Linda Colley's "Britons" = yet another stupidly boring seminar

Linda Colley’s Britons

Linda Colley’s 1992 book Britons: Forging the Nation 1707-1837 attempts to determine the national character of the British Isles during the period in question. Principle to her study is a certain conception of the “nation” as an ideological construction which derives from specific cultural and economic developments. As Benedict Anderson has pointed out, the conception of a unified national identity is itself highly problematic. It should not be understood as a collection of cultural or political essentialisms which originate in ethnic characteristics, but rather should be viewed along the lines of Anderson’s rather infamous edict as ‘an imagined political community’. With this in mind, it is possible to locate Colley’s argument that the British population was collected as an imagined community – and more particularly, that they came to define themselves – “in reaction to the Other beyond their shores” (6). Throughout the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries, Britain was at almost continual war with France, particularly as a reaction to Imperial (or in other words, colonial) interests. Indeed, Colley goes so far as to suggest the rather bold statement that “prolonged struggle tested and transformed state power on both sides of the Channel” (3), ultimately resulting in the emergence of key social institutions such as the Bank of England and a nationwide financial system.

The first chapter of her book seeks to determine the identity of the Britons, and more precisely to determine how the British people viewed themselves as a unified national body. The country was itself created in 1707 when Parliament passed the Act of Union, unifying Scotland, England, and Wales into one political entity. Despite some language differences, particularly with the Welsh, who did not give up their language until the twentieth century, the three initially separate countries had drawn ever closer together by trade. In the case of Scotland, there was also a monarchal connection through the Stuart Dynasty. There remained some disparities among the three regions, however. There was no shared Celtic identity between the Scottish and the Welsh despite their shared linguistic difference from England proper. As well, there was a fair amount of internal division between locales, evidenced, for instance, by the continued cultural strife between the Highlands and the Lowlands in Scotland and between the Northern and Southern territories in England. England itself was internally unified by language, economy, and a less geographically diverse terrain than either of its neighbours, yet the variety of local customs, foods, and literatures demonstrate that English culture was not homogenous. Indeed, it seems evident that the border zones between nations had more in common with each other than they did to the centralized authorities to which they were ostensibly tied. It should be accordingly noted that under such conditions any sense of national identity must be read in a heteroglossiac manner: “Great Britain in 1707 was much less a trinity of three self-contained and self-conscious nations than a patchwork in which uncertain areas of Welshness, Scottishness, and Englishness were cut across by strong regional attachments, and scored over again by loyalties to village, town, family and landscape” (17). Some of these cultural differences were negotiated by advances in infrastructure, communications, and trade, the latter of which being free of internal tariffs or duties in opposition to Continental practise. There was a great deal of internal mobility largely resulting from trade, and consequently, “England and Scotland ... experienced a much faster rate of urban growth in the eighteenth century than did any other part of Europe” (39). Indeed, the “relative sophistication of [Britain’s] economic networks played an important part in keeping this culturally diverse land together” (43).

The most significant distinction Colley makes in her study is the extension of the psychological binary of Self and Other – an important trope for Ego formation since Freud – to the more broad social construction of national identity, and indeed Britons saw themselves as God’s chosen people. Fundamental to this belief is the protestant reformation of the sixteenth century which led to an independent church in England. British identity was the reification of the perceived difference between the island Self and the continental Other. This difference did have an internal dimension as well, for the biggest internal conflicts surrounded the ideological gulf felt between Protestants and Catholics. By the eighteenth century, Catholics could not vote, and were indeed second class citizens. It was believed that all of the catastrophes of recent history – the tyranny of James I, the London fire of 1666 – were all precipitated by Catholics. Print was of vital importance in unifying the Britons within this ideological field. Daily newspapers were numerous by the early eighteenth century, and outnumbered those produced by continental nations. While London served as the locus for print (and indeed non-print) culture – many provincial editors relied on news from London to fill their dailies – protestant ideologies had infiltrated British culture to such an extent that the ideological fundament of the papers reflected a similar, while not totally monolithic, culture. Cheap publications such as almanacs, sermons, and broadsheets sold exceptionally well and were quick to produce, and consequently were widely available to the subordinate classes: “this enormously enhanced access to print was a vital part of the conviction that Protestant Britons were peculiarly privileged” (42). They were used as vehicles for the spread of anti-Catholic sentiments and other “history” lessons, and were frequently written “to demonstrate the country’s centrality and miraculous deliverance from popery” (22). Similarly, John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, which was as equally popular as the Bible, “linked brutal religious persecution with Roman Catholicism and foreign intervention” (27). The Martyrs were themselves associated with the commoners as well as the aristocracy in order to avoid, or at least hold at bay, any class antagonism.

While there was some tolerance of Catholicism – many knew a Catholic neighbour – Catholics could experience the same hostility as meted out to witches and heretics, particularly in times of war. Catholic nations were characterised by the British as slothful and inept, while Catholic values were themselves perceived as “upside-down” (36). The British did not experience the hardships of starvation and foreign invasion, and consequently there were no significant instances of civilian casualties or property destruction. “The relative absence of famine was a powerful aid to social stability” (37), and this stability led to a belief that Protestantism was indeed the more ‘righteous’ ideological path. Adversity to the ‘obvious moral corruption’ of Catholicism helped define a British identity as chosen by God: “suffering and recurrent exposure to danger were a sign [sic] of grace; and, if met with fortitude and faith, the indispensable prelude to victory under God” (29). Indeed, religion had so tied itself to political (national) identity that in 1688 and 1714 the rules of succession were altered to disallow Catholic claimants on the throne from gaining power. The Hanoverian George I, for example, himself of German origin, was given power by Parliament over fifty otherwise more eligible individuals whose sole detrimental characteristic was their adherence to Catholicism. To legitimate Protestant rulers, the divine right of kings, fundamental to English legal structure since Magna Carta, was itself suspended in favour of “divine providence and the people’s will” (48). Great Britain was allegorized as the new Jerusalem, with battles against Catholic states depicted as “the triumph of Israel over the Moabites” (31). Apart from the loss of some American colonies in 1776, Britain enjoyed a series of strategic victories: “it was easy ... for Protestant polemicists to argue, and tempting for the mass of men and women to believe, that it was the expulsion of those Stuart princes who had inclined toward Catholicism, and the unity of the island under a Protestant dynasty that had transformed Britain’s position in the world” (53) from the insular, rather marginal power it had been in the sixteenth century to the might of its Imperial control by the nineteenth.

Such an aggrandized sense of Self needs a potent Other with which to ontologically define itself. For much of the period in question, France occupied this hallowed position for the British consciousness. The country did pose a threat to British interests, as it had a larger landmass and population, could field a stronger and more numerous army, and was pointedly anti-Protestant. It was feared that the French would restore Catholicism to Britain and consequently return the country to the hell of its troubled history: “the prospect in the first half of the eighteenth century of a Catholic monarchy being restored in Britain by force, together with the recurrent wars with Catholic states, and especially with France, ensured that the vision that so many Britons cherished of their own history became fused in an extraordinary way with their current experience” (25). It is here that Colley’s argument falls slightly. It seems more likely that the Other was a religious rather than a national one, even though the two were one and the same in the case of countries such as France. The acceptance of the many Hugenots who fled the Continent to settle in England is proof that the British people did not equate foreignness as inherently corrupt. Furthermore, by stressing the importance of the British Parliament to national identity – the institution was idiosyncratic to Britain, for many such congregations had ceased to operate on the Continent: “Parliament was unique, splendid and sovereign, the hard-won prerogative of a free and Protestant people” (50) – Colley implicitly suggests an alternate avenue for Otherness that she does not explore. Parliament as a social construction represents a unique conflation of the individual and an ontological tendency for anti-individualism, for it was ostensibly used to represent the will of the individual as reified by social and legal structure. Many, even those Britons who lacked full citizenship for economic reasons, could bring their political desires before this institution, and this sense of agency for the otherwise marginalised was a potent force uniting the disparate peoples of Great Britain. The perceived Other is the individual who does not conform to the rules of political interpellation: “the Protestant construction of British identity involved the unprivileging of minorities who would not conform” (53). It might be possible to argue, however, that the more authentic Other in the case of the British consciousness is the irrational, to which both Protestantism and legal practise applied their medicaments. The Self evolved over the course of three centuries, manifesting as potent social institutions, such as Parliament and the legal code, which themselves signified Britishness more than any individual cultural practise. That these institutions were shared amongst the territories which constituted Great Britain signals the true unifying nature of the projection of Self-identity onto a national consciousness.

The Canadians of Old

The Canadians of Old is widely regarded as a keystone for Canadian literature, for it united French and English reading communities, at least in the commercial terms of the novel’s popularity. Early translations – the first appearing only a year after the novel’s original publication – were marred by overly melodramatic prose and textual exclusions. De Gaspé’s voluminous notes and explanations, for example, were usually excised from English editions. I myself would argue that the French and English texts served not to unify a culturally heterogeneous population, but rather to demonstrate the anxiety and tension of co-habitation. Perhaps more importantly, however, The Canadians of Old serves as a foundation for a new Canadian national literature because it is among the first texts to critically examine an important historical occurrence which was subsequently to define a national identity. It should be noted, however, that I wish to examine identity itself as in a sense a constellation of forms rather than a monolithic entity. For, as de Gaspé’s text demonstrates, the ambiguities, paradoxes, inaccuracies, and most importantly the exclusion and glossing of “otherness” themselves serve to reify and create the oscillating presence which is national identity.

So who were these Canadians of old? What defines them as a people, distinct from the English and the French, and of course, as I will later elucidate, the Aboriginal peoples? It is interesting to note that more information can be gleaned from the text as to what the Canadians are not, rather than what exactly they are. Putting aside Aboriginal claims to the title, it is clear that Canadians as defined by the text are for the most part French-speaking land owners and tenants. English speakers are exclusively British subjects, and of course one must remain aware of the publication date for de Gaspé’s text, which predates Confederation. Therefore we can understand that English speakers will remain tied to their empire, while French-speaking persons born in North America will become a unique nationality separate from the Imperial claims of France itself. De Gaspé remains clear as to the origin of this difference, as he repeatedly refers to “the indifferent Louis XV” (177) who ignored the plight of New France, especially during the Seven Years War. As an historical aside, such indifference can be best attributed to France’s continental obligations, as well as the vast superiority of the English naval fleet, rather than the callous disregard of the country’s monarchy. This sense of abandonment, of weakness, can be seen to inform de Gaspé’s valorization of Canadian fighters at the beginning of chapter twelve: “You have been misunderstood, my Canadian brothers of old! You have been falsely besmirched .... Shame on us who, instead of exploring the ancient chronicles of our race’s heroic deeds, we’re content to bow our heads beneath the humiliating reproach of being a conquered people .... Shame on us who are mortified to be Canadians!” (151). The rhetoric here phrased seems to be the manifestation of the famed inferiority complex of Canadian national (stereotyped) identity. Therefore, Canadians can be seen to be defined by their opposition, which would have been seen as insurmountable. It is here that de Gaspé distances the English-speakers from the French, for during the 1759 war, the repulsion of English forces by the Quebequois is described as a “Victory ... most dearly bought by the French and the Canadians” (180).

