Dedicated to the Memory of My Parents Hermann Elias, cl. Breslau 1940 Sophie Elias, cl. Auschwitz 1941(?)
Norbert Elias
THE CIVILIZING PROCESS Sociogenetic and Psychogenetic Investigations
Translated by Edmund ]ephcott with some notes and corrections by the a11thor
Revised Edition edited by Eric Dunning, Johan Go11dsblom and Stephen Menne!!
Blackwell Publishing
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Contents
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Preface Acknowledgements co the English Translation Edicors' NQ[e co the Revised Translation
IX X\'l XVII
VOLUME I: CHANGES IN THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE SECULAR UPPER CLASSES IN THE \VEST
1
PART ONE ON THE SOCIOGENESIS OF THE CONCEPTS OF "CIVILIZATION" AND "CUI:rURE" Sociogenesis of the Antithesis benveen Kultur and Zfrili.wtio11 m German Usage Introduction II The Development of the Antithesis between K11lt!!r and Zil'ilisatio11 III Examples of Courtly Attitudes in Germany IV The Middle Class and the Court l\obility in Germany V Literary Examples of the Relationship of the German Middle-Class Intelligentsia co the Court VI The Recession of the Social Element and the Advance of the National Element in the Antithesis between Ku!t111' and Ziz'ili.wtio11
5 5 9 11 15 20
26
The Ciz i/i:i11g Prneess
VI
2
Sociogenesis of the Concept of Ciz.iliwtion in France I Introduction II Sociogenesis of Physiocrarism and the French Reform Movement
Co11tt11ts 31 31 35
IX
x XI
PART TWO CIVILIZATION AS A SPECIFIC TRANSFORMATION OF HUMAN BEHAVIOUR
II III IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
The Hisrory of the Concept of Ciz,i!ite On Medieval Manners The Problem of the Change in Behaviour during the Renaissance On Behaviour at Table Examples (a) Representing upper-class behaviour in fairly pure form (b) From books addressed ro wider bourgeois srrarn Comments on the Quotations on Table Manners Group l: An Overview of the Societies ro which the Texts were Addressed Excursus on the Rise and Decline of the Concepts of Co!!rtoisie and Cfri!ite A Review of the Curve Marking the "Civilizing" of Earing Habits Excursus on rhe Modelling of Speech at Court Reasons Given by People for Distinguishing between ''Good" and "Bad" Behaviour Group 2: On the Earing of Meat Use of the Knife at Table On the Use of the Fork at Table Changes in Attitudes rowards the Natural Functions Examples Some Remarks on the Examples and on these Changes in General On Blowing One's Nose Examples Comments on the Quorations on Nose-Blowing On Spitting Examples Comments on the Quotations on Spitting On Behaviour in the Bedroom Examples Comments on the Examples
45
Changes in Attitudes rowards the Relations between Men and \XIomen On Changes in Aggressiveness Scenes from rhe Life of a Knight
Vll
1-1.:2 161 !72
VOLUME Il: STATE FORMATION AND CIVILIZATION
183
PART THREE FEUDALIZATION AND STATE FORMATION
185
47
52 60 72 72 72 80
85
Introduction Survey of Courtly Society II A Prospective Glance ar the Sociogenesis of Absolmism Dynamics of Feudalization Imroduction II Centralizing and Decentralizing Forces in the Medieval Power Figuration III The Increase in Population after rhe Great Migration IV Some Observations on the Sociogenesis of the Crusades V The Internal Expansion of Society: The Formation of New Social Organs and Instruments VI Some New Elements in the Structure of Medieval Society as Compared with Antiquity VII On the Sociogenesis of Feudalism VIII On the Sociogenesis of i\Ii111ma11g and Courtly Forms of Conduct
85 87 89 92 97 99 103 l07 109 109 2 114
121 121 126 129 129 132
136 136
138
On the Sociogenesis of the State I The First Stage of the Rising Monarchy: Competition and Monopolization within a Terrirorial Framework II Excursus on Some Differences in rhe Paths of Development of England, France and Germany III On rhe Monopoly Mechanism IV Early Struggles within the Framework of the Kingdom V The Resurgence of Cenrrifugal Tendencies: The Figuration of the Competing Princes VI The Last Stages of the Free Competitive Struggle and Esrablishmem of the Final Monopoly of the Vicror
187 187 191 195 195 197 208 21-i 220
257 257 261 268 277
289 303
The Cizi/i::;ing Pr11c.:ss
Vil!
VII
VIII
The Power Balance wichin che Unic of Rule: Its Significance for che Cencral Auchoricy-che Formation of the .. Royal MechaDism .. On che Sociogc:nesis of che Monopoly of Taxacion
Preface
PART FOUR SYNOPSIS: TO\VARDS A THEORY OF CIVILIZING PROCESSES
II III IV V VI VII VIII
The Social Conscrainc cowards Self-Conscrainc Spread of the Pressure for Foresight and Self-Conscrainc Diminishing Comrascs, Increasing Variecies The Courcizacion of che \X!arriors The .l\fming of Drives: Psychologizacion and Rationalization Shame and Repugnance Increasing Conscraincs on che Upper Class: Increasing Pressure from Btlow Conclusion
.165 3 79 382 387 397 c[ 14
421 436
POSTSCRIPT ( 1968) APPENDICES
II
Foreign Language Originals of the Exemplary Extracts and Verses Places from Das i\Iicct!alcerliche Hausbuch
485 487 511
NOTES
517
INDEX
555
Cencral co chis study are modes of behaviour considered typical of people who are civilized in a \X!escern way. The problem chey pose is simple enough . \X!esrern people have not always behaved in the manner we are accuscomed co regard as typical or as che hallmark of '"civilized .. people. If members of present-day \X!escern civilized society were co find themselves suddenly transported into a past epoch of their own society, such as the medieval-feudal period, they would find there much chat they esteem .. uncivilized .. in ocher societies roday.. Their reaccion would scarcely differ from chat produced in chem at presem by the behaviour of people in fr:udal societies oucside che \\lescern world . They would. depending on their situation and inclinations, be either accracred by rhe wilder, more unrestrained and advencurous life of the upper classes in chis society, or repulsed by rhe '"barbaric .. cuscoms, che squalor and coarseness chat he encountered there . And whatever they understand by their own '"civilization ... they would at any race feel quite unequivocally that society in chis past period of \\!escern hiscory was not .. civilized .. in the same sense and co che same degree as \X!escern society coday. This scare of affairs may seem obvious co many people, and ic might appear unnecessary co refer co it here. But ic necessarily gives rise co questions which cannot with equal justice be said co be clearly presem in che consciousness of living generations, although these questions are nor wichom importance for an understanding of ourselves. How did chis change, chis '"civilizing .. of the \'Vest, actually happeni Of what did it consist' And what were its "causes .. or "motive
x
XI
The Cil'ilizi11g Pmcw
forcts"; Ir is ro che solucion of thest main questions chac this srndy anempcs ro comribme. To facilirnce understanding of this book, and elms as ao imroduccion ro che questions chemselves, it seems necessary ro examine the differem meanings and ernluations assigned ro the concepc of "civilization" in Germany and France. This enquiry makes up Pare One. Ir may help che reader ro see the concepts of K11!t11r and (irili.wtir!/I as somewhat less rigidly and self-eviclemly opposed. And ic may also make a small comribmion rowards improving che German hisrorical undtrsrnncling of the beha,·iour of Frenchmen and Englishmen, and che French and English underscanding of che behaviour of Germans. Bue in che encl ic will also serve ro clarify cercain cypical fearnres of che civilizing process To gain access ro che main quescions, ic is necessary first ro obtain a clearer picrnre of how che behaviour and affeccive life of \i(!escern peoples slowly changed afrer che Middle Ages. To show chis is che cask of the second chapter. Ir anempcs as simply and clearly as possible ro open che way ro an underswnding of che psychical process of civilizacion It may bt chac the idea of a psychical process excending over many generncions appears hazardous and dubious ro present-day hisrorical chinking. Bm ic is noc possible ro decide in a purely cheorecical, speculative way whecher che changes in psychical habirns chac are observable in the course of \i(!estem hisrory rook place in a parcicular order and direccion. Only a scrminy of documents of hisrorical experience can show whac is correcc
moves; and che question of sociogenic fears d1L!s emerges as one of che cemral problems of che civilizing process . Very closely relaced ro chis is a furcher range of questions. The distance in ditir and whole psychical scruccure becween children and adults increases in che course of che civilizing process. Here, for example, lies che key ro che question of why some peoples or groups of peoples appear ro us as "vounger" or "more childlike", ochers as "older" or "more grown-up" \i(!hac we ro express in chis way are differences in che kind and srnge of a civilizing process chac chese sociecies have anained; bm chac is a separate quescion which cannot be included wichin che framework of chis smdy.. The series of examples and che imerprecacions of chem in Pare Two show one thing very clearly: che specific psychological process of "growing up" in \i(!estern sociecies, which frequently occupies the minds of psychologists and pedagogues coday, is noching ocher chan che individual civilizing process ro which each young person, as a resulc of che social civilizing process over many cemuries, is auromacicallv subjected from earliesc childhood, to a greacer or lesser degree and wich greace; or lesser success The psychogenesis of che adulc make-up in civilized sociecv cannoc, therefore, be undersrood if considered independently of che sociogenesi,s of our "civilizacion". By a kind of "sociogenetic ground rule"* individuals, in cheir shore hisrory, pass once more chrough some of che processes chac their sociecy has craversecl in ics long history Ic is che purpose of Part Three ro make certain processes in this long hisrory of sociecy more accessible ro understanding. Ic anempcs, wichin a number of precisely defined areas, ro clarify how and why in che course of ics hiscory the scrucrnre of \i(!escern sociecy cominuously changes, and poims ac che same cime ro an answer ro che quescion of why, in che same areas, che scandard of behaviour and che psychical habims of \i(!escern peoples change \\it see, for example, che social landscape of che early Middle Ages. There is a multimde of greater and smaller castles; even che rown secclemems of earlier '''This expression should nor bt undtrsrood ro mean that all rht indiviJual phases of a society s history art reproduced in rht history of the civilized individual. Nothing would be more absurd than rn look for an ";.u.::n1rian feudal age or a .. Renaissance or a "courdy-absolurisr period individuals. All
in die lift of
of this kind refer w rht structure of whole social groups
\\/hat must be pointed out here is rht simple fact that even in civilized socitty no human beings come into rhe world civilized, and chat the individual civilizing process char they compulsor!ly un
reach the swndard arrninecl by rheir socitty in the course of irs history. bur not
through the individual phases of rhe social civilizing process
xii rimes have become feudalizecL Their ctntres roo are formed by rhe castles and ts rares of lords from rhe \\ arrior class. The quesrion is: \Vhar art tbt secs of social relationships char press roward rhe development of whar we call the "feudal sysrem";, The anempr is made ro demonsuart some of rhese "mechanisms of feudalizarion" \Ve set further how, from rhe casrle landscape, rogerhtr wirh a number of free urban crafr and commercial serdements, a number of larger and richer feudal esrares slowly emerge . \Virhin rhe warrior class irself a kind of upper suamm forms more and more disrincdy; rheir dwelling-places are rhe real cemres of minnesong and rhe lyrics of the rroubadours, on the one hand, and of c11i!rrois forms of beha\·iour on rhe ocher If earlier in rhe book the CO!!rtois standard of conduce is placed ar rhe scarring-point of a number of sequences of examples giving a picrnre of rhe subsequent change of psychical make-up, here we gain access ro rhe sociogenesis of rhese 1w1rtois forms of behaviour themselves. Or we see, for example, how rhe early form of whar we call a '·scare" develops. In rhe age of absolurism, under rhe warchword of cil'i!iti, behaviour moves very ptrcepribly rowards rht srnndard char we denote rodar by a derivative of rbe word t"iri!itt as "civilized" behaviour. Ir therefore seems necessary, in elucidating this civilizing process. to obrnin a clearer picture of whar gave rise co rhe absolmisr regimes and therefore co rhe absolurisr srnre. Ir is nor only rhe observarion of rhe pasr rbar poims in chis direcrion: a wealrh of contemporary observations suggesrs srrongly char rhe suucrure of civilized behaviour is closely interrelated wirh rht organizarion of \Vesrern socieries in rhe form of scares. The quesrion. in ocher words, is: How did rhe exrremely decenrralized society of rhe early Middle Ages, in which numerous grearer and smaller warriors were rhe real rulers of \Vesrern rerricory, become one of the internally more or less pacified bm ourwardly embarded societies rhar we call scares:. \Vhich dynamics of human interdependencies push rowards rhe inregrarion of ever larger areas under a relarivel y srnble and centralized gcm:rnmenr appararns'
Ir may perhaps seem ar first sighr an unnecessary complicarion co invesrigare rhe genesis of each hisrorical formarion. Bm since every hisrnrical phenomenon, human arcirncles as much as social insri(Lltions, did ac(Llally once "develop", how can modes of rhoughr prnve eirher simple or adequare in explaining chest phenomena if. by a kind of arrificial absrracrion, rhey isolare rhe phenomena from their na(Llral, hiscorical flow, deprive chem of their character as movement and process, and try w understand rhem as srnric formations wirhout regard ro rhe way in which they have come inco being and change:. Ir is nor theorerical prejudice bm experience irself which urges us to seek inrellecrual ways and means of steering a course berween rhe Scylla of chis "sraricism", which rends co express all hiscorical movement as something morionless and withom evolution, and rhe Charybdis of rhe "hiscorical relativism" which sees in hisrnry only consrnnr rransformarion. wirhom penerraring co the order underlying chis rransformarion and co rhe laws governing rhe formation of hiscorical srrucrnres.
