Sunday, 22 February 2015

A Critical Review of A People’s History of Scotland- by Chris Bambery Verso, 320pp, £12.99

It is usual for new history books to fall into two broad categories. One is the history book that has no obvious connection to recent historical or political events. The second is a book that is very political and is released to coincide with ongoing historical or political events. It is the second category that Chris Bambery's new book falls into in that it is deeply connected to nationalist politics in Scotland.

As the title alludes, this is a history of the 'ordinary people' of Scotland. According to one writer it "looks beyond the kings and queens, the battles and bloody defeats of the past. It captures the history that matters today, stories of freedom fighters, suffragettes, the workers of Red Clydeside, and the hardship and protest of the treacherous Thatcher era".

I have several problems with this book. To begin with, Bambery never defines what he means by the people. Bambery's unrefined thinking lends itself to him making empty generalisations. In the realm of philosophy, these are known as abstract identities. What is bad about this type of imprecise thinking is that it presents according to  David North an "inadequate mental representations of reality: The material world simply does not consist of such internally undifferentiated phenomena".[1]

Bambery promises us "a corrective to the usual history of kings and queens, victorious battles and bloody defeats." The first hundred pages or so the author struggles to find any of these ordinary people. The only ordinary people he finds were people who made the tactical difference at Bannockburn because they were mistaken for reinforcements by the English troops.

Bambery's choice of the genre of people's history has become popular again. This form of historical study was made extremely popular by the Communist Party Historians Group. The problem is that pseudo-left groups like the Socialist Workers Party which Bambery used to belong to have unfortunately assimilated worst aspects of this genre which is a nationalist outlook.

It is especially important when reading this kind of history that the reader knows the politics of the historian or as Edward Hallett Carr was apt to say "Study the historian before you begin to study the facts. This is, after all, not very abstruse. It is what is already done by the intelligent undergraduate who, when recommended to read a work by that great scholar Jones of St. Jude's, goes round to a friend at St. Jude's to ask what sort of chap Jones is, and what bees he has in his bonnet. When you read a work of history, always listen out for the buzzing. If you can detect none, either you are tone-deaf, or your historian is a dull dog".[2]

I am not saying that Bambery is a dull dog, but there is a surprising absence of both his politics and of the organisation he once belonged to perspective on Scottish history. I find this a little strange despite his break with the SWP he does not say anything about their position regarding Scottish history.

Bambery has belonged to several pseudo-left groups in the UK. He began as a member of the now-defunct the International Marxist Group he then moved to the Socialist Workers Party. He resigned from the SWP in 2011 having served on their Central Committee and joined International Socialist Group. The SWP lost a significant number of its members to the ISG who were politically active in Scotland.

Bambery shares much of the SWP positions on the recent independence campaign in Scotland.  The Socialist Workers Party (SWP) lined up behind the SNP in the Yes campaign, proclaiming separatism as the only basis on which to oppose austerity and militarism.

The ISG's latest articles go so far as to call for alliances with the SNP, asserting that "the Left will look like a backward break on the movement if it does not initiate the support of the SNP where necessary".[3]

The IMG alongside the SNP believe Scotland is a classless nation. Bambery ignores the fact that Scottish nationalism and the SNP has always had a pronounced right-wing element. As a wsws.org article points out "Class antagonism is a thing quite foreign to the Scottish spirit. It was unknown here until it was imported from England. In Scotland, there is no such inherent feeling of separation between classes."[4]

While this is not an academic history of Scotland, some of Bambery's comments are less than precise, and in many cases, his history contains an absence of class-based history. Bambery's method has very little to do with historical materialism.

Given the sweep of history, you could forgive the author for brevity when it comes to certain periods of Scottish history. But the price he pays is a lowering of a critical analysis of the movements and figures portrayed in the 330 or so pages. Perhaps not so forgivable is his repeated glorification of myths and invention of traditions that permeate Scottish historiography. This flaw in Bambery's approach is neatly captured by his statement, 'Legends will appear throughout this book, and in a way, it does not matter if they are real, because a legend can take on a life of its own and so inspire a future generation.'[5]

Bambery seems to have uncritically adopted Hegel's advice when he said:  "Every nation has its imagery, its gods, angels, devils or saints who live in the nation's traditions, whose stories and deeds the nurse tells her charges and so wins them over by impressing their imagination." [6]

Chris Cassells in his review put it succinctly when he said that Bambery fails "to explore the complex and contradictory relationship between the history and the myth, prevents the book from becoming anything more than the greatest hits of radical – a slippery political term at the best of times – Scottish movements ". His decision after twenty-three pages to recommend Mel Gibson's film Braveheart because it gives "a good account of William Wallace's life." Confirms this observation.

Bambery's glorification of Scottish figures from history comes to the fore when dealing with the Scottish Enlightenment. It is undoubtedly true that Scotland produced some important figures during the enlightenment period, but even these figures were part of an international fraternity, and many of them never conceived their views as promoting nationalism. Bambery's raising them above other European figures is both wrong and will increase nationalist sentiment.

For certain subjects, the use of the people's History Genre or narrative history is both useful and enjoyable. Bringing to the attention of a wide audience, people whom history or historians have forgotten is both legitimate and needed. However, it is not very useful when dealing with very complex historical processes.

Bambery sees Scottish history through nationally tinted glasses. Its ruling elites were more democratic. Its enlightenment figures better and the Scottish working-class more militant and left-wing. This relentless populism flies in the face of history.

Bambery's reckless promotion of Scottish exceptionalism tends to whitewash actual historical events.  After all, even a leading member of the Scottish bourgeoisie Thomas Johnston was forced to describe the Scottish nobility as "a selfish, ferocious, famishing, unprincipled set of hyenas, from whom at no time, and in no way, has the country derived any benefit whatsoever". Bambery for some reason sought to cover up whom Johnston was first describing him as a "19th-century historian" and only later identifying him as "Scotland's most charismatic Secretary of State".

Bambery's nationalist outlook is reflected in the number of historical events that are not even attempted to be examined within their proper international context. Perhaps the most glaring one is Bambery's attitude towards the English bourgeois revolution. Given the importance of this historical event, it gets very little space in the book.

Bambery given his extensive knowledge of the Communist Party's use of the history from below genre would have known the tendency amongst Communist Party historians and other radical writers to portray radicals such as the Leveller as struggling against foreign invaders.

Ann Talbot believes that a large number of the Communist Party historians maintained an essentially national approach to the English revolution, and not placing it an international context.

They had in her words a "tendency to romanticise the religious movements of the period and to be too dismissive of their rational, intellectual descendants such as Newton and Locke. In part, these characteristics arise from the national orientation of his social class and reflect even in Hill vestiges of the Whig outlook that imagined a peculiarly English political tradition rooted in millennial seventeenth-century visionaries like Bunyan that was entirely separate from Enlightenment thought. More significantly it reflects the influence of the popular front politics and national outlook of Stalinism".[7]

Unfortunately, Bambery shares the same outlook as the Communist party. Except his nationalism is not English, it is Scottish. In this book, Bambery rejects the theory of the English bourgeois revolution. He puts forward the premise that the revolution was, in fact, a "war of three kingdoms".

The central premise of this argument is succinctly described by Jane Ohlmeyer when she said: "the English Civil War was just one of an interlocking set of conflicts that encompassed the British Isles in the mid-seventeenth century".[8]

I do not know Bambery that well to say that this has always been his take on the English revolution, but it certainly was not his former party. It is not in the realm of this article to discuss at any length the extent that the SWP has moved away from the central premise of the English bourgeois revolution, but the fact that Bambery held a revisionist and conservative position on this seminal event is an indicator of the type of dissent that has existed in the last decade inside the SWP.

