below). Thanks to a thick series of C14 dates collected over more than 30 years, the occupation of the site is today confidently dated between 1400-800 BCE and the 10th century CE. It goes without saying that today the ancient town of Barikot represents a key-site in the Gandhāra region, the only one with a statistically stable chronological sequence running from the Bronze Age to the Hindu-Shahi period.
Up to now a large portion of the ancient city – mostly corresponding to the SW quarters of the ancient city (see map below) – has been exposed (trenches BKG 1-13) revealing a succession of residential areas, public courtyards, private and public cultic areas reflecting both Buddhist and local religiosity.
The archaeological sequence exposed in the SW portion of the city – the sector where excavations carried out between 2011-2018 have been focused – suggests that the site there was abandoned between the end of the 3rd and the beginning of the 4th century CE. This is also the time when a drastic decrease of Buddhist monasteries and sacred areas is attested in the Swat countryside together with a gradual process of development of new Buddhist doctrines/philosophies (Vajrayāna Buddhism) and a revival of Brahmanic religiosities.
According to epigraphic sources, the early-historic city of Beira/Bazira, was followed by a later settlement called Vajirasthāna (vajira(sthā)ne) in a Brāhmī-Śāradā inscription of the time of King Jayapāladeva (10th century CE) found on the hill-top of Barikot. However, archaeologically speaking, very little is known of this “second Barikot” and of post-abandonment structural phases, when the area seems to have been occupied by a tower-house fortified Settlement, a feature common to several other sites in Swat and southern areas starting from the 7th century CE.
— The pillared room of the “turreted building” in BKG 2.
The 2019 season focuses on the “second Barikot” with the aim to explore: a) the Shahi and pre-Shahi stratigraphy (5th- 10th centuries CE) of the area surrounding the so-called “turreted building” with pillared hall and cultic spaces (trench BKG 2, excavated in 1984-1990; see map and image above) and the related settlement; b) the Shahi Brahmanical temple (7th-10th centuries CE) at the top of the acropolis (BKG 6, partially exposed in 1998-2000) and the coeval fortification.
This first part of the archaeological campaign of the MAIP has a small and diverse team: myself (Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt; MAIP Acting Director), Niaz Ali Shah Bacha (archaeologist, Directorate of Archaeology and Museums – Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, DOAM), Dr. Omar Coloru (historian, University of Genoa), Marco Pinelli (conservator, Accademia delle Belle Arti di Brera) and Sirat Gohar (archaeologist, Quaid-i-Azam University, Islamabad). To this small group must be added the crucial backbone of the MAIP that is our permanent local staff both at the headquarters (the historical “Mission House” in Saidu Sharif) and in the field, mostly consisting of the same people who have been working with the Mission for the last 15-20 years.
During this first month the field activity has follow three parallel paths: (1) bibliographic research and survey of the sites associated with the Indo-Greek occupation of the area (2nd to mid 1st centuries BCE), (2) archaeological excavations in the inhabited area and (3) consolidation activity on the stucco decoration of the Brahmanic temple on the hill-top. The latter has been the target of the Taliban who intentionally damaged it in 2001. Following the line of restauration of the colossal rock-carving of the Jahanabad Buddha – severely damaged by the Taliban in 2007 – the MAIP has decided to re-expose (the temple was in fact re-buried for protection) and consolidate the temple and to continue the excavation there. The first steps undertaken in this direction were the removal of the modern refilling of the 1998-2000 trenches and the consolidation of the stucco in situ along with the analysis of hundreds of pieces of architectural decoration stored in the godown of the Mission House now handed over to the Swat Museum in Saidu Sharif.
While Marco Pinelli and his Pakistani collaborators are working on the hill-top, myself, Sirat Gohar, Niaz Ali Shah Bacha and our field staff are focused on the archaeological investigation of the sectors surrounding the so-called “turreted building”, bringing to light the different faces taken on by the “second Barikot” over time: from a plain urban layout to a terraced and fortified aspect. The preliminary analysis of structural remains, ceramic material and small finds recovered during excavations suggest to date back the occupation of this area and the foundation of the cultic space associated with the “turreted building” to a pre-Hindu Shahi phase. This result, if confirmed, has a series of implications for the urban and religious history of the site. However, only the analysis of the materials – still ongoing – will tell us a more detailed story.
Another parallel activity concerns the investigation of the Indo-Greek economic and political program, something that, until a few years ago, appeared as imperceptible at the archaeological level. Interestingly, in the middle Swat valley, over a distance of only 20 km, there is evidence of at least three large urban settlements in the Indo-Greek period: Barikot, Udegram and Barama. To this list should be added the site of Shaikhan Dheri at Charsadda, to the south of the Swat valley.
At the moment Barikot is the only site where a reliable and consistent stratigraphy (three structural phases) related to the Indo-Greek acculturation phase has been documented (also in association with Greek inscriptions on sherds). Moreover, the fortification wall of Barikot represents the only excavated Indo-Greek urban defence, as well as one of the most outstanding examples of Hellenistic military architecture in the Hellenized Far East. This data combined with several textual (Classical and Indian) sources led to reflections on the political and economic reasons behind the significant financial investment of the Indo-Greek period in these territories and on their role in the diffusion of Buddhist religion. The preliminary results of this research were presented during the Conference The Hellenistic king and the Indian wise man. Putting the Milindapañha in its contexts held at the University of Bologna from the 19th-20th September 2019.
Our working days are quite busy and often push us towards quite different activities, sources and places, only seemingly disjointed. Actually the variety of questions asked during our targeted investigations helps to build up (while preserving it) a coherent and substantial picture of the multi-lingual and multi-ethnic urban society of the Swat valley from the Early to Late Historic period. By putting this within the question-oriented framework of the “Religion and Urbanity” project I will try to assess the role played by the religious systems as socially active agents and to question how the various political and economic entities negotiate with the different forms of religiosity (and vice-versa) over time by highlighting the internal logics they re-defined.
— Elisa Iori.
Elisa Iori is a post-doctoral researcher in the KFG “Religion and Urbanity”. She is an archaeologist specialising in the religious history of South Asia.
It’s the end of July, I’m in Lyon, primarily to do research for the annual conference of our Humanities Centre for Advanced Studies, to be organized around the topic of “urban heterarchies,” and I am working on the St. Trinitatis Brotherhood, which in the late Middle Ages must have represented an important link between the “power” of the clergy and that of the newly formed city council. You can hear more about this in December at the Augustinerkloster in Erfurt.
Today is Saturday and the day of my departure, and
I still have plans to go to one of the markets, specifically the Marché Quai
Saint-Antoine. There are fewer people there than usual, probably because most
people who live in the city are already on vacation.
To the left, on the other bank of the Saône, is Saint-Jean Cathedral, dating from the Middle Ages, and above it, the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière (nineteenth century), which majestically overlooks the city, almost as though it were watching over the market.
