The nature of religions, why they cannot really be distinguished from culture and other ideological products, and what the political implications are, including regarding the “separation of church and State.”

From painted embellishments on altars and temples, marble flooring, dyed sacrificial ribbons and even the colouration of ritual animals, colour was an inescapable aspect of religious experience. Polychromy was not only decorative, it created a visual medium with which those navigating sacred spaces could interact, together with the written word and the language of shape and form. Colour could communicate to the ancient viewer associations of its source; the significance of both where its pigment or dyestuff was harvested and the journey it undertook, both in terms of manufacture and simple geography, in order to arrive before the observer. The very conception of ancient sight, with rays reaching from the eyes in a particularly haptic process of sensory feedback, meant that looking at colours was for the ancient viewer an experience in itself. How would visitors to the sacred spaces of the ancient world have ‘read’ the visual cues surrounding them, and how could the design of colours in ritual spaces influence the reactions and emotions of those witnessing sacred activity? This paper seeks to investigate and unpick some of the chromatic language found in religious spaces to better inform an understanding of ritual activity in Greco-Roman society.

This chapter analyses the Laudian attitude to Sunday sports, in a discussion designed to include the meaning of the altar and the sacrament in the constitution of the Christian community. Allowing Sunday sports re-inscribed the line between the secular and the spiritual as defined by the Laudian notions of holy places and holy times. It allowed affirmations of two different versions of the social body to be made on the same day, the one reinforcing the other, and it also prevented the day being dominated, and the social body being divided, by the essentially private, household-based, religious observances of the puritans. Here was affirmation of a broad-based Laudian version of the Christian community being enabled and maintained by the rites and observances of the national church against the divisive practices and beliefs of the puritans.

Trakl was the master of transfiguration and poetic enigma. His poetry uses a very specific number of colours (black, purple, blue), strikingly simple rhyme and – at times obstinate – repetition to unmatched effects. The expressive quality of his poetry never amounts to dogmatic expressionism but relates, and reflects, the deeper qualities of introspection. It tries to identify the very roots of expression in the troubled human existence. His poetry originated in feelings of guilt (often connected with the biographical fact that he had induced his sister to the misuse of drugs) and utter desolation. We have seen already that to him the self-destruction of occidental culture was a certainty years before the outbreak of World War One. This chapter discusses whether it can be argued that Trakl’s poetry reflects, to a certain extent, an anticipation of the horrors that became manifest and unbearable to him already in the very first weeks of this European tragedy with disastrous global implications.

Chapters 9.1 (by Tim Rowse and Jennifer Green) and 9.2 (by Daryle Rigney, Denis Rose, Alison Vivian, Miriam Jorgensen, Steve Hemming and Shaun Berg) present case studies of past and present of Indigenous governance. In 9.1 Rowse and Green show that Arrernte jurisdiction has persisted in certain ways in Alice Springs/Mparntwe since the 1870s, notwithstanding the colonists’ expectation – at least until the reforms of ‘welfare colonialism’ in the 1970s – that ‘detribalisation’ was rapidly and inevitably extinguishing customary law. Their chapter outlines some episodes of recognition that have arisen from the overlapping of two systems of law in a space inhabited by both Arrernte and non-Arrernte people. The first example discussed is the acknowledgement and protection of sacred sites, and the second the decreasing accommodation of customary law within the criminal law. In 9.2 Rigney et al explore the experiences of two Aboriginal nations, the Gunditjmara People and the Ngarrindjeri Nation, asserting their status as distinct peoples and, in so doing, demonstrating their capacity to achieve their Indigenous Nation Building goals. While both face significant challenges in establishing Indigenous self-governing systems and accommodating them within the Australian federation, their intention to self-govern according to Gunditjmara and Ngarrindjeri norms is indisputable.