The main theme of this book from the first few pages to the last is to give the impression that Scotland from a very early period was a nation slowly making itself through its struggles against oppression. Bambery asserts that 'freedom was finally won on the field of battle at Bannockburn,' the concept that Scotland was a nation before 1707 permeates a growing body of work of both politicians, writers and historians alike.

The different strands of Scottish nationalism believe that Scotland was a nation before the 1707 Act of Union. Alan McCombes and Tommy Sheridan brag that "Scotland is one of the oldest nations in Europe",[9]this belief that Scottish people have been oppressed for centuries is historically inaccurate and leads to the tendency for workers on both sides to the border to be played against each other.

Bambery plays very fast and loose with this history. The Scottish bourgeoisie and aristocracy were in pretty bad shape before 1707. Before the union, the failure of the Darien Scheme in the 1690s had a massive economic impact. The plan, which was to build a predominantly Scottish trading colony in Panama ended in financial disaster for Scotland's aristocracy and bourgeoisie.

While it true that large sections of the population opposed the union the bourgeoisie and aristocracy in Scotland saw that their sectional interests were best served by the union.

Writer Neal Ascherson states that "It is a cliché that the Scots' punched above their weight' in the empire, and it is misleading. They seldom competed directly with the English or Irish, but established distinct and almost exclusively Scottish fiefdoms: the fur trade, the tobacco trade, the jute industry, the opium business in China, the 'hedge-banking' outfits in Australia, the executive levels of the East India Company…. Scottish capital was thus a full partner in the expansion of British imperialism. This embraced deep involvement in the slave plantations of the Caribbean and American South."

To conclude, this has not been an easy book to review and given the wealth of history covered and in some cases, not covered further articles on this subject will appear in the future. I do not feel the need to repeat my many criticisms of this book. I do like the genre of people's history when it is done well, but Bambery's promotion of Scottish nationalism dressed up as Scottish history leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.



[1] A critical review of Daniel Goldhagen's Hitler's Willing Executioners By David North
[2] What Is history
[3] internationalsocialist.org.uk/index.php/2011/06/salmonds-majority-in-the-age-of-austerity/
[4] http://www.wsws.org/en/articles/1999/02/scot-f03.html
[5] A People's History of Scotland by Chris Bambery
[6] Hegel 1795 (Berne) The Positivity of the Christian Religion
[7] http://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2003/03/hill-m25.html
[8] ://www.historytoday.com/jane-ohlmeyer/wars-three-kingdoms#sthash.vM6OYlyC.dpuf
[9] T Sheridan and A McCombes Imagine Edinburgh 2000, p180.

Sunday, 1 February 2015

Tom Reilly's Call For A Conference on Cromwell In Ireland

I would like to try to organise a seminar/debate/conference – call it what you like – to finally determine (inasmuch as we can from this distance) what actually happened at Drogheda and Wexford in 1649. This is in particular regard to the deliberate massacre of large scale unarmed and innocent civilians. I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me get this off the ground. I have no idea where to start.

Here’s the reason, in case you either don’t know or forget:

In 2004, Folens published Earthlink 5th Class. On page 87 the following words are printed: ‘Cromwell captured Drogheda. About 3,000 men, women and children were killed.’ The Educational Company of Ireland released Timeline in 2008. A paragraph on page 223 reads, ‘He [Cromwell] first laid siege to Drogheda. He was determined to make an example of the town. When he captured it he slaughtered the entire population.’

You ALL know that this is wrong. We’re still teaching bullshit to kids in Ireland. Bullshit that engenders anti-British sentiment. Here in 2015! Seriously?!

As you can see I have copied several early modern experts with this message. Many of you might consider me to be a loud-mouth, obnoxious, insufferable loose cannon. 

Which is fine. My wife and kids know who I really am. But that's not the point. Surely historical integrity demands that we stop the rot here. This subject is still highly emotive where I come from. Anybody Irish will agree.

I fully expect this e-mail to be dismissed by most of you in the same way that my work has been and continues to be. I would be happy if you would prove me wrong.



Please help me make a positive impact on what was such a negative part of Irish history so we can all finally move on. Because we haven't.

Monday, 19 January 2015

John Gurney and the English Revolution: A Marxist Appraisal

"Action is the life of all, and if thou dost not act, thou dost nothing." — Gerrard Winstanley.

John Gurney (1960–2014) died of cancer at 54, just as his work on the Diggers was reaching its full strength. He was not a Marxist historian. Yet his two books on Gerrard Winstanley, and his posthumously published essay "Gerrard Winstanley and the Left", did more than any recent scholarship to restore the Diggers to their social setting. This review argues that Gurney's local, archive-driven method produced what is, in substance, materialist history: an account of the Diggers rooted in land, property and class conflict. It also argues that his work leaves open questions, above all about religion and the national crisis, which a Marxist reading must take further.

Those who knew him stressed how closely his scholarship and his sense of place were bound together. His friend and colleague Scott Ashley recalled that John "could sniff out a story and extract the gold from the archive that made time and place shine fresh", and that for him being a historian and making a home were "part of a common enterprise".[1]

Gurney's method

Gurney's distinctive strength was his willingness to spend long periods "grubbing in the archives" of a single locality. Most of his career was devoted to the history of the North East, where he lived. When he turned to Surrey and the Diggers, he brought the same habits: manorial records, court cases, parish material and tax returns, read closely and patiently.

This was never parochial. Done properly, local study tests general claims against the lives of particular people. Marc Bloch, the historian of feudal society, put the principle well in The Historian's Craft: a historical phenomenon cannot be understood apart from its moment in time, for "men resemble their times more than they do their fathers."[2] Gurney applied this rule to Winstanley. Instead of treating him as a disembodied thinker, he asked what the manor of Cobham, the commons of St George's Hill and the economic crisis of the 1640s did to the man and his neighbours. He combined this with two other gifts: a clear prose style that made complex questions accessible, and a refusal to claim more than the evidence supported.

Brave Community (2007)

Brave Community: The Digger Movement in the English Revolution was, remarkably, the first full-length modern study of the Diggers. Its achievement was to place the colonies at St George's Hill and Cobham inside the society that produced them. Henk Looijesteijn judged that it "successfully blends social and intellectual history" and should be the starting point for any student of Winstanley.[3]

The book's most valuable evidence concerns Cobham's long tradition of social conflict. The manor, once held by Chertsey Abbey, passed to Robert Gavell in 1566 and stayed with his family until 1708. From the later sixteenth century, the Gavells fought a running battle with their tenants. In the Court of Requests, the husbandman William Wrenn accused Robert Gavell of overturning manorial custom, raising rents above customary levels and despoiling the timber on Wrenn's copyhold. Gavell was also charged with shifting his tax burden onto the poorer tenants. In the 1590s tenants renewed the fight in Chancery against Robert and his son Francis. This matters for interpretation. The Diggers did not appear from nowhere in 1649, conjured by war and millenarian excitement. They drew on a local memory of resistance to lords who were turning customary land into a source of profit.

The Digger's Life and Legacy (2013)

Gerrard Winstanley: The Digger's Life and Legacy is shorter and aimed at a wider readership, but it is just as carefully researched. One reviewer ranked it alongside Eamon Duffy's The Voices of Morebath as a model of local history. Gurney traces Winstanley from his Wigan childhood, through his years as a London cloth trader, to his ruin in the early 1640s and his move to Surrey.[4]

Gurney rejects the view that the war alone radicalised men like Winstanley. Radical ideas, he shows, were already in circulation across the country before 1642. He also insists that Winstanley's significance is not purely historical. Winstanley has been claimed by Marxists and libertarians, by squatters, guerrilla gardeners, allotment campaigners and greens. Gurney treats this afterlife as part of the subject, not a distraction from it. Even Mark Kishlansky, no friend to the radical heroes of the Revolution, praised the book as clear-eyed, sympathetic and full of new information.