The market traders come from all over the region, from the Monts du Lyonnais, Savoie, or Ardèche; some sell goods from the wholesale market, others are the producers themselves, who sell their goods directly (farmers, bakers, gardeners, butchers, cheesemakers, etc.). There are the first fresh figs (from the Ardèche) and Charentais melons (from Provence) as well as many other seasonal vegetables and fruits and, of course, cheese. I buy Comté and Tomme from Savoie and a few fine rigottes de Condrieu; finally, some baguette de campagne for dinner, which will be at home in Germany.
and Fairs Have a Long Tradition in Lyon
Lyon has “always” been a trading city—it’s not only the citizens of the city who will tell you this, but historians, too, who have made this claim since early modern times. One can consult Guillaume Paradin (ca. 1510–1590), whose history of Lyon was published in the sixteenth century:
“Des foires, qui de temps immemorial ont esté
continuees à Lyon.
L’on ne pourroit nier, que les foires publiques, & le commerce de toute Europe, n’aist esté frequenté à Lyon des la foundation de la cite par Plancus, & possible autant que Plancus fut naiz: estant encores la cite en-bas, entre les riuieres. Et qu’ainsi soit, Strabo qui viuoit du temps d’Auguste & de Plancus, parlant des habitans de Lyon, escript ainsi. Nam et usui magno, est illis emporium. I. Ilz tirent vn grand profit des foires & commerce. Par lesquelles paroles, lon peust bien iuger par coniecture, que deia ce commerce s’exerçoit à Lyon autant que Plancus vin ten Gaule: car il estoit impossible, qu’estant la cite si nouuellement rebastie par luy en la montagne, lon y feist tel profict des foires, lesquelles n’eussent peu encores ester publiees par les prouinces voisines: tant s’en faut, que le profit y eust esté si grand que dit Strabo.” (Paradin, Chapter IX, 12–13). (See here for the digitized version.)
Lyon is indeed famous for its fairs (“foires”). But Paradin’s claim that these already existed in antiquity, since the city’s founding by Lucius Munatius Plancus, is exaggerated. Like every larger city, Lyon, of course, had its weekly markets. However, the fairs were not established until the fifteenth century: in 1420, they began with two fairs a year, and in 1464 there were already four because the king wanted to lure the trade merchants from Geneva to Lyon. The brief suspension of the fairs (1484) was due to the calamities of the time. But in 1494, there were already four annual fairs again. From then on, Lyon experienced an economic and demographic boom, interrupted only by the religious wars in the second half of the sixteenth century.
Fairs and Trade Fairs: Temporal Orderings
The influence of religion is also repeatedly
visible with the trade fairs. The dates of the fairs were guided by the
liturgical year, meaning that, if the four dates could be arranged accordingly,
the fairs began after Epiphany (January 6), Quasimodo (the first Sunday after
Easter), August 4 (the day of a local saint), and All Saints’ Day. They usually
lasted fifteen days, with the merchandise fair taking place in the first week
and the exchange fair in the second. Hence, that’s when prices and payment
dates were negotiated. Here, again, is what Paradin wrote about this:
“Mais reuenant aux foires, il me souffira de dire,
que diuerseme[n]t elles ont esté reglees, selon les temps, & les regnes:
car de ce qui en est memorié, nous trouuons, que le roy Charles septieme de
France estant en la ville d’Angiers, en l’an mil quatre cens quarante trois,
octroya à la cite de Lyon deux foires, lesquelles il ordonna estre tenues,
assauoir la premiere, le mercredy apres pasques, continuant vingtz iours: la
seconde, commenceant lendemain de la feste sainct Iaques, & sainct
Christophle, le vingtsixieme de Iuillet, continuant vingtz iours. Et depuis par
ampliation de grace, en octroya vne troisieme, commenceant le lendemain de la
feste sainct André, continuant vingtz iours ensuiuant. Depuis estant venu à la
coronne le roy Loys vnzieme de ce nom, son fils, & estant à sainct Michel
sur Loyre, l’an deuxieme de son regne, luy fut remonstré, que les foires que
lors les marcha[n]s de son royaume freque[n]toyent en la ville de Geneue,
estoyent grandeme[n]t preiudiciables au royaume de France, pour raison de
l’alienation & transport des deniers, & denrees de ce royaume: au moyen
dequoy il octroya lors aux habitans de Lyon, quatre foires l’an, comme ells
sont continues iusques auiourd’huy.“ (Paradin, 13–14)
It was normal in Christian Europe in the late Middle Ages for the general calendar to be oriented towards the Christian liturgical year, beginning with Advent and brought into a rhythm with the calendar of saints and feasts. Indeed, German uses the same word, “Messe,” for a church service (the Catholic mass) and a trade fair. “Messe” is derived from the Latin “missa.” The fact that the same word refers here to two very different events can be explained in various ways. First, the Latin “missa” (“religious service,” “celebration of mass”) developed from the formula “ite, missa est” (in English: “Go it is the dismissal”) which concluded the liturgical celebration of the sacrifice. It marks, in other words, the end of the event. Second, as was recorded in many ordinances, church services and markets such as fairs were to take place one after the other: the market after the service, the trade fair often only after the day in honor of a saint. Third, the markets or fairs often took place near a church—not least because there was a large open square where the traders could set up their stands. Evidently due to proximity, a transfer of meaning took place here. Both the spatial and the temporal context (the juxtaposition and succession) of religious and mercantile practices have made their mark in the formation and use of the term. Terms in other European languages (English: fair French: foire, Italian: fiera, Spanish: fiesta) derive from the Latin “feria, feriae.” Yet this, too, not only meant “market” but “religious holidays,” which sometimes took place during the same period. Here, too, one can see the spatial-temporal interrelations of practices that regularly took place, which, precisely through their competition, presumably took shape and continued to develop in parallel. Today, a distant reflection of this opposing pair is manifest in the closing of shops on Sundays (where this still occurs) or in special events such as Whitsun markets, which often combine consumer fairs with folk festivals. The fact that these markets began on an ecclesiastical holiday—or, to be precise, on the following day—often goes back to a royal or imperial privilege granted during the Middle Ages.
from All Over the World
At the beginning of the sixteenth century, textiles, spices, metal goods, books, and paper, as well as leather and skins, were traded in Lyon (Garden, vol. 1, 55–108). Merchants also brought many finished products—such as knives and other iron goods, bed linen, hats, menswear, shoes, wallpaper, carpets, and weapons—from all over France. There are no detailed records in this document of the areas of origin of the raw materials, since they were often imported via Italian, German, Swiss, and Spanish merchants based in Lyon. But the list of spices and medicines (“drogueries”) alone suggests that many of these raw materials came from the Levant or from farther away in Asia: Almonds, aniseed, cinnamon, cassia, coloquine (pumpkin), shells from the Levant, coriander, caraway, incense, Folii Indi (feuille des Indes, Indian leaf, probably: Indian bay leaf), ginger, cloves, Arabic gum, seeds (often “graine de paradis,” meaning melegueta peppercorns), hermodactylus (Iris tuberosa or snake’s-head iris), mace, grains of paradise, mastic, myrobalans (cherry plum, usually dried), nutmeg, pepper, long pepper, musk, pyrethrum, rice, sandarac, seeds for planting, senna, spikenard, turmeric (terra merita, saffron), zinc oxide (vitriol?), zeodary (Curcuma zedoaria). (Gascon, vol. 2, 883; Archives municipales de Lyon: CC 4293, 1519)
Unlike in Calicut (modern-day Kozhikode) in India, at the time there was no fixed location for the Lyon fairs at which mainly wholesalers and long-distance merchants came together. This was the case only for the smaller weekly markets: here, each category of goods was assigned a fixed public place where trading was allowed on a certain day. And later on (or, to be precise, between 1856 and 2005), Lyon had the Grand Bazar, the first large department store in the city, located in the rue de la République, very close to the Franciscan convent (Cordeliers). But where did merchants meet in the early modern period? Let’s take a look at the classic work by Marc Brésard to see if a trade fair topography can be reconstructed.
