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Essays on War and Peace

We have gathered here essays and shorter pieces on key ideas concerning war and peace and important thinkers who have increased our understanding of the nature of individual liberty. Please visit the War & Peace Subject Area in the Library for a full list of war and peace titles.

[Image above: A frontispiece from a 1901 edition of Hugo Grotius, The Law of War and Peace showing the reconciliation of war and peace under the aegis of the law.]

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  1: John Bright’s Speeches on War

  John Bright, Selected Speeches of the Rt. Hon. John Bright M.P. On Public Questions, introduction by Joseph Sturge (London: J.M. Dent and Co., 1907). Chapter: INTRODUCTION

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1658/50277 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  INTRODUCTION

  John Bright was born at Rochdale in 1811, and he died there in 1889. He came of an old Quaker family, was educated at Quaker schools, and remained to the end of his days a loyal member of the Society of Friends. His father was a cotton manufacturer, and John Bright was himself trained to business at the mills, in which he was all his life a partner. When he was a Privy Councillor, the older hands, who had known him from a boy, still regarded him as one of themselves. When Bright was a young man the whole country was convulsed by the great Reform agitation, and from that time forward he took a keen interest in public affairs. His earliest speeches were in support of temperance, and he soon won repute in the contest against the local church-rate. It is recorded that in 1840 his eloquence carried an amendment at a public meeting called for the purpose of levying such a rate. About the same time his sympathy was aroused by the sufferings of the masses of his fellow-countrymen from the stagnation of trade and the high price of food, caused by the incidence of Protection. He spent a large part of his time between 1840 and 1846 in agitating, in co-operation with Richard Cobden, for the abolition of the Corn Laws. In 1843 he was elected M.P. for Durham, and in 1847 for Manchester.

  He was a convinced individualist in all things, and held throughout his life that it is unwise, and in many cases oppressive, to restrict the working hours of adults by Act of Parliament, though he was in favour of the legislative protection of children.

  “He was not a philanthropist in the common and rather hackneyed sense of the word. His sympathies did not run in that channel. He had not much faith in remedies prescribed for the occasion, nor in shortcuts for reforming social evils. On such matters he was a difficult man to move. Hence he was not found hurrying to and fro in quest of every fresh symptom that might be clamorous for a cure. But he had a steadfast faith in the operation of general causes, such as temperance, education, the improvement of the material condition of the people, and the removal of political inequalities. He aimed chiefly at being just and doing justly. He believed in the remedial power of justice, and he loved it with an ardour which set his whole being on fire. But having given the people what they were entitled to, he was not disposed to go further. Anything like petting or coddling seemed to him to be at variance with manliness, and sure to fail of its object. Give them, he would say, equal political rights with the rest of the community, remove every hindrance to their industry, and then, with the aid of the schoolmaster and a cheap press, they may be left to work out their own salvation” (Dunkley).

  His strong conviction that the Crimean War was a blunder and a crime brought him into collision with the great body of his fellow-countrymen, and ultimately cost him his seat for Manchester. He was, not long afterwards, elected Member for Birmingham, and continued to represent that constituency to the day of his death. When three-fourths of the Members of the House of Commons were anxious for the break-up of the American Union, in the dispute over the question of slavery, Bright adhered heroically to the cause of the North, appealing, not without success, to the tribunal of working-class opinion on behalf of his faith in freedom.

  After the General Election of 1868, he became a member of Mr. Gladstone’s Government; he finally left it in 1882 as a protest against the bombardment of Alexandria. It is important to notice, however, that in this case, as in the case of the Crimean War, he based his opposition on the merits of the quarrel, and that he refused to commit himself to any condemnation of all war in the abstract. During his tenure of office the Bright Land Clauses of the Irish Church Act, which were the basis of all subsequent Irish land legislation, proved his success as a practical legislator. His suggestion of a commercial treaty between England and France, taken up by Chevalier, led to the famous treaty which Cobden carried out between the two countries in 1861, with such beneficent and far-reaching results. With all his sympathy for Ireland, Mr. Bright never accepted the idea of a separate legislature, and Gladstone’s Home Rule Bill, therefore, did not obtain his approval. To his infinite regret, he consequently passed his last years in political separation from Mr. Gladstone and from many of his other old friends.

  One of Mr. Bright’s great sayings was, that “statesmanship consists as much in foreseeing as in doing.” His historian, in the “Dictionary of National Biography,” thus points out the singular success of his own important forecasts. In his first speech in the House of Commons (August 7, 1843) he remarked that Peel was at issue with his party upon principles. On June 25, 1844, he predicted that Peel would repeal the Corn Laws at the first bad harvest. From the outset of his career he denounced the Irish Church establishment. He foresaw the danger of restriction to one source for the supply of cotton; the probability of a cotton famine ensuing on the break-up of slavery, and the consequent disorganization of the Southern States. He insisted that India should be brought under the authority of the Crown. While Palmerston was asserting the revival Turkey, Bright as consistently insisted that Turkey was a decaying power. Sir James Graham afterwards made him the admission, “You were entirely right about the Crimean War; we were entirely wrong.” He predicted that the successful defence of Turkey would lead to fresh demands on her as soon as Russia had recovered from her exhaustion. He foretold that the cession of Savoy would bring about Italy’s independence from French control. He said, as far back as 1878, that an Irish party hostile to the Liberal party in Great Britain involves the perpetual reign of the Tories.”

  A man who attacked all the cherished idols of the ruling classes, and who characterized the aggressive foreign policy of Palmerston as “a gigantic system of out-door relief for the aristocracy of Great Britain,” was not likely to be much loved by the great ones of the earth. And “there was nothing deprecatory about John Bright. He could be quite as insolent in his way as any aristocrat in his. What was really irritating about him was that his disdain was genuine. He did think very little of the Tory party, and he did not care one straw for the opinion of society. He positively would not have cared to have been made a Baronet.”

  Years have elapsed since these speeches were delivered, but they are not therefore out of date. Of the 1,500 pages that Rogers selected for publication there are very few that do not still afford good reading, and the same applies to many other addresses which might be disinterred from old newspaper files. The great problem of Indian government is always with us. Protection, which its champion, Disraeli, said was “not only dead, but damned.” is again trying to rear its head. The military and naval expenditure, which Bright held to be absurd and wasteful, was small compared with that which a Liberal Government now considers necessary. Those causes which, largely through Bright’s influence, were carried to a successful issue, and have become part of the national inheritance, depended on the underlying principle of faith in freedom, which is of undying value and importance. His great saying, “Force is no remedy,” deserves specially to be revived at a time when its spirit has been eclipsed by clouds of materialism and passion.

  As models of the clear and convincing expression of thought, Mr. Bright’s speeches will be read and re-read by every student of the English language and by every one who wishes to learn so to express himself as to influence the minds of his fellow-countrymen. It was said that Bright and Gladstone were the only men of their time in the House of Commons whose eloquence actually changed votes. Thorold Rogers remarked how well these speeches fulfil the three demands of Aristotle that an orator must convince his audience at the outset, first, that he has their interests at heart; next, that he is competent to interpret them; and thirdly, that he is free from any taint of self-seeking. It was remarkable to notice how, if the apt word he wanted did not come to John Bright at first, he would keep the mighty audience hanging on his lips for quite a long pause until he had found the very phrase that

  • “Helved his thought as slick
  • As straight-grained hickory does the hatchet.”

  In studying the speeches, it will be noticed how thoroughly Mr. Bright’s mind was impregnated by the study of the Bible and of great English classics, especially Milton. The point of almost every address seems to be brought out by a line from the Old Testament, or it may be from Dante, from Homer, or from Lowell.

  A generation has grown up which never felt how John Bright not only convinced men’s minds, but “swayed their hearts like barley bending,” and which is not thrilled by the mention of his name. The esteem in which Birmingham held him was well voiced by Dr. R. W. Dale in August, 1882: “I venture to say that the affection and veneration which Mr. Bright has inspired are not fully explained either by his eloquence or by the magnificent service which he has rendered to the country. The man is greater than the eloquence. The man is nobler than his service. In circumstances of great peril Mr. Bright has always been loyal to his conscience. Slanders never turned him aside from what he believed to be the path of righteousness, nor mockery, nor insult, nor hatred. He never quailed before the power of the great; and when, for a time, fidelity to conscience brought upon him storms of unpopularity, and he lost the confidence of the people he loved and served, Mr. Bright remained faithful still. I believe he has elevated the national ideal of political morality.” This passage may help to illustrate the faith and enthusiasm that Bright inspired in great masses of his fellow-countrymen and the influence which he wielded over the minds of his generation—an influence doubtless based on his own profound faith in righteousness, in the Divine government of the world, and in the duty of every citizen to take his share in carrying that government forward.

  The following selections from the speeches will be sufficient to illustrate Mr. Bright’s determined opposition to the Crimean War, his passionate protest against the rebellion of the American Slave States, his desire to bring the possession of land within the reach of the people of England and Ireland, and his suggestions for the better government of India. They will serve their purpose if they induce some of their readers to study the volumes from which they are taken, and to consider the problems of the present day in the light of the principles for the furtherance of which John Bright’s life was spent.

  1907.

  The following is a list of Bright’s published speeches, letters, etc.:

  “Speeches on Questions of Public Policy,” edited by Professor J. E. Thorold Rogers, 2 vols., 1868; popular edition, 1 vol., 1878, 1892; “Public Addresses,” edited by Professor J. E. Thorold Rogers, 1879; “Public Letters,” collected by H. J. Leech, 1885; “Life and Speeches of John Bright,” by G. B. Smith, 1881.

  By kind permission of Mr. J. A Bright, M.P and of Messers. Macmillan and Co., Limited, the text hast been taken from Mr. Thorld Rogers' edition of the Speeches and Public Addresses, which had the advantage of Mr. Bright's own revision.

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  2: Clausewitz: War as Politics by Other Means

  Carl von Clausewitz, On War, trans. Col. J.J. Graham. New and Revised edition with Introduction and Notes by Col. F.N. Maude, in Three Volumes (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & C., 1918). Vol. 1. Chapter: CHAPTER I: WHAT IS WAR?

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/2050/145825 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  CHAPTER I

  WHAT IS WAR?

  1.

  INTRODUCTION.

  We propose to consider first the single elements of our subject, then each branch or part, and, last of all, the whole, in all its relations—therefore to advance from the simple to the complex. But it is necessary for us to commence with a glance at the nature of the whole, because it is particularly necessary that in the consideration of any of the parts their relation to the whole should be kept constantly in view.

  2.

  DEFINITION.

  We shall not enter into any of the abstruse definitions of War used by publicists. We shall keep to the element of the thing itself, to a duel. War is nothing but a duel on an extensive scale. If we would conceive as a unit the countless number of duels which make up a War, we shall do so best by supposing to ourselves two wrestlers. Each strives by physical force to compel the other to submit to his will: each endeavours to throw his adversary, and thus render him incapable of further resistance.

  War therefore is an act of violence intended to compel our opponent to fulfil our will.

  Violence arms itself with the inventions of Art and Science in order to contend against violence. Self-imposed restrictions, almost imperceptible and hardly worth mentioning, termed usages of International Law, accompany it without essentially impairing its power. Violence, that is to say, physical force (for there is no moral force without the conception of States and Law), is therefore the means; the compulsory submission of the enemy to our will is the ultimate object. In order to attain this object fully, the enemy must be disarmed, and disarmament becomes therefore the immediate object of hostilities in theory. It takes the place of the final object, and puts it aside as something we can eliminate from our calculations.

  3.

  UTMOST USE OF FORCE.

  Now, philanthropists may easily imagine there is a skilful method of disarming and overcoming an enemy without causing great bloodshed, and that this is the proper tendency of the Art of War. However plausible this may appear, still it is an error which must be extirpated; for in such dangerous things as War, the errors which proceed from a spirit of benevolence are the worst. As the use of physical power to the utmost extent by no means excludes the co-operation of the intelligence, it follows that he who uses force unsparingly, without reference to the bloodshed involved, must obtain a superiority if his adversary uses less vigour in its application. The former then dictates the law to the latter, and both proceed to extremities to which the only limitations are those imposed by the amount of counteracting force on each side.

  This is the way in which the matter must be viewed; and it is to no purpose, it is even against one’s own interest, to turn away from the consideration of the real nature of the affair because the horror of its elements excites repugnance.

  If the Wars of civilised people are less cruel and destrucsive than those of savages, the difference arises from the social condition both of States in themselves and in their relations to each other. Out of this social condition and its relations War arises, and by it War is subjected to conditions, is controlled and modified. But these things do not belong to War itself; they are only given conditions; and to introduce into the philosophy of War itself a principle of moderation would be an absurdity.

  Two motives lead men to War: instinctive hostility and hostile intention. In our definition of War, we have chosen as its characteristic the latter of these elements, because it is the most general. It is impossible to conceive the passion of hatred of the wildest description, bordering on mere instinct, without combining with it the idea of a hostile intention. On the other hand, hostile intentions may often exist without being accompanied by any, or at all events by any extreme, hostility of feeling. Amongst savages views emanating from the feelings, amongst civilised nations those emanating from the understanding, have the predominance; but this difference arises from attendant circumstances, existing institutions, &c., and, therefore, is not to be found necessarily in all cases, although it prevails in the majority. In short, even the most civilised nations may burn with passionate hatred of each other.

  We may see from this what a fallacy it would be to refer the War of a civilised nation entirely to an intelligent act on the part of the Government, and to imagine it as continually freeing itself more and more from all feeling of passion in such a way that at last the physical masses of combatants would no longer be required; in reality, their mere relations would suffice—a kind of algebraic action.

  Theory was beginning to drift in this direction until the facts of the last War* taught it better. If War is an act of force, it belongs necessarily also to the feelings. If it does not originate in the feelings, it reacts, more or less, upon them, and the extent of this reaction depends not on the degree of civilisation, but upon the importance and duration of the interests involved.

  Therefore, if we find civilised nations do not put their prisoners to death, do not devastate towns and countries, this is because their intelligence exercises greater influence on their mode of carrying on War, and has taught them more effectual means of applying force than these rude acts of mere instinct. The invention of gunpowder, the constant progress of improvements in the construction of firearms, are sufficient proofs that the tendency to destroy the adversary which lies at the bottom of the conception of War is in no way changed or modified through the progress of civilisation.

  We therefore repeat our proposition, that War is an act of violence pushed to its utmost bounds; as one side dictates the law to the other, there arises a sort of reciprocal action, which logically must lead to an extreme. This is the first reciprocal action, and the first extreme with which we meet (first reciprocal action).

  4.

  THE AIM IS TO DISARM THE ENEMY.

  We have already said that the aim of all action in War is to disarm the enemy, and we shall now show that this, theoretically at least, is indispensable.

  If our opponent is to be made to comply with our will, we must place him in a situation which is more oppressive to him than the sacrifice which we demand; but the disadvantages of this position must naturally not be of a transitory nature, at least in appearance, otherwise the enemy, instead of yielding, will hold out, in the prospect of a change for the better. Every change in this position which is produced by a continuation of the War should therefore be a change for the worse. The worst condition in which a belligerent can be placed is that of being completely disarmed. If, therefore, the enemy is to be reduced to submission by an act of War, he must either be positively disarmed or placed in such a position that he is threatened with it. From this it follows that the disarming or overthrow of the enemy, whichever we call it, must always be the aim of Warfare. Now War is always the shock of two hostile bodies in collision, not the action of a living power upon an inanimate mass, because an absolute state of endurance would not be making War; therefore, what we have just said as to the aim of action in War applies to both parties. Here, then, is another case of reciprocal action. As long as the enemy is not defeated, he may defeat me; then I shall be no longer my own master; he will dictate the law to me as I did to him. This is the second reciprocal action, and leads to a second extreme (second reciprocal action).

  5.

  UTMOST EXERTION OF POWERS.

  If we desire to defeat the enemy, we must proportion our efforts to his powers of resistance. This is expressed by the product of two factors which cannot be separated, namely, the sum of available means and the strength of the Will. The sum of the available means may be estimated in a measure, as it depends (although not entirely) upon numbers; but the strength of volition is more difficult to determine, and can only be estimated to a certain extent by the strength of the motives. Granted we have obtained in this way an approximation to the strength of the power to be contended with, we can then take a review of our own means, and either increase them so as to obtain a preponderance, or, in case we have not the resources to effect this, then do our best by increasing our means as far as possible. But the adversary does the same; therefore, there is a new mutual enhancement, which, in pure conception, must create a fresh effort towards an extreme. This is the third case of reciprocal action, and a third extreme with which we meet (third reciprocal action).

  6.

  MODIFICATION IN THE REALITY.

  Thus reasoning in the abstract, the mind cannot stop short of an extreme, because it has to deal with an extreme, with a conflict of forces left to themselves, and obeying no other but their own inner laws. If we should seek to deduce from the pure conception of War an absolute point for the aim which we shall propose and for the means which we shall apply, this constant reciprocal action would involve us in extremes, which would be nothing but a play of ideas produced by an almost invisible train of logical subtleties. If, adhering closely to the absolute, we try to avoid all difficulties by a stroke of the pen, and insist with logical strictness that in every case the extreme must be the object, and the utmost effort must be exerted in that direction, such a stroke of the pen would be a mere paper law, not by any means adapted to the real world.

  Even supposing this extreme tension of forces was an absolute which could easily be ascertained, still we must admit that the human mind would hardly submit itself to this kind of logical chimera. There would be in many cases an unnecessary waste of power, which would be in opposition to other principles of statecraft; an effort of Will would be required disproportioned to the proposed object, which therefore it would be impossible to realise, for the human will does not derive its impulse from logical subtleties.

  But everything takes a different shape when we pass from abstractions to reality. In the former, everything must be subject to optimism, and we must imagine the one side as well as the other striving after perfection and even attaining it. Will this ever take place in reality? It will if,

  (1) War becomes a completely isolated act, which arises suddenly, and is in no way connected with the previous history of the combatant States.

  (2) If it is limited to a single solution, or to several simultaneous solutions.

  (3) If it contains within itself the solution perfect and complete, free from any reaction upon it, through a calculation beforehand of the political situation which will follow from it.

  7.

  WAR IS NEVER AN ISOLATED ACT.

  With regard to the first point, neither of the two opponents is an abstract person to the other, not even as regards that factor in the sum of resistance which does not depend on objective things, viz., the Will. This Will is not an entirely unknown quantity; it indicates what it will be to-morrow by what it is to-day. War does not spring up quite suddenly, it does not spread to the full in a moment; each of the two opponents can, therefore, form an opinion of the other, in a great measure, from what he is and what he does, instead of judging of him according to what he, strictly speaking, should be or should do. But, now, man with his incomplete organisation is always below the line of absolute perfection, and thus these deficiencies, having an influence on both sides, become a modifying principle.

  8.

  WAR DOES NOT CONSIST OF A SINGLE INSTANTANEOUS BLOW.

  The second point gives rise to the following considerations:—

  If War ended in a single solution, or a number of simultaneous ones, then naturally all the preparations for the same would have a tendency to the extreme, for an omission could not in any way be repaired; the utmost, then, that the world of reality could furnish as a guide for us would be the preparations of the enemy, as far as they are known to us; all the rest would fall into the domain of the abstract. But if the result is made up from several successive acts, then naturally that which precedes with all its phases may be taken as a measure for that which will follow, and in this manner the world of reality again takes the place of the abstract, and thus modifies the effort towards the extreme.

  Yet every War would necessarily resolve itself into a single solution, or a sum of simultaneous results, if all the means required for the struggle were raised at once, or could be at once raised; for as one adverse result necessarily diminishes the means, then if all the means have been applied in the first, a second cannot properly be supposed. All hostile acts which might follow would belong essentially to the first, and form in reality only its duration.

  But we have already seen that even in the preparation for War the real world steps into the place of mere abstract conception—a material standard into the place of the hypotheses of an extreme: that therefore in that way both parties, by the influence of the mutual reaction, remain below the line of extreme effort, and therefore all forces are not at once brought forward.

  It lies also in the nature of these forces and their application that they cannot all be brought into activity at the same time. These forces are the armies actually on foot, the country, with its superficial extent and its population, and the allies.

  In point of fact, the country, with its superficial area and the population, besides being the source of all military force, constitutes in itself an integral part of the efficient quantities in War, providing either the theatre of war or exercising a considerable influence on the same.

  Now, it is possible to bring all the movable military forces of a country into operation at once, but not all fortresses, rivers, mountains, people, &c.—in short, not the whole country, unless it is so small that it may be completely embraced by the first act of the War. Further, the co-operation of allies does not depend on the Will of the belligerents; and from the nature of the political relations of states to each other, this co-operation is frequently not afforded until after the War has commenced, or it may be increased to restore the balance of power.

  That this part of the means of resistance, which cannot at once be brought into activity, in many cases, is a much greater part of the whole than might at first be supposed, and that it often restores the balance of power, seriously affected by the great force of the first decision, will be more fully shown hereafter. Here it is sufficient to show that a complete concentration of all available means in a moment of time is contradictory to the nature of War.

  Now this, in itself, furnishes no ground for relaxing our efforts to accumulate strength to gain the first result, because an unfavourable issue is always a disadvantage to which no one would purposely expose himself, and also because the first decision, although not the only one, still will have the more influence on subsequent events, the greater it is in itself.

  But the possibility of gaining a later result causes men to take refuge in that expectation, owing to the repugnance in the human mind to making excessive efforts; and therefore forces are not concentrated and measures are not taken for the first decision with that energy which would otherwise be used. Whatever one belligerent omits from weakness, becomes to the other a real objective ground for limiting his own efforts, and thus again, through this reciprocal action, extreme tendencies are brought down to efforts on a limited scale.

  9.

  THE RESULT IN WAR IS NEVER ABSOLUTE.

  Lastly, even the final decision of a whole War is not always to be regarded as absolute. The conquered State often sees in it only a passing evil, which may be repaired in after times by means of political combinations. How much this must modify the degree of tension, and the vigour of the efforts made, is evident in itself.

  10.

  THE PROBABILITIES OF REAL LIFE TAKE THE PLACE OF THE CONCEPTIONS OF THE EXTREME AND THE ABSOLUTE.

  In this manner, the whole act of War is removed from the rigorous law of forces exerted to the utmost. If the extreme is no longer to be apprehended, and no longer to be sought for, it is left to the judgment to determine the limits for the efforts to be made in place of it, and this can only be done on the data furnished by the facts of the real world by the laws of probability. Once the belligerents are no longer mere conceptions, but individual States and Governments, once the War is no longer an ideal, but a definite substantial procedure, then the reality will furnish the data to compute the unknown quantities which are required to be found.

  From the character, the measures, the situation of the adversary, and the relations with which he is surrounded, each side will draw conclusions by the law of probability as to the designs of the other, and act accordingly.

  11.

  THE POLITICAL OBJECT NOW REAPPEARS.

  Here the question which we had laid aside forces itself again into consideration (see No. 2), viz., the political object of the War. The law of the extreme, the view to disarm the adversary, to overthrow him, has hitherto to a certain extent usurped the place of this end or object. Just as this law loses its force, the political object must again come forward. If the whole consideration is a calculation of probability based on definite persons and relations, then the political object, being the original motive, must be an essential factor in the product. The smaller the sacrifice we demand from our opponent, the smaller, it may be expected, will be the means of resistance which he will employ; but the smaller his preparation, the smaller will ours require to be. Further, the smaller our political object, the less value shall we set upon it, and the more easily shall we be induced to give it up altogether.

  Thus, therefore, the political object, as the original motive of the War, will be the standard for determining both the aim of the military force and also the amount of effort to be made. This it cannot be in itself, but it is so in relation to both the belligerent States, because we are concerned with realities, not with mere abstractions. One and the same political object may produce totally different effects upon different people, or even upon the same people at different times; we can, therefore, only admit the political object as the measure, by considering it in its effects upon those masses which it is to move, and consequently the nature of those masses also comes into consideration. It is easy to see that thus the result may be very different according as these masses are animated with a spirit which will infuse vigour into the action or otherwise. It is quite possible for such a state of feeling to exist between two States that a very trifling political motive for War may produce an effect quite disproportionate—in fact, a perfect explosion.

  This applies to the efforts which the political object will call forth in the two States, and to the aim which the military action shall prescribe for itself. At times it may itself be that aim, as, for example, the conquest of a province. At other times the political object itself is not suitable for the aim of military action; then such a one must be chosen as will be an equivalent for it, and stand in its place as regards the conclusion of peace. But also, in this, due attention to the peculiar character of the States concerned is always supposed. There are circumstances in which the equivalent must be much greater than the political object, in order to secure the latter. The political object will be so much the more the standard of aim and effort, and have more influence in itself, the more the masses are indifferent, the less that any mutual feeling of hostility prevails in the two States from other causes, and therefore there are cases where the political object almost alone will be decisive.

  If the aim of the military action is an equivalent for the political object, that action will in general diminish as the political object diminishes, and in a greater degree the more the political object dominates. Thus it is explained how, without any contradiction in itself, there may be Wars of all degrees of importance and energy, from a War of extermination down to the mere use of an army of observation. This, however, leads to a question of another kind which we have hereafter to develop and answer.

  12.

  A SUSPENSION IN THE ACTION OF WAR UNEXPLAINED BY ANYTHING SAID AS YET.

  However insignificant the political claims mutually advanced, however weak the means put forth, however small the aim to which military action is directed, can this action be suspended even for a moment? This is a question which penetrates deeply into the nature of the subject.

  Every transaction requires for its accomplishment a certain time which we call its duration. This may be longer or shorter, according as the person acting throws more or less despatch into his movements.

  About this more or less we shall not trouble ourselves here. Each person acts in his own fashion; but the slow person does not protract the thing because he wishes to spend more time about it, but because by his nature he requires more time, and if he made more haste would not do the thing so well. This time, therefore, depends on subjective causes, and belongs to the length, so called, of the action.

  If we allow now to every action in War this, its length, then we must assume, at first sight at least, that any expenditure of time beyond this length, that is, every suspension of hostile action, appears an absurdity; with respect to this it must not be forgotten that we now speak not of the progress of one or other of the two opponents, but of the general progress of the whole action of the War.

  13.

  THERE IS ONLY ONE CAUSE WHICH CAN SUSPEND THE ACTION, AND THIS SEEMS TO BE ONLY POSSIBLE ON ONE SIDE IN ANY CASE.

  If two parties have armed themselves for strife, then a feeling of animosity must have moved them to it; as long now as they continue armed, that is, do not come to terms of peace, this feeling must exist; and it can only be brought to a standstill by either side by one single motive alone, which is, that he waits for a more favourable moment for action. Now, at first sight, it appears that this motive can never exist except on one side, because it, eo ipso, must be prejudicial to the other. If the one has an interest in acting, then the other must have an interest in waiting.

  A complete equilibrium of forces can never produce a suspension of action, for during this suspension he who has the positive object (that is, the assailant) must continue progressing; for if we should imagine an equilibrium in this way, that he who has the positive object, therefore the strongest motive, can at the same time only command the lesser means, so that the equation is made up by the product of the motive and the power, then we must say, if no alteration in this condition of equilibrium is to be expected, the two parties must make peace; but if an alteration is to be expected, then it can only be favourable to one side, and therefore the other has a manifest interest to act without delay. We see that the conception of an equilibrium cannot explain a suspension of arms, but that it ends in the question of the expectation of a more favourable moment.

  Let us suppose, therefore, that one of two States has a positive object, as, for instance, the conquest of one of the enemy’s provinces—which is to be utilised in the settlement of peace. After this conquest, his political object is accomplished, the necessity for action ceases, and for him a pause ensues. If the adversary is also contented with this solution, he will make peace; if not, he must act. Now, if we suppose that in four weeks he will be in a better condition to act, then he has sufficient grounds for putting off the time of action.

  But from that moment the logical course for the enemy appears to be to act that he may not give the conquered party the desired time. Of course, in this mode of reasoning a complete insight into the state of circumstances on both sides is supposed.

  14.

  THUS A CONTINUANCE OF ACTION WILL ENSUE WHICH WILL ADVANCE TOWARDS A CLIMAX.

  If this unbroken continuity of hostile operations really existed, the effect would be that everything would again be driven towards the extreme; for, irrespective of the effect of such incessant activity in inflaming the feelings, and infusing into the whole a greater degree of passion, a greater elementary force, there would also follow from this continuance of action a stricter continuity, a closer connection between cause and effect, and thus every single action would become of more importance, and consequently more replete with danger.

  But we know that the course of action in War has seldom or never this unbroken continuity, and that there have been many Wars in which action occupied by far the smallest portion of time employed, the whole of the rest being consumed in inaction. It is impossible that this should be always an anomaly; suspension of action in War must therefore be possible, that is no contradiction in itself. We now proceed to show how this is.

  15.

  HERE, THEREFORE, THE PRINCIPLE OF POLARITY IS BROUGHT INTO REQUISITION.

  As we have supposed the interests of one Commander to be always antagonistic to those of the other, we have assumed a true polarity. We reserve a fuller explanation of this for another chapter, merely making the following observation on it at present.

  The principle of polarity is only valid when it can be conceived in one and the same thing, where the positive and its opposite the negative completely destroy each other. In a battle both sides strive to conquer; that is true polarity, for the victory of the one side destroys that of the other. But when we speak of two different things which have a common relation external to themselves, then it is not the things but their relations which have the polarity.

  16.

  ATTACK AND DEFENCE ARE THINGS DIFFERING IN KIND AND OF UNEQUAL FORCE. POLARITY IS, THEREFORE, NOT APPLICABLE TO THEM.

  If there was only one form of War, to wit, the attack of the enemy, therefore no defence; or, in other words, if the attack was distinguished from the defence merely by the positive motive, which the one has and the other has not, but the methods of each were precisely one and the same: then in this sort of fight every advantage gained on the one side would be a corresponding disadvantage on the other, and true polarity would exist.

  But action in War is divided into two forms, attack and defence, which, as we shall hereafter explain more particularly, are very different and of unequal strength. Polarity therefore lies in that to which both bear a relation, in the decision, but not in the attack or defence itself.

  If the one Commander wishes the solution put off, the other must wish to hasten it, but only by the same form of action. If it is A’s interest not to attack his enemy at present, but four weeks hence, then it is B’s interest to be attacked, not four weeks hence, but at the present moment. This is the direct antagonism of interests, but it by no means follows that it would be for B’s interest to attack A at once. That is plainly something totally different.

  17.

  THE EFFECT OF POLARITY IS OFTEN DESTROYED BY THE SUPERIORITY OF THE DEFENCE OVER THE ATTACK, AND THUS THE SUSPENSION OF ACTION IN WAR IS EXPLAINED.

  If the form of defence is stronger than that of offence, as we shall hereafter show, the question arises, Is the advantage of a deferred decision as great on the one side as the advantage of the defensive form on the other? If it is not, then it cannot by its counter-weight overbalance the latter, and thus influence the progress of the action of the War. We see, therefore, that the impulsive force existing in the polarity of interests may be lost in the difference between the strength of the offensive and the defensive, and thereby become ineffectual.

  If, therefore, that side for which the present is favourable, is too weak to be able to dispense with the advantage of the defensive, he must put up with the unfavourable prospects which the future holds out; for it may still be better to fight a defensive battle in the unpromising future than to assume the offensive or make peace at present. Now, being convinced that the superiority of the defensive* (rightly understood) is very great, and much greater than may appear at first sight, we conceive that the greater number of those periods of inaction which occur in war are thus explained without involving any contradiction. The weaker the motives to action are, the more will those motives be absorbed and neutralised by this difference between attack and defence, the more frequently, therefore, will action in warfare be stopped, as indeed experience teaches.

  18.

  A SECOND GROUND CONSISTS IN THE IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES.

  But there is still another cause which may stop action in War, viz., an incomplete view of the situation. Each Commander can only fully know his own position; that of his opponent can only be known to him by reports, which are uncertain; he may, therefore, form a wrong judgment with respect to it upon data of this description, and, in consequence of that error, he may suppose that the power of taking the initiative rests with his adversary when it lies really with himself. This want of perfect insight might certainly just as often occasion an untimely action as untimely inaction, and hence it would in itself no more contribute to delay than to accelerate action in War. Still, it must always be regarded as one of the natural causes which may bring action in War to a standstill without involving a contradiction. But if we reflect how much more we are inclined and induced to estimate the power of our opponents too high than too low, because it lies in human nature to do so, we shall admit that our imperfect insight into facts in general must contribute very much to delay action in War, and to modify the application of the principles pending our conduct.

  The possibility of a standstill brings into the action of War a new modification, inasmuch as it dilutes that action with the element of time, checks the influence or sense of danger in its course, and increases the means of reinstating a lost balance of force. The greater the tension of feelings from which the War springs, the greater therefore the energy with which it is carried on, so much the shorter will be the periods of inaction; on the other hand, the weaker the principle of warlike activity, the longer will be these periods: for powerful motives increase the force of the will, and this, as we know, is always a factor in the product of force.

  19.

  FREQUENT PERIODS OF INACTION IN WAR REMOVE IT FURTHER FROM THE ABSOLUTE, AND MAKE IT STILL MORE A CALCULATION OF PROBABILITIES.

  But the slower the action proceeds in War, the more frequent and longer the periods of inaction, so much the more easily can an error be repaired; therefore, so much the bolder a General will be in his calculations, so much the more readily will he keep them below the line of the absolute, and build everything upon probabilities and conjecture. Thus, according as the course of the War is more or less slow, more or less time will be allowed for that which the nature of a concrete case particularly requires, calculation of probability based on given circumstances.

  20.

  THEREFORE, THE ELEMENT OF CHANCE ONLY IS WANTING TO MAKE OF WAR A GAME, AND IN THAT ELEMENT IT IS LEAST OF ALL DEFICIENT.

  We see from the foregoing how much the objective nature of War makes it a calculation of probabilities; now there is only one single element still wanting to make it a game, and that element it certainly is not without: it is chance. There is no human affair which stands so constantly and so generally in close connection with chance as War. But together with chance, the accidental, and along with it good luck, occupy a great place in War.

  21.

  WAR IS A GAME BOTH OBJECTIVELY AND SUBJECTIVELY.

  If we now take a look at the subjective nature of War, that is to say, at those conditions under which it is carried on, it will appear to us still more like a game. Primarily the element in which the operations of War are carried on is danger; but which of all the moral qualities is the first in danger? Courage. Now certainly courage is quite compatible with prudent calculation, but still they are things of quite a different kind, essentially different qualities of the mind; on the other hand, daring reliance on good fortune, boldness, rashness, are only expressions of courage, and all these propensities of the mind look for the fortuitous (or accidental), because it is their element.

  We see, therefore, how, from the commencement, the absolute, the mathematical as it is called, nowhere finds any sure basis in the calculations in the Art of War; and that from the outset there is a play of possibilities, probabilities, good and bad luck, which spreads about with all the coarse and fine threads of its web, and makes War of all branches of human activity the most like a gambling game.

  22.

  HOW THIS ACCORDS BEST WITH THE HUMAN MIND IN GENERAL.

  Although our intellect always feels itself urged towards clearness and certainty, still our mind often feels itself attracted by uncertainty. Instead of threading its way with the understanding along the narrow path of philosophical investigations and logical conclusions, in order, almost unconscious of itself, to arrive in spaces where it feels itself a stranger, and where it seems to part from all well-known objects, it prefers to remain with the imagination in the realms of chance and luck. Instead of living yonder on poor necessity, it revels here in the wealth of possibilities; animated thereby, courage then takes wings to itself, and daring and danger make the element into which it launches itself as a fearless swimmer plunges into the stream.

  Shall theory leave it here, and move on, self-satisfied with absolute conclusions and rules? Then it is of no practical use. Theory must also take into account the human element; it must accord a place to courage, to boldness, even to rashness. The Art of War has to deal with living and with moral forces, the consequence of which is that it can never attain the absolute and positive. There is therefore everywhere a margin for the accidental, and just as much in the greatest things as in the smallest. As there is room for this accidental on the one hand, so on the other there must be courage and self-reliance in proportion to the room available. If these qualities are forthcoming in a high degree, the margin left may likewise be great. Courage and self-reliance are, therefore, principles quite essential to War; consequently, theory must only set up such rules as allow ample scope for all degrees and varieties of these necessary and noblest of military virtues. In daring there may still be wisdom, and prudence as well, only they are estimated by a different standard of value.

  23.

  WAR IS ALWAYS A SERIOUS MEANS FOR A SERIOUS OBJECT. ITS MORE PARTICULAR DEFINITION.

  Such is War; such the Commander who conducts it; such the theory which rules it. But War is no pastime; no mere passion for venturing and winning; no work of a free enthusiasm: it is a serious means for a serious object. All that appearance which it wears from the varying hues of fortune, all that it assimilates into itself of the oscillations of passion, of courage, of imagination, of enthusiasm, are only particular properties of this means.

  The War of a community—of whole Nations, and particularly of civilised Nations—always starts from a political condition, and is called forth by a political motive. It is, therefore, a political act. Now if it was a perfect, unrestrained, and absolute expression of force, as we had to deduce it from its mere conception, then the moment it is called forth by policy it would step into the place of policy, and as something quite independent of it would set it aside, and only follow its own laws, just as a mine at the moment of explosion cannot be guided into any other direction than that which has been given to it by preparatory arrangements. This is how the thing has really been viewed hitherto, whenever a want of harmony between policy and the conduct of a War has led to theoretical distinctions of the kind. But it is not so, and the idea is radically false. War in the real world, as we have already seen, is not an extreme thing which expends itself at one single discharge; it is the operation of powers which do not develop themselves completely in the same manner and in the same measure, but which at one time expand sufficiently to overcome the resistance opposed by inertia or friction, while at another they are too weak to produce an effect; it is therefore, in a certain measure, a pulsation of violent force more or less vehement, consequently making its discharges and exhausting its powers more or less quickly—in other words, conducting more or less quickly to the aim, but always lasting long enough to admit of influence being exerted on it in its course, so as to give it this or that direction, in short, to be subject to the will of a guiding intelligence. Now, if we reflect that War has its root in a politial object, then naturally this original motive which called it into existence should also continue the first and highest consideration in its conduct. Still, the political object is no despotic lawgiver on that account; it must accommodate itself to the nature of the means, and though changes in these means may involve modification in the political objective, the latter always retains a prior right to consideration. Policy, therefore, is interwoven with the whole action of War, and must exercise a continuous influence upon it, as far as the nature of the forces liberated by it will permit.

  24.

  WAR IS A MERE CONTINUATION OF POLICY BY OTHER MEANS.

  We see, therefore, that War is not merely a political act, but also a real political instrument, a continuation of political commerce, a carrying out of the same by other means. All beyond this which is strictly peculiar to War relates merely to the peculiar nature of the means which it uses. That the tendencies and views of policy shall not be incompatible with these means, the Art of War in general and the Commander in each particular case may demand, and this claim is truly not a trifling one. But however powerfully this may react on political views in particular cases, still it must always be regarded as only a modification of them; for the political view is the object, War is the means, and the means must always include the object in our conception.

  25.

  DIVERSITY IN THE NATURE OF WARS.

  The greater and the more powerful the motives of a War, the more it affects the whole existence of a people. The more violent the excitement which precedes the War, by so much the nearer will the War approach to its abstract form, so much the more will it be directed to the destruction of the enemy, so much the nearer will the military and political ends coincide, so much the more purely military and less political the War appears to be; but the weaker the motives and the tensions, so much the less will the natural direction of the military element—that is, force—be coincident with the direction which the political element indicates; so much the more must, therefore, the War become diverted from its natural direction, the political object diverge from the aim of an ideal War, and the War appear to become political.

  But, that the reader may not form any false conceptions, we must here observe that by this natural tendency of War we only mean the philosophical, the strictly logical, and by no means the tendency of forces actually engaged in conflict, by which would be supposed to be included all the emotions and passions of the combatants. No doubt in some cases these also might be excited to such a degree as to be with difficulty restrained and confined to the political road; but in most cases such a contradiction will not arise, because by the existence of such strenuous exertions a great plan in harmony therewith would be implied. If the plan is directed only upon a small object, then the impulses of feeling amongst the masses will be also so weak that these masses will require to be stimulated rather than repressed.

  26.

  THEY MAY ALL BE REGARDED AS POLITICAL ACTS.

  Returning now to the main subject, although it is true that in one kind of War the political element seems almost to disappear, whilst in another kind it occupies a very prominent place, we may still affirm that the one is as political as the other; for if we regard the State policy as the intelligence of the personified State, then amongst all the constellations in the political sky whose movements it has to compute, those must be included which arise when the nature of its relations imposes the necessity of a great War. It is only if we understand by policy not a true appreciation of affairs in general, but the conventional conception of a cautious, subtle, also dishonest craftiness, averse from violence, that the latter kind of War may belong more to policy than the first.

  27.

  INFLUENCE OF THIS VIEW ON THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF MILITARY HISTORY, AND ON THE FOUNDATIONS OF THEORY.

  We see, therefore, in the first place, that under all circumstances War is to be regarded not as an independent thing, but as a political instrument; and it is only by taking this point of view that we can avoid finding ourselves in opposition to all military history. This is the only means of unlocking the great book and making it intelligible. Secondly, this view shows us how Wars must differ in character according to the nature of the motives and circumstances from which they proceed.

  Now, the first, the grandest, and most decisive act of judgment which the Statesman and General exercises is rightly to understand in this respect the War in which he engages, not to take it for something, or to wish to make of it something, which by the nature of its relations it is impossible for it to be. This is, therefore, the first, the most comprehensive, of all strategical questions. We shall enter into this more fully in treating of the plan of a War.

  For the present we content ourselves with having brought the subject up to this point, and having thereby fixed the chief point of view from which War and its theory are to be studied.

  28.

  RESULT FOR THEORY.

  War is, therefore, not only chameleon-like in character, because it changes its colour in some degree in each particular case, but it is also, as a whole, in relation to the predominant tendencies which are in it, a wonderful trinity, composed of the original violence of its elements, hatred and animosity, which may be looked upon as blind instinct; of the play of probabilities and chance, which make it a free activity of the soul; and of the subordinate nature of a political instrument, by which it belongs purely to the reason.

  The first of these three phases concerns more the people; the second, more the General and his Army; the third, more the Government. The passions which break forth in War must already have a latent existence in the peoples. The range which the display of courage and talents shall get in the realm of probabilities and of chance depends on the particular characteristics of the General and his Army, but the political objects belong to the Government alone.

  These three tendencies, which appear like so many different law-givers, are deeply rooted in the nature of the subject, and at the same time variable in degree. A theory which would leave any one of them out of account, or set up any arbitrary relation between them, would immediately become involved in such a contradiction with the reality, that it might be regarded as destroyed at once by that alone.

  The problem is, therefore, that theory shall keep itself poised in a manner between these three tendencies, as between three points of attraction.

  The way in which alone this difficult problem can be solved we shall examine in the book on the “Theory of War.” In every case the conception of War, as here defined, will be the first ray of light which shows us the true foundation of theory, and which first separates the great masses and allows us to distinguish them from one another.

  [* ]Clauswitz alludes here to the “Wars of Liberation,” 1813, 14, 15.

  [* ]It must be remembered that all this antedates by some years the introduction of long-range weapons.

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  3: Milton Friedman on a Volunteer Army

  Ralph Raico, New Individualist Review, editor-in-chief Ralph Raico, introduction by Milton Friedman (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1981). Chapter: MILTON FRIEDMAN, Why Not a Volunteer Army?

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/2136/195469 on 2009-10-28

  The copyright to this publication is held by Liberty Fund, Inc. The New Individualist Review is prohibited for use in any publication, journal, or periodical without written consent of J. M. Cobb, J. M. S. Powell, or David Levy.

  ---

  Why Not a Volunteer Army?

  MILTON FRIEDMAN*

  OUR MILITARY FORCES currently require the services of only a minority of young men. At most, something like one-third will have seen military service by the time they reach twenty-six. This percentage is scheduled to decline still further as the youngsters born in the postwar baby boom come of age. Some method of “selective service” is inevitable. The present method is inequitable, wasteful, and inconsistent with a free society.

  On this point there is wide agreement. Even most supporters of a draft like the present one regard it as at best a necessary evil; and representatives of all parts of the political spectrum have urged that conscription be abolished—including John Kenneth Galbraith and Barry Goldwater; the New Left and the Republican Ripon Society.

  The disadvantages of our present system of compulsion and the advantages of a volunteer army are so widely recognized that we can deal with them very briefly. The more puzzling question is why we have continued to use compulsion. The answer is partly inertia—a carryover from a total war situation, when the case for a volunteer army is far weaker. But even more, the answer is the tyranny of the status quo. The natural tendency of an administrator of a large, complex, and ongoing activity is to regard the present method of administering it as the only feasible way to do so and to object strenuously that any proposed alternative is visionary and unfeasible—even though the same man, once the change is made and it becomes the existing method, will argue just as strenuously that it is the only feasible method.

  This bureaucratic stand-pattism has been reinforced by a confusion between the apparent and the real cost of manning the armed forces by compulsion. The confusion has made it appear that a volunteer army would be much more expensive to the country and hence might not be feasible for fiscal reasons. In fact, the cost of a volunteer army, properly calculated, would almost surely be less than of a conscripted army. It is entirely feasible to maintain present levels of military power on a strictly volunteer basis.

  The other disadvantages that have been attributed to a volunteer army are that it might be racially unbalanced, would not provide sufficient flexibility in size of forces, and would enhance the political danger of undue military influence. While the problems referred to are real, the first and third are in no way connected with the use of voluntary or compulsory means to recruit enlisted men and do not constitute valid arguments against abolishing the draft. The second has more merit but devices exist to provide moderate flexibility under a voluntary as under a compulsory system.

  There is no reason why we cannot move to volunteer forces gradually—by making conditions of service more and more attractive until the whip of compulsion fades away. This, in my opinion, is the direction in which we should move, and the sooner the better.

  A volunteer army would be manned by people who had chosen a military career rather than, at least partly, by reluctant conscripts anxious only to serve out their term. Aside from the effect on fighting spirit, this would produce a lower turnover in the armed services, saving precious man-hours that are now wasted in training or being trained. Also it would permit intensive training and a higher average level of skill for the men in service; and it would encourage the use of more and better equipment. A smaller, but more highly skilled, technically competent, and better armed force could provide the same or greater military strength.

  A volunteer army would preserve the freedom of individuals to serve or not to serve. Or, put the other way, it would avoid the arbitrary power that now resides in draft boards to decide how a young man shall spend several of the most important years of his life—let alone whether his life shall be risked in warfare. An incidental advantage would be to raise the level and tone of political discussion.

  A volunteer army would enhance also the freedom of those who now do not serve. Being conscripted has been used as a weapon—or thought by young men to be so used—to discourage freedom of speech, assembly, and protest. The freedom of young men to emigrate or to travel abroad has been limited by the need to get the permission of a draft board if the young man is not to put himself in the position of inadvertantly becoming a law-breaker.

  ONE GOOD EXAMPLE of the effect on freedom of a volunteer army is that it would completely eliminate the tormenting and insoluble problem now posed by the conscientious objector—real or pretended.

  A by-product of freedom to serve would be avoidance of the present arbitrary discrimination among different groups. A large faction of the poor are rejected on physical or mental grounds. The relatively well-to-do used to be in an especially good position to take advantage of the possibilities of deferment offered by continuing their schooling. Hence the draft bears disproportionately on the upper lower classes and the lower middle classes. The fraction of high-school graduates who serve is vastly higher than of either those who have gone to college or those who dropped out before finishing high school.

  A volunteer army would permit young men, both those who serve and those who do not, to plan their schooling, their careers, their marriages, and their families in accordance with their own long-run interests. As it is, the uncertainty about the draft affects every decision they make and often leads them to behave differently than they otherwise would in the correct or mistaken belief that they will thereby reduce the chance of being drafted.

  Substitution of a volunteer army (or of a lottery) for the present draft would permit colleges and universities to pursue their proper educational function, freed alike from the incubus of young men—probably numbering in the hundreds of thousands—who would prefer to be at work rather than in school but who now continue their schooling in the hope of avoiding the draft, and from controversy about issues strictly irrelevant to their educational function. We certainly need controversy in the universities—but about intellectual and educational issues, not whether to rank or not to rank students for their draft boards.

  Similarly, the community at large would benefit from the reduction of unwise early marriages contracted at least partly under the whip of the draft and from the probably associated reduction in the birth rate. Industry and government would benefit from being able to hire young men on their merits, not their deferments.

  So long as compulsion is retained, inequity, waste, and interference with freedom are inevitable. A lottery would only make the arbitrary element in the present system overt. Universal national service would only compound the evil—regimenting all young men, and perhaps women, to camouflage the regimentation of some.

  If a very large fraction of the young men of the relevant age groups are required—or will be used whether required or not—in the military services, the advantages of a volunteer army become very small. It would still be technically possible to have a volunteer army, and there would still be some advantages, since it is doubtful that literally 100 per cent of the potential candidates will in fact be drawn into the army; but if nearly everyone who is physically capable will serve anyway, there is little room for free choice, the avoidance of uncertainty, and so on. To rely on volunteers under such conditions would then require very high pay in the armed services, and very high burdens on those who do not serve, in order to attract a sufficient number into the armed forces. This would involve serious political and administrative problems. To put it differently, and in terms that will become fully clear to non-economists only later, it might turn out under these special circumstances that the implicit tax of forced service is less bad than the alternative taxes that would have to be used to finance a volunteer army.

  Hence, for a major war, a strong case can be made for compulsory service. And indeed, compulsory service has been introduced in the United States only under such conditions—in the Civil War, World War I, and World War II. It is hardly conceivable that it could have been introduced afresh in, say, 1950, if a system of compulsory service had not so recently been in full swing. As it was, the easiest thing to do when military needs for manpower rose was to reactivate the recent wartime technique.

  Under conditions found at present, the number of persons who volunteer for armed service is inadequate to man the armed forces, and even so, many who volunteer do it only because they anticipate being drafted. The number of “true” volunteers is clearly much too small to man armed forces of our present size. This undoubted fact is repeatedly cited as evidence that a volunteer army is unfeasible.

  It is evidence of no such thing. It is evidence rather that we are now grossly underpaying our armed forces. The starting pay for young men who enter the armed forces is now about $45 a week—including not only cash pay and allotments but also the value of clothing, food, housing, and other items furnished in kind. When the bulk of young men can command at least twice this sum in civilian jobs, it is little wonder that volunteers are so few. Indeed, it is somewhat surprising that there are as many as there are.

  TO MAN THE ARMY with volunteers would require making conditions of service more attractive—not only higher pay but also better housing facilities and improved amenities in other respects. It will be replied that money is not the only factor young men consider in choosing their careers. This is certainly true—and equally certainly irrelevant. Adequate pay alone may not attract, but inadequate pay can certainly deter. Military service has many non-monetary attractions to young men—the chance to serve one’s country, adventure, travel, opportunities for training, and so on. Not the least of the advantages of a volunteer army is that the military would have to improve their personnel policies and pay more attention to meeting the needs of the enlisted men. They now need pay little attention to them, since they can fill their ranks with conscripts serving under compulsion. Indeed, it is a tribute to their humanitarianism—and the effectiveness of indirect pressure via political process—that service in the armed forces is not made even less attractive than it now is.

  The personnel policies of the military have been repeatedly criticized, and, with no spur, repeatedly left unreformed. Imaginative policies designed to make the armed forces attractive to the kind of men the armed services would like to have (plus the elimination of compulsion which now makes military service synonomous with enforced incarceration) could change drastically the whole image that the armed services present to young men. The Air Force, because it has relied so heavily on real volunteers, perhaps comes closest to demonstrating what could be done.

  The question how much more we would have to pay to attract sufficient volunteers has been analyzed intensively in the Department of Defense study of military recruitment. Based on a variety of evidence collected in that study, Walter Oi estimates in his paper1 that a starting pay (again including pay in kind as well as in cash) of something like $4,000 to $5,500 a year—about $80 to $100 a week—would suffice. This is surely not an unreasonable sum. Oi estimates that the total payroll cost (after allowing for the savings in turnover and men employed in training) would be around $3 billion to $4 billion a year for armed forces equivalent to 2.7 million men under present methods of recruitment, and not more than $8 billion a year for armed forces equivalent to the present higher number of men (around 3.1 or 3.2 million men). Based on the same evidence, the Defense Department has come up with estimates as high as $17.5 billion. Even the highest of these estimates is not in any way unfeasible in the context of total Federal government expenditures of more than $175 billion a year.

  Whatever may be the exact figure, it is a highly misleading indication of the cost incurred in shifting from compulsion to a volunteer army. There are net advantages, not disadvantages, in offering volunteers conditions sufficiently attractive to recruit the number of young men required.

  This is clearly true on the level of individual equity: the soldier no less than the rest of us is worth his hire. How can we justify paying him less than the amount for which he is willing to serve? How can we justify, that is, involuntary servitude except in times of the greatest national emergency? One of the great gains in the progress of civilization was the elimination of the power of the noble or the sovereign to exact compulsory servitude.

  ON THE DIRECT budgetry level, the argument that a volunteer army would cost more simply involves a confusion of apparent with real cost. By this argument, the construction of the Great Pyramid with slave labor was a cheap project. The real cost of conscripting a soldier who would not voluntarily serve on present terms is not his pay and the cost of his keep: it is the amount for which he would be willing to serve. He is paying the difference. This is the extra cost to him and must be added to the cost borne by the rest of us. Compare, for example, the cost to a star professional football player and to an unemployed worker. Both might have the same attitudes toward the army and like—or dislike—a military career equally; but because the one has such better alternatives than the other, it would take a much higher sum to attract him. When he is forced to serve, we are in effect imposing on him a tax in kind equal in value to the difference between what it would take to attract him and the military pay he actually receives This implicit tax in kind should be added to the explicit taxes imposed on the rest of us to get the real cost of our armed forces.

  If this is done, it will be seen at once that abandoning the draft would almost surely reduce the real cost—because the armed forces would then be manned by men for whom soldiering was the best available career, and who would hence require the lowest sums of money to induce them to serve. Abandoning the draft might raise the apparent money cost to the government, but only because it would substitute taxes on the general population in money for taxes on certain “selected” young men in kind.

  There are also some important offsets even to the increase in apparent money cost. In addition to the lower turnover, already taken into account in the estimates cited, the higher average level of skill would permit further reductions in the size of the army, saving monetary cost to the government. Because manpower is cheap to the military, they now tend to waste it, using enlisted men for tasks that could be performed by civilians or machines, or eliminated entirely. Moreover, better pay at the time to volunteers might lessen the political appeal of veteran’s benefits that we now grant after the event. These now cost us over $6 billion a year, or one-third as much as current annual payroll costs for the active armed forces—and they will doubtless continue to rise under present conditions.

  There are still other offsets. Colleges and universities would be saved the cost of housing, seating, and entertaining hundreds of thousands of young men. Total output of the community would be higher both because these men would be at work and because the young men who now go to work could be offered and could accept jobs requiring considerable training instead of having to take stop-gap jobs while awaiting a possible call to the service. Perhaps there are some effects in the opposite direction, but I have not been able to find any.

  Whatever happens to the apparent monetary cost, the real cost of a volunteer army would almost surely be less than of the present system and it is not even clear that the apparent monetary cost would be higher—if it is correctly measured for the community as a whole. In any event, there can be little doubt that wholly volunteer forces of roughly the present size are entirely feasible on economic and fiscal grounds.

  It has been argued that a military career would be so much more attractive to the poor than to the well-to-do that volunteer armed services would be staffed disproportionately by the poor. Since Negroes constitute a high proportion of the poor, it is further argued that volunteer armed forces would be largely black.

  There is first a question of fact. This tendency is present today in exaggerated form—the present levels of pay are comparatively more attractive to blacks than the higher levels of pay in voluntary armed forces would be. Yet the fraction of persons in the armed forces who are black is roughly the same as in the population at large. It has been estimated that even if every qualified Negro who does not now serve were to serve, whites would still constitute a substantial majority of the armed forces. The military services require a wide variety of skills and offer varied opportunities. They have always appealed to people of varied classes and backgrounds and they will continue to do so. Particularly if pay and amenities were made more attractive, there is every reason to expect that they would draw from all segments of the community.

  In part, this argument involves an invalid extrapolation from the present conscripted army to a volunteer army. Because we conscript, we pay salaries that are attractive only to the disadvantaged among us.

  BEYOND THIS QUESTION of fact, there is the more basic question of principle. Clearly, it is a good thing to offer better alternatives to the currently disadvantaged. The argument to the contrary rests on a political judgment: that a high ratio of Negroes in the armed services would exacerbate racial tensions at home and provide, in the form of ex-soldiers, a militarily trained group to foment violence. Perhaps there is something to this. My own inclination is to regard it as the reddest of red herrings. Our government should discriminate neither in the civil nor in the military services. We must handle our domestic problems as best we can and not use them as an excuse for denying blacks opportunities in the military service.

  One of the advantages cited for conscription is that it permits great flexibility in the size of the armed services. Let military needs suddenly increase, and draft calls can be rapidly stepped up, and conversely. This is a real advantage, but can easily be overvalued. Emergencies must be met with forces in being, however they are recruited. Many months now elapse between an increase in draft calls and the availability of additional trained men.

  The key question is how much flexibility is required. Recruitment by voluntary means could provide considerable flexibility—at a cost. The way to do so would be to make pay and conditions of service more attractive than is required to recruit the number of men that it is anticipated will be needed. There would then be an excess of volunteers—queues would form. If the number of men required increased, the queues could be shortened, and conversely.

  The change in scale involved in a shift from conditions like the present to a total war is a very different matter. If the military judgment is that, in such a contingency, there would be time and reason to expand the armed forces manyfold, either universal military training, to provide a trained reserve force, or stand-by provisions for conscription could be justified. Both are very different from the use of conscription to man the standing army in time of peace or brush-fire wars, or wars like that in Viet Nam which require only a minority of young men.

  The flexibility provided by conscription has another side. It means that, at least for a time, the Administration and the military services can proceed fairly arbitrarily in committing U. S. forces. The voluntary method provides a continuing referendum of the public at large. The popularity or unpopularity of the activities for which the armed forces are used will clearly affect the ease of recruiting men. This is a consideration that will be regarded by some as an advantage of conscription, by others as a disadvantage.

  THERE IS NO DOUBT that large armed forces plus the industrial complex required to support them constitute an ever-present threat to political freedom. Our free institutions would certainly be safer if the conditions of the world permitted us to maintain smaller armed forces.

  This valid fear has been converted into an invalid argument against voluntary armed forces. They would constitute a professional army, it is said, that would lack contact with the populace and become an independent political force, whereas a conscripted army remains basically a citizen army. The fallacy in this argument is that such dangers come primarily from the senior officers, who are now and always have been a professional corps of volunteers. A few examples from history will show that the danger to political stability is largely unrelated to the method of recruiting enlisted men. Napoleon and Franco both rose to power at the head of conscripts. The recent military takeover in Argentina was by armed forces recruiting enlisted men by conscription. Britain and the U. S. have maintained freedom while relying primarily on volunteers, Switzerland and Sweden while using conscription. It is hard to find any relation historically between the method of recruiting enlisted men and the political threat from the armed forces.

  However we recruit enlisted men, it is essential that we adopt practices that will guard against the political danger of creating a military corps with loyalties of its own and out of contact with the broader body politic. Fortunately, we have so far largely avoided this danger. The broad basis of recruitment to the military academies, by geography as well as social and economic factors, the ROTC programs in the colleges, the recruitment of officers from enlisted men, and similar measures, have all contributed to this result.

  For the future, we need to follow policies that will foster recruitment into the officer corps from civilian activities—rather than primarily promotion from within. The military services no less than the civil service need and will benefit from in-and-outers. For the political gain, we should be willing to bear the higher financial costs involved in fairly high turnover and rather short average terms of service for officers. We should follow personnel policies that will continue to make at least a period of military service as an officer attractive to young men from many walks of life.

  There is no way of avoiding the political danger altogether, but it can be minimized as readily with a volunteer as with a conscripted army.

  Given the will, there is no reason why the transition to volunter armed forces cannot begin at once and proceed gradually by a process of trial and error. We do not need precise and accurate knowledge of pay and amenities that will be required. We need take no irreversible step.

  OUT OF SIMPLE justice, we should raise the pay and improve the living conditions of enlisted men. If it were proposed explicity that a special income tax of 50 per cent be imposed on enlisted men in the armed services, there would be cries of outrage. Yet that is what our present pay scales plus conscription amount to. If we started rectifying this injustice, the number of “real” volunteers would increase, even while conscription continued. Experience would show how responsive the number of volunteers is to the terms offered and how much these terms would have to be improved to attract enough men. As the number of volunteers increased, the lash of compulsion could fade away.

  This picture is overdrawn in one important respect. Unless it is clear that conscription is definitely to be abolished in a reasonably short time, the armed services will not have sufficient incentive to improve their recruitment and personnel policies. They will be tempted to procrastinate, relying on the crutch of conscription. The real survival strength of conscription is that it eases the life of the military high command. Hence, it would be highly desirable to have a definite termination date set for conscription.

  The case for abolishing conscription and recruiting our armed forces by voluntary methods seems to me overwhelming. One of the greatest advances in human freedom was the commutation of taxes in kind to taxes in money. We have reverted to a barbarous custom. It is past time that we regain our heritage.

  [* ] Milton Friedman is Paul Snowden Russell Distinguished Service Professor of Economics at the University of Chicago, and past President of the American Economics Association. This article is an amplified text of his paper presented to the Conference on the Draft held at the University of Chicago in December 1966.

  [1 ] See his article, pp. 13-16, this issue.

• Back to Top

  4: Grotius and the Freedom of the Seas

  Hugo Grotius, The Free Sea, trans. Richard Hakluyt, with William Welwod’s Critiuqe and Grotius’s Reply, ed. David Armitage (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2004). Chapter: introduction

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/859/66149 on 2009-10-28

  The copyright to this edition, in both print and electronic forms, is held by Liberty Fund, Inc.

  ---

  introduction

  Few works of such brevity can have caused arguments of such global extent and striking longevity as Hugo Grotius’s Mare Liberum (The Free Sea). The book first appeared in Leiden as a pocket-sized quarto volume from the famous publishing house of Elzevier in the spring of 1609. The publication was anonymous, perhaps because (as Grotius later wrote) “it seemed to me to be safe, like a painter skulking behind his easel, to find out the judgment of others and to consider more carefully anything that might be published to the contrary” (Defense,p. 78, below). Grotius was only in his late twenties but already possessed a reputation as one of Europe’s most precocious and penetrating humanist scholars. Though self-taught as a lawyer, his reputation as an advocate and adviser was growing, along with his political influence. By publishing Mare Liberum, he was displaying the literary, rhetorical, and philosophical talents that had won him his burgeoning fame and respect, and he was also intervening in two political debates of pivotal significance for his own country. The first was the relationship between the United Provinces and the Spanish monarchy, from which the Dutch had broken away in 1581; the second was the Dutch right to commercial penetration in Southeast Asia. Although the arena of dispute was local, the implications of Mare Liberum’s arguments were global. The book was taken by the English and the Scots as an assault on their fishing rights in the North Sea and by the Spanish as an attack on the foundations of their overseas empire. It had implications no less for coastal waters than it did for the high seas, for the West Indies as much as for the East Indies, and for intra-European disputes as well as for relations between the European powers and extra-European peoples.

  The immediate context for the publication of Mare Liberum was the process of negotiating a truce between the Dutch and the Spanish to end the decades of contention that had begun with the Dutch revolt of the late sixteenth century.1 Among the issues on the table during these discussions was the question of Dutch access to the expanding markets of the East Indies, where the Dutch were engaged in cut-throat competition with the Portuguese, the Spanish, and, increasingly, the English for the huge profits to be gained from trade in silks, spices, porcelain, and other luxury goods. This was, of course, no novel dispute in 1609, but the process of drawing up a definitive truce between the Dutch and the Spanish had brought matters to a head, not least for the Dutch East India Company (VOC). Indeed, it was at the insistence of the Zeeland Chamber of the VOC in the autumn of 1608 that Grotius prepared Mare Liberum for publication, just as it had been at the VOC’s behest that he had originally written it as part of a larger work in 1604.2

  The original occasion for the composition of the text that would later comprise Mare Liberum had been the major international dispute occasioned by the Dutch seizure of a Portuguese vessel in the Straits of Singapore in February 1603.3 On that occasion, the Dutch captain Jakob van Heemskerck had captured the carrack Sta. Catarina, which was carrying a fabulously wealthy cargo of trade goods. When its contents were sold in Amsterdam, they grossed more than three million guilders, a sum equivalent to just less than the annual revenue of the English government at the time and more than double the capital of the English East India Company.4 A prize of such magnitude generated an equally prominent debate about the legitimacy of the Dutch capture of a Portuguese vessel in the distant seas of the East Indies. The twenty-one-year-old Grotius was drafted to supply a defense of the VOC’s position that the ship had been taken as booty in a just war: As he recalled later, “The universal laws of war and prize (universi belli praedaeque jura), and the story of the dire and cruel deeds perpetrated by the Portuguese upon our fellow-countrymen, and many other things pertaining to this subject, I treated in a rather long Commentary which up to the present I have refrained from publishing” (Defense,p. 77, below). The manuscript of that commentary remained unknown to posterity until it resurfaced at a sale of de Groot family papers in 1864. Its discovery revealed that Mare Liberum was substantially identical to the twelfth chapter of the work usually referred to by Grotius himself as De rebus Indicis (On the Affairs of the Indies),5 though better known by the title given to it by its first editor, De Jure Praedae Commentarius (Commentary on the Law of Prize and Booty).6

  Although Mare Liberum’s influence and importance were—and remain—independent of that larger commentary, they cannot be fully understood outside of the argument of which they formed a part. Grotius defended the Dutch seizure of the Sta. Catarina on the basis of a set of natural laws, which he derived originally from the divine will.7 The two primary laws of nature were self-defense and self-preservation. He defined self-preservation as acquiring and retaining anything useful for life, a process which assumed that God had bestowed the gifts of his creation upon all human beings collectively but on none particularly: Only through physical seizure (possessio) leading to use (usus) could ownership (dominium) be derived. Two further laws, of inoffensiveness (harm no one) and abstinence (do not seize the possessions of others), set limits to these primary laws; from these followed two further laws of justice: that evil deeds should be punished and that good deeds should be rewarded (De Jure Praedae, pp. 8, 10, 11, 13, 15). Together, these laws provided the basis for Grotius’s judgment of the facts of Luso-Dutch relations in the East Indies. If it could be shown that the Portuguese had committed evil deeds against the Dutch and against their indigenous allies, and if it could be shown that van Heemskerck had engaged in a just war against the Portuguese captain of the Sta. Catarina, then his spoils taken in that war would be a legitimate prize for the corporate body on whose behalf he acted, the VOC itself.

  The bulk of Grotius’s argument turned on the two issues of law and fact. In the first third of De Jure Praedae, he laid out the conditions under which booty might be justly seized by Christians from other Christians and the broader circumstances that defined a war between Christians as just. Having established the terms of law, he turned to matters of fact in a detailed narrative of relations since the Dutch revolt between the Dutch on one side and the Spanish and Portuguese on the other, to show that “[t]he latter . . . have invariably set an example of perfidy and cruelty; the Dutch, an example of clemency and good faith” (De Jure Praedae, p. 171). Then, in the twelfth chapter of his defense, Grotius went on to argue “that even if the war were a private war, it would be just, and the prize would be justly acquired by the Dutch East India Company” (De Jure Praedae, p. 216).

  When Grotius came to publish that chapter as Mare Liberum, he made no reference to the case of the Sta. Catarina or to the supposed facts of Portuguese aggression and depredation in the East Indies. Instead, he prefaced his argument with a refutation of skepticism about the natural basis of moral distinctions (The Free Sea,pp. 5–6, below). Against the instrumentalist view that such distinctions had been invented solely to benefit the powerful in their rule over the powerless, Grotius affirmed that the laws of nature are the product of divine will and that they can be universally understood by the application of natural reason. He again argued that God had created the world in common for all humanity but that property could be acquired through human “labor and industry,” subject to two of the primary natural laws he had set down in De Jure Praedae: “that all surely might use common things without the damage of all and, for the rest, every man contented with his portion shall abstain from another’s” (The Free Sea,p. 6, below).

  Freedom of navigation and trade (commeandi commercandique libertas) exemplified those principles, whether applied to particular communities or to the universal society of humanity. To support this contention, Grotius appealed to Greek and Roman literature, to Roman law (in particular, to Institutes, II. 1. 1 and Digest, I. 8. 4), and to sixteenth-century Spanish authorities, above all the Dominican theologian Francisco de Vitoria and his fellow Salamancan, the jurist Fernando Vázquez de Menchaca. A notable omission from his battery of authorities was Scripture, a resource that Grotius’s Scottish antagonist, William Welwod, would later exploit. However, by framing his argument in this way, Grotius could illustrate the obligations of natural (rather than revealed) religion, beyond the interpretive traditions of particular denominations, and show that even the juristic traditions of the Spanish monarchy (which since 1580 had included Portugal) opposed the Portuguese. His broader framing of the argument also ensured that Mare Liberum would be understood as a general statement of the right to freedom of trade and navigation. In this way, it sparked a wider and more enduring controversy regarding the foundations of international relations, the limits of national sovereignty, and the relationship between sovereignty (imperium) and possession (dominium) that would guarantee its lasting fame and notoriety.

  Grotius broke down the Portuguese claim of exclusive access to the East Indies into three constituent parts: the right of possession, the right of navigation, and the right of trade. The Portuguese could claim no right of possession by virtue of first discovery, because the lands of the East Indies were not terra nullius (unpossessed land) but were in the possession of their native rulers. The fact that those rulers were “partly idolaters, partly Mahometans” did not invalidate their right to dominion (The Free Sea,p. 14, below): As Aquinas and Vitoria had argued (against earlier thinkers like Hostiensis and John Wycliffe), grace could not confer dominion. Nor were the peoples of Southeast Asia “out of their wits and insensible but ingenious and sharp-witted.” No assumptions of tutelage, or even appeals to Aristotelian conceptions of natural servitude, could therefore be employed to dispossess them, as Vitoria had likewise argued against the use of such arguments in the Americas (The Free Sea,p. 15, below). Papal donation could not have transferred dominium to the Portuguese because the pope possessed no temporal power, least of all over infidels (as, yet again, Vitoria had argued in relation to the New World). The only possible remaining claim was by “right of prey” (jure praedae) or conquest; however, that too was inapplicable to the Portuguese case, because the indigenous peoples had supplied no casus belli on which a claim to conquest in a just war could have been founded. With this reprise of four centuries of European arguments regarding the dispossession of the “barbarian,” Grotius left the Portuguese with no legitimate argument for possession. He then turned to their arguments for exclusive navigation and commerce.

  Only at this point did Grotius directly address the subject of his title (Mare Liberum, The Free Sea) rather than his subtitle (De Jure quod Batavis Competit ad Indicana Commercio, The Right Which the Hollanders Ought to Have to the Indian Merchandise for Trading), as his argument shifted from rights over land to those over the sea. This distinction between territorial and maritime possession rested on a yet more fundamental difference between those things that could be appropriated and those that remained common by nature. If (as Grotius had argued in the body of De Jure Praedae) dominium could be derived only from use based on physical apprehension (possessio), only those things capable both of possession and of use could be appropriated from their pristine state of natural community, subject to the proviso that no other person should be harmed by the act of appropriation (an important limiting factor that permitted the private appropriation of the seashore but not at the expense of common access or use). On these grounds, Grotius argued that neither the Portuguese nor anyone else could claim exclusive possession of the ocean around and leading to the East Indies. Because the sea is fluid and ever changing, it cannot be possessed; because it (and its resources, such as fish) is apparently inexhaustible, it cannot be used: “[t]he sea therefore is in the number of things which are not in merchandise and trading, that is to say, cannot remain proper” (The Free Sea,p. 30, below). The land, by contrast, can be physically circumscribed, human labor does transform it, and its products are rendered private by their use. This fundamental contrast between the properties of sea and land would remain central to later conceptions of property within the natural-law tradition up to and beyond John Locke’s agriculturalist argument for appropriation, which similarly exempted “the Ocean, that great and still remaining Common of Mankind” (Locke, Second Treatise, § 30) from the possibility of exclusive possession.8

  Yet if the Portuguese could claim no right of possession (dominium) over the sea, the question remained whether they could still claim jurisdiction (imperium), which would allow them to debar others from trade with the East Indies. In the last part of the work, Grotius rebutted Portuguese claims to exclusive rights of trade. He argued that the right of navigation could not be appropriated by the Portuguese or anyone else (including the pope). Because that right of navigation was an objective feature of natural law, it could not be altered by human custom or by prescription, as Grotius showed with extensive quotations from Vázquez de Menchaca (a proponent of the freedom of the seas, to be sure, but also an exponent of the idea that navigation was not only unnatural but also suicidally dangerous, a feature of Vázquez’s argument Grotius conveniently ignored).9 As with the right of navigation, so with the right of trading, which was also “agreeable to the primary law of nations” (The Free Sea,p. 51, below). After this point, Grotius added a new conclusion to the material he had drawn from De Jure Praedae, arguing that “we wholly maintain that liberty which we have by nature, whether we have peace, truce or war with the Spaniard,” but with the threat attached that “he that shall stop the passage and hinder the carrying out of merchandise may be resisted by way of fact, as they say, even without expecting any public authority” (The Free Sea,p. 60, below).

  The Twelve Years’ Truce between the Dutch republic and the Spanish monarchy was soon ratified, but Mare Liberum’s relevance was not diminished. Grotius’s arguments could still justify the VOC’s encroachment on the Portuguese colonial empire, despite the armistice in Europe; and their applicability to other contemporary disputes regarding the freedom of navigation, trade, and fishing made Mare Liberum a shot heard around the world. Its rebuttal of papal claims ensured that it was rapidly placed on the Church’s Index of prohibited books in January 1610.10 Sophisticated and extensive responses also came from the jurists William Welwod in Scotland (An Abridgement of All Sea-Lawes [1613]; De Dominio Maris [1615]), John Selden in England (Mare Clausum [ca. 1618]), Justo Seraphim de Freitas in Portugal (De Justo Imperio Lusitanorum Asiatico [1625]), and Juan Solórzano Pereira in Spain (De Indiarum Jure [1629]).

  The only response to which Grotius replied was Welwod’s Abridgement. Grotius had been shown Welwod’s book in 1613, when he was in London as a delegate to the Anglo-Dutch colonial conference, and he took it to be “exemplar Servi Maris” (“the pattern of the unfree sea”).11 Welwod had understood Mare Liberum’s alleged East Indian context as a cover for the work’s real purpose: to reinforce the claims of the Dutch herring-fleets to fish in British (in particular, Scottish) territorial waters. Those claims were indeed a topic of much contention after 1610, and Welwod could be forgiven for suspecting Mare Liberum’s contingent applicability. Yet Welwod stressed only the argument about fishing, ignored the broader questions of trade and navigation, and concentrated his fire on the fifth chapter of Mare Liberum alone. Like Grotius, he argued from the precedents of Roman law, but he also appealed to Scripture to argue that the sea could be occupied and hence acquired as the basis for customary claims to exclusive national rights over territorial waters. However, Welwod excepted the high seas from such claims to exclusive possession and agreed with Grotius that they should remain “mare vastum liberrimum” (“the great and most free sea”: Welwod, “Of the Community and Propriety of the Seas,” p. 74, below). That major concession was not enough to secure Grotius’s assent to Welwod’s arguments, to which he replied at length in the unpublished Defensio capitis quinti Maris Liberi (Defense of the Fifth Chapter of “Mare Liberum”) (ca. 1615).12

  In the Defense of… “Mare Liberum,” Grotius insisted even more firmly that land and sea were incommensurable because the one can be appropriated and the other cannot. He had to do so not least to refute Welwod’s scriptural argument that God had given both earth and sea to humanity in common, an assertion that encouraged Grotius to reinforce the distinction between particular appropriation and universal possession, and hence between those things that are (or can become) private and those that remain in common. He even went further than he had needed (or dared) in Mare Liberum to argue that necessity—in the case of famine, for example—could render “common again things formerly owned” (Defense,p. 86, below). To clarify his definition of community, Grotius had to distinguish it from anything public (that is, owned by a particular nation or people) on the grounds that community of property was natural, whereas anything public was civil and hence the product of human will. From this, it was but a short step to two crucial moves that would characterize his political theory in De Jure Belli ac Pacis: first, his argument that the freedom of the seas derived not only from nature but also from custom and hence from consent (an anticipation of his later theory of property: De Jure Belli ac Pacis, II. 2. 2, § 5); and, second, that the right (jus) to trade or navigation was legitimate not by virtue of being a norm of objective justice but because it was “a moral faculty over a thing” (Defense,p. 107 , below) (an anticipation of his highly influential theory of rights as subjective moral qualities: De Jure Belli ac Pacis, I. 1. 4).13

  The Defense, like Mare Liberum, marked a crucial stage in the development of Grotius’s mature political theory. The argument of Mare Liberum had already come back to haunt him when, as a negotiator for the Dutch in fishing disputes with the English in 1613, he justified English exclusion from Dutch fishing grounds. In ignorance of the identity of the work’s author, the English envoys threw back the arguments of the “assertor Maris liberi” (the defender of the free sea) in Grotius’s own face.14 Even this discomfiting incident may have had a place in Grotius’s philosophical development, as it caused him to refine the limits of his theory of property while he traveled the road toward De Jure Belli ac Pacis. Indeed, by 1625 he had come to agree with Welwod that territorial waters could be possessed (De Jure Belli ac Pacis, II. 3. 13–15). Yet the significance of Mare Liberum was not confined to the progress of Grotius’s own thought: The classic dispute between mare liberum and mare clausum (represented most famously by Selden’s “deeply Grotian” reply to Grotius)15 lasted for much of the seventeenth century, flared up intermittently in the eighteenth and nineteenth, and was decided only in the twentieth.16 Anyone wanting an accessible introduction to that epochal argument, to the genesis of modern theories of property and sovereignty, or to Grotius’s political theory could do no better than begin with his compact classic, Mare Liberum.

