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Monday, 21 November 2016

Coffee with a Conservative #3: Female Collective Victimhood

This is a short response to the video ATTN: SELF DEFENSE IS NOT A CURE FOR VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN, which is a steaming pile of garbage attempting to institutionalize female victomhood, male aggression, and men's collective guilt. It was posted on my facebook wall by one of the cheerleaders of female victimhood, and sadly, their are a number of them in my personal life, who do not, for a second give any critical thought to the idea of the externalities caused by this mentality and its presuppositions. 

The video does not for a moment consider sex differences in violence, or how common assault is. Likewise, it is full of hyperbole and video intended to shock and disgust the viewer nothing in it is based in reality, rather it shows the most extreme forms of stranger violence without context, and overall the video assumes that common sense is sexist. Either way, here is my monologue, which some may find interesting. 

A Broken Compass or a Necessary Conclusion: Liberals and Conservatives and the Second Reform Act of 1867

This essay, was written for a course on modern British History, but I thought it pertinent to include it in the blog content, because it follows a relatively unorthodox interpretation of the Conservative Party's relationship to the Reform Bill of 1867 politics.  I am yet to recieve feedback on it so your mileage may vary, but I think it is at least somewhat substantive, that and the fact, I have not been able to dedicate writing time justified its publication. 
Historiography of the Victorian Era remains inconclusive when it comes to answering the question of why exactly it was the Conservative Party, under Benjamin Disraeli and Lord Derby, that passed the Reform Act of 1867[1] and not the Liberal Party, which seemed to be the party that would naturally pass such emancipatory legislation.[2] This reality seems to cause even greater confusion when it is placed in the context of Lord Russell’s previous reform proposals and the Conservative opposition to previous liberal motions.[3]
It is my, contention that the Conservative Party of Great Britain passed the Reform Act where the Liberal Party could not, due to schismatic principles of the Liberal MPs’: the Liberal Party itself, in, during, and after, the era of P.M Palmerston existed as a loose coalition of Radicals, Whigs, and Liberals, who all had different and irreconcilable visions of reform.[4] On the other hand, the Conservative Party under Disraeli and Derby, I contend, did not face the same obstacles due to a unique perspective that allowed them to reconcile both considerations of political prudence and political principle; where the Liberal party envisioned a phantom, the Conservative Party saw harmony.
It must be noted that, initially, the Liberal Party and the Conservative Party did not oppose Reform in itself.[5] The parties may have disagreed about the constitution of Reform proposals, but by no means did both parties abnegate the notion all together; rather both conservatives and liberals saw reform as necessary based on different initially principles. These principles, in the case of Gladstone, a sense of a-priori right based upon the common bonds between the disenfranchised and current electors as both Englishmen and Christians,[6] and in the principles shared by conservative elements in both factions of alienation, nationhood, and trust in natural prejudice (in the case of the Disraeli),[7] were in turn complicated by the inscrutable political consequences of the passage of any proposed reform bill. Neither party, wished to accidentally disrupt the political equilibrium in favour of the other by ruining the delicate balance between borough and county constituencies.[8] Reform was not, however, supported universally, and certain notable voices in Parliament vocalized their criticisms both in the popular press and in the Houses of Parliament. Members Robert Lowe (Liberal) leader of the Adullamite faction, Viscount Cranborne (Conservative), and Lord Henry Herbert 4th Earl of Carnarvon constituted the primary body fighting to oppose enfranchisement in general.[9]
A second argument, which much be dispensed with is the argument that popular pressure motivated the MPs. Instead, historians concluded that the working class generally acted in an apathetic fashion,[10] and insofar as the Reform League and Reform Union, expressed desire for the secret ballot and manhood suffrage, they also showed themselves willing to compromise.[11] The Hyde Park riot is occasionally written about in the context of militant working class activism, but the public disturbance itself did little to prove that the assembly was in any way militant.[12] Likewise, no MP considered the idea of universal suffrage a valid one, even the leading Radical MP John Bright;[13] MP John Stuart Mill, despite his writings in favour of reform, showed remarkable compromise as well.[14]