Perhaps even more importantly than their status as non-British, Canadian national identity, at least in cultural terms, is defined by de Gaspé along aristocratic lines. Such is to be expected perhaps, for the author was himself descended from New France’s aristocratic families. Yet the novel in its entirety suggests a nostalgic return to the ancien régime, with the subtext that the seigneurial system followed God’s will. In an ontologically prescient manner, the very landscape – its beauty, fertility, and economic potential – are linked a priori with aristocratic privilege. Jules, in conversation with Archibald, correlates the nostalgic sentimentality of his youth with his later ability to profit from the land of his birth: “I love everything about this place ... it never seems as beautiful anywhere else. I love this stream that I used to turn the little wheels I called my mills “94). Indeed, birth associated with privilege defines human potential and moral character: “In terms of character, Seigneur d’Haberville possessed all the qualities that distinguished the old Canadian noblesse” (95). It is within this space – the definition of aristocracy which subsequently implies a national identity – where several paradoxes emerge in de Gaspé’s thought. For while Canadians are themselves defined by their French heritage – Jules, for example, remarks that “if the French lose Canada, most of the Canadian noblesse will probably emigrate to France where they have friends and protection” (189), and of course with nobility goes culture – simultaneous to this French heritage is the recognition of a shared culture amongst the aristocracy regardless of their country of origin. Such can first be identified by de Gaspé’s epithets, many of which are from British authors, but more importantly they signify a universal reading culture to which members of the aristocracy have almost exclusive privilege. This shared, alomst contractual, culture is of course reified in the relationship between Jules and Archibald, who are depicted as brothers from childhood who attended school together.

Consequently, de Gaspé’s depiction of the English is fraught with paradoxical relations. For while they are numerously depicted as brutish and uncompassionate, particularly during the destruction of Saint-Jean-Port-Joli in chapter twelve – Major Montgomerie in particular is portrayed as unmerciful and violent – simultaneously British rule was, in a sense very real to de Gaspé, a blessing in disguise, for as on page 151: “we may have benefited from the cessation of Canada, for the Revolution of ‘93 with all its horrors barely touched this fortunate colony, then under British flag”. The horros to which he refers are of course the plebeian rejection of the of the aristocratic system in France, during which many nobles lost their property, if not indeed their lives. Within this context, we can determine de Gaspé’s valuation of proper national existence. Order is maintained within the post-feudal system of the seigneuries, where the privilege of the aristocracy is granted in lieu of a contract to protect those whom they oversee. Like a father sheltering his children, the seigneurs must protect those under their guard, for as the narrator says on page 203, “It is the privilege of well-born persons to treat their inferiors with unfailing respect”. The d’Habervilles maintained this civil order, and consequently they “experienced fewer hardships than many in their position, for they were loved and respected by the censitaires, and had never suffered the humiliations that the common people are want to heap upon their superiors in distress” (203). The habitants give their labour wholeheartedly to the task of rebuilding the estate and their homes. They are themselves a superstitious group which lacks the insights gained by civility and are thus contented with a simple existence: “Our habitants aren’t so fussy as we are, nor are their palates so jaded. I’m sure their meals, washed down with a few shots of brandy, leave them nothing to wish for” (103). It is their duty to sublimate themselves to the seigneurial order. Indeed, duty is all important for de Gaspé, as it provides the moral imperative for the hierarchization of the populace. Simultaneously, however, he is not uncritical of the performance of duty which is blindly executed, as Archie’s actions demonstrate: “my life was poisoned by remorse since that fatal day when the inescapable duty of a junior officer forced me to carry out heart-sickening acts of vandalism” (205). Yet captain d’Haberville comes to understand this impulse, and soon forgives Archiibald of his transgression.

The institution of the monarchy holds such a (ir)rationally stratified body politic together, and consequently the d’Habervilles pledge their allegiance to the English king. Says captain d’Haberville, “Serve your new sovereign as loyally as I have served the king of France” (248) Notably, this phrase is uttered before the passing of the old guard, the ancien régime, which the captain represents. That the English retained their monarchy while the French king was beheaded in the Revolution speaks to de Gaspé’s allegiances. French Canada, and by extension the Canadians, will likely prosper under British rule if they accomodate themselves, much as within the Scottish had, in opposition to the economic and social ruin which the Irish experienced by resisting Britain. It is likely that de Gaspé’s desire to accede to the British monarchy allowed the proliferation of the English translation of his novel. Indeed, by the end of the text, Jules has himself married an Englishwoman, and rightly enters into peaceful cohabitation with the English aristocracy. De Gaspé resists simple objections that the Canadiens – the French – are a defeated people by suggesting that they willingly returned to the feudal order under British rule. For example, Jules’s statement on page 239 that “our habitants have traded their muskets for the plough. They’re opening up new land – and in a few years this seigneurie will be bringing in a healthy return. With the help of my modest legacy, we’ll soon be as rich as we were before the conquest”. Additionally, the process of imperial conquest does contain a reciprocity, as earlier noted. Within the narrative, this is achieved primarily through Archibald, who aids the d’Habervilles on numerous occasions, namely by convincing the English governor to grant the family a reprieve from expulsion to France. Less dramatically however, Archie’s love of Jules momentarily unites the French and the English during the war. The French and Canadian soldiers “were so moved at seeing the Englishman tend their young officer that they never even thought of harming him” (181). It is Archie’s aristocratic nature – his bravery, strength, and determined initiative – which here transcends nationality. The true connection of l’Anglais and the French is young Archibald d’Haberville, who, reflecting Archie’s earlier statement that childhood is “the time when true wisdom is known” (214), sees the entirety of the narrative (the text as work) as well as the history of his family within the dancing embers of the fireplace: “a small group of men, women, and children walking, dancing, jumping, rising and falling – and now suddenly everything’s disappeared” (252). Here we can see de Gaspé’s greatest paradox, for while his novel posits the successful integration of the French into the English empire, in his old age it seems that he believes that the Canadian spirit itself, once tied to strict religious custom – Catholicism – has weakened over time: “Some of our nineteenth-century Christians appear embarrassed by a religious act performed in public. At the very least, this shows either a narrow or cowardly mind” (22-3). Certainly these are not aristocratic virtues, which explains de Gaspé’s nostalgic attempts at reverie in the Canadians of his fictionalized history.

Byzantine Defensive Structure: A Brief analysis of the Origins of Defence-in-depth

One could successfully argue that the cultural heights achieved by the Byzantine Empire, and Constantinople in particular, were attained in large part because of the relative peace and security that it experienced for nearly a thousand years. Certainly the Empire had to contend with a great many threats, yet only infrequently was the “heartland” centre directly assaulted. Constantinople itself proved unconquerable until it lost the battle of Manzikert in the eleventh century. The Byzantines faced numerous enemy powers on several fronts and were frequently defeated, yet throughout its history the Empire could repeatedly be defined with an overused maxim: Byzantium lost the battle but won the war. The most important factor in determining the ultimate survival of the Empire was the organization and professionalism of its military system. Living up to their stereotypical depiction as bureaucrats, it was through an administrative re-organization of the Empire that Byzantium could effectively counter and contain aggressive foreign powers. Both civil and military administration were overhauled to adopt a defensive strategy which protected the centre of the Empire while to an extent consciously sacrificing the periphery. This strategy emerged from studying the reality of frontier warfare faced by Byzantium. Above all else, the Byzantines were most adept at studying the tactics, units, and strengths and weaknesses of their enemies. A great deal of literature concerning a variety of military endeavours exists, much of it reflecting on the ancient tactics known to Byzantine scholars. Probably the more significant of these are the Strategikon – attributed to the sixth-century emperor Maurice, but more likely written by an unknown field commander under his command – the Taktika, a manual written in the eleventh century by the emperor Leo VI, and an anonymously written pamphlet frequently translated as On Skirmishing Warfare. Each of these texts describes one primary tactical consideration, namely to avoid conflict whenever possible. As the history of Byzantine warfare was to demonstrate, this was sound advice. The Byzantine army was frequently in a position in which it had to defend itself against superior enemy troop strength, not only at the strategic level but also in terms of individual battles. I will be examining the rise of the Byzantine defensive structure during the sixth and seventh centuries until the Empire was compromised by its defeat at the battle of Manzikert, which signalled then end of its supremacy in the East.

The Byzantine Empire had of course emerged from the Roman Empire, and therefore had inherited Roman military and administrative practice. Many of the threats faced by Byzantium were problems that likewise had menaced Rome, and Byzantine emperors and generals were to benefit from solutions initiated by their predecessors. Most crucial were developments in the armed forces. A new type of opponent had emerged in the middle of the first millennium with the insurgence of barbarian forces such as the Huns and the Scythians into the Roman Empire. These barbarian hordes represented a germinal type of shock warfare which could not be effectively countered by the traditional military system based on the legions. Rome’s new enemies were for the most part cavalry units which quickly struck vulnerable sections of the empire and withdrew with their plunder. To counter the damage caused by such raids, the Roman army was restructured to place more emphasis on smaller cavalry units which were obviously more mobile than the larger and much less flexible infantry-based legions. These mounted soldiers could be mobilized much more rapidly than the old legion and proved much more adept at defending the vast borders of the empire. Furthermore a smaller number of cavalry could adequately defend the frontier, which had previously required extensive garrisoning. Of course, the decline of Rome occurred despite these advances in the military, although a great many other factors were involved which lie beyond the focus of this essay. As delineated in the Strategikon, Byzantium incorporated cavalry into its military structure, yet further improved on the Roman system by outfitting two main divisions of mounted unit or cataphract, one equipped with lance or spear and the other with bow and arrow. Initially, bows were used as cavalry support, replacing the much less flexible small-unit catapults and ballistae used by the Romans. Mounted archers were adopted from the warriors of the Steppes – primarily the Huns – and proved very effective at defeating even the largest of infantry-based enemy armies. Cavalry units equipped with lance or spear were used as shock troops to break enemy lines, and also as close-quarter support for mounted and infantry archers.