xi11 Thar is whar is arrempred here The sociogeneric and psychogeneric invesrigation sers om co reveal rhe order under! ying hiscorical rheir mechanics and rheir concrete mechanisms: and ir seems thar in rhis way a large number of quesrions char appear complicared or even beyond undersrnnding today can be given fairly simple and precise answers. For this reason, chis smdy also enquires inco rhe sociogenesis of rhe srnre. There is. co rake one aspecr of rhe hiscory of rhe srnre's formarion and srrucrnre, the problem of the "monopoly of force". Max \Veber poinred om. mainly for rhe sake of definirion, char one of rhe consrimrive insrirnrions required by rhe social organization we call a scare is a monopoly in the exercise of physical force. Here an arcempr is made w reveal somerhing of rhe concrere hisrnrical processes which-from rhe rime when rhe exercise of force was rhe privilege of a host of rival warriors-gradually impelled society coward rhis cenrralizacion and monopolizarion of rhe use of physical violence and its insrruments. It can be shown char rhe rendencv co form such monopolies in chis pasr epoch of our hiscory is neirher easier more difficulr w understand rhan, for example, rhe srrnng rendencv cowards monopolization in our own epoch And ir is rhen nor difficulr ro rhar, wirh chis monopolizarion of physical violence as rhe poinr of intersection of a mulrirnde of social inrerconnecrions, rhe whole appararns which shapes individuals, rhe mode of operarion of rhe social demands and prohibirions which mould rheir social habirns, and above all rhe kinds of fear rhar play a pare in rheir lives art decisively changed. Finallv, Parr Four, "Towards a Theory of Civilizing Processes", underlines once connecrions berween changes in rhe srrucrnre of sociery and changes in more rhe srrucrnre of people's behaviour and psychical habirns. Much of whar could onlv be hinred ar earlier, in depicring concrere hisrnrical prncesses, is now scared ex;licidy \\le find here. for example, as a kind of rheorerical summing-up of whar previously became evidem from rhe srudy of hiscorical documents, a short sketch of rhe srrucrnre of rhe fears experienced as shame and delicacy: we find an explanarion of precisely why fears of chis kind play an especially imporrnnt role in rhe adYance of rhe ci\·ilizing process; and at rhe same rime, some lighr is shed on rhe formarion of rhe "super-ego" and on rhe relation of rhe conscious and unconscious impulses in rhe psyche of civilized people. Here an answer is giYen co rhe quesrion of hiscorical processes; rhe question of how all these processes, consisring of norhing but the actions of individual people, neverrheless give nse co insri(Llrions and formarions which were neirher inrended nor planned by any single individual in the form rhey acrnally rake. And finally, in a broad survey. rhese insighrs from rhe pasr are combined inco a single picrnre wirh experiences from rhe present. This srndy rherefore poses and develops a very wide-ranging problem; ir does nor prerend ro solve ir.
XIV
xv
Tht: Cfrilizing Process
Ic marks om a field of observation that has hitherto received relatively little attention, and undertakes the first steps toward an explanation. Others must follow.
Many guestions and aspects which presented themselves in the course of rhis study I deliberately did not pursue. It was not so much my purpose to build a general theory of civilization in rhe air, and then afterwards ro find om whether it agreed with experience; rather, it seemed the primary rask ro begin by regaining within a limited area rhe lost perception of rhe process in question, rhe peculiar transformation of human behaviour, then ro seek a certain undersrancling of its causes and, finally, ro garher rogether such rheorerical insights as have been encountered on the way If I have succeeded in providing a rolerably secure foundation for further reflection and research in this direction, rhis study has achieved everything it set our w achieve. Ir will need the thought of many people and the co-operation of different branches of scholarship, which are often divided by artificial barriers roday, gradually ro answer the questions that have arisen in the course of this study.. They concern psychology, philology, ethnology and anthropology no less than sociology or the different special branches of hisrorical research However, rhe issues raised by the book have their origin less in scholarly tradition, in the narrower sense of the word, than in the experiences in whose shadow we all live, experiences of the crisis and transformation of \'Vesrern civilization as it had existed hirherro, and the simple need ro understand what this ··civilization .. really amounts m Bur I have nor been guided in this srudr br the idea that our civilized mode of behaviour is rhe advanced of ail humanly possible modes of behaviour, nor by the opinion rhar "civilization" is rhe worst form of life and one that is doomed. All rhar can be seen roclay is that with gradual civilization, a number of specific civilizational difficulties ;rise Bu; it cannot be said rhar we alrtadv understand whv we acruallv rormtnt ourselves in such ways . \'Ve feel rhar have got ourse,lves, rhtoug.h civilization, into certain entanglements unknown ro less civilized peoples; bur we also know rhar these less civilized peoples are for their part often plagued by difficulties and fears from which we no longer suffer, or at least nor ro rhe same degree Perhaps all this can be seen somewhat more clearly if it is unclersroocl how such civilizinu processes actually rake place . Ar any rare: that was one of rhe wishes with I set to work on this book. Ir may be that, through clearer unclersrancling, we shall one clay succeed in making accessible ro more conscious control these processes which roday rake place in and around us nor verv differendr from forces natural events, and which we confront as medieval people of nature. I myself was obliged in the course of this srudv' ro revise mv, rhinkin" on a b large number of points, and I cannot spare rhe reader from becoming acquainted with a number of unfamiliar aspects and expressions. Above all, the nature of
hisrorical processes, of what might be called the "developmental mechanics of hisrory", has become clearer to me, as has their relation ro psychical processes. Terms such as socio- and psychogenesis, affective life and drive-moulding, c:xrernal and internal constraints, embarrassment threshold, social power, monopoly mechanism, and a number of others give expression ro this. Bm the least possible concession has been made to rhe necessirr of expressing ne\V things rhar have become visible through new words. So much for the subject of this book For rhe prc:sc:nt srudy and for a number of necessary preliminary investigations, I have received advice and support from many sides. Ir is my wish here ro rhank expressly all rhe people and insrirmions that have helped me. The enlargement of my Hahilitt1ti1111ssch1iji and an extended study of nobility, royalty, and courtly society in France which is rhe basis of this book, was made possible by rhe support of the Sreun-Fonds of Amsterdam. My thanks are due ro rhis foundation, and ro Professor Frijda of Amsterdam and Professor Bougie of Paris for the great kindness and interest they showed mt during my work 111 Paris For the period of my work in London I received rhe generous support of \'Voburn House, London . To ir and above all ro Professor Ginsberg of London, Professor A Loewe of Cambridge, and A. Makower, MA, of London I owe very great thanks. \'Virhom their help my work would not have come to fruition. Professor K. J\fannheim of London I thank for rhe help and advice he gave me. And I am nor least indebted to my friends Gisele Freund, D Phil., Paris; M.. Braun, D.Phil., Ph.D, Cambridge; A. Gli.icksmann, DMecl , Cambridge; H. Rosenhaupr, D.PhiL, Chicago; and R. Bonwir, London, for their help and for the discussions in which many things were made clear to me, and I thank them September 19 _:;6
Norbert Elias
Acknowledgements to the English Translation*
This rranslarion could nor hano been produced wirhom rhe aid of mv friends. In parricular. Professor Johan Goudsblom has spenr a grear deal of and efforr in comparing rhe English and German rexrs w ensure rhar rhe exacr meaning has been imerprereJ. Eric Dunning has also rhroughom made a number of very useful suggesrions . The exercise of checking rhe rranslarion was in irself a mosr useful one for me as ir enabled mt ro revise rhe rexr in minor. bm imporrnm, ways and ro add nores which ser rhe work in rhe comexr of mv larer rhinking . None of chis should be rnken as any reflecrion on rhe rran,slaror. Edmund Jephcon. ro \1·hom I 0\1·e rhe greatesr debt. My rhanks are also clue w Johan and Maria Gouclsblom for reading the proofs and compiling rhe index. Italics in the quotarions indicate the amhor's emphasis
'i' This note of acknowledgt:mt:nt appeared in tht tirsr English translation of rht St,w1J
Ci: ili:in,r.:.
Yolumt: of Tht
publisht:d in l under thL· rirlt Suh fr1m.'.!!ir1n ,mJ Ciz i!i::.1tilill (or. in the Amt:rican edition . . as Pr1u .m) Ciz iii:_; J 1.1,
Editors' Note on the Revised Translation
Reprinting rhe 199-i one-volume edirion of The Ci1i!isi11g Pm,"tSS afforded an opporruniry w make some revisions rn the rext, and they prnved ro be rarher more exrensive rhan we originally intended. Translarion is an imperfect arr, and rranslarini..; Norberr Elias's German imo English poses peculiar problems. They arise mai;ly from his arrempr always w write in a j>ron:SSfla! way, minimising rhe use of srntic conceprs, and also ro avoid referring ro 'rhe individual' in rhe sini..;ular and as somerhing separate from orher people-whar Elias was later w call rhe homo c!1111s11s image, prevalent in \Vestern rhoughr. Edmund Jephcort's fine translation of T /;, Ciri!izing Pn1ccss, publishtd in 19-8 and 1982. was one of rhe earliesr of Elias's German writings ro appear in English, and since then there have been manr discussions among Elias scholars about the best ways of rendering his id.eas \Ve have also had rhe advantage of being able ro consulr Heike Hammer's definitive scholarly edirion of Ohu· d.:11 P1ozeji der Zil'ilis{!fio11, published by Suhrkamp in 1997. Apart from correcring some major errors that had crept in, nornbly unscrambling the rexts of the excerprs from medieval manners books on behaviour ar table. we have made a number of changes which we hope will clarify rhe text. For instance, wririni..; in German in the 1930s, Elias frequently used rhe term Hahiws, which tn rhe l 970s and early l 980s was quire unfamiliar in English, and was therefore generally translared by expressions such as "personaliry makeup ... Since rhen, particularly rhrough the \Hirings of Pierre Bourdieu, rhe more precise term "habirns .. has re-entered rhe vocabulary of anglophone social scienrists, and rherefore we have resrnred ir in the present rexr. Anorher example is the word rittuifrh. which we render literally as "knightly .. rather rhan
XV Ill
Th, Cil'i/i:;ing Pmass
"chirnlrous". since H most fundamenrally connotes a rather violenr way of life. And we have in places reswrecl Elias's use of Freudian terminology, ro bring our more clearly rhe influence of Freud which Elias always acknowledgc;cl ro have been strong. In rhis revised translation. rhe word Trieu is rranslared as "drive". not as "instinct"; Elias was one of rhe most important contriburors ro what are now called "rhe sociology of emotions" and "the sociology of the body". and nothing could be more misleading than ro convey rhe impression that his theory rests on essentialist assumptions of rhe kind usually associated wirh rhe concept of insrincrs. \\le have also wken rhe opportunity to make corrections ro rhe rexr of Parts One and Two corresponding ro those which rhe aurhor, in consulrarion wirh Johan Goudsblom, made in the English translation of Parts Three and Four Towards rhe encl of his life, Elias also came to feel strongly that exclusively masrnline expressions should be avoided where females as well as males are being referred ro; we have made appropriate amendments. On rhe other hand, Elias in rhe 19_'\0s used a number of concepts such as "mechanism'', "cause" and "law" of which he became critical in the 1960s In these cases, we have generally left the original text unchanged, largely because Elias did not concern himself at length with this issue in the 1968 Postscripr. \\le have made extensi\·e changes ro the tenses used in the text. In Uber dw Pru::Lji d1:r Ziri!isatir1n, Elias wrote mL;ch of the time in the historic present which is (or was) more acceptable in German than in English. where good style requires rhat ir be used only sparingly for rhetorical effect For ex<1mple, Elias's historical narrative of French hisrory in Parr Three has now been changed mostly into rhe past tense; this should m<1ke ir easier for the reader to distinguish between when Elias is providing narrative as empirical evidence (pasr rense) and when he is drawing general theoretical conclusions from the evidence (present tense). Hitherto, ir has been common for the two original volumes of the English rranslarion to be misperceived as rwo separate or only loosely-connected books. The sequence of contents in this revised one-volume edition has now been amended to make clear rhar rhis is a single book, and ro bring ir inro line wirh the German edition. The long introduction which Elias wrote in 1968, when Ubc1· de11 Pm:;ej! i!t:r was first reprinted, appears here however as a Posrscri pr-for rhar is what it is, the author's thoughts thirty years after he wrote rhe book For most readers ir will perhaps make better sense ct/tff they have read rhe book itself; bm readers who are looking for a general srarement of Elias's intellectual position (subsequently developed in the many other books he wrote in rhe 1970s and 1980s) should mm first to rhe Postscript.