"Gerrard Winstanley and the Left"

Gurney's last essay is the one most directly relevant to Marxists, and it shows him at the height of his powers. It takes on a familiar story. On that account, the Diggers were forgotten until the 1890s, when Eduard Bernstein rediscovered Winstanley in London while writing on English radicals for Karl Kautsky's history of socialism. In the 1940s the Communist Party Historians' Group picked up Bernstein's baton and fashioned the communist, materialist Winstanley still familiar today.

Gurney shows that this story is too simple. The Diggers never vanished from view as completely as supposed; they were reasonably well known across the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and perhaps remembered more accurately than the Levellers, with whom they were often confused. Detailed research on them was not confined to the Left, and Bernstein was not alone in reading Winstanley in the 1890s.

The conclusion Gurney draws is important. There has never been a single, definable left-wing interpretation of the Diggers. For Marxists, the corollary is uncomfortable but useful: there has never been a consistent classical Marxist position on Winstanley either. The Historians' Group carried considerable ideological baggage, and not all of it has aged well. Gurney's essay clears the ground for a more rigorous account.

Diggers and Levellers

Any such account must start by separating the Diggers from the Levellers, as Gurney does. The Levellers were the democratic wing of the revolution's small producers: artisans, traders and yeomen who demanded a wider franchise and religious toleration, but who explicitly disowned any plan to "level men's estates". Their concern for the poor sat uneasily with their defence of property. This is the class contradiction that Marxist historians from Brailsford to Brian Manning identified at the heart of Leveller politics.

The Diggers went further. They called themselves the "True Levellers" precisely to mark the difference. Winstanley located the origin of oppression in private property in land, and argued that the earth should be a "common treasury" for all. In April 1649 the Diggers began to cultivate the commons on St George's Hill. That was not merely a protest but a programme: a practical demonstration of how the landless could live without wage labour or landlords. The Law of Freedom in a Platform (1652) then set out a full constitution for a society without the buying and selling of land.

The Diggers never became a mass movement, and Winstanley rejected armed force. But they were the one current of the English Revolution that directly challenged the property relations the revolution was consolidating.

Gurney and the revisionists

Gurney wrote in an unfavourable climate. From the 1970s, revisionist historians such as Conrad Russell, John Morrill and Mark Kishlansky challenged the idea that the 1640s were a revolution at all. As Michael Braddick observes, they tried to cut the English Revolution down to size, and in doing so cast a critical eye over its radical heroes.

Kishlansky's own verdict on Winstanley is typical. He described him as a small businessman who wholesaled cloth, then grain, with "a mid-life crisis of epic proportions" in between. The jibe is meant to deflate. In fact, it poses the central question: what was the relationship between Winstanley's economic position, his religion and his politics?[5]

Gurney's work does not belong to the older Marxist tradition of Christopher Hill's The World Turned Upside Down (1972). Nor does it accept revisionist minimalism. It sits alongside the rigorous textual scholarship of the Oxford Complete Works of Gerrard Winstanley (2009), and against the sceptical readings of J.C. Davis. Its distinctive contribution is to give Winstanley a fully documented social context, something neither the Marxists nor the revisionists had supplied.[6]

A Marxist assessment

Take Kishlansky's question seriously, and Gurney's evidence points to a materialist answer. Winstanley was a petty trader ruined by the disruption of the early 1640s, when war, credit failure and the collapse of the cloth trade bankrupted many small men. He fell from the margins of the London bourgeoisie into the condition of the rural labouring poor, herding cattle in Surrey. There he met a community with a long memory of struggle against enclosing, rent-raising lords. His vision of the earth as a common treasury was not a mid-life crisis. It was the ideological expression of a real social experience: the expropriation of small producers that marked England's transition to agrarian capitalism.

That is why religion cannot be set aside. Winstanley thought and wrote in the language of scripture, and his communism took the form of a theology in which Reason, not a distant God, dwelt in every person. As Cliff Slaughter argued, the study of religion is indispensable to understanding social revolt, for religious forms are how classes without a developed political language first articulate their interests. Gurney documents the social roots with great care. He is less concerned to explain why those roots produced a religious communism rather than a secular one, or why that communism failed.[7]

The local method has a second limit. Cobham and St George's Hill are seen in fine detail, but the national crisis of 1648–49 recedes: the defeat of the Leveller mutinies, the consolidation of the Commonwealth by the grandees, and the alliance of local landlords and the new state that broke up the Digger colonies. A Marxist account needs both scales at once. Gurney supplies the local foundation; the connection to the class balance of the revolution as a whole remains to be drawn.

Conclusion

Gurney's work on Winstanley and the Diggers marks a new starting point for the historiography of the English Revolution's radical wing. It is the best available antidote to revisionist minimalism, not because it restates older Marxist claims, but because it grounds the Diggers in evidence those claims never had. His last essay is honest about what follows: there has never been a settled left-wing, let alone classical Marxist, interpretation of Winstanley.

The task Gurney leaves is to build one. That means joining his local history of land and class to an account of the revolution as a whole, and explaining, rather than explaining away, the religious form of Winstanley's communism. Winstanley himself insisted that action is the life of all. Gurney's scholarship has given Marxists the material to act on.

 

Notes

  1. Scott Ashley et al., "Brave Community: A communal and personal tribute to our friend and colleague, John Gurney (1960–2014)"
  2. Marc Bloch, The Historian's Craft.
  3. Henk Looijesteijn, review of Brave Community.
  4. John Gurney, "Gerrard Winstanley and the Digger movement in Walton and Cobham".
  5. Mark Kishlansky, endorsement of Gerrard Winstanley: The Digger's Life and Legacy.
  6. John Gurney, "Gerrard Winstanley and the Left", Past & Present.
  7. Cliff Slaughter, "Religion and Social Revolt", Labour Review, vol. 3, no. 3 (June 1958).

Books reviewed: John Gurney, Brave Community: The Digger Movement in the English Revolution (Manchester University Press, 2007); Gerrard Winstanley, The Digger's Life and Legacy (Pluto Press, 2013).

 


Saturday, 3 January 2015

A Review: Charles I: An Abbreviated Life by Mark Kishlansky 144 pages Publisher: Allen Lane (4 Dec 2014) ISBN-10: 0141979836


"And thus said Shimei when he cursed, Come out, come out, thou bloody man, and thou man of Belial: The LORD hath returned upon thee all the blood of the house of Saul, in whose stead thou hast reigned; and the LORD hath delivered the kingdom into the hand of Absalom thy son: and, behold, thou art taken in thy mischief because thou art a bloody man.—King James Bible 2 Samuel 16:7, 8.[1]

So ye shall not pollute the land wherein ye are: for blood it defileth the land: and the land cannot be cleansed of the blood that is shed therein, but by the blood of him that shed it.

—King James Bible Numbers 35:33.

"Even his virtues were misinterpreted and scandalously reviled. His gentleness was miscalled defect of wisdom; his firmness, obstinacy; his regular devotion, popery; his decent worship, superstition; his opposing of schism, hatred of the power of godliness.
Mark Kishlansky's new biography of Charles I is an extremely controversial work. 