The Byzantines had also learned a great deal from Roman strategic advances which precipitated from Roman frontier defence. The role of the army changed from being an instrument of aggressive imperialism to a more defensive posture. Much like the late Roman Empire, Byzantium simply did not have the human or material resources to effectively expand its borders. Nor, in fact, did it have the desire to do so. The territories held by Byzantium in the centuries leading up to the Moslem invasions of the early seventh century were in a sense believed to be possessed by the Emperor in accordance with the divine will to form a perfect correlative temporal kingdom to that in heaven. The concept of a divine empire was mirrored in the body of the emperor himself. Using a rather crude but obvious metaphor, the Byzantines believed that just as the physical body of the emperor could not be divided, neither could the lands of the Empire be fractured without disintegrating the entire state. Such an ideological stance was to prove problematic when the Western half of the old Roman empire proclaimed its independence with the crowning of Charlemagne in the ninth century. This was viewed as a heretical act, as the Byzantines believed that God had ordained only one emperor to justly rule on earth. Yet the Empire had to accept that its ‘natural’ borders were eastern, as it would have been impossible to stage any major offensive in the west. Byzantium did regain Venitia and the Dalmatian Coast as recompense for acknowledging the Western emperor diplomatically with the Pax Nicephori. The reconquests of lost land in the east, however – as carried out by the emperors Bardas in the ninth century, and Nicephorus II in the mid-tenth century, among others – was consequently believed to be a restoration of the divine will, not the potential for new beginnings which conquest usually anticipates. Of course such a belief remained largely abstract; the citizen majority were frequently opposed to the mobilization of the armies for the purpose of conquest, primarily because any offensive had to be financed by means of higher taxes. A further complication was that the ‘natural’ boundaries of the Empire were rather indefinite. Some territories which were believed to be Byzantine possessions were in fact outside of the Byzantine administrative system; Venice is a prime example of such a relationship, as it was independently governed, yet was allied with Constantinople. Border states, some of which were ostensibly outside the ‘natural’ empire, had begun to be colonised by native Byzantines by the ninth century. These settlers then proceeded to absorb the local population into the regular Byzantine citizenry, wherein Christianity proved itself to be an invaluable tool. In retrospect, this process succeeded in expanding the ‘native’ lands of the Empire. Other territories were jointly shared with foreign powers, such as Crete which was portioned between the Empire and the Caliphate. Still other lands were held in possession in largely diplomatic terms as tributary states or free alliances. Many of these diplomatically-held territories were used as buffer states against hostile foreign powers, and were therefore almost as important for the Empire’s well-being as the ‘naturally’ held ones. After the Bulgars had been pacified and an alliance secured with a diplomatic marriage, Bulgaria was used as a buffer state to keep both the Russians and the Magyars at bay. There are even a few instances of Byzantium entering into alliances with neutral foreign powers with the provision that the latter wage war with the enemies of the Empire. While such alliances did not expand the physical zone of control possessed by the Byzantines, they did establish a wider area of influence which just as ably checked aggressive foreign powers. A final means of securing the loyalty of foreign populations was to convert them to orthodox Christianity. Subsequently, they would be valuable allies against ‘heretical’ peoples such as the Turks and the Arabs. Following these considerations, the Empire was arguably defined much more by its sphere of influence than its physical possessions. Furthermore, history was to prove the fluidity of these boundaries, as they were never to remain static for any length of time. Yet the Byzantines retained their concept of a divinely ordered earthly empire, and sought to defend what must be referred to in retrospect as its most frequently held territories.

As theoretically sound as this principle was, it did not survive the Islamic raids of the seventh century. As the Moslem invasions were to show, the Byzantine army was simply not capable of providing a static system of defence against border raiders. The vast size of the empire was its greatest weakness, as many of its provinces were far too distant from Constantinople to be effectively defended. Most of the territories held by Byzantium were those most easily defensible from the capital. However, several themes such as Egypt and Palestine were of immense economic importance, and therefore justified the additional effort required to retain them. Such wealthy lands were of course as highly valued by Byzantium’s enemies, and many did not remain in the Empire’s possession after the Islamic invasions. Quite simply, the distances involved where much too great for a single, centralized army to adequately defend. The troops at Constantinople, which were the most trained and best provisioned, would have taken months to mobilize and reach any frontier conflict. The great distance to the capital was also problematic in terms of slow communications and supply trains, which adversely affected tactical decision making along the frontiers. Despite the presence of garrisons along the frontier, any substantial enemy army would quickly overwhelm and occupy border provinces before the main Byzantine force could arrive from the capital. Local ability for resistence was virtually non-existent as civilians had since the early Roman empire been prohibited from owning weapons, a precaution against rebellion. Consistent throughout the period here studied, Byzantine strategic ideology centred upon defence of the capital and its immediately neighbouring territories. Therefore, the emperor would not deploy the main army along the frontier to strengthen the garrisons as this would weaken the capital defensively. With no standing force to protect it, the vital centre of the Empire would consequently be overrun should the army fail to repulse an invasion. In the early seventh century, this possibility very nearly became manifest, as Persian forces surged into Byzantine territory, capturing cities throughout Mesopotamia, Syria, and Armenia; they had in fact raided as far as the Bosporus.

In this context the emperor Heraclius was to prove himself extremely virtuosic in countering both the immediate threat of the Persians and the long-term defence of the Empire. It was largely through an administrative restructuring during his reign and continued by his successors Constans II and Constantine IV that Byzantium was able to counter threats against its territory. The various territories of the Empire were divided into smaller, more geographically cohesive regions called themes. Initially there were fourteen themes, but they were expanded in number to twenty-one in the ninth century in order to increase their defendability by further delineating them to specific geographies. Critical frontier regions, such as mountain passes and choke points for enemy movements, were themselves made into small themes called clissurae and were under the command of a clissurarch. These clissurae maintained their entire force at a high level of readiness; consequently, the troops stationed in the clissurae needed to be periodically rotated to less exhausting tours of duty in other themes. Neither the themes nor the clissurae succeeded in completely stopping invasions, yet they did stop invaders from reaching the inner provinces of the empire, which were of course much more important from the Imperial perspective. The administrative system of the themes was tied to its military system. Each theme had an armed force containing three thousand to seventy-two hundred soldiers, depending on the strategic importance of the theme. Obviously, the themes which were most frequently under threat of invasion were provided with the most troops. The various Anatolic and Armeniac themes – which bordered the Moslem territories – had more troops than most of the lesser themes combined; the Anatolic theme was itself the largest and most prodigious, as it was the corridor for the majority of Arab invading parties. Thrace, wherein Constantinople was situated, was of course almost as significant, but it was defended primarily by the tagmata, and not the theme troops. These three themes constituted the bulk of the empire in terms of military significance: of the estimated eighty thousand soldiers in the Byzantine army in the late eighth century, only five thousand were situated elsewhere in the empire. One mush also not ignore the agricultural significance of these themes, in terms of both economic importance to the empire – Thrace had become the granary to the empire after the loss of Egypt – and population density, as they provided the bulk of the soldiers for the army. The Byzantines liked to vary the strength of their armed forces periodically to confuse enemy intelligence. Themes were the highest division of unit, followed by various numbers of turmae, which were themselves composed of numerous bandae comprising three- to four-hundred soldiers. In this way themes might be formed with the same number of divisions but contain fewer or greater troops. Even after the creation of the themes, troop strength along the frontier did not improve drastically, yet such was not the principle behind the restructuring process. Yet, save for a few minor locations, the Empire was much more secure by the ninth century than it had been since Roman times. Of course, it was helped by the civil unrest of the Arab empire, which did weaken the Moslems to the extent that no great invading force could be assembled. In any case, an excessively large army was not only very expensive and hard to co-ordinate and supply along the frontier, but it was rarely required as a defensive force. On Skirmishing Warfare states that a cavalry unit of three thousand would prove quite capable of defeating most Arab raiding parties. The themes therefore proved more than adequate at countering the incessant raids by small bands of mounted soldiers that plagued the borders of the Empire. Primarily, they were much more flexible and responsive to threats and could adapt more quickly to changing situations along the frontier. A strategos could effectively mobilize two to four turmae each of cavalry and infantry within minutes of receiving news of an invading force.

Of course, such a strategy requires an extensive reconnaissance network. An sizeable spy network had been in place since the early Roman republic, and the Byzantine system refined and expanded on its inheritance. Merchants had long been used as they could most easily and inconspicuously infiltrate enemy cities and courts. More professional agents were also used and found emplacement primarily in foreign courts as emissaries, courtesans, or servants. Important foreign officials and other ‘connected’ individuals were bribed in exchange for intelligence reports. A counter-intelligence unit was also created, the most important of which was located along the Arab border specifically to prevent the incursion of spies from the Moslem territories. These akritai served as spies themselves, although in a much less subdued fashion than their courtesan and merchant counterparts. Frequently, they raided into enemy territory to spy on or harass enemy troops to gather information, and also abducted and imprisoned enemy civilians and military personnel in order to extract information. These units proved especially vigilant in their border patrols, as they arrested any individual who did not have a permit allowing his presence.

Intelligence reports were not only scrutinized by the strategos commanding the theme adjacent to the enemy lands in which his spies were stationed, but were relayed to the other strategoi and to the central bureaucracy in Constantinople using two means. Byzantium still operated the old Roman messaging system, the cursus publicus, which consisted of a messenger corps, a series of posts where messengers could exchange their horses when they tired, and a system of roads to allow quick travel. For more important information which required to be much more hastily delivered, a system of beacon fires was created and refined during the reign of Theophilus. These beacon stations extended from the frontiers in Asia Minor to the high terrace overlooking the imperial palace. Information about any event which threatened the frontier would consequently reach the capital within an hour or so. In terms of tactical intelligence, every theme had a small scouting corps used to report enemy troop movements and formations. As the Strategikon states, such intelligence is of vital tactical importance: “before the battle and until it is over, [spies] should keep both the enemy and their own units under observation to prevent any attack from ambush or any other hostile trick”. Furthermore, “every effort should be made by continuously sending out keen-sighted scouts at appropriate intervals, by spies and patrols, to obtain information about the enemy’s movements, their strength and organization, and thus be in a position to prevent being surprised by them”. Byzantine strategists knew well that espionage worked just as easily against them, and used counter-intelligence tactics to confuse their enemies. Those soldiers who were positioned at scouting and beacon fire posts were relieved periodically to avoid betrayal. On the tactical level, the Strategikon gives further advice:

If an enemy spy is captured while observing our forces, then it may be
well to release him unharmed if all our forces are strong and in good
shape. The enemy will be absolutely dismayed by such reports. On the
other hand, if our forces are weak, the spy should be treated roughly,
forced to divulge enemy secrets, and finally either be put to death or
sent off somewhere under guard.