As early as 1420, just after Lyon had received the privilege of holding two fairs, the consuls determined the places where the wares could be displayed (Brésard, 243–249). The first fair was to take place on the near side of the Saône, i.e., on the Empire side, today’s Presqu’île; the second fair of the year was to be held on the other side of the Saône, the Royaume side. In 1461, certain goods were to be displayed in certain places in the city, each approximately limited to the width of one house. In 1462 the planning of a hall was considered, but this plan failed. Finally, it was agreed, not least after the intervention of the king, that the goods could be displayed anywhere in the city, to the right and left of the Saône and wherever the merchants liked. For this purpose, displays (“étalages”), presumably wooden benches, were made available, which stood everywhere along the streets, on the squares, on the bridge over the Saône, as well as near the city gates, and which could be covered in case of rain or sun with linen sheeting held in place by cords. After that, the perimeter was somewhat restricted: between the rue Juiverie (and quarter named after it), the hospital (with the name of la Saônnerie or la Saunerie), and the place de Roanne on the right side, and la Platière, la Grenette, Saint-Antoine, Cordeliers, and Rhône on the other side. Later, the area was extended to the place des Terreaux (Brésard, 254). Hence four times a year, the whole city transformed into a large market. This was something very special, as fourteen-day fairs with comparable international reach and total sales were held in only a few cities: Lyon, Medina del Campo, Piacenza, and Antwerp. One can imagine how narrow it must have been on the streets and in the alleys at the time. There was no shortage of complaints from drivers who could no longer get through with their horse-drawn carriages. So it proved less disruptive for traffic in the city when the merchants rented space in city shops or deposited their goods immediately upon arriving in the large inn where they were being accommodated. Some unsold goods were also left in these depots until the merchants returned to the city two or three months later. The temporal and spatial organization of the fairs, the presence of many foreign merchants and bankers, and the diverse range of goods also created a specific urbanity.
As can be gleaned from the minutes of the Council and royal letters, trade also took place on the other side of the Saône, which in the sixteenth century could only be crossed via a single stone bridge, the pont du Change, assuming a rowboat was not available. After visiting the market, I cross the pont Bonaparte to the other side of the river, which is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, to visit the most important sites and buildings. The square in front of the cathedral, created only by partially demolishing and reconstructing the St. Jean monastery in the second half of the sixteenth century, was located outside the fair district. The route continues along the rue Saint-Jean, where buildings in the local style typical of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries can still be found today. Along the way, I pass by newer buildings in the Italian Renaissance style arriving via a traboule, one of the passages typically found between buildings in Lyon, at the former Hostellerie du gouvernement and I finally finish my tour at the place du Change, where the money changers met in the fifteenth century, before the first merchant’s loggia (loge du Change) was built here in the seventeenth century, later to be enlarged and redesigned in the middle of the eighteenth century according to plans by Jacques-Germain Soufflot.
Following the French Revolution, the exchange was transformed into a house of worship for the Reformed Church, which still meets there today. But the clocks at the top of the building continue to remind us today that the merchants were “watching the clock.” Such conversions of building uses were not rare around 1800, as we have already seen with St. Peter’s Church in Erfurt, except that here the conversion ran the other way: a formerly secular building was converted for future religious use. This is hardly visible on the exterior of the building; the alterations were mainly internal (cross, altar, pulpit, benches) to adapt the building for the Reformed liturgy.
What is equally interesting for the research group, however, are the rhythms that shaped the use of urban space during the fairs. The presence of the many foreign merchants and trading companies in the city left less of a visible mark in striking architectural structures than did religious practices. At least for trade fairs, a certain ephemerality can be observed, as I showed above. Lasting much longer than practices of commerce and payment, the religious practices of some merchant families or trading nations established themselves in the city: for example, the establishment of a chapel in the church of Notre-Dame-de-Confort by the very wealthy Gadagne family (Italian: Guadagni).
Instead of continuing my stroll through the city, it’s time for me to focus on my essay on urban heterarchies, turning again to the history of the St. Trinitatis Brotherhood. There will be more to read about that by December, at the latest.
Translated by Michael Thomas Taylor.
— Susanne Rau
Susanne Rau is professor of spatial history and culture at the University of Erfurt and one of the spokespersons of the KFG “Religion and Urbanity: Reciprocal Formations” .
Marc Brésard, Les foires de Lyon au XVe et XVIe
siècles, Paris 1914.
Richard Gascon, Grand commerce et vie urbaine
au XVIe siècle: Lyon et ses marchands (environs de 1520 – environs de 1580),
2 vols., Paris 1971.
A few thoughts on the spirit of Erfurt city in the footsteps of Meister Eckhart and Martin Luther
Biology has stressed the relationship between thought and the brain for a long time – an idea that cognitive neurosciences and neuro-psychological studies object to today.
The attempt to associate a physical location, in the human body, to thought remains an open question. But what about localising thought on a more global, social level? Can certain thoughts and philosophical approaches be linked with particular places? This short essay is an invitation to consider the relationship between logos and topos, thought and place. Do certain places entail “inspirationality” per se and what are the constructs of this inspirationality?
It is striking that the German city of Erfurt witnessed the presence of two audacious figures of Western religious history and philosophy: Meister Eckhart (1260-1328) and Martin Luther (1483-1546). Despite the century and a half separating them, both clerics are remembered for their concerns in bringign together reason and faith and for their concern with the accessibility of the Bible. Looking at this puzzling convergence, I wish to continue the discussion engaged by Ruedi Imbach on the relationship between philosophy and its place of genesis (Imbach 2018). Imbach looks at the concomitant presence of Meister Eckhart, Lulle and Dante in Paris in 1310. He shows in the discussion of his paper “Relations parisiennes (…)” that the philosophical thought often rises in a particular place at a particular time (Imbach 2018):
Les textes cités et les annotations qui les accompagnent montrent bien que le questionnement philosophique surgit fréquemment dans un lieu précis et à un moment temporel précis. (Imbach 2018, 116)
Imbach does not just insist on the place, but also on the temporality of the meeting. I wish here to pursue his fascinating approach, and to enlarge the period of interest in order to focus on the impact of the place on the thought – without binding it to a specific time. Is it possible to identify, irrespective of time, a particular place, connected with a particular spirit? As an answer to the Hegelian Zeitgeist(or “spirit of the age”) – a cultural conditioning of a particular time, let us explore the potential existence of a “Raumgeist”, resulting from the originality of a place.
Meister Eckhart and Martin Luther are two celebrated figures of Erfurt, the capital of Thuringia. Their names still haunt the city lanes, encouraged by local institutions and authorities (concerned with the promotion of Erfurt heritage and history) to invade posters, flyers and visitor programmes. Both names are advertised widely, so that it is certainly no exaggeration to consider Eckhart and Luther as the modern patrons of Erfurt heritage.