If the popular movement showed little vitality, especially in comparison to the Chartists, then Parliament itself became the locus of the debate. The Liberal Party could not pass its desired Reform Bill, via the loose amalgam assembled by Palmerston, and after 1865 led by P.M John Russell and William Gladstone,[15] without capitulating to the multitudinous interests of the party at the expense of additional factions.
Each element of the Liberal Party promoted their own agenda. The Radicals feared the dominance of the Aristocrats and landed interest; the Radical liberals sought to ensure, through representing the capitalist and middle class populations, particularly in the form of redistribution, a fulfilment of the destruction of the noble monopoly on power in Westminster.[16] Meanwhile, the Whigs and aristocratic Liberals, including the Adullamites, perceived themselves as the rearguard of the liberal order defending free trade, laisse-faire economics, individual right, and the middle-class interest.[17] In turn, Gladstone worked from an implicit position as a progressive, his chief aim being the dissolution of class and the emancipation of those deemed responsible and intelligent enough to exercise the vote.[18] Together, all these interests commanded a respectable portion of the assembly, and the invidious nature of their disagreement, frequently focused on the viability of rating vs rent qualifications, led to the dissolution of the government in 1866.[19] In summation, the fall of the Russell Government could be characterised as a failed dialogue on what exactly it meant to be a liberal.
If the Liberal Party could not satisfy its elements, then the Conservative Party did not experience the same intellectual differences; in addition, the Conservative Party, felt pressured, due to its position as a minority government to expedite reform,[20] this in turn left the conservative opponents to reform relatively mute: the pertinent exception being the resignation of Johnathan Peel, Viscount Cranborne, and Lord Carnarvon.[21]
The Conservative government headed by Lord Derby and Disraeli had relatively few considerations when it came to reform and less to lose. Firstly, Conservatives concerned themselves primarily with keeping a clear division between the county and borough franchises. They proved sagacious in the realization that in boroughs already dominated by Liberals reform posed little threat, rather avoiding the expansion of the electoral districts to included any urbanized area within the limits of the counties became imperative.[22] This allowed for the renunciation of the rating provision and other ‘fancy franchises’ with little consequence to the overall intent of the bill.[23] Secondly, unlike the Liberal Party, the Conservatives saw little need to maintain an intellectual body of representatives in the Houses of Parliament; instead, they saw paying of any rates at all as necessary to determine personal responsibility: this drove them to eliminate the provision for compounding in the Small Tenancies Act of 1850, an extremely popular amendment.[24] Thirdly, Disraeli and fellow Conservatives had confidence in the existence of an unrepresented low class conservative voter; the liberals concerned with keeping the middle-class electors dominate could not abide enfranchising that demographic: the ‘residuum’ as Bright termed it.[25] Finally, the Conservatives placed their trust in the nation as unconscious body waiting to be unified into one, particularly in the shape of harmonizing the interests of the low class and the aristocracy, both of which suffered at the hands of the Whigs.[26] Historian and political theorist Russell Kirk claimed the Whigs entered politics and quickly began ‘bullying Crown and Commons,’ eventually ensuring the dominance of the commercial class with the Great Reform Act of 1832.[27] It was then, under these conditions that the Conservative Party in 1867 found itself impelled toward the passage of the Second Reform Act.
1867 was a propitious year for Great Britain. The Conservative Party under Disraeli and Derby, displayed uncharacteristic ability in out maneuvering the Liberal Party of Russell and Gladstone and in turn enfranchising an estimated 1.1 million Englishmen an 82% increase between 1866 and 1868,[28] the other countries of the United Kingdom would have to wait. This ability, to reform, when reform seemed stagnant, yet necessary, arose out of a unique capacity to both make concessions and act on political principle. It should be noted however, that Disraeli hoped that the Reform Act of 1867 would be the last.[29] The Conservative passage of the Reform Act need not confound historians.
The Liberal Party lost much of its momentum due to difficulty cementing the amalgamation of Radicals and right and left liberals, that characterized the party of Palmerston; this failure then accounted for the Tory success: it appears though the act may have been an act more suitable and likely to pass under the Liberal Party, if only it could escape the debate about minutia, such as attempts to balance class interests in the boroughs and the Commons;[30] fear of trade unionism;[31] and the details involved in implicit understandings of the permanence of class itself;[32] the Liberal Party above all feared disruption the equilibrium of 1832 and this prevented the realization of John Russell’s dream.