Kishlansky believes that Charles has been misunderstood by history a viewpoint that is not shared amongst the majority of historians who study the English revolution. For Kishalnsky Charles was not a "man of blood" as General Thomas Harrison called him and that history has much-maligned this monarch.

Kishlanksy's book is an aggressive defence of both Charles and the monarchy in general. "Princes are not bound to give an account of their actions, but to God alone" Kishlanskyhas taken the quote and turned it into a historical perspective.

According to him "Charles I is the most despised monarch in Britain's historical memory. Considering that among his predecessors were murderers, rapists, psychotics and people who were the mentally challenged, this is no small distinction."

One of the basic premises of writing a biography is to put the individual being written about the context of their times. In this case, the English revolution. The revolution caused widespread devastation and hundreds of thousands were killed and wounded a reigning monarch is executed a republic declared, and the House of Lords abolished, but there is very little of this drama in Kinshlansky's book. One of the main protagonists of the revolution Oliver Cromwell only gets one mention.

Given that the English revolution was primarily a political and religious dispute, Kishlanksy's heavy emphasis on the individual mistakes, misjudgments and general bad luck of the monarch is typical of his historical methodology. In many senses, this biography is primarily a political rehabilitation of Charles. The book takes on the form of a polemical essay rather than a history book.

It is not surprising that Kinshlansky's historiography regarding Charles has been a challenge in academia. As Clive Holmes explains“Mark Kishlansky, in his rather implausible attempt to create a historiographical uniformity, cites a series of quotations from a wide range of historians. He then triumphally demonstrates that a proportion of these comments are dubious or just plain wrong. I have argued here that Kishlansky's attempt to reconfigure the king as open and accessible by a study of his progress itself entails overstatement and misunderstanding. Kevin Sharpe's guarded judgement on this topic, 'it may still remain true that Charles was less than assiduous in cultivating his people in general and his influential subjects in particular, is more compelling.51 But, ultimately, isolation is not simply a matter of propinquity; we do not need to imagine Charles as physically inaccessible, locked away from his people in either Van Dyck's studio or his damp hunting lodges, to judge him isolated.

His isolation was a function of his refusal to engage in meaningful dialogue with 'the people who count', and of his consequent failure to understand both the limitations imposed on his actions by the administrative structure of England and the political and legal prejudices of those who staffed that machinery at all levels. Kishlansky does not engage specifically with all the negative comments that he recites in his introduction, imagining that his vigorous refutation of some points will explode every aspect of the professional consensus - Richard Cust's 'straw man' may be a better image - that he has constructed. But some of the arguments he dismisses by implication seem basically right: not least Gardiner's sense that it was the king's lack of empathy, his 'want of imaginative power', that was at the root of his failure is still a most telling judgement”.[2]

Kishlansky defended his love affair with Charles in his reply to Clive Holmes, Nearly every conflict between subjects and sovereign in the early part of the reign of Charles I resulted from fear: fear that the king would introduce popery, fear that the king would govern without Parliament, fear that the king would not obey the law. Although Charles attempted to allay each of these concerns, he learned to his cost that there was something irrational about them, that his subjects 'had not the will to be pleased'.Leading men of his realm misinterpreted his intentions, misapprehended his aspirations, misunderstood his motives and misconstrued his character. He could not see himself as the king that they feared and therefore, could do little to allay their suspicions. In the end, he could only conclude that he was a case of mistaken identity.[3]

This theme of Charles not being understood is a continual theme of the book. The theme is so strong even Amazon deemed it important enough to put it on the cover blurb saying "In Mark Kishlanksy's brilliant account it is never in doubt that Charles created his catastrophe, but he was nonetheless opposed by men with far fewer scruples and less consistency who for often quite different reasons conspired to destroy him. This is a remarkable portrait of one of the most talented, thoughtful, loyal, moral, artistically alert and yet, somehow, disastrous of all this country's rulers".

Of course, it is Amazon's right to promote the book anyway it sees fit, but as the above quote suggests this has gone beyond standard promotion. Hopefully whoever wrote the media blurb was not a historian for it reduces history to the level of a Janet and John book. Firstly it must be said that the men who opposed Charles both inside Parliament and out were men of principle and fought for those principles through to the end.

Kishlanksy's adoption of the bad man theory of history does not enlighten us about Charles or the men who fought him. Kishlansky believes of Charles that "Beneath the reviled and excoriated King of historical reputation is a flesh-and-blood man trapped by circumstances he could not control and events he could not shape." Kishlanksy's belief that individuals are prisoners of external forces also does not get us very far.

As Herbert Spencer once wrote "You must admit that the genesis of the great man depends on the long series of complex influences which has produced the race in which he appears, and the social state into which that race has slowly grown...Before he can remake his society, his society must make him."[4] Kishlanksy's aim in this book is to overturn centuries of the historiography that attempted to place Charles in the context of his times rather than elevated him above it in some supernatural way.

He believes that the long-held view of Charles and his reign has been distorted and the centuries-long historical narratives opposing this view is mere "Parliamentarian propaganda."Kishlansky's rehabilitation of Charles found support in a surprising place. A review of his book was written on the Guardian website. It is widely sympathetic to Kishlanksy's' view. Without examining in any detail what major historians have printed on the subject matter, it produces quotes that back up the Kishlansky hypothesis. It uncritically quotes Kishlansky "What began as propaganda has been transmuted into seeming fact."

The Guardian article continues Kishlanksy's theme that Charles was battling against bad luck all through his life "Whichever side you take, it's hard to deny that Charles was plagued from early on by almost comical levels of bad luck. As a young man, his daring incognito voyage to Spain to woo the Infanta turned into a fiasco. Two decades later, not only would his armies suffer crippling losses at the battle of Naseby, but Charles's correspondence would be captured: the public revelation of his efforts to secure Catholic support against the forces of Parliament would be a devastating blow to the king's reputation. A botched attempt to attack and plunder Spanish shipping in the first year of his reign set the tone for later military ventures: 'the winds, as always for Charles, were contrary'.[5]

Kishlanksy's defence of Charles I is absolute and unconditional. He rejects the standard view that Charles was intransigent. He believes that the king bent over backwards to conciliate and to compromise with Parliament. Kishlansky is perfectly in his right as an established historian to counter prevailing historiography. It is a little surprising that he chooses to do so in such a limited space is astonishing. But to overturn three centuries of historiography is going to take a lot longer than 144 pages. As one writer puts it, the "small amounts of evidence are made to bear an enormous argumentative burden".

Even the sympathetic Guardian reviewer was forced to admit that Kishlanksy's hoop-jumping was in danger of turning his reconsideration of Charles into a "whitewash."

It is not within the scope of this review to go over Kishlanksy's previous written work, but it is evident from this new book that his place as a pioneer of a transatlantic revisionist interpretation of early Stuart history is secured. Kishlansky joins a growing number of major historians such Kevin Sharpe, Conrad Russell and John Morrill who reject both the Whig and Marxist historians who had seen the Civil Wars of the 1640s as stemming from the growth of ideological opposition to the Stuart monarchs over the previous half-century.

The revisionist school seek to challenge the "ideological consensus" or as Kishlansky puts it the "fallacy of social determinism' that has existed since the 1920s. These historians reject any severe economic or social analysis and argue that revolutions are nothing but the work of a tiny group of conspirators.

To conclude In any review, I try to be as generous as I can, and on the whole, I would recommend this short narrative on the life of Charles I was a competent introduction to the subject. If that were all it was, then I would have no trouble, but as this is more a polemic than a history book it needs to be answered in the future in a more detailed manner.




