Medieval Childbirth and Baptism

Medieval Childbirth and Baptism The concept of childhood in the middle ages and the importance of the child in medieval society is not to be overlooked in history. It is fairly clear from the laws designed specifically for the care of children that childhood was recognized as a distinct phase of development and that, contrary to modern folklore, children were not treated as nor expected to behave as adults. Laws regarding the rights of orphans are among the pieces of evidence we have that children had value in society, as well. It is difficult to imagine that in a society where so much value was placed on children, and so much hope was invested in a couples ability to produce children, children would regularly suffer from a lack of attention or affection. Yet this is the charge that has often been made against medieval families. While there have been- and continue to be- cases of child abuse and neglect in western society, to take individual incidents as indicative of an entire culture would be an irresponsible approach to history. Instead, let us look at how society in general regarded the treatment of children. As we take a closer look at childbirth and baptism, well see that, in most families, children were warmly and happily welcomed into the medieval world. Childbirth in the Middle Ages Because the foremost reason for marriage at any level of medieval society was to produce children, the birth of a baby was usually a cause for joy. Yet there was also an element of anxiety. While the childbirth mortality rate is probably not as high as folklore would have it,   there was still a possibility of complications, including birth defects or a breech birth, as well as the death of mother or child or both. And even under the best of circumstances, there was no effective anesthetic to eradicate the pain. The lying-in room was almost exclusively the province of women; a male physician would only be called in when surgery was necessary.  Under ordinary circumstances, the mother- be she peasant, town-dweller, or noblewoman- would be attended by midwives. A midwife would usually have more than a decade of experience, and she would be accompanied by assistants whom she was training. In addition, female relatives and friends of the mother would frequently be present in the birthing room, offering support and good will, while the father was left outside with little more to do but pray for a safe delivery. The presence of so many bodies could raise the temperature of a room already made warm by the presence of a fire, which was used to heat water for bathing both mother and child. In the homes of the nobility, gentry, and wealthy townspeople, the birthing room would usually be freshly-swept and provided with clean rushes; the best coverlets were put on the bed and the place was turned out for display. Sources indicate that some mothers may have given birth in a sitting or squatting position.  To ease the pain and to hasten the process of childbirth, the midwife might rub the mothers belly with ointment. Birth was usually expected within 20 contractions; if it took longer, everyone in the household might try to help it along by opening cupboards and drawers, unlocking chests, untying knots, or even shooting an arrow into the air. All of these acts were symbolic of opening the womb. If all went well, the midwife would tie off and cut the umbilical cord and help the baby take its first breath, clearing its mouth and throat of any mucus. She would then bathe the child in warm water or, in more affluent homes, in milk or wine;  Ã¢â‚¬â€¹she might also use salt, olive oil, or rose petals. Trotula of Salerno, a 12th-century female physician, recommended washing the tongue with hot water to assure the child would speak properly.  It was not uncommon to rub honey on the palate to give the baby an appetite. The infant would then be swaddled snugly in linen strips so that his limbs might grow straight and strong, and laid in a cradle in a dark corner, where his eyes would be protected from bright light. It would soon be time for the next phase in his very young life: Baptism. Medieval Baptism The primary purpose of  baptism  was to wash away original sin and drive all evil from the newborn child. So important was this  sacrament  to the Catholic Church that the usual opposition to women performing sacerdotal duties was overcome for fear an infant might die unbaptized. Midwives were authorized to perform the rite if the child was unlikely to survive and there was no man nearby to do it. If the mother died in childbirth, the midwife was supposed to cut her open and extract the baby so that she could baptize it. Baptism had another significance: it welcomed a new Christian soul into the community. The rite conferred a name on the infant that would identify him throughout his life, however short it might be. The official ceremony in the church would establish lifelong ties to his godparents, who were not supposed to be related to their godchild through any blood or marriage link. Thus, from the very beginning of his life, the medieval child had a relationship to the community beyond that defined by kinship. The role of godparents was mainly spiritual: they were to teach their godchild his prayers and instruct him in faith and morals. The relationship was considered as close as a blood link, and marriage to ones godchild was prohibited.  Because godparents were expected to bestow gifts on their godchild, there was some temptation to designate many godparents, so the number had been limited by the Church to three: a godmother and two godfathers for a son; a godfather and two godmothers for a daughter. Great care was taken when selecting prospective godparents; they might be chosen from among the parents employers, guild members, friends, neighbors, or lay clergy. No one from a family that the parents hoped or planned to marry the child into would be asked. Generally, at least one of the godparents would be of a higher social status than the parent. A child was usually baptized on the day he was born. The mother would stay at home, not only to recuperate, but because the Church generally followed the Jewish custom of keeping women from holy places for several weeks after giving birth. The father would assemble the godparents, and together with the midwife they would all bring the child to the church. This procession would frequently include friends and relatives, and could be quite festive. The priest would meet the baptismal party at the church door. Here he would ask if the child had been baptized yet and whether it was a boy or a girl. Next he would bless the baby, put salt in its mouth to represent the reception of wisdom, and exorcise any demons. Then he would test the godparents knowledge of the prayers they were expected to teach the child: the  Pater Noster,  Credo, and  Ave Maria. Now the party entered the church and proceeded to the  baptismal font. The priest would anoint the child, immerse him in the font, and name him. One of the godparents would raise the baby up from the water and wrap him in a christening gown. The gown, or crysom, was made of white linen and might be decorated with seed pearls; less wealthy families might use a borrowed one. The last part of the ceremony took place at the altar, where the godparents made the profession of faith for the child. The participants would then all return to the parents house for a feast. The entire procedure of baptism mustnt have been a pleasant one for the newborn. Removed from the comfort of its home (not to mention its mothers breast) and carried out into the cold, cruel world, having salt shoved into its mouth, immersed in water that could be dangerously cold in winter all this must have been a jarring experience. But for the family, the godparents, friends, and even the community at large, the ceremony heralded the arrival of a new member of society. From the trappings that went with it, it was an occasion that appears to have been a welcome one. Sources: Hanawalt, Barbara,  Growing Up in Medieval London  (Oxford University Press, 1993). Gies, Frances, and Gies, Joseph,  Marriage and the Family in the Middle Ages  (Harper Row, 1987). Hanawalt, Barbara, The Ties that Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England (Oxford University Press, 1986).