  David Armitage

  [1]
  
  Martine van Ittersum, “Profit and Principle: Hugo Grotius, Natural Rights Theories and the Rise of Dutch Power in the East Indies, 1595–1615” (Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 2002), 442–53.

  [2]
  
  For correspondence from November 1608 to [April] 1609 relating to the publication of Mare Liberum, see Briefwisseling van Hugo Grotius, ed. P. C. Molhuysen, B. L. Meulenbroek, and H. J. M. Nellen, 17 vols. (The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1928–2001), I, 128–34, 139–41, 144–45.

  [3]
  
  Peter Borschberg, “The Seizure of the Sta. Catarina Revisited: The Portuguese Empire in Asia, VOC Politics and the Origins of the Dutch-Johor Alliance (1602–ca. 1616),” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 33 (2002): 31–62.

  [4]
  
  Richard Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 80; Borschberg, “The Seizure of the Sta. Catarina Revisited”: 35.

  [5]
  
  For example, Briefwisseling van Hugo Grotius, ed. Molhuysen, Meulenbroek, and Nellen, I, 72 (“de rebus Indicis opusculum”).

  [6]
  
  Hugo Grotius, De Jure Praedae Commentarius, ed. H. G. Hamaker (The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1868); Grotius, De Jure Praedae Commentarius, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1950). All references in the text are to the translation in the first volume of the latter edition.

  [7]
  
  Richard Tuck, Philosophy and Government, 1572–1651 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 169–79.

  [8]
  
  John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, ed. Peter Laslett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 289. Locke possessed Grotius, “De mari libero,” in his copy of the 1680 Hague edition of De Jure Belli ac Pacis: John Harrison and Peter Laslett, The Library of John Locke (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965), item 1331.

  [9]
  
  Fernando Vázquez de Menchaca, Controversiarum illustrium . . . libri tres (Frankfurt, 1572), II. 20. 11–20.

  [10]
  
  Franz Heinrich Reusch, Der Index der verbotenen Bücher, 2 vols. (Bonn: M. Cohen and Son, 1883–85), II, 102.

  [ 11]
  
  Grotius to Johan Boreel, 5 May 1614 (O.S.), Briefwisseling van Hugo Grotius, ed. Molhuysen, Meulenbroek, and Nellen, XVII, 111.

  [12]
  
  Hugo Grotius, “Defensio capitis quinti Maris Liberi oppugnati a Guilielmo Welwodo … capite XXVII ejus libri … cui titulum fecit Compendium Legum Maritimarum” (ca. 1615), in Samuel Muller, Mare Clausum: Bijdrage tot de Geschiedenis der Rivaliteit van Engeland en Nederland in de Zeventiende Eeuw (Amsterdam: F. Muller, 1872), 331–61. This must be the “geschrift de Piscatura” (“the tract On Fishing”) referred to by Grotius in 1622: Grotius to Nicolaes van Reigersberch, 14 April 1622 (O.S.), Briefwisseling van Hugo Grotius, ed. Molhuysen, Meulenbroek, and Nellen, II, 204.

  [13]
  
  Knud Haakonssen, “Hugo Grotius and the History of Political Thought,” Political Theory 13 (1985): 240, 242–43.

  [14]
  
  English Commissioners to Dutch Commissioners, 9 May 1613 (O.S.), in G. N. Clark and W. J. M. van Eysinga, The Colonial Conferences Between England and the Netherlands in 1613 and 1615, Bibliotheca Visseriana 15 (1940), 116.

  [15]
  
  Tuck, Philosophy and Government, 1572–1651, 213.

  [16]
  
  Thomas Wemyss Fulton, The Sovereignty of the Sea (London: W. Blackwood, 1911).

• Back to Top

  5: Grotius and the Laws of War 1

  Hugo Grotius, The Rights of War and Peace, edited and with an Introduction by Richard Tuck, from the Edition by Jean Barbeyrac (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2005). Vol. 1. Chapter: INTRODUCTION

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1425/138585 on 2009-10-28

  The copyright to this edition, in both print and electronic forms, is held by Liberty Fund, Inc.

  ---

  INTRODUCTION

  In the famous dedication of his Discourse on the Origin of Inequality to the Republic of Geneva, Jean-Jacques Rousseau drew a vivid picture of his father sitting at his watchmaker’s bench. “I see him still, living by the work of his hands, and feeding his soul on the sublimest truths. I see the works of Tacitus, Plutarch, and Grotius, lying before him in the midst of the tools of his trade. At his side stands his dear son, receiving, alas with too little profit, the tender instruction of the best of fathers....” Rousseau’s reminiscence is testimony to the authority which Grotius’s De Iure Belli ac Pacis had come to possess in the century since it was first published in 1625; in the eyes of both father and son, the book had the same standing as the great works of classical antiquity. Rousseau was to devote much of his life to a complicated and subtle repudiation of Grotius, but he never lost his sense of the book’s importance, describing Grotius in Emile as “the master of all the savants” in political theory (though he added that, nevertheless, he “is but a child, and, what is worse, a dishonest child,” and that “true political theory is yet to appear, and it is to be presumed that it never will”).1 The same sense of Grotius’s importance, without any of Rousseau’s reservations, had led the Elector Palatine in 1661 to endow a chair in the University of Heidelberg for the express purpose of providing a commentary on the De Iure Belli ac Pacis, a fact which is noted in the Life prefaced to this edition; as the Life also notes, the book was issued as a full edition with notes by various commentators,2 “by which means our Author, within 50 Years after his Death, obtained an Honour, which was not bestowed upon the Ancients till after many Ages.” The idea that the book represented something new and important for the modern age was repeatedly voiced in the “histories of morality,” which began to appear in the late seventeenth century; Grotius was described as “breaking the ice” after the long winter of ancient and medieval ethics.3 By the end of the seventeenth century there had been twenty-six editions of the Latin text, and it had been translated into Dutch (1626, reissued three times in the century), English (1654, reissued twice), and French (1687, reissued once). Its popularity scarcely slackened in the eighteenth century: there were twenty Latin editions, six French, five German, two Dutch, two English, and one Italian (and one Russian, circulated in manuscript).4

  However, for many eighteenth-century readers the definitive version of the book had appeared in Latin in 1720, when Jean Barbeyrac issued a new edition, followed by a French translation in 1724 with elaborate notes.5 Barbeyrac was a leading figure in the French Protestant diaspora, the network of scholars whose families had been driven out of France following the revocation of the Edict of Nantes by Louis XIV in 1685. He worked tirelessly to put his own version of modern natural law before the European public, and his editions of Grotius built on the success of a similarly elaborate edition which he had produced of Samuel Pufendorf’s De Iure Naturae et Gentium in 1706. The notes to these editions keyed their texts into all the relevant discussions of natural law from antiquity down to the 1720s, and the two works together quickly became the equivalent of an encyclopedia of moral and political thought for Enlightenment Europe. The French version of De Iure Belli ac Pacis was reprinted steadily through the middle years of the century, and it found an audience beyond the French-speaking polite world in an English translation of 1738, which is reprinted in this edition, and which seems to have been produced in a large print run.6 Copies of it are very common, and are found in most academic and private libraries of the period—for example, General Washington, like most well-educated English gentlemen, possessed a copy, which is now in the Houghton Library at Harvard. An Italian translation appeared in 1777.

  As this publishing history in itself illustrates, it would be hard to imagine any work more central to the intellectual world of the Enlightenment. But from the late eighteenth century onward, the stream of new editions dried up, and the book came to be treated not as the formative work of modern moral and political theory but as an important contribution to a different genre, “international law” (a term coined by Jeremy Bentham in 1780). Many intellectual developments of the period contributed to this shift, including the criticisms of Grotius found (alongside his admiration) in Rousseau, and the contempt expressed by Kant for the “sorry comforters” such as Grotius and Pufendorf, whose works “are still dutifully quoted in justification of military aggression, although their philosophically or diplomatically formulated codes do not and cannot have the slightest legal force, since states as such are not subject to a common external constraint.”7 William Whewell, professor of international law at Cambridge and translator of Grotius, tried in the mid-nineteenth century to restore Grotius as a major moral thinker, but with limited success; by the time of the post–First World War settlement, Grotius was regarded almost exclusively as the founder of modern civilized interstate relations, and as a suitable tutelary presence for the new Peace Palace at The Hague. As we shall see, in some ways that was to radically misunderstand Grotius’s views on war; he was in fact much more of an apologist for aggression and violence than many of his more genuinely pacific contemporaries. It was also and more seriously to ignore the genuinely innovative qualities of his moral theory, qualities that entitle him to an essential place in the history of political theory.

  Hugo Grotius was born on 10 April 1583, to one of the wealthy ruling families in the Dutch city of Delft. The De Groots (“Grotius” is the Latinized version of his Dutch name—in common with intellectuals all over Europe, Grotius spoke and wrote to his fellow writers in Latin, and gave himself an appropriately Latin name) were regents of the city; that is, they were members of the self-selecting oligarchy which governed Delft, like many other Dutch cities. The generation before Grotius’s birth, his relatives had fought in the great struggle that established the freedom of the northern provinces of the Netherlands from the rule of the Spanish Crown, and many of Grotius’s writings display the intense patriotism engendered by that struggle. In Grotius’s case, his patriotism was as much focused on what he called his “nation,” the province of Holland and Zeeland, as it was on the wider United Provinces, which had collectively asserted their independence, and which form the modern kingdom of the Netherlands. All his life, Grotius remained wedded to the oligarchic republicanism of cities such as Delft, and somewhat wary of bigger states.

  His family had not merely fought in the war of independence; they were also participants in one of the great sources of Dutch wealth and power, the overseas trading and military activity of the Dutch East India Company. Formed out of a union of various smaller companies in 1602, the East India Company was the first of the enormous corporations that were to dominate the European overseas expansion in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; in its first year of operation its gross income already exceeded the ordinary revenue of the English government, and (like the English East India Company a hundred years later) it sent out military forces as well as trading vessels in order to overawe its rivals and offer help to dissident groups all over the Far East. The De Groots were shareholders in the company and sat on the board of one of its “chambers” in Delft. The fact that one of the principal actors in international politics at the beginning of the seventeenth century was not a state but a private corporation was to be of enormous significance in the formation of Grotius’s political thought.

  The young Grotius was educated as a humanist, in the tradition going back to the Italian Renaissance in which the study of classical texts provided an entire education, and in which the ability to write and speak persuasively, using all the ancient arts of rhetoric, was prized above all things. Although Grotius frequently cited philosophical texts written in a more “scholastic” style (that is, the style of the “schoolmen” of the Middle Ages, in which moral or legal issues were discussed in a kind of Aristotelian terminology, with little regard for literary elegance), his own writing was always essentially humanist in character. The De Iure Belli ac Pacis is full of literary and historical material from antiquity, and Grotius would have been delighted that a Genevan watch maker should think that his book was a natural companion to the works of Tacitus and Plutarch. Grotius was a prodigy within this education system and quickly made his reputation as a Latin poet and historian. For these rhetorical skills he was picked (as well-trained humanists always hoped to be) as an adviser and secretary by a leading politician, Jan van Oldenbarnevelt, who was in effect prime minister of the Dutch Republic. Grotius quickly became caught up in the political struggles of the new republic, an involvement that was ultimately to prove personally disastrous for him.

  Technically, the United Provinces was a kingdom with a vacant throne: the King of Spain had been driven out but had not been replaced. In his absence, and pending the appointment of a new monarch (which was seriously considered for the first fifty years of the republic’s existence), government was divided between the old royal governors of the seven provinces, the Statholders, and the old representative assemblies for the provinces, the Estates. The assemblies sent delegates to an Estates General of the Union at The Hague, while most of the provinces had come to appoint the same man as their Statholder, the Prince of Orange. The Union thus possessed both a monarchical and a republican element in its constitution, though the constitutional basis for the powers of the different elements was far from clear; in practice, the Statholder possessed military authority as the commander in chief of the republic’s armies, while the Estates possessed the power of taxation and finance. Each element also had a different range of supporters: broadly speaking, the Calvinist Church and its ministry looked to the princes of the House of Orange to secure its power over the population, while other more heterodox religious groups looked to the oligarchical urban rulers for their protection.

  During the first two decades of the seventeenth century, the religious antagonisms within the republic reached the point where civil war was threatened. Many people (including to some extent Grotiushim self) felt that there had been little point in throwing off the tyranny of Spain if it was to be replaced by the tyranny of an organized and intolerant Calvinist Church. Oldenbarnevelt and Grotius worked tirelessly on behalf of the Estates to try to protect the more liberal theologians (in particular, the ministers who agreed with Jacobus Arminius’s denial of the Calvinist doctrine of grace) from the attacks of the Calvinists; Grotius also circulated privately a theological work of his own in which he argued for a minimalist and irenic version of Christianity.8 But in the end, both Oldenbarnevelt and Grotius seem to have concluded that the only way to secure religious toleration in the republic was in effect to mount a military coup against the Statholder and thereby to remove the principal weapon in the hands of the Calvinists. There is a close parallel with events thirty years later in England, when the representatives of heterodox religious groups in the House of Commons also came to the conclusion that only a coup against their prince would destroy the power of the church that he supported. In England, the Commons won, though only after a long and bloody civil war; in the United Provinces, Oldenbarnevelt and Grotius lost. Prince Maurice arrested them both and had them arraigned for treason; Grotius gave evidence against his old friend and was sentenced to life imprisonment, while Oldenbarnevelt was publicly beheaded in May 1619.

  Grotius was taken in the winter of 1618 to his prison, Louvestein Castle, in the south of the United Provinces. He lived there until March 1621, when he escaped in famous and romantic circumstances: his wife arrived with a basket of books; Grotius (who was quite a small man) hid in the empty basket and was carried out of the castle. He succeeded in crossing the border to the Spanish Netherlands undetected, and took refuge in France, where he lived for most of the rest of his life. He returned to the United Provinces under a false identity in October 1631, hoping that Maurice’s successor as Statholder, Frederick William (who had always been personally sympathetic to Grotius), could arrange for him to be rehabilitated; but in the end Frederick William could not deliver an annulment of the original conviction, and Grotius slipped out of the country again in April 1632. As we shall see, these six months in his native land had an important effect on the received text of De Iure Belli ac Pacis, since Grotius issued a second edition of the work during this period in which some of his more disturbing claims were modified in order to win over his Dutch opponents. For the next three years he moved around Germany, until at the beginning of 1635 the government of Sweden appointed him as their ambassador to France, a post that allowed him to play a major role in the complex diplomacy surrounding the last years of the Thirty Years’ War. There was always a certain amount of unease in Sweden about using him in this important position, however, and in 1645 Grotius visited Sweden to defend himself against criticism; he passed briefly through the United Provinces on his way, without molestation. He failed to persuade the Swedes to renew his appointment, and left the country; his ship was caught in a storm in the Baltic and wrecked on the coast near Rostock. Grotius collapsed on shore after being rescued, and died in Rostock on 28 August 1645. His body was returned to Delft and given an honored burial by the same Dutch authorities who had kept him in exile for twenty-four years.

  Though it was not published until four years after his escape, De Iure Belli ac Pacis really grew out of Grotius’s time in prison. Political prisoners in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries enjoyed full access to their books and papers, and unlimited time to write: Sir Walter Raleigh, for example, wrote his massive History of the World while awaiting execution in the Tower of London. His two years in Louvestein allowed Grotius to revisit old projects; as he wrote to his old friend G. J. Vossius in July 1619, “I have resumed the study of jurisprudence [iuris studium] which had been interrupted by all my affairs, and the rest of my time is devoted to moral philosophy [morali sapientiae].”9 He told Vossius that to help his work in moral philosophy he was giving a Latin dress to the ethical passages in the Greek poets and dramatists collected by the Byzantine anthologist Stobaeus,10 and the effect of this approach to the subject is visible on every page of the De Iure Belli ac Pacis. Rousseau was to remark sardonically that Grotius’s use of quotations concealed the fundamental similarity between Grotius and Hobbes: “The truth is that their principles are exactly the same: they only differ in their expression. They also differ in their method. Hobbes relies on sophisms, and Grotius on the poets; all the rest is the same.”11 Grotius also turned his attention to rewriting and expanding his earlier work on theology, and it was this which he brought to fruition first after his escape;12 but once settled in France he concentrated on his juridical and moral project and wrote De Iure Belli ac Pacis between the autumn of 1622 and the spring of 1624, partly while staying as a guest at the country house of one of the presidents of the Parlement of Paris, Henri de Mesmes, at Balagny near Senlis.13 Printing took place slowly and inefficiently from January to March 1625;14 copies were rushed to the Frankfurt Book Fair in March in order to catch the eye of the European public, 15 and in May Grotius was at last able to give a presentation copy to the book’s dedicatee, King Louis XIII of France.16

  Among the papers to which he must have turned while in prison was a long manuscript which he had written in 1606, before the practical requirements of Dutch politics came to occupy all his time and attention. It was a defense of the military and commercial activity of the Dutch East India Company in the Far East, and in it the central themes of De Iure Belli ac Pacis were already adumbrated. He had begun to circulate the manuscript among his friends, no doubt with a view to publishing it, but in the end only Chapter XII of the manuscript had appeared in print, as the famous Mare Liberum (1609); clearly, Grotius decided that his enforced leisure at Louvestein was an ideal opportunity to rewrite this early draft and finally put it in a publishable form.17 The manuscript lay unknown among Grotius’s papers until 1864, when it was discovered and published; its first editor gave it the title De Iure Praedae, The Law of Prizes, but Grotius himself referred to it more loosely as his De Indis, and its real scope was expressed by the subtitle of Mare Liberum, “a dissertation on the law which covers the Hollanders’ trade with the Indies.”18 Dutch expansion in the Far East was a peculiarly fertile context for Grotius’s political theory to develop, since (as I said earlier) it was essentially driven by a private corporation, interacting with local rulers such as the sultan of Johore and offering them military protection and beneficial trading arrangements. The Indian Ocean and the China Sea were an arena in which actors had to deal with one another without the overarching frameworks of common laws, customs, or religions; it was a proving ground for modern politics in general, as the states of Western Europe themselves came to terms with religious and cultural diversity. The principles that were to govern dealings of this kind had to be appropriately stripped down: there was no point in asserting to a king in Sumatra that Aristotelian moral philosophy was universally true, and not much more point in telling the admiral of the Dutch East India Company’s fleet that he had to wait for some judicial pronouncement by an appropriate sovereign before making war on a threatening naval force. The minimalist character of the principles that emerged from this setting caught the imagination of modern Europe, for they seemed to offer the prospect of an understanding of political and moral life to which all men—the poor and dispossessed and religiously heterodox of Europe as well as the exotic peoples of the Far East or the New World—could give their assent.

  Grotius boldly stated his central argument as follows:

  God created man αὐτεξούσιον, “free and sui iuris, ” so that the actions of each individual and the use of his possessions were made subject not to another’s will but to his own. Moreover, this view is sanctioned by the common consent of all nations. For what is that well-known concept, “natural liberty,” other than the power of the individual to act in accordance with his own will? And liberty in regard to actions is equivalent to ownership in regard to property. Hence the saying: “every man is the governor and arbiter of affairs relative to his own property.”19

  Grotius remained committed to this view in De Iure Belli ac Pacis, remarking in one of its most striking passages that “there are several Ways of living, some better than others, and every one may chuse what he pleases of all those Sorts.”20 He thus presupposed the naturally autonomous agents familiar to us from later seventeenth- and eighteenth-century political theory, who constructed their political arrangements through voluntary agreements. Though he did not have precisely the concept of the “state of nature,” which was so central to Hobbes and his successors, and which they always contrasted with “civil Society” (the product of agreement among naturally free men), he did use the terms in somewhat similar ways;21 and of course the domain of foreign trade and war was in itself the best example of such a state, and was always used as such by later writers.

  The principles governing these autonomous natural individuals were also stated very plainly in De Iure Praedae. The Prolegomena to the work began with two fundamental laws of nature:

  first, that It shall be permissible to defend [one’s own] life and to shun that which threatens to prove injurious; secondly, that It shall be permissible to acquire for oneself, and to retain, those things which are useful for life. The latter precept, indeed, we shall interpret with Cicero as an admission that each individual may, without violating the precepts of nature, prefer to see acquired for himself rather than for another, that which is important for the conduct of life. Moreover, no member of any sect of philosophers, when embarking upon a discussion of the ends [of good and evil], has ever failed to lay down these two laws first of all as indisputable axioms. For on this point the Stoics, the Epicureans, and the Peripatetics are in complete agreement, and apparently even the Academics [i.e., the Skeptics] have entertained no doubt.22

  The last part of this passage emphasizes Grotius’s concern that whatever one’s ethical commitments, his minimalist principles should be acceptable; in De Iure Belli ac Pacis he made the same point by selecting Carneades, the leader of the Skeptical Academy, as the person whom he needed to defeat in argument. Grotius termed these “laws” of nature, but since they were permissive in form they might be better termed “rights”; and this is what he duly did in De Iure Belli ac Pacis, where the “Right of recurring to Force, in defence of one’s own Life” (I.II.3) and the right “of innocent Profit; where I only seek my own Advantage, without damaging any Body else” (II.II.11) are the basic rights which recur throughout the book.

  The right to defend oneself, Grotius always believed, extends beyond merely responding to an immediate attack. It also includes what we would normally think of as punishment, that is, the exercise of violence against a third party by whom we are not directly threatened. He was aware that this was an extremely disturbing idea, as traditionally this right was the special prerogative of civil sovereigns.

  Is not the power to punish essentially a power that pertains to the state [respublica]? Not at all! On the contrary, just as every right of the magistrate comes to him from the state, so has the same right come to the state from private individuals; and similarly, the power of the state is the result of collective agreement.... Therefore, since no one is able to transfer a thing that he never possessed, it is evident that the right of chastisement was held by private persons before it was held by the state. The following argument, too, has great force in this connexion: the state inflicts punishment for wrongs against itself, not only upon its own subjects but also upon foreigners; yet it derives no power over the latter from civil law, which is binding upon citizens only because they have given their consent; and therefore, the law of nature, or law of nations, is the source from which the state receives the power in question.23

  This last argument is of course identical to the one used later by Locke and described by him as “a very strange doctrine.”24 Intriguingly, he would not have found this particular point in De Iure Belli ac Pacis, though he would have found a clear statement of the general claim, for example at II.XX.3.1.

  The Subject of this Right, that is, the Person to whom the Right of Punishing belongs, is not determined by the Law of Nature. For natural Reason informs us, that a Malefactor may be punished, but not who ought to punish him. It suggests indeed so much, that it is the fittest to be done by a Superior, but yet does not shew that to be absolutely necessary, unless by Superior we mean him who is innocent, and detrude the Guilty below the Rank of Men, and place them among the Beasts that are subject to Men, which is the Doctrine of some Divines.

  These natural rights of self-defense are balanced, in both De Iure Praedae and De Iure Belli ac Pacis, by two laws, properly so called. In the earlier work he specified the laws as “Let no one inflict injury upon his fellows” and “Let no one seize possession of that which has been taken into the possession of another.” However, he was at pains to stress that the rights of nature took precedence (as they were to later in Hobbes):

  the order of presentation of the first set of laws and of those following immediately thereafter has indicated that one’s own good takes precedence over the good of another person—or, let us say, it indicates that by nature’s ordinance each individual should be desirous of his own good fortune in preference to that of another....25

  In the later work, he most clearly listed the basic laws of nature in a passage in the Preliminary Discourse, § VIII:

  the Abstaining from that which is another’s, and the Restitution of what we have of another’s, or of the Profit we have made by it, the Obligation of fulfilling Promises, the Reparation of a Damage done through our own Default, and the Merit of Punishment among Men.

  And he made clear in his long defense of violence, Book I, Chapter II, that these laws did not supersede our natural right to defend ourselves: “The Christian Religion commands, that we should lay down our Lives one for another; but who will pretend to say, that we are obliged to this by the Law of Nature[?]” (I.II.6.2).

  The natural state of man was thus one of wary defensiveness: men should not unnecessarily injure one another, but they need not actually help one another. Only if they formed civil associations, with the express intention of improving one another’s lives and creating something richer than the state of nature, would principles such as mutual aid apply. In a “city,”

  First, Individual citizens should not only refrain from injuring other citizens, but should furthermore protect them, both as a whole and as individuals; secondly, Citizens should not only refrain from seizing one another’s possessions, whether these be held privately or in common, but should furthermore contribute individually both that which is necessary to other individuals and that which is necessary to the whole....26

  In De Iure Belli ac Pacis he said the same, in his discussion of the difference between “corrective” and “distributive” justice. Distributive justice, he argued, was concerned with

  a prudent Management in the gratuitous Distribution of Things that properly belong to each particular Person or Society, so as to prefer sometimes one of greater before one of less Merit, a Relation before a Stranger, a poor Man before one that is rich, and that according as each Man’s Actions, and the Nature of the Thing require; which many both of the Ancients and Moderns take to be a part of Right properly and strictly so called; when notwithstanding that Right, properly speaking, has a quite different Nature, since it consists in leaving others in quiet Possession of what is already their own, or in doing for them what in Strictness they may demand. (Preliminary Discourse, X)

  Aristotle (the most relevant “Ancient” referred to) was therefore wrong: it was not part of basic justice to think about the needs of others. Justice properly understood involved merely a commitment not to injure other people, unless doing so was necessary in order to protect one’s own rights.

  In both De Iure Praedae and De Iure Belli ac Pacis, Grotius presented these principles of natural law as themselves derived from some fundamental metaethical commitments, and the character of these commitments occasioned extensive controversy, both in his own time and later. Although the Prolegomena to De Iure Praedae began with the simple statement “What God has shown to be His Will, that is law,” even in that work Grotius refused to derive the laws of nature from “oracles and supernatural portents.”27 Instead, they were to be deduced solely from “the design [intentio] of the Creator” as manifested in the generally recognized constitution of the natural world. Self-defense was the first and most basic of all principles: all individuals (not just men, but also animals, and even inanimate objects) possessed a fundamental drive to preserve themselves. Grotius was even prepared to say (quoting Horace) that to this extent “expediency [utilitas, “profit” or “self-interest”] might perhaps be called the mother of justice and equity,” though he acknowledged that only part of justice was based on self-defense. Once their preservation was secured, individuals had other goals; in the case of men (and to a degree far exceeding that of other creatures), they were endowed with a desire for a social life with other individuals of the same kind. Grotius more than once in De Iure Praedae described this trait as “ homini proprium, ” “special to men,”28 and from it he derived the remaining part of natural justice, the laws obliging us to abstain from injuring our fellow men. But in his discussion of this part he always insisted on its subordinate status to the right of self-preservation and on its minimal character—mutual aid and distributive (as distinct from corrective) justice were not part of this natural “ cognatio ”29 but appeared with cities and civil society.

  In the Prolegomena to De Iure Belli ac Pacis, Grotius set out a very similar theory, though its similarities to the earlier work were appreciably clearer in the first edition than in the edition he produced while attempting to return to the United Provinces. Just as in De Iure Praedae he had restricted the derivation of natural law to what all men agreed on as the basic physical principles governing all beings, so in the Prolegomena to De Iure Belli ac Pacis he asserted that it “necessarily derives from intrinsic principles of a human being.”30 He was now even more blunt about the exiguous role of God, declaring in the most famous remark of the book that “what I have just said would be relevant even if we were to suppose (what we cannot suppose without the greatest wickedness) that there is no God, or that human affairs are of no concern to him.”31 As in De Iure Praedae, Grotius accepted that God had indeed created the world and peopled it with beings constituted along these lines; but one did not need to think about the divine character of the creation to apprehend what the constitution of the physical world was, and all peoples at all periods of history, irrespective of their religious commitments, had agreed on the principles of natural law. Self-preservation was still the first of these principles: “nature drives each animal to seek its own interests [utilitates],” and this was true “of man before he came to the use of that which is special to man [antequam ad usum eius quod homini proprium est, pervenerit].” But this was balanced by the same ideas as in the earlier work, that what is proprium or special to man is a desire for a much richer social life than is possessed by any other animals, and in particular for a social life governed by rational principles. This desire is the basis for our respect for one another’s rights, and is “the source of ius, properly so called, to which belong abstaining from another’s possessions, restoring anything which belongs to another (or the profit from it), being obliged to keep promises, giving compensation for culpable damage, and incurring human punishment.” Anything further, involving distributive justice and the recognition of merited distinctions between people, might arise from this natural justice but was not, strictly speaking, part of it. Grotius now denied that Horace had been right in saying that utilitas was the mother of justice, but since he had qualified his endorsement of the remark in De Iure Praedae, his new comment on the passage did not represent a major repudiation of his old view.

  It is clear that both Grotius’s derogation of the role of God and the priority he gave to self-interest were alarming to many of his contemporaries, particularly among the Calvinists who surrounded the Prince of Orange. In order to accommodate the book more to their views when he produced the second edition, Grotius toned down his argument. Thus he cut out the claim that man was driven purely by self-interest “before he came to the use of that which is special to man” and replaced it with the emphatic assertion that “ the Saying, that every Creature is led by Nature to seek its own private Advantage, expressed thus universally, must not be granted. ” Similarly, he contrived to widen the scope of God’s authority. For example, in 1625 the very first sentence of the Prolegomena included the claim that “few people have tackled the law that mediates between different countries or their rulers, whether that law stems from nature itself or from custom and tacit agreement, and so far no one at all has dealt with it comprehensively and methodically.” In 1631, this read “ that Law, which is common to many Nations or Rulers of Nations, whether derived from Nature, or instituted by Divine Commands, or introduced by Custom and tacit Consent, few have touched upon, and none hitherto treated of universally and methodically ”—Grotius now allowed that the law of nature might be “instituted by Divine Commands.” Similarly, he dropped the word “necessarily” from the sentence where he had said that the natural law “necessarily derives from intrinsic principles of a human being” and added to his discussion at that point the thought that

  God by the Laws which he has given, has made these very Principles more clear and evident, even to those who are less capable of strict Reasoning, and has forbid us to give way to those impetuous Passions, which, contrary to our own Interest, and that of others, divert us from following the Rules of Reason and Nature;32for as they are exceeding unruly, it was necessary to keep a strict Hand over them, and to confine them within certain narrow Bounds. (Preliminary Discourse, XIII)

  So he now conceded that the natural law might properly be deduced not from the necessary constitution of the physical world, but from the records of God’s pronouncements about the law directly to mankind.

  Almost all these changes are found in the Prolegomena; the remainder of the book continued to lay out the same case that Grotius had advanced in the first edition. The result of this was to throw many of his later readers, including Barbeyrac, into some confusion; Barbeyrac consistently sought to emphasize the wider character of Grotian sociability and to bring him in line with Pufendorf (whose main aim was to attack the account of man’s narrow and self-interested natural life found in Hobbes).33 But anyone who read the first edition (as Hobbes himself probably did), or who could see through the confusion artfully introduced by Grotius (as Rousseau seems to have done), would be a ware that Grotius’s theory of the law of nature was more like Hobbes’s than Pufendorf and Barbeyrac were ever prepared to acknowledge. When Rousseau said of Grotius and Hobbes (in the passage I quoted earlier) that “their principles are exactly the same,” he may well have been surprisingly close to the mark.

  I now want to turn to the practical implications of Grotius’s ideas. The first and most obvious implication was that private war was legitimate. The East India Company, though legally a private individual, could indeed make war as if it were a state when it encountered any people with whom it did not already have some kind of civil association. Grotius was still an adviser to the company when he wrote De Iure Belli ac Pacis, and he continued to assert its right to engage in this kind of activity. The second implication, though less obvious, was even more far-reaching: the kind of war that private individuals could make included acts of punishment —that is, it encompassed much more than the limited violence which almost all moralists (other than the radically Christian ones) had allowed individuals to use in their own immediate self-defense. Grotius permitted the company, and anyone else dealing with the complicated power struggles and internecine violence of the world in which the European traders found themselves, to make judgments about the morality of the various parties and to punish those who seemed to be violating other people’s rights, even if there was no immediate threat to the Europeans themselves. Grotius was quite clear in De Iure Belli ac Pacis about the interventionary character of his theory, arguing in his great chapter on punishment (Book II, Chapter XX) that

  We make no Doubt, but War may be justly undertaken against those who are inhuman to their Parents, as were the Sogdians, before Alexander persuaded them to renounce their Brutality; against those who eat human Flesh,... and against those who practise Piracy....And so far we follow the Opinion of Innocentius [Pope Innocent IV], and others, who hold that War is lawful against those who offend against Nature; which is contrary to the Opinion of Victoria, Vasquez, Azorius, Molina, and others, who seem to require, towards making a War just, that he who undertakes it be injured in himself, or in his State, or that he has some Jurisdiction over the Person against whom the War is made. For they assert, that the Power of Punishing is properly an Effect of Civil Jurisdiction; whereas our Opinion is, that it proceeds from the Law of Nature....

  (II.XX.40)

  As Grotius said, this view was very contentious, and had usually been associated with enthusiasts for the medieval crusades, such as Innocent IV; modern writers, such as the principal theorist of the Spanish conquest of Mexico and Peru, Francisco de Vitoria, had expressly denied that the conquest was a crusade against immoral barbarians.

  Many practices of non-European peoples, in Grotius’s view, could count as grounds for intervention in order to punish breaches of the natural law. Perhaps the most surprising and historically important was any refusal by hunter-gatherers, such as the aboriginals of North America, to let agriculturalists settle on their land. To understand this, we have to consider the most striking of all the implications that Grotius drew from his guiding principles, namely his theory of property. The basic right of self-preservation, according to the theory, entitled one to seize the necessities of life, even at the cost of another person’s survival; but it did not entitle one unnecessarily to take from someone else what one needed. If we were to insist on our ownership of any commodity that we did not need and that someone else might make good use of, we would be indirectly injuring them. In De Veritate Religionis Christianae, which (as we have seen) also came out of the period of reflection allowed to Grotius in the early 1620s, he summed up his views as follows:

  our natural needs are satisfied with only a few things, which may be easily had without great labour or cost. As for what God has granted us in addition, we are commanded not to throw it into the sea (as some Philosophers foolishly asserted), nor to leave it unproductive [inutile], nor to waste it, but to use it to meet the needs [inopiam] of other men, either by giving it away, or by lending it to those who ask; as is appropriate for those who believe themselves to be not owners [dominos] of these things, but representatives or stewards [procuratores ac dispensatores] of God the Father....34

  Throughout his discussion of property, especially in Book II, Chapters II and III of De Iure Belli ac Pacis, but also in Mare Liberum (which was the relevant portion of De Iure Praedae), Grotius made clear the extremely weak character of private property. In a state of nature, all commodities were in common, in the sense that each man took what he needed from the common store of nature and left what he did not need for other people to use; allocation of resources was simply on the basis of “first Occupancy” (II.III.1). The introduction of private property gave the owners merely a presumptive right to first use, entitling their own needs to be met by the commodity that they owned, before those of anyone else (II.II.8); but once the owners’ needs had been met, Grotius always argued, the surplus could be claimed by the genuinely needy. A regime of private property did not give people a moral right to more extensive possessions; it merely changed the method by which they laid claim to the necessities of life.

  Thus the sea could not be owned, as he insisted throughout Mare Liberum and in II.II.3 of De Iure Belli ac Pacis, because use of the sea itself (as distinct from the fish taken from it) could not be regarded as answering a basic need. The same was true of the original wastelands of the world, over which wild animals roamed. Agricultural land, on the other hand, could be owned, since (Grotius believed) only settled possession enabled the farmers to plant seed and harvest crops unmolested, and thereby to produce new commodities that could be used to fulfill basic needs. The paradoxical consequence was that, according to Grotius, it was not the European settlers who were guilty of any injurious actions when they took hunting grounds away from the primitive peoples of the world; it was the primitive peoples themselves who were behaving badly when they tried to resist the settlements, and who could be punished for their conduct.35

  However, one practice that could not be used as justification for the conquest of primitive peoples was their religion. It had occasionally been argued that “infidels” could rightly be conquered by Christians, but Grotius was always adamant that war could never be made against any theists on the grounds that their religion was false. As he said in II.XX.46, “That there is a Deity, (one or more I shall not now consider) and that this Deity has the Care of human Affairs, are Notions universally received, and are absolutely necessary to the Essence of any Religion, whether true or false,” and “those who first attempt to destroy these Notions, ought, on the Account of human Society in general, which they thus, without any just Grounds, injure, to be restrained, as in all well-governed Communities has been usual.” So atheism was a moral crime, as it was to be for Locke (though not for Hobbes). But any religion that corresponded to this minimal definition should be tolerated, and Christianity could not be forced on its adherents (II.XX.48), though Christianity itself had to be tolerated by nonbelievers on pain of international punishment (II.XX.49).

  A third and equally surprising practical implication of Grotius’s minimalist political principles was that he sanctioned certain kinds of slavery. As he said in his discussion of the issue in chapter V of Book II,

  perfect and utter Slavery, is that which obliges a Man to serve his Master all his Life long, for Diet and other common Necessaries; which indeed, if it be thus understood, and confined within the Bounds of Nature, has nothing too hard and severe in it; for that perpetual Obligation to Service, is recompensed by the Certainty of being always provided for; which those who let themselves out to daily Labour, are often far from being assured of....

  (II.V.27)

  The fundamental right to preserve oneself naturally (on Grotius’s view) led to the legitimacy of voluntary slavery, if one’s circumstances were such that only such a course of action would keep one alive. Similarly, parents could reasonably sell their children into slavery (II.V.29). But of course, the master of a slave could have no right to kill the slave, since such a right would defeat the object of the relationship from the point of view of the slave (II.V.28). This—to our eyes—disconcerting consequence of Grotius’s minimalist liberalism was a common feature of the rights theories of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and it was of course one of the primary reasons why Rousseau was to turn in disgust from the Grotian tradition.

  These implications of Grotius’s theory, all in various ways, relate to his defense of individual rights, including the private right to make war. But De Iure Belli ac Pacis also contains an influential account of the nature of a state. As we have seen, Grotius believed that all its rights “come to the state from private individuals;... the power of the state is the result of collective agreement.”36 Individuals agree to pool their rights of self-preservation, and in addition to help their fellow citizens in ways that they would not think of doing in a state of nature. As he said in De Iure Belli ac Pacis I.I.14, “The State37 is a compleat Body of free Persons, associated together to enjoy peaceably their Rights, and for their common Benefit” (the last phrase expressing what is added by civil association) (I.III.7). As long as this “body of free persons” was independent of any other such body, it was itself free and sovereign: “we... exclude the Nations, who are brought under the Power of another People, as were the Roman Provinces; for those Nations are no longer a State, as we now use the Word, but the less considerable Members of a great State, as Slaves are the Members of a Family.”

  But Grotius had to tread very carefully over the question of how such a body might be governed. He used the subtle analogy of the human eye:

  As the Body is the common Subject of Sight, the Eye the proper; so the common Subject of Supreme Power is the State; which I have before called a perfect Society of Men....The proper Subject is one or more Persons, according to the Laws and Customs of each Nation.

  I see with my eyes, and cannot see without them, but it is not my eyes that see: it is me. Similarly, Grotius argued, we cannot have a state without a government of one or more persons, but it is not the government that acts and creates political identity. The state, properly speaking, continues to be the whole association acting through its rulers. But that does not mean that the association can dispense with its particular rulers, any more than I can dispense with my eyes. After the passage just quoted, Grotius immediately went on to make one of his most famous claims, that

  here we must first reject their Opinion, who will have the Supreme Power to be always, and without Exception, in the People; so that they may restrain or punish their Kings, as often as they abuse their Power. What Mischiefs this Opinion has occasioned, and may yet occasion, if once the Minds of People are fully possessed with it, every wise Man sees. I shall refute it with these Arguments. It is lawful for any Man to engage himself as a Slave to whom he pleases; as appears both by the Hebrew and Roman Laws. Why should it not therefore be as lawful for a People that are at their own Disposal, to deliver up themselves to any one or more Persons, and transfer the Right of governing them upon him or them, without reserving any Share of that Right to themselves? Neither should you say this is not to be presumed: For the Question here is not, what may be presumed in a Doubt, but what may be lawfully done? In vain do some alledge the Inconveniences which arise from hence, or may arise; for you can frame no Form of Government in your Mind, which will be without Inconveniences and Dangers. (I.III.8)

  Since the civitas, the civil association or civil society, was an individual with the rights of any other individual, it simply followed on Grotius’s account that it must be free voluntarily to enslave itself in the interests of its own survival. Only if it amalgamated with another association, or was treated as no longer a separate entity, would it destroy itself; any such union was tantamount to suicide by the state and could not be justified by the principle of self-preservation.38 “Cases of extreme Necessity, by which all Things return to a mere State of Nature” (II.VI.5) might lead individuals to break up their own state and seek security in another, but this could not be an act of the civil society itself.

  Whatever their different views about what he had done, Grotius’s readers in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were united in their praise for his originality, for in De Iure Belli ac Pacis we have indeed found many of the central themes of modern political theory. Grotius’s men are born free, under no authority but that which all men will recognize, the authority of a minimal kind of natural law. They are equal, for the essence of Grotius’s natural justice (as distinct from the distributive justice characteristic of civil societies) is that it treats all men as equal and does not recognize distinctions of rank or even of merit; furthermore, in nature our property is extremely exiguous, and no one can claim property rights at the expense of the poor. And yet, on the other hand, his men are competitive and censorious, eager to conquer new territories if that will promote the rational use of the world’s resources, and eager to intervene in the internal affairs of other nations if they see injuries being suffered by the innocent. The world Grotius depicted is indeed recognizably our world, for good or ill.

  Richard Tuck

  [1. ]For the dedication, see The Social Contract and Discourses, trans. G. D. H. Cole, revised ed. J. H. Brumfitt and John C. Hall (Everyman 1973), 34; for Emile, see Rousseau, Political Writings, ed. C. E. Vaughan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1915), 2:147.

  [2. ]This was the edition that appeared in 1691 from a press at Frankfurt-on-Oder, with commentary by Gronovius, Boecler, Henniges, Osiander, and Ziegler, names that will become familiar from Barbeyrac’s notes in this edition.

  [3. ]See Barbeyrac’s remark in his An Historical and Critical Account of the Science of Morality, prefaced to his edition of Pufendorf, The Law of Nature and Nations (London, 1749), 67.

  [4. ]This information is from J. ter Meulen and P. J. J. Diermanse, Bibliographie des écrits imprimés de Grotius (The Hague, 1950). For an exemplary modern edition of the Latin text, see B. J. A. De Kanter–van Hettinga Tromp’s 1939 edition, reprinted with extensive additional material by R. Feenstra and C. E. Persenaire (Aalen: Scientia Verlag, 1993).

  [5. ]Both the Barbeyrac Latin and French editions were from Amsterdam; the French version was dedicated to George I of England.

  [6. ]For full details, see “A Note on the Text” at the end of the introduction.

  [7. ]Immanuel Kant, Political Writings, ed. Hans Reiss, trans. H. B. Nisbet, 2d ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 103.

  [8. ]His Meletius sive De iis quae inter Christianos convenit epistola, written in 1611; edited by G. H. M. Posthumus Meyjes (Leiden: Brill, 1988). See also his writings from 1614 onward on ecclesiastical power, discussed by H. J. van Dam in his edition of Grotius’s De Imperio Summarum Potestatum circa Sacra (Leiden: Brill, 2001).

  [9. ]Grotius, Briefwisseling, ed. P. C. Molhuysen, vol. 2 (The Hague, 1936), 15 (no. 590).

  [10. ]In 1623 he published these translations, with an introduction that broaches some of the themes later developed in De Iure Belli ac Pacis, in a volume entitled Dicta Poetarum quae apud Io. Stobaeum exstant. The book was published in Paris by Nicolas Buon, the same printer who was to produce De Iure Belli ac Pacis; Grotius had been staying at Buon’s house since he arrived in Paris.

  [11. ]Rousseau, Political Writings, 2:147.

  [12. ]In 1622 he published Bewys van den waren godsdienst, the Dutch forerunner of his later De veritate religionis Christianae, which he had composed in prison; five years later he produced the Latin version. In 1622 he also published his Disquisitio an Pelagiana sint ea dogmata quae nunc subeo nomine traducuntur, picking up on the themes in debate between the Arminians and their opponents; and his Apologeticus eorum qui Hollandiae ex legibus praefuerunt, defending his conduct in the attempted coup of 1618.

  [13. ]See among other references Briefwisseling, 2:254, 260, 283, 296, 327, 358.

  [14. ]See, for example, Briefwisseling, 2:409, 417, 422, 426.

  [15. ]Ibid., 31 (no folio numbering).

  [16. ]Ibid., 449.

  [17. ]Even as the De Iure Belli ac Pacis was being printed, Grotius was thinking about a new edition in which the work would appear alongside Mare Liberum and his essay on the Dutch constitution, De Antiquitate Batavicae Reipublicae of 1610 (Briefwisseling, 2:426). He clearly did not suppose then that De Iure Belli ac Pacis had superseded the earlier work. De Iure Belli ac Pacis and Mare Liberum did appear together in an Amsterdam edition of 1632, though this may not have been authorized.

  [18. ]De jure quod Batavis competit ad Indicana commercia dissertatio.

  [19. ]De Iure Praedae Commentarius, trans. Gwladys L. Williams and Walter H. Zeydel (Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, Oxford University Press, 1950), 1:18.

  [20. ]I.III.8. As its context illustrates, of course, this stress on fundamental moral liberty is compatible with a voluntary renunciation of civil liberty—I.III.8 is the famous defense of absolutism. The term αὐτεξούσιον also occurs three times in De Iure Belli ac Pacis, with the same meaning as in De Iure Praedae. See, for example, his description of a child who has grown up and left home as “altogether αὐτεξούσιος, at his own Disposal ” (II. V.6), and also II.XX.48.2 n. 6 and II.XXI.12.

  [21. ]See in particular II.VII.27.1, which contrasts “the State of Nature” with civil “Jurisdiction.” II.VI.5, which in the English translation also refers to “a meer State of Nature” in opposition to civil society, in the original Latin refers to ius naturae. Other references to the state of nature, in the Latin as well as the English texts, occur at II.V.9.2 and II.V.15.2, though they contrast nature with grace, in a more traditional fashion. Grotius uses the term civil society: see, for example, I.IV.2.

  [22. ]De Iure Praedae Commentarius, trans. Williams and Zeydel, 2:10–11.

  [23. ]De Iure Praedae Commentarius, trans. Williams and Zeydel, 1:91–92. For the Latin text, the easiest source (since the Carnegie Endowment text is a photocopy of the manuscript) is still the original edition by H. G. Hanaker (The Hague, 1868), 91. See also Peter Borschberg, Hugo Grotius: “Commentarius in Theses XI” (Berne, 1994), 244–45, for an early statement of this idea, in the manuscript which seems to be part of the working papers for the De Indis.

  [24. ]Two Treatises of Government, ed. Peter Laslett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 272 (II.9).

  [25. ]De Iure Praedae Commentarius, trans. Williams and Zeydel, 1:21.

  [26. ]Ibid., 21.

  [27. ]Ibid., 8.

  [28. ]De Iure Praedae Commentarius, ed. Hanaker, 12; see also page 13, “ mediam justitiam, quae humano generi propria est. ”

  [29. ]That is, “relationship” or “similarity.” DeIure Praedae Commentarius, ed. Hanaker, 13.

  [30. ]See my translation of the Prolegomena in the appendix to Book III.

  [31. ]This is the notorious etiamsi daremus clause, so called from the Latin for “even if we were to suppose.”

  [32. ]This is a translation of the sentence “& in diversa trahentes impetus, qui nobis ipsis, quique aliis consulunt, vagari vetuit,” which appears in all the editions seen through the press by Grotius. Barbeyrac supposed that aliis consulunt should read male consulunt, but that seems to me to be a misrepresentation of what Grotius was saying. Grotius’s point was that our self-interested and benevolent impulses did in principle keep us on the right road, though they might (as he claimed in 1631) need some sort of control by God to make sure that they did so. A better translation would read, “God has made these same principles more conspicuous by giving laws, even to those whose powers of reasoning are feeble: and he has forbidden those powerful impulses which attend to the interests of both ourselves and others from straying into the wrong courses, by strictly restraining the more vehement of them and by coercing them in both their ends and their means.”

  [33. ]See for example what he did to Grotius’s remark at I.I.10, that ius naturale is “a dictate of right reason, indicating of any act whether it possesses moral turpitude or moral necessity, from its congruity or incongruity with rational nature itself, and consequently whether it was forbidden or permitted by God the author of nature” (my translation). Barbeyrac inserted at his own initiative the words “and social” (ac sociali) after the word “rational” in this passage—are vealing attempt to make Grotius more of a theorist of sociability than in fact he was.

  [34. ]Grotius, Opera Omnia Theologica (London, 1679),3:43(II.14)(my translation). The last sentence is a reference to 1 Tim. 6:17, 18. The similarity to Locke’s sentiments in Chapter V of the Second Treatise is obvious and unaccidental.

  [35. ]See II.II.17. Grotius there and elsewhere distinguished between “Property” and “Jurisdiction”: Just as a fleet at sea can claim the right to regulate the use of the sea in its neighborhood (always allowing for the moral rights of other people to use surplus resources), so an aboriginal nation could regulate the use of its territory. But if it failed to allow settlement under its aegis, the land could be taken from it as punishment for its breach of the law of nature.

  [36. ]De Iure Praedae Commentarius, trans. Williams and Zeydel, 1:91.

  [37. ]In the Latin original, he used the word civitas or “city,” the word which continued to be used by, for example, Hobbes and Pufendorf in their Latin writings to mean “state.”

  [38. ]“Nor let any Man pretend to tell me, that the Sovereign Power is lodged in the Body, as in its Subject, and may therefore be alienated by it, as a Thing that properly belongs to it. For if the Sovereignty resides in the Body, it is as in a Subject which it fills entirely, and without any Division into several Parts; in a Word, after the same Manner as the Soul is in perfect Bodies” (II.VI.6). Interestingly, the idea that sovereignty is like the soul (rather than the head) is precisely the analogy used by Hobbes. We should also remember in this context Grotius’s strong conviction that the United Provinces was an alliance of independent states and not a full union.

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  6: Grotius and the Laws of War 2

  Hugo Grotius, The Rights of War and Peace, including the Law of Nature and of Nations, translated from the Original Latin of Grotius, with Notes and Illustrations from Political and Legal Writers, by A.C. Campbell, A.M. with an Introduction by David J. Hill (New York: M. Walter Dunne, 1901). Chapter: INTRODUCTION

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/553/90737 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  INTRODUCTION

  The Work and Influence of Hugo Grotius.

  The claims of the great work of Grotius, “De Jure Belli ac Pacis,” to be included in a list of Universal Classics, do not rest upon the felicity of style usually expected in a classic composition. His work is marked by frequent rhetorical deformities, tedious and involved forms of reasoning, and perplexing obscurities of phraseology which prevent its acceptance as an example of elegant writing. Notwithstanding these external defects, it is, nevertheless, one of the few notable works of genius which, among the labors of centuries, stand forth as illustrations of human progress and constitute the precious heritage of the human race.

  If it is not literature in the technical sense, the masterpiece of Grotius is something higher and nobler,—a triumph of intelligence over irrational impulses and barbarous propensities. Its publication marks an era in the history of nations, for out of the chaos of lawless and unreasoning strife it created a system of illuminating principles to light the way of sovereigns and peoples in the paths of peace and general concord.

  I. The Reign of War.

  The idea of peaceful equity among nations, now accepted as a human ideal, though still far from realization, was for ages a difficult, if not an impossible, conception. All experience spoke against it, for war was the most familiar phenomenon of history.

  Among the Greek city-states, a few temporary leagues and federations were attempted, but so feeble were the bonds of peace, so explosive were the passions which led to war, that even among the highly civilized Hellenic peoples, community of race, language, and religion was powerless to create a Greek nation. It was reserved for the military genius of Alexander the Great, at last, by irresistible conquest, to bring the Greek Empire into being, to be destroyed in turn by superior force.

  The Roman Empire almost achieved the complete political unity of Europe, and bound parts of three continents under one rule, but the corruption of the military power which held it together led to its inevitable dismemberment.

  After the conflicts of the barbaric kingdoms which followed the dissolution of the Western Empire were ended by the predominance of the Frankish monarchy, the world believed that the Pax Roman was to be restored in Europe by the hand of Charles the Great; but the disruptive forces were destined to prevail once more, and the Holy Roman Empire never succeeded in reviving the power of ancient Rome. And thus the dream of a universal monarchy, of a central authority able to preside over kings and princes, adjusting their difficulties, and preserving the peace between them, was at last proved futile.

  In each of the great national monarchies that had already risen or were still rising on the ruins of imperial dominion, particularly in France, England, Holland, and the States of Germany, a continuous internal conflict over questions of religion complicated the bitterness and destructiveness of foreign wars until Europe was reorganized by the Peace of Westphalia, in 1648.

  It was in the midst of these wars that Grotius was born. He saw his own country rising from a baptism of blood and all Europe rent and torn by the awful struggle of the Thirty Years’ War, in the midst of which his great work was written and to whose conclusion it served as a guide and inspiration. The Empire, dismembered, had been reduced to almost complete impotence, the Church had been disrupted, and no international authority was anywhere visible. Amid the general wreck of institutions Grotius sought for light and guidance in great principles. Looking about him at the general havoc which war had made, the nations hostile, the faith of ages shattered, the passions of men destroying the commonwealths which nourished them, he saw that Europe possessed but one common bond, one vestige of its former unity,—the human mind. To this he made appeal and upon its deepest convictions he sought to plant the Law of Nations.

  II. The Predecessors of Grotius.

  It is historically accurate to say, that, until formulated by Grotius, Europe possessed no system of international law. Others had preceded him in touching upon certain aspects of the rights and duties of nations, but none had produced a system comparable to his.

  The earliest attempt to formulate recognized international customs was the formation of the early maritime codes, rendered necessary by the expansion of mediæval commerce from the end of the eleventh to the end of the sixteenth century, such as the “Jugemens d’ Oléron,” adopted by the merchants of France, England, and Spain, and reissued under other names for the merchants of The Netherlands and the Baltic. “The Consolato del Mare,” a more elaborate compilation, was made, apparently at Barcelona, about the middle of the fourteenth century, and accepted generally by the traders of the chief maritime powers. It was in the cradle of commerce, therefore, that international law awoke to consciousness.

  As the Church was often intrusted with the task of pacification, it is but natural to look among her representatives for the earliest writers on the laws of international relations. It is, in fact, among the theological moralists that we find the first students of this subject. As early as 1564, a Spanish theologian, Vasquez, conceived of a group of free states with reciprocal rights regulated by jus naturale et gentium, without regard to a world-power, either imperial or ecclesiastical. In 1612, Saurez pointed out that a kind of customary law had arisen from the usages of nations, and distinctly described a society of interdependent states bound by fundamental principles of justice.

  At the close of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries, a series of circumstances arose necessitating the extension of jurisprudence beyond its ancient boundaries, and thus tending to produce a group of international jurists. Among the juristic writers of this time are Balthazar Ayala, a Spanish jurisconsult, who died in 1584, having written in a historico-judicial spirit on the subject of war in his “De Jure et Officiis Belli”; Conrad Brunus, a German Jurist, who wrote of the rights and duties of ambassadors in his “De Legationibus,” published in 1548; and pre-eminent above all, Albericus Gentilis, an Italian professor of jurisprudence and lecturer at Oxford, a writer of force and originality, who published his “De Legationibus” in 1583 and his “De Jure Belli” in 1589.

  III. The Life and Personality of Grotius.

  HUGO GROTIUS, to use the Latin form of his name by which he is best known, or Hugo de Groot as he is called in Holland, descended from a race of scholars and magistrates, was born at Delft, on April 10th, 1583. His family history has been related with much detail by De Burigny, in his “Vic de Grotius,” published in French at Amsterdam in 1754; and by Vorsterman van Oyen, in his “Hugo de Groot en Zijn Gesclacht,” a complete genealogy in Dutch, published at Amsterdam in 1883, which gives the descendants of Grotius down to the present generation. His origin is traced from a Frenchgentleman, Jean Cornets, who took up his residence in The Netherlands in 1402. His descendant, Cornelius Cornets, married the daughter of a burgomaster of Delft on condition that the future children of this marriage should bear the name of their mother’s family, in order to perpetuate the distinction which it had achieved. The maternal name imposed by Cornelius Cornets’s Dutch father-in-law, Dirk van Kraayenburg de Groot, was de Groot, meaning the Great, and is said to have been bestowed for signal services rendered to his country by the first who had borne it four hundred years before. From this marriage sprung a Hugo de Groot, distinguished for his learning in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew and five times burgomaster of his native city. His eldest son, Cornelius, was a noted linguist and mathematician who studied law in France and received high office in his own country, afterward becoming a professor of law and many times rector of the University of Leyden. Another son, John de Groot, the father of Hugo Grotius, studied there under the famous Lipsius, who speaks of him with the highest commendation. Four times burgomaster of Delft, John de Groot became curator of the University of Leyden, a position which he filled with great dignity and honor.

  In his earliest years the young Hugo gave evidence of marked and varied ability. At eight he wrote Latin verses which betrayed poetic talent; at twelve he entered the University where he became a pupil of that prince of scholars, Joseph Scaliger, who directed his studies; and at fifteen he defended “with the greatest applause” Latin theses in philosophy and jurisprudence. His fame as a prodigy of diversified learning spread far and wide, and great scholars declared they had never seen his equal.

  Grotius had won celebrity even in foreign lands when, in 1600, at the age of seventeen, he was admitted to the bar. The youthful prodigy had already accompanied the Grand Pensionary, John of Oldenbarneveld on a special embassy to France, where he was presented to Henry IV., who bestowed upon him his portrait together with a gold chain, and graciously called him “The Miracle of Holland.” At Orleans he was made a Doctor of Laws.

  Married in 1609 to Marie van Reigersberg, whose devotion was worthy of his deep affection, and loaded with public honors, having been named the official historian of the United Provinces and the advocate-general of two provinces, Holland and Zeeland, Grotius set his hand to a work entitled “Mare Librum,” in which he defended the freedom of the sea and the maritime rights of his country against the arrogant pretensions of the Portuguese in suppressing the commerce of other nations in Eastern waters,—a treatise destined to become still more celebrated in the history of international law by Selden’s reply, “Mare Clausum,” written in 1635. Next, turning his attention to the history of The Netherlands, he devoted himself for a time to his “Annals of the War of Independence.”

  In 1613, Grotius added to his laurels as poet, jurist, and historian by entering the field of politics, and he was appointed Pensionary of Rotterdam upon the condition that he should continue in office during his own pleasure. It was during a visit to England upon a diplomatic mission in this same year that he met the great scholar Isaac Casaubon, who said in a letter to Daniel Heinsius: “I cannot say how happy I esteem myself in having seen so much of one so truly great as Grotius. A wonderful man! This I knew him to be before I had seen him; but the rare excellence of that divine genius no one can sufficiently feel who does not see his face and hear him speak. Probity is stamped on all his features.”

  Closely related by personal friendship as well as by his official duties to the Grand Pensionary, John of Oldenbarneveld, Grotius was destined to share with that unfortunate patriot the proscription and punishment which Maurice of Orange visited upon the two confederates in the defense of religious tolerance. Risking all as the apostles of peace, they were soon condemned to be its martyrs. Oldenbarneveld, having incurred the bitter hatred of the Stadtholder, was condemned to death by decapitation on May 12th, 1619. Grotius, less offensive to Maurice on account of his youth and his gracious personality, was sentenced six days later to perpetual imprisonment. On the 6th of June, 1619, he was incarcerated in the fortress of Loevestein.

  Rigorously treated at first, his docility and resignation soon won the respect and affection of his keepers. Writing materials and books were in time accorded him, and finally, on condition that she would continue to share his captivity, he was granted the presence of his wife. The studious prisoner and his devoted companion completely disarmed all suspicion of an intention to escape, and the ponderous chest in which books came and went continued to bring periodic consolation to the mind of the busy scholar. A treatise on the truth of the Christian religion, a catechism for the use of his children, a digest of Dutch law, and other compositions served to occupy and alleviate the weary months of confinement, until one day when the time seemed opportune Madame Grotius secretly inclosed her husband in the great chest and it was borne away by two soldiers. Descending the stone steps of the prison the bearers remarked that the trunk was heavy enough to contain an Arminian, but Madame Grotius’s jest on the heaviness of Arminian books smoothed over the suspicion, if one was really entertained, and the great jurist was sent in the chest safe to Gorcum, attended by a faithful domestic, where in the house of a friend the prisoner emerged without injury and in the guise of a stone mason hastened to Antwerp. From Antwerp he took refuge in France, where he arrived in April, 1621, and was joined by his faithful wife at Paris in the following October.

  The bitterness of exile was now to be added to the miseries of imprisonment, for Grotius was not only excluded from The Netherlands, but in extreme poverty. His letters reveal his anguish of spirit at this period, but a generous Frenchman, Henri de Même, placed his country house at Balagni at his disposition, and there, supported by a small pension, which Louis XIII had graciously accorded him, though irregularly and tardily paid, Grotius commenced his great work, “De Jure Belli ac Pacis,” in the summer of 1623.

  Much speculation has been indulged in regarding the causes which led to the composition of this masterpiece, but a recent discovery has rendered all this superfluous, as well as the ascription of special merit to the Counselor Peyresc for suggesting the idea of the work. It is, indeed, to the pacific genious of Grotius more than to all other causes that the world owes the origin of his great work; for it sprang from his dominant thought, ever brooding on the horrors of war and the ways of peace, during more than twenty years, and never wholly satisfied till its full expression was completed.

  In the winter of 1604, there had sprung out of his legal practice the idea of a treatise entitled “De Jure Praedae,” fully written out, but never printed by its author. The manuscript remained unknown by all his biographers until it was brought to light and printed under the auspices of Professor Fruin at The Hague in 1868. This interesting document proves that not only the general conception but the entire plan and even the arrangement of the “De Jure Belli ac Pacis” were in the mind of Grotius when he was only twenty-one years of age. The difference between the earlier work and the later is chiefly one of detail and amplification, the difference which twenty years of reading, experience, meditation and maturity of faculty would inevitably create.

  The curious may find in his letters the almost daily chronicle of his progress with his book to the time of its publication after excessive labors lasting more than a year. In March, 1625, the printing of the first edition, which had occupied four months, was completed and copies were sent to the fair at Frankfort. His honorarium as author consisted of two hundred copies, many of which he presented to his friends. From the sale of the remainder at a crown each, he was not able to reimburse his outlay. In the following August he wrote to his father and brother that if he had their approbation and that of a few friends, he would have no cause for complaint but would be satisfied. Louis XIII, to whom the work was dedicated, accepted the homage of the author and a handsomely bound copy, but failed to exercise the grace customary with monarchs by according a gratification. At Rome, the treatise was proscribed in the index in 1627. Almost penniless and suffering from his protracted toil, Grotius seemed destined to neglect and oblivion, yet from his exile he wrote to his brother: “It is not necessary to ask anything for me. If my country can do without me, I can do without her. The world is large enough….”

  Invited to enter the service of France by Richelieu, Grotius would not accept the conditions which the Cardinal wished to impose,—such at least is the inevitable inference from his letters. His pension was not paid and his circumstances became so serious that one of his children had but a single coat. At length, pushed to the utmost extremity of want and instigated by his energetic wife, Grotius resolved to return to Holland. Driven from Rotterdam to Amsterdam, where he hoped to settle down as a lawyer, the States General twice ordered his arrest and named a price for his delivery to the authorities. The new Stadtholder, Frederick Henry, who, before succeeding his brother Maurice, had written kindly to Grotius after his escape from imprisonment, now approved his proscription. Abandoned by his prince as well as by his countrymen, Grotius once more turned his face toward exile and set out for Hamburg.

  IV. The Work of Grotius.

  It may be of interest at this point in the career of Grotius to describe briefly the character of the great work which was soon to win for him a new celebrity, and materially change his prospects in life.

  The inspiration of his “De Jure Belli ac Pacis” was the love of peace, yet he was far from being one of those visionaries who totally condemn the use of armed force and proscribe all war as wrong and unnecessary. On the contrary, he seeks to discover when, how, and by whom war may be justly conducted.

  His plan of treatment is as follows:—

  In the First Book, he considers whether any war is just, which leads to the distinction between public and private war, and this in turn to a discussion of the nature and embodiment of sovereignty.

  In the Second Book, the causes from which wars arise, the nature of property and personal rights which furnish their occasions, the obligations that pertain to ownership, the rule of royal succession, the rights secured by compacts, the force and interpretation of treaties, and kindred subjects are examined.

  In the Third Book, the question is asked, “What is lawful war?” which prepares for the consideration of military conventions and the methods by which peace is to be secured.

  From the authority of the Empire and the Church, no longer effectual as an international agency, Grotius appeals to Humanity as furnishing the true law of nations. Beginning with the idea that there is a kinship among men established by nature, he sees in this bond a community of rights. The society of nations, including as it does the whole human race, needs the recognition of rights as much as mere local communities. As nations are but larger aggregations of individuals, each with its own corporate coherence, the accidents of geographic boundary do not obliterate that human demand for justice which springs from the nature of man as a moral being. There is, therefore, as a fundamental bond of human societies, a Natural Law, which, when properly apprehended, is perceived to be the expression and dictate of right reason. It is thus upon the nature of man as a rational intelligence that Grotius founds his system of universal law.

  As this law of human nature is universally binding wherever men exist, it cannot be set aside by the mere circumstances of time and place, whence it results that there is a law of war as well as a law of peace. As this law applies to the commencement of armed conflicts, war is never to be undertaken except to assert rights, and when undertaken is never to be carried on except within the limits of rights. It is true that in the conflict of arms laws must be silent, but only civil laws, which govern in times of peace. Those laws which are perpetual, which spring from the nature of man as man, and not from his particular civil relations, continue even during strife and constitute the laws of war. To deny these, or to disobey them, implies a repudiation of human nature itself and of the divine authority which has invested it with rights and obligations. To disavow the imperative character of these perpetual laws, is to revert to barbarism.

  It is necessary, however to distinguish between Natural Law, that principle of justice which springs from man’s rational nature, and Conventional Law, which results from his agreements and compacts. Natural Law remains ever the same, but institutions change. While the study of abstract justice, apart from all that has its origin in the will or consent of men, would enable us to create a complete system of jurisprudence, there is another source which must not be neglected, since men have established the sanctity of certain rules of conduct by solemn convention.

  The Law of Nations does not consist, therefore, of a mere body of deductions derived from general principles of justice, for there is also a body of doctrine based upon consent; and it is this system of voluntarily recognized obligations which distinguishes international jurisprudence from mere ethical speculation or moral theory. There are customs of nations as well as a universally accepted law of nature, and it is in this growth of practically recognized rules of procedure that we trace the evolution of law international—jus inter gentes—as a body of positive jurisprudence.

  It is evident that the mind of Grotius is continually struggling to establish a science upon this positive basis, and it is this which gives a distinctive character to his effort. The great writers of all ages are cited with a superfluous lavishness, not so much to support his claims by an aggregation of individual opinions— still less to display his erudition, as his critics have sometimes complained—as to give a historic catholicity to his doctrine by showing that the laws he is endeavoring to formulate have, in fact, been accepted in all times and by all men. For this purpose also, he makes abundant use of the great authorities on Roman Law, whose doctrines and formulas were certain to carry conviction to the minds of those whom he desired to convince.

  It is needless, perhaps, to point out that the work of Grotius is not and could not be a work of permanent authority as a digest of international law. His own wise appreciation of the positive and historical element—the authority derived from custom—should exempt him from the pretense of absolute finality. It is the Book of Genesis only that he has given us, but it is his indefeasible distinction to have recorded the creation of order out of chaos in the great sphere of international relationship, justly entitling him to the honor accorded to him by the spontaneous consent of future times as the Father of International Jurisprudence.

  It is not difficult after more than three centuries of thought and experience to point out the defects in his doctrine. If he justifies slavery, it is not without ingenuity; for, he argues, if a man may sell his labor, why not his liberty? and if the conqueror may impose his will upon the property of the vanquished, why not also upon his person? If he identifies sovereignty with supreme power without any adequate conception of its ethical basis, he is at least as advanced in his thinking as the conceptions of his time, which had not yet grasped the idea of the state as a moral organism. If he has no adequate notion of neutrality, believing it to be the duty of a nation to enlist its energies for what it deems the right side, rather than to disavow all responsibility for actions foreign to its own interests, he is at least supported in this by the opinion of the multitude even at the present time; and even among jurists the modern conception of neutrality is hardly a century old. If the new schools of jurisprudence make light of Natural Law as a foundation of public and private rights, it is not certain that Grotius may not yet be vindicated as representing a doctrine at least as clear as any other which has been substituted for it. But, finally, to all these criticisms it may be answered, that no great thinker can be justly estimated except in relation to his predecessors and contemporaries. Measured by these, Grotius stands alone among the jurists of his century for originality of thought and power of exposition.

  V. The Influence of Grotius’s Work.

  It was during his sojourn in Hamburg in 1633, eight years after the publication of his “De Jure,” and while he was still suffering from painful pecuniary embarrassment, that Europe suddenly awoke to a sense of his importance; and, almost at one time, Poland, Denmark, Spain, England, and Sweden all extended friendly invitations urging him to enter into their public service. His fame as a jurist had become international and, rudely repelled by his native Holland, he became the center of European interest. Gustavus Adolphus had placed the work of Grotius along side his Bible under his soldier’s pillow, as he prosecuted his campaigns in the Thirty Years’ War. The first edition of that work, written in Latin, the cosmopolitan language of learned Europe, had been quickly exhausted and widely scattered. Another had soon been called for at Paris, but the death of Buon, the publisher, created obstacles to its appearance. A second edition had appeared at Frankfort in 1626, another at Amsterdam in 1631, and still another with notes by the author in 1632. The book had aroused the thought of kings as well as of scholars, and in the circles of high influence everywhere in Europe the name of Grotius had become well known. His book had excited the most opposite sentiments and awakened the most contradictory judgments, but among lawyers and statesmen its reception was from the first generally marked by admiration. In spite of exile, poverty, and misfortune, Grotius had become a European celebrity and was about to enter into the reward of his labors. He had created a code for war and a programme of peace, and henceforth no statesman could afford to neglect him.

  Gustavus Adolphus, the king of Sweden, before his death on the battlefield of Lützen, had commended Grotius to his great Chancellor, Oxenstiern. By the death of Gustavus the Chancellor had, in 1633, recently come into the regency of the kingdom at a critical moment when a retreat from the bitter contest with the Empire seemed to be foredoomed unless prevented by the support and friendship of France. Recalling the commendation of the late king, Oxenstiern sought and found in Grotius an ambassador of Sweden to negotiate a new Franco-Swedish alliance. Accepting this appointment in 1634, Grotius arrived at Paris on his diplomatic mission on March 2d, 1635.

  Richelieu, having failed to draw the great jurist into the orbit of his influence as a satellite, resented his appearance in a character so influential and honorable as that of ambassador of Sweden, and Grotius made little progress in his negotiation. Preoccupied with literature, he took more interest in the composition of a sacred tragedy on “The Flight into Egypt” than in reminding France of the existing treaty of Heilbronn or consolidating the new Franco-Swedish alliance. Where Grotius the theorist failed, Oxenstiern, the practical statesman, by a few dexterous strokes of diplomacy during a brief visit to Paris, easily succeeded; and the ambassador’s mission was simplified to the rôle of a mere observer and reporter of occurrences.

  By taste, nature, and training, Grotius was a jurist and not a diplomatist, and he soon realized that the two vocations, if not diametrically opposed, are at least separated from each other by a vast interval. His diplomatic correspondence betrays the keen observer and the conscientious moralist rather than the accomplished negotiator. Among the observations recorded in his dispatches, one may be quoted as an example of his penetration and his humor. Speaking of the Dauphin, the future Louis XIV, he says: “His frightful and precocious avidity is a bad omen for neighboring peoples; for he is at present on his ninth nurse, whom he is rending and murdering as he has the others!”

  It is painful to behold the great father of international jurisprudence descending in his dispatches to petty details of precedence and alienating from himself the sympathies of his colleagues by ridiculous ceremonial pathies of his colleagues by ridiculous ceremonial pretensions. He would no longer visit Mazarin, because the Cardinal insisted on calling him Eminence instead of Excellence; Grotius considering this distinction of terms a slight upon his rank as ambassador. So persistent was he in these follies and so rancorous were the feuds that the apostle of peace elicited that, in December, 1636, less than two years after his arrival at Paris, he advised Sweden to send to France a simple Chargé d’Affaires, instead of an ambassador, in order to restore diplomatic relations.

  His quarrels concerning precedence, which rendered him an object of ridicule at the French Court, were not the only griefs of the ambassador of Sweden. Inadequately recompensed, he was obliged to wait two years for his salary and finally, being reduced to a condition in which he could no longer maintain existence otherwise, he was compelled to demand of the royal treasury of France a part of the subsidies promised to the army of his adopted country. Weary of his importunities, the France government repeatedly requested his recall. Disgusted with his mission, Grotius at last abandoned the duties of his office to the intriguing adventurer, Cerisante, who was sent to aid him, and buried himself in his books until his return to Sweden at his own request in 1645.

  Queen Christina of Sweden, a patroness of scholars, desirous of aiding Grotius and of retaining him in the service of her kingdom, made many offers and promises, but their execution being deferred, he became impatient of his lot, refused a position as counselor of state, and resolved to leave the country. His plan to abandon Stockholm secretly was prevented by a messenger of the queen who followed him to the port where he intended to embark and induced him to return for a farewell audience. With a handsome present of money and silver plate he took passage on a vessel placed at his disposition to convey him to Lübeck. Off the coast near Dantzic a violent tempest arose. On the 17th of August, 1645, the vessel was driven ashore and Grotius, overcome by his trying experiences, was taken ill at Rostock, where a few days later he passed away.

  The later years of his life had been chiefly devoted to plans for the establishment of peace in the religious world, whose dissensions gave him great distress of mind.

  The country of his birth, which had so long denied him citizenship, received him at last to the silent hospitality of the tomb. His body was taken to Delft, his native town, where his name is now held in grateful reverence.

  At the time when Grotius left Stockholm, the last of the plenipotentiaries had arrived at Münster and Osnabrück to attend the great European congress convoked to terminate the hostilities of the Thirty Years’ War. It is a tradition, but incapable of satisfactory proof, that it was with the purpose of being present at the councils of this congress that the author of “De Jure Belli ac Pacis“ left Sweden for Germany. However this may be, it is certain that the mediation of the king of Denmark at Osnabrück and of the papal legate at Münster, though unsuccessful, was in accordance with the idea of Grotius expressed in the words: “It would be useful, and indeed it is almost necessary, that certain congresses of Christian powers should be held, in which controversies that have arisen among some of them may be decided by others who are not interested.” The immediate establishment of an international tribunal, evidently contemplated in this suggestion, was not in harmony with the temper of those times; but it cannot be doubted that the Peace of Westphalia, whose treaties were to form a code of public law for Europe, was to a great degree an embodiment of the principles which Grotius was the first to enunciate.