Eric D1111ning Johan Go11dsb!om Stephen Mw11e!! Amsterdam, Leicester and Dublin, July 1999
VOLUME I CHANGES IN THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE SECULAR UPPER CLASSES IN THE WEST
PART ONE On the Sociogenesis of the Concepts of "Civilization" and "Culture"
1 Sociogenesis of the Antithesis Betiueen Kultur and Zivilisation zn Gerrnan Usage I
Introduction l. The concepr of "civilizarion" refers ro a wide variery of faces: ro rhe leYel of rechnology, ro rhe rype of manners, ro rhe developmem of sciemific knowledge, ro religious ideas and cusroms . Ir can refer to rhe rype of dwelling or the manner in which men and women live rogether, to rhe form of judicial punishmem, or to rhe way in which food is prepared. Stricdy speaking, rhere is almosr norhing which cannot be done in a "civilized" or an "uncivilized" way; hence, ir always seems somewhar difficulr to summarize in a few words everything char can he described as civilizarion. Bm when one examines whar the general funcrion of rhe concepr of civilizarion really is, and whar common quality leads all rhese various human arritudes and acrivities ro be described as civilized, one scares wirh a very simple discovery: this concepr expresses the self-consciousness of the \'Vest . One could even say: the national consciousness. It sums up everything in which \'Vesrem society of the last two or three centuries believes itself superior ro earlier societies or "more primitive·· comemporary ones. By this term \'Vestem society seeks ro describe what constitutes its special character and whar ir is proud of: rhe level of its rechnology, rhe nature of its manners, rhe developmem of its sciemific knowledge or view of rhe world. and much more.
6
Tht Ciz'ili:illg
prr;(t;JS
' Bur "ci\·ilizarion" doc:s nor mean rht same rhing ro different \Vesrtrn narions. Above alL rhere is a grtar difference berween tht English and French use of rhe word. on rht one hand, and rhe German use of ir. on rhe orher. For rhe former, rhe concepr sums up in a single rerm rheir pride in rhe significance of rheir own narions for rhe progress of the \Vesr and of humankind. Bllt in German usage. Zirilis<1tio11 means somerhing which is indeed useful, bllt neverrheless only a value of rhe second rank, comprising only rhe ollter appearance of human beings, the surface of human exisrence. The word rhrough which Germans interpret rhemselves. which more rhan any orher expresses rheir pride in their own achievemems and rheir own being, is K!!ltm 3 A peculiar phenomenon: \vords like the English and French "civilization" or the German K!ilt!ir appear completely clear in rhe inrernal usage of the society ro which they belong. Bllt rhe way in which a piece of the world is bound up in them, the manner in which they include certain areas and exclude orhers as a matter of course, rhe hidden evaluations which they implicitly bring with them, all rhis makes them difficult ro define for any outsider The French and English concept of civilization can refer ro political or economic, religious or technical. moral or social facts. The German concept of K!!lt11r refers essemially ro intellectual. arrisric and religious facrs. and has a rendency ro draw a sharp dividing line berween facrs of this sort, on the one side, and political. economic and social facrs. on the other. The French and English concept of civilization can refer to accomplishments, but it refers equally to the atritudes or "behaviour" of people, irrespeeti\·e of whether or nor they have accomplished anything In rhe German concept of K11!1Jir, by comrasr, rhe reference ro "behaviour", to the value which a person has by virtue of his or her mere existence and conduct, without any accomplishment at all. is very minor. The specifically German sense of rhe concept of K!!lt11r finds its clearest expression in its deri\·arive, the adjective l?l!!tur,/I. which dtscribes·the value and character of particular human products rather than rht imrinsic value of a person. But chis word, the concept embodied rn lwlt!!rell, cannot be exactly rranslared inro French and English The word k!!ltiric1l (culrivartd) is very dost to rhe \Vesrern concept of civilization. To some exttm, ir reprtstms rhe highest form of being civilized. Even people and families who have accomplished nothing k1tltmell can be lat!til'iert. Like rht term "civilized", k!!ltil'iert refers primarily to rhe form of people's conduce or be:haviour. Ir describes a social quality of people:, rheir housing, thtir manners, rheir speech, rheir clothing, unlike kitlt!!rell, which does nor refer dire:ctly ro people themselves, but exclusively to particular human accomplishments. -4 Another difference between rhe rwo concepts is very closely bound up with chis . "Civilization" describes a proce:ss or ar lease rhe result of a process. Ir refers ro something which is constantly in morion. consranrly moving "forward". The
7
German concept of K!!lt11r, in current usage. has a differem rtlarion to morion . Ir refers to human produces which are rhtre like "flowers of rhe field", i ro works of arr, books, religious or philosophical systems. in which rhe individuality of a people expresses itself. The concept of K!!lt!!r delimits. To a ce:rrnin exrem, rhe concept of civilization plays down the national difforencts berwten peoples; ir emphasizes what is common to all human beings or-in rhe view of irs bearers-should be:. Ir expresses rhe self-assurance of peoples whose national boundaries and national idemiry have for centuries been so fully established char thty have ceased to be rhe subject of any parricular discussion, peoples which have long expanded omside rheir borders and colonized beyond rhem. In comrasr, rhe German concept of K!!lt11r places special suess on narional differences and rhe particular identity of groups; primarily by virtue of chis, ir has acquired in such fields as ethnological and amhropological research a significance far beyond rhe German linguistic area and rhe situation in which rhe concept originated. But char situation is rhe situation of a people which, by \X/esrern standards. arrived ar political unification and consolidation only very !art. and from whose boundaries, for cemuries and even down ro rhe presem, rerrirories have again and again crumbled away or rhrearened to crumble away. \Vhereas rht concept of civilization has rhe function of giving expression ro rhe cominuously expansionist tendency of colonizing groups, rhe concept of K11!t11r mirrors rhe self-consciousness of a nation which had consrnntly ro seek out and consriture irs boundaries anew, in a political as well as a spiritual sense, and again and again had ro ask irself: "\Vhar really is our identiryY The orienrarion of rhe German concept of culture, wirh its tendency rowards demarcation and rhe emphasis on and derailing of differences between groups, corresponds ro chis hisrorical process Tht questions "\Vhar is really French, \Vhar is really English, .. han'. long since ceased ro be a marrtr of much discussion for rhe French and English. But for cemuries rhe question "\X!liar is really German)" has nor been laid to resc One answer ro chis question--one among ochers-lies in a parricular aspect of rhe concept of K11!t1!I' 5 Thus rhe national self-images represemed by concepts such as K!!lmr and "civilization" rakt wry different forms. Bur however cliffe:renr rhe self-image of rhe Germans, who speak wirh pride of their K11lt!!r, and char of rhe French and English, who chink wirh pride of rheir "civilization", rhey all regard ir as completely self-evidem char theirs is rhe way in which rhe world of humans in general wants to be viewed and judged. The Germans can perhaps try ro explain rn rhe French and English what rhey mean by rhe concept of Ku!t11r. But rhey can communicate hardly anything of rhe specific national background and rhe selfevidenr emotional values which e:nvelop rhe word for chem. The French or English person can perhaps cell rhe German what elemems make rhe concept of civilization rhe sum of rheir national self-image. But
8
T/Je Cil'ilizi11g Pmass
Changes in the Beh,tl'io11r of the Secular Uj>j1er Classt.r in the \\lest
however reasonable and rarional chis concepr may appear ro chem, ir roo grows OL!( of a specific sec of hisrorical simarions, ir too is surrounded by an emorional and rradirional aura which is hard to define bl!( which neverrheless represents an integral pan of irs meaning. And rhe discussion really becomes fl!(ile when a German rries to show rhe French and English person why rhe concepr of Zil'ilisatio11 does indeed represem a value for him, bl!( onlv one of rhe second rank.
funcrions and experiences in rhe acrnal life of society cease ro be bound up wiEh chem. Ar rimes, roo, rhey only sleep, or sleep in certain respecrs, and acquire a new exisrenrial value from a new social sirnarion. They are recalled rhen because somerhing in the presem stare of society finds expression in rhe crysrnllization of rhe past embodied in rhe words.
6. Conceprs like rhese rwo have somerhing of rhe characrer of chose words which from rime to rime make rheir appearance in some narrower group, such as a family or a seer, a school class or an associarion, and which say much ro rhe rnke shape on rhe basis of common iniriare and lirde to rhe OL!(sider. experiences . They grow and change wirh rhe group whose expression rhey are. The simarion and hisrory of the group are mirrored in them. And they remain colourless, they never become fully alive for chose who do not share these experiences, who do nor speak from the same tradition and the same simation. The conceprs of J\.1t!t11r and "civilizarion", to be sure, bear rhe srnmp not of seers or families bl!( of whole peoples, or perhaps only of cerrnin classes of these peoples. BL!( in many respecrs whar is rrue of rhe specific words of smaller groups is also rrue of rhem: they are primarily used by and for people who share a parricular rradirion and a parricular sirnarion. Mathematical conceprs can be separared from the group which uses rhem. Triangles may be explicable withol!( reference ro hisrorical situations. Concepts such as "ci\·ilization" and Kl!ft11r are not. It may be rhat parricular individuals formed them from rhe exisring linguisric material of their group, or at least gave rhem new meaning. BL!( rhey took roor. They became esrablished. Others picked rhem up in rheir new meaning and form, developing and polishing them in speech or wriring. They were tossed back and forrh until rhey became efficient instrumems for expressing whar people had joindy experienced and wanted ro communicare. They became fashionable words, concepts current in rhe everyday speech of a parricular society. This shows thar rhey met nor merely individual bl!( shared needs for expression. The shared hisrory has crystallized in them and resonares in rhem. Individuals find rhis crysrallizarion already in rheir possibiliries of use. They do nor know very precisely why rhis meaning and rhis delimitarion are bound up wirh rhe words, why exacdy rhis nuance and rhar new possibiliry can be drawn from rhem. They make use of rhem because ir seems to him a marter of course, because from childhood rhey learn to see rhe world rhrough rhe lens of these conceprs. The social process of rheir genesis mav be being long forgorren. One generarion hands them on ro another of rhe process as a whole, and the concepts live as long as rhis crystallizarion of pasr experiences and simarions retains an exisrential value, a function in the acrnal being of society-that is, as long as succeeding, generarions can hear their own experiences in rhe meaning of the words . The terms gradually die when rhe
9
II
The Development of the Antithesis of Kultur and Zivilisation 2 7. Ir is clear char rhe function of rhe German concepr of K1t!t11r took on new life in rhe year 1919, and in the preceding years, partly because a war was waged against Germany in rhe name of "civilization" and because rhe self-image of the Germans had to be defined anew in rhe sitllation creared by the peace rreaty Bm ir is jusr as clear, and can be proved, char ro a cerrain extent rhe historical sitllarion of Germany after rhe war only gave a new impulse ro an antirhesis which had long found expression through these rwo concepts, even as far back as the eighreenth cenrnry. Ir seems to have been Kam who first expressed a specific experience and anrirhesis of his sociery in relared concepts. In 1784 he wrore in his Ideas 011 a Unfrma! History ji"0111 the Point of V/1:11· of a Citizen of the \Vor!d: "Culrivared to a high degree by arr and science, we are civilized to rhe poim where we are overburdened wirh all sores of social propriery and decency "The idea of moraliry," he added, "is a parr of culrnre. Bm the application of chis idea, which resulrs only in the similirnde of moraliry in the love of honour and in ourward decency, amoums only ro civilizing." Relared as this formularion of the amirhesis already seems, in rhe momem of its genesis, ro our formularion, irs concrere poim of deparrnre in the experiences and situarion in rhe lace eighteemh century, rhough nor wirhour an hisrorical connecrion to rhe experiences on which i rs presem-day use rests, is neverrheless significantly different. The comraposirion here, where rhe spokesmen of the developing German bourgeoisie, rhe middle-class German intelligemsia, 5 srill spoke in large parr "from rhe point of view of a cirizen of the world", relared only vaguely and at besr secondarily ro a narional comrasr. Irs primary aspect was an imernal contrast wirhin the sociery, a social comrasr which nevertheless bore wirhin irself in a significam way the germ of rhe narional conrraposirion: rhe comrasr between the courtly nobiliry, predominantly French-speaking and "civilized" on the French model, and a German-speaking, middle-class srrarnm of intelligentsia recruired chiefly from the bourgeois "servers of princes" or officials in rhe broadest sense, and occasionally also from rhe landed nobility.