A primary consequence precipitating from the great distances between Constantinople and the borderlands was increased internal disunity, as loyalties to the Emperor were much more problematic. This was frequently to prove costly, most significantly during the early Moslem invasions. To pacify newly re-conquered or diplomatically assimilated populations, the Imperial government often re-settled them to other parts of the Empire, and simultaneously re-colonized the area with native Byzantines. Alien nobility were absorbed into the Byzantine administrative and military bureaucracy, and were given titles, land grants, and command duties, although most often they were forced to convert to Christianity in order to qualify. This process usually worked to placate important foreigners and suppress any insurrectionary tendencies with which they might sympathize. There were a few notable instances in which this process of imposing patriotism upon assimilated peoples rebounded against the Empire. During the eighth century, Byzantium had relied primarily on friendly, non-Islamic Arab tribes along the border of the Islamic territories to signal an upcoming invasion, as well as to fight beside the Byzantine troops. In return, these tribes gained trading privileges and protection from conversion and assimilation into Islam. Yet, the Byzantines had pushed this relationship too far by imposing the high taxes usually relegated to conquered territories, and consequently these friendly Arab tribes withdrew their support for the Empire. Arguably, it was this fact which led to the loss of Mesopotamia and Palestine to the Islamic conquers. In the early ninth century, another group of Arabs who were hostile toward the Caliphate was assimilated into the Byzantine Army. The Arabs were understandably enraged by this action, and sent an army of fifty-thousand into Byzantine territory, capturing Ankara and Amorium, the latter of which had become by this time the second most important city in the Empire. More devastating was the rebellion by the Pechenegs, a people located in the Balkans. In order to deal with the considerable threat they suddenly posed to the Empire, the emperor Constantine Monomachus relocated theme troops in Armenia to the Balkans. This allowed the Seljuk Turks free access to the entire province, and the subsequent invasion was to lead to the battle of Manzikert, which was to signal the effective end of the Empire as a superpower. A further consideration was the allowance given to foreign merchants and traders, who were authorized to establish their own cultural centres – primarily at Constantinople, which had large Islamic and Italian (Venetian) communities. In this manner hostilities were diminished along the borderlands, as foreigners gradually became Hellenised, Christianized, and acclimatized to life in the Empire. Of course, many kept their traditional cultures, yet only rarely did this sense of cultural identity become nationalistic to the extent of open rebellion.

While administrative efficiency was helped by appointing the strategos of the army as governor for the theme, this had the same potential to create rogue armies did as the older Roman provincial system. Rome itself had solved this problem by separating military and civil jurisdiction. The theme strategoi were of course reiterations of the old Republican governors, and Roman history provides sufficient evidence to warrant concern about the unification of military and civil authority in one individual. Consequently, from the reign of Heraclius the strategoi were personally chosen by the Emperor to ensure their loyalty. Similarly, a bureaucratic system was established to supervise the payment of wages to the armies, which until the reign of Heraclius had been sporadic and consequently subverted troop morale and loyalty. Importantly, this salary was paid by the Imperial bureaucracy in the capital and not through the theme bureaucracy; this was done to ensure troop loyalty to the Emperor and not to the local strategos. Soldiers in the themes were given land grants upon entering service, and these lands became hereditary possessions. The eldest male child would inherit both his father’s land and his contract to military service. Leo’s Taktika stressed the symbiotic relationship between the farming class and the soldiery; each depended for its existence upon the other. The Empire could not afford to hire mercenaries except in the interim -- and anyhow mercenary troops often proved dangerously unreliable – and its urban population proved to be useless militarily. Therefore the rural peasantry proved itself to be the backbone of the Empire’s defensive system. In this manner a continual supply of troops was ensured. One could surmise that troop casualties were quickly replaced as the sons of dead soldiers sought not only their inheritance, but vengeance for their fathers’ deaths as well. While this would certainly not ensure long-term troop loyalty, it would provide the army with a continual supply of young recruits eager to engage enemy forces. The most obvious flaw in this land-grant system was that it could be exploited by strategoi who had the desire to do so. Unlike the tagmata who were better paid and received the rich agricultural lands around Constantinople, the theme soldiers became increasingly dependent on their strategoi to support them. As soldiers had to pay for their own equipment and horses, many gradually went into debt to their strategos and were forced to forfeit part if not all of their land claims. In combination with the lands given to the strategoi for successful commands, by the late tenth and early eleventh centuries a new class of military aristocracy had emerged. If they so desired – and often they did, especially in the eleventh century – they could raise a private army under the guise of theme units to enforce their own political agendas. This would ultimately lead to a great deal of rebellion and civil war, which obviously weakened the Empire. By the middle of the eleventh century, the military and financial resources of the Empire had to a great extent been exhausted because of factional fighting between the civil aristocracy centred upon Constantinople, and the rural military aristocracy. This weakness greatly contributed to the success of the Turkish invasions before the battle of Manzikert. For the period being studied here, however, they were not a great factor in undermining the defensive position of the Empire until this later instance.

From these considerations emerged the overall strategy for the defence of the Empire, which has been termed “defence-in-depth” by modern historians. In brief, this strategic system allowed raiders access to frontier territories, yet did not permit penetration into the more valuable heartland of the Empire. Upon crossing the border, Arab armies would be shadowed by units of Byzantine cavalry and harassed as they broke up to raid the countryside. Any usable provisions outside of the city walls would have been destroyed, therefore leaving the raiders isolated and unprovisioned. The main theme force would then surround and destroy the weary invaders. This cat-and-mouse tracking stratagem was effective in isolating and destroying small splinter groups of the main force and ultimately reducing its strength without directly engaging the main army. It is hardly surprising that ambushes were most frequently used in these encounters, and indeed the Strategikon had advised just such a tactic: “Well-planned ambushes are of the greatest value in warfare. In various ways they have in a short time destroyed great powers before they had a chance to bring their whole battle line into action”. Cunning strategoi also used kidnappings, assassinations, and misinformation to sow dissension and lower morale among enemy lines. The theme as a whole – as well as any neighbouring themes who could be mobilized without compromising the security of their own territories – would then confront the newly reduced invading host, and on territory advantageous to the Byzantines and after the strategos had adequately prepared his forces. When the theme did encounter enemy troops, their tactics centred upon quick shock operations, with the lance-equipped cataphracts charging the enemy with support from the mounted archers, who would attempt to outflank the enemy lines. Should the strategos encounter an opposing army obviously superior to his own and a threat to the centre of the Empire, the Emperor would mobilize the tagmata, which would have gained time to reach the front by the delay tactics inherent in the defence-in-depth stratagem.

Of further importance to the theme system was the Byzantine navy, which until the tenth century had no equal in the eastern Mediterranean. Certainly there were other powers before the tenth century, such as the Arabs who, after the seventh century conquests were able to deploy a navy, yet they remained relatively minor in comparison to the almost overwhelming superiority of the Byzantine naval forces. Coastal and island themes had their own naval units under command of the strategos; additionally there was a central navy which operated out of Constantinople much like the tagmata, but obviously had a much larger effective field of operations. The navy served to patrol the waters around the themes, and quite successfully kept enemy raiders and invaders from landing in Byzantine territories. Most importantly however, as long as the navy retained control of the eastern Mediterranean, Constantinople could withstand any siege. Obviously this was an extreme circumstance, as any siege of the capital would be politically disastrous to an emperor. Yet on occasion, it did in fact occur. Byzantine strategy was also aided by the relative disorganization of its enemies. Beyond the early conquests, the Arabs did not seem to desire any more territory, and consequently did not organize any invading force larger than simple raiding parties. Furthermore, by the late ninth and early tenth centuries, the Abbasid Caliphate was on the verge of collapse and was simply not interested in invading the empire. It was during this period that Byzantium in fact took the offensive, particularly under the emperor Nicephorus II. Of course, Byzantium’s enemies were just as quick to capitalize on occasional weaknesses within the Empire as well. Not every emperor fully supported the military. Some emperors viewed the military as an relatively unjustified drain on imperial finances which could better be apportioned within Constantinople itself. The emperors Constantine X and Romanos IV were of this ideology; while not openly hostile to military concerns, they simply felt pressure to expend resources elsewhere. Others, such as the empress Irene, were in fact openly hostile toward the military bureaucracy and consciously attempted to weaken it. For the most part, this military-administrative system reduced the threat of invasion, at least for the internal provinces.

While this defensive strategy did ultimately succeed in arresting the invading forces from capturing the centre of the Empire, it did not do so without consequences. Foremost, and perhaps most obvious, was the fact that such a strategic position required the sacrificing of the frontier lands for the containment of invaders. The raiding parties did indeed encroach into Byzantine territories, and they succeeded in plundering much of the local wealth before they were destroyed or were forced to withdraw. Defence-in-depth proved to be a highly expensive strategic ideology, in terms of both territorial destruction and casualties among the local population. Furthermore, it had one prime strategic flaw which was occasionally exploited. The various outposts which acted as garrisons and scouting forts did succeed at performing their task, yet they caused a reliance on maintaining fortified positions. The themes did indeed ultimately retain control of their territory, yet they sacrificed initiative to the raiders. They became a reactionary army, instead of one an enterprising one. What this meant in tactical terms was that they had to rely upon the movements of the enemy to precipitate their own actions. By the tenth century, Byzantine armies rarely ventured out to engage their enemy without first being prompted. Consequently, the themes lost some of their mobility, an element of tactical warfare for which they had been originally created. Larger invading forces began to turn towards the forts, laying siege to them instead of the cities, which resulted in the theme soldiers becoming merely an expanded garrison, instead of the stealthy, mobile attackers which had originally been their purpose. This in turn affected troop morale, which was of vital importance in ancient warfare. Byzantine troops frequently suffered from lower-than-desired morale because of their isolation and dependence on enemy actions to inform the activities of their own units. Many frontier troops threatened to mutiny, and some did cross over into enemy camps. Occasionally, this was due to the lack of provisions caused by besieging enemy forces. Similarly, invaders frequently had a much higher morale because their intended targets were ostensibly ‘easy pickings’. The imbalance in troop morale occasionally led to the desertion Byzantine units, who would abandon their fortified position and withdraw to the more ‘secure’ interior. Such occurred along the Bulgarian frontier, which was abandoned as the Bulgar king Krum was successfully leading his forces into Byzantine territory. Further problematic was the placement of the forts themselves, as they frequently weren’t positioned to support each other. Accordingly, successful raiders – such as the Arabs in the ninth century – were able to capture them one at a time in succession. Ultimately, what the Byzantine dependence on fortified positions to support the defence-in-depth strategy accomplished was a sense of predictability. Invaders could easily observe Byzantine troop movements, as they were confined to specific (and relatively permanent) areas. Raiders would enter into the province and do as much damage as possible before they were contained or were driven from the theme.