[1] E. J. Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire: Britain, 1865-1914 (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 1985), 44; Gertrude Himmelfarb, ‘The Politics of Democracy: The English Reform Act of 1867,’ The Journal of British Studies 6, no. 01 (1966): 107-108, 117-118; Robert Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform and the Making of the Second Reform Act, 1848-1867,’ The Historical Journal 50, no. 3 (2007): 572-573.
[2] Himmelfarb, ‘Politics of Democracy,’ 114-115, 117-118.
[3] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 571, 575-576.
[4] Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 27-28.
[5] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 574; Theodore k. Hoppen, The Mid-Victorian Generation: 1846-1886 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998) 251.
[6] Hoppen, The Mid-Victorian Generation: 1846-1886, 244-245; Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 34-35; Himmelfarb,Politics of Democracy,’ 109.
[7] Hoppen, The Mid-Victorian Generation, 240; G. R Searle, Entrepreneurial Politics in Mid-Victorian Britain (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 227-228; Russell Kirk, The Conservative Mind from Burke to Eliot (Lake Bluff IL: Regnery Books, 1986), 276.
[8] Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 39-40; Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 577.
[9] Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 30, 39-40; Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 581.
[10] Kirk, Conservative Mind, 265; Searle, Entrepreneurial Politics, 220-221; Hoppen, The Mid-Victorian Generation, 235, 240.
[11] Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 29; Hoppen, The Mid-Victorian Generation, 235; Himmelfarb,’ Politics of Democracy,’ 103.
[12] Himmelfarb, ‘Politics of Democracy,’ 104-105.
[13] Ibid., 106.
[14] Ibid., 106.
[15]Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 29.
[16] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 474-575; Searle, Entrepreneurial Politics, 216.
[17] Kirk, Conservative Mind, 265; Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 581.
[18] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 582.
[19] Ibid., 585-586.
[20]Hoppen, The Mid-Victorian Generation, 251; Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 37-38.
[21] Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 41.
[22] Searle, Entrepreneurial Politics, 232-233; Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 579.
[23] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 590; Himmelfarb, ‘Politics of Democracy,’ 107.
[24] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 590; Himmelfarb, ‘Politics of Democracy,’ 133-134.
[25] Himmelfarb, ‘Politics of Democracy,’ 126.
[26] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 577; Kirk, Conservative Mind, 270.
[27] Kirk, Conservative Mind, 269.
[28] Feuchtwanger, Democracy and Empire, 44.
[29] Kirk, Conservative Mind, 277.
[30] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 577-578.
[31] Searle, Entrepreneurial Politics, 218-220.
[32] Saunders, ‘The Politics of Reform,’ 582.

Saturday, 19 November 2016

The Absolutist Politics of Martin Luther

This essay, was written for a course on Renaissance and Reformation History, but I thought it pertinent to include it in the blog content, because it follows a relatively unorthodox interpretation of Martin Luther's politics, one closely tied to the Ernst Troeltsch thesis. I am yet to recieve feedback on it so your mileage may vary, but I think it is at least somewhat substantive, that and the fact, I have not been able to dedicate writing time justified its publication. A second essay, one on the English Reform Act of 1867 will also be coming shortly. 