10
The Cirili:::ing Pmcess
This latter was a stratum far remon:d from political acriviry, scarcely thinking in political terms and only tentatively in national ones, whose legitimation consisted primarily in its imellectuaL scientific or artistic {mw11j1/ishmmts. Coumerposed w it is an upper class which "accomplished" norhing in rhe sense in which the ochers do, but for which rhe shaping of its distinguished and disrincrive beharioi!r was central w irs self-image and self-justification . And this is the class which Kam has in mind when he spoke of being "civilized w rhe point where we are overburdened", of mere "social propriety and decency", of "the similitude of morality in the love of honour". It is in the polemic of the stratum of the German middle-class intelligentsia against the etiquette of rhe ruling courtly upper class that the conceptual comraposition of Kllit11r and Zirilisatio11 originated in Germany. But this polemic is older and broader than its crystallization in these rwo concepts 8. It can be traced long before the middle of the eighteenth century, even if only as an undertone in thought much more muted than after the middle of the century. A good idea of this can be obrainecl from the articles on Hof Hoflichkeit, and Hofman!! (Court. Courtesy, Courtier), too long to be reproduced here in foll, in the Zecl/1:r Unin:nal L1:xico11 of 1736.'
Courtesy undoubtedly gets its name from the court and court lift . The courts of great lords are a theatre where e\·eryone wants to make his fortune This can only be done by ,,·inning the favour of the prince and the most important people of his court One therefore rakes all concei,·able pains to make oneself agreeable w them . Nothing does this better than making the other believe that we are ready to serve him to the utmost of our capacity under all conditions. Nevertheless, we are not always in a position to do this, and may not want rn, often for good reasons. Courtesy serves as a substirnte for all this By it \\'t gin: rhe other so much reassurance, through our outward show, that he has a favourable anticipation of our readiness to serve him. This wins us the other's rrusr, from which an affecrion for us develops imperceptibly, as a result of which he becomes eager to do good to us. This is so common with courtesy that it gives a special advanrnge w him who it. To be sure, it should really be ability and virtue which earn us people's esteem But ho,,· tf=w are the correct judges of these two! And how many fewer hold them ,,·orthy of honour' People. all too concerned with exrernals, are for more moved by what reaches their senses externally, especially \\·hen the accompanying circumstances are such as particularly affect their will. This works out exactly in the case of a courtier.
Simply, without philosophical interprerarion and in clear relarion w specific social configurations, rhe same antithesis was here expressed which eventuated in Kam, refined and deepened, in the antithesis of culture and civilization: deceptive external "courtesy" and true "virtue" But the author only spoke of chis
Chd11ges ill the Beh,ll'io1ir of the Semlar Upper Classer ill the
l l
in passing, with a sigh of resignation After the middle of the century the rnne gradually changes . The self-legitimation of the middle classes by virtue and accomplishment becomes more precise and emphatic, and the polemic against the external and superficial manners to be found in the courts becomes more explicic.
III Examples of Courtly Attitudes rn Germany 9 Ir is not easy w speak of Germany in general, since at this time there were special characteristics in each of the many stares . But only a fow were eventually decisive for the development of the country as a whole; the rest followed. And certain general characteristics were more or less clearly apparent everywhere. To begin with, there is the depopulation and the dreadful economic devastation of the country after the Thirty Years \\Yar. In the seventeenth cemury, and even still in the eighteenth, Germany and in particular the German bourgeoisie were poor by French and English standards. Trade, and especially rhe foreign trade which was highly developed in parts of Germany in the sixteenth cenwry, was in ruins. The huge wealth of the great mercantile houses had been destroyed, partly by the shift in trade romes due ro the overseas cliscowries, and partly as a direct consequence of the long chaos of the war. \\/hat w
12 "d'em: rude er barbare" (robe rude and barbarous). There were rhe Saxons, who asserted "qu'on parle mieux L>\llemand en Saxe, qu'en aucun aurre endroir de !'Empire" (German is spoken bener in Saxony rhan in any ocher. parr of rhe Empire). The Austrians made rhe same assertion in regard ro themselves, as did rhe Bavarians. rhe Brandenburgers and rhe Swiss. A few scholars, Mauvillon continued. wanted to esrnblish rules of grammar, bur "ii est difficile, qu'une Narion. qui contient clans son sein rant de Peuples independans Jes uns des aurres. se soumerre aux decisions d'un perit nombre des Savans" (it is difficult for a nation that embraces so many peoples independent of one anod1er to submit ro rhe decisions of a small number of sal'ai/fs) Here as in many other fields, a small, powerless, middle-class intelligentsia fell heir to rasks which in France and England were undertaken largely by rhe court and rhe aristocratic upper class. Ir was learned middle-class "servers of princes" who first arrempred to create, in a particular intellectual class, models of what German was, and thus ro esrablish at least in this intellecrual sphere a German unity which did nor yer seem realizable in rhe political sphere. The concept of Ku!t111· had rhe same function. Bur ar first most of what he saw in Germany appeared crude and backward ro Mauvillon, an observer grounded in French civilization He spoke of rhe literature as well as rhe language in rhese rerms: "Milron, Boileau, Pope, Racine, Tasso. Moliere, and practically all poets of consequence have been rranslared inro mosr European languages; your poets, for rhe most part, are themselves only translators." He went on: "Name me a creative spirit on your Parnassus, name me a German poer who has drawn from his own resources a work of some repurarion; I you m "8 l 0. One might say that this was the unauthoriratin: opinion of a badly informed Frenchman. But in 1780, forry years after Mauvillon and nine years before the French Revolution, when France and England had already passed through decisive phases of their cultural and national development, when rhe languages of the rwo \\Jesrern countries had long since found their classic and permanent form, Frederick the Great published a work called De la !ittimture 1 a!l1:11Ja11de.' in which he lamented the meagre and inadequate development of German writing, made approximately rhe same assertions about the German language as Mauvillon, and explained how in his opinion this lamentable situation might be remedied. Of the German language he said: "I find a half-barbarous language, which breaks down into as many different dialects as Germany has provinces . Each local group is convinced that its parois is the best." He described the low estate of German literature and lamented the pedantry of German scholars and rhe meagre development of German science. Bur he also saw the reasons for ir: he spoke of
Germany's impoverishment as a result of continuous wars, and of the inadequate development of trade and the bourgeoisie "Ir is", he said, "not ro rhe spirit or the genius of rhe nation rhat one must attribute rhe slight progress we haw made, but we should lay rhe blame only on a succession of sad events, a srring of wars which have ruined us and left us poor in men as well as money... He spoke of the slowly beginning recovery of prosperity: "The Third Estate no longer languishes in shameful degradation. Fathers educate their children wirhom going into debt.. Behold, a beginning has been made in the happy rernlution which we await." And he prophesied that with growing prosperity there would also come a blossoming of German art and science, a civilizing of rhe Germans which would give them an equal place among the other nations: this was the happy revolution of which he spoke. And he compares himself ro Moses, who saw rhe new blossoming of his people approaching without experiencing ir. 11 . \Vas Frederick right; A year after the appearance of his work, in 178 l, Schiller's Die Rd!!bcr and Kant's Cririql!t (jf Pmc RcllJ()// appeared, ro be followed in 1787 by Schiller's Don Carlos and Goethe's lj1higt11it. There followed the whole blossoming of German literature and philosophy which we know. All of this seems to confirm his prediction. But this new blooming had been long in preparation. The German language did nor achieve its new expressive power in two or rllfee years. In 1780, when De !t1 !ittiwt11rt al!u11t1mk appeared, this language had long ceased to be the halfbarbaric "parois" of which Frederick spoke. A whole collection of works ro which rodav, in rerrospecr, we assign considerable importance had already appeared. Giit;:; l'Oll Ber!ichi11gt11 had been produced seven years earlier, \Vtrthe1 was in circulation, Lessing had already published rhe major part of his dramatic and theoretical works, including L@k()OI/ in 1766 and Die Ht1ll!bl!rgische Dm111at11rgie in l 76 7 Frederick died in 1781, a year after rhe appearance of his book. Klopstock's writings had been published much earlier; his 1\lwim appeared in l 748. This is without counting Herder, many of the St1m111111d Drang (Srorm and Suess) plays. and a whole collection of widely read novels such as Sophie de la Roche's Dc1s F1d11!ci11 rn11 Sten1hcim . There had long since developed in Germany a class of buyers. a bourgeois public-even if still a relatively small one-which was interested in such works . \\Javes of great inrellectual excitement had flowed over Germany and found expression in articles, books, plays, and other works 'I he German language had become rich and flexible Of all this Frederick gave no hint in his work. He either did not see it or assigned it no significance. He mentioned only a single work of the young generation, the greatest work of the period of St!!rm i!lld Drang and enthusiasm for Shakespeare, Giitz rn11 Berlichi11ge11. He mentioned it. characteristically, in connection with the education and forms of enterrainmenr of the basses dmses, the lower strata of the population:
1-1
Changes in the Bcha1·io111" of tht Sem!ar UPJ1er Classes in the \Vest To com·inu: yourself of the Lick of rnsre ,,-hich has reigned in Germany until our day,
nm onh need go rn rht public spccracles There you will see presented the abominable works of Shakespeare. translated into our language: the whole audic:nce goes into rapmrts when it listens rn these ridiculous farces \\"Orthy of rhe savages of Canada. I describe them in chest terms because rhey sin against all rhe rules of rht theatre, rules which are nor at all arbitrary,
Louk ar the porters and gravediggers who come on sragt and make speeches worthy of them: after them come the kings and queens How can such a jumble of lowliness and grandeur, of buffoonery and tragedy. be rnuching and pleasing' One can pardon Shakespeare for these bizarre errors: rhe beginning of rhe arts is never their point of maturity But then look at Gi11: z 011 making its appearance on stage, a detestable imitation of these bad English pieces, while the public applauds and enthusiastically demands the repetition of these disgusting stupidities
And he continued: "Afrer having spoken of the lower classes, it is necessary for me to go on wirh rhe same frankness in regard ro rht universities." 12 The man who spoke rhus was rhe man who did more than any of his contemporaries for the poli rical and economic development of Prussia and perhaps indirectly for the political dewlopment of Germany, Bm rhe intellectual tradition in which he grew up and which found expression through him was the common tradition of Europe's "good society", rhe aristocratic tradition of prenarional court society, He spoke its language, French. By the standard of its taste he measured rht intellectual life of Germany Irs prescribed models determine his judgement_ Others of this society had long spoken of Shakespeare in a way altogether similar to his. Thus, in 17 30, Volrnire gave expression to very similar thoughts in the Dijmm·s Jiii' la which introduced rhe tragedy Bmt11s: "I cerrainly do nor pretend to approve rhe barbarous irregularities with which it [Shakespeare's tragedy J!!li!!s Cesc1r] is filled. It is only surprising that there are nor more in a work composed in an age of ignorance by a man who did nor even know Larin and had no reacher except his own genius.-\Vhar Frederick the Grtat said about Shakespeare was, in fact, the standard opinion of the French-speaking upptr class of Europe. He did nor "copy" or ''plagiarize" Volrnire; what he wrore was his sincere personal opinion. He rook no pleasure in the rude and uncivilized jests of gravediggers and similar folk, the more so if they were mixed in with the great tragic sentiments of princes and kings. He felt that all of this had no clear and concise form; these were the "pleasures of the lower classes", This is the way in which his comments are w be understood; they are no more and no less individual than rhe French language he used Like it, they bore wirness to his membership in a particular society.. And the paradox that while his politics were Prussian his aesrheric tradition was French (or, more precisely, absolurisr-courtly) is less great than rhe nationally uni tied concepts of the present day may suggest. It is bound up with rhe special
15
suucmre of chis court society, whose policical insritutions and interests were multifariously fissured, bur whose social stratification was into esrares whose wsre, sryle and language were by and large the same rhroughour Europe. The peculiarities of this situation occasionally produced inner conflicts in the voung Frederick, as he slowly became aware rhar the interests of the ruler of Prussia could nor always be brought into accord with reverence for France and adherence ro courtly cusroms. 10 Throughout his life they produced a certain disharmony between what he did as a ruler and what he wrote and published as a human being and philosopheL The feelings of the German bourgeois intelligentsia towards him were also somerimes correspondingly paradoxical. His military and political successes gave rheir self-identity as Germans a tonic it had long lacked, and for many he became a national hero. Bur his attitude in matters of language and taste, which found expression in his work on German lirerarnre though by no means there alone, was exactly what the German intelligentsia, precisely as a German intelligentsia, had to tight against. Their situation had its analogue in almost all rhe greater German scares and in manv of the smaller ones as well. At the rop almost everywhere in Germany were indi;,iduals or groups who spoke French and decided policy. On the other side, rhere was a German-speaking intelligentsia, who by and large had no influence on political developments. From their ranks, essentially, came the people on whose account Germany has been called the land of poets and thinkers. And from them concepts such as Bdd1111g and K!!ltm· received their specifically German imprint and tenor.