[1] A Sermon produced thirty years after Charles's death
[2] CHARLES I: A Case of Mistaken Identity[with Reply] Clive Holmes, Julian Goodare, Richard Cust and  Mark Kishlansky Source: Past & Present, No. 205 pp. 175-237
[3] Charles I: A Case of Mistaken Identity Author(s): Mark Kishlansky Source: Past & Present, No. 189 (Nov., 2005), pp. 41-80
[4] https://fli.institute/2014/08/19/the-great-man-theory-of-leadership/
[5] Charles I: An Abbreviated Life by Mark Kishlansky – http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/dec/18/charles-i-an-abbreviated-life-king-mark-kishlansky-review

Saturday, 27 December 2014

The Levellers and the Historians: A Reassessment of Rachel Foxley’s Contribution to Revolutionary Studies

The publication of Rachel Foxley’s The Levellers marks a significant moment in English Revolution historiography. It is the first monograph devoted exclusively to the Leveller movement since H. N. Brailsford’s The Levellers and the English Revolution (1961), and this half-century gap is itself historiographically revealing. The absence of sustained scholarly engagement with the Levellers cannot be attributed to a lack of archival material or interpretive difficulty. Rather, it reflects the political and intellectual realignments that have reshaped academic history since the late twentieth century. The Levellers’ marginalisation has accompanied the rise of revisionist approaches that seek to separate political thought from social conflict, limit the scope of revolutionary agency, and displace class analysis from the centre of historical explanation. In this sense, the historiographical silence surrounding the Levellers reflects a broader ideological shift within the discipline.

Foxley’s opening chapter, aptly titled “The Levellers and the Historians,” acknowledges this context with admirable clarity. She observes that revisionist scholars “have questioned almost every aspect of the historical reputation of the Levellers” (p. 3), from the coherence of their political programme to the extent of their influence within the New Model Army. Her study is thus situated within a long-running historiographical dispute- one that has, in effect, constituted a British Historikerstreit over the nature of radicalism, republicanism, and political agency in the 1640s. Although Foxley does not explicitly present her work as a polemical intervention in this debate, her analysis inevitably engages with it, and her conclusions challenge several entrenched assumptions of the revisionist orthodoxy.

Foxley’s intervention becomes clearer when set against the intellectual climate in which revisionism emerged. Beginning with G. R. Elton and consolidated by scholars such as Conrad Russell, John Morrill, and Mark Kishlansky, revisionism rejected the structural and class-based interpretations advanced by Marxist historians including Christopher Hill and Brian Manning. Rather than emphasising social conflict, revisionists focused on constitutional crisis, administrative breakdown, religious sensibilities, and the contingent decisions of political elites. The Levellers, whose programme articulated demands for popular sovereignty, legal reform, and political accountability, sat uneasily within this framework. Their radicalism was minimised, reinterpreted as derivative, or dismissed as marginal. As a result, historiography often presents the Levellers as episodic actors rather than a coherent political movement.

Foxley’s study challenges this reduction. By emphasising the intellectual originality of Leveller political thought, she shows that their arguments cannot be dismissed as mere extensions of Independent or sectarian discourse. Her analysis of the Agreement of the People, the petitioning campaigns of 1646–49, and the ideological exchanges surrounding the Putney Debates reveals a movement capable of sustained organisation and theoretical innovation. In doing so, she reopens questions that revisionism had prematurely closed: the relationship between political ideas and social forces, the extent of popular mobilisation, and the ideological diversity within the parliamentarian coalition.

At the same time, Foxley’s work reflects the constraints of the historiographical environment in which it was produced. Her emphasis on political theory, rather than the class dynamics shaping Leveller activity, partly aligns her with post-revisionist tendencies. She places the Levellers within a broad parliamentarian milieu and, while cautioning against dissolving them into an undifferentiated political world, does not fully articulate the structural tensions that defined their position within the revolutionary process. This unresolved tension between recognising Leveller distinctiveness and situating them within a wider coalition marks the limits of her intervention.

Nevertheless, The Levellers makes a major contribution to the field. It restores the movement to the centre of debates on political thought during the English Revolution and challenges the revisionist minimisation of radical agency. In doing so, Foxley’s study helps correct a long-standing imbalance in the historiography and reasserts the Levellers’ importance in shaping the political imagination of the 1640s.

Revisionism and Its Discontents

Foxley’s relationship with revisionist scholarship is complex and, in many respects, emblematic of the broader tensions that have shaped English Civil War historiography over the past half-century. On the one hand, she challenges the more reductive claims advanced by scholars such as Gary De Krey, whose critique focuses on the chronology and coherence of Leveller organisation. De Krey argues that the term “Leveller” emerged only in late 1647 and, therefore, that no identifiable movement existed before then.

This insistence on terminological precision leads him to reduce the political developments of 1645–47 to a series of contingent alliances, obscuring the ideological continuity and strategic coherence that Lilburne, Overton, and Walwyn were already shaping. As the review notes, “Movements do not wait for their opponents to name them before they exist.” Foxley’s readiness to identify a Leveller movement before it was formally named therefore challenges revisionist scepticism and signals her refusal to regard political identity as purely retrospective.

Yet Foxley’s resistance to revisionism is not absolute. Her methodological focus on political theory, rather than on the social forces that produced and sustained it, places her partly alongside post-revisionist approaches that seek to combine ideological analysis with a more pluralistic understanding of political culture. She locates the Levellers within a broad parliamentarian milieu, emphasising the fluidity of alliances and the permeability of ideological boundaries. This approach enables her to highlight the Levellers’ intellectual originality without artificially separating them from the wider political world in which they operated. At the same time, she warns against “dissolving them into an undifferentiated part of that complex political world” (p. 6), demonstrating her awareness of the dangers of excessive integration. The Levellers were neither mere Independents nor simply one faction among many; they articulated a distinctive political programme that cannot be reduced to the sum of their alliances.

The tension between these positions, however, remains unresolved. Foxley’s analysis does not fully articulate the class character of Leveller politics or the structural limits that shaped its trajectory. Her focus on political argumentation, petitions, pamphlets, and constitutional proposals illuminates the intellectual creativity of Leveller thought but leaves the social base that enabled it underexplored.

The Levellers drew their support mainly from artisans, apprentices, small producers, and sections of London’s lower middle strata, as well as those of other urban centres. These groups held distinctive economic interests and political expectations that shaped Leveller demands for legal reform, popular sovereignty, and magistrate accountability. Without placing Leveller ideology in this social context, the movement can appear as a free-floating constellation of ideas rather than a political expression of specific class forces.

This omission becomes more apparent when Foxley examines the structural limits of Leveller influence. She acknowledges the hostility of the army grandees and political elite. Still, she does not fully consider why Leveller demands became intolerable to the propertied classes that ultimately shaped the post-revolutionary settlement. The suppression of the Levellers in 1649 resulted not simply from ideological disagreement or personal animosity, but from a class struggle within the revolutionary camp, as the interests of small producers collided with those of landowners, merchants, and military commanders. By failing to foreground these dynamics, Foxley’s account risks underestimating the material constraints that defined both the possibilities and the limits of Leveller radicalism.

In this sense, Foxley’s work occupies an intermediate position within the historiographical landscape. She challenges revisionist minimisation of Leveller coherence and influence, but does not fully adopt the class-centred analyses advanced by Marxist historians such as Hill, Manning, or Slaughter. Her study thus serves both as a corrective to revisionist reductionism and as an expression of the post-revisionist reluctance to engage directly with the structural determinants of political action. This duality is not a flaw, but a marker of the historiographical moment in which her work was produced, a moment characterised by methodological pluralism, theoretical caution, and an ongoing effort to reconcile political ideas with social forces. 