Martin Luther seemingly did not consider himself a political thinker, nor was the Reformation an explicitly political movement, and yet, historians and philosophers read the man in a plainly political fashion.[1] Different interpretations have co-opted the necessarily political Luther, but it is my argument that, Martin Luther, despite historiographical arguments to the contrary, was emblematic of a movement that would engulf Europe beginning in the 16th century: the shift to absolutism.
Historian Brendan Simms identifies the shift to absolutism as part of a dual transformation in the political constitution of Western Europe. He suggests during the period after 1453, and the fall of Constantinople, two types of government began to take shape as dominant regimes in Europe. The first was absolutism, embodied by the Ottoman Turkey, France, and Russia; the second was more constrained and deliberative government of the form represented by the inchoate institutions of the Netherlands and England. The Habsburg empire in Germany and Spain struggled to reconcile itself to these changes and stabilize the empire in a fashion that rectified these competing tendencies or led to stable dominance of one over the other.[2] This milieu generated Martin Luther as a political figure. In the Reformation era, not only did politics take on a dynamic character irrespective of confession, but rising powers sought to influence the reformers and manipulate the discord between the German princes and the Roman Catholic Church in their own interest. Both the Ottoman Empire and France were culpable initiators of such machinations. Perforce, absolute secular authority found itself both enabled and responsive to such pressures to ensure the survival of the political community.[3] 
To effectively contextualize my reading of Luther it is first necessary to place it along side other historiographical paradigms which serve to contrast the authoritarian and absolutist Martin Luther. Firstly, Marxist historians read Luther in concomitance with the Marxist interpretation of Bourgeoisie self-consciousness coming into its own awareness as oppositional to the feudal order necessarily impeding the full realization of the progression to capitalism. This interpretation is found in much of the scholarship of the German Democratic Republic, as highlighted by Brent Peterson, who suggests GDR historians often viewed the period between 1517-1526 as the ‘early bourgeoisie revolution,’ where the juvenescent bourgeoisie capitalists rejected a sickly and dying feudal order.[4] This Marxist interpretation originated in the discourse of the Friedrich Engels in his Peasants War in Germany; nevertheless, Engels saw further echoes of socialism in visions of Thomas Muntzer who, to Engels, relied on scripture as the blunt instrument in the theological emancipation of the peasant class the name of egalitarian ends.[5] This interpretation seems viable at first glance, but its legitimacy is dubious when placed into relation with the writing of Luther himself. Where it is evident that Luther did not see his works as any kind of revolt against the feudal order, but rather as a vital transference of the authority of the Papacy to the authority of the secular monarchs with necessarily unforeseen consequences.   
Meanwhile, there is a liberal interpretation to the politics of Luther and the greater Reformation. Graham Maddox notably maintains such an analysis when he places Luther into the progressive and ‘libertarian’ democratic tradition alongside Niccolo Machiavelli’s republican discourse.[6] However, such an interpretation quickly demonstrates itself to be a project derived from implicit argument and a Whiggish lens. For Luther, the Reformation movement, was not one of dividing the sovereignty, but re-asserting ‘The Church’ as the absolute in the temporal whilst re-affirming the unquestioned sovereignty of God through scripture. Not a secular liberalism as the liberal interpretation suggest through the perspective of a generous interpretation of Luther’s two kingdoms.[7]
To understand the interpretation of Martin Luther as a conservative, whose discourse led to a confirmed sovereignty of God in scripture applied through Natural Law as exercised by temporal authority on behalf of ‘The Church,’ one must understand Luther’s impetus for assigning authority to the temporal and the way in which he conceived the relationship between the Roman Church and ‘The Church’ as the Christian community of the elect as existing within the world.
Martin Luther may have seemed the radical reformer -- emphatically so -- when placed in parallel with fellow contemporaries like Desiderius Erasmus. In relation to Erasmus, Luther cultivated unorthodoxy through his readings of Lorenzo Valla and Jan Hus as well as his vituperation of the papacy.[8] Thus, this perception may be true in relation to Catholic doctrine, but it did not hold in terms of his Christianity in general. When one reads the term ‘radical’ the presumption is progressive, and as Ernst Troeltsch elucidates, Luther and the wider Reformation was certainly not so, noting ‘If a general transformation of civilization necessarily finds expression in a change in legal theory . . . then Protestantism is no new civilization.’[9]
Historian Lewis Spitz expands upon the interpretation of Luther as a functionally political and conservative figure. Firstly, Spitz notes that for Luther the maintenance of the status quo, in terms of earthly order and stability, was always a given, and secondly, he notes Luther’s confidence in the providence of God, led to the belief that mankind could not foreknow the outcomes of Reformation and political restructuring. Rather, such initiatives were beyond the purview of those preaching political transformation as a fulfilment of God’s ordained will on earth.[10] This understanding of Luther not only suggests he disdained activism due to potential unforeseen consequences, but also provided grounds for his hostility to the Peasants War: a betrayal in the eyes of Thomas Muntzer.[11]
To Luther the temporal rule and the rule of The Church originated in an understanding of creation as an organic whole and product of God.[12] The incorrect reading of Luther insists that his two kingdoms are separate worlds the one of the earthly, and another of the heavenly, in the vein of Saint Augustine. Augustine believes the City of God and the Earthly City as communities both exist in the world, but the City of God only finds its full realization in the union with God in accordance with providence and the life to come; the City of God then is not just a population, but a realm. Augustine states. ‘[T]he City [sic] of saints is up above, although it produces citizens . . . below . . . the City is on a pilgrimage until the time of its kingdom comes.’[13] To Luther, this is not strictly the case, and by aligning Luther’s doctrine too tightly with Augustine part of Luther’s originality is lost. To Luther, the Kingdoms are not mutually exclusive, which would lead one to a conclusive secularism, as Maddox suggests.[14] Rather, both worlds are united through existence in physical creation and both are accountable for the righteousness of the Christian Church. 