Apart from this modern cultural partnership, Eckhart and Luther share genuine features. Both were clerics and theologians (Eckhart was a Dominican Prior, Luther an Augustinian monk), they are particularly remembered for their efforts in promoting the vernacular language, and thus in facilitating the access of biblical and religious knowledge to the laity. Eckhart preached and partly wrote in Mittelhochdeutsch (Middle High German). Luther translated the Bible in a comparable language from 1522 to 1534, which had, at the time of printing, a tremendous socio-religious impact. Both were accused of heresy and had to answer to the Vatican about their work and theological positions.
Martin Luther was born 155 years after Meister Eckhart’s death, so that, unlike Lulle, Eckhart and Dante in Paris, the question of a potential meeting can easily be excluded. Yet both of them spend a good amount of time in Erfurt: So the impact of the place on their thoughts has to be considered. Meister Eckhart, who was born not far from Erfurt, stayed several times in Erfurt, especially when he joined the Erfurt Dominicans around 1275 and later in 1294 as he became Prior of the Dominican monastery. Martin Luther studied at the Erfurt University in 1501 and resided on several occasions in the Augustinian monastery. (See also our citywalks for a discussion of some of tehse Features).
Martin Luther’s knowledge about Eckhart’s work has been discussed and there is no doubt that the Eckhartian theology inspired Luther’s path. But apart from this philosophical affiliation, did the environment of Erfurt impact Eckhart and Luther’s thought? Is it possible to identify ties that were idiosyncratic to Erfurt’s environment and that could have linked Eckhart and Luther across time?
What about language?
Language is key for both Eckhart and Luther’s work, since they both engaged in promoting the linguistic vernacularisation of religious and philosophical knowledge. Eckhart’s efforts in transcribing Latin concepts into German words included the coinage of new terms that affected German philosophy till Hegel and Heidegger.
Il reste que Maître Eckhart est bien le créateur d’une terminologie nouvelle, philosophique et théologique, en langue allemande. (Knaebel 2002, 21)
In this effort of expressing Latin concepts with German words, Knaebel insists on Eckhart’s appeal to the “génie propre de la langue allemande” (Knaebel 2002, 20). Thus, Eckhart’s work cannot be restricted to a translation task: It is a real philosophical effort in order to shape new terms fitting the linguistic and cognitive potential of Mittelhochdeutsch.
It is significant that during their stays in Erfurt, Eckhart and Luther shared a common semantic space, and, thus, were immersed in an identical linguistic and cognitive environment. Language conveys thinking patterns and conditions thought processes. A detailed linguistic study of German terms could certainly help tracing and visualising the impact of the “génie propre de la langue allemande”, and more particularly of the Erfurt linguistic environment, on Eckhart and Luther’s thought. Language, undoubtedly, represents the large cognitive canvas against which Eckhart and Luther developed their thoughts.
What about urban landscape?
Eckhart and Luther also shared a common urban environment during their tenure in Erfurt, though they did not reside in the same institutions or city quarters: Eckhart was in the Dominican monastery in the southern part of the intra muros area, while Luther stayed at the Augustinian monastery in the North-East quarter. Yet both of them must have known and visited, as educated theologians, common places of education and religion (like the Dom, the Collegium Maius and other religious and university buildings), possibly also influential political and economic urban places.
Thus, both theologians shared a spatial experience
made out of urbanity, feeling of space and data codification via visible socio-religious
references and symbols. In a similar pattern as the language, this common built
environment must have impacted, if not conditioned, their Weltanschauung.
Apart from the tangible landscape, it is the entire thinking patterns, news about urban life and common ideas performed in the city of Erfurt, as a larger collective data set, that must have played an invisible, yet significant, role. Both of them had a partly secular life, far from the seclusion of regular monks. Their immersion in the city life and their interaction with a public laity certainly exposed them to local dynamics, such as the development of education (Erfurt has one of Germany’s oldest universities) and Erfurt’s early capitalist environment (based on woad production and a dynamic city market). Lindner underlines this in a conference entitled “Der lange Schatten Erfurts in Luthers Werk” that:
Luther aus seiner Erfurter Lebensphase sehr viele Eindrücke und Einstellungen mitgenommen hat, die sein Denken und Handeln im Negativen wie im Positiven entscheidend geprägt haben, ohne dass dazu späterhin immer ausgedehnte Reflexionen von ihm existieren (Lindner 2010, 1).
It is clear for Lindner that the urban experience of
Luther was fundamental to his thought process:
(…) im Rahmen der Biographie Luthers stellen sein Erleben dieser Stadt und sein Leben in dieser Stadt das Fundament seines Handelns dar (Lindner 2010, 15).
It would be difficult to precisely or statistically measure the impact of the Geist of the place on the work of Eckhart and Luther, but I hope to have raised challenging issues regarding place and thought. I do not mean here to speak for a strict spatial conditioning (are we subject to our special milieu as we suffer the tyranny of time as “prisonnier de son temps”?). My argument rather aims to consider the participative impact of place to the growth of ideas. Both Eckhart and Luther travelled and their thoughts, if at all, resulted from a constellation of influences that were encountered and experienced in different places. Yet that does not take anything away from the spirit of the place and its significant identity, just as Toth underlines for the “pensée occidentale”:
La pensée occidentale est un grand fleuve formé d’affluents venant de partout et son eau se verse dans tous les océans. Du point de vue de son autonomie spirituelle, ce qu’on désigne par le terme de « pensée occidentale » dispose pourtant de certains traits distinctifs qui le rendent spécifique et unique. (Toth 2006, 4) 
Looking at Eckhart and Luther, it is worth considering the place as a bearer of cognitive processes via the agency of language, urban landscapes and economic and political dynamics. The urban Raumgeist emerging from this complex configuration could be compared to the city identity as it is expressed in India by the Hindi nominal suffix “-pan” added to city name. The paper presented by Pralay Kanungo in the framework of our internal summer colloquium recently drew our attention to the concept of urban identity commonly referred to by substantives that could be translated into English as “<city name>-ness” -“Varanasi-ness” for example in the case of Varanasi’s spirit (वाराणसीपन or Varanasipan in Hindi).
The example of Eckhart and Luther suggests the existence of an “Erfurt-ness”, expressed by an ambitious engagement towards the democratisation of knowledge. The city of Erfurt seems to have been the fertile breeding ground for the idea of disseminating knowledge, but also for the audacity demonstrated by Eckhart and Luther who stood against contemporary legitimacy.
Naturally, the real question is not to prove the past existence of an Erfurt Raumgeist, but rather to understand its faith and to identify its posterior resurgence(s). Is Erfurt likely to revive its bright and bold spirit?
— Sara Keller
Sara Keller is a post-doctoral researcher in the KFG “Religion and Urbanity: Reciprocal Formations”. She specialises in medieval Indian history, especially water works in western India.
 On attempts to locate the thought in the human body : Schniewind,
Alexandrine. 2015. “Où se situe le lieu de la pensée ? Au sujet du rapport âme-esprit.” Le
Carnet PSY 2015/4 (N° 189), p.40-43. Chauviré, Christiane. 2012. “Y a-t-il
un sens à situer spatialement la pensée ? Peirce, Wittgenstein et les signes.” Intellectica 57, p.101-114 . See also Paquot, Thierry and
Younès, Chris (eds). 2012. Espace et lieu
dans la pensée occidentale. De Platon à Nietzsche. La découverte.