This dark parable of the Anthropocene describes the terrible assault of the Anthropoi on the sacred Living Mountain and on those who once flourished in its shadow. The Anthropoi with their armies and their savants who justify their actions enter the Valley, and desecration follows. They force the Valley-dwellers to aid their assault on their revered Living Mountain. Worse, the Anthropoi's insatiable desire eventually infects the Valley-dwellers themselves until they too willingly join the assault, climbing, digging, and exploiting the heights, even as its snows melt, crevasses widen, and avalanches destroy the Valley floor. The lone exception is one old woman who can still feel the Mountain's heartbeat with the soles of her feet and knows no one can master it. "The Ascent of the Anthropoi" lays bare modernity's consoling lie that growth is the key to justice and that instrumental knowledge trumps the sensuous acceptance of life within the constraints of Earth's bounty.

It is a truism that we live in a secular and disenchanted world. This chapter explores what is at stake in our abandonment/eclipse/rejection of a characterization of this world and its life as sacred. Wirzba examines how modern writers came to experience their life as fragmented and disconnected from a sacred cosmos, and how this feeling for life results in varying forms of homelessness. The forced migration of peoples and the destruction of homeplaces in never-before-seen rates testifies to a need to reinvigorate the sense that places are homes for living and for the cherishing of life as a sacred gift. What our refugee world and our mass extinction time needs is a recovery of the goodness, beauty, and hospitable character of our given life.

This article provides a comprehensive overview of the key figures of the Collège de sociologie. It also offers a critical discussion of the Collège’s understanding of the Durkheimian project, as well as the innovations that the group developed out of Durkheim’s theory of the social.

Simonetta Falasca-Zamponi is Professor of Sociology at the University of California, Santa Barbara. She is the author, among other publications, of Fascist Spectacle: The Aesthetics of Power in Mussolini’s Italy (1997) and Rethinking the Political: The Sacred, Aesthetic Politics, and the Collège de Sociologie (2011).

This chapter groups discussion of The Man of Law’s Tale into four broad topics. First is the intersecting representation of gender, race, and religious difference through which the tale complicates key questions about Christianity’s relationship to Islam, a relationship shaped as much by political and economic concerns as by theological ones. It thus opens equally complicated questions about the relationship between sacred and secular. Third is the tale’s preoccupation with the circulation of people and knowledge. Despite its generic similarity to saints’ Lives, the tale is perhaps less concerned with the truth of Christianity than with its transmission, with questions about the kind of knowledge stories produce, especially as they move across different discursive and territorial frames. The final section turns to narrative presentation and the teller’s status as a “Man of Law.” As an exploration of the impossibility of superimposing a stable system of meaning on a story about overlapping networks of mercantile, confessional, historical, and narrative practices, the tale has much to teach us about the layered, multipart narrative project of the Canterbury Tales itself.

Based on the inductive analysis of the previous chapters of the book, the conclusion provides closing remarks on the historical, political, social, religious and symbolic meanings of the practice of self-coronation among medieval kings, using a long-term approach. From a political point of view, self-coronations are proofs of the activation of individual agency rather than the stability of established structures in the Middle Ages. This ritual demystifies certain anthropological tendencies to constrain the rites to the boundaries of their particular context or to fix them in an essentialist symbolic meaning. From a social perspective, medieval self-coronations pushed for collective innovation and dynamism. These rituals were in a perpetual state of flux, confirming anthropologists’ belief that ritual symbols are not static, absolute objectifications, but social and cultural systems, gathering meaning over time and altering in form. This contextualised approach to the seminal concept of the ‘sacred’ and the ‘secular’ requires us to revise a vision of the past altered by the lens of the modern nation-state and modern rationalism. Some of its qualities may be projected onto the present. The king’s skill in avoiding ecclesiastical mediation may help to explain the frontiers and limits between the temporal and spiritual, between politics and religion, which is essential for the stability of modern societies. In the end, the analysis and interpretation of self-coronations lead us to debunk the myth or grand narrative of the process of secularisation.