  His “De Jure Belli ac Pacis“ had already become a classic even before the author’s death, and special professorships were soon founded in the universities to expound its principles. It would be tedious to name the numerous editions, translations, and commentaries which have given it an exceptional place in the literature of Europe. This task has been in part performed, however, by Dr. Rogge in his “Bibliotheca Grotiana,“ published at The Hague in 1883, and intended to be a full bibliography of Grotius’s works. The whole number of titles included is 462, but they do not comprise the writings of the generations of jurists who have been inspired by the great master or of the critics and biographers who have discussed his life and work.

  Tardily, but with full contrition for the bitter wrong done to one of her greatest and noblest sons, the memory of Grotius has received from his native land abundant recognition and commemoration. The appropriate tomb that marks his resting place in the Nieuwe Kerk at Delft, symbolical of his learning, genius, and renown, was erected in 1781. On the 17th of September, 1886, a noble statue of the great jurist was unveiled in the public square of his native town in front of the church which contains his tomb. Thus, more than a century after his death, and again still another century later, Holland has paid her tribute of respect to her illustrious citizen.

  The later years have also brought new honors to Grotius’s feet. At the recent Peace Conference at The Hague was completed the great structure of international comity whose corner stone was laid by him in 1625. It was most fitting that an international congress called in the interest of peace should blend with the negotiation of conventions for the pacific settlement of disputes between nations by a permanent tribunal, and for the amelioration of the laws of war, a celebration of the distinguished writer whose great thought had at last borne such precious fruits. In pursuance of instructions received from the Secretary of State, the United States Commission invited their colleagues in the congress, the heads of the Dutch universities, and the high civic authorities to join with them in observing the 4th of July by celebrating the memory of the great jurist. With appropriate exercises in the apse of the old church, near the monument of Grotius and mausoleum of William the Silent, the representatives of twenty-six nations gathered to do him honor. A beautiful commemorative wreath of silver was laid upon Grotius’s tomb bearing the inscription:

  to THE MEMORY OF HUGO GROTIUS in Reverence and Gratitudefrom the United States of Americaon theOccasion of the International Peace ConferenceatThe Hague July 4th, 1899.

  An eloquent oration by the Honorable Andrew D. White, Ambassador of the United States to Germany, and the head of the Commission, followed by other appropriate addresses, recalled the debt of mankind to the author of “De Jure Belli ac Pacis” and thus the plenipotentiaries of the nineteenth century did homage to the exile of the sixteenth who had taught the world that even in the shock and storm of battle humanity cannot escape the dominion of its own essential laws, and that even independent states are answerable before the bar of human nature for obedience to principles imposed by a Power higher than the prerogatives of princes or the will of nations.

  David J. Hill

  THE RIGHTS of WAR AND PEACE, including the law of nature and of nations.

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  7: Grotius on Prize and Booty

  Hugo Grotius, Commentary on the Law of Prize and Booty, ed. and with an Introduction by Martine Julia van Ittersum (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2006). Chapter: INTRODUCTION

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1718/77214 on 2009-10-28

  The copyright to this edition, in both print and electronic forms, is held by Liberty Fund, Inc.

  ---

  INTRODUCTION

  In the early morning hours of February 25, 1603, the Dutch captain Jacob van Heemskerck attacked the Portuguese merchantman Santa Catarina in the Strait of Singapore and obtained its peaceful surrender by nightfall. His prize was a rich one indeed. When the carrack and its cargo were auctioned in Amsterdam in the autumn of 1604, the gross proceeds amounted to more than three million Dutch guilders—approximately three hundred thousand pounds sterling.

  Piracy was nothing new in Asian waters, of course. For centuries it had been the occupation of choice of the inhabitants of the Riau Archipelago, south of the Strait of Singapore. Nor was Van Heemskerck the first European interloper to seize a carrack in the Portuguese East Indies. The English captain Sir James Lancaster had taken a richly laden carrack in the Strait of Malacca in October 1602, for example. Yet Lancaster had possessed a privateering commission from the Lord High Admiral of England. Van Heemskerck, on the other hand, lacked any such authorization to prey on the Portuguese merchant marine. His voyage to the East Indies was supposed to be a peaceful trading venture. The directors of the United Amsterdam Company had explicitly prohibited the use of force, except in cases of self-defense or for the reparation of any damages sustained. None of this seemed applicable to Van Heemskerck’s premeditated seizure of the Santa Catarina. Even if the Dutch Admiralty Board had authorized him to attack Portuguese shipping, the validity of such a privateering commission would have been highly questionable in international law. The northern Netherlands were in a state of rebellion against their rightful overlord, the king of Spain and Portugal, and achieved de jure independence only in 1648. It was up to a young and ambitious Dutch lawyer, Hugo Grotius (1583–1645), to sort out these problems in his first major work on natural law and natural rights theory, De Jure Praedae Commentarius (Commentary on the Law of Prize and Booty).

  Grotius did not produce any significant legal scholarship prior to the writing of De Jure Praedae. He had been trained in the liberal arts at the University of Leiden, where he was tutored in classical rhetoric, philology, and philosophy by the likes of Joseph Justus Scaliger, the greatest Protestant intellectual of his generation. Born into a patrician family in the town of Delft, Grotius could not pursue the studia humanitatis to the exclusion of more practical considerations. He obtained a doctorate in civil and canon law from the University of Orléans in 1598, which served as a stepping-stone to a brilliant political career in his country of birth. At the instigation of Johan van Oldenbarnevelt, the political leader of the Dutch Republic, Grotius was appointed public prosecutor of the province of Holland in 1607 and Pensionary of Rotterdam (“legal officer”) in 1613. In the latter capacity, he became a member of the provincial government, the Estates of Holland, and, in 1617, of the Estates General, the federal government of the Dutch Republic. However, a coup d’état by Maurice of Nassau, the Dutch Stadtholder (“governor”) and army leader, cut short Grotius’s meteoric rise in Dutch politics. He was put on trial for sedition in 1619 and banned to the castle of Loevestein. Two years of reflection and study at Loevestein turned Grotius into the finest legal scholar of his age. After escaping to Paris in a book trunk, he published major works like De Jure Belli ac Pacis (On the Law of War and Peace) in 1625 and Inleidinghe tot de Hollandsche Rechtsgeleerdheid (Introduction to Dutch Jurisprudence) in 1631. He died in the German port of Rostock at the age of sixty-two, an embittered exile and, like so many of his countrymen, the hapless victim of a shipwreck.

  Grotius was still a relatively unknown solicitor in The Hague when his friend Jan ten Grootenhuys asked him in September 1604 to write an apology for the United Dutch East India Company, or VOC (Verenigde Oostindische Compagnie). The Holland and Zeeland overseas trading companies, including the United Amsterdam Company, had merged in March 1602 to form the VOC, which enjoyed a government-sanctioned monopoly of Dutch trade with the East Indies. Jan ten Grootenhuys was the younger brother of VOC director Arent ten Grootenhuys and the liaison between Grotius and the Amsterdam merchants. Judging by Grootenhuys’s correspondence, a bulky volume like De Jure Praedae was not what the merchants had in mind when they commissioned a formal defense of Van Heemskerck’s seizure of the Santa Catarina. In his letter of October 15, 1604, Grootenhuys expressed the hope that “your apology, begun so felicitously, will be completed in a short while thanks to your attentiveness.”1 As far as the VOC directors were concerned, the verdict of the Amsterdam Admiralty Court of September 9, 1604, settled the legal aspects of the case quite satisfactorily. The Admiralty Court had confiscated the carrack and assigned it jointly to the VOC directors and Van Heemskerck and his crew. The directors realized, however, that it would take more than a verdict to win widespread support for their cause, both in domestic and international politics. It was imperative to placate Henry IV of France and James I of England, for example, who had recently made peace with the king of Spain and Portugal but who might be induced to back the Dutch diplomatically over their attacks on the Iberian colonial empire. In addition, Grotius should subtly remind the Estates General that it had virtually ordered the directors in November 1603 to go on the offensive against the Estado da India, and that it could not, therefore, disavow the company’s privateering campaign in good conscience. In sum, directors expected him to write a short, inflammatory pamphlet detailing the iniquity of the Portuguese in the East Indies, who deserved condign punishment for the ceaseless harassment and intimidation to which they had subjected Dutch merchants ever since Cornelis de Houtman’s voyage to Java in 1595–97. In order to supply Grotius with the right information, the directors put together a “book treating of the cruel, treasonous and hostile procedures of the Portuguese in the East Indies” and sent him various other materials that served to justify Van Heemskerck’s capture of the Santa Catarina.2

  Grotius took the directors’ documentation very seriously indeed and faithfully incorporated it in De Jure Praedae. The volume of “Indian reports” survives in his personal papers at the Dutch National Archives. It consists of twelve sworn statements of Dutch merchants and mariners, along with three diary extracts, which describe, in Grootenhuys’s words, “what the Portuguese have attempted against each of the voyages for the purpose of destroying our men.” At the behest of the Amsterdam VOC directors, these attestations and diary extracts were collected from the former employees of the regional overseas trading companies. There is every reason to believe that Grotius understood the “Indian reports” in the manner intended by Grootenhuys, as “countless proofs of [Portuguese] perfidy, tyranny and hostility.”3 They form the basis of the eleventh chapter of De Jure Praedae, a long narrative of the early Dutch voyages to the East Indies.

  Grotius had no intention of producing an objective historical account. Instead, he was eager to comply with the criteria of forensic rhetoric as defined by the orators of ancient Rome. Like Cicero and Quintilian, he considered it sufficient to present some, but not all, of the facts of the case. Yet he carefully refrained from any kind of willful distortion of the evidence at hand. In lawyerlike fashion, he decided to furnish material proof of Portuguese culpability in order to win his case in the court of public opinion. Thus he indicated on the manuscript’s last folio that the integral text of eight documents should be appended in Latin translation:

  • the edict of the Estates General of April 2, 1599
  • the verdict of the Admiralty Court of September 9, 1604
  • the decree of the Estates of Holland of September 1, 1604
  • the letter of the bishop of Malacca to the king of Spain and Portugal of April 30, 1600
  • Van Heemskerck’s correspondence with the captain of the Santa Catarina, and with the town councillors and governor of Malacca in March 1604

  Grotius considered these documents conclusive evidence of (1) a systematic Portuguese campaign to oust Dutch merchants from the East Indies, (2) the Santa Catarina ’s capture in a just war, and (3) its rightful possession by the VOC. English translations are included in appendix I below.

  His painstaking reconstruction of the early Dutch voyages to the East Indies notwithstanding, Grotius must soon have realized that he could never satisfactorily relate the “facts” of the case to its underlying legal principles in a pamphlet written on the spur of the moment. He probably finished chapter eleven of De Jure Praedae in the winter of 1604–5 and pointedly ignored Grootenhuys’s request for a quick publication. He opted instead for an in-depth study of the “universal law of war,” revolutionizing natural law and natural rights theories in the process. He admitted as much in his letter to the Heidelberg town councillor George Lingelsheim of November 1, 1606, wherein he announced the completion of his “little treatise on Indian affairs.” He confidently declared that, although “the universal law of war” was a tried and tested subject, he had thrown new light on it by means of “a fixed order of teaching, [viz.] the right proportion of divine and human law mixed together with the dictates of philosophy.”4

  Grotius’s decision to investigate “the universal law of war” resulted in a significant expansion of the manuscript—it consists of 163 closely written folios—and a somewhat lopsided organization. The first half of the manuscript contains the introduction, followed by nine chapters of legal principles, the so-called Dogmatica de Jure Praedae. The second half consists of Grotius’s account of the early Dutch voyages to the East Indies in chapter eleven and a Ciceronian-style closing argument that covers chapters twelve through fifteen and presents VOC privateering as just, honorable, and beneficial.

  The second chapter of De Jure Praedae, also known as the Prolegomena, contains an elaborate system of nine rules and thirteen laws (reproduced in appendix A), which Grotius deduced from an individual’s right to self-defense and the law of inoffensiveness. The sovereign, free individual was indeed the starting point of his political and legal philosophy. Yet Grotius should not be considered a proponent of democratic government and inalienable individual rights in a twenty-first-century sense of the word. He argued, for example, that human beings could become slaves of their own volition, in which case their total subjection to the will of others constituted a valid contract. In addition, he strenuously denied that the Dutch war of independence (1568–1648) had originated in a popular revolt against Philip II of Spain and Portugal. Instead, he reserved the right of resistance for the traditional governing elite, the Dutch magistrates who were bearers of the “marks of sovereignty.” In Grotius’s view, it was the king’s unconstitutional behavior that had forced the provincial Estates, assembled in the Estates General, to take up arms to defend themselves, acquiring full sovereignty and independence in the process.

  Although Grotius does not qualify as a democrat or human rights activist, his justification of Van Heemskerck’s capture of the Santa Catarina was unprecedented in early modern political and legal philosophy. He was the first to introduce the notion of subjective rights—man was born a sovereign and free individual who could execute his own right—and used it to defend the establishment of a Dutch empire of trade in the East and West Indies. He boldly argued in chapter thirteen of De Jure Praedae that Van Heemskerck had acted as the agent of a sovereign and independent Dutch state, which could order indiscriminate attacks on Iberian shipping as part of its public war against Philip III of Spain and Portugal. Few of Grotius’s contemporaries would have agreed with this analysis. When he learned of the Twelve Years’ Truce between Spain and the United Provinces in April 1609, Henry IV of France famously declared that his Dutch allies might be free but were certainly not sovereign and independent. Grotius would have had a hard time convincing the statesmen and lawyers of his age that Van Heemskerck’s capture of the Santa Catarina was a legitimate act of public war. Yet his argument in chapter twelve of De Jure Praedae was more radical still: a trading company might legitimately engage in a private war against other merchants, or even against the agents of a sovereign state, in order to enforce the natural law, which mandated freedom of trade and navigation. Granted that the United Provinces had an ambiguous status in international politics, its inhabitants were nonetheless entitled to freedom of trade and navigation, a right innate to all free peoples, which they could enforce themselves in the absence of an independent and effective judge. Since the right to self-defense made private individuals judges and executioners in their own cause, a company of merchants like the VOC must, under certain circumstances, also qualify as a full-fledged actor in international politics. When confronted by Portuguese harassment and intimidation, the VOC had every right to take up arms in order to safeguard its trade with Asian princes and peoples. Civil magistrates could not be expected to call the Portuguese to account on the high seas, or in countries where judicial systems were either weak or nonexistent. Hence it fell to the VOC to enforce freedom of trade and navigation in the East Indies and to punish Portuguese transgressions of the natural law by means of a just war.

  Once it was established that Van Heemskerck had engaged in a just war, Grotius could simply cite the law of war to show that he was entitled to reparations for injuries sustained by himself, his employers, and the Dutch Republic. Grotius admitted that the Portuguese had never harmed Van Heemskerck in his own person or made any attempts on his crew, cargo, and fleet. Yet chapter eleven of De Jure Praedae was proof that Portuguese harassment and intimidation of the natives had materially damaged Dutch prospects for trade in Monsoon Asia. Van Heems-kerck himself had not been able to return to the Spice Islands, for example, which were laid waste by the armada of André Furtado de Mendonça in the summer of 1602. If the dismal fate of Ambon and Ternate was not sufficient reason to engage the Estado da India, the execution of seventeen Dutch sailors in the Portuguese port of Macao in November 1602 should certainly qualify as a casus belli. The sailors belonged to the crew of Jacob van Neck, who, like Van Heemskerck, was employed by the United Amsterdam Company. They had committed no crime except to unwittingly enter the harbor of Macao. Their execution was a blatant injustice, which Van Heemskerck could not ignore in his capacity as agent of the Dutch government and servant of the United Amsterdam Company. Predictably, Grotius concluded that his capture of the Santa Catarina had been justified in order to obtain damages on behalf of his employer and the Estates General.

  Grotius’s demonstration had been adumbrated in the verdict of the Amsterdam Admiralty Court, which, in turn, had derived part of its argument from Van Heemskerck’s correspondence with the directors of the United Amsterdam Company and the minutes of his council of naval officers (see appendixes I and II below). They show that Van Heemskerck had already interpreted his commission as authorizing the use of force for the purpose of safeguarding Dutch trade in the East Indies and obtaining damages for the United Amsterdam Company. The Amsterdam Admiralty Court had not just endorsed Van Heems-kerck’s reading of his commission, but also cited the edict of the Estates General of April 2, 1599, commanding its subjects to attack Iberian shipping indiscriminately, and added some inchoate references to natural law and the law of nations. Clearly, the distinct elements of Grotius’s argument in De Jure Praedae were already present in the mode of reasoning adopted by Van Heemskerck, the VOC directors, and the Amsterdam Admiralty Court. Yet it was Grotius who turned this hotchpotch of legal grounds into a seamless whole by means of a radical redefinition of natural law and natural rights.

  In his letter to George Lingelsheim of November 1606, Grotius did not just announce the completion of De Jure Praedae, but also wondered whether it should appear in print “as it was written, or only those parts which pertain to the universal law of war.”5 With the exception of its twelfth chapter, De Jure Praedae did indeed remain in manuscript until the nineteenth century. Grotius must have realized that it was not opportune to publish a defense of Dutch privateering in the East Indies on the eve of peace and truce negotiations between the United Provinces and Philip III of Spain and Portugal. Yet he continued to feel a strong commitment to the VOC. In March 1606, he drafted a petition for the VOC directors, for example, wherein he asked the Estates General to forgo its legal share of all booty taken in the East Indies (20 percent) out of consideration for the great expenses incurred by the company in fighting the Portuguese. After he had finished De Jure Praedae, he wrote several draft letters for the VOC directors, addressed to various Asian rulers, all allies of the VOC. Grotius assured them of the company’s continuous military and naval support but requested that they sell spices exclusively to the Dutch as a quid pro quo.6 When the Dutch East Indies trade became a topic of discussion at the Ibero-Dutch peace conference in The Hague in February 1608, Grotius provided the VOC directors with a road map for the negotiations and correctly predicted that the privateering war would continue in the East Indies, regardless of whether a treaty should be concluded in Europe. At the request of the Zeeland VOC directors, he published the twelfth chapter of De Jure Praedae as Mare Liberum (The Free Sea) in March 1609. Although the pamphlet appeared too late to influence the negotiations for the Twelve Years’ Truce—the treaty was signed on April 9, 1609—it had clearly been conceived by the VOC directors as a means to thwart Iberian demands for a Dutch withdrawal from the East Indies and “persuade both our government and neighboring princes to staunchly defend our, as well as the nation’s, rights.”7 The publication of Mare Liberum hardly marked the end of Grotius’s involvement in the company’s affairs. He served as the VOC’s chief negotiator at the Anglo-Dutch colonial conferences in London in 1613 and The Hague in 1615, for example, which induced Richard Hakluyt the Younger to produce the first English translation of Mare Liberum.8 When living in exile in Paris in 1628, he could justifiably claim in a letter to his brother-in-law, Nicolaas van Reigersberch, that “he merited thus much of this company that, even if all others sleep, they ought to keep watch over me.”9

  [1. ]Document V in appendix II.

  [2. ]W. Ph. Coolhaas, “Een bron van het historische gedeelte van Hugo de Groot’s De Jure Praedae,” Bijdragen en Mededelingen van het Historisch Genootschap 79 (1965): 415–26.

  [3. ]Document V in appendix II.

  [4. ]Document VIII in appendix II.

  [5. ]Ibid.

  [6. ]Document IX of appendix II.

  [7. ]Document X of appendix II.

  [8. ]Hugo Grotius, The Free Sea, trans. Richard Hakluyt, with William Welwod’s Critique and Grotius’s Reply, ed. David Armitage (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2004).

  [9. ]Hugo Grotius to N. van Reigersberch, June 12, 1628, in Briefwisseling van Hugo Grotius, ed. P. C. Molhuysen, B. L. Meulenbroek, and H. J. M. Nellen, vol. 3 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1961), 323.

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  8: Jesus on War

  John Cecil Cadoux, The Early Christian Attitude to War: A Contribution to the History of Christian Ethics, with a Foreword by the Rev. W.E. Orchard, D.D. (London: Headly Bros, 1919). Chapter: PART I: THE TEACHING OF JESUS

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/648/39891 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  PART I

  THE TEACHING OF JESUS

  The Range of Jesus’ Teaching on the Subject of War.—There is a sense in which it is true to say that Jesus gave his disciples no explicit teaching on the subject of war. The application of his ethical principles to the concrete affairs of life was not something which could be seen and taught in its entirety from the very first, but was bound to involve a long series of more or less complex problems; and the short lapse and other special conditions of his earthly life rendered it impossible for him to pronounce decisions on more than a very few of these. Upon large tracts of human conduct he rarely or never had occasion to enter, and hence little or no specific teaching of his is recorded concerning them. A familiar instance of this silence of Jesus on a matter on which we none the less have little doubt as to the import of his teaching, is the absence from the Gospels of any explict prohibition of slavery. And what is true of slavery is also true—though to a much more limited extent—of war. Whatever be the bearing of his precepts and his example on the subject, the fact remains that, as far as we know, no occasion presented itself to him for any explicit pronouncement on the question as to whether or not his disciples might serve as soldiers. It does not however follow that no definite conclusion on the point is to be derived from the Gospels. The circumstances of the time suffice to explain why an absolutely definite ruling was not given. Jesus was living and working among Palestinian Jews, among whom the proportion of soldiers and policemen to civilians must have been infinitesimal. No Jew could be compelled to serve in the Roman legions; and there was scarcely the remotest likelihood that any disciple of Jesus would be pressed into the army of Herodes Antipas or his brother Philippos or into the small body of Temple police at Jerusalem. But further, not only can the silence of Jesus on the concrete question be accounted for, without supposing that he had an open mind in regard to it, but a large and important phase of his teaching and practical life cannot be accounted for without the supposition that he regarded acts of war as entirely impermissible to himself and his disciples. The evidence for this last statement is cumulative, and can be adequately appreciated only by a careful examination of the sayings in which Jesus utters general principles that seem to have a more or less direct bearing on war and those in which he explicitly alludes to it, and by an earnest endeavour to arrive at the meaning that is latent in them.

  Statements of Jesus inconsistent with the Lawfulness of War for Christians.—I. The first precept of which account has to be taken is Jesus’ reiteration of the Mosaic commandment, Thou shalt not kill. This commandment appears in the Sermon on the Mount as the first of a series of Mosaic ordinances which, so far from being narrowed down as too exacting, are either reinforced or else replaced by stricter limitations in the same direction.1 It is included in the list of commandments which Jesus enjoined upon the ruler who asked him what he would have to do in order to inherit eternal life.2 ‘Acts of homicide’ () are mentioned by him among the evil things that issue from the heart of man.3 It is commonly argued that this commandment of Jesus refers only to acts of private murder, and does not apply to the taking of life in war or in the administration of public justice. It is true that the Hebrew word used in the Mosaic commandment has almost exclusively the meaning of murder proper, and is not used of manslaughter in war, and that the Mosaic Law in general certainly did not prohibit either this latter act or capital punishment. On the other hand, it has to be noted (1) that the Hebrew word for ‘murder’ is used two or three times of a judicial execution,4 (2) that the Greek word which appears in the Gospel passages quoted has the more general sense of ‘killing,’ and is used of slaughter in war both in classical Greek5 and in the Septuagint,6 and (3) that, while there is undoubtedly an ethical distinction between murder or assassination on the one hand and slaughter in war on the other, there is also an ethical similarity between them, and the extension of the Mosaic prohibition to cases to which it was not commonly thought to apply, but with which it was not wholly unconnected, was just such a treatment as we know Jesus imposed upon other enactments of the Jewish Law.1

  II. Still more explicit is the well-known non-resistance teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. I quote from the version of that Sermon in Mt v : (38) “Ye have heard that it was said : ‘Eye for eye’ and ‘tooth for tooth.’ (39) But I tell you not to withstand him who is evil : but whoever strikes thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also : (40) and if anyone wishes to go to law with thee and take away thy tunic, let him have thy cloak also : (41) and whoever ‘impresses’ thee (to go) one mile, go two with him. (42) Give to him that asks of thee, and from him who wishes to borrow of thee, turn not away. (43) Ye have heard that it was said : ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.’ (44) But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, (45) in order that ye may become sons of your Father who is in heaven, for He raises His sun on evil and good (alike) and rains upon righteous and unrighteous. (46) For if ye love (only) those who love you, what reward have ye? do not even the taxgatherers do the same? (47) and if ye greet your brothers only, what extra (thing) do ye do? do not even the gentiles do the same? (48) Ye then shall be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”1 Volumes of controversy have been written as to the real import and implications of these critical words, and great care is necessary in order to discover exactly how much they mean. The obvious difficulties in the way of obeying them have led to more than one desperate exegetical attempt to escape from them. There is, for instance, the familiar plea (already alluded to) that Jesus meant his followers to adopt the spirit of his teaching, without being bound by the letter2 —a plea which, as has been pointed out by no less an authority than Bishop Gore, commonly results in ignoring both letter and spirit alike.1 Granting that the spirit is the more important side of the matter, we may well ask, If in our Lord’s view the right spirit issues in a ‘letter’ of this kind, how can a ‘letter’ of a diametrically opposite kind be consonant with the same spirit? Another hasty subterfuge is to say that these precepts are counsels of perfection valid only in a perfect society and not seriously meant to be practised under existing conditions.2 The utter impossibility of this explanation becomes obvious as soon as we recollect that in a perfect state of society there would be no wrongs to submit to and no enemies to love.

  A less shallow misinterpretation argues that Jesus meant this teaching to govern only the personal feelings and acts of the disciple in his purely private capacity, and left untouched his duty—as a member of society and for the sake of social welfare—to participate in the authoritative and official restraint and punishment of wrongdoers.3 Whether or no this interpretation be sound ethical teaching for the present day, the idea that it represents the meaning of Jesus cannot be allowed to pass unchallenged. For in this very passage, Jesus exhibits society’s authorized court of justice, not as duly punishing the offender whom the injured disciple has lovingly pardoned and then handed over to its jurisdiction, but as itself committing the wrong that has to be borne : “if anyone wishes to go to law with thee, and take away thy tunic,” and so on. But further than that, the Lex Talionis—that ancient Mosaic law requiring, in a case of strife between two men resulting in injury to one of them, “life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe”1 —was no mere authorization of private revenge, permitting within certain limits the indulgence of personal resentment, but a public measure designed in the interests of society as a restraint upon wrongdoing, and doubtless meant to be carried out by (or under the supervision of) the public officers of the community. Yet this law Jesus quotes for the sole purpose of forbidding his disciples to apply it. We are therefore driven to the conclusion that he regarded the duty of neighbourly love as excluding the infliction of public penalties on behalf of society, as well as the indulgence of personal resentment.2

  III. In entire harmony with this conclusion is Jesus’ refusal to advance his ideals by political or coercive means. In the one corner of the Roman world where the passion for an independent national state still survived, he had no use for that passion. As the incident of the tribute-money shows, he felt but coldly towards the fierce yearning of his fellow-countrymen for national independence and greatness, and he rejected the idea of the Messiah which was framed in conformity with these aspirations. At his Temptation, if we may so paraphrase the story, he refused to take possession of the kingdoms of the world, feeling that to do so would be equivalent to bowing the knee to Satan. It is difficult to imagine any other ground for this feeling than the conviction that there was something immoral, something contrary to the Will of God, in the use of the only means by which world-rule could then be obtained, namely, by waging a successful war. The idea that the wrong he was tempted to commit was the indulgence of pride or an eagerness for early success does not meet the point : for was he not in any case invested by God with supreme authority over men, and was it not his life’s work to bring in the Kingdom as speedily as possible? Assuming that the use of military force did not appear to him to be in itself illegitimate, why should he not have used it? Had he not the most righteous of causes? Would not the enterprise have proved in his hands a complete success? Would he not have ruled the world much better than Tiberius was doing? Why then should the acquisition of political ascendancy be ruled out as involving homage to Satan? But on the assumption that he regarded the use of violence and injury as a method that was in itself contrary to the Will of God, which contained among its prime enactments the laws of love and gentleness, his attitude to the suggestion of world-empire becomes easily intelligible.1 Other incidents bear out this conclusion. He refuses to be taken and made a king by the Galilaeans2 : he does not stir a finger to compel Antipas to release the Baptist or to punish him for the Baptist’s death or to prevent or avenge any other of the many misdeeds of “that she-fox.”3 He was not anxious to exact from Pilatus a penalty for the death of those Galilaeans whose blood the governor had mingled with their sacrifices.4 He made no attempt to constrain men to do good or desist from evil by the application of physical force or the infliction of physical injuries. He did not go beyond a very occasional use of his personal ascendancy in order to put a stop to proceedings that appeared to him unseemly.5 He pronounces a blessing on peace-makers as the children of God and on the gentle as the inheritors of the earth.6 He laments the ignorance of Jerusalem as to ‘the (things that make) for peace.’7 He demands the forgiveness of all injuries as the condition of receiving the divine pardon for oneself.8 His own conduct on the last day of his life is the best comment on all this teaching. He does not try to escape, he offers no resistance to the cruelties and indignities inflicted upon him, and forbids his followers to strike a blow on his behalf.1 He addresses mild remonstrances to the traitor and to his captors, 2 and at the moment of crucifixion prays to God to pardon his enemies : “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”3

  IV. The words in which Jesus expressed his disapproval of gentile ‘authority’ point in the same direction. “Ye know that those who are reckoned to rule over the gentiles lord it over them, and their great men overbear them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be slave of all. For the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life (as) a ransom for many.”4 The service rendered by the Master was thus to be the pattern of that rendered by the disciples. That this service did not mean the abnegation of all authority as such is clear from the fact that Jesus himself exercised authority over his disciples and others,5 and furthermore expected the former to exercise it as leaders of his Church.6 What sort of authority then was Jesus condemning in this passage? What difference was there between the authority of the gentile ruler and that of himself and his apostles? Surely this, that the latter rested on spiritual ascendancy and was exercised only over those who willingly submitted to it, whereas the former was exercised over all men indiscriminately whether they liked it or not, and for this reason involved the use of the sanctions of physical force and penalties. There can be no doubt that it was this fact that caused Jesus to tell his disciples : “It is not so among you.”

  V. Further evidence to the same effect is furnished by three incidental utterances of Jesus.. (a) The first of these occurs in the episode of the adulteress who was brought to Him for judgment—an admittedly historical incident.1 The Pharisees who brought her were quite right in saying that the Law of Moses required the infliction of the death-penalty as a punishment for her offence.2 With all his reverence for the Mosaic Law and his belief in its divine origin,3 Jesus here refuses to have any hand in giving effect to it, and sets it on one side in favour of an altogether different method of dealing with the guilty party. “Neither do I condemn thee,” he says to her, “go, and sin no more.”4 The incident reveals the determination of Jesus to take no part in the use of physical violence in the judicial punishment of wrongdoers. (b) The second utterance expresses a corresponding disapproval of participation in warfare on the part of his disciples. It occurs in his apocalyptic discourse, in which he depicts the devastation of Judaea and the defilement of the Temple at the hands of a foreign foe, and bids his followers in the midst of these distresses ‘flee to the mountains.’1 It is true that too much ought not to be built on this saying; for it occurs in a highly problematical context, and many scholars refuse to regard it as an actual utterance of Jesus at all,2 and the whole passage, even if authentic, is not very easily explained. Still, if it be a fact that Jesus anticipated a gentile attack on Judaea and Jerusalem, and bade his followers flee instead of resisting it, that fact is not without significance for the question before us. (c) The third utterance forbids the use of the sword in a case which, in many respects, appeals most strongly to the modern mind, namely, the defence of others. When Jesus was being arrested in the garden of Gethsemane, Peter drew a sword on his Master’s behalf and attacked one of the High Priest’s servants. Jesus, however, checked him : “Put back thy sword into its place : for all who take the sword shall perish by the sword.”3 It is only by an unreal isolation of the events of Jesus’ passion from the operation of all the usual moral and spiritual laws which govern humanity, that one can deny some sort of general application to the words here used. The circumstances of the case were of course in a measure special, but so is every incident in actual life : and, inasmuch as the grim truth with which Jesus supported his injunction was perfectly general, one might reasonably argue that the injunction itself was more than an order meant to meet a particular case, and had in it something of the universality of a general principle of conduct.1

  To sum up, whatever may be thought of the weakness or the strength of any one of the various arguments that have just been adduced, it can hardly be questioned that, in conjunction with one another, they constitute a strong body of evidence for the belief that Jesus both abjured for himself and forbade to his disciples all use of physical violence as a means of checking or deterring wrongdoers, not excluding even that use of violence which is characteristic of the public acts of society at large as distinct from the individual. On this showing, participation in warfare is ruled out as inconsistent with Christian principles of conduct.2

  Statements of Jesus and other Considerations apparently legitimizing Warfare forChristians.—There are, however, a number of passages and incidents in the Gospels, which are thought by many to show that Jesus’ disuse of violence and disapproval of war were not absolute, or at any rate are not binding on his followers to-day; and it remains to be seen whether any of them constitutes a valid objection to the conclusion we have just reached.

  I. To begin with, in the very passage in which the non-resistance teaching is given, occurs the precept : “Whoever ‘impresses’ thee (to go) one mile, go two with him.”1 It is urged that the word translated ‘impresses’ is a technical term for the requirement of service by the State, and that Jesus’ words therefore enjoin compliance even with a compulsory demand for military service. But it is clear that military service, as distinct from general state-labour, is not here in question : for (1) the technical term here used referred originally to the postal system of the Persian Empire, the not being a soldier or recruiting officer, but the king’s mounted courier; (2) instances of its later usage always seem to refer to forced labour or service in general, not to service as a soldier2 ; and (3) the Jews were in any case exempt from service in the Roman legions, so that if, as seems probable, the Roman ‘angaria’ is here referred to, military service proper cannot be what is contemplated.

  II. Secondly, it is pointed out that, in the little intercourse Jesus had with soldiers, we find no mention made of any disapproval on his part of the military calling. His record in this respect is somewhat similar to that of the Baptist, 3 whose example, however, must not be taken as indicating or determining the attitude of his greater successor. When Jesus was asked by a gentile centurion, in the service of Herodes at Capernaum, to cure his servant, he not only did so, without (as far as the record goes) uttering any disapproval of the man’s profession, but even expressed appreciation of his faith in believing (on the analogy of his own military authority) that Jesus could cure the illness at a distance by a simple word of command.1 No conclusion, however, in conflict with the position already reached can be founded on this incident. The attempt to draw such a conclusion is at best an argument from silence. Considering the number of things Jesus must have said of which no record has been left, we cannot be at all sure that he said nothing on this occasion about the illegitimacy of military service for his own followers. And even supposing he did not, is it reasonable to demand that his views on this point should be publicly stated every time he comes across a soldier? Allowance has also to be made for the fact that the centurion was a gentile stranger, who, according to Luke’s fuller narrative, was not even present in person, and in any case was not a candidate for discipleship. The utmost we can say is that at this particular moment the mind of Jesus was not focused on the ethical question now before us : but even that much is precarious, and moreover, if true, furnishes nothing inconsistent with our previous conclusion.

  III. The expulsion of the traders from the Temple-courts1 is often appealed to as the one occasion on which Jesus had recourse to violent physical coercion, thereby proving that his law of gentleness and nonresistance was subject to exceptions under certain circumstances. Exactly what there was in the situation that Jesus regarded as justifying such an exception has not been shown. If however the narratives given by the four evangelists be attentively read in the original, it will be seen (1) that the whip of cords is mentioned in the Fourth Gospel only, which is regarded by most critical scholars as historically less trustworthy than the other three, and as having in this instance disregarded historical exactitude by putting the narrative at the beginning instead of at the close of Jesus’ ministry,2 (2) that even the words of the Fourth Gospel do not necessarily mean that the whip was used on anyone besides the cattle,3 (3) that the action of Jesus, so far as the men were concerned, is described in all four accounts by the same word, . This word means literally ‘to cast out,’ but is also used of Jesus being sent into the wilderness,4 of him expelling the mourners from Jairus’ house,5 of God sending out workers into his vineyard,6 of a man taking out a splinter from the eye1 of a householder bringing forth things out of his store,2 of a man taking money out of his purse,3 and of a shepherd sending sheep out of the fold.4 Here therefore it need mean no more than an authoritative dismissal. It is obviously impossible for one man to drive out a crowd by physical force or even by the threat of it. What he can do is to overawe them by his presence and the power of his personality, and expel them by an authoritative command. That apparently is what Jesus did.5 In any case, no act even remotely comparable to wounding or killing is sanctioned by his example on this occasion.

  IV. In his prophecies of the Last Things, Jesus spoke of the wars of the future. He said that nation would rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom, that wars and rumours of wars would be heard of, that Judaea would be devastated, Jerusalem besieged and taken by the gentiles, and the Temple defiled and destroyed.6 It is difficult to separate these announcements from those other general prophecies in which calamity is foretold as the approaching judgment of God upon the sins of communities and individuals.7 In this connection too we have to consider the parabolic descriptions of the king who, angered at the murder of his slaves, sent his armies, destroyed the murderers, and burnt their city,1 of the other king who executed the citizens that did not wish him to rule over them,2 and of other kings and masters who punished their offending servants with more or less violence.3 These passages seem to prove beyond question that, in Jesus’ view, God under certain conditions punishes sinners with terrible severity, and that one notable example of such punishment would be the complete overthrow of the Jewish State as the result of a disastrous war with Rome. That being so, may we not infer from God’s use of the Roman armies as the rod of His anger, that Jesus would have granted that under certain circumstances his own followers might make themselves the agents of a similar visitation by waging war? As against such an inference, we have to bear in mind (I) that wherever the infliction appears as the direct act of God, the language is always highly parabolic, and the exact interpretation proportionately difficult; nothing more than the single point of divine punishment is indicated by these parables; even the more fundamental idea of divine love—the context in which the divine severity must admittedly be read—is omitted. Can we infer from the parable of the hardworked slave,4 illustrating the extent of the service we owe to God, that Jesus approves of a master so treating his slaves, or from the parabolic description of himself plundering Satan,5 that he sanctions burglary? (2) that the difference between divine and human prerogatives in the matter of punishing sin is deep and vital, God’s power, love, knowledge, and authority making just for Him what would be unjust if done by man1 ; (3) that, in the case of the Jewish war, the instruments of God’s wrath were unenlightened gentiles who in a rebellion could see nothing better to do than to crush the rebels; duty might well be very different for Christian disciples; (4) that the conception of foreign foes being used to chastise God’s people was one familiar to readers of the Hebrew Scriptures, and did not by any means imply the innocence of the foes in question2 (5) that, while Jesus holds up the divine perfection in general as a model for our imitation, yet, when he descends to particulars, it is only the gentle side of God’s method of dealing with sinners—to the express exclusion of the punitive side—which he bids us copy,3 and which he himself copied in that supreme act in which he revealed God’s heart and moved sinners to repentance, namely, his submission to the cross.

  V. Difficulty has sometimes been raised over Jesus’ illustrative allusions to war. There cannot be any question as to the purely metaphorical character of his picture of the two kings at war with unequal forces—given to enforce the duty of counting in advance the cost of discipleship,1 or of his allusion to violent men snatching the Kingdom or forcing their way into it2 —a demand for eagerness and enterprise in spiritual things.3 The parabolic description of the king sending his armies to avenge his murdered slaves4 has already been dealt with. More easily misunderstood is the passage in which Jesus states that he was sent not to bring peace to the earth, but a sword.5 But there is no real difficulty here: Jesus is simply saying that, as a result of his coming, fierce antipathies will arise against his adherents on the part of their fellow-men. The context clearly reveals the meaning; the word ‘sword’ is used metaphorically for dissension, and a result is announced as if it were a purpose, quite in accordance with the deterministic leanings of the Semitic mind. No sanction for the Christian engaging in war can be extracted from the passage, any more than a sanction of theft can be drawn from Jesus’ comparison of his coming to that of a thief in the night.1 More serious difficulty is occasioned by an incident narrated by Luke in his story of the Last Supper. After reminding his disciples that they had lacked nothing on their mission-journeys, though unprovided with purse, wallet, and shoes, Jesus counsels them now to take these necessaries with them, and adds : “And let him who has no sword sell his cloak and buy one. For I tell you that this which has been written must be accomplished in me, ‘And he was reckoned with the lawless.’ For that which concerneth me has (its own) accomplishment” . They tell him there are two swords there, and he replies abruptly : “It is enough.”2 No entirely satisfactory explanation of this difficult passage has yet been given.3 The obvious fact that two swords were not enough to defend twelve men seems to rule out a literal interpretation; and the closing words of Jesus strongly suggest that the disciples, in referring to actual swords, had misunderstood him. The explanation suggested by Harnack,4 that the sword was meant metaphorically to represent the stedfast defence of the Gospel under the persecution now approaching, is perhaps the best within our reach at present : at all events, until one obviously better has been produced, we cannot infer from the passage that Jesus was really encouraging his disciples to go about armed. Peter took a sword with him that very night, but on the first occasion on which he used it, he was told by Jesus not to do so.1

  VI. It is clear that Jesus accorded a certain recognition to the civil governments of his day. It is doubtful whether the Temptation-story compels us to believe that he regarded the Roman Empire as objectively Satanic : an explanation of the story has been offered which involves no such supposition.2 He called the Roman coins ‘the things that belong to Caesar,’3 and bade the Jews pay them to their owner : in the Fourth Gospel he is made to tell Pilatus that the latter’s magisterial power over him had been given to him ‘from above’4 : he revered King David and the Queen of Sheba5 : he spoke of the old Mosaic Law, with its pains and penalties, as ‘the word of God’6 : he reckoned ‘judgment’ (? = the administration of justice) among the weightier matters of the Law, and rebuked the scribes and Pharisees for neglecting it7 : courtiers, judges, rulers, and councillors were numbered among his friends and admirers8 : he was scrupulously obedient to the Jewish Law,9 and paid the Templetax, even though he though it unfair10 he enjoined compliance with the State’s demand for forced labour11 : he would undertake no sort of active opposition to the governments of his day : he submitted meekly to the official measures that led to his own death; and his refusal to be made a king by the Galilaeans1 marks a certain submissiveness even towards Herodes, for whom he seems to have had much less respect than for other rulers. Does not all this—it may be asked— does not, in particular, the command to ‘Give back to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,’ carry with it the duty of rendering military service if and when the government demands it? Important as the words about Caesar doubtless are, they must not be made to bear more than their fair weight of meaning. Caesar, it was well understood, had formally exempted the Jews from service in his legions; and the question was, not whether they should fight for him, but whether they should bow to his rule and pay his taxes. To part with one’s property at the demand of another person does not make one responsible for all that person’s doings, nor does it imply a readiness to obey any and every command that that person may feel he has a right to issue. Jesus sanctioned disobedience to Caesar in forbidding his followers to deny him before kings and governors2 ; and refusal to disobey his ethical teaching at Caesar’s bidding would be but a natural extension of this precept. If it be urged that the phrase and the other evidence quoted point to some sort of real justification on Jesus’ part of the imperial and other governments, it may be replied that that justification was relative only—relative, that is, to the imperfect and unenlightened state of the agents concerned. The fact that they were not as yet ready to be his own followers was an essential condition of his approval of their public acts. That approval, therefore, did not affect the ethical standard he demanded from his own disciples.1

  VII. It is commonly assumed that obedience to the non-resistance teaching of Jesus is so obviously inconsistent with the peace and well-being of society that he could not have meant this teaching to be taken literally. Thus Professor Bethune-Baker says : “If the right of using force to maintain order be denied, utter social disorganization must result. Who can imagine that this was the aim of one who. . . ? It was not Christ’s aim; and He never gave any such command.” 2 “The self-forgetting altruism, the ideal humanity and charity,” says Schell, “would, by a literal fulfilment of certain precepts of the Sermon on the Mount, offer welcome encouragement to evil propensities, and by its indulgence would even provoke the bad to riot in undisciplined excess.”3 “A country,” says Loisy, “where all the good people conformed to these maxims would, instead of resembling the kingdom of heaven, be the paradise of thieves and criminals.”4 This plausible argument is however erroneous, for it ignores in one way or another three important facts : (I) The ability to practise this teaching of Jesus is strictly relative to the status of discipleship : the Teacher issues it for immediate acceptance, not by the whole of unredeemed humanity, still less by any arbitrarily chose local group of people (one nation, for instance, as distinct from others), but by the small though growing company of his own personal disciples. It is essentially a law for the Christian community. (2) The negative attitude which this teaching involves is more than compensated for by its positive counterpart. Jesus and his disciples use no force, but they are on that account by no means ciphers in the struggle against sin. The changes wrought by Jesus in the Gerasene maniac, the prostitute, the adulteress, the extortionate taxgatherer, and the thief on the cross, show what a far more efficient reformer of morals he was than the police. As we shall see later, his first followers worked on the same lines, and met with the same splendid success. Nor is it very difficult to see how enfeebled would have been this policy of Jesus and the early Christians, if it had been combined by them with a use of coercion or of the punitive power of the state. True, as long as man’s will is free, moral suasion is not bound to succeed in any particular case; but the same is true also of the use of force. The point is that the principles of Jesus, as a general policy, so far from leaving human sin unchecked, check it more effectively than any coercion or penalization can do. (3) The growth of the Christian community is a gradual growth, proceeding by the accession of one life at a time. Two gradual processes have thus to go on pari passu, firstly, a gradual diminution in the number of those who use violence to restrain wrong, and secondly, a gradual diminution in the number of those who seem to them to need forcible restraint.1 The concomitance of these processes obviously means no such “utter social disorganisation” as is often imagined, but a gradual and steady transition to greater social security.

  VIII. Lastly, we have to consider the view which frankly admits that the teaching of Jesus is inconsistent with the use of arms, but regards that teaching as an ‘interim ethic,’ framed wholly with an eye to the approaching break-up of the existing world-order (when by God’s intervention the Kingdom would be set up), and therefore as having no claim to the strict obedience of modern Christians who perforce have to take an entirely different view of the world. Dr. Wilhelm Herrmann of Marburg presents this view in a paper which appears in an English form in Essays on the Social Gospel (London, 1907).2 On the ground of the supposed historical discovery that Jesus looked upon human society as near its end, he cheerfully emancipates the modern Christian from the duty of “absolutely obeying in our rule of life to-day, the traditional words of Jesus.”3 “Endeavours to imitate Jesus in points inseparable from His especial mission in the world, and His position—which is not ours,—towards that world—efforts like these lacking the sincerity of really necessary tasks, have so long injured the cause of Jesus, that our joy will be unalloyed when scientific study at last reveals to every one the impossibility of all such attempts.”4 “As a result of that frame of mind whereby we are united with Him, we desire the existence of a national State, with a character and with duties with which Jesus was not yet acquainted; we will not let ourselves be led astray, even if in this form of human nature various features are as sharply opposed to the mode of life and standpoint of Jesus as is the dauntless use of arms.”1 This view, though quoted from a German author, represents the standpoint of a good deal of critical opinion in this country, and is in fact the last stronghold of those who realize the impossibility of finding any sanction for war in the Gospels, but who yet cling to the belief that war is in these days a Christian duty. In regard to it we may say (I) that ‘scientific study’ has not yet proved that the mind of Jesus was always dominated by an expectation of a world-cataclysm destined to occur within that generation. The Gospels contain non-apocalyptic as well as apocalyptic sayings, and there are no grounds for ruling out the former as ungenuine. Early Christian thought tended to over-emphasize the apocalyptic element, a fact which argues strongly for the originality of the other phase of Jesus’ teaching. His ethics cannot be explained by reference to his expectation of the approaching end. On the contrary, “where He gives the ground of His command, as in the case of loving enemies, forgiveness, and seeking the lost, it is the nature of God that He dwells upon, and not anything expected in the near or distant future.”2 (2) Herrmann maintains that “the command to love our enemies” and the words of Jesus “dealing with the love of peace” are not to be included among the sayings which have to be explained by the idea of the approaching end.1 But he does not point to anything in these sayings which entitles him to treat them as exceptional; nor does he explain how obedience to them—seeing that after all they are to be obeyed —can be harmonized with “the dauntless use of arms.” (3) The appeal to the interim-ethic theory, however sincere, has a pragmatic motive behind it, as Herrmann’s words about the desire for a national state clearly reveal. “Thus Jesus brings us into conflict,” he confesses, “with social duties to which we all wish to cling.”2 He takes no account at all of the three facts which have just been referred to3 as governing compliance with Jesus’ teaching. These facts, when properly attended to and allowed for, show how utterly baseless is the prevalent belief that to adopt the view of Jesus’ teaching advocated in these pages is to ensure the immediate collapse of one state or another and to hand society over to the control of any rascals who are strong enough to tyrannize over their fellows. When that pragmatic motive is shown to be based on a misapprehension, no ground will remain for withholding, from our Lord’s prohibition of the infliction of injury upon our neighbour, that obedience which all Christian people willingly admit must be accorded to his more general precepts of truthfulness, service, and love.

  The interim-ethic theory is, as we have said, the last fortress of militarism on Christian soil. Driven from that stronghold, it has no choice but to take refuge over the border. Its apologists eventually find that they have no option but to argue on grounds inconsistent with the supremacy of Christianity as a universal religion or as a final revelation of God. Most of the arguments we hear about ‘the lesser of two evils,’ ‘living in an imperfect world,’ ‘untimely virtues,’ and so on, reduce themselves in the last analysis to a renunciation of Christianity, at least for the time being, as the real guide of life. In the fierce agony of the times, the inconsistency is unperceived by those who commit it; or, if it is perceived, the sacrifice of intellectual clearness becomes part of the great sacrifice for which the crisis calls. But he, to whose words men have so often fled when the organized Christianity of the hour appeared to have broken down or at any rate could not solve the riddle or point the way, will, when the smoke has cleared from their eyes, be found to possess after all the secret for which the human race is longing; and the only safe ‘Weltpolitik’ will be seen to lie in simple and childlike obedience to him who said : “Happy are the gentle, for they will inherit the earth.”

  In chalking out the main divisions of our subject from this point onwards, it is not proposed to give the first place to any set of chronological landmarks between the death of Jesus about 29 a.d. and the triumph of Constantinus about 313 a.d. This does not mean that the Christian attitude to war underwent no change in the course of that long period; but such changes as there were it will be convenient to study within subdivisions founded on the subject-matter rather than on the lapse of time. The material—excluding the final summary and comments—falls naturally into two main divisions, firstly, the various forms in which the Christian disapproval of war expressed itself, such as the condemnation of it in the abstract, the emphasis laid on the essential peacefulness of Christianity, the place of gentleness and non-resistance in Christian ethics, the Christians’ experience of the evils of military life and character, and their refusal to act as soldiers themselves; and secondly, the various forms of what we may call the Christian acceptance or quasi-acceptance of war, ranging from such ideal realms as Scriptural history, spiritual warfare, and so on, right up to the actual service of Christians in the Roman armies.1 When we have examined these two complementary phases of the subject, we shall be in a position to sum up the situation—particularly the settlement involved in the Church’s alliance with Constantinus, and to offer a few general observations on the question as a whole.

  [1]Mt v. 21 ff, cf 27 f, 31–48.

  [2]Mt xix. 16–19 ‖s.

  [3]Mt xv. 18–20; Mk vii. 20–23.

  [4]Numb xxxv. 27, of the avenger of blood slaying a murderer; ibid. 30, of the officers of justice doing so; 1 Kings xxi. 19, of Naboth’s execution.

  [5]Herodot i. 211; Aiskhulos Theb 340: cf the Homeric use of .

  [6]Exod xvii. 13; Levit xxvi. 7; Numb xxi. 24; Deut xiii. 15, xx. 13; Josh x. 28, 30, 32, 35; Isa xxi. 15.

  [1]B.-Baker parries the force of this argument by an appeal to the well-known distinction between letter and spirit. He says (ICW 11–13): “Thus it is that Christ never seems to wish so much to assert a new truth, or a new law, as to impress upon His hearers the spiritual significance of some old truth or law; to raise them altogether out of the sphere of petty detail into the life of all-embracing principles;. . . It is essential to our understanding of Christ’s meaning to observe that He designs to give a spiritual turn, if we may say so, to the old specific law. . . So we cannot regard the extension which the law ‘Thou shalt not kill’ received from Jesus as a comprehensive denial of the right of man ever to deprive a fellow-creature—in the beautiful language of the sermon on the mount, a brother—of his earthly life.” Arguing in this way, the author has no difficulty in proving that Christ “countenanced and sanctioned war” (15, 18). Something will be said later in regard to this antithesis between letter and spirit and the use here made of it (p. 23).

  [1]The Lucan parallel (vi. 27–36) adds to ‘Love your enemies’ the words: ‘do good to them that hate you, bless them that curse you.’ Its other additions and differences are unimportant, and on the whole it has perhaps less claim to originality than the Matthaean version. It is worth remarking that the word used for enemies (), besides being used for private and personal enemies, is also used in the Septuagint, the New Testament, and elsewhere, for national foes (Gen xiv. 20, xlix. 8, Exod xv. 6, Levit xxvi. 7, 8, 17, 1 Sam iv. 3, etc., etc.; Lk i. 71, 74, xix, 43 : also Orig Cels ii. 30, viii. 69).

  [2]Thus C. E. Luthardt (History of Christian Ethics before the Reformation, ET p. 187) criticizes Tertullianus’ view that Christians ought not to wield the sword as soldiers or as magistrates as “the necessary consequence of the standpoint that makes the words of Christ which refer to the internal attitude of the disposition directly into a law for the external orders of life.” Cf Magee, in The Fortnightly Review, January 1890, pp. 38 f. B.-Baker’s view to the same effect has already been quoted (see previous p, n I). The reader may judge for himself how far astray the latter author’s method of dealing with the teaching of Jesus leads him, from the following statement, taken from the same context. (ICW 12): “The theory upon which the Inquisition acted, that physical sufferings are of no moment in comparison with the supreme importance of the spiritual welfare, is quite consonant with the tone of Christ’s commands and teaching.” The error here arises from the neglect of the vital distinction between the glory of enduring suffering and the guilt of inflicting it.

  [1]See Bishop Gore’s article on The Social Doctrine of the Sermon on the Mount in The Economic Review for April 1892, p. 149 : “The vast danger is that we should avail ourselves of a popular misinterpretation of St. Paul’s language, and observe these precepts, as we say, “in the spirit,”—which is practically not at all in the actual details of life. . . . Therefore we must apply Christ’s teaching in detail to the circumstances of our day.”

  [2]See for example Bigelmair 165 : “The abolition of war and therewith the necessity of forming armies was indeed certainly one of those ideals which the Divine Master foreshadowed in the Sermon on the Mount and which will be reached some day in the fulness of time. But just as such an ideal appears to be still remote from our present day, so its fulfilment was unrealizable in the earliest times,” etc. (see below, p. 253): cf also this author’s treatment (100) of Jesus’ prohibition of oaths : “The Divine Master had in the Sermon on the Mount. . . held out the abolition of all swearing as an ideal for humanity, an ideal which will first become attainable, when the other ideals of the Kingdom of God. . . , namely that unselfishness, of which the Saviour spoke in connection with the oath, shall have succeeded in getting carried out” (zur Durchfuhrung gelangt sein werden).

  [3]See, for instance, an article by Bishop Magee in The Fortnightly Review for January 1890 (pp. 33–46) on The State and the Sermon on the Mount. Dr. Charles Mercier (The Irrelevance of Christianity and War, in The Hibbert Journal, July 1918, pp. 555–563) frankly recognizes that Jesus’ teaching of gentleness cannot be harmonized with war; but he cuts the Gordian knot by dividing ethics into the Moral realm and the Patriotic realm, penning up the words of Jesus within the former as applicable only to individuals within the same community, and therefore as not forbidding war, which belongs wholly to the latter!

  [1]Exod xxi. 23–25; there is some difficulty about the literary setting (see Driver’s note on this passage in the Cambridge Bible), but the scope and purport of the enactment are clear.

  [2]Troeltsch (40) remarks, a propos of the teaching of Jesus about love : “Thus there exists for the children of God no law and no compulsion, no war and struggle, but only an untiring love and an overcoming of evil with good—demands, which the Sermon on the Mount interprets in extreme cases.”

  [1]This view of the third temptation (Mt iv. 8–10 = Lk iv. 5–8) is substantially that suggested by Seeley in Ecce Homo, ch. n.

  [2]John vi. 15.

  [3]Mk i. 14 f, vi. 14–29, etc., and parallels; Lk iii 19 f, xiii. 31

  [4]Lk xiii. 1–3.

  [5]The incident of Jesus’ clearing the Temple-courts—often regarded as an exception to his usual policy of abstaining from violence—will be discussed later (see pp. 34 f).

  [6]Mt v. 5, 9.

  [7]Lk xix. 41 f ().

  [8]Mt vi. 12, 14 f; Mk xi. 25. The context shows that this type of forgiveness at all events is irrespective of the wrongdoer’s repentance, though there may be another type which requires it (Lk xvii. 3 f; cf Mt xviii. 15–17, 21–35).

  [1]Mt xxvi. 51 f ‖s; John xviii. 36.

  [2]Mt xxvi. 50‖; John xviii. 22 f.

  [3]Lk xxiii. 34.

  [4]Mk x. 42–45 ‖s.

  [5]Mt xi. 27, xxiii. 10, xxviii. 18; John xiii. 13.

  [6]Mt v. 5, xvi. 19, xviii. 17 f, xxiv. 45–47, xxv. 21, 23; Lk xix. 17, 19.

  [1]John vii. 53-viii. 11 : cf Moffatt INT 555 f.

  [2]Levit xx. 10; Deut xxii. 22–24.

  [3]Mk vii. 8–13‖.

  [4]Compare Jesus’ announcement—perhaps literally meant—that he had been sent “to proclaim release to captives and restoration of sight to the blind, to set the oppressed at liberty” (Lk iv. 18), and his words in the Sermon on the Mount about judging others (Mt vii. 1 f; Lk vi. 37f : the Lucan version has a distinctly legal ring about it). His refusal to be a ‘judge and divider’ in a case of disputed inheritance (Lk xii. 13f) may have an indirect bearing on the subject.

  [1]Mk xiii. 2, 7–9, 14–20‖s; cf Lk xvii. 31–37.

  [2]On the theory that Mk xiii contains (7f, 14–20, 24–27) a ‘little apocalypse,’ dating from 60–70 a.d., see Moffatt INT 207–209.

  [3]Mt xxvi. 51 ff : cf Lk xxii. 50f; John xviii. 10 f, 36 (Jesus says to Pilatus : “If my Kingdom were of this world, my servants would fight, in order that I should not be handed over to the Jews : but now my Kingdom is not from thence”).

  [1]The question has been asked, how Peter came to be carrying a sword at all, if his Master discountenanced the use of weapons (J. M. Lloyd Thomas, The Immorality of Non-resistance, p. ix : E. A. Sonnenschein, in The Hibbert Journal, July 1915, pp. 865f). The answer is that Peter may very well have failed to understand his Master’s real meaning (particularly perhaps the ‘two swords’ saying—which we shall discuss presently), and, apprehending danger, may have put on a sword without Jesus noticing it.

  [2]Well may a present-day scholar, not himself a pacifist, say : “I think, then, it must in fairness be admitted that there is a real case for the plea of the conscientious objector that Jesus totally forbade war to his followers. . . . I cannot shut my eyes to the possibility that Jesus Himself may have been a pacifist” (Dr. A. S. Peake, Prisoners of Hope, pp. 28, 30).

  [1]Mt v. 41 :

  [2]Mt xxvii. 32 ‖ (the soldiers ‘impressed’——Simon of Cyrene to carry the cross). See the article ‘angaria’ in Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities : “The Roman angaria. . . included the maintenance and supply, not only of horses, but of ships and messengers, in forwarding both letters and burdens.” The Lexicons give no hint that the word was used for impressing soldiers.

  [3]See Lk iii. 14 : “And men on service” (, who had received his baptism) “asked him, saying, ‘And what are we to do?’ and he said to them, ‘Never extort money from anyone (), or falsely accuse anyone; and be content with your pay’.”

  [1]Mt viii. 5–13 ‖. Seeley (Ecce Homo, pref. to 5th edn, p. xvi), says of the centurion : “He represented himself as filling a place in a graduated scale, as commanding some and obeying others, and the proposed condescension of one whom he ranked so immeasurably above himself in that scale shocked him. This spirit of order, this hearty acceptance of a place in society, this proud submission which no more desires to rise above its place than it will consent to fall below it, was approved by Christ with unusual emphasis and warmth.” This misses the point : the centurion’s words about being under authority and having others under him expressed, not his humility or reverence for Jesus, who was not above him in military rank, but his belief in Jesus’ power to work the cure by word of command; and it was this belief that Jesus approved so heartily.

  [1]Mk xi. 15–17; Mt xxi. 12 f; Lk xix. 45 f; John ii. 13–17.

  [2]I mention this argument for what it is worth, though personally I incline to accept the historicity of the Fourth Gospel here, both as regards chronology and details.

  [3]John ii. 15 says :

  [4]Mk i. 12.

  [5]Mk v. 40 ‖.

  [6]Mt ix. 38 ‖.

  [1]Mt vii. 4 ‖.

  [2]Mt xii. 35, xiii. 52.

  [3]Lk x. 35.

  [4]John x. 4.

  [5]“It is the very point of the story, not that He, as by mere force, can drive so many men, but that so many are seen retiring before the moral power of one—a mysterious being, in whose face and form the indignant flush of innocence reveals a tremendous feeling they can nowise comprehend, much less are able to resist” (Horace Bushnell, Nature and the Supernatural, p. 219).

  [6]Mk xiii. 2, 7 f, 14–20 ‖s; Mt xxiv. 28; Lk xvii. 22–37, xix. 41–44, cf xxiii. 28–31.

  [7]Mt xi. 23 f ‖, xiii. 37–43, 49 f, xxi. 41 ‖s, xxiii. 33–36; Lk xii. 54–xiii. 9, xix. 44b, xxi. 22.

  [1]Mt xxii. 7.

  [2]Lk xix. 27.

  [3]Mt xviii. 34 f, 13, xxiv. 50 f ‖, xxv. 30; cf Lk xviii 7 f.

  [4]Lk xvii. 7–10 (Moffatt’s trans).

  [5]Mk iii. 27 ‖s.

  [1]For this view, cf 1 Sam xxiv. 12: “The Lord judge between me and thee, and the Lord avenge me of thee: but mine hand shall not be upon thee.”

  [2]Isa x. 5–19; Jer 1. 23, li. 20–26; Zech i. 15, etc.

  [3]Mt v. 44–48 ‖, cf vii. 11. A similar distinction appears in Paul (Rom xii. 17-xiii. 7), which we shall have to discuss later. I cannot refrain from quoting here an interesting conversation that occurs in Dickens’ Little Dorrit (Bk ii, ch. 31): “I have done,” said Mrs. Clennam, “what it was given me to do. I have set myself against evil; not against good. I have been an instrument of severity against sin. Have not mere sinners like myself been commissioned to lay it low in all time?” “In all time?” repeated Little Dorrit. “Even if my own wrong had prevailed with me, and my own vengeance had moved me, could I have found no justification? None in the old days when the innocent perished with the guilty, a thousand to one? When the wrath of the hater of the unrighteous was not slaked even in blood, and yet found favour?” “Oh, Mrs. Clennam, Mrs. Clennam,” said Little Dorrit, “angry feelings and unforgiving deeds are no comfort and no guide to you and me. My life has been passed in this poor prison, and my teaching has been very defective; but let me implore you to remember later and better days. Be guided only by the healer of the sick, the raiser of the dead, the friend of all who were afflicted and forlorn, the patient Master who shed tears of compassion for our infirmities. We cannot but be right if we put all the rest away, and do everything in remembrance of Him. There is no vengeance and no infliction of suffering in His life, I am sure. There can be no confusion in following Him, and seeking for no other footsteps, I am certain.”

  [1]Lk xiv. 31–33.

  [2]Mt xi. 12; Lk xvi. 16.

  [3]Seeley, in the passage quoted above (p. 33 n 1), says: “As Christ habitually compared his Church to a state or kingdom, so there are traces that its analogy to an army was also present to his mind.” Seeley has, as I have pointed out, misunderstood the words of Jesus and the centurion about each other; but Jesus’ approval of the centurion’s ascription to him of quasi-military power on the analogy of his (the centurion’s) own power lends a little colour to the view which Seeley here expresses.

  [4]Mt xxii. 6f.

  [5]Mt x. 34: cf Lk xii. 51.

  [1]Mt xxiv. 43‖.

  [2]Lk xxii. 35–38.

  [3]One recent attempt may be referred to. B.W. Bacon distinguishes two sections in Jesus’ Messianic programme; first, the gathering of the flock, when premature Zealotism was guarded against by non-resistance; secondly, when the flock would have to defend itself. Thus, Peter’s sword is “returned to its sheath to await the predicted day of need” (Christus Militans, in The Hibbert Journal, July 1918, pp. 542, 548, 550 f). But Peter had to sheathe his sword, because “all they that take the sword will perish by the sword, because” not simply because his act was badly timed: and beyond this precarious reading of the ‘two-swords’ passage, there is nothing in the Gospels to support the idea of a coming period of violent self-defence, and much that is highly inconsistent with it.

  [4]Harnack MC 4 f.

  [1]See above, p. 30.

  [2]See above, pp. 26 f.

  [3]Mk xii. 17 ‖s :

  [4]John xix. 11.

  [5]Mk ii. 25 f ‖s, xii. 35–37 ‖s; Mt xii. 42 ‖.

  [6]Mk vii. 8–13 ‖.

  [7]Mt xxiii. 23 ‖.

  [8]Mk xv. 43; Lk vii. 2–6 viii. 3, xiv. 1, xxiii. 50 f; John iii. 1, 10, iv. 46 ff, vii. 50–52, xii. 42, xix. 38 f.

  [9]Mt v. 17–19 ‖, viii. 4 ‖s, xxiii. 2, 23 fin; Lk xvii. 14.

  [10]Mt xvii. 24–27.

  [11]Mt v. 41; cf xxvii. 32.

  [1]John vi. 15.

  [2]Mt x. 17 f, 28–33 ‖s.

  [1]John indeed tells us (xii. 42) that ‘many of the rulers believed on him’ and (xix. 38) calls Joseph of Arimathaea, who we know was a councilor (Mk xv. 43), a disciple; but how much does this prove? These people were afraid to let their discipleship be publicly known, and the rulers ‘loved the glory of men more than the glory of God’ (xii. 43). We certainly cannot argue from silence that Jesus approved of any regular disciple of his pronouncing or executing judicial penalties or acting as a soldier.

  [2]B.-Baker ICW 13.

  [3]Quoted by Holtzmann, Neutestamentliche Theologies (1911), i. 229 f.

  [4]Ibid.

  [1]The power of Christianity to extirpate crime was insisted on by Tolstoi in his novel Work while ye have the Light (ET published by Heinemann, 1890).

  [2]pp. 176–185, 202–225.

  [3]p. 182.

  [4]p. 181.

  [1]pp. 217 f.

  [2]I borrow these words from a private pamphlet by my friend Mr. J.A. Halliday, of Newcastle, and others.

  [1]pp. 178 f., 202 f.

  [2]p. 163 (italics mine).

  [3]See above, pp. 42 ff.

  [1]The reader is reminded that the dates of the early Christian authors and books quoted and events referred to are given in the chronological table at the beginning of the book, in order to avoid unnecessary explanations and repetitions in the text, and that with the same object full particulars of works quoted are given in another list, the references in the footnotes being mostly in an abbreviated form.

• Back to Top

  9: Mises, Keynes, and the Versailles Treaty

  Ludwig von Mises, Nation, State, and Economy: Contributions to the Politics and History of Our Time, trans. Leland B. Yeager, ed. Bettina Bien Greaves (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2006). Chapter: TRANSLATOR’S INTRODUCTION

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1819/109461 on 2009-10-28

  The copyright to this edition, in both print and electronic forms, is held by Liberty Fund, Inc.

  ---

  TRANSLATOR’S INTRODUCTION

  Ludwig von Mises wrote Nation, Staat, und Wirtschaft in the same year, 1919, as John Maynard Keynes wrote The Economic Consequences of the Peace, a better known diagnosis of and prescription for the postwar economic situation. Mises, writing a few months earlier, presumably had less detailed knowledge of the Versailles Treaty and so was less concerned with its specific provisions. Keynes went into more detail than Mises in estimating such things as the wealth of the belligerents, the amount of destruction suffered, and the capacity of the Germans to pay reparations. His focus was narrower than that of Mises, who regarded his own analysis as one particular instance of applying lessons derived from both history and economic theory.

  The two books have much in common. Both compare prewar and postwar economic conditions. Both authors recognize that each country’s prosperity supports rather than undercuts that of others. Both appreciate how much the standard of living of Europe and particularly of Germany had depended on world trade and regret its interruption. Both, rightly or wrongly, perceived something of an overpopulation problem in Europe and in Germany in particular and made some not too optimistic remarks about the possibilities of emigration as a remedy. Mises even waxed wistful over loss of opportunities that Germany might have had in the nineteenth century peacefully to acquire overseas territories suitable for settlement.

  Both authors more or less took it for granted that the German ruling class and segments of public opinion had been largely responsible for the war. Mises deployed history, politics, sociology, psychology, and other disciplines in exploring the intellectual and ideological background of German militarism. Keynes also engaged in psychology. His dissection of the character and personality of Woodrow Wilson is justly renowned, and he made biting comments on the immorality of Lloyd George’s “Hang the Kaiser” election campaign of December 1918.

  Both Mises and Keynes emphasized how currency deterioration causes social as well as economic disorder. Keynes endorsed Lenin’s supposed observation about the best way to destroy the capitalist system. “Lenin was certainly right. There is no subtler, no surer means of overturning the existing basis of society than to debauch the currency. The process engages all the hidden forces of economic law on the side of destruction, and does it in a manner which not one man in a million is able to diagnose.” Keynes warned against misdirecting blame onto “profiteers,” and Mises, too, understood the constructive function of profit, even in wartime. Mises explained how inflation undercuts the vital functions performed by accounting. Keynes and Mises were exhibiting prescience, writing four years before the hyperinflationary collapse of the German mark would dramatize the points they were already making.

  Keynes’s book included no signs of anticapitalism or of support for comprehensive government economic intervention. Mises was emphatic on these issues. He exposed some of the inefficiencies of socialism, although he had not yet formulated his later demonstration of the impossibility of accurate economic calculation under socialism.

  Both Keynes and Mises come across in their respective books as analytical in their diagnoses and humanitarian in their recommendations. Both were pessimistic about economic conditions on the European continent, at least in the short run. Both opposed a vindictive peace; Keynes’s warnings about reparations are well known. It is too bad that Keynes’s fame did not carry over more effectively into actual influence and that Mises’s book was not more accessible to the English-speaking world at the time. If only the two men could have joined forces!

  Mises’s book illustrates the differences between the political and economic philosophies of conservatism and of liberalism (liberalism in the European and etymologically correct sense of the word). Mises was emphatically not a conservative. His book rails repeatedly against political and economic privilege. He championed political democracy as well as a free-market economy. He admired democratic revolutions against hereditary and authoritarian regimes; he sympathized with movements for national liberation and unity. As he explained, liberal nationalism—in sharp contrast with militaristic and imperialistic nationalism—can be an admirable attitude and a bulwark of peace. Different peoples should be able to respect and—to interpret a bit—even share in each one’s pride in their own culture and history. (I think I can understand what Mises had in mind by recalling my feelings while traveling in Italy in 1961 at the time of celebrations and exhibitions commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of the Kingdom of Italy. As my traveling companion remarked, he almost felt like an Italian patriot.)

  Mises’s devotion to political democracy was tinged with a touching naiveté. Passages in his book suggest that he could hardly conceive of how the people, given the opportunity to rule through freely elected representatives, would fail to choose those politicians and policies that would serve their genuine common interest. This optimism is not to his discredit. It underlines the genuineness of his liberalism. It reminds us that he was writing more than sixty years ago, before the subsequent accumulation of sobering experience with democratic government. He was writing before the development of public-choice theory, that is, the application of economic analysis and methodological individualism to understanding government and government failure, analogous to the better publicized market failure (fragmented and inaccurate cost/benefit comparisons, externalities, and all that). But Mises certainly was not naive in relation to the experience and political analysis available in 1919. On the contrary, some of the most insightful parts of his book analyze the obstacles to the development of democracy in Germany and Austria. Mises saw the significance of the nationality and language situations in those two polyglot empires. He did not single-handedly develop an economic and psychological analysis of government, but he made an impressive beginning on that task in this and later books.

  Mises could expect his German-speaking readers of over sixty years ago to recall the salient facts of German and Austrian history. Such an expectation may not hold for English-speaking readers of the 1980s. For this reason, a sketch follows of the historical background that Mises took for granted. In particular, it identifies events and persons that Mises alludes to.

  German-speaking territories were ruled for centuries by dozens and even hundreds of hereditary or ecclesiastical monarchs—kings, dukes, counts, princes, archbishops, and the like. Mises speaks of “the pitiable multiplicity of several dozen patrimonial principalities, with their enclaves, their hereditary affiliations, and their family laws” and of “the farcical rule of the miniature thrones of the Reuss and Schwarzburg princes.” Even after formation of the German Empire in 1871, its component states numbered four kingdoms, four grand duchies, fourteen lesser duchies and principalities, and three Hanseatic cities, as well as the conquered territory of Alsace-Lorraine.

  Until beyond the middle of the nineteenth century, Germany was understood to include the German-speaking sections of Austria, which was usually the dominant German state. In the words of the Deutschlandlied, or national anthem (written in 1841 by the exiled liberal August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben), Germany ranged from the Maas River in the West to the Memel River in the East and from the Etsch (Adige) River in the South to the Belt (Baltic Sea passages) in the North.

  The domain of German rulers was not limited, however, to German-speaking territories. Poles and other Slavic peoples lived in the eastern sections of Prussia, especially after the conquests by Frederick the Great to which Mises refers. Brandenburg, where Potsdam and Berlin are located, was the nucleus of what became the Kingdom of Prussia in 1701. The Hohenzollern family held the title of Margrave of Brandenburg from 1415 on and continued as the Prussian royal family until 1918. Frederick William, the “Great Elector” (the meaning of “elector” is explained below), ruled from 1640 to 1688. He presided over the rebuilding and expansion of his state after the Thirty Years’ War and obtained full sovereignty over Prussia. His son, Frederick I, who ruled from 1688 to 1713, was crowned the first King of (technically, “in”) Prussia. Frederick William I, king from 1713 to 1740, was largely the founder of the Prussian army. His son Frederick II became known to history as Frederick the Great. He wrested Silesia from Austria in 1745 and joined with Russia and Austria in the first partition of Poland in 1772. His successor, Frederick William II, joined in the second and third partitions of 1793 and 1795, which wiped Poland off the map.

  The Austrian Empire included not only speakers of German but also Hungarians, Rumanians, Czechs, Slovenes, Poles, Ruthenians, Italians, and others. According to a 1910 census, the population of the Austrian part of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy consisted of 35 percent Germans, 23 percent Czechs, 17 percent Poles, 19 percent other Slavs, 2¾ percent Italians, and scattered others.

  The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, to use its full name, existed until 1806. It coincided roughly, but only roughly, with German-speaking territory. It sometimes included parts of northern Italy but left out the eastern parts of Prussia. It was organized (or revived) under Otto I, whom the Pope crowned Emperor in 962. (He was succeeded by Otto II and Otto III; Mises refers to the age of the Ottonians.) The Empire was a loose confederation of princely and ecclesiastical sovereignties and free cities. Seven, eight, or nine of their rulers were Electors, who chose a new Emperor when a vacancy occurred. From 1273, except for a few intervals (notably 1308 to 1438), the Holy Roman Emperors belonged to the Habsburg family, whose domains included many lands outside the boundaries of the Empire. The dynastic expansion of the Habsburgs explains Mises’s reference to the “married-together state.” The male line of the family died out in 1740, when Charles VI was succeeded in his domains by his daughter Maria Theresa, an event that touched off the War of the Austrian Succession. Maria Theresa’s husband was the former Duke of Lorraine and Holy Roman Emperor as Francis I from 1745 to 1765, which explains why the dynasty became known as the house of Habsburg-Lorraine.

  Mises mentions several other events and personalities in the history of the Holy Roman Empire. Until his death in 1637, Ferdinand II reigned from 1617 as King of Bohemia, from 1618 as King of Hungary, and from 1619 as Emperor. His fanatical Catholicism alienated the Protestant Bohemian nobles, who rebelled in 1618 (the picturesquely named Defenestration of Prague occurred at this time), beginning the Thirty Years’ War. The war, which wrought havoc on Germany, hinged not only on religious differences but also on the ambition of the Habsburgs to gain control of the entire country. The Imperial forces won the war’s first major battle, fought on the White Mountain, near Prague, in 1620, ending Bohemian independence for three centuries. The Protestant side was aided at times by the Danes, the Swedes, and even the French under Louis XIII and Louis XIV. The Treaty of Westphalia, in 1648, awarded certain German provinces on the Baltic Sea to Sweden and southern Alsace to France, while the Emperor’s authority over Germany became purely nominal. Acceptance of the religious split of Germany was an important step toward religious toleration. Leopold I, whom Mises mentions, was Holy Roman Emperor from 1657 to 1705. The greater part of his reign was occupied by wars with Louis XIV of France and with the Turks. Leopold II, Emperor from 1790 until his death in 1792 and the last crowned King of Bohemia, succeeded his brother Joseph II (also a son of Maria Theresa). He instigated the Declaration of Pillnitz, which helped precipitate the French Revolutionary Wars a few weeks after his death.