IV
The Middle Class and the Court Nobility in Germany 13 It would be a special project (and a very fascinating one) to show how much rhe specific mental orientation and ideals of a courtly-absolutist society found expression in classical French tragedy, which Frederick rhe Great counterposes to rhe Shakespearean tragedies and GO!z" The importance of good form, the specific mark of every genuine ''sociery"; rhe control of individual feelings by reason, a viral necessity for every courtier; rhe reserved behaviour and elimination of every plebeian expression, rhe specific mark of a particular srage on rhe road to "civilization"-all chis finds its purest expression in classical tragedy. What must be hidden in court life, all vulgar feelings and attitudes, everything of which "one" does nor speak, does not appear in tragedy either" People of low rank, which for chis class also means of base character, have no place in ic Its form is clear, transparent, precisely regulated, like etiquerre and court life in generaL 11 Ir shows rhe courtly people as rhey would like to be and, at rhe same rime, as rhe
16
Changer in the Behm·io11r
Th1: Ciz·i/i;:;il!g Proo:ss
absolme prince wams ro set them And all who lived under the impress of this social simation, be they English or Prussian or French, had their taste forced imo the same panern. Even Dryden. next co Pope the best-known courdy poet of England, wrote about earlier English drama in the epilogue ro the Collqmst of Gm11,tdt1 very much in the vein of Frederick the Great and Voltaire: \\1ir·s
now arri,·eJ to
The connection with social stratification is p<1rticularly clear in this aesthetic judgement. Frederick, roo, defends himself against the tastelessness of juxtaposing on the stage the "tragic grandeur" of princes and queens and the "baseness" of porters and gravediggers. How could he have undersrood and approved a dramatic and literary work which had cemral ro it precisely the struggle against class differences, a work which was intended w show that not merely the sorrows of princes and kings and the courdy arisrocracy but those of people lower on the social scale have their greatness and their tragedy' In Germany, too, the bourgeoisie slowly became more prosperous. The King of Prussia saw this and promised himself that it would lead to an awakening of an and science. a "happy revolution... Bur this bourgeoisie spoke a different language from the king. The ideals and taste of the bourgeois youth, the models for its behaviour. were almost the opposite of his . In Dichtm1g ifl}{i \Vi1hrh1:it (Poetry c111d Tr!!fh), Book 9. Goethe wrote: "In Strasbourg, on the French border, we were at once freed from the spirit of the French. \'Ve found their way of lift much roo ordered and roo aristocratic. d1eir poetry cold. their criticism destructive, their philosophy abstruse and unsatisfy1ng
He wrote GiJt;:; from this mood. How could Frederick the Great, the man of enlightened, rational absolmism and arisrocratic-courdy rnste, have undersrood it' How could the King··have approved the dramas and theories of Lessing. who praised in Shakespeare precisely what Frederick condemned: that his works fitted the taste of the people far more than do the French classics' "If someone had translated the masterpieces of Shakespeare . for our Germ
o/ the Semlar U/1/1er Classes in the \Fe.rt
17
out the qualities of che heart withom any preference for the nobles and the 12
rich." The whole literary movement of the second half of the eighteenth century was the product of a social class-and, accordingly, of aesthetic ideals-which was in opposition ro Frederick's social and aeschetic inclinations. Thus, they had nothing ro say w him, and he therefore overlooks the vital forces already ac[!ve around him and condemned what he could not overlook, like Gi1tz. This German lirerarv movement, whose exponents included Klopsrock, Herder, Lessing, the poets St11rm 1md Dmng, the poets of "sensibility", and the circle known as die Gifttinger Hain, the young Goethe, the young Schiller, many others, was certainly no political movement. \'Vith isolated excepcions, one finds in Germany before 1789 no idea of concrete political action, nothing reminiscent of the formation of a political party or a political party programme. One does find, particularly in Prussian officialdom, proposals and also che practical beginning of reforms from the standpoint of enlightened absolutism. In the work of philosophers such as Kant one finds the development of general basic principles which were. in part, in direct opposicion ro the prevailing conditions In the writings of che young generacion of the G&tti11gtl' Hain one finds expressions of wild hatred directed against princes, courts, arisrocrats, "Frenchifiers", courtly immoralicv and intellecrual frigidity. And everywhere among middle-class yomh one finds dreams of a new united Germany, of a "natural" life-'' natural" as opposed ro the "unnatural" life of court society-and again and again an owrwhelming delight in their own exuberance of feeling . Thou<'hts feelin<>s-nothing which was able in any sense to lead to concrere politicai" structure this absolutist of petty states offered no opening for ir. Elements within the bourgeoisie gained self-assurance, bm the framework of the absolute states was completely unshaken. The bourgeois tlemenrs were excluded from any political activity. At most, they could "think and write" independently; they could not act independently. In this situation, writing became the most important outlet Here the new self-confidence and the \"<1gue discoment with what existed find a more or less covert expression. Here, in a sphere which the apparatus of the absolme srntes had surrendered to a certain extent, the young middle-class generation counterposed its new dreams and oppositional ideas, and with them the German language, to the courtly ideals. As has been said, the literary movement of the second half of the eighteemh century was not a political one, bm in the fullest sense of the word it was the expression of a social movement, a transformation of society. The bourgeoisie as a whole did not yet find expression in it. IL was at first the expression of a sort of bourgeois vanguard, what is here described as the middle-class intelligentsia: many individuals in the same posirion and of similar social origin scattered throughout che country, individuals who understood one another because they
Tht Cirilizi11g Procw
Changt·s in the Bthc11·iour of the Semfm Upptr Classes i11 tht \Fest
were in the same position Only occasionally did individual members of this vanguard find themselves rogether in some place as a group, for a shorrer or longer time; often they lived in isolation or solirnde, an elite in relation ro the people. persons of the second rank in the eyes of the courtly arisrocracy. Again and again one can see in these works the connecrion between this social sirnation and the ideals of which they spoke: the love of narnre and freedom, the solirary exalration. the surrender ro the excitement of one's own hearr, unhindered by "cold reason" In \Ftrthtr, whose success shows how typical these sentiments were of a parricular generation, it was occasionally said quite unequivocally. In the lerter of 24 December 1771, one reads: 'The resplendent misery, the boredom among the detesrable people gathered rogerher here, the competition for rank among them, the way they are consrantly looking for a chance ro get a step ahead of one another... And under 8 January 1772: "\Xlhat son of people are rhese whose whole soul is rooted in ceremonial, and whose thoughts and desires the year round are centred on how they can move up a chair at rable . " Under 15 March 177 2: "I gnash my reerh I ear at the Count's house and afrer dinner we walk back and forth in the greaE park. The social hour approaches. I think, Goel knows, about norhing.'' He remains, the nobles arrive. The women whisper, something circulates among the men. Finally the Count, somewhat embarrassed, asks him ro leave. The nobility feel insulted at seeing a bourgeois among them. "'You know' ", says the Count, " 'I notice that the company is displeased at seeing you here.' . . I srole away from the distinguished company, and drove ro M., ro watch the sunset from the hill there while reading in my Homer the noble song of how Ulysses was hospitably received by the excellent swineherds.'' On the one hand, suptrficialiry, ceremony, formal conversation; on the orhtr, inwardness, depth of feeling, immersion in books, development of the individual personality. Ir is the same contrast which was expressed by Kam in rhe antithesis between Kllit11r and Zin!isation, relating ro a very specific social situation. In \Ferthtr, Goethe also shows particularly clearly the two fronts between which the bourgeoisie lives. "\'Vhar irritates me most of all" we read in the emrv of 24 December 1771, "is our odious bourgeois situation. be sure, I know ;s well as any other how necessary class differences are, how many advantages I owe ro them myself, only they should nor stand directly in my way." Nothing better characterizes middle-class consciousness than this sratement. The doors below must remain shut. Those above must open. And like any other middle class, this one was imprisoned in a peculiarly middle-class way: it could nor think of breaking clown the walls that blocked rhe way up, for fear that those separating it from the lower strara might also give way in the assault. The whole movement was one of upward mobility: Goethe's great-grandfather
was a blacksmith. 1 ; his grandfather a tailor, then an innkeeper with a courtly clientele and courtly-bourgeois manners. Already well-ro-do, his father became an imperial counsellor. a rich bourgeois of independent means, with a title. His mother was the daughter of a Frankfurt patrician family. Schiller's father was a surgeon. later a badly paid major; his grandfather, greatgranclfather, and great-great-grandfather were bakers. From similar social origins, now closer, now farther off, from the crafts and the middle administration, came Schubart, Bi.irger, Winckelmann, Herder, Friedrich August \Xlolff, Fichte and many orher members of this movement. 14. There was an analogous movement in France. There, roo, in conjunction with a similar social change, a profusion of oursranding people emerged from middle-class circles. They included Volraire and Diderot. Bur in France these ml ems were received and assimilared with om great difficulty by the large court society of Paris. In Germany, on the other hand, sons of the rising middle class who were distinguished by ralent and intelligence were debarred, for the most part, from courrly-arisrocratic life . A few, like Goethe, achieved a kind of elevation ro these circles. Bm aside from rhe fact that the court at \Xleimar was small and relatively poor. Goethe was an exception. By and large, rhe walls between the middle-class intelligentsia and rhe arisrocratic upper class in Germany remained, by \Vesrern standards, very high. In 1740 the Frenchman J\fauvillon noted that "one observes in the German gentleman an air that is haughty ro the point of arrogance. Sviollen with a lineage the length of which they are always ready ro prove, they despise anyone nor similarly endowed. Seldom", he continues, "do they contract 111esallia11m. Bm no less seldom are they seen behaving simply and amiably rowards middle-class people. And if they spurn connubiality with them, how much less do they seek om their company, whatever their merit may be." 1 ' In this particularly sharp social division between nobility and middle class, ro which countless documents bear witness. a decisive facror was no doubt the relative indigence of both. This impelled the nobles ro cut themselves off, using proof of ancestry as the most important instrument for presen·ing their privileged social existence. On the other hand. ir blocked ro the German middle cL1ss the main roure by which in the \Xlesrern countries bourgeois elements rose, intermarried with, and were received by rhe arisrocracy: through money. Bm whatever rhe causes-they were doubtless highly complex--of this very pronounced separation, the resulting lo\V' degree of fusion of the courtlyarisrocraric models with their "ascriptive", "quality-based" values on the one hand with bourgeois values based on achievement on rhe other, had a decisive influence for long periods on rhe emergent national character of the Germans. This division explains why a main linguistic stream, the language of educated Germans, and almost the entire recent intellectual tradition expressed in literature received their decisive impulses and their sramp from a middle-class
18
19
21
The Cil'ilhing Process
Clxll!gts i11 th1: Behario11r o/ tht Stmlar U/Jjitr C!t1sses in the \Fest
intellectllal stra(Llm which was far more purely and specifically middle-class than the corresponding French imelligemsia and even than the English, the latter seeming ro occupy an intermediate position between those of France and Germany The gesture of self-isolation, rhe accentuation of the specific and distinctive, which was seen earlier in the comparison of the German concept of KH!t11r with \Xlesrern .. civilization", reappears here as a characrerisric of German historical development. Ir was nor only externally rhar France expanded and colonized early in comparison with Germany. Internally, roo, similar movements are frequently seen throughout her more recent history. Particularly important in rhis connection is rhe diffusion of courdy-arisrocraric manners, rhe tendency of the courtly arisrocracy to assimilate and, so ro speak, colonize elements from other classes. The social pride of rhe French aristocracy was always considerable, and rhe stress on class differences never lost its importance for them. Bur rhe walls surrounding rhtm had more openings; access ro rhe aristocracy (and thus rhe assimilation of other groups) played a far greater role here than in Germany. The most vigorous expansion of the German empire occurred, by contrast, in rhe .!\fiddle Ages. From that rime on, rhe German Reich diminished slowly bur steadily. Even before rhe Thirty Years \Xlar and more so after it, German rerrirories were hemmed in on all sides, and strong pressure was exerrecl on almost all rhe external frontiers . Correspondingly, the struggles within Germany between the various social groups competing for limited opporrnniries and auronomy, and therefore rhe tendencies rowards disrincrion and mumal exclusiveness. were generally more intense rhan in the expanding \Xlestern countries. As much as rhe fragmentation of the German territory into a multiplicity of sovereign stares, ir was this extreme isolation of large pans of the nobility from the German middle class rhar srnod in rhe way of rhe formation of a unified, model-setting central society, which in other countries attained decisive importance at least as a stage on rhe way ro nationhood, setting irs stamp in cerrain phases on language, on the ans. on manners and on ··the srrucrure of emotions.