 “Cela signifie que, selon Eckhart, on peut réellement parler
d’une convergence entre la raison et la foi.” Imbach, Ruedi. 2018. “Relations
parisiennes : Lulle, Eckhart et Dante à Paris. À propos du rapport entre la
philosophie et le lieu de sa genèse.” Enrahonar.
An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 61, 113.
 Martin Luther strategically choose the Saxon court language (sächsische Kanzleisprache) for his translations
in order to be understood by a larger public.
 Li, Y. 2019. “On Martin Luther’s theological
illumination by Meister Eckhart.” Logos
and Pneuma – Chinese Journal of Theology 2019(50): 267-300. Also: Mieth, Dietmar. 2017. “Der Aufstieg des „Gewerbes“:
Mystik, Luther, Max Weber.” Conference at the “Von Meister Eckhart bis Martin
Luther: Berührungen, Vermittlungen, Kontraste.” Congress. München, 10-12.03.2017.
 Knaebel, Simon. 2002. “Maître Eckhart, précurseur de la dialectique
hégélienne ? ” Revue des Sciences
Religieuses, tome 76, fascicule 1, p. 14-32.
 Lindner, Andreas. 2010. “Der lange Schatten Erfurts in
Luthers Werk”. Conference Series “Erfurter Gesellschaftsbilder”, 16.11.2010,
Erfurt. Accessed online on 30.07.2019: https://www.db-thueringen.de/servlets/MCRFileNodeServlet/dbt_derivate_00021865/Luther-Erfurt-Erbe.pdf
 Toth, Imre. 2006. “La philosophie et son lieu dans l’espace
de la spiritualité occidentale. Une apologie.” Diogène 2006/4 (n° 216), p.3-35.
In April 2019, when I accepted an invitation to give a lecture at Kannur, our partner university, I combined my stay with initial on-site research on our research project “Religion and Urbanity: Reciprocal Formations”. I already had a first idea of what I wanted to investigate in selected West Indian coastal cities. As with any historical research question, I first wanted to check whether the necessary sources were available to answer my questions – especially since this is a completely new region that I am currently exploring. So I used my stay to visit museums, libraries and archives in Kerala and to get an overview of existing objects and texts. One of my excursions took me from Kannur to Calicut (or, as it is called in the national language: Kozhikode). Since I didn’t want to repeat the adventure of a three-hour bus ride (for about 90 cents), I bought a ticket in an air-conditioned train compartment for 12 April 2019 (for about 7 EUR and only a two-hour ride).
Arriving at the station in Calicut, I approached the city on foot and, turning left shortly before the SM-Street, famous for its sweets, reached the Railway Bridge. On the right I see a mosque, straight ahead, after the crossing the Bazaar Road starts, which is called MA-Road for the first half. This bazaar in Calicut is in fact a street, as the name says, and not a market with stalls or a kind of big department store that could carry the name bazaar in modern times. It is essentially a wholesale market, although one can still buy there as an individual consumer. To the right and to the left of the street are stores lined up, at first mostly metal goods, but a few meters further there are already dried fruits, dates, nuts, but also rice, sugar, chili, spices (a lot of turmeric and other local spices) in large quantities to choose from. Many products can be tested, i.e. viewed, touched, compared and tasted. Large bags are loaded onto trucks, which sometimes block the road, and brought to the countries or the storage rooms behind them, which can be reached via alleys and courtyards between the shops. It is loud with the horns of motorcycles, cars and trucks, but also with people on the phone and communicating across the street. People draw attention to themselves, negotiate prices or shout something to the loaders. At the other end of Bazaar Road there are warehouses again, then a standing snack where some young men eat something – and again a mosque.
This morning it’s so incredibly hot that the next thing I do is call a taxi, or rather one of those yellow-black autorickshaws. But the driver has no time, he has to go to the mosque to pray and therefore drives on. So I walk a few steps further and come to the Beach Road that runs parallel to the Arabian Sea. I walk as far as Gujarati Street, then finally an autorickshaw driver has mercy on me and drives me to the archive further north in the city, which is located in the Civil Station. In the Regional Archives Kozhikode I am allowed to look through some finding aids. But I also have to think about this Bazaar Road, which is also called “Valiyangadi” in Malayalam. Since when does it exist? What is it about this conspicuous structure that there are mosques at both ends?
In the evening, after the visit to the archive, I go back to this street and record a 15-minute video with my mobile phone by slowly walking the street from front to back again. This is a 1.5-minute short version of this, cut by Fritz Unruh:
Then I must hurry to the train and continue my reading. I read in Narayanan’s History of the City of Calicut, where I also find some interesting reference to this street (Narayanan 2018, p. 25-27, 66, 96, 98, 246): It has been documented in the sources since 1442. At that time, of course, it was not yet paved. It was asphalted under British rule in the 1930s. For some time there must have been tracks on which wooden shutters were used to transport the goods. For centuries Muslims, Jains, Hindu Seths, Gujarati and Marwari moneylenders as well as Tamils and Andhra Chettis have met here. They are the actors of this place, where large quantities of goods and money are handled. This must have been a hub of South Asian trade, which Calicut has been since the late Middle Ages. Religion played and plays a role here not only by the present representatives of different religious groups, which came from the north, east, from the Arabian peninsula, from Persia and since the end of the 15th century also from Europe.
Religious practices were integrated into the daily routines of trade. This can be seen not only with my rickshaw driver, who had to pray instead of driving me to the archives, but also in the commercial practices and morals for which the religions have always formulated rules. And it is evident in the urban structure (mosque – bazaar or suk), which can be found in many Islamic cities. Whether this is an urban planning concept remains to be clarified for Calicut. At the one end, near the Railway Bridge, is the Sunni Masjid, at the other end (seaside) the Khaleefa Masjid. Myths have formed around the long-lasting prosperity of the urban centre of Calicut, which the inhabitants pass on orally. Narayanan tells of a legend about Mangatt Achan, the first secretary of Zamorin Raja. „After a long and difficult penance, the Achan had succeeded in having Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth, appear before him and offer a boon. He made her promise to wait in the same place until he returned, then went home and committed suicide. The clever idea was that the Goddess, unable to break her oath, will stay permanently in Valiyangadi (Big Bazaar), where the devoted Secretary had left her, and that is why prosperous trade continues in that street in spite of all sorts of changes. Besides illustrating the intelligence and self-sacrificing loyalty of the First Secretary, this popular tradition tries to offer a mythical explanation for the steady progress of trade in Valiyangadi from medieval to modern times. It provides an insurance against slump, and a source of confidence.” (p. 26-27)
bazaar of Calicut, its historical depths, the worldwide interdependence of
people and goods, the religious practices and urban structures that
characterize the everyday life of this street have captivated me. I would like
to know more about it – more about the different interdependencies and mutual
formations of trade, religion and urban development in this ‘global city’ avant
la lettre; but also more about the connection between piety and trade in cities
influenced by Islam. Because only this should be undisputed so far: that
bazaars, like the fairs in Europe, are a distinguishing feature. They seem to
have existed only in cities, whereas there were cities without bazaars and
In the coming weeks I will continue to read, go to the bazaars of different world cities and then report again…
— Susanne Rau
Narayanan, Calicut. The City of Truth Revisited, Kozhikode 2018 (first
Ali Nadeem Rezavi, Bazars and markets in medieval India, in: Studies in
People’s History, 2, 1 (2015): 61–70
Sassen, The global city. New York, London, Tokyo, Princeton, N.J. 2001
Susanne Rau, project leader of the KFG, has recently published a book entitled History, Space, and Place (Routledge, 2019). This book offers the first comprehensive introduction to the theory and methodology of historical spatial analysis.