4 Successful Review Writers That Students Have to Look up to

4 Successful Review Writers That Students Have to Look up to 4 Successful Review Writers That Students Have to Look up to Throughout our lives, we find people who inspire us. Some of them help us work harder, some inspire us to make wise choices, and there are even some people who can inspire us to become better writers. Some of the best review writers are among those exalted few, and their works make us want to improve ourselves by bettering our writing abilities. Here are some of the best essay writers of all times and why they can make you want to become more amazing writers too. 1. Joan Didion Didion began her writing career when she was only five years old reminding us that we are never too young to begin. If you are new to Didion, a Year of Magical Thinking is a particularly good choice. If you have ever dismayed by the decay of morality and the decadence of culture, Didion knows what you’re thinking, and she’s written it down in sharp prose that pierces to the very heart. She once famously said â€Å"The willingness to accept responsibility for ones own life is the source from which self-respect springs.† Don’t make excuses for not moving forward with becoming a stronger writer; Didion wouldn’t approve. 2. Annie Dillard They have said, â€Å"write what you know† and Annie Dillard is a flawless example who follows that advice. The Pulitzer Prize-winning author is famous for her collected essays in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek in which she explores the beauty and horror of the natural world near her home in Roanoke, Virginia. She conveys a sense of unhurried wonder and discovery, which is difficult for experienced writers to maintain. If you have found yourself feeling jaded and struggling for the words to come, try to take a look at her essays and gain your own set of fresh eyes to view the world. 3. David Foster Wallace If you’re a bibliophile, it is possible that you already know and love David Foster Wallace. He’s fighting back against mental illness every day to keep writing down what’s the most important for him. He called writing both â€Å"nourishing and redemptive,† and although Wallace ultimately committed a suicide. His work lives on in his most famous 1000+ page stream-of-consciousness novel Infinite Jest. The chief book critic once said of him, â€Å"He can do sad, funny, silly, heartbreaking and absurd with equal ease; he can even do them all at once.† It is hard to come up with excuses about how a certain style of writing just does not suit you when you consider the odds, which Wallace was dealing with every day, and how he bravely overcame them. 4. Brian Doyle If you’ve never read the essayist Brian Doyle before, you’re in for a real treat. No other essayist so deftly can bring tears to your eyes or smiles to your faces. He is one moment dryly hysterical; next, he is delving into the beauty and tragedy of deepest sorrow. Perhaps, it is unrealistic to imagine that any of us could reach into someone’s heart and yank it right out of their chest with his piercing and perfect command of language, but it is certainly worth a lifetime of trying to get there. As we can see, there are a lot of review writers who had a lot of troubles to tackle, but still they coped with them. Thus, remember that there is nothing impossible, just believe and make some efforts.