Yet Byzantine forces continued to succeed throughout the period here studied. The damage inflicted by invaders would quickly be repaired, defences would be rebuilt, land would be reclaimed, and the local populations – which as mentioned above frequently suffered high casualties – would continue to thrive. Usually the encroached-upon frontier was fully restored by the next campaign season. Likewise, the empire continued to thrive despite continued invasions, which were sometimes almost on an annual basis in certain key invasion corridors. The centre of the Empire was not threatened, except on a few occasions, for the majority of the four hundred year period herein examined. The defence-in-depth strategy succeeded, for example, in protecting the fertile coasts of Asia Minor by sacrificing the relatively barren wastes of the Anatolian plateau along the Arab borderlands. Viewed in the Imperial context, which was of course more interested in securing and legitimizing its authority than it was with the concerns of a distant and economically unimportant province, this was a very small sacrifice indeed.

Bibliography
Primary

Anon. On Skirmishing Warfare. (Need English translation)

Leo VI the Wise. Taktika. (Need English translation)

Maurice. Strategikon. Trans. George T. Dennis. Philadelpia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 1984.

Secondary

Browning, Robert. The Byzantine Empire. Washington: The Catholic University of
America Press, 1992.

Dupuy, Ernest and Trevor N. Dupuy. The Encyclopedia of Military History. New York: Harper
& Row, 1977.

Dvornik, Francis. The Origins of Intelligence Services. New Jersey: Rutgers University
Press, 1974.

Kaegi, Walter. Byzantium and the Early Islamic Conquests. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1992.

Kazhdan, A.P. and Ann Wharton Epstein. Change in Byzantine Culture in the Eleventh and
Twelfth Centuries. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985.

Nicol, Donald M. Byzantium and Venice: a study in diplomatic and cultural relations.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988

Norwich, John Julius. Byzantium: The Apogee. London: Viking, 1991.

Treadgold, Warren. The Byzantine Revival 780-842. Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 1988.

Whittow, Mark. The Making of Byzantium, 600-1025. Los Angeles: University of California
Press, 1996.

Elton and the English Church - A Brief Historiographical Look at Scholarship Concerning the English Church Under Henry VIII

Perhaps the most widely recognized aspect of the reign of Henry VIII – other than the girth and six wives which in large part constitute his ‘popular’ image – is his involvement in the English Reformation. There is little doubt that this event was one of the most important in the history of the British Isles, yet there is no real consensus among scholars of Henry’s own involvement in the matter. A few scholars have questioned the success of the Reform itself in accomplishing the ideological and practical goals which were established. Namely, there is little agreement whether the church was in fact guilty of wasting its resources through greed, sloth, and neglect of duty to which it had been charged by Protestant radicals. There is further disagreement about popular and clerical resistance to the Reformation. Ultimately, one must examine whether the English Church, in both its structure and practical operation, was indeed radically different after the Reformation. In looking at the Church under Henry’s rule I have chosen to focus largely on the events of the 1530's, although this is not an exclusive rule. For practical reasons I have taken
G. R. Elton’s study Reform & Reformation: England 1509-1558 as a baseline for comparison with other texts, largely because several other scholars refer to his work in their own studies. The individual biases of each author are made fairly evident in their texts, and one can easily understand Robert Blake’s statement, “all history is in one sense contemporary history” within this context. Analysing the English Church in the sixteenth century, it would be exceedingly difficult to conclude differently from the majority of scholars and argue that there was relatively little change. On a structural level, the break with Rome that occurred in the 1530's vastly altered the religious landscape.

The question of where reform originated and how it ultimately succeeded is of great debate among scholars. For Elton, Henry was not himself immediately responsible, but merely asked his ministers for a solution to the political troubles involving his first marriage. Certainly Henry had some agency of his own in finding a solution: he had initially pushed for a solution through Levitical law, and then in the early 1530's had decided upon a course of action involving his supremacy within the realm. Elton argues that the King could find no means to act upon his claims, however, as “if Henry was clearly so sure of his autonomous rights, and so clearly moving from this early date [1530] towards the total breach, his prolonged wait and the ups and downs of his endless stream of instructions become inexplicable”. Henry had not found a way in which he could legally enforce his autonomy. Elton argues that it was his chief minister Thomas Cromwell who found such legal means to secure the Royal Supremacy. Indeed, as one progresses through the text, Elton’s emphasis becomes quite clear. It was through the genius and exertions of Cromwell that the English Church was forever altered. That the radicals, led in Convocation by Cromwell, were not successful in 1531 as they were five years later in Parliament is explained as to their “not being in control of the King’s mind and policy”. The obvious subtext behind such terms is that Elton downplays Henry’s own agency in favour of his strong minister. Henry merely wished to secure legal grounds upon which he could divorce; it was Cromwell’s desire to bring the English dioceses under the rule of the monarchy, or in other words to nationalize the Church. Elton argues that Cromwell’s zeal for reform originated in his veneration of the Bible as the source of supreme authority for religious practise. He was the truest of Protestants who wished to “reform the earthly existence of men” and to “remake and renew the body politic of England”. There is clearly no question in Elton’s mind that Cromwell was the impetus and motivational agent for the Henrician Reformation.

Such a belief is far from universal however. While he does recognize Cromwell’s administrative genius, Tjernagel in his 1965 study – stressing the connection between the English reformers and the Lutherans, from which much of their religious ideology originated – emphasizes Henry’s wisdom in using Parliament to ensure the success of the Royal Supremacy. The legal machinations were indeed Cromwell’s, but the execution of the entire design must be attributed to Henry’s genius as “King in Parliament”. Henry did not perform this task without moral regard, and consequently the delays and hesitation of the early 1530's can be attributed to his religious convictions: “the proposals for the final breach with Rome and the dissolution of the monasteries must have been repugnant. But little by little Henry saw the inevitability and utility of both”. Cross, writing ten years later, agrees stating that “the Henrician Reformation must still be seen as a naked act of State, the imposition of the will of one man, the Monarch, upon an entire nation”. The Supremacy did indeed begin with Henry and his advisors, although they were aided by a Commons sympathetic with the reform, as it sought to improve its position against the privileged clergy. C. S. L. Davies counters that there is a possibility that some of the measures passed by Commons, namely the Supplication against the Ordinaries, could have had Cromwell’s influence in their engineering. Tjernagel is alone however in stating that the Reformation as precipitated by the King’s will reflected the “will of the people ....[to] nationalize the church in England .... Virtually the whole nation identified itself in that action”. Other scholars are not so easily convinced of the ‘public’ unity of Henry’s actions however, especially Pallister who advances that many acquiesced because they feared the Crown’s wrath.

Elton’s view of the actual changes that took place in the Church are best reflected by his statement to the effect that the Church lost its status as “spiritual estate” of England to being a specialized profession ministering to the spiritual needs of the country. He argues that such occurred in part due to Cromwell’s poor opinion of canon law; instead of reforming it he endeavoured to limit its powers. The means by which the Church enforced such law did not change after the Reformation however, as largely through Henry’s own interests the ecclesiastical courts remained to a great extent unaltered. In most regards the Church retained the appearance of the pre-reform generation, with one crucial difference brought about by lay pressure, again greatly due to Cromwell’s influence. For the Reformation to succeed the monasteries had to be dissolved, as “the secularization of their possessions was the least that lay demand – royal and private – would rest satisfied with, but also because the government stood under the guidance of men who disapproved of them in principle”. The Dissolution can be seen to have devastated the lives of many men and women in the Church, mostly friars, nuns, and monks from poorer houses, and there were a few protests. Stronger resistence, however, was saved for Parliament’s issuance of the Ten Articles and the Injunction, both works of Cromwell from 1536. Elton argues that the Pilgrimage of Grace was precipitated in part because of the defence of traditional religion which were attacked by acts such as those stated above. Cross is in agreement, stating that the Pilgrimage demonstrated to both Henry and Cromwell that there were political consequences for accelerated religious change; Cromwell was thereafter more vigilant in his policing of the realm. Pallister doubts the significance of religious ideological conflict, and instead stresses the regional nature of the uprisings. Elton finds other scholars agreeing with him in his belief that Cromwell himself, along with other radicals such as Latimer and Cranmer, wanted the Ten Articles to be much more Lutheran than was ultimately accepted, yet compromise was required. Certainly such seems to be Elton’s premise for the whole of the Reformation: it was guided by radicals, yet to be accomplished legally it had to proceed more slowly and with concessions to the more conservative members of Parliament, and indeed to the more conservative side of Henry himself.

Elton does not detail much of the pre-Reformation Church. Heal’s study examines the extent to which the clergy were mired in an economic crisis which in part precipitated the Reformation. Many clerics could not support their ecclesiastical responsibilities with their relatively meagre incomes, and those who were appointed to several benefices were lambasted by reformers for their absenteeism. Her wholly economic approach to the subject prompts the conclusion that inflation was responsible for many of the clergy’s problems. As to the Reformation itself, there was no real change in clerical financing to aid poorer benefices; quite in opposition, smaller parish clergy were hurt the most by reform as it was they who had to pay a greater proportion of the tax demanded by the Crown. Davies argues that these disparities produced wildly differing situations in terms of the ‘spiritual authenticity’ of each parish. Some lived up to Protestant expectations, while in others there was a great amount of corruption and a decline in religious standards; some clergymen could not even recite the Lord’s prayer. Consequently there was much dissatisfaction and anti-clericalism already present in England even before Henry’s reign. The Dissolution of the Monasteries is another matter. Elton’s argument that the commissioners responsible for reporting to Cromwell were somewhat justified in their derisive accounts on the state of the monasteries has opponents however. He states that such men had the “intellectual capacity and administrative competence” to carry out their task. More importantly, their derogatory reports were expected to be so by Cromwell, as he needed such ammunition to dissolve the lower orders. Tjernagel contends that the vices of the monks and clergy were likely to have been exaggerated, and furthermore that Cromwell and his agents enriched their own finances through the dissolution, thus placing imparting their motives with somewhat of a darker aspect. Agreeing with Elton, he adds that there was relatively little resistence from the clergy as “the secular clergy had little love for the religious”, and furthermore that there was little outcry when Wolsey had dissolved monasteries on papal authority. Cross agrees, but with a slightly different interpretation: some clergy were indeed disappointed that the funds which emerged from the dissolution of the smaller monasteries were not used to aid new spiritual or social purposes, but were instead assumed by the Crown for other purposes, namely
the expansion of the King’s coffers. She also provides a telling example of a Protestant reformer who had supported the royal supremacy but turned against the suppression of the monasteries, believing that the Church should be just free from State oppression as the schism had liberated it form “a corrupt papacy”. One does get a sense in Elton’s study that he personally regrets the dissolution in terms of the loss of great English architectural works and historical monuments. Such ‘mourning’ is present in Pallister’s text as well, as he provides contemporary evidence that much of the populace was against Henry’s actions, although they would not dare vocalize their beliefs.