slfuc(Llre and life of rhe middle class, on rhe one hand, and rhe courtly upper class, on rhe other. were marched by differences in the structure of behaviour. emotional life, aspirations and morality: they show-necessarily one-sidedlyhow rhese differences were perceived in rhe middle-class camp. An example of this is rhe well-known now! by Sophie de la Roche. Das frdl!iei11 ro11 Sttmheim, 10 which made the authoress one of the most celebrated women of her rime. ··11y whole ideal of a young woman··, wrote Caroline Flachsland ro Herder after reading Stt111hcim, .. gentle, delicate, charitable, proud, virtuous, and deceived I have spent precious, wondcrfol hours reading the book.. Alas, how far I still am from my ideal, from myself... !<> The curious paradox rhar Caroline Flachsland, likt many others of similar make-up, loved her own suffering-that she included being deceived, along with charity, pride and vir(Lle, among rhe feamres of rhe ideal heroine whom she wished ro resemble-is highly characteristic of rhe emotional condition of rhe middle-class intelligentsia, and particularly of rhe women among them, in the age of sensibility.. The middle-class heroine was deceived by the aristocratic courtier The warning. rhe fear of rhe socially superior "seducer .. who could nor marry rhe girl because of rhe social discrepancy between rhem, and rhe secret wish for his approach, the fascination rhar lay in rhe idea of penetrating rhe closed and dangerous circle, finally rhe identifying empathy with rhe deceived girl: all this is an example of rhe specific ambivalence which beset rhe emotional life of middle-class people-and nor only women-with regard ro the aristocracy. Dc1.1 Fr,i'l!ici11 mn Sta11heim is, in this respect, a feminine counterpart of \Vuthtr Both works point to specific entanglements of their class, which found expression in sentimentality, sensibility and related shades of emotion The problem presented in the novel: A high-minded country girl, from a family of landed gentry with bourgeois origins, arrives at court. The Prince, related ro her on her mother's side, desires her as his mistress. Having no other escape. she seeks refuge with rhe .. scoundrel" of rhe novel, an English lord living ar rhe court, who speaks just as many middle-class circles would have imagined an .. ,1ristocraric seducer" to speak. and who produces a comic effect because he urrers middle-class reproaches ro his type as his own thoughts . Bur from him. roo. rhe heroine preserves her virtlle, her moral superiority, the compensation for her class inferiority, and dies. This is how the heroine, Friiulein von Srernheim, rhe daughter of an ennobled colonel, speaks: 1-
20
v Literary Examples of the Relationship of the German Middle-Class Intelligentsia to the Court 15. The books of the middle classes which had great public success after the mid-eighteenth century-that is, in rhe period when these classes were gaining in prosperity and self-assurance-show very clearly how strongly this dissimilarity was felt They also demonstrate rhar the differences between the
To see how rhe wne. rhe modish spirit of rhe court suppresses rhe noblest movemems of a hearr of admirable narure. w see how m·oiding rhe sneers of rhe ladies and gemlemen of fashion means laughing and agreeing wirh chem. fills me wirh comempr and piry. The rhirsr for amusemem. for new finery, for admiration of a dress. a piece of furnirure. a new noxious dish-oh. my Emilie. how anxious and sick my soul grows I will nor speak of rhe false ambition thar harches so many base imrigues. grovels
Changes in the Beh:1riom of the Swt!ar Uj1per Classes in the \Vi:st before vice ensconced in prosperiry. regards virrue and merir wirh. conrempr. and unfeelingly makes orhers wrerched.
"I am convinced. Aunt ... she says after a few days of court life. '·rhar life ar court does nor suir my characrer l\fy rasre, my inclinarions. diverge from ir in every way. And I confess to my gracious aunt rhar I would leave more happily than I came." "Dearest Sophie", her aunt rells her, "you are really a most charming girl, bm rhe old vicar has filled your head wirh pedantic ideas. Ler go of rhem a lictle." 1s In another place Sophie wrices: '·My love of Germany has just involved me in a conversarion in which I soughc to defend rhe merics of my Facherland. I ralked so zealously thac my aunt told me afterwards chac I had given a pretty demonscracion of being che granddaughcer of a professor This reproach vexed me. The ashes of my facher and grandfather had been offended." The clergyman and rhe professor-chese are indeed rwo of rhe mosc imporrant representatives of rhe middle-class adminisrrarive intelligentsia. cwo social figures who played che mosc decisive part in che formacion and diffusion of rhe new language of educaced Germans . This example shows quire clearly how che vague narional feeling of rhese circles, wirh ics spirirual, non-polirical leanings, appears as bourgeois to rhe aristocracy at rhe peccy courts Ac rhe same cime, both che clergyman and rhe professor point ro the social centre mosc important in fashioning and disseminating che German middle-class culture: che universicy. From ic generacion afrer generacion of srudents carried inro che country. as ceachers. clergymen, and middle-rank adminiscrators, a complex of ideas and ideals scamped in a particular way. The German university was, in a sense, rhe middle-class coumerweighc ro rhe courr. Thus ir is in words wirh which che pasror mighr thunder against him from rhe pulpit rhar the court scoundrel expressed himself in rhe middle-class
I am almosr rhankful for rhe prudence rhar compels me ro keep you far from rhe circle in which I became unhappy A serious. sound formarion of rhe mind is rare in high sociery. You might have become a lirrle doll rhar danced ro and fro ar rhe side of opinion
And rhe heroine says of herself: 21 J knew bur little of conventional life and rhe language of worldly people. J\fy simple principles found many things paradoxical to which a mind made pliable by habit is reconciled wirhour efforr. To me it was as natural as thar night follows day to lament rhe deceived girl and hare the deceiver. to prefer virrue ro honour and honour to one's own advanta;e In rhe judgement of rhis sociery I saw all these norions m·errurne
She rhen sketches rhe prince. a product of French civilization: 22 The prince was berween sixry and sewnty, and oppressive ro himself and orhers with rhe sriff, old French eriquerre which rhe sons of German princes had learned ar rhe courr of the French king and rransplanted ro rheir own soil, admirredly in somewhar reduced dimensions. The prince had learned rhrough age and habir ro move almosr narurally under rhis hea'T armour of ceremony. Towards women he observed the elegant. exaggerared courresy of rhe bygone age of chivalry. so that his person was nor unpleasing ro rhem. bur he could nor leave rhe sphere of fine manners for an insrant "·irhour becoming insuffr:rable. His children S
imagination: 1lJ You know rhar I have never granred love any orher power rhan o\·er my senses. whose All classes of beaury have pandered ro mosr delicare and lively pleasures it affords me I grew sared wirh rhem The moralises may have their say on rhe fine ners and snares in which I have captured rhe virrue and pride. rhe wisdom and the frigidiry. rhe coquetry and enn rhe piery of rhe "·hole feminine world Amour indulged my varnry He broughr forrh from rhe mosr wrerched corner of rhe countryside a colonel's daughrer whose form, mind, and characrer are so charming thar
Twenty-five years lacer, similar antitheses and related ideals and problems could still earn a book success . In 17 96, Ag11t.r rn11 Ldiw, 20 by Caroline von \'Volzogen, appeared in Schiller's Horen. In rhis novel rhe mother, of the high aristocracy. who must for mysterious reasons have her daughcer educated outside rhe court circle. says:
Courtesy, compliance, fine manners, on che one hand, sound education and preference of virme ro honour, on the orher: German lireracure in the second half of the eighreenth century is full of such amirheses. As !are as 23 October 1828, Eckermann said ro Goethe: "An education as thorough as rhe Grand-Duke appears ro have had is doubtless rare among princely personages." "Very rare", Goethe replies. "There are many, to be sure, who are able to converse cleverly on any subject, bm they do nor possess their learning inwardly, and merely cickle rhe surface. And it is no wonder, if one thinks of che appalling diversions and truncations rhac courr life brings with ic." On occasion he uses the concept of K11!t11r quire expressly in rhis context.. "The people around me", he says, "had no idea of scholarship. They were German courtiers, and this class had nor rhe slighresc K11!t11r... > And Knigge once observed explicitly: "\'Vhere more chan here [in Germany} did the courriers form a separace species
,_-j
Thc Ci6/j::;i11g Prr1cts_1
16. In all these scaremenrs a quite definite social situation is reflected. It is the same situation that is discernible behind Kant's antithesis of K!ilt11r and Ziz'ilis11ti1;n Bur e\'en independently of these concepts, this phase and the experiences deri\'ing from it became deeply imprinted in tht German tradition \\?hat was expressed in this conctpt of Ku!t11r, in the antithesis between depth and superficiality and in many related concepts, was primarily rht self-image of a middle-class intellectual stratum. This was a relatively thin layer scattered over the whole territory, and therefore indi\'idualized to a high degree and in a particular form. It did nor consrirure, as did the court, a closed circle, a "socierv". Ir was composed predominantly of officials, of civil servants in the broadest of the word-that is, of people who directly or indirectly deri\'e their income from the court, bur who, with few exceptions, did not themselves belong ro courtly "good society", ro the arisrocrntic upper class. It was a class of intellectuals without a broad middle-class background The commercialproftssional middle class, who might have served as a public for the writers, was relatively undeveloped in most German stares in the eighteenth century. The rise ro prosperity was only beginning in this period. The German writers and intellectuals were therefore floating in the air ro some extent. 1find and books were their refuge and their domain, achievements in scholarship and arr their pride Scope for political activity, political goals, scarcely existed for this class. Commerce and the economic order were, for them, in keeping with the structure of their life and society, marginal concerns. Trade, communications and indusrrv were comparatively undeveloped and still needed, for the most part, and promotion by mercantilisr policy rather than liberation from its constraints. \\?hat legitimized this eighteenth-century middle-class intelligentsia ro itself, what supplitd the foundation of its self-imagt and pride, was situated berond economics and politics. It existed in what was called for precisely this das l'i:iil Guistigc (the purely spiritual), in books, scholarship, religion, arr, philosophy, in the inner enrichment, the intellectual formation !Bilcl1!11g) of rht individual, primarily through the q1edium of books, in the personalir;-. Accordingly, rhe warchvmrds expressing this self-image of the German intellectual class, terms such as Bi!dm1g and K!!lt11r. tended ro draw a sharp distinction between accomplishments in rhe areas just mentioned, between this purely spiritual sphere as the only one of genuine value, and the political, economic and social sphere, in complete contrast ro die watchwords of the rising bourgeoisie in France and England. The peculiar fate of the German bourgeoisie, its Jong political impotence, and the late unification of the nation acted continuously in one direction, reinforcing concepts and ideals of this kind. Thus the development of the concept of K1i!t111· and the ideals it embodied reflected the social situation of the German intelligentsia, a class which lacked a significant social hinterland, and which, being the first bourgeois formation in Germany, develop an expressly