  The Napoleonic Wars brought lasting changes to the map and the political systems of Europe. The Enactment of Delegates of the Holy Roman Empire (Reichsdeputationshauptschluss) was adopted in 1803 under pressure of Napoleon. Mises mentions this Enactment as an illustration of the old idea that lands were the properties of their sovereigns and so could be bought and sold, traded, reshaped, divided, and consolidated without regard to the wishes of their inhabitants, who were mere appurtenances of the land. The Enactment greatly reduced the number of sovereignties in the Empire, in part by ending the temporal rule of dignitaries of the Catholic Church and putting their lands under the rule of neighboring princes. In 1806, again under pressure of Napoleon, who had detached the western parts of Germany—only temporarily, as things turned out—and organized them into a Confederation of the Rhine, the old Empire was liquidated. Francis II gave up his title of Holy Roman Emperor but retained the title of Emperor of Austria as Francis I.

  Mises mentions two men who strove for a unified Italian state at the end of the Napoleonic Wars. Joachim Murat, a marshall of France whom Napoleon had made King of Naples in 1808, tried in 1815 to make himself king of all Italy; but he was captured and shot. Florestano Pepe, one of Murat’s generals, fought against the Austrians in 1815. (Mises’s allusion is presumably to Florestano Pepe rather than to his brother Guglielmo, another Neapolitan general, who organized the Carbonari and who led an unsuccessful proconstitutional revolt in 1821.)

  After the Napoleonic Wars, the reigning dynasties of Europe tried to restore the old regime. The Holy Alliance, to which Mises repeatedly refers with scorn, is a phrase frequently but imprecisely used to label the reactionary policies of Russia, Prussia, and Austria in particular. Strictly speaking, the Holy Alliance was an innocuous declaration of Christian principles of statesmanship drawn up by Czar Alexander I in 1815 and signed by almost all European sovereigns. The repressive policies are more properly associated with the Congress system and the Quadruple Alliance of 1815. Mises mentions, by the way, the Polish kingdom of Alexander I. The Congress of Vienna (1814–1815) created the kingdom in personal union with Russia but with a constitution of its own (which was suspended after the Polish insurrection of 1830–1831).

  With the Holy Roman Empire defunct, a decision of the Congress of Vienna loosely joined some thirty-eight (soon thirty-nine) German sovereignties together again as the German Confederation. The federal diet, which met in Frankfurt under the presidency of Austria, had little power because unanimity or a two-thirds majority was required for most decisions.

  In 1834, after achieving a free-trade area within its own territories, Prussia took the lead in establishing the Zollverein among most German states, not including Austria, through the merger of two regional customs unions. The new union is considered a step toward political unification. In 1867 it was reorganized with a constitution and parliament of its own. Mises mentions one of its intellectual fathers, the economist Friedrich List. List had been forced to emigrate to the United States in 1825 for advocating administrative reforms in Württemberg but had returned to Germany in 1832 as U.S. consul at Leipzig. He favored internal free trade, together with strictly temporary tariff protection to encourage the development of infant industries.

  Mises makes many admiring and wistful references to the European revolutions of 1848. The revolutions were mostly the work of the middle-class intellectuals, who were bringing mainly French ideas to bear against political repression. The February revolution in Paris, resulting in the overthrow of King Louis Philippe and establishment of the Second Republic, was emulated elsewhere. In the numerous sovereignties into which Italy was still split, a movement for liberal constitutions was followed by an unsuccessful patriotic war to eject the Austrians.

  Revolutionary riots came to Austria and Germany in March 1848, which explains why Mises refers to the March revolution and compares conditions afterwards with conditions as they were “before March” (to translate the German literally). In Vienna, Prince Clemens von Metternich, minister of foreign affairs and chief minister since 1809, had to resign and flee the country. The first Pan-Slav Congress met in Prague in June 1848 under the presidency of František Palacký, the Bohemian historian and nationalist. (Mises cites Palacký’s much-quoted remark to the effect that if the Austrian multinational state had not existed, it would have been necessary to invent it.) Field Marshal Prince Alfred Windischgrätz bombarded the revolutionaries in Prague into submission in June 1848 and later turned to Vienna, where a further wave of radical unrest had broken out in October. He helped restore Habsburg power, with Prince Felix Schwarzenberg as the new chief minister from November 1848. Schwarzenberg engineered the abdication of Emperor Ferdinand I in favor of his eighteen-year-old nephew Francis Joseph, who would reign until his death in 1916.

  Mises alludes not only to Schwarzenberg but also to Count Eduard von Clam-Gallas, who played a decisive role in suppressing the Italian and Hungarian revolutions of 1848–1849. (Actually, Mises mentions the Clam-Martinics, who were the Bohemian wing of the same wealthy noble family.)

  The Hungarian independence movement succeeded at first but was finally put down by Schwarzenberg and the Habsburgs with the aid of some of their Slavic subjects and the forces of the Russian Czar Nicholas I. After their defeat by the Russians in August 1849, the Hungarians suffered vengeance at the hands of the Austrian General Julius Freiherr von Haynau.

  In Germany the revolutionaries sought both representative government in the various states and unification of the country. The King of Prussia and lesser German rulers at first granted democratic concessions but later withdrew them on observing the success of counterrevolution in Austria. The Crown Prince of Prussia, who had fled the country only shortly before, as Mises notes, was able to mount a counteroffensive. Yet some prospects seemed hopeful for a while. Aspiring for a united Germany, a self-constituted “preliminary parliament” convoked a German National Assembly, also known as the Frankfurt Parliament, which met in St. Paul’s Church from 18 May 1848 to 21 April 1849. Its delegates were chosen by direct male suffrage throughout Germany and Austria. It was predominantly a middle-class body inspired by liberal and democratic ideas. This is what Mises had in mind when repeatedly referring to the ideals of St. Paul’s Church. (He occasionally refers in the same sense to the “ideas of 1789,” thinking of course of the aspirations for freedom and political equality expressed at the beginning of the French Revolution and not to the Terror into which the revolution later degenerated.)1

  One party among the Frankfurt delegates favored bringing Austria and Bohemia into the projected united Germany, although doing so would have disrupted the Habsburg Monarchy; another party thought it wiser to leave Austrian territory out. (With his reference not limited to this particular occasion, Mises does mention the tension between the great-German and small-German approaches to national unity.) The issue became academic when the Austrian government showed hostility to any splitting of its territory and when the Austrian constitution of 4 March 1849 reasserted the unity of the Habsburg domains. After lengthy debates, the Frankfurt delegates adopted a federal constitution and elected the King of Prussia, Frederick William IV, as Emperor. At the end of April, the King refused the offer on the grounds that accepting a crown from an elected assembly would be inconsistent with his divine right. The assembly then came apart. Meanwhile, with the suppression of revolutions and the consolidation of authoritarian rule in the German princely states, democratic leaders found it prudent to remain politically silent, as Mises observes, or even to emigrate.

  The activities of the Frankfurt Parliament brought suspension of the diet of the German Confederation in 1848–1850. After rejecting the proffered imperial crown, the King of Prussia still hoped to unify Germany in his own way and with the consent of his fellow princes. An inner confederation, the Prussian Union, would join with the Habsburg Monarchy in a broader confederation. Most of the smaller German states initially accepted the plan, and first a national assembly and later a parliament met at Erfurt in 1849 and 1850 to put a constitution into effect. With the distractions in Hungary now overcome, however, the Austrian government was able to press its opposition. At Schwarzenberg’s invitation, representatives of the petty states and Austria met at Frankfurt in May 1850 and reconstituted the diet of the old German Confederation. In November 1850, by the Punctation of Olmütz (known by Prussian historians as the Humiliation of Olmütz), the Prussians abandoned their Prussian Union scheme and recognized the reestablished diet of the Confederation.

  Austria and the rest of Germany managed to stay out of the Crimean War of 1853–1856, in which Turkey, Great Britain, France, and Sardinia-Piedmont defeated Russia. Austrian threats of joining the war did help prod Russia to evacuate the occupied Danubian principalities in 1854, however, and later to agree to the proposed peace terms; prolonged mobilization drained Austrian finances. In 1859 Austria suffered defeat in a war with France and Sardinia-Piedmont, losing Lombardy but retaining Venetia in the peace settlement.

  In 1863 Austria again demonstrated dominance among the German states in that Emperor Francis Joseph served as president of a congress of German princes in Frankfurt. However, Otto von Bismarck, who had become Prussian prime minister in 1862, was able to persuade his king not to attend. Prussia’s absence helped keep the congress from accomplishing much.

  In the summer of 1864, in a brief war touched off by the question of who was to inherit the rule of the duchies of Schleswig and Holstein, Prussia and Austria together defeated Denmark and acquired joint control over the two duchies. Bismarck skillfully escalated tensions over their administration and ultimate disposition into a war between Prussia and Austria in the summer of 1866. Austria had all the rest of Germany on its side except Mecklenburg and a few of the smaller north German states. Italy allied itself with Prussia. Austria defeated Italy on land and sea; but the decisive battle of the Seven Weeks’ War was fought near Königgrätz (and Sadowa), about sixty-five miles east of Prague, on July 3. The timely arrival of troops commanded by the Crown Prince of Prussia (later, for ninety-nine days in 1888, the Emperor Frederick III) helped clinch the victory of Field Marshal Count Helmuth Karl Bernhard von Moltke (who was later to be victorious in the war with France also) and seal the defeat of Austrian General Ludwig von Benedek.2

  Mises’s many references to Königgrätz, then, allude to the changes brought about by the brief war of 1866, which was ended by the preliminary peace of Nikolsburg and the definitive treaty of Prague. The King of Hanover was dethroned and his state absorbed into Prussia. (It is interesting to speculate on how differently the course of history might have turned out if only Queen Victoria of England had been a man. Her accession in 1837 separated the previously united crowns of England and Hanover, where the Salic Law barred females from the throne.) Austria lost Venetia to Italy but no territory to Prussia. Its expulsion from the German Confederation, however, ended Austria’s dominance in German affairs. Austrians did not, though, immediately stop thinking of themselves as Germans. Mises illustrates their sentiment by quoting from the dramatist Franz Grillparzer (1791–1872).

  The old German Confederation gave way to the North German Confederation, composed of Prussia and the other states north of the Main River. The component states retained their own administrations but placed their military forces and foreign policy under the federal government, dominated by Bismarck. Prussia also negotiated alliances with the south German states.

  The defeated Austrians turned to tidying up their domestic affairs. They reached a compromise (Ausgleich) with the Hungarians, granting Hungary quasi-independence with its own parliament and government. Emperor Francis Joseph submitted to coronation as King of Hungary in Budapest on June 8, 1867 (only eleven days, by coincidence, before his brother Maximilian, the defeated and captured Emperor of Mexico, was executed at Querétaro).

  The Franco-Prussian War of 1870–1871 resulted in the cession of Alsace-Lorraine to Germany. France also had to pay an indemnity of 5,000,000,000 francs, providing an unfortunate precedent for allied demands on Germany after its defeat in 1918.

  The German Empire was proclaimed in a ceremony at Versailles, near Paris, in January 1871. Bismarck had persuaded the reluctant King Ludwig II of Bavaria (later called the “mad king”) to invite King William I of Prussia to assume the hereditary title of German Emperor. The Empire absorbed the institutions of the North German Confederation of 1867, including the Federal Council and elected Reichstag; a modified constitution admitted the southern states of Bavaria, Württemberg, and Baden.

  Meanwhile, Italy also achieved unification. Other Italian states joined with Sardinia-Piedmont in 1861 to proclaim its King, Victor Emmanuel II, King of Italy. In 1870, while the French, who had been protecting the Pope, were at war with Germany, the Italians seized the opportunity to conquer the Papal States and transfer the capital of Italy to Rome. Mises mentions three heroes of the movement for Italian liberation and unification: Giuseppe Mazzini, Giuseppe Garibaldi, and Count Camillo Benso di Cavour. He also mentions three Italian poets and patriots of the first half of the nineteenth century: Giacomo Leopardi, Giuseppe Giusti, and Silvio Pellico.

  Not all Italian-speaking territory yet formed part of the Kingdom of Italy; some remained under Austro-Hungarian rule. This territory was called Italia irredenta, and irredentism was the movement calling for its liberation and absorption into Italy. World War I largely achieved the objectives of the movement. Mises mentions Gabriele D’Annunzio, a poet, novelist, and dramatist who helped persuade Italy to join the allies in that war, who lost an eye in aerial combat, and who later (after Mises was writing) led an unofficial occupation of Fiume (now Rijeka, Yugoslavia) that eventuated in its incorporation into Italy.

  Mises sometimes uses the word “irredentism” in its broader sense of a movement for any country’s absorbing territories still outside its boundaries inhabited by people speaking its national language. Irredentism in this broader sense refers, in particular, to advocacy of incorporation of German-speaking Austria into the German Empire.

  Representatives of the great European powers convened in Berlin in 1878 to impose on Russia a revision of the harsh treaty that it had imposed on Turkey after defeating it in a war. The Congress of Berlin also, incidentally, authorized Austria-Hungary to occupy and administer the Turkish provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina, now in Yugoslavia. The occupation was not entirely trouble-free; Mises mentions rebellions in Herzegovina and around the Gulf of Kotor. Austria-Hungary finally annexed the occupied provinces in 1908.

  Another important development in international politics was the negotiation of an alliance between Germany and Austria-Hungary in 1879. Apparently Bismarck’s decision not to impose an excessively harsh peace on Austria in 1866 was paying off. This alliance, like the Russian-French alliance and others, set the stage for a chain reaction whereby the countries not directly involved in the original dispute between Austria and Serbia in 1914 got drawn into World War I.

  The Wilhelministic Era, which Mises refers to, was the reign of William II as German Emperor, particularly from the dismissal of Bismarck as chancellor in 1890 until World War I.

  The defeat of the Central Powers in that war split Austria-Hungary up into several states. Currency inflations gained momentum. In Germany the Spartacists, whom Mises mentions and who reorganized themselves into the German Communist Party in December 1918, seemed for a time to have prospects of gaining power in at least the major cities.

  We now turn to a few explanations and identifications that did not fit into the preceding chronological survey. Cabinet ministers in both Germany and Austria were responsible to the Emperor rather than to parliament. Although a government could not be thrown out of office by a vote of no confidence, parliamentary majorities were necessary to enact specific pieces of legislation; and the government occasionally resorted to political maneuvers and tricks to achieve the necessary majorities. Mises refers scornfully to these circumstances. In Austria, in particular, the parliamentary situation and the alignment of parties was complicated by the mixture of nationalities and by such issues as what languages should be used in particular schools. Mises refers, for example, to Badeni’s electoral reform of 1896. (Count Kazimierz Felix Badeni, a Polish aristocrat, became prime minister in 1895. The finance minister and foreign minister in his cabinet also came from the Polish part of the Empire. Badeni was dismissed in 1897 through the pressure of German-speaking factions, who considered his policies on use of language in the civil service too favorable to the Czechs.) Mises also notes allusions made at the time to the government’s courting of the ironically nicknamed “Imperial and Royal Social Democrats” (the term “Imperial and Royal,” commonly abbreviated in German as “K.k.,” referred to the Austrian Empire and Kingdom of Hungary and meant something like “governmental” or “official”).

  The nationality situation is also in the background of Mises’s reference to the Linz Program of 1882. The extreme German nationalists proposed the restoration of German dominance in Austrian affairs by detaching Galicia, Bukovina, and Dalmatia from the Monarchy, weakening the ties with Hungary to a purely personal union under the same monarch, and establishing a customs union and other close ties with the German Reich. They apparently did not realize that Bismarck had little reason to provide help, since the existing domestic situation in Austria-Hungary was consonant with his approach to international affairs. The leader of the extreme German-Austrian nationalists was Georg Ritter von Schönerer, who later made anti-Semitism a part of his program.

  Employing synecdoche, Mises sometimes opposes Potsdam to Weimar. Potsdam was the home of the Prussian Monarchy, and the word symbolizes the authoritarian state and militarism. Weimar, the literary and cultural center, stands for the aspect of Germany evoked by calling it the “nation of poets and thinkers.” (The “classical period” of German literature, to which Mises also refers, corresponds roughly to the time of Goethe.)

  The Gracchi, referred to in a Latin saying that Mises quotes, were the brothers Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus, agrarian, social, and political reformers of the second century Both perished in separate public disturbances, one of them after having sought an unconstitutional reelection as tribune of the people.

  It is quite unnecessary to identify every event, person, or school of thought that Mises refers to—Alexander the Great and so on. Still, there is no harm in adding that the Manchester School was a group of English economists of the first half of the nineteenth century, led by Richard Cobden and John Bright, who campaigned for a market economy and a free-trade policy. François Quesnay, 1694–1774, was a French physician and economist who stressed the central role of agriculture and who prepared the Tableau Economique, a kind of rudimentary input-output table.

  Benedikt Franz Leo Waldeck, 1802–1870, was Mises’s example of the possibility of being both a Prussian nationalist and a sincere liberal democrat. Waldeck, a member of the highest Prussian court, had been a radical deputy in the Prussian constituent assembly in 1848 and leader of a committee that drafted a constitution. Later, as an opposition member of the Prussian chamber of deputies, he continued resisting authoritarian trends in government.

  This introduction might fittingly end by especially recommending the discussion with which Mises ends his book—his discussion of the respective roles of value judgments and positive analysis in the choice between socialism and liberal capitalism. Mises proceeds not only from a liberal democratic outlook but also, and especially, from a rationalist and utilitarian philosophy.

  Thanks are due to the Thomas Jefferson Center Foundation and the James Madison Center of the American Enterprise Institute for contributing much of the secretarial help required in preparing the translation. Thanks for their good work also go to Mrs. Anne Hobbs, Mrs. Carolyn Southall, and Miss Linda Wilson.

  [1 ][Editor’s note: Mises frequently mentioned the mid-nineteenth century drive for a unified German nation to be composed of Germany and German-Austria. He described it as really a pro-freedom movement, closely associated with the liberal revolution of 1848. However, Mises never wrote about it in any detail. He refers to it briefly in this book, as does translator Leland Yeager in this Introduction. However, it might be helpful for the reader to know something more about how the movement was started, developed, and then demolished.
  
  As Mises describes this time in history, the drive for a “greater Germany” was closely related to the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century struggle for liberalism, individualism, freedom, and democracy. Napoleon’s conquest of Europe had destroyed the independence of the German principalities and dukedoms as political entities and brought them under the control of Prussia. In the hope of bringing about political reform in Germany after the defeat of Napoleon, professors, political scientists, authors, philosophers, businessmen, and others, began to talk and to write more and more about the liberal ideas which had arisen in France and England. University students proved fertile ground for this new ideology, and they formed liberal student associations. Several formerly independent German states drafted new constitutions to protect the rights of their people to own property, to vote, to enjoy freedom of speech without censorship, and to protect military conscripts from harsh treatment.
  
  To cope with the growing unrest, a first National Assembly was called by King Friedrich Wilhelm IV in April 1847, but its powers were strictly limited. One leading liberal who spoke up boldly was forced into exile. Other liberals persisted in asking the king to recognize individual rights, but their petitions were denied or ignored. The Assembly was closed in June 1847 without accomplishing anything. Meanwhile, events were moving along throughout Europe.
  
  In February 1848, a revolution of the people in Paris drove Louis Philippe from power. Metternich was forced out of office in Vienna. And in March 1848, unrest and rioting broke out in the streets of Berlin. Finally, Friedrich Wilhelm IV, nervous and frightened by the uprising, made important concessions. He brought two liberals into his cabinet and even promised that Prussia should be absorbed into Germany. It was finally arranged, with the help of the liberal ministers, for a second National Assembly to meet in St. Paul’s Church in Frankfurt to draft a liberal constitution. Its deliberations began on May 18, 1848. Its members were primarily of the middle class bourgeois movement striving for liberal and democratic ideas. They drafted a truly liberal constitution, which was approved by the Assembly, twenty-eight of the small German states and principalities, and Württemberg. The constitution was accepted even by the representatives of the Prussian people. But Bavaria, Saxony, Hanover, and Prussia refused to acknowledge it. Finally, Friedrich Wilhelm IV rejected it. The Assembly was closed down on April 21, 1849.
  
  Repression of the Assembly caused rioting and revolution to break out in Berlin and Vienna, among other cities. A number of leading liberals were arrested and imprisoned, exiled, or executed; others fled the country. The uprising was finally put down by the military.]

  [2 ]Benedek had had much experience on the Italian front but had been assigned to the northern front, supposedly to leave the easier Italian command to members of the Habsburg dynasty. Moltke and Benedek are named here because Mises mentions them as examples of victorious and defeated generals, respectively. He also mentions Karl Mack von Leiberich, an Austrian general who surrendered to Napoleon at Ulm in 1805, and Franz Gyulai, an Austrian general defeated in the war of 1859.

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  10: Nisbet, The Prevalence of War

  Robert A. Nisbet, The Present Age: Progress and Anarchy in Modern America (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2003). Chapter: I: The Prevalence of War

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/876/77065 on 2009-10-28

  The copyright to this edition, in both print and electronic forms, is held by Liberty Fund, Inc.

  ---

  I

  The Prevalence of War

  Of all faces of the present age in America, the military face would almost certainly prove the most astounding to any Framers of the Constitution, any Founders of the Republic who came back to inspect their creation on the occasion of the bicentennial. It is indeed an imposing face, the military. Well over three hundred billion dollars a year go into its maintenance; it is deployed in several dozen countries around the world. The returned Framers would not be surprised to learn that so vast a military has inexorable effects upon the economy, the structure of government, and even the culture of Americans; they had witnessed such effects in Europe from afar, and had not liked what they saw. What would doubtless astonish the Framers most, though, is that their precious republic has become an imperial power in the world, much like the Great Britain they had hated in the eighteenth century. Finally, the Framers would almost certainly swoon when they learned that America has been participant in the Seventy-Five Years War that has gone on, rarely punctuated, since 1914. And all of this, the Framers would sorrowfully find, done under the selfsame structure of government they had themselves built.

  Clearly, the American Constitution was designed for a people more interested in governing itself than in helping to govern the rest of the world. The new nation had the priceless advantage of two great oceans dividing it from the turbulences of Europe and Asia. Permanent or even frequent war was the last thing any thoughtful American of the time would think of as a serious threat. Power to declare war could be safely left to the Congress, and leadership of the military to a civilian commander in chief, the president. Let the president have nominal stewardship of foreign policy but let the Senate have the power to advise and consent, and the entire Congress the power of purse over foreign policy and war.

  It was ingenious, absolutely ideal for a nation clearly destined to peace and to the cultivation of the arts and sciences. Agriculture, commerce, and manufacture were the proper and highly probable direction of the American future. The states, to which an abundance of powers and rights were left by the Constitution, would be the true motors of American prosperity.

  We did a very good job, on the whole, of avoiding the traps and entanglements of the world for the first hundred and twenty-five years, and even made bold to warn the Old World that its presence in the Western Hemisphere, however brief, would be regarded with suspicion. Then things changed.

  The present age in American history begins with the Great War. When the guns of August opened fire in 1914, no one in America could have reasonably foreseen that within three years that foreign war not only would have drawn America into it but also would have, by the sheer magnitude of the changes it brought about on the American scene, set the nation on another course from which it has not deviated significantly since. The Great War was the setting of America’s entry into modernity—economic, political, social, and cultural. By 1920 the country had passed, within a mere three years, from the premodern to the distinctly and ineffaceably modern. Gone forever now the age of American innocence.

  When the war broke out in Europe in 1914 America was still, remarkably, strikingly, pretty much the same country in moral, social, and cultural respects that it had been for a century. We were still, in 1914, a people rooted largely in the mentality of the village and small town, still suspicious of large cities and the styles of living that went with these cities. The states were immensely important, just as the Founding Fathers and the Framers had intended them to be. It was hard to find a truly national culture, a national consciousness, in 1914. The Civil War had, of course, removed forever philosophical, as well as actively political, doubts of the reality of the Union as a sovereign state. But in terms of habits of mind, customs, traditions, folk literature, indeed written literature, speech accent, dress, and so forth, America could still be looked at as a miscellany of cultures held together, but not otherwise much influenced, by the federal government in Washington. For the vast majority of Americans, from east to west, north to south, the principal, if not sole, link with the national government was the postal system—and perhaps also the federal income tax, which was approved at long last by constitutional amendment in 1913.

  The Great War changed all of this. By November 1918 after four years of war in Europe and nearly two years of it for America, the whole world was changed, Europe itself ceased in substantial degree to be a contained civilization, and the United States, after close to two years of what can only be called wrenching military nationalism under the charismatic Woodrow Wilson, was brought at last into the modern world of nations. State loyalties and appeals to states’ rights would not vanish overnight; they aren’t gone yet in constitutional law, and aren’t likely to be. But whereas prior to 1914 one still saw the gravamen of American development in the four dozen states, “provinces” in European terms, by 1920, it had shifted to the national culture, with the states becoming increasingly archaic.

  The Great War, unwanted by any nation, even Germany, unexpected, really, until it burst devastatingly and irreversibly upon Europe, was at its height by far the largest, bloodiest, cruelest, indeed most savage in history. Churchill wrote:

  All the horrors of all the ages were brought together, and not only armies but whole populations were thrust into the midst of them. . . . Neither peoples nor rulers drew the line at any deed which they thought would help them to win. Germany, having let Hell loose, kept well in the van of terror; but she was followed step by step by the desperate and ultimately avenging nations she had assailed. Every outrage against humanity or international law was repaid by reprisals—often of a greater scale and of longer duration. No truce or parley mitigated the strife of the armies. The wounded died between the lines: the dead mouldered in the soil. Merchant ships and neutral ships and hospital ships were sunk on the seas and all on board left to their fate or killed as they swam. Every effort was made to starve whole nations into submission without regard to age or sex. Cities and monuments were smashed by artillery. Bombs from the air were cast down indiscriminately. Poison gas in many forms stifled or seared their bodies. Liquid fire was projected upon their bodies. Men fell from the air in flames, or were smothered, often slowly, in the dark recesses of the sea. The fighting strength of armies was limited only by the manhood of their countries. Europe and large parts of Asia and Africa became one vast battlefield on which after years of struggle not armies but nations broke and ran. When all was over, Torture and Cannibalism were the only two expedients that the civilized, scientific, Christian States had been able to deny themselves: and they were of doubtful utility.*

  The greatest single yield of the First World War was, however, none of the above; it was the Second World War, which came a bare quarter of a century after the First, germinated and let loose by the appalling consequences of 1918, chief among them the spawning of the totalitarian state, first in Russia, then in Italy and, crucially in the end, in Germany under Hitler. World War II was fought, of course, on a much wider front, or set of fronts, than its predecessor. There was no part of the globe that was not touched in one way or other. From the Second World War, officially ended in late 1945, has come a rash of wars during the last forty years, chief among them the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States. But we should not overlook the dozens of other wars fought during this period, in Asia, Africa, the Middle East, the Far East, Oceania, and so on. Between the last shot fired in 1945 and the present moment, war, somewhere at some time, has been the rule, peace the exception.

  There is every reason for referring to the “Seventy-Five Years War” of the twentieth century, for that is about the length of the period of wars that began in 1914 and, with only brief punctuations of peace, continues through this year, certainly the next, and to what final ending? In so referring to twentieth-century war, we are only following the precedent of what we read routinely in our textbooks of European history about the Hundred Years War at the end of the Middle Ages. That war also had its punctuations of peace, or at least absence of overt hostilities.

  War is indeed hell in just about every one of its manifestations through history. But for human beings during the past several thousand years it has plainly had its attractions, and also its boons for humanity. The general who said it is “good that war is so hideous; otherwise we should become too fond of it” spoke knowingly of the mental “wealth” that inheres in most wars along with the mental and physical “illth.” So practical and pragmatic a mind as William James believed that we needed a “moral equivalent of war” as the means of attaining the good qualities of war without entailing the evil ones.

  Without wars through the ages, and the contacts and intermixtures of peoples they—and for countless aeons they alone—instigated, humanity would quite possibly be mired in the torpor and sloth, the fruits of cultural and mental isolation, with which its history begins. Before trade and commerce broke down cultural barriers and yielded crossbreeding of ideas as well as genetic systems, wars were the sole agencies of such crossbreeding. Individualism, so vital to creativity, was born of mingling of peoples, with their contrasting cultural codes—the very diversity aiding in the release of individuals from prior localism and parochialism, always the price of cultural insularity.

  War and change—political and economic foremost, but social and cultural not far behind—have been linked in America from the beginning. War was the necessary factor in the birth of the new American republic, as it has been in the birth of every political state known to us in history. War, chiefly the Civil War, in U.S. history has been a vital force in the rise of industrial capitalism, in the change of America from a dominantly agrarian and pastoral country to one chiefly manufacturing in nature. War, in focusing the mind of a country, stimulates inventions, discoveries, and fresh adaptations. Despite its manifest illth, war, by the simple fact of the intellectual and social changes it instigates, yields results which are tonic to advancement.

  By all odds, the most important war in U.S. history, the war that released the greatest number and diversity of changes in American life, was the Great War, the war that began in Europe in August 1914 and engulfed the United States in April 1917. Great changes in America were immediate.

  In large measure these changes reflected a release from the sense of isolation, insularity, and exceptionalism that had suffused so much of the American mind during the nineteenth century. The early Puritans had seen their new land as a “city upon a hill” with the eyes of the world on it. It was not proper for the New World to go to the Old for its edification; what was proper was for the Old World, grown feeble and hidebound, to come to America for inspiration. A great deal of that state of mind entered into what Tocqueville called the “American Religion,” a religion compounded of Puritanism and ecstatic nationalism.

  What we think of today as modernity—in manners and morals as well as ideas and mechanical things—came into full-blown existence in Europe in the final part of the nineteenth century, its centers such cities as London, Paris, and Vienna. In contrast America was a “closed” society, one steeped in conventionality and also in a struggle for identity. This was how many Europeans saw America and it was emphatically how certain somewhat more sophisticated and cosmopolitan Americans saw themselves. The grand tour was a veritable obligation of better-off, ambitious, and educated Americans—the tour being, of course, of Europe.

  Possibly the passage of American values, ideas, and styles from “closed” to “open,” from the isolated to the cosmopolitan society, would have taken place, albeit more slowly, had there been no transatlantic war of 1914–1918. We can’t be sure. What we do know is that the war, and America’s entrance into it, gave dynamic impact to the processes of secularization, individualization, and other kinds of social-psychological change which so drastically changed this country from the America of the turn of the century to the America of the 1920s.

  War, sufficiently large, encompassing, and persisting, is one of the most powerful media of social and cultural—and also material, physical, and mechanical—change known to man. It was in circumstances of war in primordial times that the political state arose, and at the expense of the kinship order that had from the beginning been the individual’s sole community. Ever since, war has had a nourishing effect upon the state; it is “the health of the state,” Randolph Bourne observed darkly but accurately, when America went to war in 1917. Werner Sombart, historian of capitalism, devoted a volume to the tonic effects of war on the rise and development of capitalism. But no less true is Max Weber’s pronouncement of war and the barracks life of warriors as the true cause of communism. War communism precedes, indeed gives birth to, civil communism, Weber argued. The Communism of Soviet Russia has been based from the very beginning upon war preparation, upon the Red Army and its absolute power in the Soviet state.

  War tends to stimulate intellectual and cultural ferment if only because of the mixture of ideas and values that is a by-product of combat, of victory and defeat, in any war. In both world wars, millions of Americans, men and women alike, knew the broadening and enriching effects of travel abroad, of stations in exotic places for the first time, as the result of enlistment or conscription. Granted that some were killed. Far more were not.

  War tends to break up the cake of custom, the net of tradition. By so doing, especially in times of crisis, it allows the individual a better chance of being seen and heard in the interstices, in the crevasses opened by the cracking up of old customs, statuses, and conventionalities. This was remarkably true once the European war touched the millions of lives which had been for so long familiar with only the authorities and rhythms of an existence largely rural and pretty much limited to towns of the hinterland.

  Lord Bryce, who loved America, was nevertheless forced to devote a chapter in his The American Commonwealth, published in the late nineteenth century, to what he called “the uniformity of American life.” He was struck by the sameness of the buildings, houses, streets, food, drink, and dress in town after town, village after village, as he crossed and recrossed the country by rail. Not even one great capital, one flourishing city, Bryce felt obliged to report in his classic. That, however, was before the Great War and its transformation of the United States. It brought the literature of “release” in the novels of Sinclair Lewis, Sherwood Anderson, Willa Cather, Ruth Suckow, and others, a literature constructed around the drama and sometimes agony of a protagonist’s escape from Main Street or Winesburg or Elmville or wherever, to the freedoms, chilling as these could be, of a Chicago or New York. In postwar New York, America at last got a true world capital. Much of the dreadful sameness began to crack under the force of the Great War. No wonder this war remains popular in American memory; even more popular than the War of Independence with Britain, which, truth to tell, was observed at the time by a majority hostile or at best lukewarm to it. Woodrow Wilson made the war his personal mission, his road to salvation for not only America but the world; and in the process, he made the war the single most vivid experience a large number of Americans had ever known. Even the casualties among American forces (not many compared to those of France, Britain, Russia, and Germany) didn’t dampen enthusiasm at home; nor did the passage of legislation which put in the president’s hands the most complete thought control ever exercised on Americans.

  What the Great War did is what all major wars do for large numbers of people: relieve, if only briefly, the tedium, monotony, and sheer boredom which have accompanied so many millions of lives in all ages. In this respect war can compete with liquor, sex, drugs, and domestic violence as an anodyne. War, its tragedies and devastations understood here, breaks down social walls and by so doing stimulates a new individualism. Old traditions, conventions, dogmas, and taboos are opened under war conditions to a challenge, especially from the young, that is less likely in long periods of peace. The very uncertainty of life brought by war can seem a welcome liberation from the tyranny of the ever-predictable, from what a poet has called the “long littleness of life.” It is not the certainties but the uncertainties in life which excite and stimulate—if they do not catastrophically obliterate—the energies of men.

  There is a very high correlation between wars in Western history and periods of invention and discovery. If necessity is the mother of invention, then military necessity is the Great Mother. Roger Burlingame was correct when he said that if war were ever to be permanently abolished on earth, then something would have to be found to replace it as the stimulus and the context of inventions—mechanical but also social and cultural inventions. (When Leonardo da Vinci wrote to the duke of Milan listing his greatest accomplishments as possible stimulus to patronage from the duke, more than half the list consisted of his mechanical inventions. He combined painting and sculpture into one item, the better to give prominence to the mechanical achievements, nearly all of which were military.) America between 1914 and 1918 was no exception. Inventions of preceding years like the telephone and electric light were brought to a higher degree of perfection; so were the automobile, the radio, and the prototypes of what would become cherished household appliances. The federal government, justified and encouraged by war pressure, was able to do what would have been impossible in time of peace: directly encourage and even help finance new, entrepreneurial ventures such as the airplane and radio, each to revolutionize American life after the war.

  Advances in medicine rank high among the benefactions of war. The sheer number of the wounded and sick, the possibility—the necessity—of new and radical techniques of surgery, and the focus of effort that war inevitably brings all combine to make times of war periods of major medical advancement, with incalculable boons for posterity. The whole field of prosthetics, for example, opened up in World War I—to be enormously advanced in the Second War—and with it came widespread relief from the obvious disfigurements of war, so abundant and ubiquitous after the Civil War.

  Revolution and reform are common accompaniments of modern national wars. America underwent no political revolution as the consequence of either world war, but in each the acceleration of social and economic reforms and the germination of still other reforms to be accomplished later were striking. Not many wartime reforms long survived the wars, but their pattern was indelibly impressed on the reform mind. Without doubt the long overdue enfranchisement of women, which took place immediately after the First War, as did Prohibition, each the subject of a constitutional amendment, was the fruit in large part of women’s conspicuous service during the war in a variety of roles, military and civil, in offices and in factories. The cause of the illiterate was stimulated by the appalling results of the mass literacy tests given recruits in the war; the cause of the unorganized worker was advanced by the special allowance for union labor during the war; the real stimulus to the work toward racial and ethnic equality that has been a prominent part of the social history of the last sixty or so years came from federal agencies in the First World War. It is a matter of frequent note by historians that almost everywhere war needs inspire, in the interest of equity and of social stability, more “socialist” reforms than does the ideology of socialism.

  Sometimes, indeed, more than simple reform becomes entwined with war. Revolution takes place. This was one of Lenin’s insights. The German Socialists had made peace and pacifism almost as prominent as the revolutionary cause itself. Lenin broke utterly with this position, insisting that every national war should be supported in one way or other in the hope of converting war into revolution. America did not, of course, go into revolution as a result of the Great War, nor did England or France. But a good many of the countries engaged in that war, on both sides, did know very well, sometimes very painfully, the surge of revolution. What can be said of America in the war is that the people participated widely in a revolutionary upsurge of patriotism and of consecration to the improvement of the world in the very process of making “the world safe for democracy,” as the moralistic President Wilson put it.

  Yet another by-product of modern wars, those beginning with the French Revolution at least, is the sense of national community that can come over a people and become a landmark for the future. In the kind of war Americans—and others too—knew in 1917 and again in 1941, there is a strong tendency for divisiveness to moderate and a spirit of unity to take over. This was particularly apparent in America in the First War. It is not often remembered or cited that economic and social tensions were becoming substantial by 1914. Very probably the nearest this country has ever come to a strong socialist movement was during President Wilson’s first term. A great deal was written in those years about “class struggle,” “class revolt,” and “class war” in America. Unemployment was severe in many industries, unions struggled for recognition, the homeless and hungry demonstrated, sometimes rioting, and strikes in all the great industries including mining, steel, and textiles were at times small revolutions. The entrance of the United States in the war in 1917 spelled the end of much of this tumultuous and often violent behavior. Two decades later the same thing would be true for World War II. A full decade of the deepest and most agonizing economic depression America had ever known lasted, the vaunted New Deal notwithstanding, down to our joining the war in Europe and Asia.

  But economic prosperity, while vital, is not the same as the sense of community. War induces, especially in fighting forces, a sense of camaraderie and mutual recognition that becomes community. As Remarque wrote in his great World War I novels, the “Western Front” was a torture but so was “the Road Back” to civilian life at the end of the war. Even the trenches could instill a feeling of moral and social community—that was Remarque’s major point, as it was of a number of novelists, dramatists, and poets in the aftermath of the war. World War I, quite unlike its successor a quarter of a century later, was both a singing and a writing war, and in song and letters the theme of war’s spur to comradeship and the mordant sense too of the “spiritual peace that war brings,” to cite the British L. P. Jacks, are striking.

  War is a tried and true specific when a people’s moral values become stale and flat. It can be a productive crucible for the remaking of key moral meanings and the strengthening of the sinews of society. This is not always the case, as the American scene during the Vietnam War made painfully clear. But that war is more nearly the exception than the rule. Even our divisive, sanguinary, radical Civil War produced a reseating of values, with the nation for the first time exceeding the regions and states in political importance.

  Rarely has the sense of national community been stronger than it was in America during the Great War. True, that sense had to be artificially stimulated by a relentless flow of war propaganda from Washington and a few other pricks of conscience, but by the end of the war a stronger national consciousness and sense of cohesion were apparent. But, as we know in today’s retrospect, with these gains came distinct losses in constitutional birthright.

  All wars of any appreciable length have a secularizing effect upon engaged societies, a diminution of the authority of old religious and moral values and a parallel elevation of new utilitarian, hedonistic, or pragmatic values. Wars, to be successfully fought, demand a reduction in the taboos regarding life, dignity, property, family, and religion; there must be nothing of merely moral nature left standing between the fighting forces and victory, not even, or especially, taboos on sexual encounters. Wars have an individualizing effect upon their involved societies, a loosening of the accustomed social bond in favor of a tightening of the military ethic. Military, or at least war-born, relationships among individuals tend to supersede relationships of family, parish, and ordinary walks of life. Ideas of chastity, modesty, decorum, respectability change quickly in wartime.

  They did in Puritan-rooted America during World War I—changed radically in many cases, and irreversibly. Mars and Venus cavorted, as they always had in time of war, and not least in America. When the brave young doughboy in the AEF was about to go overseas, perhaps to his death, couldn’t his sweetheart, even the girl next door, both honor and thrill her swain? Of course she could—in life and voluminously in fiction. The relaxation not only of ancient rules and dogmas in the spheres of marriage and family, religion and morals, but also of styles of music, art, literature, and education, although concentrated in the cities, nevertheless permeated the entire nation.

  So, above all, did the new spirit of materialistic hedonism, the spirit of “eat, drink, and be merry” with or without the “for tomorrow we die,” capture the American mind during the war. The combination of government-mandated scarcities in some areas, as in meat, sugar, and butter, and the vast amount of expendable money from wages and profits in the hands of Americans led to a new consumer syndrome, one that has only widened ever since World War I and has had inestimable impact upon the American economy. Manufacture of consumer goods directed at the individual rather than the family greatly increased, further emphasizing the new individualism and the new hedonism of American life.

  The American Way of Life proved both during and after the Great War to be exportable, to peoples all over the world. These peoples may have had an inadequate grasp at the end of the 1920s of just where America was geographically and just what it was made of mentally and morally, but they had acquired during the decade a lively sense of Coca-Cola, the Hamburger, Hollywood Movies, Jazz, Flappers, Bootleg Gin, and Gangsters. The flapper came close to being America’s First Lady in the movie houses of India, China, Latin America, and other abodes of what today we call the Third World. On the evidence of tickets bought, they adored what they saw almost as much as did the American people. Despite Prohibition, drinking was in to a degree it had never achieved when legal—that is, among young people of both sexes but generally middle-class by the end of the twenties. The gangster and the cowboy both achieved a fame in that decade earlier denied their prototypes.

  The 1920s was par excellence the Age of Heroes. The age had begun in April 1917 when soldiers, from Black Jack Pershing at the top down to Sergeant York, were given novel worship by Americans at home. The spell lasted through the twenties to include heroes of the industrial world like Ford and Rockefeller; of the aviation world like Lindbergh and Earhart; of the sports world like Babe Ruth, Red Grange, Knute Rockne; and of the movies like Chaplin, Fairbanks, Swanson, and Pickford. To this day names such as these are more likely to come off the American tongue than are those of any living heroes.

  Almost everyone and everything became larger than life for Americans during the First World War. This began with the armed forces we sent over to Europe, a million and a half strong by the end of the war. Promotions were numerous and so were medals of one degree or other for valor, each with full publicity on the scene and back home. No military breast looked dressed unless rows of ribbons and galaxies of medals adorned it. Rife as decorations were, though, in World War I, these were almost as nothing compared with World War II. And the tendency has heightened immeasurably since that war. One illustration will suffice: In the recent, embarrassingly awkward invasion of tiny Grenada, when three American services, army, navy, and marines, were brought to combat six hundred expatriate Cuban construction workers, less than half of them armed, victory, if that be the word, was celebrated by the issuance of eight thousand decorations—there and back in Washington.

  As is so often the case in history, what began in the military spread quickly to nonmilitary society during the First World War. Under George Creel, President Wilson’s czar of war propaganda, about whose activities I shall say something in the next chapter, the custom arose of Home Front awards, honors, and decorations. Farmer of the Week, Worker of the Month, Lawyer of the Year, Surgeon of the Decade—these and many, many other honors festooned once quiet, modest, and shy America. The custom lasted, growing spectacularly during the 1920s, slackening somewhat in the 1930s, but regaining speed during World War II and thereafter. Today American professions spend uncountable hours giving awards to themselves. The academic profession probably leads, with journalism a close second, but lawyers, bankers, and dry cleaners are not far behind either.

  A possibly more important, more creative change that came with the Great War in America was in language, written as well as spoken. It became obviously bolder than it had ever been in American history—yet another boon, or casualty, of the Great War and its smashing of old icons of respectability and conventionality. In journalism the tabloid flourished, and a newspaper vernacular came close to driving out the statelier papers such as the Boston Transcript and the New York Sun. Just as newspaper reporters had at last found a prose that brought the realities of war a little closer to readers, so, in the 1920s, they found a prose for the retailing of sex, murder, scandal, and other of the seamier aspects of life that was far more vivid than anything before. One of the great accomplishments of the respected novelists, dramatists, and critics—Hemingway, Dos Passos, Fitzgerald, Anderson, O’Neill, Mencken, and others—in the twenties was a sharper, terser, more evocative language than had prospered in the Gilded Age.

  All in all, the America that came out from a mere year and a half of the Great War was as transformed from its former self as any nation in history. The transformation extended to fashions and styles, to methods of teaching in the schools, to a gradual letting down of the barriers between men and women and between the races, to informalities of language as well as simple habits at home and in the workplace.

  It is not often realized that among war’s occasional tonic attributes is that of distinct cultural renascences, brief periods of high fertility in the arts. Here too we are dealing with results of the shaking up of ideas and values that so frequently goes with war in history. To examine such a work as A. L. Kroeber’s Configurations of Culture Growth, a classic in comparative cultural history, is to see the unmistakable and unblinkable connections between wars and immediately subsequent years of creativity in literature, art, and kindred disciplines. The celebrated fifth century in Athens began with the Persian War and concluded with the Peloponnesian. Rome’s greatest period of cultural efflorescence, the first and second centuries, are inseparable from European and Asiatic wars. The Augustan Age emerged directly from the Civil Wars. In the more recent ages of Elizabeth I and of Louis XIV, and in the Enlightenment, we are dealing with distinct periods of cultural fertility which are inseparable from the wealth, power, and ferment of wars.

  We don’t often think of the 1920s in America as one of the more impressive intellectual and artistic outbursts in history, but it was. In terms of literature, we are obliged to go back to the American renascence just prior to the Civil War: to the single decade, perhaps, of the 1850s when works came forth from Melville, Hawthorne, Whitman, Emerson, Thoreau, among others—a constellation of creative genius that can pretty well hold its own in world competition.

  The 1920s may not quite match the 1850s, but we are nevertheless in the company of novelists of the stature of Faulkner, Cozzens, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dreiser, Glasgow, Lewis, and others; the poets Eliot, Pound, Frost, Robinson; and intellectual czars—a new breed—who had H. L. Mencken at their head. The war figured prominently in the early works of some, though not all, of the novelists: Dos Passos, Faulkner, Hemingway in some degree, Fitzgerald in less, and the psychological atmosphere of war in these novels was unfailingly one of disenchantment and repudiation. The literature of disenchantment with war was much more abundant in England and on the Continent than it was in America; and well it might be, given the four long, bloody, shell-shocking, and mind-numbing years in the trenches that the Europeans, unlike the American soldiers, had had to endure.

  Even more historic and world-influencing than our literature of the twenties, however, was our music of that decade: first and foremost jazz in all its glories, ranging from blues to early swing; very probably nothing else of a cultural nature is as distinctly and ineffaceably tied to the American matrix as is jazz, in composition and in voices and instrumental performances. But in the musical theater of Kern, Rodgers, and Hart in the twenties America took a lead in the world that would continue for close to fifty years. These names, and also of course those of Gershwin, Berlin, and Porter, were as lustrous in the cities of Europe and Asia as in the United States.

  Hollywood perhaps became the American name of greatest reach in the world. Well on its way before the Great War, it was helped immeasurably by the war; when the federal government took over the movies for propaganda uses, an assured supply of funding made possible a great many technical as well as plot and character experiments which might have been slower in coming had there been no war. And of course the opportunity to cover the actual war in Europe, its details of action, death, and devastation, provided a marvelous opportunity for further experimentation. There were excellent movies made in the 1920s in America—movies fully the equal of those in Germany and France—on war, its carnage and tragedy, romance and heroism. In any event, it is unlikely that the phenomenon of Hollywood—its tales of actors and actresses, producers and directors as well as the remarkable quantity and quality of its films—would have burst forth as it did in the 1920s had it not been for the heady experience of the war. In art as in literature and philosophy, war can bring forth forces of creative intensity.

  There was of course the myth of the Lost Generation to occupy memoirists, critics, and romantics through the 1920s and after. I shall say more about this myth in the final chapter. It will suffice here to emphasize that apart only from the appalling loss of a whole generation of brilliant minds in the trenches, there really wasn’t any such thing—only the literary rumor thereof.

  In sum, in culture, as in politics, economics, social behavior, and the psychological recesses of America, the Great War was the occasion of the birth of modernity in the United States. It is no wonder that so many historians have adopted the stereotype of the Age of Innocence for what preceded this war in American history.

  Another national legacy of the Great War is what I can think of only as the Great American Myth. This is the myth—it sprang into immediate existence with the armistice in 1918—that America, almost single-handedly, won the war. Such was American prowess in war, derived from clean living and good hearts, that it did in a matter of months what the British and French had been at unsuccessfully for more than two years: that is, lick the Hun. In such popular magazines as American, Everybody’s, The Literary Digest, The Saturday Evening Post, and local newspapers everywhere would appear staple pieces beginning “The reason the American doughboy won the war for the Allies was . . .”. There would follow reasons ranging from the Puritan ethic all the way to the “fact” that Our Boys all came from farms where they had plenty of milk and butter, learned to shoot squirrels with deadly efficacy, and could fix anything that broke with a hairpin.

  But whatever the reason was, it is doubtful that any American failed to believe, in the twenties, that American soldiers had a genius for war; could, like Cincinnatus of early Rome, take their hands from the plow one day and fight valorously for country the next. In some degree the myth is a corollary of what Lord Bryce called “the fatalism of the multitude” in America: a belief, nay, a compulsion exerted by belief that America had a special destiny of its own—one that from its beginning as a “city upon a hill” in Puritan Massachusetts, through Colonial days, the Revolutionary War, the winning of the American continent in the nineteenth century, would carry America, perhaps alone among all nations, to an ever more glorious fulfillment of birthright. Such was the exceptional fate under which America lived, that she didn’t have to be concerned about all the cares and worries, the forethought, prudence, and preparation for the worst that other nations did.

  The Myth would be a commonplace, no more than a charming conceit of a kind found perhaps in every people were it not for the fact that it was and is taken sufficiently seriously by many Americans as to become a utopian block to the military preparation and industrial skill that any nation must have, even if composed of supermen. The Great Myth was operating in full force when the Second World War broke out and it operates today in the form of tolerance of a Pentagon bureaucracy that chokes off initiative and perseverence.

  The stark, agonizing truth is, we Americans have not been good at war, and particularly conventional war fought on land. We won our independence from Britain all right, but it’s best for the patriot not to dig too deeply into the reasons, which include key help from abroad, halfheartedness on the part of Britain, and quite astounding luck, benign accident. We were a ragtag lot, and most of the time the Continental Congress acted as if it was more afraid of a bona fide American army coming out of the war than it was of a British victory.

  Our first war as a new nation, the War of 1812, was rashly declared by Congress, and it proved to be a mixed bag indeed for the United States. At Bladensburg our militia was routed without serious struggle, and the diminutive President Madison, seeking to demonstrate that he was the troops’ commander in chief, was very nearly captured by the British. There followed the burning of Washington, including the White House, or much of it, and the torching of dozens of settlements on Chesapeake Bay. We were no better on the Canadian border. True, we saved Baltimore and just after the war was ended, Andy Jackson was able to become a hero at New Orleans. Not much else.

  In the nineteenth century we were good at beating the Mexicans, but less good at handling the American Indians in pitched battle. From the remarkable Tecumseh and his Red Stick Confederacy in 1809 to Sitting Bull at Little Bighorn in 1876, white Americans were ragged indeed. The West was won more by the momentum of westward expansion than by crucial battles with the Indians, whom we eventually “defeated” almost genocidally through malnutrition, disease, and alcohol. No Federal leader in the Indian wars equaled Tecumseh and Sitting Bull. Custer’s inglorious end at Little Bighorn is not a bad symbol of the whole of the Indian wars.

  The Civil War produced, after a year or two of battles, at least two first-rate generals and some superb troops. Unfortunately these were not part of the United States forces; they belonged to the Confederate States of America. This is no place to play the game of “what if,” as in, what if the South had won at Gettysburg? But the very existence of the question attests to the nearness of at least temporary Confederate victory. The United States won in the end—after the unhappy Mr. Lincoln finally got rid of timid or inept generals—through the crude but effective bludgeonings by Grant’s mass army and the organized terror waged in Georgia by General Sherman.

  Over the Spanish-American War, a decent curtain will be lowered here.

  The American Expeditionary Force of 1917 arrived in France almost three full years after the trench slaughter there and on the Eastern Front had begun. The Allies were indeed glad to welcome the American soldiers, who did well; not brilliantly, but well, all things considered. We had our requisite heroes—Sergeant York, dashing, brilliant Doug MacArthur, Black Jack Pershing whom a grateful Congress elevated overnight to the rank of George Washington himself, and others—to hear about for years and years in the thousands of little towns in America. In all truth, it is quite possible that had the war lasted a couple of years beyond 1918, had more American divisions actually been blooded in battle, and had it been given, in short, the time and seasoning necessary, the AEF might have become a sterling fighting force. But we were Over There for a pitifully short time, from the military point of view.

  The American public, however, and, sad to say, the professional military in America, saw it differently. Our Boys had the strength of ten, and after the imperialist-minded, materialistically motivated British and French had stumbled and bumbled for two and a half years, Our Boys cleaned up the job. The Great American Myth gave birth to other myths: Can Do, Know How, and No Fault, myths which abide to this minute in America and yield up such disasters as Korea, Vietnam, Iran, Lebanon, and Grenada.

  Under the spell of the myth, Americans begin anticipating victory and peace at about the time war is declared. In World War I and World War II, spurred on by editors and broadcasters, they were chittering within months about getting The Boys home for Christmas.

  Our civilian recruits in World War II had hardly been at training six weeks when an eager citizenry proudly declared them “combat-ready right now.” Sadly, some of our military leaders exhibited the same impetuous innocence. When Churchill was taken by General Marshall and other officers to witness for himself the “readiness for combat” of trainees at a South Carolina camp, Churchill bruised some feelings, we learn, by declaring that “it takes at least two years to make a soldier.” So it does. But the Great American Myth says otherwise, and it is seemingly indestructible.

  A notorious and potentially devastating instance of the myth was the American shrilling for a Second Front Now in 1942—a shrilling, alas, joined in by Roosevelt and, nominally at least, Marshall and the other Joint Chiefs. They were unimpressed by the nearly fatal experience of the British at Dunkirk in 1940; and they would remain unimpressed by the utter failure in August 1942 of the largely British-Canadian Dieppe assault in France, in which thoroughly trained, seasoned attack troops five thousand strong were repulsed easily, with 70 percent casualties, by German forces well emplaced and armed.

  To be sure, Stalin, threatened by Hitler’s armies in the east, was noisily demanding such a second front, in the process calling Churchill and the British cowardly; but even without Stalin’s demand in 1942—instantly echoed, of course, in both England and the United States by Communist parties and their multitudinous sympathizers among liberals and progressives—the Great American Myth, the myth of Can Do, of effortless military strategy and valor, that is, American Know How, would have kept the cretinous pressure going for a storming of the cross-channel French coast, awesomely guarded by the Germans, in the fall of 1942 and early 1943.

  As thoroughly mythified as anyone else, President Roosevelt himself developed a plan, as he called it, for such a blind, suicidal frontal assault by the British and Americans (in the very nature of things in 1942, overwhelmingly British) on the French coast directly across the channel. He wrote Churchill that such was the importance of his “plan” that he was sending it over by General Marshall and his aide Harry Hopkins, so that they might explain its merits personally to Churchill and his military chiefs. The decision to storm the French coast must be made “at once,” declared Roosevelt through his envoys. Since only five American divisions would be ready by the fall of 1942, “the chief burden” would necessarily fall on the British, the President charmingly explained. By September 15, America could supply only “half” of the divisions necessary, that is, five, and but seven hundred of the necessary five thousand combat aircraft. FDR’s plan foresaw a first wave of six divisions hitting “selected beaches” between Le Havre and Boulogne. These would be “nourished” at the rate of one hundred thousand men a week. The whole war-ending operation must begin in late 1942 and reach climax in 1943.

  What the British, starting with Churchill, really thought of this incredible nonsense we don’t know. Keeping the Americans happy in their choice of Europe First, Japan Second, was of course vital, imperative diplomacy for the British. Thus while offering frequent overt reactions of the “magnificent in principle,” “superbly conceived,” and “boldly projected” kind, the British leaders made immediate plans, we may assume, for weaning the Americans from a 1942 channel assault to North Africa, eased by a pledge that the so-called Second Front would take place in 1943.

  Today, looking back on what was required in June 1944, two years after Roosevelt’s plan was unveiled before the eyes of Churchill—required in the way of troops, landing craft, mobile harbors, planes, ships, materiel of every kind, and required too in the way of sheer luck—we can only shudder at the thought of a Normandy invasion beginning in the fall of 1942, less than a year after Germany brought the United States into the European war by its declaration of war on America.

  Only the Great American Myth can possibly explain the rashness, the foolhardiness, of Roosevelt’s proposal and the at least ostensible endorsement of it by American generals. Powerful defenses manned by the highly efficient German army, the treacherous currents of the channel, the terrible weather problems, the enforced insufficiency of men and materiel—what are these as obstacles when the invading troops will be joined by Our Boys, fresh from the farms, hamlets, and towns of America the Beautiful, the spirit of Galahad in every soldierly breast?

  The Great American Myth fell on its face, though, in North Africa when, following our first eager and confident efforts, there were serious and indeed embarrassing reverses to American troops, whose officers were disinclined even to receive, much less ask for, advice from the well-seasoned British. The Great American Myth, absorbed in basic training, at first stood between American officers and even recognition of the sad state of their strategy and tactics. The American bumblings began in Tunisia in late 1942 and were still only too apparent in the first months of 1943, nowhere more humiliatingly than at Kasserine Pass where in addition to inflicting heavy casualties on the Americans, the openly contemptuous Germans took away half of their strategic weapons. Relations between the Americans and the British were precarious indeed, requiring constant attention by both Churchill and FDR.

  American courage was not in doubt; nor was potential once adequate time and opportunity for experience had been provided. Nevertheless, the embarrassing fact is, the Americans, including Marshall and Eisenhower, who had argued so strongly for a Second Front Now on the fearfully manned and armed Normandy coast, with all stops pulled out on Can Do, looked pathetic in the far easier circumstances of Tunisia. And matters weren’t different in the Pacific so far as land forces were involved. An infantry division trained for a year in the hot desert was sent, in desert clothing, for its first assignment to the bitterly cold and wet Aleutians, yielding a record toll of incapacitating frostbite. Hundreds of marines were slaughtered in the beachhead of Tarawa, largely as the result of command failure to use intelligence and readings of charts of coastal waters and island detail. Marines, it was trumpeted, Can Do and already have innate Know How. Presumably the hapless marines in Lebanon, over two hundred in number, were ascribed the same innate attributes when they were sent by Reagan in 1983 without arms, without vital intelligence, and without instructions—ending up, as we know, without lives.

  The entrance of America in military array into Vietnam was begun by the Kennedy administration apparently for no other reason than impulse to show the world academic Know How of the sort illustrated by McNamara, Bundy, Hilsman, and Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., among others. We lost Vietnam after an unprecedentedly long war, one hugely expensive in lives and dollars. Desert One, in Iran, was an incredible mishmash of sheer unpreparedness and incompetence of leaders. Tiny Grenada attracted three American services—bumbling, Abbott and Costello–led services, alas—to deal with not more than two hundred armed Cubans. Most recently we have had the Freedom Fighters, and an entry into the Persian Gulf, to convoy tankers, without minesweepers!

  Before leaving the myth, it is worth noting that it operates, and perhaps nowhere else so fatefully, in every new president’s conception of himself and his command of foreign affairs. Since FDR it has become almost de rigueur for each president to make it plain to all that he will be his own secretary of state, his own master of foreign policy. The next step is usually that of creating the impression that he not only doesn’t need the State Department and congressional committees to help him, but also frankly finds their presence inimical to the new, suddenly revealed, foreign policy that he—and perhaps a Colonel House or Harry Hopkins or William Casey, but no one else—intends to broadcast to the world.

  Churchill, the greatest leader yielded by the war and indeed the century, reported to his War Cabinet every day on his activities; he consulted his assembled chiefs of staff regularly; he reported periodically to Parliament; and he drew constantly on the permanent secretariat, the body of specialists that stayed through all changes of government. He would not sign the Atlantic Charter aboard the battleship off Nova Scotia until its full text had been cabled to the War Cabinet and a reply received. He was still the leader.

  Roosevelt saw fit to consult no one but Hopkins and Sumner Welles about the charter; the idea of getting the counsel even of officers of the State Department, much less of congressional committees, would have made him laugh. He knew what was needed and right; experts were unnecessary and actually obstructive. FDR had never met Stalin or any other high Soviet leader; he had never been to or even read particularly about the Soviet Union. But he obviously felt the full impulse of the Great American Myth when he wrote Churchill three months after entry into the war that he “could personally handle Stalin” and do so far more ably than either the British Foreign Office or the American State Department. What Churchill thought on reading this he never told the world, contenting himself with merely including the Roosevelt message in his war memoirs.

  Just as each new president must show his spurs by deprecating State Department and congressional committees in foreign policy, so, it seems, must each new National Security Adviser to the president. He too, under the Great Myth, immediately knows more than Congress or the Departments of State and Defense about any given foreign or defense issue that arises. Watching Kissinger perform as National Security Adviser, to the confusion of the State Department and congressional committees, we might have foreseen a day when a National Security Adviser would appear in admiral’s uniform and define his role as that of excluding not only Congress and the Departments of State and Defense from knowledge of purportedly covert NSC operations but even his very boss, the president of the United States.

  Add to what has thus far been said about the Great Myth and American Know How the attribute of No Fault, and we have the myth fairly well identified. Presidents, secretaries, and generals and admirals in America seemingly subscribe to the doctrine that no fault ever attaches to policy and operations. This No Fault conviction prevents them from taking too seriously such notorious foul-ups as Desert One, Grenada, Lebanon, and now the Persian Gulf.

  The spirit of ingrained Know How is by no means limited to the American military and the national government. Corporate America and Wall Street both bring the Great American Myth to conspicuous presence regularly. Until Black Monday, October 1987, even such unprepossessing goings-on as insider trading, hostile takeovers, flaunting of junk bonds, and golden parachutes were widely regarded by brokers and economists alike as basically healthful, nicely attuned to economic growth and productivity.

  We shall not soon forget the efflorescence of the Myth in Detroit for perhaps twenty years after World War II when a vast litter of unsafe, low quality, ugly, and expensive automobiles were the issue of the Know How, Can Do, and No Fault psychology of the auto industry. Not even Ralph Nader would have effected salutary change in Myth-beset Detroit had it not been for the ever-widening competition—and here at home where it hurt—from Japan, West Germany, and other countries.

  The Great Myth provides a warm and lustrous ambiance for our towering national debt of close to three trillions, our annual budget deficits, now at two hundred billion, and our even more hazardous trade deficits. Only the intoxicating presence of the Great Myth can explain how otherwise sane and responsible people, including financial editors and professional economists, find not only no danger in such a mess of debts and deficits, but actual nutriment of economic equilibrium and growth. Historically large and prolonged national budget deficits have been almost uniformly regarded by experts as potentially crippling to any society. So has lack of savings and of investments in business been generally regarded as putting an economy in jeopardy. Consumer hedonism with its vast consumption of the fragile and ephemeral has always been looked at with apprehension by statesmen. But during the years of Reagan and his all time record setting deficits and debt-increases a new school of thought has emerged; one that declares debts, deficits, trade imbalances, and absent savings forces for the good, requiring only, if anything at all, substantial tax cuts. Needless to say, the rest of the world, starting with Japan, can only look wonderingly at the U.S. The God who looks out for fools and drunks is indeed needed for the Republic.

  Fascination with the amateur steadily widens in America—amateur in the sense of unprepared or inexperienced. We scorn professionality in appointments of officials ranging from the Librarian of Congress to Secretary of State. A Martian might think experience in national and international affairs the first requirement of the Presidency. Not so, for we fairly regularly and confidently elect Coolidges, Kennedys, Carters, and Reagans to the White House as if there were a positive advantage in being ignorant or inexperienced in national and international politics. Both Carter and Reagan seemed to think this was the case when they ran for office. So, obviously, did a great many Americans. It’s an old passion. In the twenties there were millions who begged Henry Ford to step down from Dearborn to Washington and “get things straightened out.” In 1940 there was Wendell Wilkie and then Thomas Dewey, the while a Robert Taft could only gaze from the side line. On the whole it seems the Republicans are more easily dazzled and motivated to go for amateurs than are the Democrats. But it’s a bipartisan failing, for the Great American Myth is everywhere. Naturally the first thing an amateur does when elected to the White House is appoint fellow-amateurs—not only to innocuous posts such as the Librarian of Congress but to State, Treasury, the CIA, Defense, and so on, not forgetting vital ambassadorships.

  From McNamara to Weinberger we have seen off and on amateurs as Secretary of Defense. And from McNamara’s TFX and computerized body counts to current miseries with the Bradley, the Sergeant York, the MX, and the B-1 bomber there has been a steady roster of the failed and abortive. Ten years since the mesmerizing RDF small units were announced, Pentagon is still struggling to put one such military unit into being and action. Pentagon, alas, has penetrated large areas of our economy and also, much more important, our universities and their research laboratories. We have not been in a major war since 1945, excepting perhaps for Vietnam, which was selected by the Kennedy White House as a simple counterinsurgency operation—nothing, really, but small wars, calling for special military units.

  Why, then, so immense a military? The immediate answer is invariably the Cold War with the Soviet Union. The answer is indeed worth respectful consideration. The record is plain that once Japan was defeated in late 1945, America commenced an immediate pell-mell, helter-skelter demobilization that might well have denuded the nation of a military in the same measure that it did after the First World War. This demobilization stopped for one reason alone: the voracious Russian appetite for land and power that could no longer be hidden once V-E Day came in Europe. In Poland, in the Baltic states, in the Balkans, in Iran, and in the Far East, Stalin either entered or else shored up and consolidated lands and nations he had already appropriated during the final months of the war. The roots of the Cold War are, of course, in these acts of aggrandizement, which became steadily more odious to Americans after the war, and also, by implication, threatening. But the Cold War began in full fact when Truman gave protection to Greece and Turkey, at Britain’s urgent request, and Stalin realized that the United States would no longer tolerate what Roosevelt had during his presidency, when his mind was stubbornly set on winning Stalin’s friendship and postwar favor.

  But with all respect to the Cold War and to the highly militaristic, imperialistic nation that wages it on America, it alone is not enough to explain either the size or the type of military establishment we now have on our hands. The Cold War does not by itself come close to explaining the sheer size of the budget, well over three hundred billions a year, much less some of the specifications which are involved in military budgets. Surely a six-hundred-ship navy based upon aircraft carriers and battleships is not a requisite for any conceivable war with the Soviet Union, a war that would inevitably be land-based. The very real potential menace of the Soviets doesn’t require, surely, to make it believable to the American public, that we sweep into the American-Soviet maw every little brushfire war that breaks out in Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America. The confrontations of doves and hawks, both in government and among political and military intellectuals, do indeed involve the Soviets from time to time, chiefly in respect of the size and type of our nuclear force, but far more of such confrontations are pivoted upon incidents and outbreaks only dimly connected with the Soviet Union. The Soviets just won’t pass muster as the cause of everything—Korea, Vietnam, the Dominican Republic, South Africa, Iran, Lebanon, Grenada, Central America, the Persian Gulf, and so on—that we have on our post–World War II record.

  There are two powerful, and by now almost inescapable, forces which operate to yield America an ever-larger military. By this late part of the century, after two world wars, a string of smaller ones, and forty years of the Cold War, these two forces would surely continue to operate even if the Soviet Union were miraculously transformed into a vast religious convent. Together the two forces, the one rationalistic, the other moralistic, conjoin irresistibly in our present society.

  The first was noted profoundly by President Eisenhower in 1961 in his cogent farewell remarks. He warned Americans against what he called the “military-industrial complex” and also the “scientific-technological elite.” Taken in its entirety the Eisenhower farewell address is as notable as was that of George Washington. It deserves fully as much attention as the Washington address has received over the years.

  Ike was struck by how, during the Cold War—a war he believed had to be waged, given the nature of the Soviet Union—the military and the whole armaments-defense private sector had become interlocked fatefully. Each grew stronger from the nutriment supplied by the other. He was also struck by the sheer internal, indigenous power of the scientific-technological elite in the United States and its attraction to war and the military as a vast, virtually free laboratory. Moreover, Ike added, our tendency since World War II has been to meet the threat of Soviet power through “emotional and transitory sacrifices of crisis” rather than through considered planning that would meet foreign dangers without ripping the fabric of American life, without incurring expenses so vast as to worry the most dedicated of patriots. There is, Eisenhower continued, “a recurring temptation to feel that some spectacular and costly action could become the miraculous solution of all current difficulties.” Could President Eisenhower have been thinking about our current Strategic Defense Initiative, or Star Wars, project, hailed in the beginning as a canopy over our heads that would forever shield us from nuclear weapons, and now estimated to cost a full trillion dollars to deploy in full—assuming it can ever be deployed at all?

  The cost of alleged scientific miracles is probably less, though, than the total costs of what may from one point of view be called the militarization of intellectuals and from another point of view the intellectualization of the military. I am thinking of the fusion of the military and the university during the last half-century. Eisenhower offered this warning also in his farewell remarks: “The prospect of domination of the nation’s scholars by federal employment, project allocations, and the power of money is ever present—and is gravely to be regarded.” He cautioned too: “Partly because of the huge costs involved, a government contract becomes virtually a substitute for intellectual curiosity.”

  Eisenhower was warning primarily of what may happen to the universities as a result of their compulsive willingness to adapt, readjust, and refashion in the interest of the huge sums ever ready to be granted by the military. But a moment’s thought suggests the reverse conclusion: The power of the university and the university culture in this country is such that by virtue of its union with the military, the whole nature and function of the military establishment could become altered, and not necessarily for the better. But whichever conclusion we choose to accept, the symbiotic relationship between the military and a large and increasing part of the university world is only too obvious. The university thus joins the corporation and the technological institute in becoming willy-nilly a complex, possibly deep pattern of culture. The economy has a vested interest in the prevalence of war; that is obvious. Does the university? That could have seismic effects in the academic world.

  The military, or defense, intellectual is one of the flowers of the present age, and also one of the great drawbacks in our military establishment. Probably McNamara as Secretary of Defense under Kennedy has the dubious honor of being the first intellectual to demonstrate to the professional military exactly how wars should be fought. His punishment by the gods for hubris consisted of participation in the Bay of Pigs fiasco and then his appalling leadership in the American buildup of troops in Vietnam. But there were other military intellectuals under Kennedy: Bundy, Hilsman, Rostow, and the never-to-be-forgotten Daniel Ellsberg of Defense. Who will forget the saga, now firmly in our schoolbooks, of how our military intellectuals were “eyeball to eyeball” with Khrushchev and the Soviets over Soviet missiles being fixed in Cuba? It is only today, twenty-five years later, that the truth is coming forth from the aforementioned hawks, and we now learn that the truth consists not of intellectual hawks but of doves dressed like hawks eager to make conciliatory gifts to the Soviets and to adopt secret backup lines in the event Khrushchev became hard-nosed and stubborn.

  It was in the Kennedy administration that the unlamented, embarrassing Project Camelot was conceived and shortly aborted. This was a covert operation based secretly at American University in Washington and manned largely by academics and free-lance intellectuals who were apparently enchanted by the image of Kennedy and his intellectuals at the top and made eager to earn a few spurs themselves as covert hawks. A couple of dozen professors from some of America’s better universities collaborated with the military to work out an intellectually—sociologically, anthropologically, and psychologically—sound covert operation by which America, with or without green berets, could spark counterinsurgency operations in countries where the resident government seemed perhaps unable to cope. Chile, of all places, was tagged secretly as the proving ground for the scheme. One of the academics became conscience-stricken, however, and blew the whistle on the absurd venture, thus arousing the ire of the Chilean government, the front-page attention of the Washington Star, and an investigation by a special committee of Congress. Although the very participation of a large gaggle of American academics attests once again to the Great Myth, it has to be said that under the fools’ luck codicil of the myth, all participants escaped with nothing more than temporary embarrassment.

  There is no evidence that I know of that McNamara’s career as military intellectual—complete, it will be remembered, with computerized body counts and TFX monstrosities—has been bettered since by any of his by now multitudinous flock of followers. More and more centers, think tanks, and institutes in Washington are directed to war policy and war strategy, and to war intelligence. Hardly a night goes by without one or other military intellectual appearing on the television screen to clear up confusions about war and the military. Intellectuals come as “terror experts,” “strategy analysts,” “intelligence consultants,” and no one ever seems interested in where these ever-voluble experts acquired their credentials.

  The liaison between scientist and technologist—connected inevitably with the liaison between the military and the corporate world—is especially productive of vast military establishments in present-day America. Eisenhower could have elaborated had he chosen to do so, even back when he said his farewell. But that day is as nothing compared to our own. It is almost as though the scientific-technological has become an immense creature with life and energy of its own. A perceptive article in Barron’s (August 17, 1987) presents a list of “current programs,” “new programs recently authorized,” and “programs emerging from development within 5 years.” Secret programs are not listed; those that are, run into the dozens and include both nuclear and conventional military technology.

  Barron’s correctly features the astronomical costs of even the overt part of the weapons program, costs which when they reach a certain not easily specifiable point will be repudiated by the people and Congress, thus presenting one kind of defense crisis. Another kind of crisis we are perhaps already reaching is that between the seemingly infinite productivity of the strictly scientific-technological elites and the very finite capacity of fighting forces, right down to the individual soldier, for assimilating all the wonders of design, for adapting them to the harsh and unforeseeable realities of the battlefield. It is as though the scientific-technological community takes on a life of its own in the design and development of weapons, a life that becomes dangerously aloof to the needs of the soldier. Given this psychology, this urge to impress fellow scientists irrespective of cost or ultimate utility, it is scarcely remarkable that the defense budget skyrockets annually, and the list of unassimilable “problem” designs—such as the unlamented TFX under McNamara, the B-1 bomber, the M-1 tank, the Sergeant York, and the General Bradley troop carrier—keeps growing. In each of these, it would appear, the largely irresponsible imagination of technological designers has outstripped military practicality and basic need on the field.

  Electronic and computerized equipment becomes more and more complicated as well as expensive. Soldiers dependent on such equipment are that much more vulnerable in war. When the cruiser Stark was badly crippled in the Persian Gulf by an Iraqi missile launched from a plane, it was not the complex, exquisitely sensitive radar computer system that alerted the ship’s commander and crew but rather a sailor in the crow’s nest—the oldest form of seagoing intelligence, we may assume, in history—who alerted the ship; too late, tragically, but that wasn’t the sailor’s fault.

  When one reflects a moment on the failure of the computerized, electronic, mechanized system to do what it was supposed to do, warn of approaching planes and their missiles, and thinks also of the fact that in the end it was the human being using only his own eyesight who put up any kind of action whatever, we can’t help mulling over something like the Strategic Defense Initiative, Star Wars. When it, in its trillion-dollar splendor, is finally deployed in space, with the security of the United States officially declared dependent upon it, will it perhaps turn out that just as the computerized Stark in Persian waters required the sailor in the crow’s nest, the operation of SDI will require the eyes and ears of many thousands of civilians standing watch? Apparently we’ll never have a chance to know, for the first use of SDI in a holocaustic emergency will be final, one way or the other.

  Even if there were no Soviet Union or its equivalent to justify our monstrous military establishment, there would be, in sum, the whole self-perpetuating military-industrial complex and the technological-scientific elite that Eisenhower warned against. These have attained by now a mass and an internal dynamic capable of being their own justification for continued military spending. That is how far the military—its substance and its mystique—has become fused with economic and intellectual life. Take away the Soviet Union as crucial justification, and, under Parkinson’s Law, content of some kind will expand relentlessly to fill the time and space left.