Spaces, too, have a history. And history always takes place in spaces. But what do historians mean when they use the word „spaces“? And how can spaces be historically investigated?
Susanne Rau provides a survey of the history of Western concepts of space, opens up interdisciplinary approaches to the phenomenon of space in fields ranging from physics and geography to philosophy and sociology, and explains how historical spatial analysis can be methodologically and conceptually conceived and carried out in practice. The case studies presented in the book come from the fields of urban history, the history of trade, and global history including the history of cartography, but its analysis is equally relevant to other fields of inquiry.
In the light of present-day urbanization a paper published by core group member Jörg Rüpke takes a fresh look at religion in the cities of the ancient Mediterranean. The widespread model of “polis” or “civic religion” is checked against its origins in Numa Fustel de Coulange’s La Cité Antique of 1864. The re-reading of this work lays open the deficit in the widespread model of coextension of political dominion and identity with religious practices and identity. De Coulanges’ insight is formulated in his idea of “two religions”, both equally relevant for the building up of “societies” of growing complexity – and the downfall of the ancient city: The belief in universal gods and a universal god brings along the end of the ancient Greco-Roman city. This end is helped on the political side by the growing number of people who are outside of the ultra-dense structure of the ancient city and state (which cannot by its very genesis expand beyond the city) and fighting (without knowing) for a wider and more universal structure than the city can offer. Thus, the beginning of the end of the ancient city is dated by Fustel to the seventh century BCE, that is, immediately after the start of Greco-Roman urbanization. In the end, however, it is not the historically contingent, even if fairly uniform, series of social and political revolutions of patricians and plebeians and the like, but the transformation of Rome into an empire (again led by a change in thinking) that led to the demise of the “municipal regime”. The growing distance between concepts of the divine and divine intelligence and the dead, the growing distance between cult without adequate concepts and the birth of philosophy had undermined the principles of polis religion. The critical review is then extended to concepts of the relationship between city and religion in other periods and areas. Only against that backdrop, a new concept of “urbanized religion” is proposed.
The article is published in German language: „Religion als Urbanität: Ein anderer Blick auf Stadtreligion“, Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft 27,1 (2019). 174-195. DOI: 10.1515/zfr-2018-0018.
A new approach to religious change has been taken by Emiliano Urciuoli and Jörg Rüpke (in collaboration with Asuman Lätzer-Lasar, Harry O. Maier and Maik Patzelt) in an article that just appeared in the international journal for the history of religion, Mythos. The claim formulated in “Urban Religion in Mediterranean Antiquity” is that city-space and interaction with city-space engineered the major changes that revolutionised ancient Mediterranean religions. Whereas previous research on ancient religion has stressed the role of religion for cities and urban topography, we are suggesting a new focus on the impact of cities on religion and on how the interaction with city-space changed religion. This side of the dialectic is what we call urban religion. This concept is paramount, since it encompasses the development of specific religious agencies and practices (e.g. neighbourhood shrines; theatrical processions; authors and entrepreneurs), specific forms of religious knowledge and imaginaries (imaginative places; imagined communities; heavenly cities) and societal phenomena such as civic rituals or religious communities in the appropriation (and hence modification and formation) of urban space in cities of different size and character. The major Questions we propose are: how and to what extent is religion shaped by density, urban aspirations, diversity and conflict, city governance, heterarchy and division of labour, and urban identity, that is urbanity? The basic assumption is that religious change needs to be investigated in terms of the ongoing interaction between space and a variety of different agents, including residents, immigrants, and people who live from religion.
The article is published in Mythos 12 (2018), pp. 117-135.
Stadt und Religion muss man zusammendenken. Das passiert schon in sehr alten religiösen Texten. Das Verhältnis ist spannungsgeladen. Der „Turmbau zu Babel“ (Gen 11,1-9) ist Symbol für Stadt wie die Hybris der Stadtbewohner. Die Zusammenballung von Akteuren, ihre Kooperation, ihre Architektur würden sonst, so wird befürchtet, die Menschen zum Himmel gelangen lassen. In der jüdischen Bibel und in ihrer christlichen Interpretation ist die Stadt ein verdächtiger Ort, Ort der Sünde und der Gottlosigkeit. Gott lässt sich in der Wüste, in der Einsamkeit, am Sinai finden. Diese westasiatische und dann europäische Tradition findet ihre Entsprechung in Südasien: Buddha findet seine Erleuchtung unter einem Baum, außerhalb der Stadt. Es ist das Dorf, das das Idealbild sozialer Gemeinschaft und religiöser Arbeitsteilung bietet.
Aber die Autoren dieser Texte finden wir in Städten und auch das Schreiben selbst, die Erfindung und Nutzung von Schrift bis hin zur Produktion umfangreicher Texte und damit „Schriftreligion“. Die Buchreligionen sind demnach zuvörderst städtische Phänomene. Städtisches Bewusstsein ist nicht zu lösen von Vorstellungen über das Gegenteil: Es ist Merkmal von Urbanität sich als anders, als unterschieden von einem Gegenteil zu denken, von Nicht-Stadt, von Land. Und zugleich kann dieses Gegenteil als Gegenbild, ja Wunschbild und Stadtkritik dienen. Will Rom, die vermutlich erste Millionenstadt der Geschichte, einen richtig frommen und unbestechlichen Herrscher, muss sie Cincinnatus vom Feld, vom Pflug wegreißen.
In der Stadt zu leben ist nämlich kein Zuckerschlecken. Von unten betrachtet kann das Stadtleben, bei allen Versprechen von Sicherheit und Auskommen, auch anders aussehen. Nicht Größenwahn wie beim Turmbau zu Babel, sondern Überleben, nicht Göttlichkeit wie in der biblischen Geschichte, sondern Menschlichkeit steht auf dem Spiel. Unser Thema – und der Blick der Akteure darauf – ist von der Ambivalenz der von Menschen gemachten Städte und der dort herrschenden Lebensweise geprägt. Die Stadt ist eben „Himmel und Hölle“ zugleich, wie es auf einer gegenwärtigen Plakatkampagne heißt, sie ist Ort von Innovationen, aber auch Ort sozialer und ökologischer Krisen. Religion ist dabei nicht nur Beobachter, sondern wichtiger Akteur.
Ich bin dabei überzeugt, dass die gegenwärtigen Probleme und Chancen planetarer Urbanisierung und religiösen Wandels nicht ohne einen Blick in die lange wechselseitige Geschichte reflektiert werden können. Erst die detaillierte Untersuchung mit großer historischer Tiefe und Ausblick in die Gegenwart zeigt, wie weit diese wechselseitige Formierung reichen kann, wie sehr Urbanität, städtische Lebensformen, durch religiöse Handlungsformen oder Sozialstrukturen geprägt wurden. Erst so zeigt sich, wie weit das, was wir heute als „Religion“ kennen, auch Ergebnis von Urbanität, vom Leben in Räumen, die als städtisch wahrgenommen wurden, bestimmt ist.