To extract an authoritative reading of Luther’s assignment of power to secular authorities, his on The Christian Nobility serves as an illuminating example, alongside On Governmental Authority. Firstly, it should be noted that Luther intended to bring about a more Christian world, his goal was not emancipation, but first to curtail the selling of indulgences and the excesses of the Curia.[15] He does this by arguing against what he titles the three walls of the Roman Church: first, that temporal power has no jurisdiction over the church; second, that only the Pope may interpret scripture; thirdly, that only the Pope may summon a council.[16]. In each he outlines his political standpoint via a unique ontology. One read before that Luther viewed the world as an organic whole in Christ, but the conclusion needs explication.
First, Luther believes that the community of believers is indeterminate by office. The notion of an chosen minority endowed by God with holy authority over believers is contradicted by references to Corinthians 12. Instead, Clergy are appointed on behalf of the Church and serve as delegates who may dedicate their efforts to serving God. However, the baker and the priest are identical insofar as they are components of God’s church on earth.[17] This conclusion levelled the hierarchy of the Roman Church and placed the notion of divine appointment into question. Secondly, Luther argues that scripture itself, if not authoritative, becomes redundant and self-defeating.[18] If the Pontiff is sole arbiter on scripture, then the Christian community cannot be a righteous one, because its earthly leadership is beyond criticism. This brings an element of popular government and immediacy to the institutions of the Christian community. The third critique is a natural outcome of the first two: Luther established the single Christian community as the foundation of the spiritual and temporal authority before placing the obligation for scriptural interpretation and application on the many, leading to the conclusion that it is not just the Bishop of Rome who can summon Councils. Here he makes a historical appeal to the Council of Nicaea and the Apostolic Council.[19]
The ontology then is one of egalitarian and instrumental relations between the laity, who include the elect, and the earthly church embodied by Rome, which houses both the predestined and the evil. It is the indeterminacy in the composition of such structures that leads to the justification of the assignment of the absolute authority of the Roman Church to secular rulers. This is further confirmed when he writes that the punishment of murder, whether realized or not is dependent upon the exercise of God’s Natural Law through human beings.[20] Or restated ‘it is certain and clear enough it is God’s will that the temporal sword and law be used for the punishment of the wicked and the protection of the upright.’[21]
It is evident that Luther saw the temporal authority as an instrument in the prevention of chaos and the protection of the Kingdom of God on earth explicitly necessary because of the impossibility of separating the two kingdoms: he emphasized that taking the sacraments did not assist in gleaning the ungodly from the good or securing the safety of the latter.[22] If Luther saw government as a fulfilment of the need to ensure the safety of God’s chosen, then the assignment of political authority was simply a question of efficacy, and in this way and for this reason he saw the secular ruler as mandated to act where the Roman Church could no longer do so. Yet, temporal authority, it must not be forgotten, itself is contingent upon its comity with God’s law, and in the eyes of Luther must not presume itself elevated to deification.[23]
It must not be left strictly to the writings of Luther to confirm the thesis that absolutism found its enabler in the Protestant Reformation. Rather, it is confirmed in two ways by Ernst Troeltsch. Firstly, in that he suggests that Luther’s Protestantism invested secular authorities with providential purpose and secondly, state prerogative grew through secular annexation of the institutions of education.[24] Karlheinz Blaschke furnishes such an example noting the Elector of Saxony turned the Monastery of the Holy Cross territory and Nimbschen into school districts for state use expanding secular power and administrative capacity.[25]  
In addition, Eric Gritsch observes that by the Treaty of Augsburg in 1555, the state was confirmed as the authoritative body standing above the earthly manifestation of Church.[26] Blaschke expands the argument through in depth examination of Reformation Saxony. He suggests that the territorial state, always expanding in size and authority, or attempting to do so in relation to its peers, found a new opportunity for growing both its wealth and its lands through the seizure of previously inviolable church land within its de jure boundaries.[27] As the state adopted church functions the transition from Medieval ‘courtly’ government, changed to departmental or bureaucratic administration characteristic of the modern state. Shortly after the initiation of the Reformation in Saxony both the Privy Council (1574) and the Central Finance Office were established (1586). Blaschke states. ‘The Reformation advanced this simultaneous expansion and specialization of the central administration, because the princes’ assumption of episcopal functions made necessary the establishment of a new sector of the central administration.’[28] He incisively notes, that by eliminating the clerical nobility, the opposition to the central state, the plural power structures of Medieval government, were undermined.[29]
Given the above, the Protestant Reformation then, in accordance with its incitation by Martin Luther, cannot sustain a reading that leads to its interpretation as a Marxist Proto-Bourgeois revolution; nor, can it sustain an interpretation built on assumption and hindsight, that the Reformation necessarily led to secularization and freedom of conscience. Rather, the Reformation must be rendered in context and interpreted as an absolutist force when placed in concurrence with the growing centralization and bureaucratization of the modern state.
This is apparent because Luther did not see room in the divine order for popular uprising or activism. The condemnation of the peasant uprising of 1524-1525, served as evidence of this persuasion.[30] Nor, did he abide by a political vacuum and strict lines of demarcation between a secular order and a spiritual one. Instead, Luther saw them as composite, and this unity under God created and justified the assertion of the secular political authority as hegemon above the Roman Church. In this way, the princes of Germany sublimated the duties of the ecclesiastical establishment and grew their own power. In the Germany of Luther, the individual existed as tightly governed with spiritual and temporal authorities to answer to, the annexation of one to the other did not grow freedom, but alternatively, expanded the dominion of state over the plurality of authority characteristic of the Medieval tradition of governance.  

