Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Moments in Time: The Thirty Years' War (part 2)


Twice a year, I record a broadcast (or series of broadcasts) for my college's public radio station, WUCX, for their Moment in Time segment. I decided to collect the texts of these together here, as I have not been using this blog for anything else. Bear in mind these are aimed at a popular audience, so they are not the most cutting-edge scholarship. I have oversimplified a little at times, but hope I've avoided any outright errors.

This entry is the second in a pair that were first broadcast in July 2017.

The audio of this broadcast can be found here.


1618: The Thirty Years' War (part 2)


This year marks the four-hundredth anniversary of the outbreak of the Thirty Years War, a conflict that is little known outside Germany, but was one of the bloodiest in European history. Last time we looked at how a complex of religious and political issues came together; Protestants and Catholics fought one another, while foreign powers such as Sweden, Denmark and France were drawn in as they tried to prevent the Catholic Habsburg dynasty dominating central Europe.

Historians estimate that by its end in 1648, the war had killed up to 8 million people, most of them civilians, or about 25% of the German population. Armies consisted mainly of foot-soldiers who were highly trained and equipped with muskets and pikes. They were arguably the first modern, professional soldiers, but were still supplied the old-fashioned way by living off the land. They saying went that ‘the war will feed itself’ which in practice meant soldiers sustained themselves with what they could steal from the local peasant population, and billeted themselves in peasant houses (the Second Amendment to the US Constitution is a reminder of how much early-modern populations hated being forced to have soldiers quartered in their homes). The need for land to pay for the armies merely encouraged further conquest of enemy territory, restarting the whole sorry cycle of violence and theft. Starvation followed the pillaging of peasants’ harvests, and diseases such as typhus and bubonic plague were spread by the marauding armies. The craze for witch-hunting, which reached its height in seventeenth-century Germany, may have been a by-product of the war, as communities disrupted beyond endurance looked for scapegoats to blame for their horrific experiences.

The Thirty Years War has left little impact on the imagination of the English-speaking world, but the same cannot be said for Germany. Many great works of German literature took the war as their theme: Grimmelshausen’s Simplicius Simplicissimus, a picaresque account of the war possibly based on the author’s experiences as a mercenary soldier, is often regarded as the first great German novel; the eighteenth-century playwright and poet Schiller wrote a trilogy of plays based on the life of the imperial general Wallenstein; and when Bertolt Brecht addressed the horrors of war (and the greed of those who exploited it for profit) in his play Mother Courage and her Children, he used the Thirty Years’ War as his setting as Nazi tanks rolled over the Polish border in 1939.


The Thirty Years’ War may seem very distant to the modern world; at most, we might compare it to modern day religious conflicts such as the civil war in Syria. However, it gave us modern international politics and diplomacy. Before the war, Germany was (at least theoretically) part of the diffuse and fairly powerless ‘Holy Roman Empire.’ The Peace of Westphalia that ended the war recognized the individual powers within the empire as sovereign entities, establishing the idea that states, not individual rulers, were the building blocks of international politics. Everything that is carried out in the name of the distinct, unified entities that we call nation states – from democracy and law to genocidal wars - is to some extent a legacy of the Thirty Years’ War.  

Moments in Time: The Thirty Years' War (part 1)


Twice a year, I record a broadcast (or series of broadcasts) for my college's public radio station, WUCX, for their Moment in Time segment. I decided to collect the texts of these together here, as I have not been using this blog for anything else. Bear in mind these are aimed at a popular audience, so they are not the most cutting-edge scholarship. I have oversimplified a little at times, but hope I've avoided any outright errors.

This entry is the first in a pair that were first broadcast in January 2018.

The audio of this broadcast can be found here.

1618: The Thirty Years' War (part 1)


2018 marks a significant anniversary of one of Europe’s bloodiest wars. I don’t mean the end of World War One, the centenary of which occurs in November, but the 400th anniversary of the start of an equally devastating conflict: the Thirty Years War. By the time it ended in 1648, the war had killed as many as 8 million people; more than ten times the death toll of the American Civil War. Yet, outside Germany where it was mainly fought, it is a war that few people today have heard of.