  Giving help and assistance to Parkinson’s Law in the predictable prosperity of the military establishment in our time is what can only be called Wilson’s Law. That is, Woodrow Wilson, whose fundamental axiom “What America touches, she makes holy” was given wording by his great biographer, Lord Devlin. The single most powerful cause of the present size and the worldwide deployment of the military establishment is the moralization of foreign policy and military ventures that has been deeply ingrained, especially in the minds of presidents, for a long time. Although it was Woodrow Wilson who, by virtue of a charismatic presence and a boundless moral fervor, gave firm and lasting foundation to American moralism, it was not unknown earlier in our history. The staying power of the Puritan image of America as a “city upon a hill” was considerable throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. America the Redeemer Nation was very much a presence in the minds of a great many Americans. American “exceptionalism” began in the conviction that God had created one truly free and democratic nation on earth and that it was to the best interests of all other nations to study America and learn from her. Even the conservative and essentially noninterventionist President Taft, in 1912, sent a detachment of marines into Nicaragua with instructions to announced to the Nicaraguan government that “The United States has a moral mandate to exert its influence for the general peace in Central America which is seriously menaced. . . . America’s purpose is to foster true constitutional government and free elections.”

  But Taft’s message was as nothing in the light of the kind of foreign policy and military ventures that began under Woodrow Wilson in the Great War—or, if it didn’t begin under him, it was enlarged, diffused, and effectively made permanent. Ever since Wilson, with only rarest exceptions, American foreign policy has been tuned not to national interest but to national morality. In some degree morality has crept into rationalization of war in European countries too, but some responsibility for that has to be borne first by Wilson, then by Franklin Roosevelt, each of whom tirelessly preached the American Creed to such Old World types as Lloyd George, Clemenceau, and then Churchill in the Second World War. Those three, and many others, had thought that each of the two world wars was fought for national reasons, specifically to protect against German aggressiveness and then destroy it. Not so, chorused Wilson and Roosevelt, the first of whom composed the Fourteen Points, the second the Four Freedoms and then as encore the Atlantic Charter; and much of America has been singing those notes ever since.

  Woodrow Wilson is without question the key mind; Roosevelt was simply a Wilsonian without the charismatic will and absolute power of mind that Wilson had. One thinks here of Karl Marx when someone reminded him that Hegel had opined that history occasionally repeats its events and great personages. Yes, said Marx, the first time as tragedy, the second as farce. Wilson was pure tragedy, Roosevelt farce. Wilson sought to invoke all the powers of his Calvinist god and his beloved city upon a hill, the United States of America, in order to bring about a world assembly, the League of Nations, that would realize for the entire planet the sweetness and light of America. This he sought, preached, and died for. Roosevelt, with much the same dream, spent World War II in pursuit of Josef Stalin, convinced that he, FDR, could smooth out the wrinkles in Uncle Joe, spruce him up, and make a New York Democrat out of him. That was farce—one we haven’t escaped even yet.

  Wilson above any other figure is the patriarch of American foreign policy moralism and interventionism. Churchill wrote, in his The World Crisis shortly after the Great War, that to Wilson alone had to go credit for America’s entry into that war; everything depended “upon the workings of this man’s mind and spirit to the exclusion of almost every other factor. . . . He played a part in the fate of nations incomparably more direct and personal than any other man.”

  At first Wilson fought and bled for neutrality in the war, for an America “too proud to fight” in the nasty imperialist wars of the Old World. He believed, and said to his intimates, that England and France were basically as guilty as Germany of crimes to humanity. But sometime in 1916 Wilson began to brood over his neutrality policy and to wonder if it was, in the end, the best means of putting America on the world stage as the city upon a hill needing only the eyes of all peoples on it to reform the world. Reform was the iron essence of Wilson’s approach to the world. Born Calvinist, with a deep sense of sin and wickedness, and of the necessity of living by God’s grace, and the necessity too of preaching and ministering this grace to the multitude, Wilson gradually transferred the content, but not the fire, of his faith to the American republic. His book The State enables us to see how in his mind the true church for him had become not the historic church, the institutional church, but rather the state—provided, of course, that it was permeated by virtue, goodness, and redemptiveness.

  The passion and wholeness of his desire to reform and to redeem can be seen first at Princeton where as president he put Princeton “in the nation’s service.” When he decided to reform the eating clubs, thus dividing university and trustees into bitter camps, he likened his work to that of the Redeemer in the cause of humanity; he did much the same thing when a little later he and Graduate Dean West were opposed as to where exactly to locate the new graduate school at Princeton. Virtually everything he touched became instantly transformed into an Armageddon. As president of Princeton, as governor for two years of New Jersey, and finally as president of the United States, Wilson burned and burned as moralist, seeing crises where others saw only problems, and endowing even his dispatch of American troops into Mexico, in retaliation for Mexican bandit crossings of the border, with a mighty purpose that would benefit all mankind.

  World war was thus cut out for a mind of Wilson’s passionate moralism. What he and America did had to be eternally right, before mankind and God. He had been appointed by God to serve the blessed American republic and to determine what was right in the war. His final decision, which germinated all through 1916, the year of his reelection under the banner of “He kept us out of the war,” and came to thundering expression in early 1917, was that neutrality must be scrapped for intervention. He had been right in his policy of neutrality but the world and the war had changed; and now he must, with equal godliness and righteousness, do the very opposite—that is, plead with heart and soul for immediate American intervention.

  Objectively prophets and fanatics change from time to time in their views of man and the world. Subjectively, however, they never change. Always the motivating principle in their lives is the same from year to year, decade to decade. It is only appearance, ever-deceptive appearance, that creates the illusion of change in the great man. Those close to Wilson learned within days of his conversion to intervention, often learned the hard way, never to speak to the President of anything that implied in the slightest that he had ever been other than a dedicated interventionist.

  Actually, as Lord Devlin has stressed in his biography of Wilson, the President was in fact interventionist at heart from the very beginning; but he curbed his interventionism until the war and the international scene were just right. Devlin writes:

  The Allies did not [Wilson believed] genuinely care about democracy and the right to self-government. He did; and he could proclaim his faith as they had not truly and sincerely done. In his mind it was then and not before, that the war to rid the world of tyranny and injustice really began. What America touched she made holy (emphasis added).

  Thus the birth of twentieth-century moralism in foreign policy and war. From Wilson’s day to ours the embedded purpose—sometimes articulated in words, more often not—of American foreign policy, under Democrats and Republicans alike oftentimes, has boiled down to America-on-a-Permanent-Mission; a mission to make the rest of the world a little more like America the Beautiful. Plant a little “democracy” here and tomorrow a little “liberalism” there, not hesitating once in a while to add a pinch of American-style social democracy.

  Even before Wilson’s earthshaking conversion from neutralism to intervention in early 1917, his moralism in foreign policy had been displayed to the world. Certain internal political troubles in Mexico attracted his mind and that of his populist-agrarian-pacifist secretary of state William Jennings Bryan. In 1913 the President and his secretary decided to move in. Wilson had the same dislike of professionals, diplomats, and lawyers, that Roosevelt, Kennedy, Johnson, and Reagan would all have, each convinced that he by himself made the best and most enlightened foreign policy. Wilson recalled, for no given reason, his own ambassador to Mexico, immediately replacing him with a friend and former midwestern governor, John Lind. Before Lind left for Mexico, he was given a letter, written by the President himself to guide the new and inexperienced ambassador. Ambassador Lind was to make it clear from the start that the United States was not as other governments were. Never!

  The letter informed Lind that the whole world expected America to act as Mexico’s nearest friend; America was to counsel Mexico for its own good; indeed America would feel itself discredited if it had any selfish and ulterior purpose. In conclusion Mr. Lind was to inquire whether Mexico could give the civilized world a satisfactory reason for rejecting our good offices. Not surprisingly, the Mexican government repudiated, flouted, Wilson’s great act of charity. Even when the United States, again not surprisingly, backed up its moral advice with offer of a loan, it too was rudely rejected. Wilson first adopted an air of patience, but that was soon followed by his demand that the president of Mexico step down from office. The United States, Wilson said, would “employ such means as may be necessary to secure this result.” Then, in words heard around the world, Woodrow the Redeemer said: “I am going to teach the South American republics to elect good men.”

  There is no need to detail what happened thereafter, first at Tampico, then at Veracruz, citing American gospel all the way: pretending to deepest wounding of American dignity in a minuscule contretemps at Tampico, then sending in several thousand naval troops at Veracruz, who inevitably met some resistance and, under orders, responded with rifles and guns, causing about three hundred Mexican dead and wounded, with fewer than a hundred American casualties, then confusedly retiring from the scene and leaving a distraught President Wilson ready to collapse in the arms of any international mediating tribunal—which he did in May 1914.

  He had been blooded, though, as it were, and it was probably ineluctable that after due waiting, he would advance moralistically once again in a year or two, this time on the world stage. What America touches she makes holy. This was Wilson’s adaptation of Christian blessedness to American foreign policy. He had to teach South American governments to elect good men. This earned the United States lasting impotence, save when force has been used, in all of Latin America. Next it became necessary to teach, through our intervention in the Great War, England, France, and the rest of Europe what true democracy and freedom were and how they were best seeded for posterity in all countries, great and small. Thus the birth of what shortly became known as Wilsonian idealism and became in oppressive fact American moralism abroad.

  It is no wonder that Wilsonian moralism took hold of substantial segments of the American population. A whole generation of burgeoning political leaders, mostly in the East, was nurtured by Wilsonianism; they were in large part products of old wealth, of private schools and Ivy League universities, able to give ample time to international matters. Roosevelt was emphatically one of this generation, the more so perhaps in that he had served as assistant secretary of the navy under Wilson, had known him, had touched him, had had apostle’s propinquity.

  When World War II broke out in Europe, Roosevelt followed almost compulsively, as it seemed, the Wilson model. First neutrality, but in bemused contemplation of America’s relation to the world. What America touched she made holy. It was vital therefore for her to proceed carefully. Roosevelt came to an earlier decision than Wilson had in his war; and that decision was, like Wilson’s, one of intervention as soon as Congress could be persuaded to declare war. But in the meantime there was much that could be done in the way of Lend-Lease and, most especially, vital speeches and conferences in which the war’s true purpose was given Rooseveltian eloquence. Thus the Four Freedoms speech before Congress in January 1941; then the Atlantic Charter conference with Churchill in August. Since the charter anticipated alliance with Stalin and the Soviet Union, which had only just been brought into the war against Hitler by virtue of the German invasion, the earlier Four Freedoms had to be cut to Two Freedoms in the charter. After all, Stalin’s Russia was deficient, embarrassingly so, in freedoms.

  Roosevelt had one, and only one, serious reason for taking the United States into the European war, a feat made possible in the end solely by Germany’s declaration of war on the United States. That reason was the Wilson-derived mission of cleaning up the world after the war was won. Now comes the element of farce in Roosevelt that was lacking in Wilson. In Roosevelt’s mind Wilson had lacked a true partner, some nation altogether free of wicked imperialism that the United States could properly, morally, work with. Britain, France, and most of the rest of Western Europe were excluded. All had indulged in imperialism. There was, however, one country that by its very nature was free of imperialism. That was Stalin’s Communist Russia. He, Roosevelt, would work with Stalin during the war, acquiring his trust, perhaps civilizing him and thus Russia a little bit, and then forming a great American-Soviet partnership after the war to superintend the United Nations. All imperialism would be wiped out, all peoples, large or small, endowed with representative institutions, with human rights, and peace and democracy would be insured worldwide.

  Roosevelt, like Wilson, lived just long enough to see the bitter fruits of his trust. The ink was hardly dry on the Yalta treaties and manifestoes when Stalin commenced flouting every one of the pieties and moralisms he had readily agreed to at Yalta. Yalta didn’t give him Eastern Europe; his armies had already done that. What it gave Stalin was a sanctimonious imprimatur on the “democracy” and “freedom” and “free elections” the Soviets were imposing upon the subjugated Balkan and Baltic Europeans, together with Poland. Tragedy? No, farce: Can anything in political history be more farcical than an American president putting his trust in a dictator whose hands were bloodied forever by the millions he had starved, tortured, shot, and frozen in Siberia? Whose sworn purpose, inherited from Lenin, was the propagation of Communist revolution throughout the world? Who was openly contemptuous of Roosevelt, actually seeming to enjoy the company of the out-and-out imperialist—and longtime Communist foe—Churchill? Who made no bones about reducing not only Eastern but Western Europe—Britain and France foremost—to Third World status? It was Wilsonian moralism, albeit somewhat debased, that drove Roosevelt to his mission respecting the Soviet Union. He believed as ardently as Wilson had that What America Touches She Makes Holy.

  Today, forty years later, moralism continues to inflame American foreign policy, Ronald Reagan being the devoutest successor thus far to Wilsonianism as interpreted by Roosevelt. He too loves to divide the world into the Good and the Evil, and to define American foreign policy as relentless punishment of the Evil by the Good—led by America. He too sees every Nicaragua, every Lebanon, Iran, Persian Gulf, and Grenada as a little bit of Armageddon, with all means justified by purity of mind.

  And conceivably bankrupt. If our foreign policy were one of protecting our national security and looking out for the preservation of our political nationhood and general well-being, from time to time doing what little good for others our capacities permitted, we would not require a six-hundred-ship navy, one bulging with supercarriers, battleships, and weaponry better suited to the now historic battles of Jutland in World War I and Midway in World War II than to defense of ourselves against Soviet aggression. General de Gaulle correctly referred to “America’s itch to intervene.”

  When we intervene the act is almost compulsively cloaked, even as Wilson’s acts were, in rhetoric of pious universalism. We use our variants of Kant’s categorical imperative in international affairs. We must always explain that behind our intervention lies the imperative of moral goodness—nothing less. For so simple, practical, and obviously necessary a thing as our quick aid to Turkey and Greece immediately after World War II, at England’s request, a Kantian rhetoric had to be devised: that our action sprang from our resolute insistence that freedom will be supported everywhere in the world.

  A few years later, in 1960, President Kennedy gladdened the hearts of all political moralists in America with his vow that we would “pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship . . . to assure the survival and the success of liberty.” And so we have. Less apocalyptically Jimmy Carter as president in the late 1970s declared that “a nation’s domestic and foreign policies should be derived from the same standards of ethics, honesty and morality which are characteristic of the individual citizens of the nation. . . . There is only one nation in the world which is capable of true leadership among the community of nations and that is the United States of America.”

  Such language would surely arouse the mingled concern and amusement of the Framers. It was a constitution for one nation that they designed, not one for the prosecution in all parts of the world of the native values of the thirteen colonies. There is none of the world-saving rhetoric to be found in our constitution that would be found a decade later in the successive constitutions of the French Revolution. Treatment of the armed forces is spare indeed in the American constitution, and it is oriented austerely to “the common defence.” The purpose of the whole document is that of establishing “a more perfect union,” not that of spreading America’s sweetness and light to the needy world. Nor is there hint of worldwide soul-saving in The Federalist. The closest to a treatment of America and the world is Federalist No. 2 by John Jay, and it is directed solely to the necessity of protecting American riches from “Foreign Powers.”

  George Kennan is the most notable of living Americans to understand the purpose of a foreign policy in our time. In 1948 he argued that we should stop putting ourselves in the position of “being our brothers’ keeper and refrain from offering moral and ideological advice.” More recently he has said that American interventions in the world can be justified only if the practices against which they are directed are “seriously injurious to our interest, rather than to our sensibilities.” Too many of our foreign interventions, Kennan declares, have served “not only the moral deficiencies of others” but “the positive morality of ourselves.” It is seen as the moral duty of the United States “to detect these lapses on the part of others, to denounce them before the world,” and even to assure “that they were corrected.” How often, Kennan also notes acerbically, the purported moral conscience of the United States turns out to be a set of moralisms limited in fact to a single faction or special interest group. That American foreign policy should be framed within the borders of morality, Kennan does not doubt. Americans have the right to see to it that the government never acts immorally abroad or at home. But it is a far cry from eschewing the immoral and locating the bounds of morality to the kind of assertions just cited from Wilson, Roosevelt, Kennedy, and Carter.

  South African apartheid is indeed a repugnant system—as is the system of one or other kind found in a large number of contemporary governments on the planet. We should and do wish apartheid early disappearance, as we do the repressive practices of the Soviets and their satellite governments. But on what basis does the United States attack apartheid? The gods must have been convulsed when, under the heavy pressure of black organizations and student bodies across America, our government was pressed into service for disinvestment and, if possible, sanctions and even a blockading of South African ports. The United States of America, Mrs. Grundy herself, overbearingly teaching another people how to be decent to blacks? America was the very last civilized country to abolish out-and-out black slavery—and this only by Lincoln’s agonizing change of mind on the subject and use of war powers—and then, put the millions of freed blacks in a state of unspeakable segregation—a type of segregation more punishing in many respects than what exists in South Africa, a segregation that finally began to be broken only in the 1960s in a crusade for civil rights that barely missed being a revolution, a full century after emancipation from legal slavery.

  There is another form of blindness to reality that can and often does spring from minds beset by moralism and ideology. This is likely to be present more often in the political Right than the Left. It is well illustrated by the fever of “world Communism” that came over right-wing groups in this country in the late 1940s. Everything unpleasant that happened in the world, whether in Egypt, Kerala, or China, was believed to be part of a world conspiracy hatched by the Kremlin. When, in the late 1950s, there were unmistakable signs of a growing rift between Communist China and Communist Russia, the official position of the United States, a position largely initiated by the Right, was for some time that no rift existed, that Mao’s China was a Soviet pawn.

  Those who knew their Chinese-Russian history were not at all inclined to doubt the existence of growing hostility between Mao and the Kremlin, for hostility between the two empires, Russian and Chinese, went back several centuries and had not infrequently broken out in fierce fighting. It was the Chinese who coined the name “Great Bear” for the Russian empire. Granted that Mao was a Communist as were Stalin and his successors. Only eyeless ideology could have prevented leading American figures in and out of government from recognizing that just as capitalist nations can engage in bitter warfare with one another, so, obviously, can and will Communist nations. We might have been alerted by the early disaffection after World War II between Russia and Yugoslavia—so confidently but ridiculously denoted as a Russian pawn by our moralist-ideologists in the beginning—and then Albania. Historical, geopolitical, and fundamental military-strategic considerations will always triumph over purely ideological alliances, unless of course one nation has been taken over by cretins, which has assuredly not been the case with either China or Russia.

  Moralists from the Right, blinded by their private picture of “world Communism,” fail to see the undying persistence in the world of the nation-state, be it capitalist or communist. Nationalism has spawned more wars than religion—and Communism is a latter-day religion—ever has or ever will. All the while Stalin was bending, rending, torturing, and terrorizing, always shaping Russia into an aggressive military nation, with Marxism-Leninism its established religion, our right-wing moralistic ideologists in this country were seeing stereotypes, pictures in their heads, of the defunct Trotskyist dream of Russia not a nation but instead a vast spiritual force leading all mankind to the Perdition.

  This kind of moralism is still a menace to our foreign policy. It is the mentality that converts every incident in the world into an enormously shrewd, calculated operation by the KGB. To sweep every North-South happening into an East-West framework is the preoccupation of the Right—religious and secular. So was it the preoccupation of the Right when for years, all evidence notwithstanding, it insisted that because Russia and China were both officially Communist, therefore they had to be one in faith, hope, and destiny. Richard Nixon was and is no ideologue; neither is Henry Kissinger. Result? Our celebrated entry into China and what now appears to be a very genuine thawing of Communist orthodoxy.

  Vigilance is a cardinal virtue in international affairs. But when it hardens into an unblinking stare off into the horizon, a great deal in the vital foreground is overlooked. The plainest trend in the world since the death of Stalin is the gradual, halting, often spastic, movement of the Soviet Union from its iron age to something that, while not yet entirely clear, is a long way removed from the Russia that under Stalin in 1945 very seriously contemplated a European sphere of interest that included Western as well as Eastern Europe. It is entirely likely that only the atom bomb, then in the exclusive possession of the United States, posed a threat serious enough to dissuade Stalin. After that came the Marshall Plan and then NATO, and the Stalinist dream of suzerainty over Western Europe collapsed along with the Stalinist reality of permanent terror over the entire Russian people.

  The Soviet Union remains an enigma. It remains also a dangerous adversary in the world, the one other superpower. It bears American watching, and American military preparation is necessary for any of several possible threats. But to pretend that the Russia of Gorbachev is still, just under the skin, the Russia of Josef Stalin is as nonsensical as was the inflexible belief in some quarters back in the 1950s that Maoist China was a willing pawn of the Soviet Union—or the still earlier dogmatism that insisted long after the fact that Tito’s Yugoslavia was but a Stalinist plaything. I take some pleasure in citing some words I wrote more than a quarter of a century ago:

  When I am told that Russia—or China—is dangerous to the United States and to the free world, I can understand this and agree. When it is suggested that the United States should suspend nuclear testing, as an example to the rest of the world, I can understand this and emphatically disagree. But when I am told that the real danger to the United States is something called “world Communism” and that our foreign policy must begin with a “true understanding” of the moral nature of Communism, and not rest until Communism has been stamped out everywhere, I am lost. Meaning has fled into a morass of irrelevancies, half-truths, and apocalyptic symbols.*

  No nation in history has ever managed permanent war and a permanent military Leviathan at its heart and been able to maintain a truly representative character. The transformation of the Roman Republic into the dictatorial empire was accomplished solely through war and the military. Is the United States somehow the divinely created exception to this ubiquitous fact of world history? Not, assuredly, if instead of a foreign policy based upon national security and finite objectives associated with this security, we indulge ourselves in a foreign policy with an “itch to intervene,” and a purpose flowing out of the preposterous fantasy of a world recreated in the image and likeness of that city on a hill known as the United States of America. That way lies total confusion abroad and an ever more monolithic and absolute military bureaucracy at home.

  [* ]Cited in Martin Gilbert, Winston S. Churchill, Vol. 4, Boston, Houghton Mifflin Co., 1966, pp. 913–14.

  [* ]Commentary, September 1961, pp. 202–3.

• Back to Top

  11: Politics and the Army in the English Civil War 1

  Sir William Clarke, The Clarke Papers. Selections from the Papers of William Clarke, Secretary to the Council of the Army, 1647-1649, and to General Monck and the Commanders of the Army in Scotland, 1651-1660, ed. C.H. Firth (Camden Society, 1901). 4 vols. Chapter: PREFACE.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1984/127407 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  PREFACE.

  The collection from which the papers printed in this volume are selected was bequeathed to Worcester College, Oxford, in 1736. Their donor, Dr. George Clarke, a great benefactor of that college and of the University, was Judge Advocate-General from 1684 to 1705, and Secretary at War from 1692 to 1704. His father, Sir William Clarke, was the original owner of these papers. Lives of both father and son are given in the Dictionary of National Biography (vol. x. pp. 424, 448). An account of the papers themselves is contained in Mr. Coxe’s Catalogue of Manuscripts in the possession of Oxford Halls and Colleges, 1852, vol. ii. It is strange that no historian has hitherto thought fit to make use of them. My own attention was first called to the collection by the librarian of Worcester College, H. A. Pottinger, Esq., to whom and to the authorities of the college the thanks of the Camden Society are due for their kindness in facilitating the use of these papers, and the permission to publish them. Since the papers were inspected by Mr. Coxe, Mr. Pottinger has discovered some additional volumes, including the most valuable of all, that containing the debates of the Council of the Army in 1647.

  William Clarke, who was probably born about 1623, was admitted a student of the Inner Temple in 1645. When the New Model was organised, John Rushworth was appointed Secretary to the General and Council of War, with William Clarke and another assistant as subordinates. Clarke acted as secretary to the commissioners who negotiated the surrender of Oxford in June, 1646, and to those who tried to arrange terms between the Parliament and the Army in July, 1647 (Sprigge, Anglia Rediviva, ed. 1854, p. 258; Rushworth, vi. 606). He seems to have taken part in the invasion of Scotland in July, 1650,a and from the autumn of 1651 to the Restoration was Secretary to the Army of Occupation in Scotland. From 1654 that army was under the command of Monck, and Clarke laid the foundation of his subsequent fortunes by gaining the confidence of his commander. Edward Phillips, in the narrative of the Restoration which he added to Baker’s Chronicle, describes the attempts of Monck’s opponents to win over Clarke.

  “He also writ to Mr. Clarke, the General’s Secretary, who was an active useful Instrument in his affairs, to seduce him from his Service; the truth is, the greatest part of Clarke’s Estate was in England, and he was a man of so civil and ingenuous a Conversation that he might have been the better excused in a Neutrality to both Parties, and his Interest did direct him to it. But he was resolved to hazard all his Fortunes in the General’s Bottom, and would not by threats or cunning, which were both used by Lilburn to him, be prevailed with to quit his Party. For which his fidelity and constancy, at this time, he was ever after so much esteemed by the General, that he trusted him with his most secret transactions.”

  —Ed. 1670, p. 688.

  Not long after the Restoration Clarke was knighted and, on 28th January, 1661, appointed Secretary at War (Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1660-1. p. 490). Sir William Coventry described him to Pepys as one of the “sorry instruments” by whom Monck was lucky enough to effect great things (Pepys’ Diary, 12th July, 1666). Clarke accompanied Monck to sea in 1666, and was mortally wounded in the battle with the Dutch off Harwich, 2nd June, 1666. He was buried in the chancel of Harwich Church, where an elaborate tablet to his memory was erected by his widow. Monck, in commending her and his child to the favour of the King, wrote of Clarke that in him he had lost “a faithful and indefatigable servant,” and that he could not express “too much kindness to his memory” (Cal. State Papers, Dom., 1665-6, p. 471). Clarke had married Dorothy, daughter and coheiress of Thomas Hyliard, of Hampshire, and Elizabeth Kimpton.a A letter from Sir Thomas Clarges to her on her husband’s death is preserved in the British Museum.b

  “Madam,

  “I am so afflicted for the losse of my deare friend Sir William Clerk that I have more need to receive consolation from others then to give it. But I cannot omitt writeing to your Ladyship to desire and beseech you since this fatall stroke cannot be recalled that your Ladyship will have so much respect to that sweete pledge of both your loves, as for his sake to moderate your grief, that your health be not impaired by it.”

  The widow took the advice, married again in the same year, and lived till 1695. Her second husband, Samuel Barrow, who had been chief physician to the Army in Scotland, became at the Restoration physician in ordinary to the King, and Advocate-General of the Army.

  The special value of the Clarke Papers consists in the light which they throw upon the history of the Army during the period when its political importance was greatest. By their assistance we can follow more closely the history of the quarrel between the Parliament and the Army, and appreciate with more exactness than before the causes of the revolutions of 1647 and 1648. The newsletters reveal the state of feeling in London and in the Army as the quarrel progressed. The correspondence of the Agitators shows how the revolt in the Army began and by what means it was carried out. The debates of the Council of the Army illustrate in the most striking manner the political views of the soldiers, the dissensions which arose amongst them, and the character of the Army leaders. They elucidate more than one dark passage in Cromwell’s political career, and justify the high estimation of Ireton’s ability expressed by his contemporaries.

  In February and March, 1647, Parliament passed a series of votes for the disbanding of the Army. They also determined that a body of 3,000 horse, 1,200 dragoons, and 8,400 foot, to be drawn from the army of Sir Thomas Fairfax, should be employed for the reconquest of Ireland. An army consisting of 5,400 horse and 1,000 dragoons, together with about 10,000 foot for garrison service, was to be maintained in England. The terms on which the disbanding was to take place were calculated to rouse legitimate discontent. The soldiers were to receive a very small portion of the pay due to them, and they were offered very insufficient securities for their large arrears of pay. They were promised an Act of Indemnity for acts done in pursuance of the orders of their commanders during the war, but that Act when passed was regarded by them as insufficient for their protection. Finally, it was evident that the disbanding would be followed by severe measures for the enforcement of Presbyterian orthodoxy and the punishment of sectaries. As the policy of Holles and the Presbyterian leaders developed itself, protests against it multiplied both from the Army itself and from the Independents outside the Army. But all petitions against that policy were suppressed, and the petitioners sometimes punished (pp. 2, 26, 92).

  About March 21, 1647, a petition was circulated amongst the officers setting forth their objections to the proposed scheme for disbanding.

  1. “First, whereas the necessity and exigence of the War, hath put us upon many actions, which the Law would not warrant, nor we have acted in a time of setled peace; we humbly desire, that before our disbanding, a full and sufficient provision may be made by Ordinance of Parliament (to which the Royall assent may be desired) for our indempnity and security in all such cases.

  2. “That Auditors or Commissioners may be speedily appointed and authorised to repaire to the headquarters of this Army, to audite and state our accompts, as well for all former services as for our services in this Army; and that before the disbanding of the Army, satisfaction may be given to the Petitioners for their arreares, that so the charge, trouble, and loss of time, which we must otherwise necessarily undergoe in attendance for the obtaining of them may be prevented. . . .

  3. “That those who have voluntarily served the Parliament in the late Warrs may not hereafter be compelled by press or otherwise to serve as souldiers out of this Kingdome. Nor those who have served as horsemen may be compelled by press to serve on Foot, in any future case.

  4. “That such in this Army as have lost their limbs, and the wives and children of such as have been slain in the service, and such officers or souldiers as have sustained losses, or have been prejudiced in their estates, by adhering to the Parliament; or in their persons by sickness or imprisonment under the Enemy, may have such allowances and satisfaction, as may be agreeable to Justice and equity.

  5. “That till the Army be disbanded as aforesaid, some course may be taken for the supply thereof with moneys, whereby we may be enabled to discharge our quarters, that so we may not for necessary food be beholden to the Parliament’s Enemies, burthensome to their friends, or oppressive to the Country, whose preservation we have always endeavoured, and in whose happiness we should still rejoice.”

  Moderate though these demands were, Fairfax was directed at once to put a stop to any further proceeding in that petition, and to send up Lieutenant-General Hammond, Colonel Robert Hammond, Colonel Lilburn, Colonel Pride, and Lieutenant-Colonel Grime, who were concerned in promoting it, to answer for their conduct at the bar of the House of Commons (pp. 1-4, Book of Army Declarations, 1647, pp. 1-5). On March 30, the House of Commons passed a declaration, condemning the petition as tending to put the Army into a distemper and mutiny, and declaring that those who continued to promote it should be proceeded against as enemies to the State and disturbers of the public peace.

  On April 15, six parliamentary commissioners were sent to Saffron Walden to confer with Fairfax and his officers on the engagement of the body of soldiers destined for the service of Ireland. A full narrative of their proceedings is given on pp. 5-15. The result of their mission showed a general unwillingness in both officers and soldiers to engage upon the terms offered. The officers in general maintained a somewhat neutral attitude, declining emphatically to engage themselves, but promising to promote and not to hinder the engagement of their soldiers (p. 7). A few of the higher officers undertook to go in person, but in more than one regiment soldiers refused to follow the example of their commanders, and mutinied when they were drawn out to march (pp. 12-15).

  Left to themselves by the indecision of their officers, the soldiers began to act without them. In a paper entitled An apology of all the private soldiers in Sir Thomas Fairfax his army to their commission officers, they stated their grievances and called on their officers to stand by them for the redress of these wrongs.

  “The Lord put a spirit of courage into your hearts that you may stand fast in your integrity that you have manifested to us your soldiers; and we do declare to you that if any of you shall not, he shall be marked with a brand of infamy for ever, as a traytor to his country and an enemy to this Armie. . . . We have been quiet and peaceable in obeying all orders and commands, yet now we have just cause to tell you, if we be not relieved in these our grievances, wee shall be forced to that, which we pray God to divert, and keep your and our hearts upright.”a

  A somewhat similar letter was at the same time addressed to Fairfax, Cromwell, and Skippon, which Skippon, on April 30, delivered to the House of Commons (Rushworth, vi 474). It was signed by the representatives of eight regiments of horse and presented by three troopers. At the command of the House the three troopers were called in and examined; their answers are printed in Appendix B on pp. 430, 431. The letter itself is printed, from the copy addressed to Skippon, in Cary’s Memorialsof the Civil War, i. 201, and in the Lords Journals, ix. 164; other versions, with slight verbal variations, are to be found in Prynne’s The Hypocrites Unmasking, 1647, and in the Book of Army Declarations, p. 9.

  The immediate result of this letter was an order sending Skippon, Cromwell, Ireton, and Fleetwood to Saffron Walden to acquaint the soldiers with the votes of the House respecting their pay and indemnity, and to examine into the origin of the letter from the eight regiments (see pp. 20, 21, 33). A narrative of the proceedings of the commissioners is printed on pp. 27-31, and reports of the debates which took place between them and the officers on May 15, 16, follow on pp. 33-44, 45-78. These reports were probably taken down by William Clarke at the time in shorthand, though apparently his notes were not transcribed at length till 1662 (p. 31). It is obvious that the author was not at the time a very skilful note-taker. There are frequent blanks in the report and it is often very confused. It is also probable that the person who finally transcribed the notes added to the confusion by mistaking the order of some of the pages. Nevertheless, with all its errors, the report gives an extremely valuable and interesting picture of a curious scene. The meetings in the church at Saffron Walden on May 15, 16, were attended by about 200 officers and a certain number of private soldiers, probably representatives sent by different regiments. Skippon presided, and one after another the chief officers gave an account of the temper of their respective regiments and their reception of the votes of Parliament. Each regiment made a return of its grievances, and (by consent of the great majority of the officers) Lambert and others were appointed to collect from these regimental returns a summary of the common grievances of the whole army, to be presented to the commissioners and transmitted to Parliament (pp. 36, 42, 97). Over these returns a number of disputes took place. More than once varying returns were presented by different officers for the same regiment. Lieutenant-Colonel Jackson and Captain White quarrelled violently over the account presented from Fairfax’s own foot regiment (pp. 53, 57). There were disputes also as to the regiments of Colonel Graves and Sir Hardress Waller (pp. 56, 59-62). Colonel Sheffield, as the spokesman of the minority willing to accept the terms offered by Parliament, objected to the presence of private soldiers, and fell foul of Colonel Hammond and Colonel Whalley (pp. 40, 65, 77, 85). Skippon had the greatest difficulty in maintaining order. More than once he urged the officers “to hear one another with sobriety,” to “forbear acclamations,” to “speak with moderaration or else be silent.” “God knows it is a very great pressure to my spirit to hear and observe such clashings and jarrings amongst you, I am sure there can no good come of it” (pp. 48, 49, 58, 77).

  It was finally proposed that two of the commissioners should go up to London to represent the desires of the Army to Parliament, and remove any misrepresentations which might be made of the action of the officers (p. 76). In accordance with this desire, and in obedience to a similar order from Parliament, Cromwell and Fleetwood were sent up to London with an elaborate report signed by all four commissioners (pp. 94-99). Cromwell presented this report to the House of Commons on May 21, expressing his belief that the soldiers would disband when ordered, but would certainly not engage to go to Ireland (p. 99). The House replied by some minor concessions to the demands of the soldiers, but made no further addition to the eight weeks’ pay before promised. On May 25 a series of votes were passed fixing the dates and places at which the different regiments were to be disbanded. Cromwell and Fleetwood remained in London for the rest of the month. Fairfax, whose stay in London had caused injurious comment, was ordered down to the Army (pp. 11, 85, 93, 101). He arrived at Saffron Walden on May 20, and removed his head-quarters to Bury on May 25. Immediately on his arrival he issued a letter to the commanders of the several regiments, informing them that they were to give notice to their soldiers, that the grievances of the Army had been presented to the House of Commons, and were taken into consideration by them. “I do therefore require the souldiers to forbear any further actings by them selves without their officers in any irregular ways, and all officers are strictly to see to it in their several charges, that there be no more such meetings or consultations of souldiers at Bury or elsewhere” (Rushworth, vi. 495). It was too late, however, for such an order to produce obedience. Already the soldiers had formed an organised council of representatives and agreed on their plan of action.

  In their report the four commissioners had stated that in their opinion “the officers thus joyning with the soldiers againe in a regular way to make knowne and give vent to their greivances, hath contributed much to allay precedent distempers, to bring off the souldiers from their late wayes of correspondencie and actings among themselves, and to reduce them again to a right order and regard to their officers in what they do” (p. 99). This view was too sanguine. Concerted action amongst the soldiers seems to have begun towards the end of April, 1647, when representatives of eight regiments of horse drew up the letter to Fairfax, Cromwell, and Skippon. In their examination the three troopers said that the letter “was drawn up first at a rendezvous of several of those regiments, and afterwards they had several meetings about it by agents from each regiment in several places” (Rushworth, vi. 474, cf. pp. 21, 33). One consequence of the mission of the four officers to Saffron Walden in May was the introduction of a similar organisation amongst the foot regiments. One or two soldiers were chosen from each troop or company to draw up and present their statements of grievances (pp. 66, 96). “The committee of troopers met at St. Edmundsbury, and the foot, who chose two out of every company, sent them to confer with the troopers, and every foot soldier gave fourpence a piece towards defraying of the charges of that meeting” (Rushworth, vi. 485). Throughout the Agitators of the horse regiments continued to take the lead, sending letters to other regiments, and writing to the Army of the northern association to persuade it to stand by the new model (pp. 88, 89). The Agitators were in constant communication with London and received news of all the votes of Parliament directly they were passed. A remarkable paper entitled Advertisements for the managing of the Councells of the Army (p. 22), possibly from the pen of Sexby, sketches out the line of conduct which they adopted. The news of the votes of May 18 for the disbanding of the Army precipitated open mutiny. “Believe it, my deare fellowes, wee must now be very active to send to all our several regiments of Horse and Foote and let them knowe that nothing but destruction is threatened. Loving friends, be active, for all lies at stake” (pp. 85, 86). In reply to this exhortation from one of their correspondents in London the Agitators at Bury issued a circular letter urging their regiments to resist disbanding. “Resolve neither to take monie nor march one from another, but lett all your actions be joyn’d. And if any orders should come to your particular regiments to march from the rest of the Army, march not while you have consulted with the rest of the Army” (p. 87). The General was to be petitioned in the name of the soldiers “to have him, in honour, justice, and honestie, to stand by you.” Skippon “and all other officers that are not right” were to be told to leave the Army (p. 100). A printing press was to be got into the Army in order to set forth the wrongs of the soldiers and to disabuse the people of their prejudices against them (pp. 22, 86). The counties were to be stirred up to petition for their rights, and to appeal to the Army to assert them (p. 101). The magazine and artillery train at Oxford, which the Parliament intended to remove to London, were to be seized by a party of 1,000 horse (pp. 105, 114). When the commissioners of the Parliament came to pay off the General’s regiment of foot, which was to be the first disbanded, they and the £7,000 they brought with them were to be seized on the way (pp. 106, 107).

  The question whether this plan of action was inspired by the officers, or to what extent the officers were cognisant of it, is of some interest. The three troopers who brought the letter of the eight regiments of horse, “being demanded whether any of their officers were engaged in it . . . answered that they thought very few of them knew or took notice of it” (Rushworth, vi., 474). A number of officers were active in framing petitions to Parliament against the proposed terms of disbandment, and some sought to procure the support of the soldiers to these petitions (pp. 2, 25, 45). Now and then one would exhort his soldiers to “stand for their liberties” and refuse to engage for Ireland, but most of them, whilst refusing to engage themselves, made no attempt to prevent their men from enlisting (pp. 7, 56). With the exception of two or three subalterns (such as, perhaps, Lieutenant Chillenden,a and certainly Cornet Joyce) none of the officers seem to have been implicated in the bolder schemes for active resistance to disbanding set on foot by Sexby and the Agitators. Sexby was perfectly able to conceive such a scheme unaided, and there were many other men of ability amongst the Agitators. Colonel Wogan attributes great importance to the action of Captain John Reynolds, but confuses the events of May with those of June, and draws liberally on his imagination to supply the defects of his memory (pp. 421-429).

  The question of the part played by Cromwell and Ireton with respect to this movement in the Army is of more importance. The theory of Cromwell’s opponents is that he first, by his false protestations that the Army should disband whensoever they should be commanded, induced the Parliament to pass the disbanding votes, and then, by means of the Agitators, induced the Army to refuse to disband. This is the theory set forth by Colonel Wogan (pp. 425-427). It is also the theory of Clement Walker, who says, speaking of the disbanding ordinance—

  “To the passing of this Ordinance, Cromwell’s protestations in the House with his hand upon his breast, ‘In the presence of almighty God, before whom he stood, that he knew the Army would disband and lay down their arms at their doore, whensoever they should command them,’ conduced much: this was maliciously done of Cromwell to set the Army at a greater distance with the Presbyterian party and to bring them and the Independent party nearer together. . . . And at the same time when he made these protests in the House he had his Agitators (Spirits of his own and his son Ireton’s conjuring up in the Army though since conjured down by them without requital) to animate them against the major part of the House . . . to ingage them against disbanding and going for Ireland . . . and to insist upon many other high demands, some private as souldiers, some publique as statesmen.”

  (History of Independency, ed. 1648, pt. i. p. 31.)

  A similar theory is embodied in Butler’s well-known verses—

  • “So Cromwell, with deep oaths and vows,
  • Swore all the Commons out o’ th’ house,
  • Vowed that the redcoats would disband
  • Ay marry would they, at their command;
  • And trolled them on, and swore and swore
  • Till th’ Army turned them out of door.”a

  The first votes for disbanding were passed on February 18, 19, 23, 25, 26, and during the first week of March, 1647 (Commons Journals). A news letter of February 18, 1647, observes, “Cromwell is dangerously ill with an imposthume in his head, whereby his party is now the weaker in the House,” so that he was probably not in the House when the original decision to disband was taken (Clarendon MS., 2,439). His dissatisfaction with the policy of the Presbyterians was notorious, and he openly showed that he would have no hand in forwarding it. “Young Vane and Cromwell,” says a news letter, “often forbear coming to the House,” and Holles complains that Cromwell and his friends purposely absented themselves from the Committee of both Kingdoms (Clarendon MS., 2,504; Holles Memoirs, § 79). He even thought of leaving England and taking service in Germany under the Elector Palatine (Gardener, Great Civil War, iii. 36). Twice indeed, once apparently in March, and again on May 21, he did profess his belief that the Army would disband when Parliament ordered them; but to suppose that this was done merely to encourage the policy of which he was the declared opponent requires clear and conclusive evidence. (Lilburn, Jonah’s Cry, p. 4; Clarendon MS., 2,520). All the evidence points another way.

  These papers show the real origin of the movement which resulted in the election of the Agitators, and explain what Cromwell’s attitude really was. He sympathised with the grievances of the soldiers, but urged them to accept the terms offered rather than cause a new war. He pressed the officers “to have a very great care to make the best use” they could of the votes of Parliament, and to employ their own influence with their men “to worke in them a good opinion of that authority that is over both us and them.” He bade them remember that, “if that authority falls to nothing, nothing can follow but confusion” (p. 72). Ireton seems to have been equally desirous to mediate between the Army and the Parliament (p. 102). On this point the evidence afforded by these papers is confirmed by the testimony of their supposed accomplices, the Levellers and the Agitators.

  “O Cromwell” wrote Lilburn on March 25, 1647, “I am informed this day by an officer out of the Army and by another knowing man yesterday, that came a purpose to me out of the Army, that you and your agents are like to dash in pieces the hopes of our outward preservation, their petition to the House, and will not suffer them to petition till they have laid down their arms, because, forsooth, you have engaged to the House they shall lay down their armes whenever they shall command them.”

  (Jonah’s Cry out of the Whale’s Belly, 1647, p. 4).

  In the autumn of 1647, when the Agitators fell out with Cromwell and Ireton, their backwardness at the commencement of the breach was made an argument against them.

  “We hope it will be no discouragement unto you,” wrote the Agitators to the soldiers, “though your Officers, yea, the greatest Officers, should apostatise from you; Its well known that the great Officers which now oppose, did as much oppose secretly when wee refused to disband according to the Parliament’s Order; and at last they confessed the Providence of God was the more wonderfull, because those resolutions to stand for Fredom and justice began among the Souldiers only.”

  (“A copy of a Letter sent by the Agents of Several Regiments,” 1647.)

  Still more definite are the statements of John Wildman in the pamphlet against Cromwell and Ireton which he entitles Putney Projects.

  “I shall not prejudge the singleness of Cromwell’s or Ireton’s hearts as to public good, in their first associating with the Army at Newmarket, but it’s worth the knowing that they both in private opposed those gallant endeavours of the Army for their country’s freedom. Yea, their arguments against them were only prophesies of sad events; confusion and ruin, said they, will be the portion of the actors in that design, they will never be able to accomplish their desires against such potent enemies. They were as clearly convinced, as if it had been written with a beam of the Sun, that an apostate party in Parliament (viz. Hollis his faction) did subject our laws and liberties to their inordinate wills and lusts, and exercised such tyranny, injustice, arbitrariness, and oppression, as the worst of arbitrary courts could never parallel. But to oppose a party of tyrants so powerful; hic labor hoc opus est, there was a lion and a bear in the way. And lest mere suspicion of their compliance with the Army in any attempt to affront those insulting tyrants should be turned to their prejudice, they were willing, at least by their creatures, to suppress the soldiers first most innocent and modest petition C. Rich sent several orders to some of his officers to prevent subscription of that petition. And the constant importunity and solicitation of many friends could not prevail with Cromwell to appear, until the danger of imprisonment forced him to fly to the Army (the day after their first rendezvous) for shelter. And then both he and Ireton joining with the Army, and assuming offices to themselves (acting without commissions and being outed by the self-denying Ordinance of Parliament, and the General having no power to make general officers) they were engaged in respect to their own safety to crush and overturn Hollis his domineering, tyrannical faction. And to that end their invasion of the people’s freedom, their injustice and oppression, was painted in the most lively colours to the people’s eyes, and petitions to the General against those obstructors of justice in parliament, drawn by Cromwell himself, were sent to some counties to subscribe, and then the most mellifluous enamouring promises were passed to petitioners of clearing and securing their rights and liberties, then the General engaged himself to them that what he wanted in expression of his devotion to their service should be supplied in action: and hereby their names were ingraven in the peoples hearts for gallant patriots, and the most noble heroes of our age.”

  But though the officers might at first hold back the time came when they were forced to decide. When they undertook to collect, to summarise, and to represent to Parliament the grievances of the soldiers, they practically made their cause their own. Parliament strove to separate the privates from their officers, but in vain (pp. 84, 87). The Agitators summoned the soldiers to stick by their officers as their officers had stuck by them. “Stand with your officers, and one with another you need not fear. If you divide you destroy all” (p. 87).

  When the Council of War met at St. Edmundsbury on May 29, the Agitators of ten regiments of horse and six regiments of foot presented a petition to the General, begging him “to appoint a rendezvous speedily for the Army, and also to use your utmost endeavour it be not disbanded before our sad and pressing grievances be heard and fully redressed” (Book of Army Declarations, p. 16). By 84 votes to 7, the Council resolved that a general rendezvous should take place, and by 82 to 4 passed the remonstrance against disbanding which a small committee had drawn up (pp. 108-111). See The Opinion and Humble Advise of the Councell of Warre convened at Bury St. Edmunds, 29 May, 1647. In relation to the Votes of Parliament communicated to us by your Excellency, and the desires of our advice thereon. (Book of Army Declarations, p. 12.)

  “The officers,” writes an observer, “now owne the Souldiers and all that’s done, and doe beginne to bestirre themselves. . . . Itt is incredible the Unitie of Officers and Souldiers” (p. 113).

  The friends of Sir Thomas Fairfax urged him to leave the Army in case it decided to oppose the Parliament’s commands (pp. 104, 122). He chose to adhere to the votes of the Council of War, and wrote to the Committee at Derby House to announce that he could not undertake to draw out the regiments under his command to be disbanded at the time appointed (p. 116). At the same time he sent the Parliament the resolutions of the Council of War, and entreated them that there might be “ways of love and composure thought upon.” “I shall do my endeavours,” he added, “though I am forced to yield something out of order, to keep the Army from disorder or worse inconveniences” (May 30; Book of Army Declarations, p. 12; Rushworth, vi. 497-499).

  Whatever Fairfax might desire, the Army was fast passing beyond control. His own regiment of foot, which was to have been disbanded on June 1, was, as the Agitators had designed, the first to break out into open revolt (pp. 100, 106, 113).

  The commissioners came to Chelmsford on the evening of Monday, May 31, escorted by three troops of horse to guard the money. When they arrived they found that about two hours before they came the regiment had marched away towards Raine, on the way to the general rendezvous at Newmarket. Major Gooday, one of those officers of the regiment who remained faithful to the Parliament, had met his company on the march, and “demanding of them by what order they removed their quarters, they answered the horse caused them to remove; further expressing that they received orders from the Agitators” (Cary, Memorials of the Civil War, i. 220). Lieutenant-Colonel Jackson and Major Gooday reported that they had used their utmost endeavours to dispose the soldiers for the service of Ireland, and complained that some of their officers had refused to read the votes and declarations of Parliament to their companies (Tanner MSS., lviii. p. 127). Next day Jackson and Gooday were sent after their men to endeavour to induce them to return.

  The commissioners give the following account of the result:

  “This day we sent Lievtenant-Colonel Jackson, Major Goodday, and Captain Heifeild to Raine, where we were informed that the souldiers of the Generall’s foote Regiment had appointed a Rendezvous. There mett about a thousand. At the approach of the officers we sent thither, the souldyers cryed out, There comes our Enimies. When they were acquainted with the votes, declaracions, and ordiuances of Parlement, they asked the officers, what doe you bringing your two-penny pamphletts to us? And afterwards they seized upon the wagons with what ammunicion was in them and the chirurgeons chests, and have carryed them away towards Halstead and Heueningham, where they quarter this night. To morrow they are to be at Sudberry and Lavenham; which is the quarter that is appointed them, by Gravenor, the quarter master Generall. By the way some of the souldiers have comitted very great outrages. At Braintry they broke open a man’s house, and tooke away fiftie pounds. Upon complaint to the Lievtenant, they were apprehended, but those into whose custodie they were put gave them their libertie againe. Some part of the money was restored, but they conveyd away at least foure and twentie pounds. There is one Captain White who is the most active man in this buisines, and issues out orders as if he were the Lievtenant Colonel. There went away with this Pegiment, as we are enformed, two Captains, and a Captain Lievtenant. Many of the souldyers haveing beene dealt withall, profess that money is the onely thing that they insist upon. And that 4 moneths pay would have given satisfaccion; but for the present, are carryed away togeather, as in a torrent. Some officers of thes Regiments, as we feare, have fully recruited their companyes, under pretence, for the service of Ireland, but being listed, doe indispose them all they can as by experience is evident. We now conceive our being here is altogeather unprofitable in order to the service we are comaunded downe upon. And therefore offer it to your Lordships, &c. consideracion, whether it may not be convenient to require our returns.a

  Of the objects of the Agitators three had now been gained. Fairfax and the officers had cast in their lot with the soldiers, a general rendezvous of the Army had been ordered to take place on June 5, and the disbanding of Fairfax’s regiment had been prevented. It remained to secure the artillery train which had been left at Oxford on the surrender of that place in 1646. On May 31 the Derby House Committee had ordered the removal of the train and the magazine from Oxford to London (pp. 114, 117). Oxford was garrisoned by Colonel Richard Ingoldsby’s regiment, which, though not represented amongst the Agitators who had signed the petition of May 29, was politically one of the most radical in the Army. The regiment was to have been disbanded at Woodstock on June 14, and money was sent down to pay them off. When too late the money was ordered back, but the soldiers mutinied and stopped the wagons which carried it. They were encouraged by the near neighbourhood of Colonel Rainborow’s regiment, which, though ordered into Hampshire, and designed for the reduction of Jersey, had left its quarters, expelled its officers, and turned back to assist in the seizure of the magazine. Rainborow found his regiment on May 30 quartered about Abingdon, having thrown off any semblance of obedience.

  “When I came,” he writes, “I found most of my officers come up to the general quarters of the regiment, who all the time till then had not dared so much as to appear amongst them; but they had not been long in their quarters, ere the Majorserjeant was almost killed by his own soldiers; and his ensign, if he had not exceedingly well defended himself against another company, he had been cut all to pieces; but in defending himself he hath wounded divers of them, two whereof, I am confident, cannot possibly scape with life.”

  (Cary, Memorials of the Civil War, i. 221.)

  To assist in the seizure of the magazine a body of 500 or possibly 1,000 troopers from different cavalry regiments, under the command of Cornet Joyce of Fairfax’s regiment of horse, had been collected by the Agitators and despatched to Oxford (p. 106). After making all safe at Oxford, Joyce with some 500 men started north to Holdenby, in Northamptonshire, where the King was in keeping. The King’s guards consisted of portions of the regiments of Colonel Graves and Sir Robert Pye, and a few dragoons, all under the command of Colonel Graves. Whilst their commanders supported the Parliament, the soldiers themselves were completely in sympathy with the rest of the Army (pp. 44, 59-62, 113). The Parliamentary leaders were well aware of the disaffection of the King’s guard, and there had been rumours a month earlier that some of the foot regiments would “go for Holdenby” and fetch the King. Of the importance of retaining the custody of the King Holles and his friends were well aware, but they seem to have been anxious to come to an agreement with Charles first, and whilst they deliberated and negotiated the soldiers acted. They were discussing the removal of the King, and negotiating for the ard of a Scotch army, when the news came that Joyce, on the morning of June 3, had seized Holdenby and secured the King.

  A despatch from Bellièvre to Mazarin, June, 1647, gives the following account of the situation:

  “Suyvant l’ancien usage d’Angleterie depuis dix jouis nous deliberons sans rien conclure, cherchans les moyens d’empescher que le Roy de la Grande Bretagne tombe entre les mains de l’armée, puisqu’il n’a point d’asseurance qu’ elle veuille faire aucune chose à son advantage. D’une douzaine de propositions dont la moins bonne eust mieux valu que de ne rien faire il n’a pas esté possible de obliger ceux du Parlement qui estoient dans ce dessein à en executer aucune, et cependant nous apprenons par un homme qui vient d’arriver de la part des Commissionaires qui sont a Humby, à la verité sans avoir de leurs lettres, que la maison est investie par un party destaché de l’armée qui demande le dit Roy, et quoyque celui qui le garde tesmoigne ne le vouloir pas remettre entre leurs mains, sans en avoir l’ordre du Parlement, il est à croire qu’il l’aura rendu, s’il est vrai qu’il soit pressé, n’estant pas en estat de resister aux forces qui environnent cette maison qui n’a pas ny fossez ny murailles qui la ferment.”

  On the plans of the Presbyterian leaders, Dr. Denton, a London physician, often very well informed on political movements, writes thus to Sir Ralph Verney, June 14, 1647:

  “I have gathered many scraps and looked as far into the clouds as I can, and the result I make to myself is this (but I have only several collections for my grounds and those not very authentic) that the Scots and a Presbyterian party there of some members, not without the counsel of the Queen or some French party, had a design of carrying the King into Scotland, and to set him in the head of an army there, and to bring him up to London, and so to quell the Independent party; but, if I rightly guess, a false Presbyterian father betrayed them to his Independent son; and so the army to prevent them seized the King. Dunfermline is gone into France, sent it is thought to get the Prince into Scotland, and so to play the game the better by that means.”a

  In the fourth article of the charge of the Army against the Eleven Members it was asserted that Holles and others had invited the Scots to march into England, and had sent to the Queen in France, “advising her speedily to send the Prince into Scotland to march into this kingdom at the head of an Army.”

  The knowledge of these designs, and the desire to prevent their execution, decided Cromwell to cast in his lot with the Army. The possibility of the introduction of a foreign force to maintain the Presbyterian leaders in power, and restore the King to his throne without adequate security for religious or political liberties, demanded immediate action. Abandoning his vain attempt at mediation, he joined Fairfax and the Army in their opposition to the Parliament.

  A letter written by a soldier in London, June 1, says:

  “The greatest and newest newes is, our general hath declared his resolution to owne the Armie in this their just action, and hath sent for Lieut.-Gen. Cromwell downe to him. I heare he is going out of towne this day. The certainty of this I cannot averre but ’tis not very unlikely. I think before I can take another opportunity I shall have matter of great moment to write to you. The Lord smile upon the Saints, and that will prove sufficient to astonish their enemies. The King’s person is secured by o^r armie or by some for it; this is not altogether unprobable tho’ I doe a little question whether it be yet done. Very great are the expectations of this daye’s business.”a

  Cromwell seems to have left London on June 3, and to have joined Fairfax at Kenford, near Bury, on Friday, June 4, or more probably, on Saturday, June 5. On the 4th, Fairfax had received news of the seizure of the King by Joyce, and on Saturday morning he was informed that the King had been carried from Holdenby and was on his way to Newmarket.

  The question to what extent Cromwell was responsible for the seizure of the King has been often discussed. John Harris, in a tract published in December, 1647, entitled The Grand Designe, definitely asserts that he was directly responsible:

  “It was by some persons at L.-Gen. Crumwel’s, he himself being present, upon Monday at night before Whitsunday 1647 [May 31] resolved, that for as much as it was probable that the said Hollis and his party had a determination privately to remove the King to some place of strength or else to set him in the head of another army; that therefore Cornet George Joyce should with as much speed and secrecy as might be repair to Oxford, to give instructions for the securing the garrison, magazine and trains therein, from the said party then endeavouring to get the same, and then forthwith to gather such a party of Horse as he could conveniently get to his assistance, and either secure the person of the King from being removed by any other, or, if occasion were, to remove him to some place of better security, for the prevention of the designe of the aforesaid pretended traiterous party: which was accordingly done, both with the knowledge and approbation of L.-G. Crumwell, although he afterward (like a subtle Fox) would not be pleased to take notice of it.”

  Lilburn, in his Impeachment of High Treason against Cromwell and Ireton, 1649, adds these additional details, that the order was delivered to Joyce “in Cromwell’s own garden in Drury Lane, Col. Charles Fleetwood being by.” This he practically asserts on the authority of Joyce himself.

  Major Huntington, in his Reasons for laying down his commission, says:

  “Advice was given by Lieut.-Gen. Cromwell and Commissary General Ireton to remove the King’s person from Holdenby, or to secure him there by other guards than those appointed by the Commissioners of Parliament: which design was thought most fit to be carried on by the private soldiery of the Army, and promoted by the agitators of each regiment; whose first business was to secure the garrison at Oxford, with the guns and ammunition there; and from thence to march to Holdenby in prosecution of the former advice; which was accordingly acted by Cornet Joyce.”

  Huntington also says that Joyce, “being told that the General was displeased with him for bringing the King from Holdenby, answered, that Lieutenant-General Cromwell had given him orders at London, to do what he had done, both there and at Oxford.”

  In a tract written in 1659, Joyce describes a quarrel between himself and Cromwell in 1648, in the course of which Cromwell

  “called him a rascal many times, and with great threats said that he would make him write a vindication of him against a book entitled, The Grand Design Discovered. Wherein were many things declared concerning Cromwell’s carriage towards Joyce, before he went to Holmby for the King; which afterwards he called God to witness he knew nothing of.” (A Narrative of the Causes of the late Lord General Cromwell’s Anger against Lieut-Col. George Joyce.)

  Joyce’s narrative is full of wild inaccuracies, but it is evident that Cromwell did not admit the truth of the definite statement published by Harris. How much did he admit? On this point Huntington’s statement is definite and probably correct. He states that when Fairfax demanded who gave orders for the removal of the King, Ireton replied

  “that he gave orders only for securing the King there, and not for taking him away from thence. Lieutenant-General Cromwell, coming then from London, said, That if this had not been done, the King would have been fetched away by order of Parliament; or else Colonel Graves, by the advice of the Commissioners, would have carried him to London, throwing themselves upon the favour of the Parliament for that service.”

  Since Cromwell approved Joyce’s preventing the removal of the King from Holdenby, his objection must have been to the second part of the story published by Harris.

  Harris asserted that Cromwell gave orders not merely “to secure the person of the King there from being removed by any other,” but also, “if occasion were, to remove him to some place of better security.”

  Cromwell constantly denied that he had sanctioned the removal of the King from Holdenby.

  The account of the interview of the officers with the King on June 7 (p. 125) states plainly that all the officers, amongst whom were Cromwell and Ireton, told the King that he had been removed from Holdenby “without their privity, knowledge, or consent” (cf. Memoirs of Sir P. Warwick, p. 299).

  Fairfax writes in the same strain to Lenthall on June 7: “I can clearly profess (as in the presence of God) for myself, and dare be confident of the same for all the officers about me, and the body of the Army, that the remove of his Majesty from Holdenby was without any design, knowledge, or privity thereof on our part” (Old Parliamentary History, xv. 410). As Fairfax had two days before heard the statements of Cromwell and Ireton which Huntington reports, it is clear that he drew a sharp distinction between the King’s removal from Holdenby and what the commissioners term “the changing of the King’s guards.” Ireton’s answer defines Cromwell’s position. Cromwell, like Ireton, had authorised “securing the King there, not taking him thence.” If that be so, Joyce was not telling the truth when he said that Cromwell authorised both the seizure and the removal of the King, and Harris was misinformed when he repeated Joyce’s statement. The earlier statements of Joyce are of considerable importance. The narrative printed by Rushworth, and attributed by Masson on good internal evidence to Joyce himself, affords conclusive proof that the removal of the King from Holdenby was an afterthought, and not part of Joyce’s original plan. Joyce states that he seized Holdenby early on the morning of Thursday, June 3, occupied the house, set his guards, and dismissed the troopers to their quarters.

  “All this being done it grew towards noon . . . . All was quiet in the said present security of his Majesty till tidings came that Graves was gone quite away . . . . None could tell what was become of him, and some of his damning blades did say and swear they would fetch a party, which party could not be from the Army, but must be from some other place. And therefore to prevent disturbance and blood and for the peace sake of the Kingdom, all declared unanimously, that they thought it most convenient to secure the King in another place from such persons as could cunningly or desperately take him away contrary to order.”

  (Rushworth, vi. 514.)

  About ten o’clock the same night the soldiers sent Cornet Joyce to the King, and Joyce saw the King in bed and announced his intended removal to him. Early next morning, Friday the fourth of June, they set out for Newmarket.a

  Two other pieces of evidence confirm the view that the removal of the King was not at first intended. The Declaration delivered by Joyce to the commissioners in charge of the King speaks only of preventing a design to take away the King. Moreover Joyce was uncertain whither to take the King, and suggested first Oxford, then Cambridge. Newmarket was proposed by the King himself. If the removal of the King had been pre-determined his destination would also have been pre-arranged (Old Parliamentary History, xv. 394; Rushworth, vi. 516). So the story originally told by Joyce is both consistent and probable. If it be true that the removal of the King was not part of Joyce’s original design, is it probable that it was part of his original instructions? Joyce’s later statement that he removed the King from Holdenby in pursuance of instructions received from Cromwell is inconsistent with his earlier statement that the removal was forced upon him by the demands of his soldiers.

  As soon as Joyce had seized Holdenby and secured the King he wrote a letter announcing his success. Holles gives the following account of it in his Memoirs:

  “Joyce, after seizing and carrying away the King, immediately sends up a letter to certify what he had done, with directions that it should be delivered to Cromwell, and, if he is absent, to Sir Arthur Haslerig or to Colonel Fleetwood; which letter was given to Colonel Fleetwood, as one Lieutenant Markham informed the House, saying that the messenger that brought it told him so; nor did Sir Arthur Haslerig make a clear answer, when he was asked concerning it in the House: Colonel Fleetwood being at that time gone to the Army so that he could not be examined.”

  (Memoirs, § 96.)

  The story as told by Holles was written several months later, and the note entered by Lawrence Whitacre in his diary on June 8 is probably more accurate.

  “The House was informed by Mr. Holles of a letter was come to his hands written from Holmby by Cornet Joyce with directions that it should be delivered to Lieut.-Gen. Cromwell, or in his absence to Sir Arthur Haslerig or Col. Fleetwood; whereby Mr. Holles would have inferred that those three gentlemen held correspondence with that Cornet, and so had intelligence of that party’s carrying away the King and the Commissioners from Holmby; but Sir Arthur Haslerig denied any knowledge he had thereof, and the names of none of those gentlemen did appear upon the superscription of that letter, so that there was no further proceeding upon it at that time.”

  The letter printed on p. 118 is probably the letter thus referred to by Holles and Whitacre. There is no superscription, but it was evidently written to some superior officer who was largely responsible for what Joyce had done. He practically says, ‘I have carried out your instructions, send me fresh instructions at once.’ Its contents substantially correspond to the orders which may be supposed to have been given by Cromwell to Joyce. ‘I have secured the King. I have not arrested Colonel Graves because he has escaped. I shall attend to the directions of the parliamentary commissioners within certain limits, but on other points obey no orders but those of the General.’ Nothing is said of the removal of the King from Holdenby to Newmarket, or to any other place. If the conclusion that the letter was addressed to Cromwell be accepted, it confirms the view of his relations to Joyce which has been stated in the last few pages.

  Fairfax, in his Short Memorials, states that he “called for a Council of War to proceed against Joyce, but the officers, whether for fear of the distempered soldiers, or rather (as I suspected) a secret allowance of what was done, made all my endeavours in this ineffectual” (Maseres, Select Tracts, i. 448). Some inquiry there probably was into the conduct of Joyce, and it is probable that it was in connection with that inquiry that Clarke obtained copies of the two letters from Joyce here printed (pp. 118-120). The officers in general certainly held that Joyce had done good service to the Army, and he was not only pardoned but promised promotion.

  On September 4, 1647, the “Committee of General Officers” passed a resolution “that Commissary-Generall Ireton and Colonel Rainborow bee desired to move the Generall that Cornett Joyce may have the troope of Captain Layton, latelie deceased, in Colonel Fleetwood’s regiment, the Generall having engaged to give him the first that falls.” (Clarke MSS., vol. lxvi.)

  On the treatment of the King whilst he was in the custody of the Army there are several papers in this volume. After Whalley had delivered him from the hands of Joyce he refused to go back to Holdenby, and insisted on continuing his journey to Newmarket (pp. 122, 123). A news letter from the latter place describes his first interview with Fairfax and the officers (p. 124). Fairfax ordered special precautions to be taken by Whalley for the security of the King’s person, fearing a rising in Norfolk (p. 130). The King requested Fairfax to allow the Duke of Richmond and two favourite chaplains to attend him; but Fairfax was unwilling directly to sanction their admission, as it was contrary to the orders of Parliament (p. 137). He was also afraid of some “intention to surprise the King to London,” and warned Whalley to be on his guard against it (p. 139). “Be careful of the King’s secureing,” wrote Cromwell and Hewson to Colonel Whalley; but at the same time they urged him to be “exact only in faithfulness to his trust,” and in other things to consult the King’s wishes as far as possible (p. 140). Hoping for a speedy accommodation with the Royalist party, they freely allowed the Royalists to come to see the King. “When the Army was in their greatest glory, and the enemy under their foot, yet we were ever humane and Christian to them, and now, being so near a reconciliation, we should not shew any aversion or indisposition” (p. 216).

  The mutiny in the New Model, crowned by Joyce’s seizure of the King, was followed by similar acts of insubordination amongst the military forces in the rest of the kingdom.

  Skippon’s regiment at Newcastle sympathised with the regiments stationed in the south (p. 125). The Army of the Northern Association, a separate organisation under the command of General Poyntz, resolved, in spite of the efforts of its commander, to associate itself with the demands of Fairfax’s forces. In May the Agitators of the eight regiments of horse had sent a declaration to the Northern Army, explaining the cause of their proceedings, and had also despatched three of their number to arrange joint action (pp. 90, 92, 121).a Vainly Poyntz issued orders prohibiting meetings amongst the soldiers, and requiring the arrest of these incendiaries (p. 142). On July 8 he was arrested in his own quarters, and carried prisoner to Pontefract (p. 163). The three Agitators wrote to Fairfax giving an account of what they had done, and forwarding a series of charges against Poyntz, signed by representatives of every regiment in the Northern Army (pp. 163-170).

  One result of the division in the Army was naturally a change in the officers of many regiments. Fairfax was on July 19 appointed commander-in-chief of all the land forces in the pay of the Parliament (Lords’ Journals, vii. 339); but even before that date he had commenced appointing new officers in the regiments immediately under his control to take the place of those who had seceded. Barkstead became colonel of Fortescue’s regiment, Pride of Harley’s, Overton of Herbert’s, Harrison of Sheffield’s, Horton of Butler’s, Thomlinson of Pye’s; Scroope succeeded Greaves, and Twisleton, Rossiter. Many officers of lower rank either left the Army, or were even in some cases expelled by their soldiers (see pp. 139, 428).a

  To restore or to maintain any semblance of order amongst soldiers who had thus shaken off the bonds of discipline was a task of very great difficulty. Equally difficult was the task of uniting these armed politicians for common political action. In the rendezvous at Newmarket on June 4 and 5, a common statement of the grievances of the Army was agreed to and subscribed by the officers and soldiers. On the second of these dates “a Solemn Engagement of the Army” was read, assented to, and subscribed, which forms a sort of military version of the “Solemn League and Covenant.” It began by a recital of the causes which led them first to elect Agitators to represent their grievances, and now to refuse to disband. It concluded by an assertion of their willingness to disband when their just demands were satisfied; and a refusal to disband, divide, or suffer themselves to be disbanded or divided, until their demands were satisfied and security given against future wrongs. What satisfaction and security should be regarded as sufficient was to be decided by a council,

  “to consist of those general officers of the Army (who have concurred with the Army in the premises) with two commission officers, and two souldiers to be chosen for each Regiment, who have concurred and shall concur with us in the premises, and in this agreement; and by the major part of such of them, who shall meet in Council for that purpose, when they shall be thereunto called by the General.^a”

  (Rushworth, vi. 505-512.)

  The idea of reinforcing the slackened bond of discipline by this Act of Association for common political ends may have occurred to many: its actual form was pretty certainly due to Ireton. To Ireton also was due the Declaration of the Army of June 14, in which they went beyond the statement of their grievances as soldiers, and proceeded to propound their desires “for the settling and securing of our own and the kingdom’s common Right, Freedom, Peace, and Safety.” (Rushworth, vi. 564-570.)

  That Declaration contains in it the demands afterwards embodied in the “Heads of the Proposals of the Army,” which are developed in the latter into a number of definite articles offered for the consideration of Parliament and people.

  Here, as in the letter of the officers from Royston, the soldiers demand a voice in the settlement of the kingdom on the ground

  “that we are not a meer mercenary Army hired to serve any Arbitrary power of a State, but called forth and conjured by the severall Declarations of Parliament to the defence of our owne and the people’s just Rights and Liberties; and so we took up Armes in judgement and conscience to those ends, and have so continued in them, and are resolved according to your first just desires in your Declarations, and such principles as we have received from your frequent informations, and our own common sense concerning those our fundamental rights and liberties, to assert and vindicate the just power and rights of this Kingdome in Parliament for those common ends premised against all arbitrary power, violence, and oppression, and against all particular parties or interests whatsoever.”

  It contains also a memorable vindication of the right of the Army to resist the authority of Parliament in defence of their just rights and liberties, which is frequently appealed to in the debates of the following October (pp. 260, 268).

  Ireton bases the right of resistance on the “Law of Nature and of Nations,” citing the example of the Scots, the Dutch, and the Portuguese.

  “Such also,” he continues, “were the proceedings of our ancestors of famous memory to the purchasing of such Rights and Liberties, as they have enjoyed through the price of their bloud, and we (both by that and the later bloud of our deare friends and fellow soldiers) with the hazard of our own, do now lay claim unto.”

  Whilst thus asserting the theoretical right of the Army to resist under certain conditions the authority of Parliament, Ireton is careful at the same time to fix a limit to the practical exercise of this right.

  The first aim of the Army is declared to be to have Parliaments “rightly constituted, that is, freely, equally, and successively chosen.” Parliament is to be purged of delinquents, corruptions, and members unduly elected. The duration of this and of future Parliaments is to be legally fixed; new Parliaments are to be summoned at definite intervals, and to continue sitting for a definite time. When these reforms are effected, the Army will willingly submit to the authority of Parliament.

  “Thus a firm foundation being laid in the authority and constitution of Parliaments for the hopes, at least, of common and equall right and freedom to ourselves and to all the freeborn people of this land; we shall for our parts freely and cheerfully commit our stock or share of interest in this kingdome into this common bottome of Parliaments, and though it may (for our particulars) go ill with us in one Voyage, yet we shall thus hope (if right be with us) to fare better in another.”a

  Just as the Army promises to submit to the authority of Parliament, provided certain reforms in its constitution are granted, so it also professes that it seeks neither “to overthrow Presbytery or hinder the settlement thereof,” provided that some toleration for “tender consciences” be guaranteed. They demand

  “that such who, upon conscientious grounds, may differ from the established formes may not for that be debarred from the common Rights, Liberties, or Benefits belonging equally to all as men and members of the Commonwealth, while they live soberly, honestly, and inoffensively towards others, and peacefully and truthfully towards the State.”

  This promise to accept the establishment of Presbyterianism, if freedom of conscience were provided for, is more than once repeated. It is stated with equal clearness in the letter of Fairfax and his officers to the City of London (June 10), which Carlyle on good grounds supposes to have been written by Cromwell.

  Again on September 9, in a discussion in the Council of War at Putney, Cromwell

  “expressed himself to this effect. That whereas it hath been suggested to this Kingdom that hee hath a desire to cast down the Foundation of Presbytery, and to advance and set up Independency, hee declares, that hee desires nothing more then to see this poore tottered nation established in Truth and Peace, and this languishing Commonwealth restored to their just rights and liberties”

  (Two Declarations from his Excellency Sir Thomas Fairfax, etc., 1647.)

  There was, however, one point in which the Army would be satisfied with nothing short of complete surrender. They demanded that “those persons who in the late unjust and high proceedings against the Army appeared to have the will, the confidence, credit and power, to abuse the Parliament and Army and endanger the Kingdome,” should “not continue in the same power,” but “be made incapable thereof for the future.” This was emphasised by the impeachment of Holles and ten other Presbyterian leaders. Permanent exclusion from political power was a thing to which Holles and his friends would not submit without a struggle. They would have appealed to arms as soon as the news came that the Army had refused to disband, if only the City had been ready to back them (p. 117). A news letter amongst Clarendon’s papers, says:

  “on the 3rd [of June] the Mayor of London called a Common Council to consider of the present affaires of the Citty, wherein it was resolved by one unanimous consent that they would have noe more war. Concerning how the Parliament took this I have noe more, but that at the first there were some that were pleased to show their mettle in very high expressions, but at last without taking any resolution they rose in very great distraction, being now informed of the resolution of the City whereon they built their chiefest hope.”

  (Clarendon MS., 2527.)

  Incitements to the citizens to fight were not wanting, but produced no effect.

  Another news letter, of June 7, adds: “Yesterday Col. Massey as he passed through the streets in his coach, exhorting the cittizens to defend themselves against the madd men in the Army, who if they should prevaile would demand the heads of the best citizens, and of the chief men of the Parliament as well as his head” (ibid. 2528).

  On the news that the Army was marching on London, and was come as far as St. Albans, a more warlike spirit prevailed, and the trained bands were called out (June 11-12); but the next day a conciliatory answer was sent to the letter of the officers of the Army, and the idea of resistance abandoned (pp. 132-135). More than once there were riots caused by the disbanded soldiers and officers of the old armies of Essex and Waller, who clamoured for their pay at the doors of the House of Commons, and threatened the lives of unpopular members (pp. 136, 141). The Presbyterian clergy openly denounced Fairfax and his soldiers in their sermons (p. 150). Whilst the commissioners of the Army and the commissioners of the Parliament were negotiating, news that soldiers were being enlisted in London reached head-quarters (p. 152).

  In May, 1647, an ordinance appointing a new committee for the control of the London militia had been passed, by which a number of aldermen and officers belonging to the Independent party, who had done good service during the war, were put out of the committee and their places filled up by Presbyterians (Rushworth, vi. 472, 478). The Presbyterian commissioners now proceeded to purge the London trained bands by expelling officers who were accused of being Independents or suspected of supporting the Army, and the officers thus expelled applied to the Army for redress (pp. 152-156).

  On July 16 the Agitators laid before the General Council of the Army (or “the General Council of War” as it is here termed) a paper in which they demanded an immediate march on London, in order to obtain the restoration of the militia to the hands of the old commissioners, the release of all prisoners illegally committed, a declaration against the entrance of any foreign forces into England, and the placing of all military forces in the country under the command of Fairfax (pp. 170-175). A great debate took place in the Council of the Army on the question of marching up to London. Over 100 officers and Agitators were present, and the discussion lasted till twelve at night (p. 214). Cromwell and Ireton vehemently opposed a march on London, and succeeded in persuading the Council to be content to send a summary of their demands to Parliament, and require an answer within four days. Cromwell was especially anxious to arrive at a settlement of the differences between the Army and Parliament by means of the treaty which was still being negotiated.

  “It will be for our honour and honesty to do what we can to accomplish this work by way of a treaty. . . . . Whatsoever we get by a treaty will be firm and durable, it will be conveyed over to posterity. We shall avoid the great objection that lies against us that we have got things of the Parliament by force, and we know what it is to have that stain lie upon us”

  (p. 185).