25 bourgeois self-image, specifically middle-class ideas, and an arsenal of trenchant concepts directed against the courtly upper class Also in keeping with their situarion was what this intelligentsia saw as mosr worrh fighting against in the upper class, as the opposite of Bi/dung and Kidtm'. The arrack was directed only infrequently, hesirantly and usually resignedly against the political or social privileges of the courtly arisrocracy. Instead, it was directed predominantly against their human conduct. A. \'try illuminating description of the difference between this German intellectual class and its French counterpart is likewise ro be found in Goethe's conversations with Eckermann: Ampere has come ro \\?eimar. (Goethe did not know him personally but had often praised him ro Eckermann ) To everyone's asronishment the celebrated Monsieur Ampere turns out ro be a "cheerful youth of some twenty years Eckermann expressed surprise, and Goethe replied (Thursday. 3 May 1827 ): Ir has nor been easy for you on your hearh, and wt in middle Germany have had co bu\' de,1rly enough such little wisdom as we possess. For ar bonom we lead an isolated, miserable life' Very little culrnre comes rn us from che people itself. and all our men of ralenc are srnrrered across the counuy. One is in Vienna, anocher in Berlin. another in Konigsberg, another in Bonn or Dlisseldorf. all separated from each orhtr by fifty or a hundred miles. so rhat personal conrncr or a personal exchange of ideas is a rarity. I feel what rhis means when men like Alexander von Humboldc pctss through, and ad,·ance my srudies furrher in a single day chan I would ocherwise have uawlled in a year on my solirnry parh. BU[ now imagine a city like Paris. where the Oll[Standing minds of rhe whole realm are gathered in a single place, and in their daily incercourse, comperirion, and rivalry reach and spur each orher on, where rhe besr from every sphere of narnre and arr, from rhe whole surface of che earth, can be viewed at all rimes. Imagine this metropolis where every walk over a bridge or across a square summons up'' great pasc. And in all rhis do nor chink of rhe Paris of a dull, mindless epoch. bl![ the Paris ot the ninereenrh cenrury, where for chree generarions. through men like Moliere, Volrnire, and Dideroc, such a wealth of ideas has been pl![ inro circularion as is nor found anywhere else nn rhe emire globe, and you will understand rhar a good mind like Ampere, having grown up in such plenitude, can ,·ery well amounr rn someching in his nvency-fourch year
Further on, Goethe says with reference to Merimee: "In Germany we cannot hope ro produce such mature work when still so young" This is nor the fault of the individual, but of the cultural state of the nation, and the great difficulty that we all experience in making our way in isolation ..'' From such statements, which in chis introducrory context must suffice as documentation, it is very clear how the political fragmentation of Germany was connected ro a quite specific structure, both of the German intellectual class and of its social behaviour and way of thinking In France the members of the intelligentsia were collecred in one place, held rogether within a more or less
26
27
The Ciz·i!izing Process
Cha11gr:s in tht Br:hctl'iom of thr: Si:L!!lctr Uj1pr:r Classes in thr: \Fest
unified and central "good sociery"; in Germany, with its numerous, relatively small capitals, there: was no central and unified "good society" Here the intelligentsia w
orher rhings, rhe amirhesis berween Zirilisatio11 and K!!lt!!r grew up, we find ar a parricular phase of German developmem rhe rension berween rhe middle-class inrelligentsia and rhe courrly arisrocracy.. Cerrainly, rhere was never a complere lack of awareness rhar courrliness and French were relared emiries G. C H, Lichrenberg expressed this very clearly in one of his aphorisms, in which he s oke of rhe difference between rhe French jJromessr: and rhe German Verspnchm1g 3. l 775-l 779c'). "The larrer is kepr", he said, "and nor rhe former. The usefulness of French words in German. I am surprised that ir has nor been noticed The French word gives rhe German idea wirh an admixture of humbug, or in irs courr meanmg. A discovery (Erfi11d1111g) is somerhing new and a decom·ertr: somerhing old with a new name. Columbus discovered (wtclcckte) America and ir was Americus Vespmius's dicrwnrte . Indeed, go1?t and rasre (Geschmack) are almosr antirherical, and people of go1?t seldom have much
VI
Here, rherefore, rhe conceprs "civilized" and "civilization" are already linked quite unequivocally wirh rhe image of rhe Frenchman, \Virh rhe slow rise of the German bourgeoisie from being a second-rank class ro being rhe bearer of German narional consciousness, and finally-very !are and condirionally-ro being rhe ruling class, from having been a class which was first obliged ro perceive or legirimize irself primarily by contrasting itself ro the courdy-arisrocratic upper class, and then by defining itself againsr compering narions, rhe antirhesis between K11lt11r and Zil'ilisatio11, wirh all irs accompanying meanings, changed in significance and foncrion: from being c1 j11"imarily socicd a11tithesis it becomes a primarily national 011e, And a parallel development was undergone by whar was rhoughr of as specifically German: l1ere, likewise, many originally middle-class social charncterisrics, imprinted in people by rheir social siruarion, became national characrer-
The Recession of the Social Element and the Advance of the National Element in the Antithesis between Kultur and Zivilisation 17 \Vhether the amithesis is expressed by these or other concepts, one thing is always clear: the comraposition of particular human charaneristics which later came ro serve primarily ro express a national amithesis appears here primarily as the expression of a social amithesis, As rhe decisive experience underlying the formulation of pairs of opposites such as "depth" and "superficiality", "honesty" and "falsiry". "ourward polireness" and "rrue virtue", and from which, among
rasre, Bur ir was only after rhe French Revolurion rhar rhe idea of the German courtly arisrocrncy unmisrakably receded, and rhar rhe idea of France and the \Vesrern powers in general moved towards rhe foreground in rhe concepr of "civilizarion" and relared ideas, One rypical example: in 1797 rhere appeared a small book by rhe French emigre Menurer, Essai S/tr la l'ille d'Ha111bo11rg. A cirizen of Hamburg, Canon Meyer. wrore rhe following commenrary on ir: Hamburg is srill backward Afrer a famous epoch (famous enough, when swarms of emigranrs are serding here), ir has made progress (really)); bm ro increase, ro complete I do nor say irs happiness (rhar would be addressing his God) bur irs ciYilizarion. irs advance in rhe career of science and arr (in which, as you know, we are srill in rhe Norrh), in rhar of luxury, comforr, frivoliry (his special field!) ir srill needs a number of years. or evenrs which draw ro ir new throngs of foreigners (pro\·ided rhey arc nor more swarms of his ci\"ilized comparriors) and an increase of opulence
28
Tix Cil'ilizi11g Pmccss
isrics. Honesry and sinceriry, for example, were now conrrasred as German characrerisrics wirh dissimularing counesy. Bm sincerity, as used here, originally emerged as a specific trait of the middle-class person, in contrasr ro the man of rhe world or courrieL This, roo, can be clearly seen in a conversarion berween Eckermann and Goerhe. "I usually carry into sociery", says Eckermann on 2 May 1824, "my personal likes and dislikes and a certain need to love and be loved . I seek a personaliry conforming to my nature; ro that person I should like ro gi,·e myself entirely and have nothing to do with rhe ochers." "This natural tendency of yours··, Goerhe answers, "is indeed nor of a sociable kind; yer what would all our education be if we were nor willing to overcome our natural rendencies. It is a great folly ro demand rhar people should harmonize wirh us, I have never done so I have thereby attained rhe ability to converse with all people, and only rhus is knowledge of human character gained, as well as rhe necessary adroirness in life. For with opposed natures one must rake a grip on oneself if one is to get on wirh rhem. You oughr ro do likewise . There's no help for ir. you musr go inro sociery. No matter whar you say" The sociogenesis and psychogenesis of forms of human behaviour are srill not well undersrood. Ewn ro raise rhe questions may seem odd. It is nevertheless observable rhar people from different social units behave differendy in quire specific ways. \'
29 aspect of his moderation of individual affects. His comment was one of rhe few German urrerances of rhis rime ro acknowledge something of the social value of "courresy" and rn say something positive about social adroirness. In France and England, where "society" played a far greater role in the overall development of the nation, rhe behavioural tendencies he speaks of also played-rhough less consciously than in his case-a far more important part. And ideas of a similar kind, including rhe notion that people should seek ro harmonize wirh and show consideration for each other, rhar individuals may not always give W
30
Th1: Cil'i/j:;i11g Proa.rs
middle classes, rheir sptcific social characttristics gradually becomt national characteristics And the same becomes clear from the following judgement of Fontane on England, robe found in Ei11 So111i111:r in L<111do11 (Dessau, 1852): England and Germany are related in rhe same way as form and conrenr. appearance and reality Unlike rhings. which in no ocher counrry in rhe world exhibit rhe same solidity as in England, people are distinguished by form, their mosr ourward packing. You need nor be a genrleman. you muse only ban· rhe means ro appear one, and you are one You need nor be righr. you muse only find yourself wirhin rhe forms of rightness, and you are right Everywhere appearance Nowhere is one more inclined ro abandon oneself blindly ro rhe mere lustre of a name. The German lives in order ro live, rhe Englishman ro represent The German lives for his own sake. rhe Englishman for rhe sake of ochers
It is perhaps necessary to point om how exactly this lasr idea coincides with rhe antithesis benveen Eckermann and Goethe: "I give open expression to my personal likes and dislikes", said Eckermann . "One must seek, even if unwillingly, to harmonize with others", argued Goethe. "The Englishman .. , Fontane observes, "has a thousand comforts, bur no comfort. The place of comfort is taken by ambition. He is always ready to receive, to give audiences. He changes his suir rhree rimes a day; he observes ar rable-in rhe sining room and drawing room--certain prescribed laws of propriery. He is a disringuished man, a phenomenon rhar impresses us, a reacher from whom we rake lessons. Bur in the midst of our wonderment is mixed an infinire nosrnlgia for our petty-bourgeois Germany, where people have not the faintest idea how to represent, but are able so splendidly, so comforrnbly and cozily, to live." The concepr of "civilizarion" was not mentioned here. And rhe idea of German Kuft11r appears in this account only from afar. Bur we see from it, as from all rhese reflecrions, rhat rhe German anrirhesis berween Ziz'ilisatio11 and K11!t11r did nor srnnd alone; ir was part of a larger context. Ir was an expression of rhe German self-image. And ir pointed back ro differences of st!f-legirimization, of characrer and overall behaviour, rhat first exisred preponderantly, even if nor exclusively. between parricular German classes, and then berween the German nation and other nations.