The Defenestration of Prague
The Thirty Years War is often explained as a conflict over religion; this conveniently fits the label ‘Wars of Religion’ which we historians tend to slap onto conflicts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, as well as allowing us to view it as a product of the benighted past that we modern westerners think we have grown out of. And yes, it’s hard to ignore religion as a motivating factor. Germany in 1618 was divided into Catholic and Protestant states, the legacy of the Reformation that had begun almost exactly a hundred years earlier. The war started when Protestants in Bohemia (today’s Czech Republic) expelled officials of their Catholic ruler– an event given the catchy name ‘the Defenestration of Prague.’ (‘Defenestration’ meaning they threw them out of a window - remember that word for future spelling bees, trivia quizzes, and elections). Religion probably added a level of violence to what turned out to be a brutal conflict, as the other side could be seen not just as opponents but as enemies of God. The deadly persecution of women labelled as witches also reached its height in wartime Germany, possibly a side-effect of heightened religious intolerance.

It would be simplistic, however, to see the Thirty Years War simply as a war of religion. The war was also about power-politics within the collapsing Holy Roman Empire, which covered Germany and much of Central Europe. The philosopher Voltaire joked that it was neither Holy, Roman, nor an Empire – its rulers were no saints; its power-base was in Austria and Bohemia, not Rome; and it was a collection of hundreds of virtually independent states under the very loose authority of its emperor. So when the Bohemians threw out their Catholic king, who belonged to the Habsburg imperial dynasty, it was not just a question of religion, but a challenge to the empire itself. And when neighboring countries were drawn into the conflict, it was to prevent the Habsburgs turning the imperial title from a meaningless honor to a political reality. So we see Catholic France fighting alongside Protestant Germans and Dutchmen against Catholic, Habsburg Austria.


Seventeenth century people were not all religious fanatics; Prague, where the war began, was a center of learning and science. Queen Christina of Sweden, the leading Protestant power in the war, was a patron of scientists and philosophers, and later gave up her throne to become a Catholic.  We have to understand seventeenth-century Europe as the world that gave us both the Scientific Revolution, Galileo and Newton and religious persecution and the witch-hunt. The Thirty Years War helped give birth to the modern world, a theme I will return to in part 2, when we will look at the legacy of the war.

Moments in Time: England's Parliament Stands Up to a King

Twice a year, I record a broadcast (or series of broadcasts) for my college's public radio station, WUCX, for their Moment in Time segment. I decided to collect the texts of these together here, as I have not been using this blog for anything else. Bear in mind these are aimed at a popular audience, so they are not the most cutting-edge scholarship. I have oversimplified a little at times, but hope I've avoided any outright errors. 

Because of the nature of these broadcasts, I tend to pull my political punches, and I hid my enthusiasm for the English Revolution somewhat. My description of the English Republic as "shambolic" is unfair, and makes me wince a little when I reread it.

This entry is the second in a pair that were first broadcast in July 2017.

The audio of this broadcast can be found here.

1641: England's Parliament Stands Up to a King

Last time, I talked about how the English Parliament emerged during the Middle Ages. However, it was still essentially a consultative body rather than an institution of government, its powers limited to approving taxation (or not) and removing the king’s more unpopular ministers.

Parliament became a truly powerful body in the early modern period via the two Rs: Reformation and Revolution. The Reformation raised its importance as Tudor monarchs such as Henry VIII and Elizabeth I needed it to legitimize their religious reforms. Henry broke from the Roman Catholic Church when the Pope refused to annul his first marriage. When persuasion failed, Henry simply declared that the English Church was independent of Rome and that he was its head. But who could ratify such an ambitious claim? Parliament, of course, the one body that could claim to represent the English realm and people.

The seventeenth century saw revolution. We English tend to deny that we have revolutions, which we see as incompatible with a culture based on unexciting pursuits like cricket and high tea. But it’s hard to think of a better word to describe the tumultuous changes of that period. The good relationship between the Tudors and their Parliaments fell apart under the next dynasty, the Stuarts. The Stuart kings were Scottish, and unused to ruling a kingdom like England that had a strong-minded Parliament. The second Stuart king, Charles I, was constantly short of money, and when he asked Parliament to vote him taxes they tended to place conditions on giving him the money. He also offended their religious scruples; Charles was seen as a little lukewarm about the Reformation, and was even accused of being a secret Catholic, whereas many members of the House of Commons were Puritans from the more radical wing of Protestantism.