[1]James D Tracy, ed. Introduction to Luther and the Modern State in Germany, (Kirksville, MO: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1986), 9-10, 13.
[2]Brendan Simms, Europe: The Struggle for Supremacy, 1453 to the Present, (London: Penguin, 2013), 8.
[3] Simms, Europe 1453 to Present, 11, 13.
[4] Brent O, Peterson, ‘“Workers of the World Unite-for God’s sake!” Recent Luther Scholarship in the German Democratic Republic,”’ Luther and the Modern State in Germany, ed. James D. Tracy (Kirksville, MO: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1986), 83-84.
[5]Fredrick, Engels, The Peasants War in Germany, ed. Mark Harris and David Allinson Trans.  Moissaye J. Olgin (Cologne, Germany: Neue Rheinische Zeitung, 1850), 28, 37-38, 89.
[6] Graham Maddox, "The Secular Reformation and the Influence of Machiavelli," Journal of Religion 82, no. 4 (2002): 557-558.
[7] Thorsten Prill, "Martin Luther, the Two Kingdoms, and the Church," Evangel 23, no. 1 (Spring 2005):19-20. 
[8] Anthony Levi, Renaissance and Reformation: The Intellectual Genesis, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 280-281.
[9] Ernst Troeltsch, Protestantism and Progress, ed. Howard Schneiderman, (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Transaction Publishers, 2013), 59.
[10] Lewis Spitz, "The political Luther," Christian History 11, no. 2 (May 1992): Paragraph 9-12, 29.
[11] Engels, Peasant War, 39; Peterson, ‘Workers of the World Unite,’ 86-87.
[12] Martin Luther, To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation Concerning the Reform of the Christian Estate, (1520) In Luther—selected Political Writings, ed. J.M Porter, (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974), 6.
[13] Saint Augustine, City of God, Trans. Henry Bettenson (London: Penguin Books, 2003), 593-596.
[14] Maddox, ‘The Secular Reformation,’ 559-561.
[15] Levi, Renaissance and Reformation,’ 274; Luther, ’Christian Nobility,’ 44.
[16] Luther, ’Christian Nobility,’ 39.
[17] Ibid., 40-41.
[18] Ibid., 44-45.
[19] Ibid., 47.
[20] Martin Luther, On Government Authority, (1523), In The Protestant Reformation, ed. Hans J. Hillerbrand (New York: Harper & Rowe, Publishers, 1968), 43-44.
[21] Ibid., 45.
[22] Ibid., 46-48.
[23] Ibid., 58-60.
[24] Troeltsch, Protestantism and Progress, 64, 88.
[25] Karlheinz Blaschke, ‘The Reformation and the Rise of the Territorial State,’ Luther and the Modern State in Germany, ed. James D. Tracy, (Kirksville, MO: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1986), 64.
[26] Eric W. Gritsch, ‘Luther and the State: Post-Reformation Ramifications,’ Luther and the Modern State in Germany, ed. James D. Tracy, (Kirksville, MO: Sixteenth Century Journal Publishers, 1986), 53.
[27] Blaschke, ‘Territorial state,’ 62.
[28] Ibid., 64.
[29] Ibid., 65.
[30] Martin Luther, Friendly Admonition to Peace Concerning the Twelve Articles of the Swabian Peasants, (1525), In The Protestant Reformation ed. Hans J. Hillerbrand, (New York: Harper & Rowe, Publishers, 1968), 72-74.