For the most part the scholars selected here do agree with Elton in his findings. Certainly there is some argument in the particulars of the English Church in the early sixteenth century, yet there is consensus among most of the scholars concerning the reaction to the royal supremacy. A more prominent ideological divide is present when looking at the source of the Reformation however. Elton’s view that it was through the machinations of Cromwell that England nationalized its Church has to some measure polarized scholars, although the belief in the importance of Henry’s minister is nearly universal. Comparing a few works by these scholars allows one to begin observing the different ideological constructs used by academics of diverse religious beliefs and time periods.

Bibliography


Cross, Claire. Church and People 1450-1660: The Triumph of the Laity in the English Church.
Trowbridge, Great Britain: The Harvester Press Limited, 1976.

Davies, C. S. L. Peace, Print & Protestantism. London: Fontana Press, 1995.

Elton, G. R. Reform and Reformation: England, 1509-1558. Cambridge, USA: Harvard
University Press, 1977.

Heal, Felicity. “Economic Problems of the Clergy”, Church and Society in England: Henry VIII
to James I. Ed. Felicity Heal and Rosemary O’Day. Hamden, USA: Archon Books, 1977.

Pallister, D. M. “Popular Reactions to the Reformation during the Years of Uncertainty
1530-70", Church and Society in England: Henry VIII to James I. Ed. Felicity Heal and Rosemary O’Day. Hamden, USA: Archon Books, 1977.

Tjernagel, Neelak Serawlook. Henry VIII and the Lutherans: A Study in Anglo-Lutheran
Relations from 1521 to 1547. St. Louis, USA: Concordia Publishing, 1965.

Strategy, Tactics, and Supply: The Art of War in the First Crusade

There can be no doubting the importance of the Crusades to the medieval world. For several centuries after the conflict, men in Europe celebrated the glories of the Holy War in poetry and art. It was believed to have been the most virtuous of causes, demanded by God for the glory of God. William of Tyre in particular stressed the purity of the Holy Cause, calling the Crusaders ‘dominici’, or God’s people. Such praise frequently centres upon the First Crusade, which was the most immediately successful expedition. One historian has even stated that “the first crusade was by far the most outstanding military achievement of the feudal period”. Within four years the crusading host had marched to Jerusalem, captured the Holy city, and established a kingdom in the Holy Land. To the Christians, such a quick realization of their objective confirmed that God was indeed behind the Crusade. During the siege at Antioch, Anselm of Ribemont wrote “we have certainly captured for Our Lord two hundred cities and castles. May our Mother Church rejoice that she has borne men who have won for her such a glorious name ... in such a glorious fashion”. Despite such spiritual rhetoric however, the material grounds for the crusaders’ successes did in fact include spiritual matters, which affected the morale of the army. While the conception of any grand strategy was largely foreign to the leaders of the crusade, they did have some measure of tactical ability which allowed them to overcome the Moslems. Indeed, it must be stated that despite the opinions of some early historians, the First Crusade was a success not because of accidental actions taken by commanders, but because of conscientious decisions taken by those leaders with regard to several tactical considerations. Interconnected with both strategy and tactics are logistical considerations, which for the crusaders almost became of strategic importance. Attending to such details allows one to deviate from the stereotype held by earlier historians; the crusading knight was not a barbarian inspired by God but acting wholly as an individual and without regard for the ‘art’ of warfare.

There is a general consensus among historians that the overall strategy of the campaign was only vaguely understood by the crusade leaders. Certainly, the very existence of four separate divisions of crusaders hindered strategic cohesion, as communication between them was extremely limited. Therefore, any degree of strategic deployment against the Moslems – as occurred at Dorylaeum, where Bohemund’s army was hard-pressed by the Turks until the cavalry of Godfrey de Bouillon and Robert of Normandy arrived – was more a matter of coincidence or accident than forethought. Additionally, the mystical nature of the crusade prohibited the development of any overarching strategy, as the crusaders felt that they were in fact led by divine plans. Yet the most obvious and seemingly unsophisticated notion of strategy held by each of the commanders was also the only guarantee for their success. The sole objective for the First Crusade was the capture of Jerusalem, and the crusaders accomplished this end using the most direct means. The crusading host was never a large force, and was greatly outnumbered by the Moslems, therefore a massive expedition to capture every city controlled by the infidels would not have been possible. As the crusaders approached the Holy City in 1099, two war councils were held to determine the strategy of attack. While some nobles wished to advance along the coast, securing port cities along the way in order to allow reinforcements and supplies to reach the crusaders, a direct attack on Jerusalem itself was favoured. In order to achieve their ultimate goals, the crusaders isolated several cities as key to success in the Holy Land, notably Nicea and Antioch.

Linked with this direct attack was the desire to completely annihilate the enemy armies, not to merely conquer the Moslems in individual battles or to take prisoners for monetary gain. Such strategic vision explains the sorties from Antioch and Jerusalem, which were undertaken to exterminate the remnants of the Moslem armies surrounding the newly captured cities. Indeed, it was by following such a direct and immediate strategy that the crusaders did in fact succeed in capturing Jerusalem. It has been argued that the single-mindedness of the leaders of the First Crusade was due to their divine inspiration; their success in campaigning was indeed a rare exception for the Middle Ages. There were some hindrances and tangents to the crusaders’ strategic goals, however. The most pointed of these was the desire of the nobles to gain territories and extend their own holdings into the Holy Land. Baldwin, brother to Godfrey de Bouillon, had separated from the main host of the crusaders after the capture of Antioch “on the pretext of protecting the flanks of the main army”; certainly his goals were territorial however. These territorial ambitions began to disrupt the crusade, as occurred when sub-divisions of Godfrey’s army led by Baldwin and Tancred contested over control of Tarsus. Yet even such petty ambitions served to further the success of the strategic operation. The territories captured by both Baldwin and Tancred served to protect the crusading host in Syria from Turkish armies west of Edessa. In this regard, the opinions held by many earlier historians that the crusaders’ strategy was largely accidental can be only partially substantiated. The many strategic decisions taken by the crusade leaders demonstrate the opposite however, that they did have some sentience about the operational arts.

Similarly, a primitive awareness of and ability in tactical matters was exhibited by the four division leaders. This was not immediately the case however, as the battle of Dorylaeum proves. When attacked by the Turkish army, Bohemund’s forces pursued conventional European battle tactics. The foot soldiers pitched camp, while the cavalry circled in formation, waiting for a charge against the Moslem horsemen. The Turks did not conform to such tactics however. The strength of the Moslems was their mobility, as they donned light armour if any at all; this was especially true of their mounted archers. They would encircle the crusaders at a distance and let loose a hail of arrows upon them, arresting their cavalry charge until the enemy was wounded and confused. In this instance, Bohemund’s forces were saved only by the arrival of cavalry under Godfrey and Robert. He did not adapt to the changing tactical situation; such was the nature of tactical instruction given to Frankish nobles, however. Certainly, the Byzantine army was knowledgeable of Moslem tactics however: Leo VI the Wise had written a treatise dealing with that very subject, stressing the importance of open field engagements with the Turks. The crusaders, however, were far too distrustful of the Byzantines to adopt their tactical advice. By the siege of Antioch however, the commanders had learned how to deal with Moslem tactics. Success lay in cavalry tactics: a series of regiments in the front line, backed by a reserve regiment guarding the flanks would prevent the crusaders from being turned. Such tactics were in fact adopted by Bohemund during the sortie from Antioch. He divided his forces into six regiments, which formed a front line while Bohemund’s regiment held the rearguard position. The Moslems wished to outflank the crusaders and secure the bridge leading into the city, but were checked by Bohemund’s rearguard. The Moslems then tried a faux-retreat to break apart the crusaders’ formation – a tactic proposed by Leo – but were routed by the crusaders in close combat upon their own disorderly retreat. One cannot focus solely on the cavalry however, as the importance of the infantry was felt at Antioch, Ascalon, and Jerusalem. Initially, they protected the horses of the knights before they charged, then they protected the rear flank; at Ascalon they served as mop-up units, additionally aiding knights who had been wounded or unhorsed. Furthermore, with their greater range crossbowmen kept enemy horse-archers at bay.

Three further aspects of tactical operations that were of vital importance to the success of the crusade were discipline, reconnaissance, and supply. Without adequate control over his troops, a commander would not be able to organize them into formation; in the Holy Land this would have meant the routing of the army. Keeping the crusaders together was perhaps the greatest challenge faced by the commanders. The armies did manage to stay together however, most likely due to the strength of their religious convictions. Morale – an aspect of and contributor to discipline – was similarly raised by religious belief, most pointedly demonstrated by the Lance of Christ found before the sortie from Antioch. Nicephorus Phocas had stated the importance of reconnaissance, mainly for the knowledge of enemy positions. Of equal importance was knowledge of terrain. The crusaders were at a great disadvantage in that they were traversing foreign lands, and indeed, their lack of geographical knowledge had caused several defeats. They were not without recourse, however, as they had access to many spies and traitors to aid them in reconnaissance.

