Thomas Harrison’s death at Charing Cross in October 1660 has
long overshadowed the political journey that brought him there. Pepys’s famous remark
that Harrison died “as cheerful as any man could do in that condition” has
become a shorthand for remembering the regicide, capturing a vivid moment from
Restoration theatre that has overshadowed the deeper historical issues his
career raises. David Farr’s Major-General Thomas Harrison is only the third
full biography of Harrison and the first to utilise the full range of available
archival material.
Based on rigorous research, it is a serious and long-overdue
work. However, it also stops short of drawing the conclusions that its own
evidence suggests. Harrison’s life cannot be fully understood without examining
the class struggles of the English Revolution, the complex role of millenarian
republicanism, and the structural limitations of plebeian radicalism within a
bourgeois revolution. Farr gathers the raw materials for such an analysis but
does not provide the synthesis.
Harrison and the Problem of English Historiography
Harrison's neglect is deliberate. English historiography has
historically been uncomfortable with the 1640–1660 revolution, especially the
radical armed republicans and millenarians. Britain’s citizenship test today
skips the Civil War period because its scars are still considered too fresh.
The revolution is viewed as an anomaly, a disruptive break in the presumed
steady flow of constitutional monarchy.
Farr’s achievement is revisiting manuscript sources to piece
together Harrison’s early years in Newcastle-under-Lyme and London, his
advancement in the New Model Army, and his crucial involvement in the
revolutionary crisis. He structures the biography thematically, addressing
providentialism, millenarianism, army culture, reputation, and political
alliances, which is effective since Harrison’s public record is more complete
than his private life. Nevertheless, this thematic approach also allows Farr to
sidestep the key question: what social forces cultivated Harrison’s radicalism,
and why did those forces ultimately fail to drive the revolution to its outcome?
Farr’s book highlights the most compelling parts of Charles
I's trial and execution, as well as Harrison's treatment during the
Restoration. Harrison, second only to Cromwell and Ireton in political
influence among the fifty-nine who signed the death warrant, was a prime target
for royalist revenge after the monarchy was restored. His notable presence made
him, along with the king, one of the most urgent targets for retribution. Farr
observes that Harrison’s calmness at his execution served as “a different kind
of public text: a demonstration of unbroken faith rather than of crushed
rebellion,” illustrating that the Restoration government aimed to show that
revolutionary actions would be harshly punished. At the same time, radical
supporters saw his death as proof that their cause endured.
However, Farr’s analysis falters where the stakes are
highest. His frequent use of terms like “textual representation” and “textual
responses” implicitly adopts the theoretical framework of cultural studies, an
approach created specifically to shift focus away from class as the key element
of historical analysis. “A man was hanged, drawn and quartered… describing the
aftermath mainly as a matter of competing ‘texts’ risks losing sight of the
true issues in the streets and Parliament.”
This is a significant methodological issue, not just a small
debate. Harrison's execution was not merely a semiotic event; it was a forceful
reassertion of property, hierarchy, and monarchical authority following a
decade in which these structures had been severely challenged. Framing it as a
simple discursive contest overlooks the underlying material struggle.
The Fifth Monarchists: Class, Millenarianism, and the
Limits of Plebeian Radicalism
Farr’s analysis of the Fifth Monarchists expands on Bernard
Capp’s fundamental research, which identified the movement’s supporters mainly
among urban artisans and the lower middle class, such as "weavers,
tailors, cobblers, small tradesmen.” A royally hostile pamphlet mocked that
even a list of “gentlemen” in their group would be so short it could fit on
half a penny’s worth of paper once the weavers, tailors, brewers, cobblers,
tinkers, and mat-makers were removed.
This movement drew on petty bourgeois and artisan classes
destabilised by war, enclosure, and trade disruptions. For these groups, the
revolution meant both potential ruin and opportunity. Their millenarian beliefs
were not just religious eccentricities but a political reaction to social
upheaval. However, Farr misses a key conclusion: the Fifth Monarchists were a
plebeian faction within a bourgeois revolution, and their agenda mirrored the
structural constraints of that role.
They did not oppose private property itself; instead, they
aimed for a fairer redistribution within a system of small-scale ownership.