  At the same time he held that certain preliminary demands necessary for the present security of the Army during the treaty, and certain grievances whose redress admitted of no delay, might be properly obtained by an ultimatum requiring an answer within a certain specified time (p. 191). Force was not to be used except in the last resort, “except we cannot get what is for the good of the kingdom without force” (p. 202). At the same time he urged that the friends of the Army in the House of Commons were steadily gaining ground; that any appeal to force would alienate the middle party in the House who were neither Presbyterian nor Independent, and stop the mouths of their friends; he reminded his hearers of their old hopes of obtaining their ends through Parliament, and begged them not to abandon those hopes.

  “It hath been in most of our thoughts that this Parliament might be a reformed and purged Parliament, that we might see there men looking at public and common interests only. . . . . . This is the principle we did march upon when we were at Uxbridge and when we were at St. Alban’s, and surely the thing was wise and honourable and just. . . . . . If we wish to see a purged Parliament let me persuade every man that he would be a little apt to hope the best”

  (p. 192).

  Ireton opposed the march on London for reasons very similar to those put forward by Cromwell. He expected less from the treaty, deemed the question of the London militia of less importance, and urged that there was no sufficient ground for the proposed movement (pp. 194-199). Above all, however, he was anxious that before any new quarrel with the Parliament took place the Army should vindicate the integrity of its intentions by declaring publicly to the kingdom what its political objects were, and how it meant to secure the liberties of the people (p. 179). He had been charged by the General and the rest of the commissioners of the Army appointed to treat with Parliament to draw up a series of proposals for the settlement of the kingdom. With a single assistant, apparently Lambert, he had sketched out the first draft of the document afterwards known as the “Heads of the Proposals of the Army.” In it he hoped “to set down something that may be a rule to lay a foundation for the common rights and liberties of the people and for an established peace in the nation” (cf. pp. 343-349).

  The scheme thus drawn up was to be tendered to the parliamentary commissioners, and to be transmitted by them to Parliament as the basis of a settlement. It would serve also as a manifesto from the Army to the nation, and for that reason Ireton was eager to get it adopted and published before a new breach took place between the Parliament and the Army. On July 17, the day after the debate on the question of marching to London, the draft of the proposals was submitted to the Council. Unfortunately Clarke’s report of the discussion ends abruptly, but a few references to the debates are to be found in his reports of the October meetings of Council (pp. 181, 189, 197, 211). The result was that the draft propositions were referred to a committee of twelve officers and twelve Agitators (p. 216).

  Parliament yielded to the peremptory demands of the Army, and passed an ordinance replacing the London militia in the hands of the old commissioners (Rushworth, vi. 626, 629, 632-5). At once counter-petitions were set on foot in the City; tumults began, and on July 26 the two Houses were forced by mob-violence to recall their votes. The riots of July 26, the flight of Lenthall to the Army, and the entry of the Army into London are the subject of letters printed on pp. 217-223. Before the Army entered London the “Propositions” had been finally revised, and they were published on August 2 with a declaration to the Parliament and the nation. In the fortnight which had elapsed since the draft was laid before the Council the propositions had undergone some modification in the hope that they would obtain the King’s concurrence. Sir John Berkeley describes Ireton as permitting him to examine the draft of the proposals and to make certain alterations in them. “He permitted me to alter two of the articles and that in most material points; and I would have done a third, which was the excluding seven persons from pardon and the not admitting of our party to sit in the next parliament” (Memoirs of Sir J. Berkeley, Maseres, p. 363).

  When the proposals were privately submitted to the King he objected to the two points mentioned by Berkeley, and still more to the fact that though there was nothing against the Church government established, yet there was nothing done to assert it. The latter reason had great weight with the King in his final rejection of the Army terms (ibid., pp. 367, 368). Major Huntington confirms the account of the private submission of the “Proposals” to the King, which probably took place about July 21 (Reasons for laying down his Commission, Maseres, p. 401). He states that Ireton, Rainborow, Hammond, and Rich “attended the King at Woburn, for three hours together, debating the whole business with the King upon the Proposals; upon which debate many of the most material things which the King disliked were afterwards struck out, and many other things were much abated by promises.” The precise nature of these changes is thus stated by Wildman in his Putney Projects,” 1647, p. 14.

  “When the Proposalls were first composed, there was a small restriction of the King’s negative voice: it was agreed to be proposed, that whatsoever bill should be propounded by two immediate succeeding Parliaments, should stand in full force and effect as any other law, though the King should refuse to consent. . . . . This was expunged.”

  (2.) “In that rough draft it was proposed, that all who have been in hostility against the Parliament, be incapable of bearing office of power, or publique trust for ten years, without consent of Parliament. But in further favour of the King’s interest, these ten years of excluding delinquents from power or trust, were changed to five years.”

  (3.) “It was further added, after this intercourse with the King, that the Councell of State should have power to admit such Delinquents to any office of power or trust before those five yeares were expired . . . .”

  (4.) “In the composure of the proposalls it was desired that an Act for the extirpation of Bishops might be passed by the King. . . . . This Proposall was so moderated that the office and function of Bishops might be continued; and it is now only proposed that the coercive power and jurisdiction of Bishops extending to any Civill penalties upon any be abolished.”

  (5.) “After this Treaty with the King, the proposall for passing an Act to confirm the sale of Bishops lands was wholly obliterated; and though the Army afterward desired the Parliament to proceed in the sale and alienation of those Lands, yet that was none of their proposalls in order to a peace with the King, but according to their proposalls for a setled peace, the King was first to be established in his throne with his usurped power of a negative voyce to all lawes or determinations of Parliament, and then they knew that the King might be at his choyce, whether he would permit an alienation of these lands.”

  One of this committee of four who discussed the “Propositions” with the King, viz. Colonel Rainborow, gave John Lilburn “a full account of that business,” and of Ireton’s “base juggling and underhand dealings” (Lilburn’s Impeachment of High Treason against Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton, 1649, p. 55). It was doubtless Lilburn who supplied Wildman with the information he embodies in his tract.

  A detailed criticism of these Heads of Proposals is given by Mr. Gardiner in the preface to his Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution (pp. xlviii.-l.). “It contained,” he concludes, “too much that was new, too much in advance of the general intelligence of the times to obtain that popular support without which the best constitutions are but castles in the air; and even if this could have been got over, there was the fatal objection that it proceeded from an army.” Even after the occupation of London had taken place, Parliament, instead of taking up the Heads of the Proposals as the basis of a settlement of the kingdom, “sent to the King a revised edition of the propositions of Newcastle, differing mainly in this, that it proposed a limited toleration for dissentient Puritans, whilst forbidding all use of the book of Common Prayer.” In his reply to their propositions, the King, on September 14, expressed a preference for the Proposals of the Army, as more conducive “to the satisfaction of all interests and a fitter foundation for a lasting peace (Rushworth vii. 810). Major Huntington’s letter (p. 225) shows that the King expected the leaders of the Army to stand by him in procuring an offer of better terms from the parliament. The question of a new treaty was discussed in the House of Commons on September 22 and 23, 1647. Marten and his party were eager for the passing of a vote to make no further addresses to the King. Cromwell and Ireton on the other hand opposed Marten’s motion, and the House finally resolved on September 23 that they would once again make application to the King.

  This decision led to much discontent amongst the Levelling party in the Army as also outside of it, and “the credit and reputation” of both Cromwell and Ireton was much blasted thereby (p. 228). They were accused of falsely representing it to be the desire and sense of the Army that this new application should be made to the King. The charge is thus stated by Wildman in his Putney Projects (p. 43):

  “When the answer of the King’s was voted by the Parliament to be a denial of the Propositions, a question was stated whether any more addresses should be made to the King, and the determination was very dubious: but then a Cabinet Councell of the Grandees was called, Sir John Eveling, Mr. William Perpoint, and Mr. Fines, Sir Henry Vane, and Cromwell, and Ireton, own paucis aliis: and O how was the quintessence of their braines extracted, in plausible arguments for a new addresse to the King! how were the imaginary mischiefs, and dangerous consequences of a refusall presented in most lively emblems! and I conclude from the event, that in such a Cabinet Councell the question was first concluded in the affirmative, and then the debate of the question was managed in the House with much seeming solemnity; but when the potency of reason, and justice, against any further addresses, began to tryumph over their feminine reasons, a Member (no question one of the same confederacy) produced a reason like Goliah’s sword, with this inscription, there’s none like this, its (saith he) the sense of the Army that a further addresse be made to the King: this led every reason captive, and so the debate ended. . . . . . Com. Gen. Ireton without a proxie sometime averred as much in effect in the House, ‘You must (saith he) looke for opposition, whenever you shall cease your addresses to the King, and then your case would be sad, if you should have no strength adhere unto you, and if you now cease, I cannot promise you the Armies assistance.’ ”

  When this charge was made against Cromwell by Sexby in the debate in the Council of the Army on October 28, he replied that what he had spoken in Parliament he had spoken as his own sense, and not in the name of the Army.a Ireton’s answer was, that he did believe it to be the sense of the Army that a second address should be made to the King (pp. 228-232).

  Whilst the public utterances of Ireton and Cromwell were thus misinterpreted by the Levellers, their private conferences with the King and their apparent intimacy with his agents Berkeley and Ashburnham gave rise to still greater suspicions. After the King came to Hampton Court,

  “Mr. Ashburnham had daily some message or another from the King, to Cromwell and Ireton, who had enough to do both in the Parliament and Council of the Army, the one abounding with Presbyterians, the other with Levellers, and both really jealous that Cromwell and Ireton had made a private compact and bargain with the King; Lilburn printing books weekly to that effect, and Sir Lewis Dives afterwards acknowledged to me, that being his fellow prisoner he had daily endeavoured to possess him with that opinion; of which, although he were not persuaded himself, yet he judged it for the King’s service to divide Cromwell and the Army. On the other hand the Presbyterians were no less confident of their surmises, and amongst them, Cromwell told me that my Lady Carlisle affirmed, that I had said to her Ladyship, that he was to be Earl of Essex and Captain of the King’s guards. . . . . . These and the like discourses made great impression on the Army; to which Mr. Ashburnham’s secret and long conferences contributed not a little; insomuch that the Adjutators, who were wont to complain that Cromwell went too slow towards the King, began now to suspect that he had gone too fast and left them behind him.”

  (Memoirs of Sir John Berkeley, Maseres’ Select Tracts, i. 368-372).

  A pamphlet complains that the officers make an “idoll of the King.”

  “Why are they so familiar with Ashburnhame and others, his chief agents? Why permit they so many of his deceitful clergy to continue about him? Why doe themselves kneele, and kisse, and fawne upon him? Why have they received favours from him, and sent their wives or daughters to visit him, or to kiss his hand, or to be kissed of him? Oh shame of men! Oh sin against God! What, to doe thus to a man of blood, over head and eares in the blood of your dearest friends and fellow commoners?”

  (A Call to all the Souldiers of the Army by the Free People of England, 1647, p. 5.)

  Another charge was that the engagement of June 5, referring the political government of the Army to the elected General Council of the Army, had not been kept, and that its authority had been gradually superseded by the Council of War, and by other committees of officers.

  Lilburn wrote to Cromwell on July 1:

  “You have robbed, by your unjust subtlety and shifting tricks, the honest and gallant Agitators of all their power and authority, and solely placed it in a thing called a counsell of war, or rather a Cabinet junto of seven or eight proud self-ended fellows, that so you may without control make up your own ends.”

  (Jonah’s Cry, p. 9).

  Sir John Berkeley observes:

  “Out of my discourses and inquiries, I collected these observations: First, that the Army was governed partly by a Council of War, and partly by a Council of the Army, or Agitators, wherein the General had but a single voice; that Fairfax, the General, had little power in either; that Cromwell, and his son Ireton, with their Friends and Partisans, governed the Council of War absolutely, but not that of the Army, which was the most powerful, though they had a strong party there also; but the major part of the Adjutators carried it. Amongst these Adjutators there were many ill-wishers of Cromwell, looking on him as one who would always make his advantages out of the Army.”

  (Memoirs of Sir John Berkley, Maseres’ Tracts, i. 364.)

  Later the complaint of the Levellers became:

  “that the General Councils (which according to their engagements ought to have consisted only of two select commission officers, and two private souldiers, chosen by every regiment, with such generall officers as assented to the engagement, and no other) were nevertheless overgrown with Collonels, Lieut.-Collonels, Majors and others not chosen, and many of them dissenters from the said engagement.”

  (England’s New Chains Discovered, pt. 2, p. 3, 1649. See also The Hunting of the Fexes from Newmarket and Triploe Heath to Whitehall, Somers’ Tracts, vi. 45.)

  The blame of these concessions to the King and the burden of the other charges was laid upon Ireton and Cromwell both, but most on Ireton. Wildman appeals to “my once much honoured Cromwell,” as if hoping that his pen “could possibly awaken Cromwell’s conscience from the dead” (Putney Projects, p. 37). Sometimes it is suggested that Ireton was the tempter.

  “Before it be too late deal plainly with Ireton, by whose cowardly or ambitious policy Cromwell is betrayed into these mischievous practices . . . . And if Cromwell instantly repent not, and alter his course, let him know also, that ye loved and honoured just, honest, sincere and valiant Cromwell, that loved his country, and the liberties of the people above his life, yea, and hated the King as a man of blood, but that Cromwell ceasing to be such, he ceaseth to be the object of your love.”

  Sometimes it was suggested that they were accomplices, and that their occasional differences were but the clearer proof of their secret alliance.

  “One of the surest tokens of confederates in evill, is not only when one of his fellowes is vehement, fiery or hot in any of their pursuits, to be patient, cold or moderate to pacify his partner, and like deceitfull Lawyers before their clients to quallify matters; but sometimes seeme to discord or fall out and quarrell in Councels, reasonings and debates; and yet nevertheless in the end to agree in evill; which they doe purposely, to hold upright men in a charitable (though doubtfull) opinion, that if such and such a man be not godly and upright they know not whom in the world to trust.”

  (A Call to all the Souldiers of the Armie by the Free People of England, etc., 1647, pp. 4, 6.)

  The dissatisfaction and suspicion roused by all these different causes found expression in renewed disturbance in the Army and amongst the Levelling party in general. Meetings took place amongst the soldiers, and several regiments elected new representatives under the pretext that the officers had broken their engagements (pp. 349, 367). A declaration published in November, 1647, by Colonel Whalley’s troop, attacks the Agitators elected in June, saying:

  “That upon several informations that those formerly employed by us did more consult their own advancement than the public settlement, we were induced, about the 19th of October last, to make choice of two new Agitators for a regiment.”

  The authority given these new Agitators

  “was only to act according to our first engaged principles with the consent and advice of the General, the Council of War, and the Agitators first elected, to clear those things that seemed dubious to us, to prevent misinformations,” etc.

  (Reprinted by Maseres, Select Tracts, i. lxv.)

  These new representatives usually styled themselves “Agents,” but are often described as “Agitators,” both by themselves and others (pp. 259, 264, 279). It is convenient to use the term “Agents” in order to distinguish the new Agitators from the old. Five regiments of horse took the lead in this movement, those of Cromwell, Ireton, Fleetwood, Whalley, and Rich; and their representatives signed the “Case of the Army,” which is dated October 9, 1647. By the beginning of November four other regiments of horse and seven of foot had also elected Agents, and associated themselves with the demands of the original five (Rushworth, vii. 859).

  A certain number of persons, claiming to represent the Levellers of London and other districts, made common cause with the protesting soldiers (pp. 235, 251; cf. Rushworth, vii. 876-8). The most prominent of these was John Wildman, a follower of Lilburn’s, who was adopted by the Agents as their mouthpiece, and was probably the author of the “Case of the Army,” and some other tracts published in their name (pp. 269, 352, 356).

  The new Agents commenced operations by the presentation of a manifesto, entitled “The Case of the Army stated,” which was presented to the General on October 18. It is well summarised by Godwin, History of the Commonwealth, ii. 445; and was accompanied by a letter which is printed in extenso by Rushworth (vii. 485; see also these debates, pp. 227, 229, 241, 293, 304, 346, 354, 356, 360, 373). The General Council of the Army, at its meeting on October 22, appointed a committee to sit the next day for the consideration of the papers thus presented. On the 28th the Agents presented a further paper, clearing themselves from the charge of seeking to divide the Army. The summary of their political demands, entitled “The Agreement of the People,” though not published till a few days later, seems to have been presented at the same time (p. 236; Rushworth, vii. 849, 850, 859; Godwin, ii 449).

  The debates to which the presentation of these papers gave rise extended from October 28 to November 11 (pp. 226-418). The reports now printed were probably taken down in shorthand by William Clarke himself.

  At the General Council which met at Putney on October 28 the presenters of the “Case of the Army” were represented by two soldiers and two outsiders, and also by three of the original Agitators (p. 226). One of the latter, Sexby, opened the proceedings by a statement of the causes of the present discontents in the Army. Their leaders, he complained, had laboured too much to satisfy the King and to support the Parliament, instead of simply seeking to carry out the engagements of the Army and taking a direct course to settle the kingdom. He concluded by a personal attack upon Cromwell and Ireton for advocating a further application to the King in the parliamentary debates of September 22 and 23 (pp. 227-232).

  The discussion then turned on the “Agreement of the People,” and Cromwell, after some remarks on the importance of the constitutional changes demanded in it, replied, “Before we take this paper into consideration, it is fit for us to consider how far we are obliged, and how far we are free.” The engagements of the Army as set forth in their public declarations must first be considered. When that was done they would know how far they were free to adopt the proposals of the Agents (pp. 236-240).

  Ireton took the same line, whilst Wildman and Colonel Rainborow argued that the consideration of the justice of the demands now put forward should precede the consideration of earlier engagements (240-247). Cromwell proposed the appointment of a committee to consider the engagements in question, and Colonel Goffe suggested a prayer meeting (pp. 250-255). Both these propositions were finally accepted, but not till a long and excited discussion had taken place between Ireton and Wildman on the nature of obligations in general, and the question when they were binding and when they might be broken (pp. 257-279).

  On the morning of October 29 the prayer meeting took place at the Quartermaster-General’s quarters at Mr. Chamberlain’s house (pp. 257, 259, 280-285). It was followed by a fresh discussion in the Council on the question of the engagements of the Army, in the course of which both Cromwell and Ireton emphatically disavowed any private and personal engagements whatever (pp. 293, 294). In an eloquent speech the latter declared that he desired the consideration of engagements not so much for the sake of the engagements themselves as for the sake of the reputation and good name of the Army.

  “I would not have this Army . . . . to incur the scandal of neglecting engagements, and laying aside all consideration of engagements, and juggling, and deceiving, and deluding the world, making them believe things in times of extremity which they never meant”

  (p. 297).

  The “Agreement of the People” was next read, and a general debate took place over the first article, which claimed manhood suffrage (p. 299). On this point the discussion was long and passionate (pp. 299-345). Ireton, while professing his willingness to support a reasonable extension of the franchise, opposed manhood suffrage as dangerous in itself, and still more dangerous from the principles upon which it was claimed (pp. 322, 333, 340). Cromwell and Colonel Rich supported Ireton (pp. 309, 315, 332). The former again proposed the appointment of a committee to agree upon a reasonable compromise (p. 328). The proposal was backed by Lieutenant Chillenden, Captain Rolfe, and others, and was finally accepted (pp. 337, 338). A fresh debate then arose on the question of the statements made in the “Case of the Army,” and Ireton passionately vindicated the officers from the charge of dividing the Army, and retorted the charge on the new Agents (pp. 346-348). He went on to compare the “Heads of the Proposals of the Army” with the “Agreement,” in order to show that the main demands of the latter were substantially contained in the “Proposals” (p. 349). Wildman in answer criticised the “Proposals” in detail, in order to show that by the authority they reserved to the King and the House of Lords “the foundation of slavery was rivetted more strongly than before” (p. 353). Ireton defended the proposals, and charged Wildman with being the author of the “Case of the Army” (pp. 356-361).

  On October 30 the Committee of Officers and Agitators appointed to prepare “somewhat to be insisted upon and adhered unto for settling the kingdom,” held a meeting, and agreed to a number of articles relative to the constitution of future Parliaments (pp. 363-367). With the exception of the article on the suffrage, these propositions were substantially the same as those contained in the “Heads of the Proposals.”

  The result of the deliberations of the Committee was a clause desiring the extension of the franchise “to all freeborn Englishmen or persons made free denizens of England, who have served the Parliament in the late war for the liberties of the kingdom . . . . or voluntarily assisted the Parliament in the said war with money, arms, etc.” (p. 367). Though this guaranteed the rights of the soldiers, it did not go as far as the Agitators desired, and they seem finally to have obtained a vote in favour of manhood suffrage of the General Council.

  In a letter from the Agents to the regiments which they represented, dated November 11, they say that the first article of the agreement having been long debated “it was concluded by vote in the Affirmative; viz. that all souldiers and others, if they be not servants or beggars, ought to have voices in electing those that shall represent them in Parliament, although they have not fortie shillings a year by freehold land. And there were but three voyces against this your native freedome.” Cromwell and Ireton continued to oppose this further extension, the former saying that it “did tend very much to anarchy” (p. 411; cf. p. 309).

  In the later constitutions and the suggested constitutions of the period the question of the suffrage was variously treated. The “Agreement of the People,” presented to Parliament January 15, 1649, embodies the view finally adopted by the governing party in the Army. It proposed:

  “That the electors in every division shall be natives or denizens of England, not persons receiving alms, but such as are assessed ordinarily towards the relief of the poor: not servants to and receiving wages from any particular person. And in all elections except for the Universities they shall be men of 21 years of age or upwards, and housekeepers dwelling within the division for which the election is.”

  The restrictions are those suggested in these debates of October, 1647 (pp. 313, 335, 341, 342).

  Ireton, who in the “Heads of the Proposals of the Army” had first suggested the redistribution of seats according to the rates borne by the respective counties in the burdens of the kingdom, was probably also the author of this proposal for basing the franchise on the payment of rates for the relief of the poor. It does not appear in the scheme of the Levellers or in the Instrument of Government. The views of the former are contained in the “Agreement of the Free People of England,” put forth by Lilburn and his friends, May 1, 1649. It gives the franchise “according to natural right” to “all men of the age of 21 years and upwards not being servants or receiving alms.” The Instrument of Government, on the other hand, reproducing the scheme which the Long Parliament was engaged in passing when Cromwell expelled it, restricted the franchise in the counties to persons possessing real or personal estate to the value of £200, and left the right of voting in the boroughs unaltered.

  The debates of the Council on November 1 turned mainly on the subject of the King and the House of Lords. Wildman argued that by the fundamental constitution of the kingdom neither King nor Lords had any right to a negative voice in legislation, and that they ought to be expressly deprived of the right which they had usurped (pp. 367, 385-387). Ireton had no great difficulty in refuting the proof of these statements which Wildman attempted to derive from the coronation oath (pp. 386, 387, 399), but his own opinion and the general sense of the Army were both strongly in favour of limiting the power of the Lords. The Committee appointed by the Council of Officers had originally decided that the Lords should possess a suspensive veto only (p. 396). For this a more elaborate scheme suggested by Ireton was finally substituted, stipulating that laws passed by the House of Commons should be binding for the people even without the consent of the Lords (pp. 394, 397, 407). But the Lords would not be so bound “for their own persons and estates as the Commons are” unless they expressly consented to it (pp. 391, 394, 397, 405). Lords who happened to be officers of state were to be liable to the judgment of the Commons; those who were not were to be tried and judged only by their peers (p. 409). The suggestion that Lords and Commons should sit together as one House appears to have been considered and rejected (p. 395). The Act of March 19, 1649, which abolished the Upper House as useless and dangerous, declared that such Lords, as had “demeaned themselves with honour, courage, and fidelity to the Commonwealth,” should be capable of sitting in Parliament, “if they shall be therunto elected.” Ireton seems to have proposed a similar provision at this time, but the precise text of his proposal is missing (p. 395).

  The articles brought forward by the Committee treated the King’s negative voice in the same fashion as the legislative power of the Lords. The first draft of the “Heads of the Proposals” had given the King a suspensive veto. In their final form, however, nothing at all was said about the King’s negative voice; it was simply passed over in silence (cf. p. 357). In place of that, the Army demanded the King’s assent to certain stipulated concessions which were held essential to the peace and safety of the kingdom, and proposed that when these things were provided for he should be restored to his throne without diminution to his personal rights, and without further limitation to the exercise of his regal power (Art. xiv., cf. pp. 358-9) Wildman and his party insisted that this involved the restoration of the King with an unlimited negative voice, and that he could not safely be allowed any share whatever in legislation (pp. 362, 385). In reply Ireton pointed out that matters essential to safety were already provided for; that the King by confirming the ordinances made by Parliament would practically admit the right of the Parliament to make laws without his consent where the safety of the nation was concerned; and that the article proposed by the committee gave the House of Commons power to enact laws binding on all commoners.

  “Itt takes away the negative voice of the Lords and of the Kinge too, as to what concernes the people; for itt says that the Commons of England shall bee bound by what judgement and above what orders, ordinances, or lawes shall bee made for that purpose by them; and all that followes for the Kinge or Lords is this, that the Lords or Kinge are not bound by that law they pass for their own persons or estates as the Commoners are, unlesse they consent to it”

  (pp. 389-391, 407).

  The debates of November 3 are very briefly reported, and the reports of those which took place on the four following days are missing altogether. An attempt is made to supply some account of them in Appendix E. On November 5 the extreme party succeeded in obtaining a vote for a general rendezvous of the Army, and procured from the Council a letter to Parliament intimating that the Army was opposed to any further applications to the King. On November 8, however, Cromwell, who had long been sensible of the dangers of division and anarchy caused by these disputes in the Council, carried a vote recommending the General to order the representative Officers and Agitators to return to their regiments until the intended rendezvous had taken place (p. 412). On the following day the Council was adjourned for a fortnight; but before it separated a declaration was drawn up, explaining that the letter of November 5 was not intended to mean that the Council opposed Parliament’s sending any further propositions to the King, “our intentions being only to assert the freedom of Parliament” (p. 416). It was also decided that instead of the one general rendezvous of the Army, which had been previously settled, there should be three separate reviews, to take place at different places on successive days.

  The first rendezvous took place on November 15 near Ware. The Levellers attempted to convert it into the general rendezvous which they so much desired. The regiments of Harrison and Robert Lilburn broke loose from the control of their officers, and came to the field of the review intending to make it an armed demonstration in favour of the “Agreement of the People.” Cromwell’s action was again decisive, and the incipient mutiny was quelled by the execution of a single mutineer.a A remonstrance drawn up in the name of the General was read at the head of every regiment. Like the engagement of June 5, which it supplements and completes, it was evidently the composition of Ireton (v. p. 348). Fairfax declares that he and the other commanders have done their best to carry out the ends of the Newmarket engagement, and complains of the discontents and divisions which the Agents have caused in the Army. He announces that without redress of these abuses and disorders he will not continue in command, but professes his willingness “to adhere to, and to conduct, and live and die with the Army in the lawful prosecution” of certain specified aims. Those aims are the obtaining of six demands which concern the Army as soldiers, and the attainment of the following political objects for the kingdom at large.

  “A period to be set for this present Parliament, to end so soon as may be with safety; and provision thereunto to be made for future Parliaments, for the certainty of their meeting, sitting, and ending, and for the freedom and equality of elections thereto; to render the House of Commons, as near as may be, an equal representative of the people that are to elect. And, according to the Representation of the Army of June 14, to leave other things to, and acquiesce in, the determinations of the Parliament; but to remind the Parliament of, and mediate with them for, redress of the common grievances of the people, and all other things that the Army have declared their desire for.”

  He concluded by exacting from the officers and soldiers of every regiment the subscription of a definite promise to be bound by the decision of the General Council of the Army as to the prosecution of the objects thus enumerated. On the other hand, “for the matter of ordering conduct and government of the Army,” they were to be “observant and subject to the General, the Council of War, and their officers.” (Old Parliamentary History, xvi. 340-345.)

  By this new compact between Fairfax and his soldiers the political aims of the Army were clearly defined and its action was restricted to certain definite objects. The acceptance of the engagement was followed by the restoration of good relations between officers and men and by the revival of discipline. Some few of the discontented party continued to plot mutiny, but they were either reduced to submission or promptly expelled from the Army. A few weeks later the “General Council of the Army” itself ceased to exist, and the system of representation, established by the engagement of June 4, was never revived. A constitutional experiment so remarkable is worth tracing to its close.

  The vote of November 8 had simply dismissed the Agitators and the representative officers to their several regiments, “there to reside until the said rendezvous be over, and until his Excellency shall see fit to call them together again according to the Engagement” (p. 412). The Council met again, on November 25, in the town hall at Windsor, and continued to meet throughout December and during the first week of January, 1648. There is little doubt that the Agitators continued to take part in its debates, privates as well as officers. Parliamentary Commissioners came to Windsor to arrange with the Council of the Army the question of pay and the disbanding of supernumeraries. A letter from Windsor, dated December 31, says:

  “The Parliament’s Commissioners have been at the headquarters with us now this three days, and had divers meetings with our councils, and joined with us in prayer, and other things tending to the good of the kingdom and the army, and have had full satisfaction in all things upon the votes of the Houses, to their hearts desire and content. And the officers came to them and assured them the spirit of the army was, that since God hath put an opportunity into their hands of purpose to settle the kingdom, if God should honour the army to be further helping to them, the army would live and die with them and for them willingly. Whereby they were much joyed, and received their expressions with abundance of thanks. . . . . The Agreement was sweet and comfortable, the whole matter of the kingdom being left with the Parliament.”

  (Rushworth, vii. 928, 935, 951.)

  The most important subject treated with the Parliamentary Commissioners was the reorganisation of the Army and the disbanding and payment of those soldiers who were not to be included in the new establishment. With the concurrence of Fairfax and the Council, this was effected by a series of Parliamentary resolutions, in accordance with which a standing army of about 23,000 men was to be kept up (Rushworth, vii. 935, 992, 995). Supernumeraries, soldiers enlisted since the Newmarket engagement, and superfluous local levies were disbanded in large numbers (ibid., 921, 929, 946, 953, 997, 1007, 1011, 1042). A number of rules were established for the billeting and quartering of the soldiers to be still maintained (ibid., 956). Above all, a considerable reduction in the pay of the Army was agreed upon, though it was stipulated by the soldiers that the said reduction should hold good for time of peace merely, and that in case of a new war their pay and allowances should be again increased (ibid., pp. 995, 996; see also an imperfect letter of Fairfax’s amongst Clarke’s MSS.,) One of the last acts of the Council was to vote an addition to the number of Army chaplains.

  “The Councell of the Army having information of the willingnesse and readinesse of divers Godlye men of the ministrye to bestowe theyr paynes to preach the ghospell of Christ in the Armye, it was resolved by the Counsell that some of them whose hearts God should most incline to that worke, should be desired to come to the Army for that purpose and be assured from the Counsell of all encouragement thereto and good acceptance of theyr paynes therein.”

  (Clarke MS. Jan. 9, 1647.)

  In pursuance of this vote John Canne became chaplain of Robert Lilburn’s regiment, and a number of other divines became attached to the Army.

  Whilst the headquarters were at Windsor the Council of War frequently met to condemn persons implicated in the recent disturbances. Captain-Lieutenant Bray, Major Cobbet, and several privates were tried and condemned, but the proceedings closed with a general reconciliation and remission of punishments (Rushworth vii., 922, 937, 940, 942, 943). The meeting of December 21 is thus described in a letter which Rushworth reprints from the Perfect Diurnal.

  “The General Council of the Army met in the Castle at Windsor; the greatest part of that day was spent in several declarations made by divers officers concerning the present juncture of affairs; many exhortations to unity and affinity, and motions made for passing by offences that had, through weakness, come from brethren.

  “Major White laid hold of this opportunity, made an acknowledgement that he had spoken some words rashly at Putney, for which he was censured by that Council; desired that he might be looked upon as one that desired the good of the Army; and, that being restored into favour he should readily submit to the discipline of the Army. This was unanimously approved of, and the major accordingly readmitted into the General Council.

  “Wednesday, December 22, was, according to appointment, kept as a solemn fast by the general and officers; the duties of the day were performed by divers of the officers, amongst whom there was a sweet harmony: the Lieutenant-General, Commissary General Ireton, Col. Tichburne, Col. Hewson, Mr. Peters, and other officers prayed very fervently and pathetically; this continued from nine in the morning till seven at night. In the evening a motion was made that whereas Col. Rainsborough had acted some things which gave offence, that in regard of his present acknowledgment, his former service might not be forgotten; but that the Council would move the General to write to the House, that he might be made Vice-admiral; which was assented to by all, and a letter written to Mr. Speaker accordingly.

  “Thursday, December 23, the General Council of the Army again met. . . . . This day also the Council of War sat about the trial of Captain-Lieuentant Bray, Mr. Crosman, Mr. Allen, and others; but upon their acknowledgment of their rash and irregular proceedings, and promise to submit to the discipline of the Army for the time to come, they were dismissed and sent to their several regiments.”a

  The last meeting of the Council took place on January 8, 1648. “This Saturday the General Council of the Army met at the Castle at Windsor, where the appearance was great, and they were very unanimous in debate.” Without a single opposing voice they agreed upon the Declaration presented to Parliament on January 11, announcing their satisfaction with the recent vote for no further addresses to the King, and promising to support the Parliament in settling the kingdom without him (Rushworth, vii. 959, 961).

  “To-morrow,” continues the letter, “all the council that met this day are to dine with the General in Windsor Castle, to congratulate the unity of the Army and to take their leaves each of other before they be dispersed into the several garrisons and great towns, which the Army will punctually perform against the 15th of January.”

  So ended the assembly instituted in pursuance of the Engagement of June 5—the most thoroughly representative of all the different councils which successively spoke in the name of the Army. Subsequent councils contained no representatives of the common soldiers. The assembly which met at St Albans on November 7, 1648, though often spoken of as the General Council of the Army, was in reality composed solely of officers, and styled itself “the General Council of Officers of the Army” (Rushworth, vii. 1320, 1330, 1366. Old Parliamentary History, xviii. 160, 266, 458, 516).

  In May, 1649, Colonel Scroope’s regiment and portions of several others mutinied, demanding the re-establishment of the General Council of the Army according to the Engagement of June 5, 1647, which they accused their officers of having broken. The rising was suppressed by Cromwell at Burford, and one of the leaders, Cornet Henry Denne, published a pamphlet entitled the “Levellers Designe Discovered,” in which he explained the aims of the mutineers, and retracted the opinions which he had held in common with them. On the question of the General Council and the reasons which led to its dissolution he speaks as follows:

  “I shall declare what satisfaction I have received that so I may give the same satisfaction unto others. . . . . Such a councell indeed the ingagement required. And such a councell was constituted in the Army, acting, and transacting of matters pertaining to the discipline of the Army. And so long was this councell continued, untill the inconvenience thereof was so far manifest; that most of the Regiments of horse and foot did petition his Excellency to send back the severall agitators to their respective regiments untill he should be pleased to resummon them; professing a willingnesse in themselves to submit unto his Excellency with his Councell of War, according to the pristine discipline of the Army. His Excellency having received these petitions did not immediately send back the Agitators (as requested). But having first summoned a councell, and communicated the petitions unto them; it was by them concluded that according to the petitions of the severall regiments the Councell of Agitators should be dissolved, untill his Excellency should see cause to resummon them. Now this being so: his Excellency cannot be charged with violation of that ingagement, neither doth there remain any obligation on his Excellency to have continued or revived any such councell.”

  (The Levellers Designe Discovered, p. 4, 1649.)

  Unfortunately the debates of the Council during the final meetings at Windsor are not recorded by Clarke, or at least have not survived. In some of these gatherings business of great importance was treated, but most of them seem to have been devoted to military rather than political affairs. The peculiar value of the reports of the debates on the Agreement of the people lies in the fact that in them the fundamental principles of politics were discussed. In the course of the argument the political theories of the two parties in the army, and the characters of their leaders, are clearly defined and exhibited. Both these points deserve and require a more detailed consideration.

  The views of the extreme party amongst the sectaries are set forth in the pamphlets of Lilburn, Overton, and others, and are well summarised by Thomas Edwards in his Gangraena. In the third part of that work, published in 1646, he enumerates the erroneous opinions held by the “sectaries” in political as well as in religious matters. He complains that just as they neglected authority in religion so they rejected it in politics.

  “As they do in matters of religion and conscience fly from the scriptures, and from supernaturall truths revealed there, that a man may not be questioned for going against them, but only for errors against the light of nature and right reason; so they do also in civill government and things of this world, they go from the lawes and constitutions of kingdoms, and will be governed by rules according to nature and right reason; and though the lawes and customes of a kingdome be never so plain and cleer against their wayes, yet they will not submit, but cry out for naturall rights derived from Adam and right reason”

  (Gangraena, pt. iii. p. 20).

  Accordingly in these debates we hear much of the laws of nature and of natural rights. It was held that every man born in England, every “free born Englishman,” possessed certain rights which were termed his “birthright.” The phrase “birthright” was not altogether new in English political discussions, but had usually been employed in a more limited signification. “Subjects,” said Sir Robert Berkeley during Hampden’s trial, “have a birthright in the laws of this kingdom.” The word is used in a similar fashion in the Act of Settlement. Ireton employs it with the same meaning in one of his speeches.

  “If you call that your birthright, which is the most fundamental part of your constitution, then let him perish that goes about to hinder you of the least part of your birthright”

  (p. 325).

  The Levellers sometimes used the term to denote certain inherited constitutional rights. They believed that the English commons had possessed these rights under the Saxons, and were unjustly deprived of them by the Norman Conquest (cf. pp. 318, 368). “To purchase our inheritances that have been lost,” “to recover our birthrights and privileges as Englishmen,” were alleged by them to be the cause for which they had taken up arms (pp. 235, 322).

  The negative voice of the King, and the power of the House of Lords, they asserted to be a part of the bondage imposed on England by the Norman Conquest (pp. 401, 402). According to some of their pamphleteers the law and the constitution alike were part of the Norman yoke.

  “The greatest mischief of all and the oppressing bondage of England ever since the Norman yoke,” says Lilburn, “is a law called the common law. The laws of this nation,” he adds, “are unworthy a free people, and deserve from first to last to be considered, and seriously debated, and reduced to an agreement with common equity and right reason, which ought to be the form and life of every government. Magna Charta itself being but a beggarly thing, containing many marks of intolerable bondage, and the laws that have been made since by Parliaments have in very many particulars made our government much more oppressive and intolerable”

  (Lilburn, Just Man’s Justification, pp. 11-15; Edwards, Gangraena, iii. 194).

  Park, in his edition of the Harleian Miscellany, reprints three pamphlets by John Hare, setting forth this theory of the consequences of the Norman Conquest, viz. (1.) St. Edward’s Ghost, or Anti-Normanism; being a patheticall Complaint and Motion, in the behalf of our English Nation against her grand yet neglectedGrievance, Normanism, 1647 (vol. viii. p. 94); (2). Plain English to our wilful bearers with Normanism, 1647 (vol. ix. p. 90); (3). England’s proper and only Way to an Establishment in Honour, Freedom, Peace, and Happiness; or the Norman Yoke once more uncased; and the Necessity, Justice, and present Seasonableness of breaking it in pieces demonstrated, 1648 (vol. vi. p. 36).

  The theory which the Levellers thus put forward found eager acceptance in the Army. In attempting to find an historical basis for the rights which they claimed the soldiers were but following the example of the lawyers. When they represented the liberties they demanded as an inheritance from the past, fictitious though the pedigree might be, they adopted the conventional method of English political controversy. But in fact they rested their claims far more on abstract justice and pure reason, and demanded their rights, not merely as the lawful inheritance of Englishmen, but as the natural rights of all men. Their argument is well summed up by Edwards.

  “That, seeing all men are by nature the Sons of Adam, and from him have legitimately derived a naturall propriety, right, and freedom, Therefore England and all other Nations, and all particular persons in every Nation, notwithstanding the difference of Lawes and Governments, rancks and degrees, ought to be alike free and estated in their naturall Liberties, and to enjoy the just Rights and Prerogative of mankind, whereunto they are Heirs apparent; and thus the Commoners by right are equall with the Lords. For by naturall birth all men are equally and alike born to like propriety, liberty, and freedom; and as we are delivered of God by the hand of nature into this world, every one with a naturall innate freedom, and propriety, even so are we to live, every one equally and alike to enjoy his birthright and priviledge.”

  (Gangraena, pt. iii., p. 16.)

  First and most important of these rights was the right to a voice in the election of Members of Parliament. The only legitimate foundation of a government was the consent of the governed.

  “I thinke its cleare,” says Rainborow, “that every man that is to live under a governement ought first by his own consent to putt himself under that governement; and I doe thinke that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that government that he hath not had a voice to putt himself under”

  (p. 301).

  “Every man born in England cannot, ought nott; neither by the law of God nor the law of nature, to bee exempted from the choice of those who are to make lawes, for him to live under, and for him, for ought I know to die under”

  (p. 305).

  Wildman lays down the same principle.

  “That’s the undeniable maxim of government; that all governement is in the free consent of the govern’d. If so then upon that account there is noe person that is under a just governement or hath justly his own unlesse hee by his owne free consent be putt under that governement”

  (p. 318).

  We judge that all inhabitants that have not lost their birthright should have an equal voice in elections”

  (p. 300).

  As Ireton points out, the argument for universal suffrage was based on an absolute natural right, paramount to existing laws or constitution (pp. 301, 307, 325, 327). The law of nature was invoked against the law of the land.

  These natural rights were held to be inherent, indefeasible rights, which no positive law or constitution could take away. As the crown lawyers had asserted that some powers were so inseparable from the King’s person, that Acts of Parliament to deprive him of them were void, so now the spokesmen of the soldiers denied that any law or custom could deprive the people of their rights. Edwards thus states their contention:

  “That whatever the Fundamentall Constitutions of Kingdomes and Commonwealths have been by forefathers, whatever agreements, compacts have been of subjection and obedience of such a people for themselves and posterities to one, as under kingly government, or to more, yet the men of the present age, following many hundred years after, ought to be absolutely free from what their forefathers yeelded unto, and freed from all kinds of exorbitancies, molestations, without exception or limitation, either in respect of persons, officers, degrees, or things, and estated in their naturall and just Liberties agreeable to right reason.”

  (Gangraena, pt. iii.)

  Throughout the debates these principles are assumed by the supporters of the Agreement. “If there is a constitution that the people are not free, that should be annulled,” says Mr. Pettus (p. 336). If the engagements of the Army had given away anything that was the people’s right, they were unjust and therefore void (p. 251). If a thing were just and the people’s due, no engagement to the contrary was binding (pp. 261, 301). In accordance with these principles the spokesmen of the soldiers demanded the abolition of the law which restricted the franchise to forty-shilling freeholders. “I think,” said Rainborow, “that the law of the land in that thing is the most tyrannical law under heaven” (p. 311). They demanded on the same grounds the abolition of the power of the King and the House of Lords, and especially the taking away of their share in legislation.

  “To give the Kinge a legislative power,” argued Wildman, “is contrary to his own oath at his coronation, and itt is the like to give a power to the Kinge by his negative voice to deny all lawes. And for the Lords, seeing the foundation of all justice is the election of the people it is unjust they should have that power”

  (p. 386).

  “Both the power of the Kinge and Lords,” argued another, “was ever a branch of tyranny, and if ever a people shall free themselves from tyranny certainly itt is after seven yeares’ warre and fighting for their liberty”

  (p. 352).

  “Itt will never satisfie the godly people in the Kingedome unlesse that all government be in the Commons and that freely”

  (p. 398).

  Already on May 20, 1647, a petition had been addressed to the House of Commons as “the supreme authority of this nation,” and had been ordered by them to be burnt as a high breach of privilege.

  To what extent the articles drawn up by the committee of the General Council limited the powers of the King and Lords, and how far the demand for universal suffrage was successful has already been shown (pp. l.-liii.). There were, however, other rights which were to be secured by a different process.

  In the articles drawn up by the Committee of the Council of the Army the represented announce that they reserve to themselves certain fundamental rights which their representatives are not empowered to abrogate or give away (pp. 407, 409). No man is to be impressed; no man compelled to any form of religion; no man disquieted for acts done during the war. The idea of inserting these reservations and the substance of the reservations themselves are both taken from the first Agreement of the People, presented to the Council of the Army in Oct. 1647. The four reserves contained in that document ran thus:

  “1. That matters of Religion, and the wayes of God’s Worship, are not at all intrusted by us to any humane power, because therein we cannot remit or exceed a tittle of what our consciences dictate to be the mind of God, without wilfull sin: nevertheless the publike way of instructing the nation (so it be not compulsive) is referred to their discretion.

  “2. That the matter of impresting and constraining any of us to serve in the wars is against our freedome; and therefore we do not allow it in our Representatives; the rather because, money (the sinews of war) being alwayes at their disposall, they can never want numbers of men apt enough to engage in any just cause.

  “3. That after the dissolution of the present Parliament no person be at any time questioned for anything said or done, in reference to the late publike differences, otherwise then in execution of the judgements of the present Representatives or House of Commons.

  “4. That in all Lawes made or to be made, every person may be bound alike, and that no Tenure, Estate, Charter, Degree, Birth, or Place, do confer any exemption from the ordinary course of legall proceedings whereunto others are subjected.”

  These reservations were practically a “Declaration of the Rights of Man” expressed by means of negatives and restrictions. Similar reservations, six in number, besides an elaborate article concerning the limits of religious freedom, are embodied in the second Agreement of the People, presented to Parliament from the Army in January 1649 (Gardiner, Constitutional Documents, p. 279).

  In the desire to limit the powers of the government, and guarantee the rights of the individual, the Levellers went still further, and the third Agreement of the People, published by Lilburn and his friends in May, 1649, contains no less than eighteen provisions restricting the power of future Parliaments. To limit the power of Parliament was in fact the chief aim of these and similar stipulations.

  The events of the spring of 1647 had sowed in the minds of the soldiers a deeply-rooted distrust of parliamentary assemblies, and a well grounded objection to their omnipotence. The exercise of an unlimited or arbitrary power by such as have been trusted with supreme and subordinate authority, and the prevalence of corrupt interests powerfully inclining most men once entrusted with authority to pervert the same for their own domination, are the chief reasons given for Lilburn’s Agreement and for the reservations contained in it. Though these reservations disappear in the Instrument of Government, the imposition of a written constitution, the provisions it contains for the securing of religious liberty, the clause nullifying bills contrary to the tenor of the “Instrument,” the absence of any provision for its amendment, and the opposition to all proposals for its alteration, are manifestations of the same feeling. Cromwell never more truly represented the views of the Army than when he forbade his first Parliament to alter the Instrument, and the distinction which he drew between fundamentals which must be accepted, and circumstantials which might be altered, is but an echo of the tenth article of the Agreement of January, 1649.

  In any discussion of the political principles set forth in these debates one other point requires special notice. Speakers on both sides refer to society and government as resting on a contract. “The King,” says Cromwell, “is King by contract;” referring no doubt to the fundamental contract between King and people which James II. was voted to have broken (p. 366).

  “We are under a contract,” says Ireton, and he proceeds to argue that on this contract or covenant between man and man private property both in land and goods is founded (p. 263).

  Mr. Pettus goes further and states the origin and purpose of the contract.

  “Every man is naturally free . . . . when men were in so great numbers that every man could not give his voice . . . . men agreed to come unto some form of governement that they who were chosen might preserve propertie”

  (p. 312).

  As these debates explain the political views of the soldiers, so they elucidate the character and position of their leaders. Fairfax himself was absent from the most important debates on account of illness (p. 226). When he was present he contented himself with presiding in silence, and left Ireton and Cromwell to expound his views. “He was of few words in discourse or council,” observes Whitelock, and according to Sprigge he suffered at times from an impediment in his speech (Anglia Rediviva, ed. 1854, p. 325).

  Ireton is a statesman to whose influence and ability historians have hardly done justice. To his military talents, he added great business capacity and indefatigable industry. Ludlow attributes his death to his “immoderate labours,” and another of his associates in Ireland describes him as “seldom thinking it time to eat till he had done the work of the day at nine or ten at night, and then will sit up as long as any man hath business with him” (Cooke, Monarchy no creature of God’s making, 1652). Bred a lawyer, he possessed a larger stock of political and constitutional knowledge than his fellow officers. Clarendon terms him “a scholar conversant in the law, and in all that learning which had expressed the greatest animosity and malice against regal government” (Rebellion, xiii., 175). He had also what Whitelock styles “a working and laborious brain and fancy” (Memorials, ii., 163). He was fertile in formulas, ingenious in devising constitutional expedients, and skilled in putting the political ideas of himself or others into legal shape. As no one amongst the superior officers possessed these varied qualifications to the same extent he naturally became the penman of the Army. Imperfect though the records of these debates are, they show that Ireton was also an excellent and sometimes an eloquent speaker. Above all he was a ready debater, expressing himself clearly and forcibly, swift to seize an argumentative advantage, to press home the the consequences of a principle, or to point out the importance of a precedent. Confident, however, of the soundness of his own logic, he did not always fairly appreciate the strong points of an opponent’s case. His defect was that he was too positive and dogmatic, and sometimes his brother officers lost their tempers and declined to be dictated to. Less sympathetic than Cromwell, he roused more opposition, and was eager to convince when Cromwell was anxious only to unite. Over Cromwell Ireton exercised great influence — the influence which a man of definite views exercises over a friend whose mind is not yet made up about everything.

  Ireton’s own political position has been much misunderstood. Clarendon represents him as “so radically averse from monarchy and so fixed to a republican government, that if he had lived he would either by his counsel and credit have prevented” Cromwell’s assumption of the protectorate, or “publicly opposed and declared against it” (Rebellion, xiii., 175). “Ireton,” says Burnet, “had the principles and the temper of a Cassius in him. He stuck at nothing that might have turned England to a commonwealth” (Own Time, 1833, ed. i., 85).

  As a matter of fact, so long as monarchy could be maintained, Ireton sought to maintain it. Throughout 1647 and 1648, he was the leader and spokesman of the moderate party in the Council of the Army. The constitution was always in his mouth; he was anxious to change as little of it as necessary and to preserve as much of it as possible. His declarations on this point are clear and frequent.

  “I doe not seeke, nor would not seeke, nor will joyne with them that doe seeke the destruction of Parliament or Kinge. Neither will I consent with those, or concurre with them who will not attempt all the wayes that are possible to preserve both, and to make good use, and the best use that can be of both for the kingedome (p. 233). Where I see thinges would not do reall mischief I would hold to positive constitution. . . . . soe long as I can with safetie continue a constitution I will doe it (p. 350). Rather then I will make a disturbance to a good constitution of a kingedome wherein I may live in godlinesse, and peace, and quietnesse, I will parte with a great deale of my birthright”

  (p. 324).

  Hence the vigour with which he opposed manhood suffrage.

  “To me, if there were nothing but this, that there is a constitution, and that constitution which if you take away you leave nothing of constitution, and consequently nothing of right or property [it would be enough] I would not goe to alter that, though a man could propound that which might in some respects bee better, unlesse it could be demonstrated to me that this were unlawful or that this were destructive”

  (p. 340).

  Manhood suffrage, he maintained, would destroy property. Men might be elected who had no stake in the country, and they might vote down all property (pp. 303, 314). It would endanger liberty itself.

  “If there be anything at all that is a foundation of liberty itt is this, that those who shall chuse the lawmakers shall be men freed from dependance upon others. . . . I think if wee from imagination and conceits will go about to hazard the peace of the kingdom to alter the constitution in such a point, wee shall see that libertie that we soe much talke of and contend for shall bee nothing by this our contending for it, by putting it into the hands of those that will give it away when they have itt”

  (p. 341).

  Ireton’s objections to the principles on which the demand was based were still stronger than his objection to the demand itself. He denied altogether that any man had by birthright any claim to a voice in the government of his country. He denied with equal bluntness the theory that no man was bound to obedience to any government, unless he had by his own free consent put himself under that government (pp. 302, 319). Arguments about abstract justice he abhorred and dreaded:

  “When I do hear men speake of laying aside all engagements to [consider only] that wild or vast notion of what in every man’s conception is just or unjust, I am afraid and do tremble att the boundlesse and endlesse consequences of itt”

  (p. 264).

  Equally keen was his perception of the danger of appeals to natural rights and the law of nature.

  “I wish wee may all consider of what right you challenge that all the people should have right to Elections. Is itt by the right of nature? If you will hold forth that as your ground, then I thinke you must deny all property too. . . . . By that same right of nature, whatever it bee that you pretend, by which you can say one man hath an equall right with another to the chusing of him that shall governe him, by the same right of nature hee hath an equall right in any goods he sees, meate, drinke, clothes, to take and use them for his sustenance. . . . . If upon these grounds you doe paramount to all constitutions hold uppe this law of nature, I would faine have any man shew me where you will end”

  (p. 307; cf. pp. 303, 310, 314, 336).

  In the heat of his opposition to these theories of abstract right which he heard put forward, Ireton denied all political rights to persons not freeholders possessing a permanent interest in the country (pp. 302, 307, 314). He answered the Levellers of 1647 very much as Lord Braxfield answered the Reformers of 1794.

  “ ‘A government in every country,’ said Braxfield, ‘should be just like a corporation, and in this country it is made up of the landed interest, which alone has a right to be represented. As for the rabble, who have nothing but personal property, what hold has the nation of them? They may pack up their property on their backs and leave the country in the twinkling of an eye, but landed property cannot be removed.’ ”

  (State Trials, xxiii. 231.)

  In practice, however, Ireton was not prepared to push his opposition to the extremes to which his logic might have carried him. Throughout he announced his willingness to support a reasonable extension of the franchise, providing it was limited “to the fix’t and settled people of this nation,” to “men who are like to be freemen and not given up to the wills of others” (pp. 313, 344). At the same time no one was more eager for parliamentary reform of other kinds:

  “I will not arrogate that I was the first man that putt the Army upon the thought either of successive Parliaments or more equall Parliaments; yet there are some heere that know who they were putt us upon that foundation of libertie of putting a period to this Parliament, that wee might have successive Parliaments, and that there might bee a more equall distribution of elections”

  (p. 333).

  According to Wildman and Sexby the soldiers had engaged for their own freedom and for the recovery of their lost liberties (pp. 318, 322). They demanded securities for their personal rights, and a voice in the making of the laws they had to live under (pp. 318, 354). Securities for the rights of parliaments would not satisfy them, for they feared the parliament’s privileges as much as the King’s prerogative.

  In Ireton’s view the war had been originally undertaken “for the liberty of Parliaments,” that the law of the Kingdom might be determined by its representatives in Parliament, and “that the will of one man should not be a law” (pp. 327, 333). Circumstances had led him to demand now not only securities for the liberty of parliament, but guarantees as to its composition. “The rectification of the supreme authority of the Kingdom,” “the reduction of the supreme authority to that constitution which is due to the people of this Kingdom,” he declared to be the necessary condition of the Army’s submission to parliament, and a condition which it was justified in using force to obtain (pp. 267, 268). Further than this Ireton was not prepared to go. The devices by which he sought to reconcile the real sovereignty of the House of Commons with the concession of a nominal share in legislation to the House of Lords, and a strictly limited veto to the Crown, are significant illustrations of his statesmanship. He thought to effect a political revolution by a change in the machinery of the constitution without any alteration in its outward form, and without a corresponding change in the spirit of the nation.

  Equally conservative in temper, Cromwell set less value on constitutional forms and had less faith in political machinery. He was not, as he expresses it, “wedded and glued to forms of government” (p. 277). His criticisms of the “Agreement of the People” deal not so much with the justice or even the expediency of the particular things proposed as with the general danger of change:

  “This paper doth contain in it very great alterations of the very government of this kingdom, alterations from that government it hath been under, I believe I may almost say since it was a nation, and what the consequences of such an alteration as this would be, if there were nothing else to be considered but the very weight and nature of the things contained in this paper, wise men and godly men ought to consider”

  (p. 237).

  Other parties might be formed and put forth other schemes for new constitutions equally plausible and seek to impose them on the country:

  “And if so what do you think the consequence of that would be? Would it not be confusion? Would it not be utter confusion? Would it not make England like Switzerland, one county against another as one canton of the Swiss is against another? And if so what would that produce but an absolute desolation—an absolute desolation to the nation”

  (p. 237).

  He proceeds to lay down the principle that, in proposing a change of such importance, the first thing to consider is “whether, according to reason and judgement, the spirits and temper of the people of this nation are prepared to receive and to go along with it” (p. 237). “In the government of nations that which is to be looked after is the affections of the people, and that I find which satisfies my conscience in the present thing” (p. 369). Compared with the question of its acceptance by the people, the question of the particular form of the government was unimportant. This he illustrates by the case of the Jews, governed successively by patriarchs, judges and kings. Under all these governments they were happy and contented. Moreover, there were other things more important than the form of the government. Even if you change the government to the best possible form of government “it is but a moral thing.” “It is but as Paul says, ‘dross and dung’ in comparison of Christ.” Why should they contest so much for merely temporal things? If every man in the kingdom were so bent on realising his ideal of government that he was willing to fight to establish it, the state would come to desolation (p. 370). His conclusion was that the question what government were fittest for the kingdom should be left to Parliament to determine. The Army should content itself with insisting that parliaments should be fairly elected, regularly summoned, and dissolved at regular intervals (ibid). Though willing to use force against the Parliament when he regarded it as necessary, he was anxious to limit the use of force to cases in which its employment was absolutely indispensable. “I do not know that force is to be used except we cannot get what is for the good of the kingdom without force” (p. 202, cf. p. 185). The good of the people he declares to be the principle by which his actions are guided.

  “That’s in all our hearts to profess above anything that’s worldly the public good of the people, and if that be in our hearts truly and nakedly I am confident it is a principle that will stand” (p. 259). “If that be not the supreme aim of us under God our principles fall”

  (p. 277).

  This does not mean that the wishes of the people are to be implicitly followed. “That’s the question, what’s for their good, not what pleases them” (p. 209). In these words there is already a foreshadowing of the Protectorate.

  Many other illustrations of Cromwell’s character are to be found in these speeches. The good sense with which he checks the exaggerated religious enthusiasm of some of his friends is specially notable. Accused of want of faith when he mentions the difficulties in the way of establishing the new constitution proposed by the Agitators, he replies:

  “I know a man may answer all difficulties with faith, and faith will answer all difficulties really where it is, but we are very apt all of us to call that faith which perhaps may be but carnal imagination”

  (p. 238).

  His dignified vindication of himself from the charge of being affrighted by difficulties is admirable (pp. 247, 289). Equally good is his criticism of the claims of those who assert themselves to have received special revelations or “particular dictates from God” (pp. 375, 379).

  Other characteristic passages are his description of his own eager and sanguine temperament (p. 191), and his blunt answer to the charge of seeking his own ends (p. 179).

  The speeches of Goffe and Rainborow are valuable to all who care to understand the temper of the Puritan soldier. Goffe was one of the mystical enthusiasts whom every revolution produces As he was an Englishman of the 17th century his enthusiasm took a religious rather than a political turn. He rejoiced to belong to that “company of saints” who were “chosen, and called, and faithful,” whose desire was to “follow Christ wheresoever he goes” (p. 283). Cromwell in difficulties generally moved for a Committee; Goffe invariably proposed a prayer-meeting. Always “seeking the Lord,” he fancied that he heard the voice of God answering his prayers, inspiring his resolves, and dictating his actions (pp. 253, 283, 374). In the revolutions which he witnessed he saw God “throwing down the glory of all flesh,” the kingdom of Antichrist falling, the “latter days” beginning, and the personal reign of Christ at hand (p. 282). Three-quarters a Fifth Monarchy man, he differed from most of that sect in one very important particular. They were eager to realise their visions by force and at once, and believed that the day of their triumph had come. Their feeling is well expressed in the hymn of one of their preachers:

  • “The Lord begins to honour us,
  • The Saints are marching on;
  • The sword is sharp, the arrows swift,
  • To destroy Babylon.”

  Goffe on the other hand possessed a certain patience; a willingness, as he said, to wait upon the Lord till his own season. “It may be there is a better opportunity that the Lord will give us” (p. 284).

  Rainborow was much more like a modern radical. His enthusiasm was more secular and more national. He, too, talks of “God’s people,” but it is merely as an occasional synonym for “the honest men of England” (pp. 246, 273). He had fought for no vision of a heavenly kingdom, but for his own freedom and “for the liberties of the people of England” (pp. 272, 273). By the people of England he meant neither an oligarchy of country gentlemen, nor a limited number of freeholders, but “every man born in England,” “the poor man,” “the meanest man in the kingdom” (pp. 304, 305, 309). If rich men alone were to have votes,

  “One part would make hewers of wood and drawers of water of the other five, and so the greatest part of the nation be enslaved” (p. 320). If there were to be no extension of the franchise “what shall become of those many men that have laid themselves out for the Parliament of England in this present war, that have ruined themselves by fighting, by hazarding all they had? They are Englishmen. They have now nothing to say for themselves”

  (p. 320).

  Political difficulties might beset the attempt of the Army to secure the liberties of the nation, but they must be faced and vanquished as at Marston or Naseby.

  “Let difficulties be round about you, have you death before you, the sea on each side of you and behind you, are you convinced the thing is just, I think you are bound in conscience to carry it on; and I think at the last day it can never be answered to God that you did not do it. For I think it is a poor service to God and the Kingdom to take their pay and to decline their work”

  (p. 246).

  How long Cromwell and Ireton would be able to hold back men like Goffe and Rainborow, and how far they would be able to control them, depended mainly on the turn which events took. More than once during those debates, voices had been heard demanding the punishment of the King. “Is it just or reasonable,” asked Wildman, “to punish with death those that according to his command do make war . . . and then to say that there is a way left for mercy for him . . . who was the great contriver of all” (p. 384). At present, however, only one of the higher officers seems to have backed this demand. On November 11, Colonel Harrison “made a narration concerning some thinges that lay upon his spirit,” denounced the King as a man of blood, and demanded his prosecution. Cromwell and Ireton answered him, the one putting several cases in which murder was not to be punished, the other urging that the Army ought not to take unlawful ways even to bring a delinquent to justice. Cromwell and Fairfax added that the question of the King’s future treatment ought to be left to the determination of Parliament (pp. 417, 418). But whether in the end the Army would be content to leave the question to parliament did not depend entirely upon the wishes of its leaders.

  It remains to add a few words on the editing of the papers printed in this volume. William Clarke appears to have taken copies of letters received at the head quarters of the Army, and to have kept draughts or copies of most of those sent out. These were transcribed into books at a later period. In the case of those now printed, this transcription took place in 1662. In some instances these original copies and draughts have survived, but they were generally destroyed when the second copy was made. In the same way the rough notes of the debates taken in shorthand in 1647 were not written out till 1662. The result of this system is seen in the large number of clerical errors which the letters contain. Where both copies have survived a comparison of the text of the two sometimes supplied a correction. At other times, in order to complete the sense, it was necessary to supply the words which are printed between square brackets. Some verbal slips were also corrected, and the punctuation frequently amended.

  In the debates, errors of all kinds were still more frequent, though fortunately the most important speeches are also the best reported. In some cases the meaning of the speakers was obscured by inversions in the order of words, clauses, and even sentences. Sentences were often mixed together, and the tail of one sometimes inserted in the middle of the next. Where possible these mistakes of the reporter, or the transcriber of his notes, have been corrected, and the alterations made pointed out in the foot notes. Other obscure passages have been elucidated by supplying words between square brackets, or suggesting paraphrases below. The text has been also amended by omitting useless repetitions, and inserting stops. A certain amount of emendation of this kind was absolutely necessary in order to make the debates intelligible, but as few changes as possible have been made.

  The Index will be contained in the second volume.

  [a ]Some of his letters from Scotland are amongst the Tanner MSS. in the Bodleian. Cary prints Clarke’s accounts of the captures of Stirling and Dundee (Memorials of the Civil War, ii. 327, 367). In August, 1651, he asked for the post of Keeper of the Scotch Records (ibid. p. 332). Other letters of his are printed in the newspapers. See also Old Parliamentary History, xx. 28, 56.

  [a ]By this marriage Clarke became in some way connected with Gilbert Mabbott, another of Rushworth’s assistants, whose numerous letters in this correspondence testify to their familiarity. Mabbott’s son was named Kympton Mabbott.

  [b ]Egerton MS., 2618, f. 125. The letter is dated from on board the “Royall Charles,” 8th June, 1666. This volume contains other papers belonging to the collections of Sir William Clarke, including the key to a numerical cypher, dated Sept. 1656 (f. 49). Clarke’s diary relating to the events of his last service at sea, April 23—June 1, 1666, is also in the British Museum, Additional MS., 14286.

  [a ]Book of Army Declarations, pp. 9-11. Compare the comments on page 15 of these papers.

  [a ]Pages 85, 100, 105. References in the letters on pp. 83, 86 seem to show that some officers helped the Agitators with money.

  [a ]Hudibras, pt. ii. canto ii.

  [a ]Tanner MSS., lviii. f. 129. The Earl of Warwick, Sir Gilbert Gerard, and Sir Harbottle Grimston to the Derby House Committee, June 1, 1647.

  [a ]Verncy MSS. This passage and the extract from Bellièvre were kindly comunicated to me by Mr. Gardiner.

  [a ]Tanner MSS., lviii. f. 123, signed W. R. This letter was read in the House of Commons June 3, and may have had something to do with Cromwell’s leaving London. He seems to have left in the company of Hugh Peter.

  [a ]The statement that the removal of the King was first determined on in the interview on the evening of June 3 is confirmed by the letters of Lord Montagu of June 3 and 4, and his narrative of June 8. (Old Parliamentary History, xv. 393, 396.)

  [a ]A similar manifesto from the Agitators to the soldiers in Wales was issued later (p. 159). In several counties a large party seems to have sided with the Army against the Parliament (pp. 130, 138, 222).

  [a ]It would not be difficult to estimate the number and fix the names of the officers who separated themselves from the Army at this period. The list given in Sprigge supplies a list of the officers of the New Model in 1646. The engagement of various officers on March 22, 1647, supplemented by the report of the parliamentary commissioners on April 27, gives the names of those who expressed themselves satisfied with the concessions of Parliament, and undertook to serve in Ireland. (Lords’ Journals, vii. 114, 152, 220, 345; Rushworth, vi. 465). In Fortescue’s, Lilburn’s, Herbert’s, and some other regiments, a considerable number of soldiers engaged for Ireland. On the rupture with Parliament in the beginning of June several officers succeeded in bringing off part of their soldiers; for instance Colonel Greaves (Lords’ Journals, vii. 243, 267), Sir Robert Pye (Lords’ Journals, vii. 243), Lieut.-Colonel Jackson (Lords’ Journals, vii. 243), Captain Farmer (Lords’ Journals, vii. 258). Part of Fairfax’s lifeguard left him (Lords’ Journals, vii. 264, 282). On the other side the names of those who adhered to Fairfax may be gathered from the signatures to the Petition presented April 27 (Rushworth, vi. 471), and from the lists of attendances at various councils of war given in the book of Army declarations published in 1647.

  [a ]Rushworth’s text of this Declaration, vol. vi. pp. 564-570, differs in some phrases from that printed in the Book of Army Declarations, 1647, pp. 36-46, and the version in the Old Parliamentary History, said to be reprinted from the original Declarations printed at Cambridge, gives two very important paragraphs not contained in either of the others (xv. 466).

  [a ]Other accounts of Cromwell’s speech are given in the note on p. 230. Mr. Gardiner points out that the speech which Cromwell defends must have been made on September 22nd, as he arrived too late for the debate of the 23rd.

  [a ]The best account of the rendezvous is given in a letter of William Clarke’s, contained in a pamphlet entitled A Full Relation of the Proceedings at the Rendezvous at Corkbush Field in Hartford Parish on Monday last, 1647. It is reprinted by Maseres, Select Tracts, i. lv.

  [a ]Insubordination, however, was not yet entirely at an end. On February 23 some of the Lifeguard of Fairfax presented a petition to their General, protesting against the terms on which they were to be disbanded, and backed it by a mutinous demonstration, for which several were tried by a court-martial (Rushworth, vii. 1006, 1009, 1010). A certain William Clarke was condemned to death, but pardoned. Harrison’s regiment mutinied when ordered into the west, for which Henry Gethings, an Agitator, and two soldiers were sentenced to death, but also pardoned. Another leading Leveller Corporal Thompson, who had escaped from custody, was arrested by Cromwell himself at the door of the House of Commons, and tried about the same time. (The Kingdom’s Weekly Post, March 2-9, 164⅞; A Vindication of Lieut.-Gen. Cromwell, etc., against a libell signed by one Tompson, by A. C., March 7, 164⅞.)

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  12: Politics and the Army in the English Civil War 2

  Sir William Clarke, The Clarke Papers. Selections from the Papers of William Clarke, Secretary to the Council of the Army, 1647-1649, and to General Monck and the Commanders of the Army in Scotland, 1651-1660, ed. C.H. Firth (Camden Society, 1894). 4 vols. Chapter: PREFACE.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1985/127519 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  PREFACE.

  The papers contained in this, like those in the previous volume, are derived from the Clarke manuscripts in Worcester College Library, and are mainly from the volumes numbered xvi., lii., lxv., and cxiv. But single documents have also been taken from other volumes in the same collection. Moreover, while these selections were being printed, my attention was called to the fact that a certain number of Clarke’s MSS. were in the possession of Mr. F. Leybourne Popham, of Littlecote, Wilts, and were being examined for the Royal Commission on Historical MSS. By the kind permission of the Commissioners, and of the owner, I was allowed to copy several papers for publication in this volume. The thanks of the Camden Society are also due to Mr. J. J. Cartwright, for his good offices in the matter, and for the liberality with which he facilitated the consultation of the MSS., and the copying of the selected papers.

  Mr. Popham’s papers are specially valuable as supplementing the meagre account of William Clarke’s own life given in the preface to volume one. A letter from Robert Spavin, one of Rushworth’s assistants during part of 1648 and 1649, and secretary to Cromwell, fixes the date of Clarke’s marriage. Spavin, who had accompanied Cromwell’s forces into Scotland, wrote to Clarke on November 2, 1648, to congratulate him and wish him joy. “Deare friend and Mr. Bridegroome, I am glad you have a little breathing time after your solemnityes to visit your poor friends with a line. . . . But sure if you had noe better choyse than we had in Scotland you would not be soe lusty.” Cromwell had halted in his march southwards to summon Pontefract Castle, and Spavin proceeds to give some account of the siege. “Pomfret put a stop to us, being by the howse’s order and the Committee of Yorkshyre’s desire to take the care of the seidge, which will take us three weekes time to settle, and then I hope we shall draw towards you and leave Col. Bright to command.” In conclusion he turns to consider the position of politics, is glad to hear that the southern army is beginning to act, and hopes soon to see an end of “that old jog-trot form of government of King, Lords and Commons.” “Noe matter,” he continues, “how or by whome, sure I am it cannot be worse if honest men have the managing of it, and noe matter whether they be greate or noe. . . . The Lord is about a greate worke, such as will stumble many meane principled men, and such as I thinke but few greate ones shall be honoured withall.” Spavin himself was not honoured with any share in the management of the said great work, for having been caught forging Cromwell’s hand and seal to passes and protections, he lost his post, and was sentenced by a council of war “to ride on horseback from Whitehall to Westminster, and thence through the City, with an inscription on his back and on his breast, written in capital letters, to signify his crime.”a

  This occurred in June, 1649, when Cromwell was about to leave for Ireland. Clarke did not accompany him thither, but remained at the headquarters in England. In two letters addressed to him about this time he is described as “one of the secretaries to his excellency the Lord Fairfax,” and as “secretary unto the Council of War.” In the following year he took part in the invasion of Scotland, and the officers of the invading army recommended him for the post of secretary to the Committee of the Army, no small proof of his popularity and his usefulness.a (October 19, 1650.) The application was unsuccessful, and on August 19, 1651, Clarke requested Lenthall to appoint him keeper of the Scottish records, which had been captured in Stirling Castle, but the Parliament preferred to have them all removed to England.b Clarke’s official gains were sufficient to warrant his buying from the State part of St. John’s Wood, when the crown-lands were sold. However, as the purchase involved him in a lawsuit which lasted for some years, it can hardly have been profitable.c In his petition to the Commissioners of the Great Seal on this subject, he complains that “one Mr. John Collins” had unjustly laid claim to the land in question. This John Collins was Clarke’s uncle, and was the author of a curious narrative of the Restoration which is amongst Mr. Popham’s papers. Those MSS. contain also the following letter from Margaret, daughter of John Collins, to her cousin Clarke, written early in 1661, congratulating him on his recent knighthood.

  “Honored Cozen,

  “Give me leave (though late) to congratulate your attainment of that well deserved honour confferd upon you, as likewise that which you more esteem, the hopes God hath been pleased to give yourselfe and Lady, of being once againe blessed with a child, which I hope you will beleeve wee doe heartily rejoyce with you in. Although our present disturbance hinders us from tendring our respects in that gratefull maner which your own and deare Ladyes merits justly challenge from us, who very unhappily came to be concerned in this last troublesom bussines, in which although we are the greatest sufferers, yet I hope God and the world will acquit us from being any way way the procurers of this or other troubles of this kind, which may happen to us. And since it hath pleased God to strip us of that deare and carefull freind my mother, and leave us in a condition not soe well provided for as shee endeavoured and desired wee should, wee must now make it our request to you, Sir, that you would please to importune my father to setle somthing upon my sister and selfe, that soe wee might not bee left destitute how ever things goe with us, and that the trust of it may bee reposed in your hands, in whom wee doe put the greatest confidence of any freind livinge, and wee doe hope that if wee could gett this done wee should soe farr followe my mother’s pattern of good huswifery and thrift as that wee should not bee burthensom or chargeable to any of our freinds. And thus Sir, havinge acquainted you with our desires, and presenting our most humble service to your selfe and Lady, beseeching God to send her a happy delivery, and make her once againe the gladd mother of a much promisinge sonn, I rest

  “Sir,
  Your most affectionate and obliged kinswoman and humble servant,

  “Margaret Collins.

  “Stanmore,
  March 22,
  1660.

  “Addressed to Sir William Clarke ‘att his house in the Pell Mell neer St. Jameses.’

  “Endorsed ‘Couz. Margr. Colins, Lre of Congratulation.’ ”

  What the origin of the relationship between the Clarke and Collins families was I have not succeeded in discovering, and Clarke’s parentage and early history still remain obscure. Two letters from his brother-in-law Kympton Hilliard, also derived from Mr. Popham’s MSS., are printed in this volume (pp. 225, 228). Other relatives mentioned incidentally in the same MSS. are two cousins of Clarke’s, James Staresmore and Captain Thomas Sherman, and “brother William Carey,” a goldsmith in London.

  The papers contained in this volume are more miscellaneous in their nature than those printed in the first volume, and cover a larger period of time. From 1651 to 1660, Clarke was employed in Scotland, and nearly all his collections during that period relate solely to the government of Scotland or to questions of army administration. As a selection from the papers relating to Scotland is shortly to be published by the Scottish Historical Society, I have thought it best to exclude any dealing with that subject. But I hope to put together at some future date a small volume of papers concerning the Restoration and the revolutions of 1659.