Matters came to a head in 1641. Charles had tried to rule without Parliament but was forced to recall it, only to find it as rebellious as ever. A clumsy attempt to arrest dissident Members of Parliament failed, and is commemorated every year in one of the curious ceremonies that mark British politics. 

The Queen gives a speech at the opening of Parliament setting out her government’s policies. Of course, she has no real power, and is merely a mouthpiece for the Prime Minister, who was still Theresa May last time I checked [July 2017]. But it does give Her Majesty a chance to show off her sparkly crown. As her representative arrives to summon the House of Commons, the doors of the House are ceremonially slammed in his face, a reminder that Parliament, not the monarch, is sovereign.

The falling out between King and Parliament was now irrevocable, and led to a bloody civil war that Parliament won. King Charles was tried and found guilty of treason against his own people, removed from power, and beheaded. The republic that followed was a shambolic regime, and Charles’s son was invited back to be king eleven years later, but never again could a king rule without Parliament, and over the following three centuries Britain slowly evolved into a representative democracy.
So England as well as the USA has a tradition of people standing up to royal tyranny, and if anyone makes a hip-hop musical about them, I will let you know.



Moments in Time: England's Parliament Invents Impeachment


Twice a year, I record a broadcast (or series of broadcasts) for my college's public radio station, WUCX, for their Moment in Time segment. I decided to collect the texts of these together here, as I have not been using this blog for anything else. Bear in mind these are aimed at a popular audience, so they are not the most cutting-edge scholarship. I have oversimplified a little at times, but hope I've avoided any outright errors.

This entry is the first in a pair that were first broadcast in July 2017. The UK general election referred to is that year’s, not the one held in December 2019. When I recorded this broadcast, I did not know the impeachment of Donald Trump would begin two years later.

The audio of this broadcast can be found here.


1376: England's Parliament Invents Impeachment


My home country, the United Kingdom, just had an election and the winner was… well, nobody. The result was a “Hung Parliament”, meaning no single party has a majority. This is the kind of exciting outcome that is possible in a system with more than two parties. It is also a reminder that the British system is a parliamentary democracy; we have no equivalent of the US president, unless you count the queen, who is the official head of state, but whose role is essentially a formal one only.

So, how did Britain get to a situation where governments rise and fall on whether they can keep a majority in Parliament? The story, as with much in British history, begins in the Middle Ages. At some point in the mid-thirteenth century, the royal council of the king of England was expanded on occasions to include representatives of the nobility and church. It was not yet an institution, more a discussion forum – “parliament” literally means “talking” in medieval French. Some people today still accuse Parliament of being a talking shop.

It became a really significant body when the barons fell out with King Henry III. In 1258, tensions were so high that the barons showed up armed to Parliament, and were required to leave their swords outside the chamber. To this day, it is said that the aisle separating the government and opposition benches in the House of Commons is set at a width of two swords’ lengths, preventing the two sides from coming to blows. When a civil war broke out between King Henry and a powerful faction of the barons, the baronial leader, Simon de Montfort, made use of Parliament to legitimize his regime, and extended it to include the knights and middle classes; the basis of today’s ‘House of Commons’ as opposed to the ‘House of Lords’ which contained the nobility and clergy. Simon de Montfort’s rebels lost the war, but the idea that the king should hold regular parliaments stuck.

The Commons really began to show their teeth nearly 100 years later, in the reign of Henry’s great-grandson Edward III. Edward wanted to raises taxes on wool, but the Commons insisted that no taxes could be levied without parliament’s agreement. The king, who needed money for his war, caved, establishing two important constitutional principles: only Parliament can consent to taxation, and money talks.  Later in Edward’s reign the Commons came up with the idea of impeachment (ultimately giving US politics its current word-of-the-month), which was the idea of putting on trial and removing unpopular ministers. This first happened in the so-called ‘Good Parliament on 1376. The “Merciless Parliament” of 1387 impeached no fewer than 5 royal ministers, who were removed from office and made to retire to the countryside. Only joking: they were hanged, drawn and quartered, giving a whole different meaning to the term “hung parliament”.