The Intellectual Originality of Leveller Thought

One of the major strengths of Foxley’s study is its demonstration of the originality and intellectual coherence of Leveller political thought. Against the long-standing revisionist tendency to depict the Levellers as derivative or merely reactive, Foxley convincingly argues that their political language was neither a simple extension of Independent polemic nor an improvised response to the accelerating crises of the late 1640s. Instead, she shows how Lilburne, Overton, Walwyn, and their associates forged a distinctive idiom that combined scriptural references, historical analogies, and emergent secular reasoning in unprecedented ways within English political discourse. Their pamphlets, petitions, and constitutional proposals reveal a sustained effort to theorise political authority, liberty, and representation at a moment when inherited frameworks were collapsing. As contemporaries recognised, the Levellers were the revolution’s ideologues, seeking to make sense of unprecedented political developments with the intellectual resources available to them.

Foxley’s analysis is especially effective in showing that Leveller thought cannot be reduced to the religious idioms through which it was often expressed. While recognising scripture’s pervasive influence on seventeenth-century political argument, she demonstrates that the Levellers used biblical language strategically rather than dogmatically. Their appeals to “freeborn rights,” “the laws of nature,” and “the people’s consent” were not simply theological extensions, but elements of a broader shift toward secularised political reasoning. In this respect, Foxley challenges interpretations that trace Leveller radicalism exclusively to congregational practice or covenant theology. Instead, she places their political creativity within a wider intellectual transformation that was beginning to separate political and social questions from scriptural authority.

It is important to place this intellectual creativity within a broader European context. The erosion of scriptural authority after the publication of Copernicus’s De Revolutionibus (1543), followed by the work of Brahe, Kepler, and Galileo, destabilised the cosmological foundations on which medieval political thought had rested. As scientific inquiry undermined the Ptolemaic universe and challenged the epistemological supremacy of biblical revelation, new forms of political reasoning became possible. The Levellers were neither scientists nor consciously involved in the scientific revolution, but they operated in an intellectual environment increasingly receptive to secular explanations. Their arguments for popular sovereignty, legal accountability, and political equality reflect this shift. They belonged to a generation beginning, however tentatively, to seek answers to political and social problems beyond the confines of theological orthodoxy.

In this sense, Leveller thought anticipates aspects of the Enlightenment. Their insistence that political authority derives from the people rather than divine sanction, emphasis on rational law over arbitrary power, and belief in the universality of certain rights all foreshadow developments in eighteenth-century political philosophy. At the same time, their critique of oligarchic power and defence of small producers and artisans echo themes later adopted by socialist thinkers. It would be anachronistic to describe the Levellers as proto-Marxists, and Foxley avoids such simplifications. Nevertheless, their political language contains early elements of later democratic and egalitarian traditions, showing that the intellectual genealogy of modern radicalism cannot be confined to the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries.

Foxley’s contribution, therefore, is not merely to rehabilitate the Levellers as significant actors in the English Revolution but to restore the intellectual depth of their political project. By situating their ideas within both the immediate revolutionary context and the longer trajectory of European thought, she shows that Leveller radicalism was neither accidental nor derivative. It was a creative and historically consequential attempt to rethink the foundations of political authority at a moment when the old world was collapsing and a new one struggling to be born.

A Movement with a Mass Audience

Foxley’s analysis of Leveller mobilisation is one of the most empirically substantial and historiographically consequential elements of her study. Against the revisionist tendency to minimise the movement’s organisational capacity and popular resonance, she reconstructs a pattern of sustained political activity that demonstrates the Levellers’ ability to reach, mobilise, and coordinate large numbers of supporters across London and beyond. Her discussion of the Remonstrance of Many Thousand Citizens (July 1646) is particularly illuminating. She identifies it as “the first Leveller text to claim a mass following” (p. 36), and treats it not as rhetorical exaggeration but as evidence of a developing political constituency. By foregrounding this document, Foxley challenges the assumption common among conservative historians that Leveller radicalism was confined to a narrow circle of pamphleteers and sectaries. Instead, she shows that by mid‑1646 the Levellers were already articulating demands that resonated widely among artisans, apprentices, small producers, and politically conscious segments of the urban population.

Her use of recent scholarship on petitioning and print culture further strengthens this argument. The figures she cites- 30,000 copies of a petition printed in January 1648, 98,000 signatures on a later Remonstrance, 20,000 copies of the Agreement of the People distributed free, and 10,000 signatures on the women’s petition of March 1649- are striking not only for their scale but for what they reveal about the infrastructure of Leveller mobilisation. These numbers indicate a movement capable of coordinating printers, distributors, ward organisers, and networks of sympathisers across multiple parishes and guild structures. They also suggest that Leveller texts circulated far beyond the immediate circles of their authors, reaching readers who may not have identified formally with the movement but who were receptive to its arguments. In this respect, Foxley’s work undermines the revisionist portrayal of the Levellers as marginal or ephemeral. Instead, she presents them as a dynamic political force whose organisational practices anticipated later forms of mass politics.

Equally important is Foxley’s challenge to the claim that Leveller political ideas were fundamentally religious in origin. While acknowledging the period's pervasive religious idiom, she argues that “there is simply no need to go hunting in covenant theology or congregational practice for Leveller political ideas of equality or ‘democracy,’ or for a prototype of the Agreement of the People” (p. 9). This intervention matters in a long‑standing historiographical debate. For decades, revisionist scholars have attempted to locate the roots of Leveller radicalism in sectarian ecclesiology, thereby reducing their political programme to an extension of congregationalist church governance. Foxley rejects this reduction. She shows that Leveller arguments for popular sovereignty, legal accountability, and political equality cannot be explained solely, or even primarily, through religious categories. Their political language drew on a wider repertoire: classical republicanism, common law traditions, natural rights discourse, and the emergent secular reasoning that was beginning to reshape European intellectual life.

By disentangling Leveller political thought from narrowly theological explanations, Foxley restores the movement’s intellectual autonomy. She shows that while the Levellers operated within a religious culture, their political arguments were not derivative of it. This distinction matters because it repositions the Levellers within the broader history of political ideas. Rather than treating them as a sectarian offshoot, Foxley presents them as participants in a wider transformation in political reasoning- one that was beginning to detach questions of authority, liberty, and representation from the interpretive monopoly of scripture.

Taken together, Foxley’s analysis of mobilisation and her critique of religious reductionism significantly revise the historiographical landscape. They reveal a movement that was both organisationally sophisticated and intellectually innovative, capable of articulating political demands that resonated across a broad social base. In doing so, she challenges the revisionist minimisation of Leveller significance and restores the movement to its rightful place within the political imagination of the English Revolution.

Levellers and the New Model Army

The chapter on the Levellers’ relationship with the New Model Army constitutes Foxley’s most substantial and consequential historiographical intervention. For more than four decades, revisionist scholars such as Austin Woolrych, John Morrill, and Mark Kishlansky have argued that Leveller influence within the army was limited, episodic, or ideologically incompatible with military discipline. In this view, the army’s political actions in 1647–49 can be explained through institutional grievances, professional honour, and war experience, rather than through the penetration of radical political ideas. Foxley challenges this orthodoxy directly. She highlights the petitioning campaigns of spring 1647, the cooperation between civilian and military radicals, and the striking consistency of demands articulated by Leveller leaders and army agitators. Her analysis demonstrates that Leveller influence was neither accidental nor superficial but formed part of a sustained dialogue between civilian activists and politically conscious soldiers.