  At the beginning of 1648 there were signs all over England of the approach of a second civil war. Hardly had the Army and Parliament come to an agreement to settle the kingdom without the King, when the Royalists began to take up arms to restore him. The movement began in Wales, in February, 1648. Col. Poyer and afterwards Col. Laugharne declared for the King, but their forces were routed at St. Fagans on May 8 by Col. Horton. A newsletter describes the effects of this victory on the temper of the London Presbyterians (p. 6). In the north of England the preparations of the Scots to send an army across the border roused the cavaliers of Yorkshire and Cumberland to action. Berwick and Carlisle were seized by them at the end of April, and on June 1 they surprised Pontefract (pp. 1, 8, 20, 25; Appendix, p. 251). In London a serious riot took place on April 9; seditious placards against the Parliament were posted about the City, and plans were laid for a general rising (pp. 2, 5, 11). On May 16 the tumultuous presentation of a petition from the county of Surrey led to a fight at the very doors of the House of Commons, and a week later the Kentish-men seized the county magazines and declared for King Charles (pp. 13-17, 22). Fairfax defeated them at Maidstone on June 1, but the Earl of Norwich with a portion of the Royalist army crossed the Thames, and joined the Royalists of Essex. Three letters from Col. Whalley to Lord Fairfax illustrate the history of their march from Stratford to Colchester, and their pursuit by Fairfax’s cavalrya (pp. 24, 26, 27). In Colchester, Norwich and his followers held out for eleven weeks, hoping vainly to be relieved by the advance of Hamilton and the Scots, and believing that their stubborn defence would give opportunity for the rest of the kingdom to act. An intercepted letter from Lord Capel to Sir Marmaduke Langdale explains the position of the besieged, and shows their willingness to sacrifice themselves for the King’s cause (p. 28). But Cromwell routed Hamilton at Preston on August 17, and ten days later hunger forced the defenders of Colchester to surrender. The town was given up on August 28, and on the afternoon of the same day Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle were executed by order of Fairfax’s Council of War. Clarke’s account of the death of Lucas and Lisle, printed on pp. 31-39, adds many details of great interest to the accounts published at the time. Then, as now, many people regarded their execution as a cold-blooded and treacherous murder; but though the equity of their sentence may be disputed, there can be no doubt that the execution was not a breach of the terms of the capitulation. The reasons which justified that sentence in the eyes of the men responsible for it are clearly stated by Ireton in his discussion of the question with Sir Charles Lucas (pp. 35, 37).a

  The Earl of Norwich and the rest of the Royalist prisoners who surrendered at Colchester were assured by Fairfax of quarter for their lives, and at their trials in February, 1649, the plea was put forward that this promise exempted them from any future proceedings in a civil court. This plea seems to have been first suggested by the Earl of Norwich, in a letter which he addressed to Speaker Lenthall on October 3, 1648, on learning that the House of Commons had passed an ordinance attainting him of high treason.b On October 6 the House read Goring’s letter, and ordered that a letter should be written to Lord Fairfax “to desire his explanation of that clause of his letter of 29 September, 1648, that concerns the quarter given to the Lord Goring and the Lord Capel, and leaving them to the further justice and mercy of the Parliament.” The answer of Lord Fairfax is well summarised in Rushworth,c but as the letter itself has never been printed,d and because its precise phraseology is of some importance, it is now inserted here.

  “Mr. Speaker,

  “Though I cannot easily understand what itt is in that letter of mine you recite that should soe much neede a serious explanation (as to the point in question), yett supposing the scruple to bee, whether my assuring of quarter to the Lord Goring and the rest did intend or does imply to secure them from further question as to life before your owne or other civill judgement for the warre leavied by them, in obedience to your commands I returne this answer.

  “That the quarter assured to his Lordshippe and others of that condition was nott by capitulation or agreement (as by the articles and explanation annex’t may appeare), and therefore could ground [noe] more claime then common quarter to any enemy taken in a feild engagement or other action.

  “Now for the sense and extent of common quarter given I have alwayes understood itt to bee an assuring of life against the immediate execution of the military sworde from any further execution therby without judiciall triall, but whether it imply to protect or exempt them from any judiciall triall or proceeding to life, either by the civill sword of that authority against which (being subjects) they rebell, or by the martiall power (as to persons and causes subject to its cognizance), having never soe understood itt nor knowne itt to bee soe I leave itt to your determination.

  “And the same power of giving quarter every souldier also hath in his proper action, which is daily used by them (if they see cause) to all sorts of the enemy, and then (unlesse where particular command is beforehand to the contrary) alwayes allowed, whatever the parties prove, because nott understood to amount to further exemption then as aforesaid, and whether now itt should bee taken otherwise, and that the souldier granting quarter shall bee a full pardon (as to life), lett not my sense, but the generall sense and practise in all warres and of both parties in this warre give the determination; butt if itt were soe then nott only noe Rebell (by that civill Judicature to which hee stood a subject), butt alsoe noe revolter or deserter of his colours and trust (running to the enemy), nor any spie or the like (by the martiall power), after once taken uppon quarter should bee brought to a judiciall triall or execution for their revolt or treachery; and therefore Sir I doe not urge these thinges out of any perticular animosity to the Lord Goring, for were hee even an innocent person, or one for whome I would begge your pardon, yett I should nott by my opinion or silence bee guilty of staying your judiciall proceeding uppon such a ground the admission whereof would at once condemne soe much the just and necessary practices of the Parliament and other states, and alsoe preclude or prejudge your future proceedinges in publique justice against any person for rebellion, revolts, or treachery in warre, who after utmost extreamity against you could finde butt any souldier of yours to give him quarter.

  T. F.

  “St. Albans 13 October
  1648.”

  The questions discussed in this letter were again argued in February, 1649, at the trials of Hamilton, Capel, Holland, and Norwich by the High Court of Justice. A volume amongst Clarke’s MSS. (numbered Worcester MS. lxx.) gives a much completer account of these trials than any yet published, and the evidence then given by some of the witnesses against the Earl of Norwich deals with several of the points raised in the cases of Lucas and Lisle. But the account is too long to print in extenso, or even in an abridged form, in this volume, and it was thought better to leave it to be treated as a whole at some future time than to extract a few fragmentary passages from it. A debate in the Council of Officers on the case of Hamilton and others will be found on pp. 194-198.

  Fairfax’s capture of Colchester and Cromwell’s defeat of the Scots set the army at liberty once more to intervene in politics. While the northern army under Cromwell was assisting to establish the supremacy of Argyle’s party in Scotland (pp. 42-49), the southern army prepared to prevent the negotiations at Newport from ending in a treaty which would restore Charles to his throne. In October the soldiers began to present petitions demanding justice against all offenders without respect of persons, and on November 7 a Council of Officers met at St. Albans to formulate the desires of the army. On November 16 the “Remonstrance of the Army” was agreed to by the Council, and four days later it was presented to the House of Commons (p. 54). As to the history of the Remonstrance these papers supply no new information, but they do throw a great deal of light on the development of the design for the seizure of the king, and on the history of his removal from Carisbrooke to Hurst Castle (pp. 54, 55, 57, 59, 63, 65, 67). Charles was transferred to Hurst Castle on December 1, and Fairfax’s troops occupied London on the following day. A newsletter, possibly written by Clarke himself, supplies an account of the occupation of London and of the forcible purgation of the House of Commons, which is supplemented by a letter from one of the excluded members to his constituents (pp. 67, 136). The Council of the Army next passed a vote to send for the King to Windsor Castle, “in order to the bringing of him speedily to justice” (December 15). The precautions to be adopted to prevent his escape, and the manner in which he was to be treated during his detention at Windsor, were minutely prescribed to the officers employed, and the instructions of the Council on these heads were further explained by private letters from Cromwell and Ireton (pp. 132, 133, 140-147). Concerning the King’s trial Clarke’s papers are silent. There are, however, certain orders issued to the troops quartered in London, forbidding either officers or soldiers to come to Westminster Hall, except such as were on duty here, and commanding the cavalry regiments to be ready for action both night and day until the trial ended (p. 186).

  Whilst the King’s trial was going on, and for some weeks before it began, the Council of Officers had been busily discussing the constitution of the future republic. The plan of defining by an “Agreement of the People” the rights which the people reserved to themselves, and the powers which they delegated to their representatives, originally put forward by the Levellers in the autumn of 1647, was revived again a year later. After a certain number of conferences between representatives of the Levellers, the army, and the leaders of the Independent party in and out of Parliament, it was agreed that a joint committee should be appointed to prepare a revised “Agreement of the People” (Nov. 29). The Levellers believed that the decision of this committee was to be final, and that the document drawn up by it was to be at once offered to the nation for acceptance.a When they discovered that it was to be submitted to the Council of Officers for discussion, and found that the Council insisted on altering and amending it in several important points, they regarded the army leaders as false to their pledges. They were still more disgusted when the Council, instead of circulating the “Agreement” for signature amongst the people, and compelling the Parliament to adopt it, simply presented it to the House with a request that they would take it into consideration and adopt so much of it as they thought proper. Lilburne had taken the alarm even before the Agreement was revised by the Council of Officers, and he published on December 15 the draft of that document upon which the joint committee had agreed, under the title of “Foundations of Freedom.” He was anxious to enlist popular support in its favour, and prefixed to it the following appeal to his readers:—

  “Dear Countryman,

  “This Agreement having had its conception for a common good, as being that which contains those Foundations of Freedom, and Rules of Government, adjudged necessary to be established in this Nation for the future, by which all sorts of men are to be bound, I adjudged it a just and reasonable thing to publish it to the view of the Nation, to the end that all men might have an opportunity to consider the Equity thereof, and offer their Reasons against anything therein contained, before it is concluded; that being agreeable to that Principle which we profess, viz., to do unto you, as we would all men should do unto us, not doubting but that the Justice of it will be maintained and cleared, maugre the opposition of the stoutest Calumniator, especially in those clear points in the Reserve so much already controverted, viz., touching the Magistrates power to compel or restrain in matters of Religion, and the exercise of an arbitrary power in the Representative to punish men for state offences, against which no Law hath provided; which two things especially are so clear to my understanding that I dare with confidence aver, That no man can demand the exercise of such a power, but he that intends to be a Tyrant, nor no man part with them, but he that resolves to be a slave. And so at present I rest,

  “Thy true-hearted
  “Countryman.

  “Friday, Decemb.
  15, 1648.”

  The debates of the Council, as recorded by Clarke, deal mainly with the first of the two points mentioned by Lilburne. On December 14, 1648, the portion of the Agreement which prohibited the magistrate from imposing any restrictions on the free exercise of religion, was discussed by the officers, assisted by representatives of the Levellers and by a number of Independent divines (pp. 73-132). These assistants, however, were allowed no vote in the final decision on the controverted clause (p. 139). The clause was referred to a committee, and it was decided by the Council on December 21, that in the general article reserving certain questions from the control of Parliament the original reservation concerning religion should not be included (p. 140). Instead of this it was resolved to insert a special article, the ninth in the Agreement when completed, to define the powers granted to the Government in religious matters, and the limits of religious freedom. Early in January this article seems to have been finally agreed upon and passed (pp. 171-174).

  Lilburne and his partizans, angered by the refusal of the Council to adopt their scheme in its entirety, presented to Fairfax on December 28, 1648, a protest against the proceedings of the officers, printed under the title of “A Plea for Common Right and Freedom.” They began by setting forth the satisfaction with which they had seen the adoption of their proposal for a new “Agreement of the People,” and the hopes with which they had hailed the first steps taken to carry out the plan. Then they complained bitterly of the obstructions which had arisen “since the same hath been tendered to the consideration of your Council.” “The long time spent already therein, and the tedious disputes and contests held thereupon, and that in things so essential to our freedom, as without which we account the Agreement of no value: for what freedom is there to consciencious people where the magistrate shall be intrusted with a restrictive power in matters of religion? Or to judge and punish in cases where no law hath been before provided? Which are the points which yet remain in suspence, and about which most of the time hath been spent.” They lamented that too many in the Council had supported the granting those unreasonable powers to the magistrate, that those who spoke for them had been countenanced, and those who spoke against them discountenanced; and that finally even the Presbyterian clergy “interests directly opposed to freedom of conscience in points of God’s worship,” had been consulted, and attempts made to satisfy their objections. In conclusion they demanded as a necessary preliminary to the production of “a full and ample Agreement for the people,” the re-organisation of the Council, and laid down the principles upon which that body ought to be constituted and its debates conducted.

  “1. To agree what certain number of officers, and no less shall make a Councel, which we humbly conceive ought not to be lesse than the major part of the Commission Officers at the head Quarters and adjacent thereunto, not excluding of others.

  “2. That all persons in Councel may sit in a distinct orderly way, so as they may be observed by the President when they are inclinable to speak.

  “3. That you will agree how many times any person may speak to a Question.

  “4. That you will free your Determinations from all pretences of a Negative Voice, and from all discountenance and check by any Superior Officer. And being so regulated, 1. That you will consider and resolve, what is the most proper way for the advance of Officers, so as to preserve them entire to the interest of the People, and from a servile condition or necessary dependence upon the favour or will of any; and seriously to consider whether your Articles of Martial Law (as now they are) are not of too Tyranous a nature, for an army of Freeborn Englishmen, and to reduce the same to reason and an equal constitution.

  “2. To take special care of the principles of any Officer to be admitted, that they be not tainted with those of Arbytrary power or of persecution for matters of Religion.

  “3. That there be no disbanding of any sort of men, but by consent of the General Councel; nor admission or listing of any for Horse or Foot, but according to provision made by the said Councel, it being reported that very many of late are listed of bad and doubtful condition; by all which means, if conscionably observed, (and we trust you will not be the lesse sencible because we advise) the growth of any corrupt interest will be effectually prevented. And if it shall seem good or any way usefull unto you, we shall chuse and appoint four of our Friends always to attend and assist though not to Vote with you.”

  Fairfax naturally refused to listen to these demands. He was neither inclined to limit the power of the general officers over their subordinates, nor to take any steps which would have revived, under any form, the representative council of agitators and officers which had given him so much trouble in 1647. It is evident from reading the debates that Lilburne’s third proposal was aimed at Ireton, of whose predominance in the Council he elsewhere speaks with great wrath (Appendix, p. 265). In the debate of December 14 Ireton made five speeches of considerable length, answering the Independent divines and the representatives of the Levellers with equal effect. His remarks on the origin of commonwealths, on the end of the state (p. 79), and on the extent to which biblical precedents could be applied in drawing up modern constitutions are of particular interest (pp. 113, 122, 128).

  A curious scene in these debates, which throws a strange light on the religious fanaticism of the times, was the appearance of a woman in the Council of Officers, who announced that she had a message to deliver to them which had been revealed to her in a vision. She came twice: on December 29 to manifest to them the disease of the kingdom and its cure (p. 150), and again on January 5 to protest against the execution of the King (p. 163). The Council heard her with great gravity, and solemnly enquired into the nature of the evidence which proved that her message was a divine revelation. An anonymous Royalist pamphlet published in 1651 gives a strangely distorted version of the incident, attributing the whole affair to the contrivance of Cromwell.a

  “Now that Cromwell might firmly unite the Councell of War to him, which consisted of a few able Head-pieces, to whom he laid himself open so far, as to shew them their profit and preferment in the designe, which united them fast to him, the other part, who were soft heads, and had a good meaning to do no evill, but to promote the Kingdome of Christ, and throw down Antichrist, and then according to their duty (as they were taught) to take possession of, and (as Saints) raign over the Kingdom; Cromwell provided fit food to feed such fantacies, for he had provided a monstrous Witch full of all deceiptfull craft, who being put into brave cloaths pretended she was a Lady that was come from a far Countrey, being sent by God to the Army with a Revelation, which she must make known to the Army, for necessity was laid upon her; this Witch had a fair lodging prepared for her in White-Hall where she was very retired.

  This Witch had her lesson taught her beforehand by Cromwell and Ireton, by whose order she was entertained at White-Hall.

  She desired audience at the Councell of Warre, for to them she said she was sent.

  Cromwel and Ireton to beget the more attention and belief in the Officers in the Councell of Warre, began to extoll the excellency of Revelation, and conceived that this Prophetess being a precious Saint, and having much of God in her, ought to be heard, and that with all attention; because in such glorious days as these God did manifest himself extraordinarily: and especially to his Saints, in chalking out their way before them when they came into straights and difficulties; such as they were in at that time.

  By this time the Witch was come to the door, and forthwith she had admittance; where the Officers all beheld her, and her strange postures, expressing high devotion.

  Cromwel and Ireton fixing their eyes upon her in most solemn manner, (to beget in the rest of the Officers (who were ready to laugh) an apprehension of some extraordinary serious thing) fell both of them to weeping; the Witch looking in their faces, and seeing them weep, fell to weeping likewise; and began to tell them what acquaintance she had with God by Revelation, and how such a day, such an hour, after such a manner she had a Revelation, which she was to reveal only to them; and that was, that the glorious time of setting up Christ’s Kingdom was near at hand, and that Antichrist must be speedily thrown down, and that they were the Instruments that were by God ordained to throw him down, and how they were about that great work, and that if they would prosper in it, they must first remove the King out of the way, which they must do by proceeding first to try him, and then to condemn him, and then to depose him, but not to put him to death: with a great deal more such stuff which that weeks Diurnall printed at large, so open was this business. This relation I had from one that was strongly of the Armies party, but related this shamefull story with much indignation.”

  The last important debate on the subject of the Agreement took place on January 13, 1649. On that day it was finally passed by the Council, and a declaration was agreed upon to be presented to the Parliament, explaining the motives which had led them to draw it up and offer it to the House. Some members of the Council, and many of the friends of the Army out of doors, objected to the proposal that the Army should abandon the dictatorship it had assumed, and leave Parliament the task of carrying out the schemes embodied in the Agreement. In that sense the prophetess from Abingdon had spoken, urging the Council to “go forward and stand up for the liberty of the people,” and not to surrender to others the power which the Lord had given into their hands (pp. 151, 163).

  In a similar spirit Mr. Erbury now declared, that the Council, instead of drawing up a new constitution, ought to take in hand the removal of the oppressive burdens and unrighteous things which troubled the people. That would be the way to settle the Nation, and a dozen or twenty-four selected men could effect it in a shorter time than a Parliament of four hundred (p. 178). Captain Joyce added that Fairfax and the Council ought not to try to shift off on others the work which the Lord had called them to (p. 182). Ireton answered, that to clear up the dispute as to the question of sovereignty, which had originally caused the war, and to take away from future governments the power to oppress the people, were the likeliest ways to settle the nation. Harrison’s speech was probably more effective, for he sympathised strongly with the view of the Fifth Monarchy men, but argued that the day of the Lord, when the powers of this world should be given into the hands of his saints, had not yet come. And both Ireton and Harrison urged that the Army was pledged by its declarations, not to use the opportunity to perpetuate power in its own hands, but to give it back to the civil authority (pp. 175-183). Their views prevailed; the Agreement was presented to Parliament on January 20, and the attempt of the army to settle the nation by its own action was adjourned until 1653.

  The last meeting of the Council of Officers recorded in this volume took place on March 24, but though Clarke does not record its further debates it certainly continued to assemble. For the three following years, however, it busied itself almost entirely with military affairs, and its next important intervention in politics was the presentation of the petition of August 13, 1652 (Old Parliamentary History, xx., 97). From January, 1653, to the expulsion of the Long Parliament in the April following, it met with great frequency, and discussed public affairs with great vigour. Unfortunately Clarke was at that time in Scotland, and excepting a few short notices amongst the newsletters in his MSS., there is no record of these most important debates (See the English Historical Review, July 1893, p. 527).

  The action of the Council of Officers in January, 1649, had postponed for four years the final breach between the military and the Parliamentary sections of the republican party.

  So long as the harmony between the leaders of the Army and the Parliament continued, the newly-founded republic was safe. But in the spring of 1649 so many dangers threatened the existence of the Commonwealth, that there was good ground for doubting if it could weather the storm. In Ireland the English interest was, in Cromwell’s phrase, almost “rooted out.” In Scotland there prevailed “a very angry hateful spirit” against the “army of sectaries” and its leaders. In England the Presbyterians and Royalists were making ready to co-operate with Scots and Irish in restoring Charles II. (pp. 203, 205). A more immediate and pressing danger was the spread of insubordination in the army, caused by the doctrines propagated by Lilburne and his followers. On February 22, 1649, the Council of the Army found it necessary to lay down regulations limiting the right of the soldiers to petition, and forbidding them to hold clandestine meetings for political purposes (p. 190). Nevertheless, on March 1, a petition was presented to the Council of Officers, demanding the re-establishment of the representative “General Council of the Army” which had existed in 1647 (p. 193). The discipline of the army had evidently become considerably relaxed, especially in some of the newly-raised regiments. Fairfax consequently issued stringent orders for the punishment of any soldiers guilty of plundering during their march for Ireland (p. 193), and Marten’s regiment, which had earned an evil notoriety by its bad conduct, vanishes from the army lists (pp. 56, 213). One of the worst offenders of all, William Thompson, was the leader of the mutiny suppressed at Burford, and was killed a few days later (p. 199).

  Several papers illustrate the history of the wilder sects to which so great a political and religious revolution had given birth. The little band of Socialists who termed themselves “Diggers,” and attempted to found a settlement on St. George’s Hill in Surrey, found themselves so hardly treated by the local authorities and by their neighbours, that they applied to Fairfax for protection. Their colony seems to have been broken up about the end of 1649. The song of the Diggers, doubtless written by their leader Winstanley, is extremely curious (pp. 209-212, 215-224). The doctrines and the preaching of the Fifth-Monarchy men are illustrated by the trial of John Erbury for blasphemy, which took place in 1652 (p. 233). Of the miscellaneous papers contained in this volume four letters illustrate the history of the navy (pp. 39, 42, 62, 138), whilst others will be of interest to the historians of Cambridge (p. 28), Yorkshire (pp. 1, 8, 20, 25, 70), Cheshire (136), Hereford (p. 157), Lancashire (pp. 160, 187), and Jersey (p. 228).

  On several important passages in Cromwell’s life these papers shed fresh light. The most important and most characteristic of them all is the long letter from Cromwell to Hammond, printed on p. 49. Large extracts from it have been given by Mr. Gardiner, and it is sufficient to refer the readers of this preface to his admirable explanations of its political significance.a Two points the letter makes clear; the first is Cromwell’s deep distrust of the King and of any attempt to treat with him; the second is his desire to see “union and right understanding” between Puritans of every sort, “Presbyterians, Independents, Anabaptists and all.” The justification of the alliance with the Argyle party in Scotland expresses the views not merely of Cromwell himself, but probably of the majority of the superior officers of his army. Exactly the same sentiments are expressed in a letter from the headquarters in Scotland, printed in one of the pamphlets of the time.b It is signed J. L. only, but there can be little doubt that these initials designate John Lambert, Cromwell’s second in command.

  “Sir,

  “The godly party in Scotland seem to be very sensible of the benefit they have lately reaped by the victory God gave to our Army, and say they hope never to forget those instruments which the Lord chose to work their deliverance; and check themselves for the hard thoughts they formerly had of the Army: And its very observable, that this Army which the honest party in Scotland looked upon as a bundle of Sectaries, not fit to be continued, and did many ways unjustly reproach, should now under God, be the onely authors of their deliverance. Some of the most eminent and honorable in Scotland have ingenuously confessed to me their error and rashness in charging the Army last year with rebellion unjustly, seeing now there is a necessity put upon them to tread in that very path: Nay, they acted now against a clearer authority, where was the concurrence of the three States, King, Lords, and Commons. I am much persuaded that the Lord hath a glorious work in Scotland as well as in England. The interest of the godly people in Scotland, as to the Civil, was once different from that of the godly people in England, or at least acted as it had been different; but now the Lord hath been pleased to order the affairs of that Kingdom, as that the interest of the godly people there, is become the same with ours in England, and they and we must act upon the same grounds and principles: And I am persuaded that so much of their power as the Princes of the Earth have lent to the support of that Man of Sin, God hath and will suddenly break and destroy.

  “I have no more at present, but that I am
  Your most affectionate friend,

  “J. L.

  “Mordington in Scotland,
  Sept. 27, 1648.”

  Cromwell’s friendship with Hammond, proved by this letter of November 6, and by many of those printed by Carlyle, is further illustrated by two other letters to Hammond printed here for the first time. Mr. Gardiner copied them from the MSS. of the Marquis of Lothian at Newbattle, and has been good enough to allow me to add them to those contained in this volume.

  The first, which is not dated, was evidently written between January and April, 1648, and deals with the precautions to be taken by Hammond to prevent the King’s escape from the Isle of Wight. The same subject is touched in letters lii. and lvii. in Carlyle’s Collection.

  Cromwell to Hammond.

  “Deare Robin, am I forgotten?

  “Thou art not, I wish thee much comfort in thy great businesse, and the blessinge of the Almighty upon thee.

  “This intelligence was delivered this day viz. that Sir George Cartwrighta hath sent 3 boates from Jersey, and a Barque from Sharbrowe,b under the name of Frenchmen, but are absolutely sent to bringe the Kinge (if their plott can take effect) from the Isle of Wight to Jersey, one of which boates is returned back to Jersey with newes, but it is kept very private.

  “I wish great care bee taken. Truly I would have the Castle well manned, you know how much lyeth upon itt. If you would have any thinge more done lett your freindes know your minde, they are readye to assist and secure you.

  “You have warrant now to turne out such servants as you suspect, doe itt suddenly for feare of danger, you see how God hath honored and blessed every resolute action of theise [?] for him, doubt not but Hee will doe soe still.

  “Lett the Parliaments shippes have notice of Cartwrights designe that soe they may looke out for him.

  “I have noe more but rest
  Your true servant

  “O. Cromwell.a

  (Addressed):

  “For Col. Robin Hammond Governour of the Isle of Wight theise att Carisbrooke Castle hast post hast.”

  Hammond was removed from the government of the Isle of Wight at the end of November 1648, for refusing obedience to the orders of Fairfax concerning the securing the King’s person, and during the Commonwealth neither held any military office, nor took any part in public affiairs. In 1651 however he again sought for employment, but had some doubts of the justice of the war with the Scots, and would have preferred to serve in Ireland. Cromwell thought him unfit for the work. “You must not expect,” he said to his Parliament in 1656, “that men of hesitating spirits, under the bondage of scruples, will be able to carry on this work,”b and he wrote in the same spirit now to Hammond.

  “Deare Cozen,

  “I receaved yours for which I thanke you, I understand my cozen your wife is under some trouble of minde, but because you are not perticular, I can only say my poore prayers shalbe for her that it may bee sanctified to you both. I am glad to heere my aunt and you are agreed, I hope it’s a mercye to you both. You mention some purposes to come and visitt us, which kindnesse deserves and hath a thankefull acknowledgment from your freindes heere, whoe retaine in some measure their ould principles, which are not unknowen to you.

  “You doe expresse in your letter thatt its the desire of your soule that you may be ledd forth in some way wheerein you may have more enjoyment of God, and bee used to his glorye, findinge deadnesse.

  “Truly Sir it’s a favor from the Lord not to bee vallewed that hee vouchsafe to use and owne us, of the sweete whereof you have heeretofore tasted, and well it becomes you in remembrance of former experiences, to say, and thinke soe. Hee is a master whoe ownes every servant in the lowest station, and those whoe are in the heighest have nothinge to boast of but his favorable countenance and acceptance, the greater the trust the greater the account, there is not reioycinge simplie in a lowe or high estate, in riches nor povertye, but only in the Lord. Noe, nor cann wee fetch contentment from the securest, hopefullest condition wee cann choose for our selves, nor is the comfort and peace of the spirit annexed to the greatest retirements, but the winde bloweth where it listeth, and if wee bee found with the Lord in his worke, Hee will dispence what is needfull, and oftentimes exceede in bountye.

  “You hint somewhat of a willingnesse to bee againe engaged, but with this that the worke in Ireland goes smoother with you then this. You will forgive mee if I wonder what makes the difference, is it not one common and complexed interest and cause acted in Ireland and Scotland?

  “You oppose a call to your beinge in a good and setled condition to your contentment. Truly if it bee the Lord’s worke now in hand lett it bee of choyce to leave contentments for itt.

  a “The Lord hath noe neede of you, yett Hee hath fitted you with abillityes for the present dispensation, your freindes heere iudge soe, and will heartily welcome you, but indeed I doe not thinke you fitted for the worke untill the Lord give you a heart to begg of him that Hee will accept you into his service. Indeed, I write not this but in deernesse of love, truth of heart, and feare of the Lord, to you. The Lord may lay us in the dust when Hee pleaseth, yett wee serve him—Hee is our master, this is our boastinge—to receave and welcom you with comfort into the fellowship of his service is not more desiered by any then by

  “Your cozen and very affectionate freind
  to serve you

  “O. Cromwell.

  “May 13th, 1651.

  My affection to my deere cozen, and aunt Hampden.”

  In two letters to Lord Wharton, numbered by Carlyle cxlvi., and clxxxi., Cromwell refers to the similar scruples of Wharton and other old friends, and treats them in much the same way. Hammond’s answer to Cromwell’s letter has not survived, but on July 22, 1651, he wrote to Cromwell interceding for the life of Mr. Love, and incidentally saying that his wife’s ill-health had prevented him from joining Cromwell in Scotland.a In 1654 the Protector appointed him one of the Commissioners for the Government of Ireland, but he died a few weeks after entering upon the post he had so long sought.

  To return to 1648. The letter printed on pp. 49-53 shows Cromwell’s deep distrust of the King and his objections to the treaty then in progress at Newport. These are further explained in the famous letter of November 25 to Hammond, printed by Carlyle (No. lxxxv.). He approved of the petitions of the northern army for the punishment of the King, and he approved also of the Army Remonstrance of November 20. His letters show this. On November 20, forwarding the petitions of his army to Fairfax, he wrote: “I find in the officers of the regiment a very great sense of the sufferings of this poor kingdom, and in them all a very great zeal to have impartial justice done upon all offenders. And, I must confess I do in all, from my heart concur with them, and verily think and am persuaded, they are things which God puts into our hearts.” On November 25, referring to the Army Remonstrance, he added: “We have read your Declaration here, and see in it nothing but what is honest, and becoming christians and honest men to say and offer. It is good to look up to God, who alone is able to sway all hearts to agree to the good and just things contained therein.”

  On two important points however Cromwell though he accepted the responsibility of the acts done by the southern army, disagreed with the policy adopted by them. He agreed with the opinion which Ireton some months earlier had expressed to Ludlow, viz., that it would be best to delay the intervention of the army till the treaty between the King and the Parliament had been actually completed. “We could perhaps have wished,” he wrote “the stay of it [i.e. the Remonstrance of the Army] till after the treaty, yet seeing it is come out, we trust to rejoice in the will of the Lord, waiting his further pleasure.”

  In the second place he evidently desired that the army and the parliamentary minority should imitate the proceedings of the Argyle party, and as he expressed it “make the parliament null and call a new one” (p. 53). On this question however, as Mr. Gardiner has shown, the army leaders were obliged to yield to their parliamentary allies, and to content themselves with purging the parliament instead of forcibly dissolving it. Had Cromwell been in London at the beginning of December, instead of in Yorkshire, it is possible that his influence might have won over the parliamentary republicans to the original plan. In that case the breach caused by the forcible dissolution of 1653 might have been avoided. On the other hand he was extremely anxious, in 1649 as in 1651, that the Parliament should be persuaded to dissolve themselves, without undue pressure or force from the army (pp. 170, 233).

  Cromwell was summoned to London by Fairfax on Nov. 28, (p. 62) and arrived there on Dec. 6. Concerning his share in the trial of Charles I. these papers give less information than we might have expected. The two letters from Cromwell and Ireton jointly to Colonel Harrison, with the minute precautions for the King’s safe keeping prescribed by them, prove that Cromwell was determined that Charles should be brought to trial, (pp. 140-144). Mr. Gardiner has shown that even after the King had been conveyed from Hurst Castle to Windsor, “Cromwell and his allies among the officers desired to save the King’s life, if it was possible to do so without injury to the cause for which they had fought.”a Discussions on the subject undoubtedly took place in the Council of Officers, but no record of these important debates has been preserved. No doubt Clarke was there and took shorthand notes as usual, but if so he probably destroyed them in 1662 when the notes of the other debates of the council were transcribed. A royalist newspaper gives the following account of the division of opinion amongst the officers.

  “There is great talke at White-Hall of bringing the King to tryall, and on Christmas day, when they should have bin at church, praying God for that memorable and unspeakeable mercy, which he in that day showed to mankind, in sending his onely begotten son into the world for their salvation; they were practising an accusation against his Deputy here on earth; and Ireton declared, they had conquered the Kingdom twice; and therefore it was fit they should bring the King, the capitall enemy thereof, to speedy justice: there were six in the council that were very hot for justice; and Hugh Peters did very gravely shew the necessity of it; but Cromwell had more wit in his anger, and told them there was no policy in taking away his life, and shewed divers and more solid reasons than Hugh’s were; whereof one was, that if they should at any time loose the day, they could produce the King, their stake; and by his means work their peace: so it was concluded, that His Majesties charge should be forthwith drawn up, and himself brought to a speedy tryall; and, being found guilty, they could proceed either to mercy, or justice, as they pleased.”a

  But if Cromwell had doubts as to the expediency of the King’s execution, he had none as to its justice. Mr. Goldwin Smith erroneously states that Cromwell neither in his speeches nor letters touches on the King’s death. Cromwell refers to it with satisfaction, as a warning and as an example, in one of his letters to the governor of Edinburgh Castle.b He refers to it again in his speech about the Irish expedition on March 23 1649. “God,” he tells the officers, “hath brought the warre to an issue heere and given you a greate fruite of that warre, to witt—the execution of exemplary justice upon the prime leader of all this quarrell,” (p. 202).

  In the debates of the Council of Officers recorded in this volume, Cromwell took scarcely any part. Indeed, as the table of attendances shows, he was generally absent (p. 272). But as the discussions mainly concerned the question of liberty of conscience—a subject upon which his opinions are perfectly well known from the speeches in Carlyle’s collection—this is less to be regretted. On the other hand the important speech of March 23, on the subject of the expedition to Ireland, throws a good deal of light on Cromwell’s views about the Irish war (pp. 200-207). He regarded the reconquest of Ireland as forced upon the English republic, by the adoption of the cause of Charles II. in Ireland, and by the danger of a possible invasion of England from thence. His national pride revolted at the idea of a Stuart restoration by the arms of Irish Catholics, or indeed of Scotch Presbyterians. “I confesse I have had these thoughts with myself that perhaps may be carnall and foolish. I had rather be overrun with a Cavalierish interest than of a Scotch interest; I had rather be overrun with a Scotch interest than an Irish interest; and I thinke of all, this is most dangerous. If they shall be able to carry on their work, they will make this the most miserable people in the earth, for all the world knows their barbarism” (p. 205).

  Equally characteristic is Cromwell’s confidence in the triumph of his cause, and his firm assurance of divine assistance and protection. “All the rest of the world, ministers and profane persons, all rob God of all glory, and reckon it to be a thing of chance that has befallen them. If we do not depart from God, I am confident, we doing our duty and waiting upon the Lord, shall find he will be as a wall of brass round about us till we have finished that work that he has for us to do” (p. 204).

  The last of these new documents relating to Cromwell is a letter directed to Lieut. Col. Timothy Wilkes, apparently written early in January 1655. Wilkes was one of the Protector’s most devoted adherents, and to him Cromwell unbosomed himself with the greatest frankness, and expressed the grief which the divisions of his own party and the opposition of his former friends aroused in him. It resembles in its tone the letters which Cromwell wrote to Fleetwood, and reiterates the same complaints. “Truly” he had written in August 1653,a “I never more needed all helps from my Christian friends than now. Fain would I have my service accepted of the Saints, if the Lord will;—but it is not so. Being of different judgments, and those of each sort seeking most to propagate their own, that spirit of kindness that is to them all, is hardly accepted of any. I hope I can say it, my life has been a willing sacrifice, and I hope for them all. Yet it much falls out as when the two Hebrews were rebuked: you know upon whom they turned their displeasure.” And again, in June 1655:b “The wretched jealousies that are amongst us, and the spirit of calumny turn all to gall and wormwood. My heart is for the people of God: that the Lord knows, and will in due time manifest; yet thence are my wounds;—which though it grieves me, yet through the grace of God doth not discourage me totally. Many good men are repining at everything, though indeed many good are well satisfied and satisfying daily. The will of the Lord will bring forth good in due time.”

  The causes of the breach between the Protector and his former friends, and the motives which dictated the vehement opposition of the Fifth Monarchy men to his government are very clearly set forth in a long and interesting letter from Thurloe to Monk (p. 242). Two letters from Thurloe’s MSS. in the Bodleian Library, omitted by the editor of the Thurloe papers, are added here in order to further elucidate this subject. They were either intercepted by the government, or found amongst the correspondence of some Fifth Monarchy man arrested by its orders. The originals were probably written in cypher.

  “I account it as great a happiness, that I have opportunity either to receive from you or transmitte unto you. Since I received your letter it hath beene matter of refreshment to me and to all the (remnant) Saintes who have heard of it, that in the day of darknesse upon the world, there remains a spirit of vigour and resolution for the King of Saints amongst you, both in God’s servants and handmaydes. It was no unusuall thing in former ages, for the handmaydes of the Lord to seek him apart upon any inferiour account, much less upon so glorious behalfe (as this day they are, in seaveral places of this Nation remote from each other) which is a notable testimony to me, that they are set at worke by the Lorde’s owne Spirit, and that he is now formeing of that Little Stone (cut out of the mountains without hands) to set the Image upon its feet; which are part of iron and part of clay, partly strong and partly broken, which is so lame, that it would endeavour to mingle it selfe with the seed of men, whereby to maintain its brotherhood a little longer; but it is no other than for the moulding (if I may so say) of the Little Stone in purer mettall that when it cometh actually to strike, it may make thorrow work with the Image both civill and ecclesiastical, and not deal so spareingly with the Antichristian relations as those honest harts would have done in the late Little Parliament (so called) as many of them do acknowledge. But now the indignation of the Saints against Babylon is so heightened, that when they come to the Lorde’s worke againe no less will serve then the utter eradication of all what is planted, or built by the Manne of Sinne. Surely notable havock will be made in England the next . . . . . as ever was since the world began, and trully the greatest thing that lyeth upon my hart at present is, that the Lord would make me fitte to follow the Lambe at that time, and give me such a spirit for the executeing of his judgments, and the rewarding of Babylon as she hath rewarded us, as he shall call for in such a day. Doubtless his motions will be very swift when he beginns againe to march visibly, and those who resolve to follow him had need to be redeemed from the earth, as well as from among men; and indeed to become virgins having no interest marryed unto them, besides the pure and honourable interest of Jesus Christ. The Remnant of Saintes (since you were here) are exceedingly raised in their spirits, to consider how they may beare their witnesse more effectually for Christ then hitherto they have done, many being strongly perswaded that the Lord looketh for more from his servants, then faith and prayer; and that God speaketh to them now as he did to Moses, “Why cryest thou unto me? Speak to the children of Israel that they goe forward.” And several of the choicest saintes here have beene much before the Lord in their clossets in order to this concerne; also in our private meeteinges much time is spent in seeking for a cleere and sure call, that whether we live or dye we may be found in the worke of the Lord, which we know shall prevail, though it were but with Gideon’s 300 men, if so many could be found of such a spirit as they were.

  My perswasions are great that a terrible destruction will suddainely be brought upon Babylon’s workes and workemen in England. There are . . . . . sent from us to Norfolke, where about 15 or 16 churches have mette to conferre together, and begge wisdome of the Lord how to beare their witnesse for him against the present powers and their wickedness. The last time they conveen’d was the 13th of this moneth, at what tyme they would come to a result, whether in print, or by word of mouth to the present superiors. What the conclusion is, wee cannot yet heare: our friendes did judge it would be by sending two members from every church to London, there to bear the testimony of their dissatisfaction and dislike of them, which will be about 30 men. However things goe the councell of the Lord shall stand, that the bloody city must be remembered with all hir inhabitants farre and neere; because strong is the Lord God who judgeth hir, to whom be Glory for ever. Amen.

  “Wee should have writte to you in general from the whole meeting if wee had a safer way of conveyance then by the post, but wee are considering whether to send messengers to all parts of this nation and Wales to enquire how the Lord moves upon the spiritts of . . . . . . NA . . . . . . . . ere long to be cutte short of that also, when the great Revolter hath strengthened his Hornes a little more, if God suffers him. It will be more visibly knowne who indeed are the people that know their God, and shall do exploites.

  “Your friend and bro. in Christ, etc.

  “London 19^o—10^m—1654.”

  Copy of another Letter from London,
  
  Dated 21^o—10^m—54.

  “As for your desires concerning Anna Trapnell, it is (to be playne) to me a very strange dispensation, yet I am perswaded she hath communion with God in it, but under what sort to rank it, I am at some stand. The dispensation is strange, because rare, more strange, because to me there appeares no such amongst the Scripture records, as to the manner of it: for I cannot reckon it among the visions and revelations of the Lord, because in the things she utters (whether in verse or prose) its only what she hath been conversant in before, and had the knowledge of, as now she spoke much concerning the Windsor prisoner (which those that know not she had beene there would have thought she had by revellation) and of the young men and their meeting, which she is conversant in, and much taken with. If she did continue it, but for one or two dayes I should be apt to think she might do it when she would, in the strength of phansie [?] save for two things. First, she is so stiffned in her body that were she not warme one would thinke hir dead. Secondly, because (she saith) she cannot make a verse when she is herself. But it is strange to me she should continue for 8 dayes as she did now; and I am ascertain’d (from those I can believe as if I saw it my self) that she eat nothing all that time; no, nor drunk, save once in 24 houres a little (and but very little) small beere. And on the last day of the weeke she declared in my hearing that she would be the next morning at the young men’s meeting, which I much doubted, seeing how she lay and had layne; so I went that morning on purpose, and found hir there, she taking me by the hand ere I was aware; she came out without eating or drinking save a little small beere, yet did not experience herself weak or faint. My Lady Roles heareing she was there, called hir to goe to Lambeth in her coach, with whome I went also, and though wee spent the whole day there, she refused to eat. In our converse she was full of affection, with what sweet enjoyment she had of God the whole weeke. I tould hir that it was the opinion of some, that what she delivered was from the strength of hir naturall memorie. She answered, no, but throwne in by the Spirit to hir. I have sometimes said, that I thinke God in this Dispensation doth teach his people that when our communion with him is enlarged a very little of the creature will satisfie us.

  “John Simpson is come to London; and did preach the last first day with the congregation, and at Allhallowes on the second day, where he related his reasons why he submitted to their order of banishment, and why now he breaks it; one reason to this was, because he hath it from good handes that O. P. had said to them, that John Simpson might come to London if he would, and that the Order was of his owne procuring; he might come to the Church if he pleased, but had no mind to it. Whereupon he declared, after he heard the certaine truth of this, he thought he was bound in conscience to come, whatever it cost him.—O. P. hearing he was in the Citty, sent for him, desiring him to come and conferre with him as a brother and a christian, and to bring three or four of the Church along with him. It was put to the church, and by vote they resolv’d he should goe, but some said he went into a temptation he should have avoyded. He was at Whitehall the whole day; wee were together till six of the clock at night, at which time he was not returned, and since I have not had opportunity to know the event. Mr. Simpson did declare in the pulpit his sameness to what he ever was; and that he never in the least doubted of the goodness of his cause, in bearing witness against the last publique thinge, as a publique sinne against former vowes. [Mr. Sim]pson I apprehend not to be fully enlightned about the kingdome of Christ; and comeing home, as I conceive, may occasion further tryalls upon the spirits of the Church in some tyme. God is sifting all sortes.

  “It is now I perceive much upon the Spirits of some choice Saintes, that the next tryal may very great: possibly O. P. closeing so farr as to do such thinges as (he thinkes) may please the Sectaries, take away tythes, and loppe the laws; and so deceive the minds of the simple, and enrage all the more against the non-complyers. This tryall some are prepareing for. A petition I understand is prepared in the Common Councell of this Citty to encourage the Parliament about settling Church Government, etc. And I have it from a good hand that O. P. sent for a certain citizen, desiring a sight of that Petition; which having read, he said, “I think wee must labour to have Collonel Pride’s Common Councell again, for these will undo all.” One answered, “You (my Lord) called that a Lev[elli]ng Common Councell, but wee shall never have so good againe?” He replyed, “Where shall wee have men of a Universall Spirit? Every one desires to have liberty, but none will give it.”

  “Collonel Okey hath layd downe his grounds so farre as is apprehended, they had him at advantage, and he wanted power to oppose them; they on the other side weresuspitious, and so were glad of his resignation. As for that friend, surely the Lord will be a Light in Darknesse to those that with a single heart cleave to him. I desire to present my service to them both, leaving them with the Lord, and desireing he may stand compleat in all the will of God. But I conceive the great ones have lost their opportunity. Surely they were once betrusted by God, and had power to have stood up for what they had engaged, and ought to have kept their watch better, and not have suffered themselves to be cheated of so good an interest through the deceits of men and cuning craftiness; and whether ever God may trust them againe I question. But let them in the meane time take heed of strengthning the handes of evildoers, and surely were but a few good spirits to appear for their old good cause in the strength of truth, the Appostates and revolters would soon flee with Adonijah and his followers, when that cry was made in Jerusalem, “God save King Solomon.”

  “I could now relate at large what passed between O. P. and Mr. Simpson and those with him; but it is too late. Yet in brief thus: They conferred together from 9 to 12, at what time O. P. was called to dine an Ambassador he had invited; when he went out he commanded six dishes of meat might be sent to Mr. Simpson and his friends, whom he tould he would again conferr with them, which he did from 3 or 7; they took not his dinner, but consulted together how to answere him, for he had challenged them to decla what vowes or declarations he had broken; and being met again they instanced: 1st, In his promise about tythes to be taken away before 3 September, to which he replyed, “He wist not whether he had said so or no? But he heard Mr. Jessey should report it of him, in which he had not done well; and for his part he could not do it, for he was but one, and his Councel alledge it is not fitt to take them away.” There were further arguings about this. Another thing that he had sworne to maintain the just laws of the Land, but had contrary to law imprisoned J. S., and C. F. I cannot now write the answers. He sayd it was out of love to them to save their lives. They instanced further that he had vowed and engaged others to the Government without king or single person, and now by taking this Government had not only broken those vowes, but also an Act of Parliament that it should be treason soe to do. To which among other things he replied: “Well said, Simpson, thou art plain indeed; not only to tell me I have broken my vowes, but that I am in plain termes A Traitor.” He concluded his answer with this, That the Goverment he had taken and would stand to maintain it. Againe that he had promised Liberty to the Saintes, but now by the Tryers they were thrust out of all publick liberty. Hee sayd the Tryers were set up only to keep out knaves, but should not be used against any Godly men. At parting he gave Mr. Simpson an exhortation to carry soberly, as that should be best for them. Upon the whole they came away very much disatisfied with his Spirit and words.

  B. T.”

  In the beginning of Cromwell’s letter to Wilkes he alludes to the collection set on foot for the town of Marlborough which had been almost entirely burnt to the ground by the great fire of April 28, 1653. Mr. Waylen in his History of Marlborough (pp. 257-269), gives a full account of the fire, but both in that work, and in his House of Cromwell (p. 319), omits to notice a circular letter from the Protector recommending to the charitable the relief of the sufferers. As it is not included in Carlyle’s collection and seems to have escaped notice I have thought it worth reprinting in full at the close of this introduction.

  “Loving Friends

  “Whereas it pleased the Lord to lay his afflicting hand upon the Inhabitants of the Town of Marlebrough in the County of Wilts, on the 28 of April 1653, by a sudden and terrible Fire, which burnt and consumed (within the space of foure houres) the Church, Market-house, and 250 dwelling houses, besides divers barns, stables, and other out-houses, with most of their goods, to the losse of above 70,000£. as hath been made appeare by sufficient testimony, whereby many of the poore inhabitants were reduced to a low and miserable condition, even without hopes of a future subsistence, had not the Lord in mercy by his good hand of Providence enlarged the hearts of some good people to extend their charity towards the re-building the said Town, and relieving of the necessities of the poore inhabitants thereof: And yet (as we are credibly informed by persons intrusted with the distribution of the monies collected for that purposes) the monies so collected doe not amount to the sixt part of their said losses, so that many mens houses lie unbuilt, and divers who have begun building, are necessitated to give over in the midst thereof, being no way able to finish them, by reason of their yet extream want: We doe therefore make it our earnest desire, That you the Officers and Soldiers under our command in England and Scotland, would take the premisses into your serious consideration, cheerfully to impart something to be deducted out of your next months pay for the further reliefe of those poore distressed people, towards which our Army in Ireland hath already unanimously manifested large bowells of compassion: which we hope will be a good example for you to follow: And the rather, for that the Town was the first in the West of England that declared for, and took up Arms in the defence of that Cause which the Lord hath so eminently appeared for, and hitherto carryed on, by which meanes they then sustained exceeding great losses both by fire and plundring: of which We need say no more, but shall conclude with that saying, ‘He that giveth to the Poore, lendeth to the Lord,’ and rest,

  “Your Loving Friend

  “Oliver P.

  “White-Hall, 20 Nov.
  1654.”

  In conclusion it only remains to refer readers of this volume to the account of the nature and condition of the MSS. given at page lxxvi. of the preface to volume one. The papers printed are generally derived from copies, or, in the case of the debates, from notes made in shorthand at the time but not transcribed till many years later. Both contained in consequence a large number of clerical errors and other mistakes which it was necessary for the editor to correct. Corrections or alterations of any importance are printed out in the notes. For mistakes of his own the editor can only apologise beforehand, and plead that the exceptional difficulty of his task may be taken into account.

  C. H. FIRTH.

  May 29, 1894.

  ERRATA.

  VOL. I.

  Page xxxiii., note a, for “Lords’ Journals, vii.” read “Lords Journals, ix.”

  Page 82, last line, for “if these” read “if there.”

  Page 128, 129, for “Twistleton” read “Twisleton.”

  Page 150, line 18, for “gave” read “give.”

  Page 219, note a, line 23, for “June 26” read “July 26.”

  Page 226, note b, line 6, for “agent” read “Agents.”

  VOL. II.

  Page 1, note a. “Cavalrie” is a word frequently used to denote the Cavaliers in general.

  Page 49, note a. On this note Mr. Gardiner observes: “The letter at Newbattle is not in Cromwell’s hand, but it had every appearance of being the letter actually delivered. The explanation which occurred to me when I saw it was, that to avoid suspicion if the letter fell into bad hands, Cromwell either dictated it or had his own handwriting copied.”

  Page 72, note a, for “vol. 67” read “vol. 65.”

  Page 89, note c, Mr. Gardiner points out that Peter refers to the Diotrephes mentioned in the third Epistle of St. John, verse 9: “Diotrephes who loveth to have the pre-eminence among them.”

  Page 169, note a, line 8, for “Cowell” read “Cowling.”

  Page 171, note c, for “Athenae Oxonienses, ii. 75” read “ii. 175.”

  Page 229, line 10, “St. Won’s Bay,” i.e. “St. Ouen’s Bay.”

  Page 233, line 23, for “John Erbury” read “William Erbury.”

  [a ]Cromwelliana, p, 61

  [a ]See p. 224; cf. C. S. P. Dom. 1650, p. 351.

  [b ]Cary, Memerials of the Civil War, ii., 332.

  [c ]See p. 227. Other documents concerning the disputed property are amongst the MSS. at Worcester College.

  [a ]One of these letters I afterwards found to be printed in the Fairfax Correspondence, iv., 35.

  [a ]I understand that Mr. J. H. Round has recently treated the subject in a paper read to the Royal Historical Society, but as it is not yet published I can scarcely discuss his arguments.

  [b ]Commons’ Journals, vi., 45; Cary, Memorials of the Civil War, ii., 26.

  [c ]Rushworth, vii., 1285, 1303.

  [d ]The letter is amongst Clarke’s MSS. (vol. cxiv., f. 89); but was not noticed till it was too late to insert it in its proper place in the body of the volume.

  [a ]Gardiner, Great Civil War, iv., 239, 262. A history of the origin of this second Agreement, and of the negotiations and debates concerning it, is given by Lilburne in his “Legal Fundamental Liberties of the People of England,” 4to, 1649. His narrative is so necessary to the understanding of the debates that I have inserted it in the Appendix (pp. 254-266).

  [a ]A Brief Narrative of the Mysteries of State carried on by the Spanish Faction in England, 4to, 1651 (printed at the Hague), p. 69.

  [a ]Great Civil War, 2nd edition, iv., 248.

  [b ]Good news from Scotland, being a true relation of the present condition of the army under the command of Lieut.-Gen. Cromwell, 1648, 4to.

  [a ]Carteret.

  [b ]Cherbourg.

  [a ]Holograph.

  [b ]Carlyle’s Cromwell, Speech v.

  [a ]The remainder is autograph.

  [a ]Original Letters and Papers of State addressed to Oliver Cromwell, edited by John Nickolls, 1743, folio, p. 77.

  [a ]Great Civil War, iv., 283.

  [a ]Mercurius Melancholicus. Dec. 25-Jan. 1, 1649. For this reference I am indebted to Mr. Gardiner.

  [b ]Carlyle, letter cxlviii. Goldwin Smith, Three English Statemen, 1868, p. 59.

  [a ]Carlyle, letter clxxxix.

  [b ]Carlyle, letter cxcix.

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  13: Politics and the Army in the English Civil War 3

  Sir William Clarke, The Clarke Papers. Selections from the Papers of William Clarke, Secretary to the Council of the Army, 1647-1649, and to General Monck and the Commanders of the Army in Scotland, 1651-1660, ed. C.H. Firth (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1899). 4 vols. Chapter: PREFACE

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1986/127741 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

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  a caricature of the protector richard cromwell:

  From the Clarke Collection

  PREFACE

  The documents contained in this third instalment of the ‘Clarke Papers’ are selected from volumes xxv. to xxxi. of the MSS. in Worcester College Library. Those volumes consist mainly of newsletters sent from the headquarters of the army in England, or from persons connected with the army, to the headquarters of the army in Scotland. Interspersed among them are a few private letters addressed to General Monck, and copies of other documents which came into William Clarke’s possession during his tenure of office as Monck’s secretary. Clarke had been left behind in Scotland in August 1651, when Cromwell marched into England in pursuit of Charles II., and there are many letters from him, giving an account of the progress of the subjugation of Scotland by Generals Monck and Deane. He acted as secretary to Colonel Robert Lilburne during Lilburne’s command in Scotland, and when Lilburne left Scotland he recommended him warmly to his successor. After describing the position of affairs in Scotland to Monck, and stating the measures he thought expedient, he concluded: ‘I presume to recomend unto you Mr. Clarke, an old Gentleman of the State’s, and one that would bee most usefull and servissable to your selfe, havinge the transsactions of all affaires that have pass’d both in Major Generall Deane’s time and myne in this Nation, and one whome I conceive you have sufficient experience [of], both for his abilitie and honestie, and knowes as well as I can informe you how serviceable he may be unto you if you thinke fit to continue him in this place as Secretary, which he hath supplyed since the late Major General Deane went hence, and wherein I thincke noe man could be more honest and active. Wherefore presuming that he is soe well knowne to you, and that his merrit will sufficiently speake for him, I shall not be further troublesome then to beg your pardon, and intreat you to be confident it is out of a reall respect and honour towards you that I have taken this confidence upon mee.’ (January 21, 165¾.)

  A number of the letters and papers contained in volumes xxv. to xxxi. of the Clarke MSS. relate to the military administration of Scotland during the period from 1653 to 1659. These with other papers of the same nature have been collected and published for the Scottish History Society, in two volumes entitled ‘Scotland and the Commonwealth’ (1895), and ‘Scotland and the Protectorate’ (1899).

  This volume of the ‘Clarke Papers’ contains therefore few references to Scotland. There is, however, a curious account of an interview between the Protector and the Scottish representatives in the Parliament of 1654, and there are some allusions to the debates on the union of the two nations in the Protector’s Second Parliament (pp. 22, 80, 81, 96).

  The greater part of this volume consists of newsletters sent from England to the headquarters of the army in Scotland in order to keep the commander there and his officers informed of the condition of affairs at home and abroad. Two or three such letters were regularly despatched every week by agents employed for the purpose, who were usually either officials or persons in some way connected with the army.

  Of the newswriters whose letters appear in these pages, the chief were George Downing—sometime scout-master general of the army in Scotland, and subsequently one of Cromwell’s diplomatic agents; Gilbert Mabbott, a connection of William Clarke’s, many of whose letters are printed in the preceding volumes; and John Rushworth, the author of the ‘Historical Collections.’ All sign the letters with initials merely. These newsletters are so numerous that it was impossible to print more than a selection from them, and in many cases a short extract from a letter has been considered sufficient. For much of the information which these letters generally contain is also to be found in ‘Mercurius Politicus,’ and it was not desirable to reprint matter already accessible, and in itself of no particular importance, which would have involved the exclusion of more valuable historical material.1 On the other hand, these newsletters contain personal details about the Protector and other people of note which the newspapers do not give. They supply in addition a considerable amount of military news, as to promotions, movements of regiments, trials by court-martial, and other matters specially interesting to soldiers, of which the newspapers say little or nothing. They possess also a certain value as representing the impression which the political events recorded produced upon the army and persons connected with it, and the views which the military party wished others to accept.

  The letter describing Cromwell’s expulsion of the Long Parliament supplies an instance of this. There is an obvious attempt to soften and tone down the violence and illegality of the general’s proceedings. Cromwell’s denunciatory speech is merely alluded to as ‘something said by the general;’ the Speaker is described as ‘modestly pulled’ out of the chair, and Parliament as ‘dissolved with as little noyse as can bee imagined’ (pp. 1, 2). The letters which follow this contain many new details about the incidents of the few weeks which intervened between the expulsion of the Long Parliament and the meeting of its successor. Cromwell used his power with moderation, suppressing an abusive ballad against the late Parliament, which was sung generally through London (p. 3). But when eleven aldermen petitioned that that assembly might sit again, he told the petitioners ‘hee took it ill they should goe about to obstruct the proceedings for the good of the people, and that himself and those about him (turning to the officers) would make good what was done with their bloods.’ The subscribers of the petition were promptly deprived of any offices they held under the state (pp. 6, 8).1 Other letters describe the schemes for a new constitution, and the selections of the persons called together to form the Little Parliament (pp. 4, 6-8). Its sudden conclusion is briefly related, and the expulsion of those of its members who refused to abdicate their power is told in the same way as the expulsion of the Long Parliament was. Twenty-seven members remained in the House, to whom ‘Colonel Gough presently came, and with all meekness told them that he was fearfull their stay might prove prejudiciall to the Commonwealth.’ They asked if he had any authority, and he owned he had none, ‘but sweetly argued it with them,’ and when they refused to be convinced ‘he opened the doore, and presently entered one file of Musketters, upon whose appearance the remaining part of the House withdrew’ (p. 11).

  In September 1654 the Protector called his first Parliament, and the dissastisfaction which the establishment of the Protectorate and the nature of the new constitution had produced among some of the officers began to reveal itself. Two Colonels, Okey and Alured, were tried by court-martial, and a third, Saunders, was called upon to deliver up his commission, for promoting a petition which attacked the Instrument of Government (pp. 10-12, 17). Two ministers, Feake and Simpson, preached against the Government, the latter denouncing the ‘Triers’ as anti-christian, and saying ‘that he could with as good a conscience goe to the Pope and his Cardinalls for their approbation as to them’ (pp. 13-15). The Council of Officers, however, supported the Protector’s Government, and presented a petition on behalf of liberty of conscience, which Parliament was then threatening to restrict (pp. 11, 13). At the end of December horse and foot regiments were quartered in Westminster and guns planted about Whitehall and St. James’s, on the rumour of a plot to overthrow the Protectorate by aid of the army in Scotland (p. 16). But these precautions were more probably the result of the widespread plot for a Royalist insurrection which had long been in preparation. ‘It was not thought fitt to lett the blades goe on any longer who were att worke to have brought new troubles uppon us,’ and therefore at the beginning of January 1655 many of the chief plotters were arrested (p. 17). On January 22 Cromwell dissolved Parliament, asserting that ‘under their shaddow and thorrow theire Howse and its resolucions, bryers and thornes were grown up, even to the hazard of all,’ meaning that their hostility had encouraged the designs of the Cavaliers and the Levellers. Of this speech the newsletters contain brief summaries (pp. 19, 20).

  In spite of the many arrests made the Royalists persisted in their design. The rising was originally fixed for February. ‘Yesterday,’ says a letter dated February 13, ‘they intended to have taken away the life of his Highnesse, this day to rise in all the westerne partes, tomorrow in all the northerne partes of the nation’ (p. 22). Through the vigorous measures of the Government they were obliged to postpone the date to March 8 (p. 27); but though there were gatherings of men in arms near Nottingham, Newcastle, York, Shrewsbury, and elsewhere, it was at Salisbury alone that action followed.1 On March 12 Sir Joseph Wagstaff and Colonel Penruddock with 200 or 300 horse seized the judges on circuit at Salisbury and proclaimed Charles II. On the night of March 14 the party was routed by Captain Croke at South Molton, and the insurrection came to an end (pp. 25-30). The newsletters contain many details about the trial and punishment of the prisoners (pp. 32-38).

  In the summer of 1655 the Protector made a considerable reduction in the numbers of the standing army and a small reduction in its pay which it was estimated would lessen the cost of the army by 28,000l. per month (pp. 39, 46, 49). At the same time a new standing militia of horse was organised in all the counties of England, partly to supply the place of the regular troops disbanded, partly as a military police to prevent future insurrections. England was divided into eleven districts, and a major-general appointed to command the militia of each district. The necessary funds were procured by a tax of ten per cent. on the incomes of the Royalists (pp. 39, 42, 50). In August 1655 the officers of the new militia were feasted by the Protector at Whitehall (p. 47). On March 5, 1656, the Protector made a speech to the Aldermen and Common Council of London, setting forth the reasons for the establishment of the militia and the major-generals, and explaining the beneficial results of the institution. ‘This way,’ he said, ‘the Lord hath owned by making more effectuall than was expected, and by receiving a good acceptation with those who of late stood at some distance with us’ (p. 65).

  In September 1656 the second Parliament of the Protectorate met. The newsletters give a summary of Cromwell’s opening speech, and there is also a notice of one made by him to a meeting of officers a few days earlier (pp. 72, 73). About 120 republican members were excluded (pp. 73-75, 85). After their exclusion the war with Spain was approved, many of the Protector’s ordinances confirmed, and great activity shown in legislation. ‘The whole House,’ it was asserted, ‘are unanimous in carrying on the best things for the good of the nation both spirituall and temporall’ (p. 76). This harmony was interrupted by the discussions on the case of James Naylor, and brought to an end of the excited debates over the bill for legalising the position of the major-generals (pp. 84-88).

  Still greater divisions arose over the proposal to make the Protector king. The newsletters prove that this was no new suggestion. According to one it had been actually moved in the Parliament of 1654 (p. 16). It was rumoured in May 1655 that the making of a new Great Seal was to be immediately followed by the crowning of the Protector (pp. 38, 42). In August 1655 a printed petition was circulated in London, in the name of the freeholders of England, urging Cromwell to assume the crown under the title of King or Emperor; but the petition was suppressed by the Protector’s Council (pp. 48, 51). The revival of Monarchy had been again suggested in Parliament in January 1657 (p. 87), and when on February 23 Alderman Pack formally presented the draft of a monarchical constitution to the House, it can have been no great surprise to politicians. A newsletter dated a fortnight earlier says that ‘many citizens of London’ had been laying wagers ‘that we shall have suddenly an alteration of the present Government’ (p. 88).

  Thurloe assured Monck that the scheme originated with Parliament and not with the Protector: ‘His Highness knew nothing of the particulars till they were brought into the House’ (p. 90). Another writer, probably John Rushworth, prophesied that the proposal would be carried in spite of the opposition of the soldiers. The majority of the Parliament, he said, ‘are so highly incensed against the arbetrary actings of the Major Generalls that they are greedy of any powers that will be ruled and limited by law’ (p. 91). Thurloe was specially pleased by the revival of a Second House. ‘Wee judge here that this House thus constituted will bee a great security and bullwarke to the honest interest . . . and will not bee soe uncertaine as the House of Commons, which depends upon the election of the people’ (p. 93).

  The army opposed the scheme from the beginning. At its first introduction all the Major-Generals voted against it (p. 91), and the officers expressed ‘the feares and jealousies that lay upon them in relation to the Protector’s alteracion of his title’ (p. 92). Two addresses were presented by the officers to Cromwell on the subject, and Cromwell ‘was pleased to use such tender and plaine discovery of his constant regard to his army and the antient cause of the honnest people under his government, and gave such Christian assurance thereof that amounted to a large satisfaccion’ to the deputation (p. 96). The excitement in the army seemed to be allayed (p. 98).

  Parliament passed one after another the Articles of the Petition and Advice, with less opposition than was expected (p. 97). Some of them met with general approval. ‘This day,’ says a letter of March 19, ‘the House passed the clause for Liberty of Conscience, and indeed much more to satisfaction generally than as in the Instrument of Government.’ At the end of March took place the offer of the crown to Cromwell. Reports of three of Cromwell’s speeches in the conferences which followed are in Clarke’s letter books—the speeches numbered VII, VIII, IX in Carlyle’s collection. As they differ very little from the reports which are the basis of Carlyle’s versions, it was deemed enough to collate them, and to set down the various readings which Clarke’s reports supply (pp. 99-101, 103). There is also a copy of the speech of the Protector on May 25, accepting the Petition and Advice (appendix number 30 in Carlyle), which has been collated in the same way (p. 112). Cromwell refused the crown on May 8, after a new petition against kingship, urging Parliament to press the Protector no further, had been presented to the House (pp. 108-110). Of the rest of the proceedings of the session the newsletters give little information; nor do they supply much about the second session of the parliament, which began on January 23, 1658, except a brief account of the opening of the session and of the Protector’s speech (p. 132). Clarke’s papers however contain a report of the speech with which the Protector dissolved this parliament (speech XVIII in Carlyle). This is printed at length because it differs more than the others from Carlyle’s version (p. 136). It supplies contemporary evidence for the tradition that when Cromwell closed his denunciation of the conduct of the conduct of the House by calling on God to judge between his opponents and himself, many of the Commons answered by crying ‘Amen’ (p. 139).

  One cause of this sudden dissolution was the deadlock caused by the refusal of the republican opposition, now triumphant in the Commons, to recognise the new House of Lords. Another was the imminent danger of an alliance between the opposition in Parliament and the malcontents in the army. A petition, intended to be presented by the republican party in London, was to formulate the programme of the military and civil opponents of the government (p. 180). The sudden dissolution frustrated this plan, and it was followed up by measures for the purgation of the army. Lambert, who had expressed his dissatisfaction with the new constitution, had been dismissed from all his commands in the previous July, though his pay had been for the present continued (pp. 113, 114, 119). Now in February 1658 Major Packer and five other officers commanding the Protector’s own regiment of horse were cashiered for declaring ‘their dislike of the present government,’ after Cromwell himself had ‘laboured to satisfie them’ without success (p. 140). The officers in general, to whom, two days after the dissolution, the Protector ‘spake in a very large discourse of about two hours,’ were more easy to convince, and declared that this speech ‘gave a general satisfaction to them all’ (p. 139). Over two hundred signed the address presented to Cromwell on March 27 (pp. 141, 145). In March and April there was much talk of a new Parliament, and of something to be done to secure ‘a more absolute settlement than the Petition and Advice doth hold forth’ (p. 145). This probably refers to a renewal of the attempt to convert the Protectorate into a monarchy, which was confidently expected. Every little thing which could be construed as evidence of this intention was noticed and commented upon. When the Protector’s son-in-law, Robert Rich, died, it was observed that ‘His Highness mourned three daies in purple (as is used by persons of his quality)’ (p. 142). In May 1658 a report that the Master of the Wardrobe was having made up ‘the two capps of crimson and purple velvet, worne onely by princes,’ is said to ‘make the people talke largely of kingship’ (p. 150). Bordeaux, the French ambassador, who was an acute observer of English politics, reported to his government in March 1658 that he saw more signs of a disposition to make Cromwell king than to overthrow his power (Guizot, ‘Cromwell and the English Commonwealth,’ ii. 584, 586, 589, 596).

  Among other subjects mentioned in the newsletters are the death and funeral of Blake (pp. 115, 118), the marriage of Skippon (pp. 115, 118), Fairfax’s endeavours to obtain the release of his son-in-law, the Duke of Buckingham (pp. 123, 129), duels (p. 131), a celebrated trial (p. 125), and many miscellaneous items of London gossip. There are frequent references to the Protector’s schemes for the reform of the law. The military party was strongly in their favour, though they ‘much startled’ the lawyers (pp. 61, 64, 76, 80). In a short speech to his second Parliament, which is not included in Carlyle’s collection, the Protector dwelt with satisfaction on the many good laws they had made, ‘the effect whereof the people of this Commonwealth will with comfort finde hereafter’ (p. 83).

  The letters throw little light on the Protector’s ecclesiastical policy, though they notice incidents such as the sermons of Simpson, Sturgion, Feake, and others against Cromwell (pp. 13, 51, 62, 146), the debates about Naylor’s case (p. 84), the expulsion of Quakers from the army (p. 122), and John Lilburne’s conversion to quakerism (p. 62). Cromwell’s answer to the petitioners on behalf of John Biddle is noted, apparently with approval (p. 53). An account of the ‘Common Prayer Booke meetings’ in London about Christmas 1657 shows the extent and limits of the toleration allowed to Anglicans under the Protector’s government (p. 130).

  Among the Clarendon papers in the Bodleian there is a report of a short answer made by Cromwell on January 5, 1654, to an address presented by ‘the ministers of the French church of London’ which has escaped notice, and will serve to supplement the scanty information about ecclesiastical matters this volume supplies.

  ‘The substance of his Highnesse answer to us was:

  ‘That he saw we were pleased to take notice of what he had formerly said to us, wherein he had declared his heart to us, and had said it indeed, and did say it still. That we should goe on in one way, and that it should be his joye to see we would doe, as we had said we should: to live in the love which is in Christ Jesus, and to honnour our profession with a holy life (though for his part he knew no other wayes but we did soe), for whatsoever our profession were, that is that would doe it, namely the power of godlinesse. He did exhort us then to goe on in doing soe, and promised us his Protection, and that he would be ready to serve us. That he did hope that God would grant him the grace to keep his Arck in these nations; and desired our prayers for him that he might improuve that authority which the Lord had given him for the good of God’s people.’1

  On the foreign and colonial policy of the Protector the newsletters themselves contain little of importance, but other letters among these papers, and the documents added in the Appendix, contain information of value.

  In 1653 when Cromwell expelled the Long Parliament the war with the Dutch was still in progress, and there are occasional references to captures of Dutch ships, the movements of the English fleet, and the peace negotiations (pp. 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 9). It seemed probable that England in alliance with Spain would take up the cause of Condé and the Frondeurs of Bordeaux. Lieutenant Colonel Sexby had been sent to the south of France by the Council of State about the end of 1651 to enquire into the condition of the country and the temper of the people ‘in order to prevent danger and create an interest.’ He returned to England about the end of 1653, and early in 1654 presented to the newly made Protector the scheme printed in Appendix A (p. 197). It proposed that England should intervene in the French civil war by hiring out ships and men to the Spaniards. Six thousand foot and fifteen hundred horse, paid by Spain, were to be landed in the south of France to secure Rochelle and other ports. Cromwell seriously considered the project. In October 1653 he had sent Joachim Hane, a German engineer employed in the English army in Scotland, to enquire into the condition of Rochelle and other fortified places and ports. Hane’s narrative, which is among the Clarke Papers, has been printed, but relates almost entirely to his personal adventures.1 By the summer of 1654 Cromwell had made up his mind to have nothing to do with Sexby’s scheme, and at the end of 1654 a treaty between France and England was on the point of conclusion. Then, however, it was broken off, and when the royalist insurrection of March 1655 took place the French seemed disposed to take advantage of it to attack England (pp. 21, 23, 29-35, 37). On May 7, 1655, the French ambassador came to take leave of the Protector, ‘and yet that afternoon the peace was revived,’ and in October following the long delayed treaty was concluded (pp. 38, 61).

  In 1655 a Swedish ambassador came to England to negotiate an alliance between the Protector and Charles Gustavus of Sweden. The newsletters describe the quarrel about precedence which took place at his reception between the Spanish and French ambassadors, and the rumour that 20,000 English soldiers were to be sent to the support of the Swedes (pp. 46, 49). Nothing for the present came of these negotiations. The Protector about the end of the year also thought of intervening in the war which had broken out in Switzerland between the Protestant and the Catholic cantons. Cromwell was zealous for the cause of the Protestants. ‘Their want is monie’ wrote Thurloe to Monck, ‘which they pray a supply of from his Highnesse, who will strayne himself uppon this occasion, although itt can ill bee spared. All that concernes the profession of religion is att stake in this warre in these parts’ (p. 63).

  Cromwell was prevented from giving the Swiss the pecuniary assistance they asked by the cost of the war with Spain which commenced in October 1655. It was the natural consequence of his attack on Hispaniola and the conquest of Jamaica. An account of ‘the grounds of undertakinge the designe of attemptinge the Kinge of Spaine in the West Indies’ and a very curious report of a debate in the Protector’s Council on the subject are printed in Appendix B (p. 203). Both are derived from the papers of Edward Montagu, in the possession of the Earl of Sandwich. The Society is indebted to the Earl of Sandwich for allowing them to be copied, and to Dr. Gardiner for transcribing them. At the conclusion of the peace with the Dutch in the spring of 1654, the Protector found himself with ‘a hundred and sixty sail of brave ships well appointed swimming at sea.’ It seemed to him better and cheaper to employ them in some enterprise which would keep up the reputation acquired by the late war, and ‘improve it to some good’ rather than to lay up the ships (p. 207). The arguments which led to the employment of this fleet against Spain instead of France are stated in Montagu’s first paper to very much the same effect as in Thurloe’s account of the Protector’s foreign policy. ‘The attempt upon France,’ recommended by Spain, ‘was apprehended difficult and unprofitable, the Spaniard’s aims beinge but to sett us two together by the eares.’ On the other hand ‘the attemptinge the Spaniard’ was held profitable and easy, and also as advantageous to the Protestant cause as the weakening of France would be detrimental (p. 203). The Protector and his councillors exaggerated the facility with which the Spanish possessions in America might be conquered and the Plate fleet intercepted (p. 204). The moment seemed to them propitious for the attempt because the Spaniards were ‘engaged in a warr with France, and very weake evereywhere at present.’ Another argument was that ‘the worke is like to be more acceptable to the people of all sorts and the Parliament than any can be.’ But though the war was expected to be popular, it was as well to begin it when Parliament was not sitting. ‘If this opportunity be omitted, it is to be doubted whether we shall ever be soe well fitted for it, or get the consent of a Parliament to doe it.’ Moreover it was very possible that the attack would not lead to a war with Spain in Europe. ‘Notwithstandinge our warr with the Spaniard in America, it is possible, if not reasonable to expect that wee may have peace and trade in Europe; for his necessitye of our trade will require it, but especially his interest in Flanders which he hath no way to releive with forces or monyes but through our Channell, which if hee have warr in Europe he will certainly be debarred of’ (p. 205). In the Protector’s Council the chief opponent of the proposed West Indian expedition was Major-General Lambert. Apart from the cost and the difficulty of the enterprise, both of which he held to be underestimated, he urged that the reform of the law, the settlement of Ireland, and home affairs in general demanded all the attention of the Government. To this Cromwell replied that God had brought them where they were ‘to consider the worke wee may doe in the world as well as at home’; and that to adjourn the attempt until the Government had a surplus meant putting it off for ever. ‘It was told us,’ he concluded, ‘that this designe would cost little more than laying by the shippes, and that with hope of greater profitt’ (p. 207).

  The expedition under the command of Penn and Venables sailed for the West Indies in December 1654. ‘The designe,’ says an intercepted letter, ‘is secrett, knowne to the designer onely, whoe saith if hee thought his shirt knew it hee would burne it’ (p. 12). In March 1655 its safe arrival at Barbadoes was known in England (pp. 29, 41); at the end of June news came of the landing at Hispaniola, and of the capture of its chief city without opposition (pp. 44, 46, 48); in August the taking of Jamaica was announced and the truth about the disastrous defeat at Hispaniola gradually became known (pp. 47-8). A narrative of the expedition by an officer engaged in it, which contains many new details, is printed on pp. 54-60. The author is evidently of opinion that if the attack upon the city of San Domingo, attempted on April 17, had been persisted in, the city might have been captured. He describes the murmuring of the old soldiers in his regiment when they received the General’s orders to retreat, and were forced to abandon their wounded comrades (p. 56). The regiment in question was Colonel Richard Fortescue’s, in which the author of the narrative was then a captain.1

  Penn and Venables returned to England about the beginning of September 1655 and were both sent to the Tower (pp. 51-2). A Spanish ambassador, the Marquis de Leyde, had been negotiating in England since April 1655, but now asked for his passports (pp. 34-5, 38-9, 43, 53, 60), and Spain seized all English ships and merchants in its ports (pp. 52, 60). The breach was complete.

  When the merchants complained of these seizures, the Protector answered that he would reinforce Jamaica with an additional army, and that he was confident thereby to repair their losses twentyfold, which gave great satisfaction (p. 52). To these reinforcements there are several references in these letters. A regiment under Colonel Humphreys was sent in June 1655 (pp. 40, 42, 43). Lieutenant-General William Brayne and two other regiments followed in 1656 (p. 86), but two hundred of Brayne’s regiment and many officers were shipwrecked off the coast of Ireland (p. 77).1

  The Protector’s second parliament approved of the war with Spain, but showed some reluctance to sanction the increased taxation it necessitated. The war was estimated to cost a million a year, and the military party, who were extremely zealous against the Spaniards, grumbled that Spain and Flanders could not be taken with a bare vote (pp. 75, 76, 81, 82, 85).

