The Magic of the Written Word: the evidence of inscriptions on Byzantine magical amulets, Deltion of the Christian Archaeological Society 35 (2014), 329-348.
The Magic of the Written Word: the evidence of inscriptions on Byzantine magical amulets, Deltion of the Christian Archaeological Society 35 (2014), 329-348.
The article explores the apotropaic use of the written word through τhe inscriptions found on Byzantine amulets, i.e. portable items of a private use, which were addressed to a Christian audience and have a magical character because of their depictions, symbols and inscriptions, which are not derived from the traditions of the official church. The aim of the paper is to investigate the perceptions behind the creation, possession and use of these artifacts and to demonstrate that the written word appearing on these objects has all the characteristics of a ritual language, as it is defined in anthropological and religious studies
The Magic of the Written Word
The magic of the written word is
When the words spelled out on the paper
Transcend the meaning and take you to a space of
Pure imagination.
Poetry is such a wonderful way to express yourself. Sometimes when I can’t hear my characters or discern where their journey is taking them. I try to connect to what I’m feeling. That will often lead to an attempt at poetry. So I thought I would share. Do you ever write poetry? Does it make you feel more connected to that creative spirit within?
Today I’m happy to welcome author LeAnne Hardy as she shares some history behind her story and how the magic of the written word had impacted her life.
View of the castle ruin from the fifteenth century house. The window seat is as I have imagined Colin’s mother’s room.
I just finished reading Alix Christie’s Gutenberg’s Apprentice, about the brotherhood who worked under Johann Gutenberg to develop movable type and a printing press to produce flawless copies of Scripture. They were accused of blasphemy, but they changed the world! It’s hard now to imagine a time when the skill of reading was rare and books hard to come by or even dangerous to own.
In my new novel Black Mountain, set in sixteenth century Britain and beyond, Teg is surprised when a man with a flawed body has the power to read. She uses written words as protective amulets. Her charms are in ancient Welsh, but Christians (whom Teg despises) often used Bible verses in the same way. Originally, when someone cast “a spell,” we meant it literally—spelling out the words, writing them down, gave them power. A curse might be written, the ink washed off, and the liquid fed to the enemy as poison, or a blessing used as medicine.
In Black Mountain ol’ Teg o’ the Hills is a witch who has long despised the church and its Christ. When she is forced to flee her mountain for the wider world, Teg meets the Thatcher family that owns a forbidden English Bible. In those days church leaders feared that if common people could read the Bible for themselves, they would get all sorts of ideas, threatening traditional authorities.
In the early sixteenth century William Tyndale translated the New Testament and much of the Old into English without official permission. He was driven out of England to the continent where he lived in hiding. Gutenberg’s Bible was huge, printed in Latin on large sheets of paper or vellum. Seventy-five years later Tyndale had his Bible printed on tissue-thin paper with tiny print. The small format made the Bibles easier to smuggle into England and hide. You could be arrested as a heretic for owning one, but ordinary people like my characters, the Thatchers, and their neighbors were hungry to read the Word of God for themselves in a language they understood.
In 1536 Tyndale was betrayed, arrested, convicted as a heretic, strangled at the stake and his body burned. Yet three years later King Henry VIII had an authorized version printed. Largely Tyndale’s translation, it was known as the Great Bible for its size. A law proclaimed that every church must own one.
One Bible.
For the whole church.
Before that law, people didn’t even have that.
How I take for granted my freedom to read, including my freedom to read the Bible. I have various translations at my fingertips on my device and computer, where I can sync my notes and underlinings and link quickly to various commentaries. No one looks over my shoulder to see what I read. No one threatens me because I read in the language of my heart. Historical fiction from the early days of the Reformation reminds me of the magic of the written word and all I have to be thankful for.
Drawing:
The margins of the Bible my father used when he was in bed with tuberculosis for three years in the 1940s are crammed with notes—a reminder of my spiritual heritage. Is there a Bible that is special to you? Tell us about it in the comments and we will include you in a drawing for a free copy of Black Mountain. (Electronic only if you live outside the US) Comment yesterday and today to double your chances.
About LeAnne
Bio: LeAnne Hardy has lived as a missionary librarian in six countries on four continents. Her inspirational fiction comes out of her cross-cultural experiences and her passion to use story to convey spiritual truths in a form that will permeate lives. Click here to hear her speak about the significance of King Arthur in her spiritual formation and read from the first two books. Links to first chapters of all her books can be found here.