Their interest in Mosaic law mirrored the conflicting tendencies of a class
seeking moral clarity amid economic instability. Unlike the Levellers, they
showed less concern with expanding voting rights. Instead, they were more
focused on spreading the revolution internationally. John Rogers’s criticism
that the army was inactive domestically while efforts were needed abroad highlights
this missionary drive.
The Fifth Monarchists supplied both the fighting force and
moral conviction for the revolution, yet they lacked the social influence to
settle the key property issue. This was ultimately resolved by Cromwell,
Ireton, and the army leaders, individuals from a wealthier and more
conservative social background.
Harrison was, in Farr’s words, “at Cromwell’s shoulder,”
indicating close alignment. Cromwell supported Harrison’s millenarian views
when convenient but withdrew support when they risked the settlement he prioritised.
The Barebones Parliament of 1653, Harrison’s main hope, was England’s closest
step to a theocracy. Its quick downfall signalled the radical faction’s
surrender to more conservative forces, well before the Restoration sealed that
dominance.
Christopher Hill is the most significant historian to have
studied the radical fringes of the revolution. However, even in his work The
World Turned Upside Down, he offers little insight into the Fifth Monarchists,
despite their movement attracting the support of tens of thousands. Hill’s
later view, seeing Paradise Lost as reflecting on the revolution’s failure,
illustrates a common challenge among leftist historians: understanding why the
plebeian faction was defeated, rather than simply noting that it was.
The answer rests on the nature of bourgeois revolution
itself. The English Revolution was not a proletarian insurrection; instead, it
represented the political strengthening of a burgeoning bourgeois order. Plebeian
and artisan groups could serve as a force against feudal monarchy, but they
could not impose their own agenda on the rising capitalist class. Their
millenarian republican ideals could not become the dominant ideology in a
society whose economic base was shifting toward agrarian capitalism, trade
expansion, and empire-building. Farr’s archival research provides the
foundational data for this interpretation, although he does not attempt to theorise
it.
Social Origins and the New Model Army
The final part of the book, which details Harrison’s
transition from the edges of merchant and lawyer communities into the New Model
Army’s officer ranks, clearly highlights Farr’s socioeconomic argument. Using
Ian Gentles’s prosopographical research, Farr demonstrates that a significant
minority of New Model officers advanced from lower ranks- a level of social
mobility not seen in Royalist armies.
This fluidity reflected the “antinomianism” and “Puritan
egalitarianism” that defined the radical wing of the army. Harrison exemplifies
this pattern. His millenarian beliefs didn't come out of nowhere; they stemmed
from his social position, caught between petty bourgeois insecurity and
revolutionary possibilities.
Once more, Farr fails to analyse how this internal
radicalism connected to the larger class forces vying for control of the
revolution. The New Model Army was not a uniform entity; instead, it was a
battleground dominated by conflicting class interests. Harrison embodied the
plebeian and artisan classes, while Cromwell represented the conservative
bourgeois middle class. Harrison's defeat thus signified the conservative
bourgeoisie's victory over the plebeian and artisan factions.
Harrison’s execution was more than revenge; it symbolically
reinforced the social order the revolution had challenged. Pepys’s comment that
Harrison died “as cheerful as any man could do in that condition” reflected the
belief that a man could fail politically yet remain faithful. The Restoration
government needed to set an example, and his death warned others against
thinking the revolution could be undone. However, his calm acceptance of death
ensured his memory would continue to inspire those who saw the revolution not
as a mere mistake in governance but as an ongoing struggle.
What Farr Achieves and What Remains to Be Done
Farr's work showcases meticulous historical research by
thoroughly bringing to light a previously overlooked yet vital figure. His book
is poised to become the authoritative source on Harrison for many years. It
confronts a historiographical trend that often portrayed Harrison as a naive
fanatic, primarily remembered for four words about the king and his own death.
The book's main flaw is its framework rather than its
research. A genuine materialist analysis of Harrison and his movement needs to
explain why an artisan-led millenarian republicanism could inspire the fighting
spirit and moral purpose of a revolution that ultimately did not achieve its
goals. It should also clarify why, by 1660, the Fifth Monarchists’ vision of a
godly commonwealth was replaced by a restored monarchy supported by the
propertied classes who the revolution had initially opposed. Farr provides
nearly all the necessary evidence for this interpretation, but others must
develop the final insights.