  In March 1657 the Protector concluded an alliance with France, by which an auxiliary force of 6,000 English soldiers was to co-operate in the conquest of Flanders. The newsletters mention the raising of these troops, but the nature of their employment was at first kept a secret (pp. 95, 106, 107). The English auxiliaries consisted of six regiments of a thousand men each, levied for the purpose. Of these regiments the colonels were Sir John Reynolds, commander of the whole force, Major-General Thomas Morgan, his second in command, and Colonels Roger Alsop, Henry Lillingstone, Samuel Clarke, and Brice Cochrane. Morgan had previously served as Monck’s second in command in Scotland. His letters to Monck, together with the letters of two other officers who had served under Monck, give an excellent account of the campaign (pp. 110, 116, 134, 160). One of these officers was probably Joachim Hane, the engineer employed to fortify Mardyke (pp. 120, 127, 129). Another was Richard Hughes, once Monck’s lieutenant (‘Scotland and the Protectorate,’ pp. 100, 107), and during the campaign in Flanders lieutenant-colonel of Sir Brice Cochrane’s regiment (pp. 124, 148, 150, 151, 159). The first service of the English contingent was at the siege of St. Venant, where they distinguished themselves by the courage with which they stormed the outworks of the town. ‘Marshall Turinn with most of the nobilitie in the army have had a high respect for us ever since,’ writes Morgan (p. 117). Mardyke was captured in September 1657, and immediately handed over to an English garrison. The fort was weak, its outworks ruinous, and the whole place insufficient to afford proper accommodation for the troops necessary to hold it (pp. 120, 126). An attempt of the Spaniards to retake it by surprise was successfully repulsed (pp. 122, 124), but the garrison lost very heavily from sickness and hardships. ‘We have about 2,000 men,’ says a letter, ‘but not accomodation for 600 of them; hence the shifts wee make for lodginge are very hard and unholesome, tending to the destruction of many every day.’ The rest of the English contingent suffered almost as much. ‘Our souldiers that lye up and downe in the French quarters sicken and dye very fast for want of good accomodacion, soe that by the next spring they will bee reduced to a very small number, if they hould on as they doe’ (pp. 122, 123, 125, 128). According to Morgan the 6,000 were reduced to 3,000 by February 1658 (p. 135). But in the spring a large number of recruits were sent over, and also the greater part of the regiments of Colonel Salmon and Colonel Gibbon (pp. 119, 129, 149, 151, 152, 158). In May 1658 Turenne laid siege to Dunkirk, and the English regiments again distinguished themselves by the energy with which they attacked the outworks, carried on their approaches, and repulsed the sallies of the garrison. ‘The English souldiers,’ writes Hughes, ‘behaving themselves very handsome, have gained a generall applause from all the grandees of the army; the French horse, who formerly hated us, have become very loving and civill, and had rather engage with us than with their owne foote’ (p. 151). They lost many men in unsuccessful attempts to storm the counterscarp (p. 158).

  In June 1658 Condé and Don John with 16,000 or 18,000 men came to raise the siege, and the battle of the Dunes took place on Friday, June . There are two excellent accounts of the battle in these papers: one by Colonel Drummond, the other by Lieut.-Colonel Hughes. Lockhart’s regiment particularly distinguished itself. ‘Without vanitie,’ wrote Drummond, ‘that regiment has done what I have never seene done before, for they charged and beate a Spanish regiment off a hill more steepe than any ascent of a breach that I have seene’ (p. 154). Hughes describes this sandhill, on which the Spanish right was stationed, as ‘a great hill naturally fortified,’ and says, ‘our men on hands and knees krept up the hill, and gave the enemies foot two good volleys, and with our pikes forced them to retreate’ (p. 157). Both agreed that if the French horse had pursued with sufficient vigour, very few of the Spanish army would have escaped. As it was, the number of prisoners taken was nearly 3,000, and the Spanish infantry were mostly cut to pieces. Drummond received a mortal wound the day after the battle, while Hughes was killed about a month later, so that for the rest of the campaign there are only two brief letters from Morgan and Thurloe (pp. 160, 163).

  Three months after the battle of the Dunes Cromwell died. The Protector had been ill in August 1655 and in January 1656 (pp. 51, 63). In August 1658, after the death of his daughter Mrs. Claypole, he was again ‘visited with a fit of sickness,’ described as ‘a great distemper’ too much like the illness he had in Scotland in the spring of 1651. ‘Three days agoe,’ says a letter dated August 14, ‘wee had some doubts of his recovery . . . but now hee is pretty well recovered, and uppon the consideration of his mortallity will speedily resolve of something of settlement.’ On the 28th the renewal of the Protector’s illness is mentioned; on September 2 it is said that there is good hope of his recovery (p. 161). On September 3, ‘about three o’clock in the afternoon,’ says a letter dated September 4, ‘Death overcame his Highnesse (who overcame thousands uppon that day of the month in the yeares 1650 and 1651).’ Four or five hours later Richard Cromwell was proclaimed Protector, the newswriter asserting that he had been nominated in writing by his father, which was no doubt the accredited report, though according to Thurloe the paper could not be found (p. 162). For a moment after the Protector’s death ‘things looked very cloudely,’ the Anabaptists ‘spake words very loud,’ especially Mr. Feake, and ‘a great many of the Longe Parliament men flocked to towne, which bred some jealousy.’ But the immediate proclamation of Richard prevented any disturbance, and the new ruler was quietly accepted (ibid.). ‘It is a mercy worth all good men’s observation to see all men thankfull in this change’ (p. 163).

  The danger to Richard’s rule lay in the discontent of some of the officers and the ambition of others. The army presented a congratulatory address to Richard on September 18 (p. 164), but early in October a dangerous petition was in circulation asking that Fleetwood should be made commander-in-chief, though it was discountenanced by Fleetwood himself (p. 165). During October and November the officers in London met regularly every Friday to pray and expound places of Scripture. ‘A very eminent spirit of prayer appeared in the officers,’ says an account of one meeting, but they could not keep off politics, and in another ‘the language flew high, and tended as some said to division’ (pp. 166-168). Complaints were made of alterations in the army ‘as if good men were put out and worse put in’ (p. 169). On this the young Protector, who had made one speech to the officers about a month earlier, called them together again and made another, in which he complained of undeserved ‘jealousies,’ and protested his carefulness to protect ‘the godly of the nation.’ ‘As they had consented in the proclayming of him Protector, so he hoped they would assist him in the government, for he stood much in need of their advice, being young and not fitted for so great a work.’ The officers, ‘except some few of the inferiour sort,’ we are told, ‘seemed to be much affected with what my Lord said’ (p. 169). This stayed the agitation for a time, and when, in December, some troopers got up a petition for an increase of their pay, they were cashiered by a court-martial (p. 170). Richard, it is evident, did his best to ingratiate himself with the army. He gave all the foot soldiers about London ‘new red coats trimmed with black’ for the funeral of the late Protector, ‘which makes them not a little joyfull in his favour; and though the captains and other superior officers have no mourning given them, yet his Highness hath promised that which shall be of equall vallue thereunto’ (p. 168). Moreover, early in January 1659, ‘upon invitacion from his Highness all the officers of the army (not under the degree of a captain) received a royall treatment at Whitehall’ (p. 173).

  In December elections took place for a new parliament, and the newsletters contain a few details about contested elections in different places (pp. 172-174). Several eminent republicans were elected, ‘yet they are conceived to be of no greater advantage than any other, because in all the debates for or against kingship, there was not one proselite or one disciple gained by what was argued by the wisest of men on both sides’ (p. 173). It was estimated that there would be two to one in favour of government by a Protector (p. 177). Parliament met on January 27, 1659, and the Protector’s speech at its opening gained him very great credit. He ‘spake to both Houses with such a grace and presence, and with such oratory and steadinesse, without the least interruption and so pertinently to the present occasion, as it was beyond all expectation’ (p. 176). So far as bearing and externals went it is perfectly evident from this and from other contemporary evidence that Richard made a very presentable sovereign, and that the rusticity and clownishness attributed to him are royalist fictions. There is a letter from William Hooke to John Winthrop in the publications of the Massachusetts Historical Society (Fourth Series, vii. 591), which gives a good sketch of his character, and confirms this view.

  Speaking of Oliver’s death, Hooke writes:

  ‘His eldest sonne succeedeth him, being chosen by the Councill the day following his father’s death, whereof he had no expectacion. I have heard him say, he had thought to have lived as a country gentleman, and that his father had not imployed him in such a way, as to prepare him for such employment; which, he thought, he did designedly. I suppose his meaning was, lest it should have beene apprehended, he had prepared and appointed him for such a place; the burden whereof I have severall times heard him complayning under since his comming to the government, the weighty occacions whereof, with continuall oppressing cares, had drunk up his father’s spirits, in whose body very little blood was found when he was opened: the greatest defect visible was in his heart, which was flaccid and shrunk together; yet he was one that could beare much without complayning, as one of a strong constitucion of brayne (as appeared when he was dissected) and likewise of body. His son seemeth to be of another frame, more soft and tender, and penetrable with easyer cares by much, yet he is of a sweete countenance, vivacious, and candid, as is the whole frame of his spirit, onely, naturally, inclyned to choler. His reception of multitudes of addresses, from Townes, Cities and Countyes, doth declare, among severall other indiciums, more of ability in him, then could ordinarily, have beene expected from him. He spake also with generall acceptacion and applause, when he made his speech before the Parliament, even farr beyond the Lord Fynes.’

  The problems before the young Protector’s government were many and serious. Abroad there was the question of the control of the Sound, for which Sweden and Denmark were contending. The Dutch supported the Danes. The English government, which favoured the Swedes, was attempting in conjunction with France to mediate a peace between the kings of Denmark and Sweden, and prepared to back its diplomacy by a fleet. To this and to the progress of the northern war the newsletters contain frequent references (pp. 166, 172, 183, 195). More valuable are the letters of George Downing from the Hague, describing the state of feeling in Holland, where a new war with England seemed imminent. The Dutch, according to Downing, thought that things would never be well ‘till they have a little brought downe the courage of the English’ (p. 170). They were fitting out ships and imposing fresh taxes, while the English Parliament was apathetic, or too impatient of taxation to make the necessary preparations. ‘I know not anything so much talked of at this time as the Parliament at London, and its judged twenty to one odds that the issue of it will be nothing but janglings about questions in the ayre’ (pp. 175, 177). Downing also condemned in the strongest terms the economic policy of England, and demanded sweeping reductions in the customs tariff, which he termed ‘an unpassable barr to trade’ (ibid.).

  In domestic affairs the chief questions were the recognition of the new ruler (pp. 179, 181), the right of the Scottish and Irish representatives to sit in the House of Commons (pp. 176, 185, 186), and the authority of the House of Lords (pp. 179, 181, 183, 185, 188). A petition for the restoration of a parliamentary republic which was largely signed about London was presented to the House of Commons on February 15: it was identical with the petition whose presentation the late Protector had prevented by dissolving parliament so suddenly in February 1658, but it appears to have fallen rather flat (pp. 180, 182). More excitement was caused by the release of Major-General Overton and his triumphant entry into London, which reminded people of the similar re-entry of Prynne and his fellow-sufferers in 1640 (p. 184). In February the agitation in the army began again, and a committee of officers was appointed to draw up a petition to Parliament (p. 182). In April a general meeting of all officers in or near London took place, and the petition was agreed upon (pp. 187, 189). Parliament took alarm, and on April 18 Richard ordered the general council of officers to be dissolved, and all officers to repair to their commands (p. 191). A complete breach between the Protector and the army followed. On the night of Thursday, April 21, Richard ordered various regiments to march to Whitehall ‘for the preservation of his person,’ but they preferred to obey the orders of Fleetwood rather than those of the Protector (p. 193). Even his own regiment deserted him, and he was left with only his lifeguard and about three companies of foot and two troops of horse (p. 213). He could do nothing but submit, and the next day he dissolved Parliament as the army required. Fleetwood, in a very disingenuous letter to Monck, gives a brief account of this revolution, and repudiates the idea that the army was responsible for the dissolution. ‘I beleive some will very evilly represent us in this action, as if wee had forced the Parliament, though his Highnesse by his owne authority did dissolve them, in which the army did stand by his Highnesse’ (p. 194). A week after the dissolution Lambert and other officers whom the late Protector had cashiered were received back into the army, and the council of officers was considering whether to recall the Long Parliament or to set up a new government (pp. 195, 196).

  In Appendix C there is a letter giving an account of the proceedings which led to the fall of Richard Cromwell as they appeared to a sympathiser with the army. Nehemiah Bourne, its author, lays claim to special knowledge of what went on in the councils of the army (pp. 212, 213). He affirms positively that the movement originated with ‘the generality of the officers of the army’ instigated by the republican party outside it, not with the superior officers (p. 211); and that after the dissolution of Parliament ‘all indeavours were made by the principal offisers in the armie to pece and mend up that crakt government,’ and maintain the Protectorate (p. 213). But ‘the meaner sorte of the offisers, together with the honest people that flocked in to them,’ insisted on the restoration of the Long Parliament (p. 214). Bourne’s narrative also shows that the army fully believed that many of the members of parliament who supported Richard were in reality royalists, and that Richard, ‘who they would have made soe much haste to dress and set on horsebacke, was but to warme the saddle for another whom they better loved and liked,’ i.e. Charles II. (p. 211). For this very curious and valuable letter the Society is indebted to the kindness of Mr. W. W. Dodge of Cambridge, Massachusetts.

  The caricature of Richard Cromwell, which forms a frontispiece to this volume, is in the possession of Worcester College, and is bound up with a number of folio pamphlets relating to the period collected by William Clarke. The original is coloured.

  In this volume, as in the two earlier ones, the contractions of the original documents have been extended, and the punctuation altered where it seemed necessary. A fourth volume, containing newsletters written in 1659, and a number of papers relating to the movements of General Monck and his march into England, will complete the series. The index is reserved for volume IV.

  C. H. FIRTH.

  October 23, 1899.

  [1 ]Specimens of similar newsletters sent to and from one of the Protector’s foreign agents are to be found in Robert Vaughan’s The Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell illustrated in a series of letters between Dr. John Pell, Sir Samuel Morland &c., 1838.

  [1 ]Another account of Cromwell’s speech runs thus: ‘The General told them, that what was done was done, that the Kinge’s head was not taken off because he was Kinge, nor the Lords layd aside because Lords, neither was the Parliament dissolved because they were a Parliament, but because they did not performe there trust; he told them that if any disturbance should hereafter arise about what was done that should occasion the shedding of blood, he should suspect them to be abbettors and promoters thereof, and therefore warned them to looke to the peace Tanner MSS. lii. 13.

  [1 ]For a full account of this rising see ‘Cromwell and the Insurrection of 1655’ in the English Historical Review, 1888, p. 323; 1889, p. 313.

  [1 ]Clarendon MSS. xlvii. 268.

  [1 ]The Journal of Joachim Hane: containing his Escapes and Sufferings during his Employment by Oliver Cromwell in France from November 1653 to February 1654. Edited by C. H. Firth. (B. H. Blackwell: Oxford 1896.)

  [1 ]The MS. contains no indication of the authorship of the narrative, but internal evidence shows that the author was a captain in Fortescue’s regiment when Hispaniola was attacked. At first sight the narrative looks like a letter from Jamaica, but on closer examination it seems rather as if it were a statement made by some officer in England on his return from Jamaica. If so it may be conjectured that its author was Thomas White. White was originally a captain in the regiment, became its major May 15, 1655, after the landing in Jamaica, and had leave to return to England on June 16. See also his petition, Cal. State Papers Dom. 1655-6, p. 61.

  [1 ]It was originally intended to print the narrative of General Venables himself and several other accounts of the Jamaica expedition in the Appendix to this volume. These are ‘the accounts printed in the Appendix’ referred to in the footnote to p. 60. Subsequently it was judged better to print all these narratives in a separate volume, as they proved much longer than had been expected.

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  14: Politics and the Army in the English Civil War 4

  Sir William Clarke, The Clarke Papers. Selections from the Papers of William Clarke, Secretary to the Council of the Army, 1647-1649, and to General Monck and the Commanders of the Army in Scotland, 1651-1660, ed. C.H. Firth (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1901). 4 vols. Chapter: PREFACE

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1987/127831 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  [NEW SERIES NO. LXII.]

  PREFACE

  The papers printed in this volume are a selection from five volumes of the Clarke MSS. in the library of Worcester College. Of those five volumes, two consist principally of newsletters, with a few other letters and documents interspersed amongst them (vols. xxxi., xxxii., 4to); two others consist chiefly of letters exchanged between General Monck and the civil government or commanders of the army in England (vols. li., lii., folio); while the fifth volume drawn upon is the Order-book of General Monck during 1659-60 (vol. xlix., folio).

  A limited number of papers have been added from other sources. As has been pointed out in previous prefaces (ii.) the great collection of papers got together by William Clarke was broken up after his death, and while the most important part of it is in Worcester College Library, some parts are now in other hands, and a portion of it has perished altogether. A considerable number of Clarke’s papers are now in the possession of Mr. F. W. Leyborne-Popham, of Littlecote, Wilts, and a few of these were printed by his permission in the second volume of this series of Clarke Papers (ii. 211, 224-239). Since that time Mr. Leyborne-Popham’s papers have been admirably calendared by Mrs. S. C. Lomas for the Historical Manuscripts Commission, and her Report was published in 1899. It was, therefore, unnecessary to print any of those papers in this volume, but it is necessary to point out that the documents calendared in that Report supplement those printed here, and that they are especially valuable for the history of the early part of the year 1660, at which date the Worcester College documents suddenly become very scanty. The numerous references given in the footnotes will suffice to draw attention to the relation which exists between these two parts of the original collection. A certain number of documents, which formerly made part of the Littlecote collection, were purchased in 1884 for the British Museum, and now form volumes 2618-2621 of the Egerton MSS. One letter drawn from this source is printed on p. 268, and a letter from Richard Cromwell to General Monck, dated April 18, 1660, would have been added had it not been previously printed in the ‘English Historical Review,’ 1887, p. 150.

  Another portion of William Clarke’s papers unexpectedly came to light in 1898 at the sale of some of the MSS. of Sir Thomas Phillips (Phillips MS. No. 1013). It is now in the Advocates’ Library in Edinburgh, and twenty-one documents extracted from it, relating to events occurring in Scotland during November and December 1659, are printed in the present volume.

  In the Appendix to this volume a few letters are added from the Tanner, Carte, and Rawlinson MSS. in the Bodleian Library, which illustrate the events recorded in the documents printed in the body of the volume. It was thought that they would be more useful to students if printed here side by side with other papers relating to the same time than if they were relegated to some future Camden Miscellany.

  The period covered by the papers contained in this volume is about a year, extending from the fall of Richard Cromwell to the restoration of Charles II. The fall of Richard practically dates from the dissolution of Parliament forced upon him by the leaders of the Army on April 22, 1659; but for three weeks after that event there was a kind of interregnum, during which the future government of the country was undetermined. During this interregnum power was in the hands of the General Council of Officers, whose vindication of their conduct in enforcing the late dissolution is printed on p. 4. Some of the resolutions of the General Council are printed on p. 1, but no record exists of their debates on the burning question whether England should be a Protectorate or a Republic. The ‘grandees’ of the Army, we are told by an anonymous writer who was in the secrets of their councils, wished to maintain a Protector, limiting his powers ‘in the nature of a Duke of Venice;’ but the inferior officers, who ‘kept their council apart at St. James’s’ and were backed by the Independent churches in general, opposed the design of the officers and demanded the restoration of a republic. As in 1653, there was talk of ‘the setting up of a government in nature of an oligarchy of seventy wise good men’ (p. 21); but the popular voice was against such an experiment. ‘The government,’ says a newsletter dated May 3, ‘seems now to be naturally falling into a Commonwealth and free state, and the generall cry of the people is for the Longe Parliament to take possession againe, and this appeares to be the sence of the officers of the army now continuing, and all others out of the army that have bin of the Longe Parliament partie’ (p. 3).

  Accordingly, about May 2, conferences began between representatives of the officers and representatives of the Long Parliament, ending on May 7 with the restoration of that assembly to its old authority (pp. 3, 6, 8). About fifty members met on the day of their return to Westminster, and it was calculated that about eighty more were qualified to take their places again in the House. Summonses were issued to all absent members, bidding them to attend, and it is calculated by Professor Masson that about 120 in all put in an appearance, though the highest number present at a sitting was never more than 76. Specimens of the answers returned to the Speaker’s letter of summons are given in the Appendix (pp. 277-279).

  The new Government was accepted without opposition. Richard Cromwell signed a formal submission, which was presented to Parliament on May 25. He asked only for the discharge of the debts contracted by himself and his father in the public service, which amounted to about 30,000l., and then payment was promised but never performed. Nearly a year later, on April 18, 1660, he wrote to Monck, complaining that he had for some time been necessitated ‘to retire into hiding-places to avoid arrests for debts contracted upon the public account,’ and asked the General in vain to appeal to Parliament on his behalf (‘English Historical Review,’ 1887, p. 152). Few regretted the fall of the House of Cromwell, but amongst those few was Edward Montagu, the future Earl of Sandwich. At the time he was absent in command of the fleet which had been despatched to the Sound to mediate between the Kings of Denmark and Sweden. The sudden return of the fleet in September 1659 caused some suspicion amongst the Republicans, and the letters exchanged between the Admiral and the late Protector show Montagu’s personal fidelity to the fallen ruler (pp. 29, 50, 296).

  Henry Cromwell acquiesced in the setting aside of his brother, though he made some attempt to negotiate with the leaders of the Republicans, and though it was feared he would attempt armed resistance. Monck’s nephew, Cornet Henry Monck, who held some post in Ireland, is said to have been despatched to Scotland by the Lord-Lieutenant in order to sound the general on the disposition of the troops in that country. All that these papers contain, however, is two brief letters from the Cornet informing Monck of Henry Cromwell’s despatch of agents to England and of his subsequent resignation of his office (pp. 11, 23). There is equally little evidence that Monck thought of resisting the action of the English army, though the design of doing so is attributed to him by several contemporary authors (Baker’s ‘Chronicle,’ ed. Phillips, 1670, p. 662; cf. Gumble, ‘Life of Monck,’ p. 97). It is probable that if Richard had declined to dissolve Parliament at the demand of Fleetwood and his associates, and had called upon Monck to support the civil power against the violence of the army in England, Monck would have supported him, or at least would have attempted to do so. But no such appeal was made, and all that is clear is that Monck maintained a waiting attitude during this interregnum, and did not publicly declare his acceptance of the revolution till he was officially informed of the restoration of the Long Parliament. His answers to the earlier communications of the Council of Officers are not extant, but by an address dated May 12 he and the army under his command assured Fleetwood of their co-operation in supporting the new Government, and it was accompanied by a similar declaration directed to the Speaker. In a private letter from Monck to the Committee of Safety he congratulated himself that the security of the three nations was committed ‘to persons of so eminent worth and integrity,’ adding, ‘Blessed be God, the army heere is very unanimous, and in as good a temper as I have knowne them’ (p. 10).

  In the same letter Monck mentioned that ‘some emissaries of Charles Stuart’s’ had ‘arrived in Scotland,’ and ere long it was generally known that a new Royalist insurrection was about to take place (p. 15). Monck prepared to meet it in Scotland by imposing upon a certain number of noblemen and gentlemen, who had ‘given bond for their peaceable living,’ the additional obligation of signing an engagement ‘not to act or contrive anything for or in the behalf of Charles Stuart,’ or to the disturbance of the peace of the Commonwealth. Those who refused this engagement—amongst whom were Lieutenant-General David Leslie, the Earl of Loudoun, Lord Lorne, and many other officers and noblemen—were imprisoned till the danger was past (pp. 25, 41, 56). Thanks to these precautions, no rising took place in Scotland, but in England there were, about the end of July and the first few days of August, many local movements, of which one developed into a serious insurrection. In Kent, Surrey, and Hertfordshire the preliminary gatherings of the Royalists were promptly dispersed and many arrests were made (pp. 29, 31, 286, 290).

  In Gloucestershire, where Major-General Massey was designed to head the movement, the vigilance of the local authorities frustrated a plot for the capture of Gloucester; and Massey was arrested, though he succeeded in escaping from his captors (pp. 33-37, 285).

  In Cheshire and Lancashire, where the Presbyterian ministers preached zealously against the Government, Sir George Booth got together several thousand men, and published a vague declaration designed to unite all parties. But the Royalist section of his supporters insisted on proclaiming Charles II., and many who sympathised with the attempt to overthrow the rump of the Long Parliament drew back and refused to take up arms for the King. Booth himself was said to have declared that this proclamation would be their ruin (pp. 32, 33, 38, 40, 287, 289).

  Little risings took place in Leicestershire, Derbyshire, and Nottinghamshire, but were suppressed as soon as they came to a head (pp. 44, 45.)

  In some places, as at Plymouth, the local authorities showed great reluctance to publish the proclamation issued by Parliament against Booth and his adherents (p. 290). Nevertheless the general movement hung fire, and the numbers of Booth’s forces did not increase as fast as had at first seemed probable. According to the estimate of his opponents, he had not more than 2,000 under his command when he was defeated by Major-General Lambert at Northwich on August 19, 1659. Chester surrendered immediately after the battle, and Chirk Castle, the only other place garrisoned by the Royalists, on August 24 (pp. 46, 293, 294).

  Sir George Booth himself, disguised as a woman, was taken in an inn at Newport Pagnell. A newsletter gives an amusing description of the manner in which the suspicions of the innkeeper were aroused by ‘Mrs. Dorothy’ and her companions (p. 47).

  Very little light is thrown by these papers on the legislative proceedings of the restored Parliament. Many Bills were introduced, but their progress was slow, because much of the time of the House was occupied with purely political and administrative business, and because of the delay caused by the insurrection. One important measure taken in hand was the re-enactment of the union with Scotland, for it was held that the incorporating union effected by the Protector’s ordinances and by the Instrument of Government was invalid. A Bill for the purpose was introduced on July 27, read a second time on July 30, and considered for many sittings in committee of the whole House. Its progress was delayed by a dispute about the question whether the Independent congregations, recently established in Scotland, and other dissenters from the Established Church of that country, were to be guaranteed toleration in the proposed Act of Union or not. The proviso suggested for the purpose met with bitter opposition (pp. 24, 37, 43, 49, 50).

  Another matter which consumed a large part of the time of the House was the remodelling of the army. Parliament was determined to keep the control of the military forces of the nation in its hands; and though Fleetwood was confirmed in the post of commander-in-chief, he was deprived of the power of appointing his officers, which Fairfax and Cromwell had enjoyed. The appointment of officers was entrusted to a committee of seven, of whom Fleetwood was one, and their nominations required the approval of Parliament. Moreover, each commission was signed by the Speaker instead of the commander-in-chief, and, when possible, solemnly delivered to the officer named, by the Speaker in the presence of the House. A number of officers had been deprived of their commissions in May 1659, in consequence of the support they had given to the Protector Richard and their disobedience to the orders of Fleetwood (pp. 1, 2). Lord Fauconberg’s regiment of horse was given to Lambert, Richard Cromwell’s to Colonel Saunders, that of Ingoldsby to Colonel Rich, and that of Bridge to Colonel Okey. Several other officers suspected of too much attachment to the House of Cromwell were also dismissed and replaced by staunch Republicans. Later still, that is, during the months of June, July, August, and September, the seven commissioners went through the army list and purged it completely of all officers whose political principles or characters seemed to render them unfit to serve the new power. New commissions were issued to those officers who were retained in the service and to those who were substituted for the officers expelled. The newsletters written from London to the headquarters of the army in Scotland give a full account of this process, with lists of the appointments made in the various regiments considered by the commissioners.

  As the papers relating to the subject in the ‘Calendar of Domestic State Papers’ and the ‘Journals of the House of Commons’ contain a tolerably complete account of this revision, and supply lists of the officers commissioned, most of the newsletters dealing with the question are omitted here. There are, however, incidental notices of the changes made in several of the letters printed (pp. 16, 19, 25, 29, 33, 39). As the officers removed were ‘put out of their commands without hearing, without charge, and without trial,’ great discontent was the result (pp. 21, 62). Monck petitioned that no changes might be made in the regiments of the army in Scotland, and if that were refused he begged that at least his own two regiments and that of Colonel Talbot might be left as they were. The House took the request extremely ill, and sent him a very rude answer, while the Commissioners proceeded to put out two captains and four other officers in his regiment of horse, and to make similar changes in the other regiments in Scotland (pp. 16, 18, 39). Monck answered the Parliament very calmly. ‘Obedience,’ he wrote, ‘is my greate principle, and I have alwaise, and ever shall, reverence the Parliament’s resolutions in civill things as infallible and sacred.’ At the same time he defended his conduct in making these requests. ‘Knowing you proceed by information, I tooke myself concerned to represent what was most for your service, as being best acquainted with men’s courage and affections’ (p. 22).

  Privately Monck was so much annoyed and troubled by the displacement of his officers, and by the refusal of the House to listen to his petition, that he seriously thought of resigning. According to Phillips he wrote a letter of resignation, dated September 3, which was actually delivered to the Speaker; but Clarges, the General’s brother-in-law, prevented it from being read in the House, and finally succeeded in persuading him to withdraw it (Baker’s ‘Chronicle,’ ed. 1670, p. 676). This story is to some extent confirmed by Monck’s own letters, in one of which he speaks of himself as importuning both the deceased Protector and the Parliament to permit him to retire (pp. 90, 152).

  Meanwhile discontent was rapidly increasing in the army. A number of officers representing the various regiments which had served under Lambert in the suppression of Sir George Booth’s rising met together at Derby, and drew up a petition to Parliament, setting forth their grievances and their demands. They sent a copy of this petition to Monck, asking him to join in it, but he refused to do so, and prohibited his officers from subscribing it. ‘It hath been alwaies against my way,’ said he, ‘to sign any petitions at all, either to the Parliament or General, from the forces here, and I am still of the same judgment’ (p. 59). Parliament sent him at once a hearty letter of thanks, and his action emboldened it in its resistance to the army in England (October 7). The House had ordered the Derby petition to be suppressed (September 23), but a new petition, somewhat similar in character, was presented to it from the army upon October 5. While this was under consideration it learnt that, in spite of prohibitions, the council of officers in London was sending circular letters to the rest of the army in the three nations, soliciting their co-operation and their signatures. On this, the House deprived Lambert and eight other officers implicated of their commissions, and voted that they should henceforth be incapable of any military employment. At the same time it cancelled Fleetwood’s commission as commander-in-chief, and vested the command of the army in seven commissioners, viz. Fleetwood, Monck, Ludlow, Overton, Sir Arthur Hesilrige, Colonel Morley, and Colonel Walton (p. 60).

  One of Monck’s correspondents asserts that the real cause of this breach was not so much the petition and the proceedings upon it as the previous conduct of the Parliament towards the army, especially ‘the grand dissatisfaction that was taken by displaceing of officers without heareing of them or laying anything to theire charge’ (p. 62). In a letter from Fleetwood to Monck, written on October 25, Fleetwood set forth what he termed ‘a right state of the case’ (pp. 63, 71), and about October 15 an official letter, signed by Fleetwood and seven other officers of the English army, had been sent to Monck (p. 69, note).

  The news of the revolution of October 13 reached Monck, according to Phillips in his continuation of Baker’s ‘Chronicle,’ on October 17 (p. 685). The evidence of this continuation is of great value, because it is based on the papers and the recollections of Thomas Clarges, Monck’s brother-in-law. A contemporary letter, however, states that the first notice was received by the General on Tuesday, October 18, and this date is probably correct (Mackinnon, ‘Coldstream Guards,’ i. 73). For the letters and commissions extracted from Monck’s Order-Book and printed on pp. 64-66, and dated October 19, are the first references to the event contained in that collection. Monck’s resolution to support the Parliament against the army was announced by the military measures taken on October 19, and by three letters addressed to Fleetwood, Lambert, and the Speaker, dated October 20. These were accompanied by two public declarations issued in the name of the officers under his command (p. 67, note).

  No one who had carefully observed Monck’s earlier career could have doubted that his sympathies would be with the civil power rather than with an attempt to establish military rule. His early life had been spent in the service of the Dutch republic. He speaks of himself as having had his education ‘in a commonwealth where soldiers received and observed commands, but gave none’ (p. 22). From 1647 to 1649, when the political agitation in the army was at its highest, he had been employed in Ireland, and the example of his comrades in England exerted very little influence over him. With the exception of his brief command at sea and a few months spent in nursing his broken health, he had been continuously employed, at first in the conquest of Scotland, and afterwards in its government. No man amongst the higher officers of the army had seen so much active service or enjoyed so little leisure for politics. From the first moment, therefore, he condemned the act of violence committed by Lambert and Fleetwood, and urged the restoration of the Parliament.

  The dangers of military rule, to the army itself as well as to the nation, were always present to his mind. ‘It is much upon my spiritt,’ he wrote to Lambert, ‘that this poore Commonwealth can never bee happy if the army make itselfe at divided interest from the nation, which must bring us into such a slavery as will not bee long indured’ (p. 87). ‘What can be the issue of this contempt of authority,’ he wrote to a minister, ‘but an arbitrary government by the sword, to enslave the contiences, lawes, and estates of the people of these nations to the lust of a few ambitious persons?’ (p. 90). ‘I am ingaged in conscience and honnour,’ he declared to Dr. Owen, ‘to see my country freed (as much as in mee lies) from that intollerable slavery of a sword government, and I know England cannot, nay, will not, indure it; and if this army heere had concurred with them in England, wee had all bin exposed to the fury of the three nations, which they would some time or other have executed’ (p. 153).

  This reasoned hostility to military rule was the fundamental principle on which Monck’s policy was based, and he was faithful to it throughout. On the question of the nature of the civil authority to which the obedience of the army must be given, his views gradually altered. At first he demanded simply the restoration of the Rump Parliament sitting from May to October 1659. After he entered England he gradually came to the belief that it was necessary to readmit the members expelled by Pride’s Purge, and to restore the Long Parliament as it was in 1648. Finally he adopted the conclusion that it was necessary to call a new Parliament. But this process of development appears to have been due to the pressure of English public opinion, and not the result of any design formed when he first decided to declare against Lambert and Fleetwood.

  Monck’s correspondence during the period from October 1659 to January 1660 forms the most important portion of this volume. A certain number of his letters were published at the time in pamphlet form, and these have therefore been omitted here, but references to the collections in which they are to be found are given in the foot-notes. A small collection of these letters was published in 1660 by a republican whose object was to show Monck’s treachery by putting on record his protestations of fidelity to the republic (Sept. 29, 1660). In 1714 this was reprinted with additions by John Toland, under the title of ‘A Collection of Letters written by his Excellency General George Monk, afterwards Duke of Albemarle, relating to the Restoration of the Royal Family. With an introduction, proving by incontestable evidence that Monk had projected that Restoration in Scotland; against the cavils of those who would rob him of the merit of this action.’ London, 1714, 8vo.1

  Most of these letters and some others are reprinted also in the Parliamentary or Constitutional history of England, in twenty-four volumes published in instalments between 1751 and 1761. This is referred to in the notes as the ‘Old Parliamentary History’ (cf. vol. xxii. p. 4). Another pamphlet collection of letters, declarations of the army, and similar documents, which has been of great use, is ‘A True Narrative of the Proceedings in Parliament, Council of State, General Council of the Army and Committee of Safety, from the 22nd of September until this present time,’ London 1659, 4to, published by John Redmayne.

  The correspondence of Monck printed here gives a full account of the attempted treaty between Monck and the English officers. It is evident that Monck was justified in the complaint that his commissioners went beyond their instructions in the agreement which they concluded on November 15, 1659 (pp. 97, 109, 116, 119, 126, 133, 144). Many other attempts, official and unofficial, were made to heal the breach between the two sections of the army. Monck and his officers published, about the end of October, a ‘Declaration to the Churches of Christ in the Three Nations,’ which gave the ministers of the most important Independent congregations in London an opportunity for trying the effect of their intercession. They sent a special mission to Scotland for the purpose, consisting of two ministers and two laymen (pp. 67, 82). Several letters were exchanged between Monck and ‘the Ministers of the Congregated Churches’ (pp. 81, 89, 184, 212). More interesting, however, are the two which passed between Monck and Dr. John Owen. Owen was vehemently opposed to the reinstatement of the Rump. ‘I am satisfied with these two things: first, that without their restauration a free state or commonwealth may be setled, the common enemy defeated, the ministry preserved, reformation carryed on, and all the ends of our ingagements satisfied, if your Lordshipp and those with you concurre in the worke; and secondly, that their reinvestiture cannott be effected without the blood of them whose ruine I am perswaded you seeke not, . . . as also the enslaveing of these nations forever to the will of the major part of that small number’ (p. 123). ‘I cannot act against my conscience and commission,’ answered Monck, ‘neither can I see any legall foundation for a free state unles this Parliament sitts downe againe, or some other legally called’ (p. 153). The Council of Officers at London proposed to call a new Parliament in the place of that expelled by Lambert, but Monck could not regard this expedient as satisfactory (pp. 212, 213). ‘They have no power to summon one,’ said he, ‘or if they had, it cannot bee expected the members thereof should be permitted either to assemble or sit in freedome’ (p. 236).

  As the views of the two parties to the quarrel were so diametrically opposed, Owen’s mediation or any other attempt at reconciliation was bound to be fruitless. Each, moreover, distrusted the other. A week after Monck’s commissioners had concluded the treaty of November 15, a letter was delivered to the Lord Mayor of London from Monck, urging the city to support him with all its strength in the work of restoring the Parliament, which Fleetwood and the officers regarded as a breach of the truce, or as a sign that the treaty was not seriously intended (pp. 134, 140, 151).1 Monck answered that the letter was not inconsistent with the attempt to come to an agreement, and that Lambert and the army were enlisting men and reorganising the militia during the negotiations (pp. 141, 142, 174). As soon as it had been agreed to resume the negotiations and to hold a second treaty at Newcastle, a sudden change in the position of affairs in England caused them to be again interrupted. At the beginning of December Portsmouth garrison declared for the Parliament, and three of the seven Commissioners in whom Parliament had vested the control of the army before Lambert expelled it, placed themselves at the head of the movement (pp. 165, 166, 169, 186, 210, 216). On receiving this news Monck and his officers declared that they could not conclude a treaty without the concurrence of these Commissioners, and as Lambert refused to allow Monck’s messenger to the Commissioners to pass, negotiations were again broken off (pp. 183, 193, 208, 209, 214, 218, 234).

  To add to the difficulties of Fleetwood and his party, a serious riot took place in London between the apprentices and the soldiers, and the feeling of the city, always hostile to the army, grew more and more embittered every day. A rising in London seemed imminent. ‘Many officers,’ said a newsletter, ‘when they goe into the Citty dare not weare their swords for feare of affronts. . . . The generallity of the Citty expects daily to bee in eares with the souldjery’ (pp. 166, 168, 169, 187). On December 13 Admiral Lawson and the fleet in the Downs declared for the restoration of the Parliament (pp. 211, 217, 274). Almost simultaneously came the defection of the Irish army, which had at first declined to support Monck’s action and taken the side of their comrades in England (p. 95). On December 13 a party of officers seized Dublin Castle and made prisoners the three Commissioners for the Government of Ireland, to whom the responsibility of this antiparliamentary policy was attributed. Within the fortnight following this surprise the whole of Ireland was secured for the service of the Parliament, with the exception of Duncannon Fort (p. 203, note; cf. Ludlow’s ‘Memoirs,’ ii. 193-201, ed. 1894). Sir Charles Coote, Lord Broghill, and Sir Hardress Waller, the leaders of this movement, entered into communication with Monck, and promised him support in his intended march into England (pp. 202, 225, 241). These repeated blows obliged the leaders of the English army to give way, and on December 24 the troops in London submitted to the inevitable, and declared their submission to the Parliament (pp. 219, 220). Two days later the House began to sit again at Westminster (pp. 222, 232, 237). Meanwhile Monck was preparing everything for a march into England. He had established his headquarters at Coldstream on December 8 (pp. 179, 274). He had completed the reorganisation of his army, and had thoroughly purged it of all disaffected officers. Attempts to stir up opposition amongst his soldiers on the part of their old comrades serving under Lambert had not been wanting, but they generally remained ineffective (pp. 96, 105, 108, 154, 161, 174, 179). The rigid censorship which Monck exercised over the post and the press enabled him to detect any schemes to propagate sedition in the ranks of his army and to nip them in the bud (pp. 111, 229, 231). At the same time he had entered into communication with the friends of the Parliament in Northumberland and the Border counties, and secured from them some small addition to his forces and some promises of support (pp. 79, 83, 119, 189, 221).

  The question which weighed most upon his mind was how to provide for the tranquillity of Scotland during his absence in England. It was necessary to trust the Scots to a certain extent, but impossible to trust them far. Monck began by writing to the different shires and burghs in Scotland, asking them to send representatives to meet him at Edinburgh on November 15, ‘because his lordshippe hath speciall occasion to speake with them about some affaires that concerne the countries at that time.’ This summons was sent out on October 27 (pp. 78, 113). They met at the appointed date, the representatives of the shires under the presidency of the Earl of Glencairn, those of the burghs under Sir James Stuart. Monck informed them that he had ‘a call from God and his people’ to march into England, and requested them in his absence to maintain the peace of their districts and suppress all tumults. In return he promised to obtain an abatement of their taxes from the Parliament. They replied by expressing their willingness to keep the peace, but professed themselves incapable of suppressing tumults. They therefore asked him ‘to propose such expedients as his Lordshipp shall think most fitt to enable them for that end,’ and wound up by requesting him to appoint guards in the shires towards the Highlands and Borders, in order to prevent robbery (pp. 113-116, 143).

  Monck thanked them, and asked them to meet him again on December 12. ‘I shall then thincke,’ said he, ‘of the best way to enable yow to secure the peace of the country.’ At the same time he promised to give commissions to persons recommended by them to command guards for the security of the Borders and Highlands (p. 121). The meeting took place at Berwick on December 13, and an agreement was arrived at by which certain shires were permitted to raise guards and a certain number of noblemen and gentlemen were authorised to wear arms and to be attended by a limited number of armed servants. Monck demanded, however, that the noblemen and gentlemen granted this privilege, and those whom he authorised to put in force his orders for securing the peace of their respective shires, should subscribe an engagement ‘to act nothing to the prejudice of the Commonwealth of England, or in favour of Charles Stuart’s interests’ (p. 191, cf. p. 143). The imposition of this engagement is carefully suppressed in the version of the agreement printed by Phillips in his continuation of Baker’s ‘Chronicle’ (p. 696), no doubt because it militates against the theory that Monck designed from the first to restore the King. Gumble in his Life of Monck also suppresses the fact (p. 124).

  The Scots asked to be authorised to place themselves in a posture of defence if the treaty with Lambert failed, and proposed that Monck should furnish them with arms. He refused to grant these requests, answering evasively that he would furnish them with fit means for their defence whenever he apprehended their peace and safety to be in danger (pp. 190, 191). He also wrote to the governor of Stirling (and probably to other governors of garrisons), desiring him to assist the gentlemen of the district in maintaining the peace of the country, but on no account to furnish them with arms (p. 194). The proposal to permit the Scots to arm had been discussed in his council, but almost unanimously rejected as too dangerous (p. 276; cf. Baker, ‘Chronicle,’ p. 696).

  Monck attempted to persuade the Scots to provide him with horses for the baggage of his army (p. 79) and for mounting some of his newly raised cavalry, but apparently without much success (Baker, pp. 696, 697). As he was in great want of money to pay his forces, he called on the shires and burghs to pay in the arrears of their assessments (p. 115). But the story that the representatives of the shires and burghs raised a special assessment for him is a misrepresentation (Baker, p. 689). Monck also obtained some recruits, whose numbers were much swollen by rumour (p. 162). He could not enlist many, for fear of disaffecting his own soldiers, but he filled up the vacancies in his ranks caused by desertion (p. 276; cf. Baker, pp. 696, 697; Price, ed. Maseres, p. 740). It was reported in England that he had put Dumbarton and other important castles into the hands of the Scots; but the truth was that he merely drew out the troops stationed in some of the smaller posts, taking security from the gentlemen to whom the houses belonged for their restoration when they should be demanded (pp. 140, 143). Leith, Ayr, and the other Cromwellian fortresses were sedulously guarded and provisioned for any emergency (pp. 160, 201).

  Thanks to these measures, and to the goodwill rather than the active assistance of the Scots, Monck was able to pursue his design without interruption. There were occasional reports of suspicious meetings amongst the Scottish royalists (pp. 200, 206), and there was also some discontent expressed by supporters of the English Government at the confidence Monck was reposing, or seemed to be reposing, in ‘malignants’ (pp. 205, 223).1 But no disturbance took place.

  The force under Monck’s command in October 1659 consisted of ten regiments of foot, three of horse, and four companies of dragoons. Of these he took with him into England six regiments of foot and all the horse, having converted his four companies of dragoons into a fourth regiment of horse under Major-General Morgan (p. 238). After entering England he sent Morgan, with his own regiment of horse and a regiment of foot, back to Scotland, and he left another regiment of foot to garrison York (p. 248). When he reached London he brought with him three regiments of horse and four of foot (p. 247). The van of Monck’s army entered England on January 1, and he followed with the rest of the army on January 2 (p. 238).1

  There was no opposition to Monck’s advance. The forces under Lambert broke up (pp. 237, 239). The brigade of the Irish army which was under Lambert’s command declared for the Parliament (pp. 228, 251), and helped Lord Fairfax to secure York (pp. 239, 251). The conduct of Overton, the Governor of Hull, caused some anxiety, but he speedily declared his adhesion to the Parliament and his willingness to co-operate with Monck (pp. 243-247). On his march Monck continued the work of reorganising the army, dismissing officers who had been unfaithful to the Parliament, and replacing them by men he could trust (pp. 248, 252-255, 258). This he did by virtue of a commission as Commander-in-Chief which had been sent him by the late Council of State, dated November 24, 1659, and approved by Parliament on January 26 (pp. 137, 256). On his way to London Monck received numerous addresses from the gentlemen of the counties through which he passed, and his answer to the Devonshire declaration attracted considerable attention, because of its uncompromising opposition to the restoration of monarchy. It was accompanied, however, by two private letters, which, while demanding from the promoters of the declaration ‘acquiescence in this Parliament’s proceedings,’ held out hopes of a satisfactory settlement, and might be construed more favourably. In words, however, they promised nothing but a Conservative republic (pp. 258, 260).

  On Monck’s proceedings after his arrival in London these papers throw very little light. Two letters written to the Council of State, after that body had sent him to disarm the city, give his reasons for refusing to return to Whitehall at their summons (pp. 261, 263). Another elucidates his negotiations for the readmission of the secluded members (p. 264). Several relate to his endeavours to suppress seditious movements amongst the soldiers (pp. 265-268). But for the months which elapsed between Monck’s arrival in London and the return of Charles II. the portion of Clarke’s papers in the possession of Mr. Leyborne-Popham is more valuable than that in Worcester College Library.

  A few miscellaneous papers of biographical interest deserve special notice. The hostility with which Johnston of Warriston was pursued after the Restoration is in part explained by the active share he took in supporting the cause of the army against the Parliament (pp. 80, 100), while the escape of Sir Arthur Hesilrige was due to the assistance he gave Monck in 1659 and 1660, and to an express promise that his life and estates should be safe (pp. 260, 264, 268, 302). Monck’s certificate on behalf of Speaker Lenthall is also of interest (p. 272). A paper presented to the King after his restoration throws some light on the manner in which the treachery of Sir Richard Willis was discovered, and on the services of Sir Samuel Moreland to the royal cause (p. 304).

  In conclusion, it must be pointed out that most of the papers printed in this, as in the previous volumes of the series, are printed from draughts or copies, and that these copies contain many errors both of omission and commission. Mere slips on the part of the original transcriber have been corrected, and words left out have been inserted between brackets, but in some cases the text was too corrupt for correction. This is especially the case in the lists of proper names, which contain frequent errors due to the transcriber’s misreading of the original signatures (pp. 82, 84, 146, 178). In some few instances, where the error was obvious and the right reading certain, these errors were corrected. In most instances, however, it was impossible to do so. I desire to thank Miss D. K. Broster for her assistance in compiling the index to volumes iii. and iv.

  C. H. FIRTH.

  October 23, 1901.

  [1 ]Letter xxix. in Toland’s pamphlet is an obvious forgery. It was originally printed in 1660 as ‘A Letter from General Monck to King Charles, son of the late King Charles of England; together with King Charles’s answer thereunto.’ It is reprinted in the Somers Tracts, vi. 557, ed. Scott.

  [1 ]Monck seems to have sent similar letters to other parts of England, urging in still more explicit terms a rising in arms. ‘We have apprehended a person that had two letters from General Monck sewed in his doublet; they were directed to nobody, but the messenger said he was to carry them to —, where directions were to meet him to whom they should be delivered. The substance of them was to invite them to an insurrection in the West, and to seize upon Exeter as a place to make head in; and tells them that when the greatest part of the army was drawn to oppose him, then London would rise and destroy the rest; so that you may see, here is the second part of Sir George Booth. The letter was written by William Clark, and signed by Monck’s own hand: I saw it.’ Letter from Colonel John Pearson, dated ‘Northallerton, November 1,’ quoted in Mackinnon’s History of the Coldstream Guards, i. 77.

  [1 ]Sir Andrew Bruce’s letters (pp. 205, 223) are specially noticeable. Monck had recommended him to the Protector on November 23, 1654, to be appointed a judge in lieu of Sir James Hope. ‘Hee is,’ said Monck, ‘a gentleman fit for that imployment and one as really affected to the interest of your Highnesse in this nation as any Scotchmen I know.’ Scotland and the Protectorate, p. 214.

  [1 ]The following table of Monck’s marches is compiled from notes in vol. xlix. of the Clarke MSS. The headquarters were at Wooller on Jan. 2nd; Whittingham, Jan. 3; Morpeth, Jan. 4; Newcastle, Jan. 5; Durham, Jan. 6; Darlington, Jan. 7; Northallerton, Jan. 9; Topcliffe, Jan. 10; York, Jan. 11; Ferrybridge, Jan. 15; Langold, Jan. 17; Mansfield, Jan. 18; Nottingham, Jan. 19; Leicester, Jan. 23: Harborough, Jan. 24; Northampton, Jan. 25; Stony Stratford, Jan. 26; Dunstable, Jan. 27; St. Albans, Jan. 28. Monck remained several days at St. Albans, moving to Barnet on Feb. 2, and entering London on Friday, Feb. 3 (Price, ed. Maseres, p. 757; cf. Baker, p. 704).

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  15: Rousseau on War

  Jean-Jacques Rousseau, A Lasting Peace through the Federation of Europe and The State of War, by Jean Jacques Rousseau, trans. by C. E. Vaughan. (London: Constable and Co., 1917). Chapter: INTRODUCTION

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1010/144255 on 2009-10-28

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  INTRODUCTION

  The two Essays here translated give Rousseau's views upon such subjects as the horrors of war, the means by which they may be reduced within measurable limits, the grounds on which (and on which alone) war may be justly undertaken, the possibility of abolishing it for all time, and a Federation of Europe as the only practicable, or indeed conceivable, means of doing so. All these are burning questions at the present day. And behind them all lies another question, not less burning at this moment: the rights of the small States, which Rousseau, as citizen of Geneva, regarded with passionate interest, and in preserving and multiplying which, as he held, lay the best hope for the future of Europe.

  Mazzini excepted, no writer has thought so deeply over the problems, whether of home or foreign policy, which lie at the root of the public life of Europe; none has deeper or more fruitful suggestions to offer for their solution. At a time when the future of Europe for the next fifty years, and possibly for far longer, hangs upon the balance, no counsel of wisdom can safely be left unheeded; and we may well do' worse than turn back to the great thinker whose mind was for ever burdened with a sense of the misery which man has brought on man and for ever brooding over the possibility of lightening it.

  Both Essays belong to the earlier period of his literary life: that on A Lasting Peace to 1756; The State of War probably to a few years earlier. The former, or rather the first par of it (the Abstract), was published in 1761, about a year before the Social Contract; the latter, the manuscript of which is to be found among the great body of his papers in the Library of Neuchâtel, was first published by M. Dreyfus-Brisac in 1896.1

  The Essay on A Lasting Peace through the Federation of Europe falls into two parts. The first of these professes to be no more than an abstract of the long work on the same subject written by the Abbe de Saint Pierre about half a century earlier, and published in the year of the Peace of Utrecht. In reality, Rousseau has treated his original with the utmost freedom. The long introduction (pp. 39–49), in itself a brilliant historical essay, is all his own; in the list of the States admissible to a separate vote in the Federation, and even in the Articles of its constitution, he has made considerable changes. And throughout he has translated the wearisome details and ‘endless repetitions’ of Saint Pierre into broad principles of political prudence. There is, in fact, much more of Rousseau than of Saint Pierre in the whole performance. The second part, first published in the posthumous Edition of Rousseau's Works (Geneva, 1782), is avowedly an independent essay: a criticism of the scheme over which Saint Pierre had laboured through a great part of his valuable life.

  The criticism turns solely upon the question whether the scheme is ever likely to be adopted. And on this point, Rousseau, whose judgment on matters of practical politics always leans to the side of caution, is under no illusions. The I scheme for a Federation of Europe, he says, is undeniably beneficent. In itself, it is perfectly practicable. It makes not only for the welfare of Europe, but also for the interest of every State, large or small, contained in the European Commonwealth. Yet, for all that, it will never be adopted. The short-sighted selfishness of the kings and ministers who control the destinies of Europe may be trusted to see that it is not.

  This leads naturally to that bitter attack upon kings and monarchy with which so much of the essay is taken up and which was but too well justified by the history of Europe during the two previous centuries. It was to receive a fresh justification from the Seven Years' War which began within a few months after it was written; and how many more during the time that has passed between that, day and ours? If Rousseau could come to life again at the present moment, he would recognise in at least one ruler, as he recognised (perhaps too easily) in Henry IV of France, a courage and constancy worthy of Sparta at her highest. But he would bate no jot of his scorn and loathing for the glaring injustice, the shameless cruelty, the unspeakable folly, which absolute power has once more been proved to breed in those who wield it.

  In our own day, however, it has become apparent that nations may, under conceivable circumstances, be infected with the madness which was once thought to be the monopoly of monarchs. The poison of war is seen to have penetrated still more deeply than in Rousseau's time could have readily been thought possible. And, with this, it is manifest that the hope of finally abolishing war is indefinitely diminished. By a flash of insight, Rousseau himself, in later years, caught a glimpse of this possibility. When reminded that, with all his eloquence, he would never induce monarchs to adopt the scheme of a lasting peace, ‘Not I,’ was his answer; ‘but they will find themselves forced to it one day. Their subjects will perhaps at last get tired of shedding their blood for their diversion.’ ‘But, when the monarchs cease to fight, will not the nations still continue?’ ‘Much less so, I hope; for nations will fight only for their real interests, and for large ones, while kings do so from mere pride; because they are surrounded by men who love war, and because they always abuse the power entrusted to them.’1

  The argument which lies at the root of the whole treatise may be stated very briefly. The first step, the misery and waste of war, will be disputed by none. Under present conditions—even' apart from the wanton barbarities practised by Germany—they are a hundred times greater than they have ever been before. And the waste of war, as Rousseau insists, is to be measured not only ‘by those who are killed, but by those who are not born’; as well as by the economic loss, the devastation of agriculture and industry, which is recognised, at least ‘from the lips outwards, by all.

  The second step is perhaps less certain of acceptance. It is that, under existing circumstances, the perpetual recurrence of war is a thing natural and inevitable, and will continue to be so, so long as each State retains its absolute independence of the others; so long, in Rousseau's language, as’ all of them remain to each other in the ‘state of nature.’ In forming themselves into the separate groups, known as States, men have, in fact, ‘done either too much or too little. They have put an end to private wars, only to kindle national wars a thousand times more terrible. They have given their love to their fellow-citizens, only to declare themselves the enemies of the whole race.’

  And, if this be granted, the third and last step follows of itself. The only possible way of removing the evil is to complete the work we have begun; to extend to international relations the bond we have already woven between individuals; to establish a Federation of peoples with power to impose a peaceful settlement of national disputes such as each of them already possesses for the settlement of private disputes among its members. So only shall we strike at the root of the evil. So only shall we abolish war, by blocking it at the source.

  Thus by a reasoned and speculative argument Rousseau arrives at the conclusion which Saint Pierre had reached by experience and intuition. And the force of that argument depends not so much on any specific beliefs as to the ‘state of nature,’ in which Rousseau and the men of his time may easily have been mistaken, as upon the undoubted fact that nations do not recognise the obligations of mutual forbearance, of mutual respect and kindness, which are universally admitted, at least in theory, by individuals; that each nation lives habitually in a state of potential—too often of actual, if veiled—war against the others; and that, when once the sword is unsheathed, they necessarily throw off some of the primary duties of humanity towards each other and are only too likely, as the example of Germany shows, to throw off all of them together.

  The remedy for this state of things, according to Rousseau's argument, is Federation. It is to establish a representative Court, or Parliament, which shall arbitrate in all disputes between the federated Powers and whose decisions shall, if necessary, be enforced by a federal army upon any Power which offers resistance to its will.

  The sting of this, provision lies, beyond question, in its tail. If we could really be certain that a federal army, drawn as it is of necessity from the subjects of the federated Powers, would consent, from pure love of justice and humanity, to enforce the mandate of the federal Parliament; if the subjects of Britain, Germany, or Russia could really be trusted, in case of need, to draw the sword against their own countrymen and compel them to submit to the will of Europe; if they could even be trusted to stand aside while the subjects of the other Powers carried out the necessary work: then the argument of Rousseau would be unanswerable, and the problem, which for the last two centuries has baffled the best and wisest heads of Europe, would be satisfactorily solved. But what chance is there that this condition will be fulfilled? Frankly, it must sorrowfully be admitted, no chance whatever. Even less, if it be possible, in our day than in Rousseau's.

  So far, the question has been argued purely on grounds of humanity and justice. Rousseau, however, was far too prudent to trust solely to these motives. He reinforces them at every point with an appeal to expediency and self-interest. It is, he urges, not merely the duty, but the manifest interest, of all to resist the aggression of one, or the conspiracy of two or three, against the liberties of the rest. And that interest is likely to become apparent to every Sovereign, directly the establishment of a Federal Court to decide where justice lies in every dispute, and of a federal army to enforce it, shall have cut off for ever all hope of lawless aggrandisement on his own part and all fear of lawless spoliation at the hands of others. How many wars, he asks, which seem to be purely aggressive are really protective in their ultimate origin and motive? How many Sovereigns who plunge Europe into bloodshed are really moved not so much by desire of gaining fresh territory as by the fear that, unless they weaken some powerful neighbour now, when they can catch him off his guard, he will wait some convenient opening to fall upon them and rob them in the future? And if this is true of the principals who launch the war in the first instance, how much more is it true of those who join the struggle on either side, as seconds? Would they ever bestir themselves at all, unless they had reason to dread that the conqueror, directly he has disposed of his first enemy, will throw himself in the flush of victory upon another? or even, as Napoleon did in the case of Austria and Venice, that he will make amends to his vanquished enemy by presenting him with the land of a helpless neutral? Would not all these iniquities be averted, if every Power knew itself to be secure against the aggression of the others? Once guarantee them against all fear of illicit loss, and will there be any more thought of illicit gain?

  Once more, everything depends upon the security—or rather, upon a foolish king's, or a benighted nation's estimate of the security—provided by the Federation. And once more, the security—in a far greater degree, the security as interpreted by a neurotic monarch or his credulous subjects—is insufficient.

  Again, so far it has been assumed that all Powers are acting, and may always be counted upon to act, in good faith. Allowance has been made for errors of judgment; for the far worse errors of malice and cunning no allowance has yet been made whatever. With the example of Frederick II and Napoleon, with the example of Francis Joseph and William II before us, is this a fair assumption? Is it one which will hold water for a moment? To this question there can be but one answer. And with that answer, once more the whole fabric falls in pieces.

  This, indeed, is the conclusion of Rousseau himself. The real interest of all nations, he argues, will always be for peace, and for Federation as the sole means of securing peace. But their apparent interest will always lie the other way. As he says elsewhere, in a slightly different connection: ‘Men are led very seldom by their reason, and very often by their passions. It is easy to prove that the true interest of the despot is to obey the Law; that has been admitted for ages. But who is there that is guided by his true interest? Only the sage, if he exists. It follows that you assume your despots to be so many sages. My friends! you must allow me to tell you that you give too much weight to your calculations, and too little to the heart of man and the play of passion. Your system is excellent for Utopia; for the children of Adam it is worth nothing.’1

  And if Rousseau felt constrained to admit this of the Europe of his own day, would he find any ground for a better hope in the changed circumstances of ours? There are two reasons which forbid us to think so. The balance of power within Europe has shifted, and shifted unmistakably for the worse. And a new source of perpetual disturbance has been added from without.

  In the eighteenth century, Europe was a mosaic of independent, or semi-indegpendent, States. And their very multiplicity was, in no inconsiderable measure, a preservation against war. Since that time—and the process had begun before Rousseau's death—the whole face of things is changed. Poland has been swept from the map. Italy, then a medley of small and mostly unwarlike communities, has been united under one monarchy, not slow to draw the sword. The Ecclesiastical States, by habit averse from war, have been swallowed by one or other of the great military Powers. The Balkan communities, then drugged by the opiate rule of Turkey, have since wakened to a life which has been little else but a chain of deadly feuds: feuds capable, as we know to our cost, of plunging all Europe into war.

  Many of these changes have assuredly been for the good: above all, the creation of that national spirit which, rightly directed, is as the breath of life not only to the communities concerned, but also to Europe as a whole. And we are not to lose faith in the principle of nationality, because it has been perverted to ends alien, and indeed contrary, to those which it legitimately seeks. It is not to be denied, however, that the general effect of such changes has been to concentrate power in the hands of some half-dozen Governments, half of them autocracies; to increase beyond measure the responsibilities which rest upon the shoulders of each; and, as an inevitable consequence, both to multiply the chances of collision between them and to aggravate the evils which result when the collision ends in war. No wars have ever been so murderous as those of the last century, from Napoleon's day to ours; none has ever been so desolating as that which has raged now for nearly three years from one end of Europe to the other.

  It is with the causes, however, rather than the results of war that we are now concerned. And here it is but too evident that, by reducing the number of Powers, we have only increased the chance that they will fly at each other's throats. We have sharpened the rivalry between them. We have planed the way for any ill-conditioned Power among: them to grasp at supremacy over the rest. This was so with Napoleon. It is so with the ring of unscrupulous gamblers who have led Germany to her doom. The enormous resources placed at the disposal of such a Power by the devilries of modern invention and by the machine of universal service have only gone to intensify this result.

  Among the chief guarantees to which Rousseau trusted for preserving the perpetual peace of Europe was the existence of a central Power which, ‘being itself without either the will or the means to conquer others, is for that reason the chief obstacle to any design of general conquest on the part of others’: and that Power, the Germanic Body, ‘the bulwark not only of its own liberties but, in many ways, of the public Right of. Europe.’ What would he have said, if he had lived to see this bulwark of peace converted into a slanding gage of battle? the sheep, after long training under the Hohenzollern shepherd, appearing in the new-born character of the wolf? Yet this is precisely the transformation which has taken place during the last fifty years. And, though at the time it passed unnoticed, the first beginnings of the process must be traced back to Rousseau's own day: to Frederick II and the exploits with which his model career began and ended, the seizure of Silesia and the first partition of Poland.

  This in itself is enough to change the whole face of the problem and, as Rousseau himself would have admitted, to remove the keystone of his argument as to the impossibility of two or more Powers uniting for the destruction of the rest. Is it not manifest that, at any moment within the last thirty years, it has been open to Germany, seconded by her obedient servant, Austria, to declare war on Europe with a not unreasonable chance of success? Is it not equally manifest that, if she had had the wisdom—using the term in the narrower and more serpentine sense—to pursue the policy of Bismarck and hold Russia in leading-strings, that chance would have been strengthened beyond all power of calculation? It may, of course, be true—and Rousseau himself has, in principle, anticipated the argument—that the material interests of Russia and Germany clashed too decisively for such an alliance between them ever to endure. But, in the uncertainty of all things human and with the likelihood that the skill of Bismarck, if so it had suited his purpose, would have been equal to the occasion, where is the statesman who, knowing what we now know of Germany, could have allowed his policy to be finally shaped by such an argument? Where is the man who could base his hopes for a lasting peace upon calculations so uncertain?

  And if the internal balance of Europe has been altered for the worse since Rousseau wrote, what are we to say of the disturbing currents which have flowed in from without? All these may be summed up in one phrase, colonial expansion: a fruitful source of national jealousies since the discovery of the mariner's compass, but never so fruitful of these miseries as in the fifty years which preceded the present war. How large a share they may have had in kindling that war, will not be known precisely for many years to come. The secret is safely locked up in the Colonial Office and Chancellery of Berlin. But we know enough already to be sure that, at the least, they fanned the flames. We know, moreover, how poisonous their influence has been on the relations between the Powers of Europe ever since the words Colony, or Plantation, came to bear their present meaning. It is hard enough for nations to keep the peace when their own frontiers only are concerned. It is infinitely harder when each is grabbing at territory to which none of them, in strict right, has the smallest claim, five thousand miles away. The very distance, the very absence of assured right, only serve to inflame desires to which there is absolutely no limit. And every footfall in the marshes of Africa, or by the rivers of China and Mesopotamia, awakes a resounding echo in all the Cabinets of Europe. Britain, whose share of the world's surface is immeasurably larger than that of any other Power, must bear her full share of the blame. But, however the guilt is to be divided, there can be no doubt as to the existence of these rivalries; and no doubt that few things, if any, have been more fatal to the peace of Europe.

  The danger, it may well be, was less acute in Rousseau's day than it is in ours. But even then, as the Seven Years' War shows, it was acute enough. And it is perhaps the weakest spot in Rousseau's argument that he makes no reference to it whatever.

  The conclusion of the whole matter is that, if it was hard to establish a Federation or to secure a lasting peace for Europe in the eighteenth century, it is infinitely harder now. The elimination of small States, the heightened rivalry of the large States and the enormous concentration of military resources in the hands of their Governments have raised new obstacles to the attainment of these ends, within the bounds of Europe. The multiplication of colonial disputes, the shameless competition for the territories of the so-called ‘inferior races,’ have introduced what may not unjustly be reckoned a fresh element of discord from without. The apparent interests, the certain passions, of the Powers are more stiffly set against the realisation, of Rousseau's ideal than they were when he proclaimed it. And no man would have been so ready—although, in another sense, no man would have been so reluctant—to acknowledge this as Rousseau.

  And yet, if the ideal is more impracticable now than it was then, it, or some approach to it, is a thousand times more necessary. If the apparent interests of the Powers are more than ever against it, their real interest is more plainly than ever in its favour. Never have the waste and brutality of war shown themselves in more hateful colours than during the last two years. Never have so many millions of men suffered, directly and palpably, from its ravages. For the first time in the history of modern Europe it has been, in the strict and literal sense, a war of nation against nation. Even the Thirty Years' War, with all the nameless brutalities of the Imperial armies and the Imperial Government in Bohemia, presents a different, and in some ways a less terrible, picture than this. And, whereas the conditions which marked the Thirty Years' War, the last and most odious of the religious wars, are little likely to return, the horrors of the present war are almost certain to repeat themselves in any conflict which may afflict Europe in the future. The only way to avoid them is to block the approaches to those wars from which they will inevitably spring.

  The one sure and certain road to this end, as Rousseau said, is a Federation of all Europe. But, unless it is to be worse than useless, such a Federation must be founded on a solid base both of force and of good faith. There must be sufficient force to put down any rebellion that may be attempted; and there must be sufficient loyalty to make sure that it will be applied. Now, under present circumstances, the latter condition is just what can never be fulfilled. The flagrant violations of right and humanity, of good faith and common honesty, which have marked the conduct of Germany from the first day of the war, make it impossible to put any trust in her for the future. And, in the bitterness of defeat, she is not likely soon to recover the virtues which she has shamelessly renounced.

  But a partial Federation—a Federation with France and Britain, with Russia and Italy (and, as we are now entitled to add, the United States of America) for a nucleus—lies ready to our hand.1 And it may well be asked Whether such a Federation, however partial, may not be strong enough to serve the purpose in view. In answering this question, it is manifest that everything, depends upon the nature of the peace with which the war is concluded. Above all, it is necessary that no pains should be spared to remove the seeds of future conflicts. That principle, upon which Rousseau insists as the first condition of a general Federation, loses none of its importance when the Federation in view is, of necessity, no more than partial.

  Now, apart from Germany, it is clear that for the last hundred years the chief disturber of the peace of Europe has been Austria. She has had more opportunities for wrong-doing than Germany; and she has made use of them to the uttermost. The very existence of her disjointed Empire, based as it is upon the oppression of the subject races who, in fact, form the majority of her population, is the very negation of all right and therefore an unfailing source of unrest, a fruitful seed-plot of strife and of injustice more hateful even than strife itself. And, from all the facts which have leaked through the ominous silence of a locked Parliament and a gagged Press, it is abundantly clear that Austria at any rate (in the narrower sense) is maintaining to the full the traditions of savagery established by the three generations of tyranny which have passed since the Congress of Vienna; and it is more than probable that, so far as Slavonia and Croatia are concerned, Hungary is following in her steps.1

  The plain truth is that, from Bohemia eastwards to Galicia and from Galicia westwards to the furthest Slav outpost in Styria and Carinthia, there is no hope for justice, and therefore no hope for peace, until the last link which binds those provinces to Vienna and Budapest has been struck asunder, until the last official of the ‘Imperial and royal Government’ has been driven ‘bag and baggage’ out of the lands which a long experience has proved it to be wholly incapable of ruling. And when we think further of all the misery which Austrian intrigue, ever since the beginning of the Drang nach Osten, has brought into the Balkans, we are forced more irresistibly than ever to the same conclusion: there can be no peace for Europe until the Austrian Empire—the rule of the German and Magyar over Slav races (whether Pole, Czech, Croat or Slavonian)—has been utterly blotted out. Delenda est Austria: unless that be one of the chief conditions of the coming peace, the war will have been waged in vain.1 This is demanded by justice; it is a direct consequence of the principle, the freedom of the smaller communities, in the name of which the sword was unsheathed by the Allies. It is demanded also on the plainest grounds of expediency, as the one pledge which it is in our power to take for the future peace of Europe. For all purposes of aggression, Austria and Germany are one Power. Break up the Austrian Empire, and we have struck off the left arm of Germany. At one sitroke we have released three or four millions from enforced service in the armies of the Central Powers; in the hateful event of any future conflict, we have probably enlisted them on the side of the Allies. There, and not in any insensate scheme for the dismemberment of the German Empire or for the annexation of any distinctively German territory, a design as unjust as it is impossible of execution, lies the sole hope for the overthrow of Prussian militarism, the sole chance of making Germany once more, what she has not been for the last fifty years, a helpful member of the commonwealth of Europe.

  These are sweeping changes. But they are changes demanded in the interest of peace; in the interest of freedom; in the interest of the oppressed races, whose cause counted for little or nothing with the men of Rousseau's day, and whose claims were but as a faint cry in the ear of Rousseau himself. The principle of nationality, ignored in the eighteenth century, woke to life in the upheaval of the Revolution and the incessant wars which followed. And, terribly as it has since been abused, it is the principle which, wisely interpreted, must be our main guide in the settlement that lies before us. Otherwise, we may be very sure that, after a short breathing space, the whole work will be to do again from the beginning.

  As for the break-up of Austria, it has been the crying need of Europe since 1848; or, to speak more truly, since 1830. And if the statesmen of Europe had not stopped their ears to the warnings of Mazzini, it is probable that the task might have been accomplished with far less bloodshed sixty or seventy years ago than it is likely to be now. This is the price we have to pay for the long neglect of duty. And, so long as the duty is performed at last, we must not shrink from the sacrifice which our own cowardice has brought upon us.

  The other main threat to the future peace of Europe is clearly to be found in the Balkans. And here the problem, always tangled enough, has been twisted and tortured, almost beyond hope of straightening, by the schemings and passions of the war. It is devoutly to be hoped that those responsible for the settlement will spare no pains to ascertain how the ground really lies, where are the best seeds of promise for the future and what are the conditions likely to be most favourable to their growth. The only way to do this is to take counsel with those few men who have given their life to a study of the problem and resolutely to reject the pleas of those—whether they speak in the name of Italy, of Russia, or of Britain herself—who have only selfish interests or hide-bound prejudices to serve. Disquieting rumours as, to pledges given in one quarter or another have been rife for the last year and more. It will be hard to forgive those who were guilty of making them, if such stories should turn out to be true.

  With the ‘Austrian State Corpse’ 1 decently buried and as stable a settlement as circumstances will admit of worked out in the Balkans-—with Germany therefore stripped both of her obsequious ally to the South and of her castle in the air in the near East—it is not beyond hope that the seeds of future war may be checked in their growth, if not altogether stifled; and that such disputes as arise may be composed either by friendly agreement among the present Allies, or by the fear of consequences which the sense of past miscalculations and the retribution that followed them is likely to breed among the Germans. It may, or may not, be expedient to recast the Alliance into a formal Federation. In either case, it is to be hoped that the nations concerned will for a long time to come be held together by the memory of a great danger surmounted and a great task accomplished in common; and that, in all difficulties which may occur, they will meet each other in a spirit of forbearance and in readiness to act with a single eye to the welfare of Europe.

  If that be so, there will be a virtual, if not a formal, Federation; and within its bounds the Neutrals of the present war, who have suffered more both in apprehension and in actual loss than it is easy to realise, may sooner or later be willing to take their place. If the American Republic should indeed be willing to take part in the furtherance of the great work, the difficulties of carrying it through would be immeasurably diminished.

  But a partial Federation is, after all, no more than a second best. And a general Federation must still continue to be the ultimate ideal of those who have at heart the well-being of the European commonwealth and desire to see it united by a spirit of loyal co-operation: each nation working out the tasks for which it is best suited by nature and training, each willing to learn of the others, and all contributing of their best to the common good.

  To that Federation—or rather, to the ‘lasting peace’ of which it is at once the guarantee and the symbol—‘we must surely come at last.’ So said Fichte, a reluctant witness, if there ever was one. The confession was wrung from him at the end of a passionate plea for the ‘narrow-spirited nationalism’ of which, in the name and for the supposed glory of Germany, he was the fanatical apostle. And the conclusion, though reached by devious paths, is none the less—perhaps it is all the more—worthy of recording. A few years earlier, another and a greater German—the representative of all that was noblest and purest in the humanitarian movement of his time, the disciple, in this matter, of Saint Pierre and still more of Rousseau—had reached the same goal by a less erratic and a more honourable road. And of all the pleas for a Federation of Europe, Rousseau's alone excepted, the Lasting Peace of Kant is the most striking and the most cogent.

  Will Germany always remain deaf to the appeal of her greatest thinker? Will she always remain the slave of her apparent interest, and never take courage to ask what it is that her real interest demands? So long as she retains her present form of government, so long as her Parliament is a mere name and her Emperor, with the military gang which controls him, to all intents an autocrat, there is no hope of amendment. But, once let that Government be discredited by defeat, once let Germany learn by a harsh experience that aggression is liable to recoil on her own head, may we not trust that the people will at last insist on taking the control of their own destiny, on renouncing the designs which have provoked the just enmity of half Europe? Her own rulers, at any rate, have long professed to fear the coming of that moment. If it comes, the day of a general Federation, the day of a lasting peace, may not impossibly be in sight.

  [1]See Political Writings of J.J. Rousseau, Vol. I, pp. 364–396, and pp. 293–307.

  [1]See Political Writings, I, p. 396.

  [1]Letter to Mirabeau of July 26, 1767. Political Writings, II, p. 160.

  [1]Rousseau himself had planned a work on Federation apparently leading up to a scheme for a partial Federation between the smaller States—and had at one time intended to include it in the Contrat Social. A fragment of this work was handed by him to a French friend, d'Antraigues, who destroyed it in a panic. See Political Writings, II, P. 135.

  [1]It has been stated that, by the end of 1915, more than 2000 persons, including many women, had been executed on political charges in Austria-Hungary since the beginning of the war. The trial of M. Kramarcz, the Czech leader, will be fresh in every memory.

  [1]The same principle covers, as it demands, the restoration of Alsace and Lorraine to France and the liberation of the Polish provinces now in the grasp of Prussia; and for precisely the same reasons. To discuss the future relation of Poland to Russia—or, indeed, any details of the Slav settlement, in its countless aspects—is manifestly beyond the scope of this sketch.

  [1]The phrase is taken from a recent manifesto of the German Social Democrats.