Links:
Amazon.com
Website: LeAnne Hardy, author and editor
Blog: My Times and Places
Facebook: Birch Island Books
…the visitor who now enters the Palazzo dei Conservatori at Borgo San Sepolcro finds the stupendous “Resurrection” almost as Piero della Francesca left it. …it stands there before us in entire and actual splendour, the greatest picture in the world.
—-Aldous Huxley, Along the Road, 1925
I had never heard of The Resurrection until a couple of weeks ago. But both The World’s Greatest Paintings and The Private Life of a Masterpiece: Renaissance Masterpieces included it in their discussions. Even though I enjoyed learning why it’s supposed to be such a great painting, it still doesn’t move me. But the story about how Huxley’s words saved the painting and the town during World War II is another matter.
As the British army was fighting its way up Italy, an artillery officer named Anthony Clarke was told to shell Sansepolcro to make it safe for the soldiers to enter. He gave the order, but then remembered Huxley’s description of Piero’s fresco. He ordered his men to stop.
As it turned out the shelling hadn’t been needed because the Germans had already left. So instead of the army court-martialing Clarke for disobeying an order, the townspeople honored him as a hero. The Via Anthony Clarke is still named after him.
This story reminds me of my excitement and wonder when I first learned to read — it seemed like magic. Huxley’s words about a painting averted a tragedy almost 20 years later. If that doesn’t show the magic of the written word, I don’t know what does.
After the war Clarke owned a rare book store in South Africa and wrote 50 scholarly catalogs in the course of his career. He was clearly the quintessential book lover. That, too, warms my heart. Where I was raised people didn’t think much of people who always had “their nose in a book.” Clarke proved that book lovers can be useful too.
What about you? Are you a book lover? Has your life ever been changed by something another person has written?
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Last week, I discussed signs that appear in the Oz series. This time, I’m going to look at a related topic, that of magical items or characters producing printed (or written; I don’t think it’s generally specified) messages, or accepting them from others. We see one of these quite early on when the Good Witch of the North’s cap turns into a slate that advises Dorothy to travel to the Emerald City.
This slate reappears to give advice to Prince Philador in Giant Horse.
Glinda’s Great Book of Records obviously also magically produces words, but it doesn’t seem to be something L. Frank Baum really used that much. In Ruth Plumly Thompson, on the other hand, such objects and characters are all over. Her second Oz book, Kabumpo, begins with a cake exploding, revealing a scroll with a warning from a certain “J.G.”, eventually revealed as the wizard Glegg.
Also in the cake is a mirror that provides a description, sometimes a quite insulting one, of anyone who looks into it along with their reflection.
Another bit of Glegg’s magic is a Question Box that, when queried and shaken, displays the answer. I’m not sure how much space it has, but some of these answers are pretty long. Lost King has Pajuka’s magic feather that writes a message in the Emerald City. And when Dorothy wishes for an explanation as to what’s been granting her wishes, her answer is printed on a card. The Hurry-Canes of Rash transport the bearer when provided with written instructions. It’s much the same with the Wizard’s Footpath in Gnome King, which normally runs to the Emerald City on its feet, but will also obey instructions written on a pad.
Since the Chief Scrapper writes his message while on the running path, it can apparently decipher sloppy handwriting. The Post Man in Purple Prince has to be directed through messages in the box on his back, because he’s deaf. In Ojo, a crystal ball in Crystal City provides answers and warnings.
One of the silver balls in Nox the Ox’s horn, provided by Himself the Elf, magically provides instructions on paper.
Also perhaps worthy of mention is, as per the Grand Chew Chew’s story in Royal Book, the crumpled parchment with the prophecy about the return of Chang Wang Woe that mysteriously appeared when the beanstalk did.
The difference between characters and objects can sometimes be a bit blurred in Oz. The Footpath and Post Man clearly have personalities and a certain amount of free will, but still function more as plot devices than characters in the stories. Then again, the same could probably be said about some of the human characters. The Menankypoos in Pirates are unable to speak, but communicate by flashing messages on their foreheads like illuminated signs. Clocker, the former Wise Man of Menankypoo, provides messages on yellow notes every fifteen minutes, delivered by a cuckoo bird that resides in his head.
And several characters communicate through skywriting. One is Quiberon, who can speak normally, but spells out a message in smoke when he wants all of the Ozurians to see it. Thun in Silver Princess is initially unable to speak or hear, instead spelling out all his messages in fire.
After Jinnicky converts him to flesh and blood, he’s able to talk and listen, but still produces the fiery words as well. And I mentioned Bill Bored and his pipe smoke writing last time.