Central to Foxley’s argument is her treatment of the Putney Debates. Although constrained by the publisher’s space limitations, her discussion is judicious and incisive. She rejects the revisionist tendency to treat Putney as an isolated episode, a momentary eruption of radicalism unconnected to the army’s broader political development. Instead, she situates the debates within ongoing exchanges among agitators, grandees, and civilian Levellers, showing how the issues raised at Putney had already circulated in petitions, pamphlets, and informal discussions throughout the army. This contextualisation is crucial. It shows that the debates were not an aberration but the culmination of a political process in which soldiers actively engaged with questions of sovereignty, representation, and constitutional settlement.

The review reinforces Foxley’s argument by listing the numerous Levellers who served in the army or maintained close ties with it. Figures such as Edward Sexby, William Allen, Thomas Prince, John Harris, and the Rainsborough brothers demonstrate that Leveller sympathies were not confined to civilian circles. Lilburne’s own military record was widely known, and army chaplains such as Jeremiah Ives and Edward Harrison openly supported Leveller positions. These connections undermine the revisionist assertion that the Levellers were “exterior to the army.” They instead reveal a porous boundary between civilian radicalism and military activism, where ideas, personnel, and organisational practices circulated freely.

Foxley’s conclusion that Putney marked “not the end but the beginning of a potentially fertile alliance between civilian Levellers and army radicals” (p. 158) directly challenges the standard revisionist narrative. Rather than viewing the debates as a moment of radical overreach swiftly contained by Cromwell and Ireton, she interprets them as the opening of a political space in which Leveller ideas could shape the army’s constitutional imagination. This interpretation restores the debates to their proper place within the revolutionary dynamic. It emphasises the agency of rank‑and‑file soldiers, the army's ideological diversity, and the possibility, however constrained, of a democratic transformation emerging from within the military structure itself.

Foxley’s intervention has broader historiographical implications. By demonstrating the depth of Leveller–army interaction, she challenges the revisionist minimisation of radicalism and reasserts the importance of ideological conflict within the parliamentarian coalition. Her analysis suggests that the army was not merely a professional fighting force but a political institution in which debates about authority, liberty, and representation were actively contested. In doing so, she reopens questions that revisionism had prematurely closed: the extent of popular political consciousness, the relationship between military organisation and political radicalism, and the structural tensions within the revolutionary movement.

In sum, Foxley’s chapter on the army is a major contribution to the field. It dismantles the revisionist portrayal of the Levellers as marginal and restores the New Model Army's political complexity. By reintegrating Putney into the broader revolutionary process, she offers a more dynamic and historically grounded account of radicalism in the 1640s- one that recognises the army not as a passive institution but as a site of ideological struggle and political possibility.

Class Limits and the Cromwellian Settlement

Where Foxley’s analysis is less satisfactory is in her treatment of the class limits of Leveller politics. Although she acknowledges the hostility of the grandees and the structural pressures facing the movement, she does not fully explore the deeper social dynamics that shaped both the possibilities and the constraints of Leveller radicalism. The Levellers drew their support primarily from artisans, apprentices, small producers, and segments of the lower middle strata groups whose economic interests and political expectations diverged sharply from those of the propertied classes who ultimately determined the trajectory of the post‑revolutionary settlement. This divergence was not incidental. It was rooted in the material conditions of seventeenth‑century England, where the emerging capitalist order was reshaping relations of production, property, and political authority.

The Levellers’ programme- universal male suffrage, equality before the law, accountability of magistrates, and the subordination of rulers to the people- reflected the aspirations of those who were being drawn into the early capitalist labour market yet still retained elements of economic independence. Their demands expressed both a desire to preserve older forms of small‑scale production and a need to articulate new forms of political agency in a rapidly changing society. In this sense, Leveller radicalism was simultaneously forward‑looking and rooted in the social position of its supporters. It advanced democratic ideas but was limited by the class base from which it emerged.

Foxley recognises aspects of this dynamic but does not fully develop its implications. Her emphasis on political theory pamphlets, petitions, and constitutional proposals illuminates the intellectual creativity of Leveller thought but leaves underexplored the structural forces that shaped the movement’s trajectory. The suppression of the Levellers at Burford in May 1649 was not, as the review notes, “an accident of personalities but the outcome of a class struggle within the revolutionary camp.” The grandees, representing the interests of landowners, merchants, and the higher strata of the bourgeoisie, could not tolerate demands that threatened property qualifications, social hierarchy, and the stability of the emerging capitalist order. Cromwell’s actions- arresting Leveller leaders, suppressing mutinies, and consolidating state power- were not simply tactical decisions but class imperatives.

Foxley acknowledges the grandees’ hostility but does not fully explore why Leveller ideas became intolerable to the propertied classes. The Levellers’ insistence on political equality clashed with the economic inequalities that underpinned the revolutionary elite's power. Their critique of arbitrary authority threatened not only monarchical absolutism but also the authority of those who had assumed leadership of the parliamentarian cause. Their demands for legal reform challenged the very structures that maintained property relations. In short, the Levellers’ political programme was incompatible with the class interests of those who emerged victorious from the revolution.

This omission matters because it limits Foxley’s ability to explain the movement’s defeat. Without situating Leveller radicalism within the broader class structure of seventeenth‑century England, the suppression at Burford risks appearing as a contingent event rather than as the predictable outcome of a deeper social conflict. The Levellers were not defeated because their ideas were impractical or because they misjudged the political moment. They were defeated because their demands threatened the foundations of the new order the propertied classes were constructing.

Law, Liberty, and the Freeborn Englishman

The chapter on law and liberty is among the most stimulating in Foxley’s book, offering a nuanced account of Leveller legal thought and its place within the political culture of the 1640s. Yet it contains a notable omission: Foxley does not engage with Soviet legal scholarship, particularly the work of Evgeny Pashukanis, whose analysis of early modern legal forms provides one of the most sophisticated frameworks for understanding the Levellers’ juridical innovations. This absence is striking because Pashukanis’s Revolutionary Elements in the History of the English State and Law (1927) remains one of the few attempts to situate Leveller legal arguments within a broader theory of the emergence of bourgeois law. His insights illuminate precisely the terrain Foxley explores, and their omission leaves a gap in an otherwise rich chapter.

Pashukanis argued that John Lilburne’s legal thought anticipated key principles of bourgeois criminal law, including the requirement that punishment correspond to the crime and the prohibition of ex post facto legislation. These principles, which would later become foundational to modern liberal jurisprudence, appear in Lilburne’s writings not as abstract theoretical propositions but as practical demands arising from his own experiences of arbitrary imprisonment, judicial manipulation, and executive overreach. Pashukanis’s observation that Lilburne was “the first man in England to succeed in being served with an indictment” underscores the novelty of Leveller legal arguments. It highlights how Lilburne’s struggles forced the state to articulate and formalise procedures that had previously been applied inconsistently or not at all. In Pashukanis’s reading, Lilburne’s confrontations with authority reveal the embryonic formation of legal norms that would later underpin the bourgeois state.

Foxley’s silence on this tradition is regrettable, given its relevance to her subject. Her analysis rightly emphasises the Levellers’ insistence on due process, legal accountability, and the rights of the accused. She shows how their arguments drew on common law traditions, natural rights discourse, and the political language of freeborn English liberties. Yet without engaging with Pashukanis, she misses an opportunity to connect Leveller legal thought to a broader theoretical account of law's historical development. Pashukanis’s framework would have let her situate Leveller demands within the transition from feudal to bourgeois legal forms, illuminating the structural forces that shaped their arguments and why those arguments resonated so powerfully in the 1640s.