Aber was ist diese „Religion“. Will man Religion in der Stadt verstehen, bedarf es eines dafür passenden Begriffes. Religion ist dafür zunächst ein Sammelbegriff für religiöse Praktiken, Vorstellungen und Institutionen, die der Kommunikation mit über-menschlichen Adressaten, Verstorbenen, Geistern, Göttern, dienen. Indem diesen über-menschlichen Adressaten qua Kommunikation und deren Inhalten Existenz, Macht und Relevanz für die eigene, menschliche Situation zugeschrieben wird, wird religiöses Handeln auch zu einer Ressource für Macht wie Kritik, Homogenisierung wie Stabilisierung von Unterschieden unter Menschen.
Die bisherige Forschung zu „urban religion“ hat solche Religion unter der Perspektive untersucht, wie sie in den globalisierten Großstädten der Moderne sich verändert, ihren Ort findet und sich neu erfindet. Darüber muss man deutlich hinausgehen, nicht nur zeitlich und räumlich. Ganz grundsätzlich nämlich ist Religion selbst in doppelter Hinsicht Raum-relevant, sind religiöse Praktiken räumliche Praktiken: Zum einen eignen sie sich Raum an oder konstruieren ihn. Räume von Gebeten, Hymnen, Tänzen, Prozessionen und Aufführungen von Opfern oder Theaterstücken werden vorübergehend zu rituellen Räumen. Sie können aber längerfristig durch Einsatz von Medien – Fahnenstangen, Stelen, Tafeln, Mauern oder noch umfangreicherer Architektur sakralisiert werden, sei es zur Erinnerung und erneuten Nutzung auch zu religiösen Zwecken oder sogar exklusiv. So markieren sie Räume zu Zusammenkünften, die mit anderen Akteuren oder Zwecken, gerade wenn Raum knapp ist, auch konkurrieren können.
Hindutempel und Markt in Chennai, Indien
Aber religiöse Praktiken haben noch eine zweite Seite. Sie verweisen über den jeweiligen konkreten Raum und selbst eine Stadt hinaus: auf „trans-zendente“ Adressaten, auf deren räumliche Assoziationen zu anderen Orten oder Nicht-Orten: Himmel oder Unterwelten.
Es gibt hinreichend Phänomene solchen Handelns, die jeder Form städtischer Siedlung um Jahrzehntausende vorangehen, dass der Satz, Religion gehe der Urbanisierung, ob in Ostasien, Süd- und Westasien, Afrika oder des amerikanischen Doppelkontinents, voraus, sinnvoll erscheint. Als raum-konstituierende wie raum-überschreitende Praktik ist Religion für Urbanisierungsprozesse relevant geworden – vermutlich nicht immer, sondern in zufälligen, historischen Prozessen. Diesen Phänomenen müssen wir uns auch historisch stellen, müssen ihnen genauer nachgehen, wenn wir heutige „städtische Religion“ verstehen wollen. Wo bildeten religiöse Raummarkierungen Kristallisationspunkte für Urbanisierung? Wo vertieften sie Arbeitsteiligkeit? Wo stifteten sie Kohärenz in den zahllosen Austauschprozessen, die Städte ausmachen? Wo ermöglichten sie Differenzierung, die räumliche Enge und den Druck sozialer Interaktion erträglich machten und so Städte stabilisierten – oder im Gegenteil in Konflikten zerfallen ließen? Und natürlich kann Religion als raumabhängige Praxis davon nicht unberührt geblieben sein, muss durch städtische Faktoren, Herrschaft, Kulturtechniken, interne und externe Verflechtungen als urbanisierte Religion immer wieder verändert worden sein. Die Ausbildung institutionalisierter Differenz als voneinander institutionell getrennte „Religionen“ mag Ergebnis solcher Prozesse gewesen sein. Die Beschäftigung mit dem Thema in der Langen Nacht der Weltreligionen wie in weiterer Forschung zu Stadt und Religion wird noch manche Überraschung bereithalten, die unseren eigenen Blick auf Religionen und auf Städte verändern wird.
— Jörg Rüpke
Ich danke Susanne Rau für vielfältige Anregungen zu diesem Thema, der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft für die Förderung zur weiteren Erforschung (FOR 2779).
The panel, organised by Cristiana Facchini and Jörg Rüpke, explored perspectives on urban religion in different epochs. The Lived Religion approach to premodern religion, as developed at the Max Weber Centre for Advanced Cultural and Social Studies, has highlighted the importance of different types of self-world-relations as defined by local spatial and social contexts, specified through materiality and communication and framed by social imaginaries and knowledge. These contexts range from domestic to imperial and global contexts. One of the most important aspects on this scale is the urban, which has proven to be of paramount importance for the past century and today’s world, in which for the first time the majority of humans are seen as living in cities.
The role of religion in creating spatial, temporal and social order in cities has been an important topic in research from ceremonial centres and cities of Meso- and South America to Near Eastern and ancient Mediterranean, but also Chinese, Indian and medieval European cities. A growing number of inhabitants and the increased density of interaction seem to have prompted (and enabled) processes of institutionalisation and the formulation of norms. Referring to non-human agents beyond the human agents in a given situation contributed to organise economic exchange and redistribution. Furthermore, it has been functional in defining property rights as well as rights of political participation. Vice versa, citizenship could regulate access to gods, as shown by the choice of words like “synagogue” and “ekklesia”, which refer first of all to voting assemblies. Historical research has reconstructed such functions for many instances and recent sociological research, above all research on migration, has consequently inquired into processes of inclusion and exclusion, tolerance and competition caused or experienced by immigrating minorities proffering different or identical religious identities.
The papers in this panel supposed that any modelling that is limiting religion to a tool of government and administration on the one side and marginal groups on the other is mistaken. For the individual actor urban settlements present an enormously complex environment of constraints and affordances. Previous sacralisations and contemporary religious practices are part of that. It is the interplay of such acting and aspiring within urban space and as creating urban space that was addressed. The contributions included:
Jörg Rüpke(Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt): Religion and urban space
Cristiana Facchini (Alma mater studiorum, Università di Bologna): The city and the sea: Remarks on religious diversity, port cities, and the sea
Emiliano Urciuoli (Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt): Citifying Jesus in Imperial Rome (2nd-5th CE)
Margret Helen Freeman (University of Copenhagen): “A saintly place for the education of scholars:” The Changing Face of Islamic Identity & Architecture in Mamluk Cairo
Vincenzo Lavenia (Alma mater studiorum, Università di Bologna): Religion(s) in the port city of the Popes: Ancona in the early modern age
Nimrod Luz (Western Galilee College, Akko): Lived Religion as Urban Citizenship: A View from Acre
Carmen González Guttiérez (Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt): Islam encounters Late Antiquity: Urban religious spaces in al-Andalus in the Early Middle Ages
Miriam Benfatto (Universita’ di Bologna): Shaping the sacred and the profane: The Council of Trent on cityscape and sacred spaces
The word “Network” has become a term commonly used in disciplines dealing with the ancient world. Some scholars use it merely as a metaphor for describing geographical connections. Others, such as myself, use networks in order to examine relational constellations of people, places and objects. And there are also scholars who investigate networks and their structural formations in order to understand the causal as well as consecutive dynamics of such relations.