So, by the end of the Middle Ages England’s Parliament had established itself as a body that could not be ignored; they asserted the right to approve taxes, monitor the king’s ministerial appointments, and do the odd bit of judicial disemboweling. How it evolved from limiting the king’s power to removing it, is a story for part 2 next time.

Moments in Time: The Vikings Conquer England

Twice a year, I record a broadcast (or series of broadcasts) for my college's public radio station, WUCX for their Moment in Time segment. I decided to collect the texts of these together here, as I have not been using this blog for anything else. Bear in mind these are aimed at a popular audience, so they are not the most cutting-edge scholarship. I have oversimplified a little at times, but hope I've avoided any outright errors.

This entry was first broadcast in January 2016.

Silver penny of Cnut

1016: The Vikings Conquer England

Growing up in England, I was taught that my country was saved from conquest by brutal Vikings by the heroic Alfred the Great, king of Wessex, the last Anglo-Saxon kingdom to stand against the invaders. At elementary school we watched an educational TV drama called The Raven and the Cross in which Alfred, representing England and Christianity, defeats the barbaric pagan Danes, who fight beneath Odin’s raven banner.

However, the Vikings came back and conquered England, 1000 years ago this year. In 1016 the Danish king Cnut became king of England, ending a long period of war between the weak Anglo-Saxon king Ethelred ‘The Unready’ and various Scandinavian invaders, including Cnut’s father the splendidly-named Sven Forkbeard. Cnut’s reign challenges a lot of the stereotypes about civilized, Christian Anglo-Saxons resisting brutal, pagan Vikings.

The Danish Cnut appears an altogether more attractive figure than the Saxon Ethelred. Cnut’s rule marked a period of peace and prosperity following the troubles of Ethelred’s time; the new Danish king paid off his warriors, and England was untroubled by Viking raids for this rest of his reign. Any idea that the Anglo-Saxon English were somehow less violent than the Danes is contradicted by the St Brice’s Day massacre of 1002, when Ethelred commanded the slaughter of Danish people in England, including a group who were burned alive in a church – hardly a Christian act.

The fact that the Vikings sought sanctuary in a church reminds us that, by Cnut’s day, the Danes were Christian. Not that there is necessarily any connection between Christianity and civility or between paganism and violence; many historians argue that the negative image of the Vikings has been exaggerated by the fact that so many of their raids were on monasteries, and the Christian monks were the ones who wrote the history. Monasteries provided rich pickings but were virtually undefended, as they housed liturgical silver and pacifist monks. But the point is the Danish Vikings who conquered England in 1016 (or at least their leaders) were Christian, and had been since Cnut’s grandfather Harald Bluetooth had unified Denmark and converted to Christianity in the 960s. And yes, Bluetooth technology is named after King Harald; its creators wished to unify different networks just as Harald had unified Denmark.

Cnut presented himself to his new subjects as an English and Christian king. He married King Ethelred’s widow, Emma of Normandy, who changed her name to the reassuringly Anglo-Saxon Aelfgyfu (which, confusingly - and no doubt awkwardly - was also the name of Cnut’s first wife). An image in a book from the abbey of New Minster depicts Cnut and Emma as idealized Christian rulers, presenting a great gold cross to the abbey, while an angel places a crown on Cnut’s head – a far cry from the image of the bloodthirsty pagan Viking.

The Danish conquest of England was only temporary; Cnut’s second son, Harald, died in heroically Viking fashion, collapsing while drinking heavily at a feast. After that, the crown was restored to the Anglo-Saxon king Edward the Confessor. However, the Viking influence on England remains in the language we speak today; hundreds of our words are of Scandinavian origin. If – heaven forbid - you are so berserk with anger that you ransack and slaughter – congratulations - you are talking like a Viking!

Monday, February 9, 2015

The historical materialist cannot do without the concept of a present which is not a transition, in which time originates and has come to a standstill. For this concept defines precisely the present in which he writes history for his person. Historicism depicts the “eternal” picture of the past; the historical materialist, an experience with it, which stands alone. He leaves it to others to give themselves to the whore called “Once upon a time” in the bordello of historicism. 
- Walter Benjamin, On the Concept of History (1940)