Moreover, Pashukanis’s analysis provides a counterpoint to interpretations that treat Leveller legal thought as merely an extension of religious or constitutional traditions. By emphasising the material and class dimensions of legal development, he offers a way of understanding why the Levellers’ juridical innovations emerged when they did and why they took the form they did. His reading suggests that Leveller legal arguments were not simply moral appeals or constitutional clarifications but expressions of deeper social transformations associated with the rise of market relations, the consolidation of property rights, and the emergence of a new political subject: the legally autonomous individual. Foxley gestures toward these themes but does not fully develop them, and her omission of Pashukanis leaves this dimension of Leveller thought underexplored.

This gap is particularly evident in her discussion of the relationship between law and class. Foxley acknowledges the grandees’ hostility to Leveller legal reforms but does not analyse the structural reasons why those reforms were unacceptable to the propertied classes. Pashukanis’s framework would have clarified this point: the Levellers’ insistence on legal equality and procedural fairness challenged elites' discretionary power. It threatened the hierarchical legal order that underpinned emerging capitalist relations. Their defeat, therefore, was not simply political but juridical: a suppression of legal forms that were incompatible with the interests of those shaping the post‑revolutionary settlement.

In sum, Foxley’s chapter on law and liberty is rich and insightful, but her omission of Pashukanis represents a missed opportunity. Engaging with Soviet legal scholarship would have deepened her analysis, connected Leveller legal thought to broader theoretical traditions, and clarified the structural forces that shaped both the movement’s achievements and its limits.

Conclusion

Foxley’s The Levellers is, without question, a major scholarly achievement. It synthesises a wide range of recent research, challenges entrenched revisionist assumptions, and restores the Levellers to a central place in the political thought of the English Revolution. In doing so, it intervenes decisively in a historiographical landscape long shaped by scepticism toward radical agency and by a tendency to minimise the intellectual coherence of seventeenth‑century popular movements. Foxley’s work demonstrates that the Levellers were not marginal pamphleteers or episodic agitators but serious political thinkers whose ideas resonated across a broad social base and contributed meaningfully to the revolutionary dynamic of the 1640s.

One of the book’s most impressive accomplishments is its ability to integrate intellectual history, political theory, and close textual analysis without losing sight of the broader revolutionary context. Foxley’s readings of Leveller pamphlets, petitions, and constitutional proposals are consistently sharp and historically grounded. She shows how the Levellers developed a distinctive political language that combined scriptural references, common-law traditions, and emerging secular reasoning. Her analysis of the Agreement of the People, in particular, highlights the movement’s constitutional imagination and its attempt to articulate a vision of political authority rooted in popular sovereignty rather than inherited privilege. In this respect, Foxley’s work significantly revises the revisionist portrayal of Leveller thought as derivative or improvisational.

Equally important is her challenge to the long‑standing assumption that Leveller influence within the New Model Army was minimal or ideologically incompatible with military discipline. By reconstructing the petitioning campaigns of 1647, the exchanges between agitators and grandees, and the connections between civilian and military radicals, Foxley demonstrates that Leveller ideas circulated widely within the army and shaped debates about representation, authority, and settlement. Her treatment of the Putney Debates is particularly effective, situating them within a broader pattern of political engagement rather than treating them as an isolated eruption of radicalism. In doing so, she restores the debates to their proper place within the revolutionary process and challenges the revisionist minimisation of rank‑and‑file political consciousness.

Despite these strengths, the book has limitations. Foxley’s reluctance to foreground class dynamics leaves an important dimension of Leveller politics underdeveloped. The movement’s social base- artisans, apprentices, small producers- shaped both the radicalism of its demands and the structural limits of its influence. The suppression of the Levellers in 1649 was not merely a political defeat but the outcome of a deeper class conflict within the revolutionary camp. While Foxley acknowledges the grandees' hostility, she does not fully explore the material interests that made Leveller demands intolerable to the propertied classes who ultimately shaped the post‑revolutionary settlement. A more explicit engagement with class analysis would have strengthened her account of both the movement’s achievements and its defeat.

Similarly, Foxley’s silence on Soviet legal scholarship, particularly Evgeny Pashukanis, represents a missed opportunity. Pashukanis’s analysis of Lilburne’s legal thought provides a powerful theoretical framework for understanding the emergence of modern legal norms and the relationship between law and class power. Engaging with this tradition would have deepened Foxley’s discussion of Leveller jurisprudence and connected it to broader debates about the historical development of legal forms.

These limitations, however, do not diminish the book’s overall significance. The Levellers represents a major step toward a more balanced and historically grounded understanding of radical politics in the 1640s. It challenges the revisionist orthodoxy, reopens questions that had been prematurely closed, and restores the Levellers to the centre of debates about political thought in the English Revolution. It deserves a wide readership, and one hopes that a more affordable paperback edition will make it accessible to students and scholars alike.

Primary and Secondary Works

Brailsford, H. N. The Levellers and the English Revolution. London: Cresset Press, 1961.

De Krey, Gary. Review of The Levellers, by Rachel Foxley. History (online). Available at: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/1750-0206.12111_4 (onlinelibrary.wiley.com in Bing)

Foxley, Rachel. The Levellers: Radical Political Thought in the English Revolution. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013.

Hegel, G. W. F. Phenomenology of Spirit. Preface.

Kishlansky, Mark. Various works on the New Model Army and revisionist interpretations (not directly cited with title in the essay but referenced as part of the revisionist school).

Morrill, John. Works on the English Civil War and the New Model Army (referenced in discussion of revisionist historiography).

North, David. Equality, the Rights of Man and the Birth of Socialism. Published online, 24 October 1996. Available at: https://www.wsws.org

Pashukanis, Evgeny B. “Revolutionary Elements in the History of the English State and Law” (1927). Available at: https://www.marxists.org/archive/pashukanis/1927/xx/english.htm (marxists.org in Bing)

Rees, John. – Review of The Levellers, Reviews in History, no. 1519. Available at: https://reviews.history.ac.uk/review/1519 (reviews.history.ac.uk in Bing) – Leveller Organisation and the Dynamic of the English Revolution. PhD thesis, Goldsmiths, University of London, 2014. Available at: http://research.gold.ac.uk/10465/ (research.gold.ac.uk in Bing)

Slaughter, Cliff. “Religion and Social Revolt.” Labour Review, Vol. 3, No. 3 (May–June 1958), pp. 77–82.

Talbot, Ann. “‘These the times … this the man’: an appraisal of historian Christopher Hill.” World Socialist Web Site, 25 March 2003. Available at: https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2003/03/hill-m25.html (wsws.org in Bing)

Contextual and Historiographical References

Elton, G. R. Foundational works on Tudor government and the origins of revisionist historiography (referenced indirectly).

Historikerstreit. General background on the German historiographical dispute. Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Historikerstreit (en.wikipedia.org in Bing)

Woolrych, Austin. Works on the New Model Army and the English Civil War (referenced in discussion of revisionist interpretations).

Notes Corresponding to the Original Essay

  1. Rees, John. Review of The Levellers, Reviews in History, no. 1519.
  2. “Historikerstreit,” Wikipedia.
  3. De Krey, Gary. Review in History.
  4. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, Preface.
  5. Rees, Reviews in History, no. 1519.
  6. Talbot, Ann. WSWS, 25 March 2003.
  7. North, David. Equality, the Rights of Man and the Birth of Socialism.
  8. Rees, Leveller Organisation and the Dynamic of the English Revolution, PhD thesis.
  9. Foxley, The Levellers.
  10. Rees, Reviews in History, no. 1519.
  11. Slaughter, Cliff. “Religion and Social Revolt,” Labour Review, 1958.
  12. Pashukanis, Revolutionary Elements in the History of the English State and Law (1927).