A more grave issue throughout the First Crusade was the supply of the army. Emperor Alexius had promised to supply the crusaders, yet once they were outside his realm his fleet could not reach them because all of the ports were held by Egyptian forces. Consequently, the crusaders were frequently in need of provisions; their dearth became acute during sieges, such as at Antioch and Jerusalem. Indeed, many among the Christian forces began to starve during the siege of Antioch, leading to low morale and a high rate of desertion. Alexius did however finally manage to supply the crusaders with siege equipment and engineers to allow the capture of the city. The peasants who had joined the host did not aid in food collection, but rather were a further burden on the already stretched supplies. The normally fertile areas surrounding the cities in the East had been poisoned by the Moslems to hinder the crusaders, thus forcing food collection parties to wander far from the siege camp to accomplish their task. The crusaders required a fairly high amount of food to sustain themselves: military exertions by knights required a diet high in meat; furthermore, the horses consumed three to four times the weight in food as their riders. Consequently, the sources stress the importance of the “capture of foodstuffs as booty”. Indeed, the knights depended on such booty for their very status. The provisioning of the army had drained their monetary resources, and therefore without the seizure of such booty they could fall into poverty. Many knights had to sell their arms and armour to buy food, instead using arms captured from the Moslems. Additionally, there are numerous instances of knights who had lost their horse in battle being unable to remount and consequently joining the infantry. The crusaders had expected such hardships, perhaps even viewed it as part of their penance as defined by the initial call by Pope Urban II, and therefore despite starvation and poverty, they succeeded in capturing Jerusalem.

As has been stated, the First Crusade was unique in that it almost immediately accomplished its goals. Certainly the religious fervour incited by the Pope’s call-to-arms as well as the many local priests drove the crusading host to realize what they believed to be the wishes of God. A more materialistic reason for their successes can be forwarded, however. It was because of the abilities of the leaders of the crusade on both strategic and tactical levels that Jerusalem was captured with the fairly limited supplies and troops available. There were setbacks to be sure, but the expedition succeeded within a relatively short period, and the Holy City became under Christian control.

Bibliography

Bradford, Ernle. The Sword and the Scimitar. Milan, Italy: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1974

Contamine, Philippe. War in the Middle Ages. Trans. Michael Jones. New York: Basil Blackwell,
1984.

Daniel-Rops, H. Cathedral and Crusade. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1957.

Edbury, Peter W., and John Gordon Rowe. William of Tyre: Historian of the Latin East. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1988.

Guillaume de Tyr. Chronique. Corpus Christianorum. Vol. 63. Ed. R.B.C. Huygens. Brepols, 1986.

Hyland, Ann. The Medieval Warhorse from Byzantium to the Crusades. Dover, UK: Alan Sutton
Publishing Limited, 1994.

Koch, H.W. Medieval Warfare. London: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1978.

Leyser, Karl. Communication and Power in Medieval Europe. London: Hambledon Press, 1994.

Nickerson, Hoffman, and Oliver Lyman Spaulding. Ancient and Medieval Warfare. London:
Constable and Company Limited, 1994.

Oman, C.W.C. The Art of War in the Middle Ages. Revised and edited by John H. Beeler. New York:
Great Seal Books, 1953.

Severin, Tim. Crusader. London: Hutchinson, 1989.

Verbruggen, J.F. The Art of Warfare in Western Europe During the Middle Ages. Trans. Sumner
Willard and S.C.M. Southern. Amsterdam, Netherlands: North-Holland Inc., 1977.

Supplementary

Barker, Ernest. The Crusades. London: Oxford University Press, 1923.

Rousset, Paul. Histoire des Croisades. Paris, France: Payot, 1978.

Tierney, Brian, and Sidney Painter. Western Europe in the Middle Ages. New York: McGraw-Hill,
1992.

The Government and Modernization of Japan

The rise of Japan during the last century is widely regarded as one of the marvels of the modern era. Certainly, no observer during the nineteenth century would have predicted that such a ‘backward’ and mostly rural country such as Japan would become one of the main economic powers of the world only a few generations later. Arguably, the most important catalyst for Japan’s economic rise was the influence of the government on shaping the process of modernization. Beginning during the Meiji Restoration and continuing through the imperial decades to the post-WWII recovery period, the government adopted many important policies which hastened the country’s modernization. A secondary, although somewhat lesser, influence on the nation’s development was the unintended consequence of several international events. Japan was favourably aided by several wars during the modern era, interestingly in most of which the country was not actually a participant. As a consequence, the country very rapidly rose to economic power in the twentieth century. Japan was in fact singular among Asian nations for its early and rapid development into a modern country.

One of the defining characteristics of modern Japan has been the strength and almost singular determination of its government. Indeed, a once commonly-held stereotype in the West was that Japan followed a centralized ‘plan’ with which it could realize its ascendancy. To a certain extent such a convention can in fact be substantiated, as the government did indeed lead Japan into the modern era. The strong, centralized nature of the administration had its origins in the dominance of the domain lords of the late-Tokugawa period, which was additionally when the cult of the emperor re-emerged. The Meiji administration which superceded the old regime adopted a policy of national modernization, which had in fact been commenced in the Chōshū and Satsuma domains prior to the Restoration. While such governmental intervention would be seen as highly detrimental in the West, Japanese leaders, educated in the paternalism of Confucian teachings, felt that it was their duty to mould Japan to ensure its future success. Indeed, under such strong leadership Japan’s transition from a feudalistic to a modern society was fairly rapid and non-violent. Following a reform of land distribution, the government initiated a system of taxation to fund industrialization. Japan’s initial foray into modern industrialism relied heavily on the West. The government was required to purchase machinery from Western countries to begin modernizing Japan. More importantly however, in order to become self-reliant in the future Japan hired experts from the West to teach industrial methods and technology to Japanese workers. Foreign currency gained through the export of textiles such as silk allowed the government to purchase such goods and services from the West without incurring a heavy debt. While the teachings of the West were certainly important in imparting a self-reliance to Japan, the wider sphere of public education cannot be ignored. An educational policy was instituted devoted to the indoctrination of the populace with the ideals of the Restoration, namely the modernization of Japan. Not only were the Japanese to be instructed in the basics of a modern education such as literacy and mathematics, they were also taught to be wholly subservient to the government and its ideals, with the emperor as its figurehead. Such an authoritarian system of education was not completely without precedent in Japanese culture, as Confucian teachings promote a reverence for the social hierarchy. The system did succeed in its ambitions, as it produced a workforce dedicated to Japan’s economic progress. Yet, by the twentieth century it was to become much more malignant as the main tool for the militarization of Japan under Imperial doctrine.

The government had come into the possession of the industries once held by the domain lords, yet to match the West it had to become much more technologically advanced. To this end, during the 1870s the government invested heavily in industrial technologies and factories. Such patronization was especially important for the expansion of mechanized production facilities and heavy industry such as steelworks, which required a greater financial investment than could be granted by private individuals or companies. Heavy manufacturing in turn stimulated the growth of other industries such as mining and fuel production. Of further benefit to Japan’s economy was the attention paid by the government to improving the country’s infrastructure, especially the creation of a national railway. The immediate effects of Japan’s increased productivity was the expansion of trade, to which Asia was the principle market, and a reduction in the dependence on imported goods from the West. Japan’s industrial and economic growth during the late nineteenth century did not proceed unimpeded however, as by the 1880s the government found itself in debt. The Government, led by its financial minister Matsukata began to further adopt a more western-style of economic policy. Almost all of the governmental holdings in industry were sold, although a close relationship was kept with the businessmen who subsequently took control. Perhaps the most important aspect of Matsukata’s reforms, however, was the institutionalization of a national system of banking. The establishment of the Bank of Japan and a sound currency allowed for investment capitalism, which greatly aided the growth of the private sectors of the economy. Furthermore, Japanese investments were not limited to the mother country, as by the early 1900s Japanese investors had turned their endeavours to the greater Asian market.

A similar centralization of reform policy occurred following the second World War. Under the guidance of SCAP during the Occupation, Japan proceeded to rebuild its economy to such an extent that it was to become an economic leader of the modern world. America wanted a healthy Japan as an ally against the Communist bloc, so a great deal of financial aid was given to the country to allow for re-industrialization and economic recovery. Certainly the war had not completely devastated Japan, for while much of its industrial base had indeed been annihilated, the country still had a large reserve of highly skilled and educated human resources available. The destruction of Japan’s industrial complex had a secondary consequence as well, as in rebuilding its industry the country adopted the most modern techniques and machinery of the period. Additionally, the land reforms initiated by SCAP decreased rural poverty, which in turn led to the modernization of agriculture as farmers began to use modern technologies and methods. A new system of education based on the American structure was introduced, which emphasized the liberal-capitalist ideology of the West. While the Occupation succeeded in demilitarizing Japan, greater economic advances were made after Japan once again became a free country. The Mutual Security Treaty allowed the nation to avoid high military expenditure and instead concentrate on developing the civilian economy. Again one can observe the close relationship between the government and the business elite as during the 1950s laws were passed allowing it to regulate investment to target development in specific industries, such as plastics and electronics technologies, which were believed to be important future enterprises; simultaneously, industries viewed as obsolete were not given any aid. Further aided by the domestic demand for consumer products, Japanese production and exports increased exponentially during the 1950s and 1960s. There can be little doubt that by this period Japan was fully modernized, and indeed by the 1970s the country led the world in the high-technology industries.

Although the modernization of Japan was in large part a consequence of governmental policy, during several crucial periods of development the country was the beneficiary of events outside of its influence. Of primary importance was the minimal amount of foreign intervention during the Meiji Restoration, which along with a relative stability domestically allowed the government to concentrate on internal policy. Japan was also greatly assisted by a number of wars of which it played no immediate part. During the first World War the Japanese economy greatly benefited from its position as a supplier of munitions for Britain and France. Additionally, Japan assumed trade in the commercial markets, especially in Asia, previously held by the Western nations who had become preoccupied with the war. The wartime boom was only temporary however, as by 1920 the western nations had reclaimed their trade monopolies. A more lasting benefit was gained during the Korean War however, when Japan became a base for United Nations operations. Soldiers stationed in Japan, especially Americans, purchased a great deal of commercial and military supplies, and thus gave the country vital foreign currency and promoted a second ‘wartime boom’.

Analysing the modernization of Japan allows the discernment of one key factor that influenced the country’s development. Led by a strong and intent government, the Japanese people became a unified and skilled workforce. Industry flourished with government investment, which in turn generated a development in other sectors of the economy. Development after the second World War was particularly rapid and successful as through specific governmental policy Japan became one of the world leaders in high technology. The nation was further assisted economically by international events such as the Korean War. Despite such fortuitous events, it is quite possible however to attribute Japan’s ascendancy into the elite of the modern world to a determined central policy of development begun during the Meiji Restoration.