On 10 January 2019 the workshop on Social Netwotk Analysis (SNA), held at the Max Weber Kolleg, Erfurt, intended to unfold the diverse uses of the term “network”, as well as its advantages and disadvantages as analytical tool for the historical and archaeological disciplines. The speakers gave an overview of SNA, introduced new research tools and discussed the cultural turn in network research more broadly. During the workshop, we experimented with material we had collected from our own research and discussed with the other participants in how far it would serve as a sufficient basis for qualitative SNA. The participants felt that the qualitative approach is particularly useful in order to understand the structural similarities of different social relations.
Dr. Markus Gamper, sociologist (of religion) from Cologne, delivered the keynote and provided a broad outline of the most recent developments in SNA in the cultural studies, as well as the latest visualization techniques for qualitative analyses.
After that Dr. Elena Köstner (University of Regensburg) discussed her linguistic analysis and graphic visualization of the network of people that appear in the ancient text source “The Feast of Trimalchio” by the Roman courtier Titus Petronius Arbiter (c. 27-66 CE). Finally, Dr. Maik Patzelt from the University of Osnabrück presented the diverse identities and agencies of late antique widows via a theoretical network approach, and described how the women used their relations to empower themselves.
The workshop made clear that we have to define more precisely what the relation between the actors in the network is. Individuals only “knowing of each other” is not always sufficient for a fruitful SNA. It should rather include interactions which have to be identified clearly and determined as relational. Overall, the workshop provided a fascinating forum for discussions and all participants felt that many more avenues can be explored when it comes to SNA in the humanities.
Religion has led to dramatic developments in the history of cities, such as foundations, waves of immigration, transformations, (re-) ghettoization and genocide. But what is the specific urban quality of religious ideas, practices and institutions? What was their role in the production of urban space? More than half of the world’s population is living in cities and urbanization affects even the most distant corners of the world. The result is that the social and ecological problems of urban density accompanying the productive and innovative roles of metropolises become ever more evident. Yet the interest in religion and city remains concentrated on contemporary issues, especially in the “global South.”
Against this background the DFG-funded Research Group “Religion and Urbanity: Reciprocal Formations” (FOR 2779) investigates the historical contribution of religion to urbanization and the long-term evolution of religion and the urban. What role has religion played in urbanization? How has urbanity changed religion, and how do they continually influence one another? By focusing on religion, our goal is to gain insights into the formation of human settlements and thereby to describe different paths of urbanization and their inter-relationships with the development of religion.
We proceed from the assumption that religious practices and conceptions together with their expressions in institutions, texts (narratives) and objects have been of great importance in the formation of urbanity. Religion and urbanity have continually shaped each other – and continue to do so to this day. In order to help meet the challenges of living in situations of urban density, religion has developed and continues to develop practices, conceptions and institutions both to connect individuals with space as well as to help shape and appropriate it. The complexity of overlapping spaces means that varying temporal orders can be present in differing rituals. The circulation of objects has created and continues to produce spatiotemporal modalities (see also:https://www.uni-erfurt.de/en/philosophische-fakultaet/spatio-temporal-studies/ ) . At the same time, reference to (divine) power extending beyond its respective space furnishes spaces and temporal practices with an agency which requires cohesiveness or coordination of rulers and turns sacralisation into long-term and persistent topographical elements which produce and maintain historical identity. Conversely, the localization in the city, the communicative and ritual production of urban centers as well as the appropriation of urban aspirations and ways of life have had a significant influence on the formation of religion and religious traditions.
Erfurt viewed from the Petersberg (2010)
Consequences include small-scale spatialization of rituals, such as conceptions of the divine (and thus stabilization of polytheism), professionalization in condensed division of labor and self-historization through the above-mentioned long-lived spatialization, specific architectures and the taking up of urban imaginaries (for example, “the heavenly Jerusalem”).
With Max Weber, we are looking at the city and religion for actors and groups of actors (S. Rau, J. Rüpke ). But this cocnept also extends beyond human agency (B. Latour). With more recent social geography and spatial sociology (for example H. Lefebvre, E. Soja, M. Löw, B. Werlen and F. de Boeck), we see that urbanity is chractertized by spatiality, practices, representations, atmospheric affects, as well as practices of time (S. Rau et al.).
In light of these considerations, the reciprocal formation of religion and urbanity can not be described by way of the classical parameters of city types such as the sacred center, the city of exiles, the harbor or the agricultural city, or as instances of “Christianization” or “Islamization”. The variety of paths to urbanization must be examined through reconstructing constellations of space, time and practice and by offering a nuanced description of incremental changes in practices, conceptions, architectures, and institutions.
This also requires new concepts.
So our starting points pose research questions concerning the formation of different forms as well as changes in and new constitutions of urbanity and religion in all their diversity in different epochs and spaces. We ask:
What role does religion play for urbanization?
How does urbanity affect religion?
What influence does the continuous interaction and the consolidation of heterogeneous practices have on the formation of Religion and urbanity?
Interesting phenomena include the production and alteration of space (topography, buildings, theaters, memorials), changes in spatial and temporal practices (rhythms, cycles, calendar and clock usage, rituals, processions) as well as changes in society (shifts of power, migration, formation of expertise). People migrating to a city have a means to “arrive” in a new urban community by joining a religious group, for example. Some religious experts, to name another example, aim to instiutionalise certain social milieus and try to anchor religious hopes and norms in the forms of immigration. Spaces formed by sanctuary or cemetery architecture become elements of urban religion and change the urban topography and its user flows. The establishment of central sanctuaries, the closure of neighbourhoods by the formation of dead-ends in ancient or Islamic cities or the presence of rulers in temples or cathedrals are all examples.
Hindutempel and market in Chennai (India)
The formation of new forms of the urban public changes or evokes religious spatial practices, for example the establishment of theaters in antiquity, the conversion of churchyards into squares in the 16th century and the uses of cinemas and other spaces of entertainment in North American evangelical churches in the 21st century. The appropriation of spaces by different groups of actors (political, economic, religious, spatial builders/observers) reveal specific regulations: not everywhere is prayer or sacrifice legitimate. We refer to religious practices and notions not primarily to marginal or subcultural “heterotopias” (M. Foucault) and “Thirdspaces” (Ed. Soja), but to the goal of building urban spaces with its growing contact surfaces (H. Berking) in order to live and to realize urbanity.
Many of the processes we are interested in, are particularly visible during phases of changes, such as contractions of cities in Mediterranean late antiquity, the wave of European-medieval urban creations, demographic changes in 18th-century Europe or the rise of colonial-era urban foundations in the Indian area. In addition, expansion of individual cities or networks of cities, shrinkage processes including those leading to the extinction of people and the erasure of spaces, phases of religious pluralization will form a Focus of our research. By investigatign the reciprocal formation of religion and urbanity, our research addresses a central issue which also has important consequences for today’s world.
This blog considers the mutual formation of urbanity and religion from antiquity to the present. It focuses on specific case studies, like Mediterranean cities of the ancient world, early modern political and religious centres or modern Indian towns, but it also introduces more wide-ranging, theoretical investigations. The blog is connected to the DFG- funded research group “Religion and Urbanity” (FOR 2779), based at the Max-Weber-Centre for Advanced Cultural and Social Studies at the University of Erfurt, Germany.