A Critique of Antonia McLean's Humanism & The Rise of Science in Tudor England

There can be no denying that in many respects Tudor England was a time of great turmoil, as the country was experiencing considerable change, equally in politics, theology, and intellectual life. The shifting ideologies and methodologies in the latter are the subjects of Antonia McLean’s study, Humanism & the rise of Science in Tudor England. From the beginning of the text McLean emphasizes the importance of the printing press in spreading the ‘new learning’ of humanism and the sciences. Her argument is lucid and convincing, and is an opinion which is generally in congruence with other scholars. By the end of the text, however, a correlative yet apparently contradictory thesis is forwarded. Despite the accessibility of the new scholarship due to printing, during the initial period of the English Renaissance many of the older Medieval traditions and doctrines remained in existence, and even benefited from a wider circulation. The author focuses on the dissemination of the innovative views of humanism solely in education, the mathematical sciences, and medicine, and while this allows an extensive study of her selected fields, it is in this respect that her study is somewhat limited. Irrespective of such restraints however, McLean does provide an interesting and comprehensive analysis of the scientific advances within the aforementioned disciplines and their humanistic derivation. Consequently, McLean’s book remains an important and engrossing study of the origins of the scientific revolution.

Interestingly, McLean begins her study by quoting Bacon’s Aphorism 129 from his Novum Organum. At this early point her thesis becomes apparent, and one might in fact criticize her transparency. This quotation is however an interesting device in that it imparts a sense of inevitability to McLean’s ideology and a validity to her thesis. The remainder of the book does in fact substantiate Bacon’s claims on the importance of printing to “change the whole face and state of things throughout the world”. Scholars agree with McLean on the reasons for the rapid success of the printing presses in England, although it’s development lagged behind that in the continent. There was an increase in the demand for books due to an increasingly literate population, caused by both the increasing accessibility of education, as well as a change in the attitude toward literacy by the upper classes. The demand for books caused the printing industry to grow at an exponential rate, which in turn fuelled the increase in literacy, inducing what one scholar has dubbed a “virtuous circle”. McLean argues that this increase in book production directly led to the spread of humanism among the educated. Unlike a few scholars, she provides some important information concerning early humanism in England. McLean is in agreement with other scholars in her beliefs that humanism initially came to England when several scholars travelled to Italy to learn Greek. This early humanist foundation was important, as the work of such men as Grocyn, Linacre, and Colet allowed the Italian Renaissance to be introduced into England. The main influence of humanism on the scientists of the Tudor period was the introduction of Greek sources, especially the scientific and philosophical texts of the Hellenistic Age. Although the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic concept of the universe was followed and some Latin translations of Greek texts existed, it was not until the introduction of Greek texts England from the Arab world that the many scientific advances of the sixteenth century were realized. As these texts were printed, many scholars had access to them. McLean’s elucidation of the number of Greek texts contained in several personal and private libraries is adequate proof of their influence, yet the lists disrupt the flow of the text and should have been placed in the footnotes.

McLean provides a detailed analysis concerning the importance of Greek texts as catalysts for English scientific innovation during the Tudor period. Once again she is noteworthy for providing a background for the later advances, in particular pre-Tudor mathematics and medicine. Particularly consequential was the adoption of Platonism and the influence of Bacon’s Merton school of thought. Neither of these systems of scientific and mathematical inquiry were hampered by the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic canon of the middle-ages. The author proceeds to demonstrate the many achievements of the period and traces their development from humanism: Recorde’s Platonic dialogues on mathematics, written in English; Dee’s impact on scientific inquiry and observation; and Dr. Caius’s foundation of the College of Physicians. Similarly, she provides an adequate description of the influence of the mathematical advances on navigation and cartography. Beginning with a lengthy description of the pre-Tudor navigational sciences, McLean follows with an in-depth analysis of the relationship between seamanship and the practical sciences. In describing the optical experiments of Dee and Digges and the mathematical experiments of Harriot, McLean provides an interesting supposition on the relatively advanced directions that science could possibly have taken. During such asides, McLean’s delightful enthusiasm for her subjects is quite engaging. As they were printed, the books written by these authors were widely read and themselves instigated a great deal of scholarship. Although it is never explicitly stated, McLean implies that mass produced and error-free texts allowed for a consensus among scientists, which eventually led to the establishment of scholastic ‘guilds’ such as the College of Physicians. By providing so many elaborate illustrations of the consequences of humanistic thought in science, McLean strengthens her argument. The evidence is exhaustive, at least concerning the advances in mathematics and medicine, and it allows the reader to easily comprehend and agree with the author. Nearly all of the other scholars here cited agree with McLean (and additionally with Bacon) that printing caused a monumental shift in the ideologies of the Tudor age. Herein lies the importance of the author’s work. Her work is not wholly original; alternately, she collates studies from numerous fields, science and medicine, humanism, and print history. McLean does however create an important study that is frequently given only a superficial treatment, and is in fact sometimes completely overlooked, by scholars. Humanism & the rise of Science in Tudor England remains an intriguing study due to the extent to which McLean substantiates her thesis by relating it to the most notable aspects of the English Renaissance.

The Platonic system that derived from humanism and was espoused by many of the period’s foremost scientists was not without its faults however, as it “contained elements which proved unscientific”. It is at this point in her study that McLean asserts the second and somewhat lesser division of her thesis. Many aspects of the earlier late-medieval traditions remained extant during the early- to mid-sixteenth century despite the new and frequently opposing scholarship. During the early years of book production, printing allowed for a wide distribution of the early medieval texts, and consequently despite the new learning they became entrenched in the beliefs of many scholars. McLean provides as an example the influence of Hermeticism on many scholars of the Tudor period, most notably John Dee. She, along with other authors, argues that such ‘prejudices’ had the initial effect of arresting scientific advance, notably the acceptance of the Copernican universe. A similar trend occurred in the medical community, where the works of Galen were paramount for the entire sixteenth century despite the “rapid advance in anatomical knowledge and surgical techniques”. While these predispositions to orthodoxy gradually disappeared, they hindered a great deal of scientific progress for most of the sixteenth century. It is interesting that McLean provides this counter-argument to the impact of humanism on Tudor scientific achievements, as it in fact lends a credibility to her entire thesis. There are few instances of an instantaneous change in intellectual thought, and indeed one must question any author who proposes such an argument. Intellectual revolutions are indeed much more gradual than suggested by a cursory study; throughout the text McLean demonstrates her acknowledgment of this axiom. Indeed, in the concluding chapter of the book, McLean briefly articulates such an understanding: “The knowledge of new discoveries spread more widely and with greater rapidity through the printed book, but this is not the same thing as saying that they were accepted”.

If one is to find a failing in McLean’s study, it is in her somewhat limited analysis of the range of Tudor achievements. While focussing on mathematical and medical advancements allows her to more comprehensively examine the influence of humanism on the science, it does not convey the breadth of scientific study undertaken during the period. Unlike other authors, she does not refer to advances in architecture, engineering, or music (considered a part of mathematics), or even the ‘achievements’ in alchemy or astrology which had diverted John Dee as well as several other scientists, during the Tudor period. The analysis of John Dee’s mystical investigations does redeem the omission of the latter somewhat, and proves quite interesting of its own merits, especially when it outlines Dee’s connections between ‘natural magic’ and mathematics. Perhaps a more critical miscue was her avoidance of Aristotelian physics, which had a remarkable inter-disciplinary influence. Indeed, it has been argued that the rejection of Aristotelian physics led to the acceptance of the more advanced theories of the Tudor age. The sole reference to an important break with the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic universe made by McLean is to the work of Thomas Digges, which does not adequately examine the shift to a Copernican universe. A second and infinitely lesser fault of Humanism & the rise of Science is McLean’s aforementioned insistence on listing the contents of library lists in great detail and within the body of the text. This relatively minor structural infraction unnecessarily impedes the flow of the narrative and quickly induces a sense of tedium in the reader. Thankfully, McLean engrosses the reader by providing an interesting selection of extracts from sixteenth century sources that support her thesis. These excerpts are well chosen and more importantly well edited, as she does not include any superfluous data nor does she utilize more of a specific quotation than is necessary. Such editorial restraint, along with the obvious enthusiasm of the author towards her subject, imparts a readability to the text which is sometimes lost in scholarly works.

The importance of McLean’s investigation into the rise of science in the Tudor period which had its origins in humanism is not due to its originality. Yet, she combines the work of other scholars and subsequently builds upon their foundations to create an interesting, important, and readable text. McLean craftily argues that the invention of printing led to the rapid spread of humanistic ideas which in turn greatly influenced the scientific progress of the age. Simultaneously however, in examining the conservative publishing trends of the early sixteenth century, she elucidates the degree to which printing supported and entrenched the earlier ideologies, which is an important correlation to her main thesis. Despite the initial tendencies toward orthodoxy however, printing ultimately allowed for many innovations in the sciences. As McLean clearly elucidates, printing was to have a profound impact on the course of western civilization.

Bibliography


McLean, Antonia. Humanism & the rise of Science in Tudor England. New York: Neale Watson
Academic Publications, 1972.


Secondary

Burke, James. The Day the Universe Changed. Toronto: Little, Browne and Company, 1985.

Boas, Marie. The Scientific Renaissance 1450-1630. New York: Harper & Row, 1962

Dahl, Svend. History of the Book. Metuchen, USA: The Scarecrow Press, 1968.

Dowling, Maria. Humanism in the Age of Henry VIII. London: Croom Helm, 1986.

Elton, G.R. England under the Tudors. London: Methuen & Co., 1974.

Hay, Denys. “Fiat Lux”, Printing and the Mind of Man. Ed. John Carter & Percy H. Muir.
London: Cassell and Company, 1967. Pp. xv-xxxiv.

Nutton, Vivian.“Greek science in the sixteenth-century Renaissance”, Renaissance & Revolution. Ed. J.V. Field and Frank A.J.L. James. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Pp. 15-28.

Ridley, Jasper. The Tudor Age. London: Constable, 1988.

Voigts, Linda Ehrsam. “Scientific and medical books”, Book Production and Publishing in
Britain 1375-1475. Ed. Jeremy Griffiths and Derek Pearsall. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1989. Pp. 345-402.

Westfall, Richard S. “Science and technology during the Scientific Revolution: and empirical
approach”, Renaissance & Revolution. Ed. J.V. Field and Frank A.J.L. James.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Pp. 63-72.

Woodward, G.W.O. Reformation and Resurgence: England in the Sixteenth Century. New York:
Humanities Press, 1963.