2
Sociogenesis of the Concept of Civilisation zn France
I Introduction 1 Ir would be incomprehensible that, in the German antithesis of genuine Bild11ng and K1dt111 on the one hand and mere outward Ziz·ilisatio11 on the ocher, rhe internal. social antithesis should haw receded and the national one become dominant, had nor the de\·elopment of the French bourgeoisie followed, in certain respects, exactly rhe opposite course from the German In France rhe bourgeois intelligentsia and the leading groups of the middle class were drawn relatively early into the circle of rhe court society The German nobiliry's old means of distinction, the proof of ancesuy-which lacer, in a bourgeois transformation, rook on new life in German racial legislation-was certainly not entirely absent in the French tradition, bur particularly after the esrablishment and consolidation of the "absolute monarchy", it no longer played a very decisive role as a barrier between the classes. The permeation of bourgeois circles by specifically arisrocratic traditions (which in Germany, wirh the srricter separation of classes, had a deep effecr only in certain spheres such as the military, being elsewhere very limired) had quire different proportions in France. Here, as early as the eighteenth century, there was no longer any considerable difference of manners between the leading bourgeois groups and the courtly arisrocracy And e\·en if, with rhe srronger upsurge of the middle class from the mid-
- 7 -"-
The Cil'ili:ing Pmccss
eighreemh cemury onward-or, srnred differently, wirh rhe enlargement of rhe courr sociery through rhe increased assimilarion of leading middle-class groups-beha,·iour and manners slowly changed, this happened rupture as a direcr cominuation of rhe courtly-arisrocraric rradirion of rhe sevemeenth cemury Borh the courtly bourgeoisie and rhe courtly aristocracy spoke rhe same language, read the same books and had, with particular gradarions, rhe same manners. And when rhe social and economic disproportionaliries bursr rhe when the bourgeoisie became rhe insrirurional framework of rhe a11ciw narion, much of what had originally been rhe specific and clisrincrive social character of rhe courtly aristocracy and then also of rhe courtly-bourgeois groups, became, in an ever-widenini:: movemem and doubtless with some modification, the national character. Stylistic com·entions, rhe forms of social intercourse, affect-moulding, the high regard for courtesy, the importance of good speech and conversation, articulateness of language and much else-all this was first formed in France within court society, then slowly changed, in a continuous diffi.1sion, from a social into a n•Itional character. Here, too, Nietzsche saw the difference nory clearly. "\\/herever there was a court"", he says in Be) r!llt! Gr1r1J t1nd Ez-i! (Aphorism l () l ), "there was a law of rig hr speaking, and therefore also a law of style for all who wrote. Courtly language, however, is the language of rhe courrier who has no special subject, and who even in com·ersarion on scholarly matters prohibits all technical expressions because they smack of specialization; this is why, in countries with a courtlv culture. rhe technical term and everything char betrays rhe specialist is a sn·lisric blemish . Now that all courts have become caricamres one is to find even :olraire very particular on this point . The fact is that we are all emancipated from court taste, while Voltaire was irs consummation'" In Germany rhe aspiring middle-class intelligentsia of rhe eighteenth centurv, trained at universities specializing in particular subjects, developtd its selt-:_ expression, its own specific culture, in rhe arts and sciences. In France the bourgeoisie was already developed and prosperous to an entirelv different degree The rising intelligentsia had, besides rhe arisrocracy, a broad. bourgeois too. The inrelligenrsia itself, like certain other middle-class formations. was assimilated by rhe courtly circle. And so ir came abour that rhe German middle classes, with their very gradual rise to nationhood, increasingly perceived as rhe national character of their neighbour chose modes of behaviour which they had first observed predominantly at their own courts. And, having either judged chis behaviour second-rare or rejected ir as incompatible with rheir own affect srrucrure, so they also disapproved of ir to a greater or lesser degree in their neighbours
2 . Ir may seem paradoxical char in Germany, where rhe social walls between the middle class and rhe arisrocracy were h.igher, social contacts fewer and differences in manners more considerable, rhe discrepancies and tensions between
Ch,!llges i11 the Behariom of tht Scmlar Upper C!t1sses in the \Vest
33
rhe classes for a long rime found no political expression; \vhereas in France, where rhe class barriers were lower and social contact between the classes incomparably more intimate, rhe political acriviry of rhe bourgeoisie developed earlier and rhe ,ension between the classes reached an early political resolution. Bm the paradox is only apparent. The long denial of political functions ro the French nobility by royal policy, rhe early involvement of bourgeois elements in government and administration, their access ro even rhe highest governmental functions, their influence and advancement ar the court-all chis had rwo consequences: on rhe one hand, enduring close social conrnct between elements of differing social origin; on rhe other, rhe opportuni ry for bourgeois elements ro engage in political acriviry when rhe social sirnarion was ripe and, prior ro chis, a strongly political training, a tendency to chink in political caregories. In rhe German scares, by and large, almost exactly rhe reverse was the case . The highest government poses were generally reserved for rhe nobility. Ar the least, unlike rheir French counterparts, rhe German nobility played a decisive role in higher state administration Its strength as an auronomous class had never been so radically broken as had char of irs counterpart in France. In contrast, rhe class strength of rhe bourgeoisie, in keeping with its economic power, was relatively low in Germany until well into rhe nineteenth century. The sharper social severance of German middle-class elements from rhe courtly aristocracy reflected rheir relative economic weakness and their exclusion from most key positions in rhe scare. _:; The social structure of France made ir possible for rhe moderate opposition, which had been slowly growing from about rhe mid-eighteenth century, ro be represented with a certain success in the innermost court circles Irs representatives did not yer form a party. Ocher forms of political struggle fitted rhe instimrional structure of the crnciw They formed a clique ar rhe court without a definite organization, bur were supported by people and groups within the broader court society and in rhe country at large. The variety of social interests found expression at court in the conflicts between such cliques, admittedly in a somewhat vague form and with a srrong admixrure of the most diwrse personal interests; nevertheless, these conflicts were expressed and resolved. The French concept of ciri!isatio11, exactly like the corresponding German concept of KN!t!lr, was formed within chis opposition movement in rhe second half of the eighteenth century. Its process of formation, its function and its meaning were as different from those of the German concept as were the circumstances and manners of the middle classes in rhe two countries" Ir is nor uninteresting to observe how similar was the French concept of ciri!isation, as first encountered in lirerarure, to the concept to which many years lacer Kant opposed his concept of Ku!t!lr. The first literary evidence of the development of rhe verb cfrilisu into the concept cfri!isation is to be found,
The
according ro prtsem-day 1-:6os.
Process in dit work of die elder Mirabeau in rht
.. I maf\'el ro see ... ht says ... how uur learned vit\\·s. false on all poims, are \Hong on whar we rakt rn be civilizarion. If rhey were asked whar civilizarion is. mosr people would answer: sofrening of manners. urbaniry. polireness, and a disseminarion of knowledge such char propriery is esrnblished in place of laws of derail: all rhar only presems me wirh rhe mask of virrnt and nor irs face, and ci\·ilizarion dots norhing for sociery if ir does nor give ir both rhe form and rhe subs ran ct of virwe ... 21' This sounds vtry similar rn whar was also being said in Germany againsr courrly manners. Mirabeau. roo. comrasred whar mosr people, according ro him. considered ro bt civilizarion (i e. polirtness and good manntrs) wirh rhe idtal in whose name everpvhtre in Europe rhe middle classes were aligning rhemselves againsr rhe courrly-arisrocraric upper class, and rhrough which rhty ltgirimized rhemselves-die ideal of virrue. He. roo, exacrly likt Kam. linked rhe concepr of civilizarion ro rhe specific characrerisrics of rhe courrly arisrocracy. wirh reason: for rhe ho111111t cirilisil was norhing orhtr rhan a somewhar exrended version of char human rype which represemed rhe rrut ideal of courr socitry. die ho1mt!tt h1J111111c
Cirili.r( was. like mltiz-t'. poli, or /10/id. one of rhe many rerms, ofren used almosr as synonyms. by which rhe courrly people wished ro designart. in a broad or narrow sense. rhe specific qualiry of rheir own behaviour. and by which rhey comrasrecl rhe refinemtm of rheir O\\·n social manners. rheir "srnndard ... ro rht manners of simpler and socially inferior ptople. Conceprs such as or ciz·ilitc' had. befort die concepr cizilisati//11 was formtd and esrablishtd. practically rht same function as rhe new concepr: ro express the self-image of rhe European upper class in relarion ro ochers whom irs members considered simpler or more prirnirin:, and ar tht same rimt ro characterize the specific kind of behaviour rhrough which this upper class felr irself differtm from all simpler and more primirive people. Mirabeau's sratemem makes ir quire clear ro txtem rhe conctpt of civilizarion was ar firsr a direcr conrinuarion of ocher incarnarions of courdy self-consciousness: "If rhey were asked what ·civilizarion · is. people would answer: sofrening of manners, politeness. and suchlike ... And Mirabeau, like Rousseau, if more moderarely, inverted the existing rnluarions. You and your civilizarion, he said, all rhat you are so proud of, btlieving char it raises you above rhe simple people, is of very lirrle value: "In all rhe languages of all ages, rhe depicrion of rhe love of shepherds for rheir flocks and rheir clogs finds irs way imo our soul, deadened as ir is by rhe pursuit of luxury and a false civilizarion ... 2 A person ·s arrirude cowards rhe "simple people .. -above all, rowarcls rhe "simple people .. in rheir mosr exrreme form. rhe "savage ..-was everywhere in rhe second half of rhe eighreemh cemury a symbol of his or her posirion in rhe
_',5
inrernal, social debate. Rousseau launched rhe mosr radical arrack on rht domim1nr order of rnluts of his rime. and for rhis vtry reason his direct imporrance for rhe rnurrlyimiddle-class reform mon:mem of rhe Frtnch imelligenrsia was less rhan mighr be suggesred by his resonance among rhe unpolirical inrellecrually more radical middle-class imtlligemsia of Gtrmany. Bur Rousseau. for all rhe radicalism of his social criricism, had nor yer fashiontcl an inclusive. unified counrerconcepr against which ro hurl rhe accumulated reproaches. Mirabeau created ir, or was ar lease rhe firsr ro use ir in his wrirings: perhaps ir had prtviously exisrtd in conversarion. From rht ho111111t cizi!ise he derived a general characreristic of sociery: cirilisatio11. Bur his social criticism. like char of rhe othtr Physiocrars. was moclerare. Ir remained emirely wirhin the framework of rhe existing social system. It is. incited, the criricism of reformers \Xlhile members of the German middle-class inrelligentsia, at lease in rhe mind, in rhe daydreams of their books. forged concepts divtrging absolurely from rhe models of rhe upper class. and rims fought on politically neurral ground all rhe bardes which they were unable ro fighr on rhe polirical and social plane btcause rhe existing instirurions and power relarionships denied chem insrrumenrs and even targets: while they. in rheir books. opposed to the human characrerisrics of rhe upper class rheir own new ideals and behavioural models: the courtlyreformisr intelligentsia in France remained for a long rime within the framework of courrly tradirion. These Frenchmen desirtcl to improvt. modify, aclapr. Aparr from a few oursiders like Rousseau. rhey did nor oppose radically different ideals and models ro rhe dominam order, bm reformed ideals and models of thar order In rht words "false civilization .. rhe whole difference from rhe German movemem was contained. The French wrirers implied thar rhe false civilization oughr ro bt replaced by a genuine one. They did nor oppose ro rht ho111111e cirilise a radically differem human model. as did dit German bourgeois inrelligenrsia with the term gebi!ddu· Mwsch (eclucarecl person) and with the idea of tht ·personaliry .. : insreacl, they picked up courtly models in order to develop and rransform them. They addressed rhemselves ro a critical imelligenrsia which, directly or indirectly. was irself wriring and srruggling wirhin rht extensive nerwork of courr sociery
II
Sociogenesis of Physiocratism and the French Reform Movement -t Ler us recall rhe siruarion of France afrer the middle of rhe eighteemh ctnrnry
36
The Cfrili::i11g Process
The principles by which France was governed and on which, in particular, raxarion and customs legislation was based were broadly the same as at Colberr's rime. But the internal relationships of power and interest. the so.cial srrucrure of France itself, had shifted in crucial ways. Strict protectionism, the shielding of national manufacturing and commercial activity against foreign competition, had actually contributed decisively to the development of French economic life, and so ro furthering what marcered more than anything else to the king and his representatives-the taxable capacity of the country. The barriers in the grain trade, monopolies, the granary system and the cuswms walls between provinces had partly protected local interests but, above all, had from rime ro rime preserved the district most imporrant to the king's peace and perhaps to that of all France, Paris, from rhe extreme consequences of bad harvests and rising prices-srarvarion and revolt But in rhe meantime, rhe capiral and the population of the country had increased. Compared ro Colbert's rime, the trade network had become denser and more extensive, industrial activity more vigorous, communications better, and rhe economic integration and interdependence of French rerrirory closer. Sections of rhe bourgeoisie began to find the traditional taxation and customs systems, under whose protection rhey had grown up, irksome and absurd . Progressive country gentry and landowners like Mirabeau saw in the mercantilist restraints on the grain economy an impediment rather than an inducement ro agricultural production: in this rhey profited nor a little from rhe lessons of rhe freer English trading sys rem . And most important of all, a section of the higher administrators rhemselws recognized the ill effects of rhe existing system; at their head \Vas their most progressive type, the provincial intendants, rhe representatives of the single modern form of bureaucracy which rhe a11cie11 had produced, the only administrati\·e funccion which was not, like rhe others, purchasable and therefore heredirary These progressive elements in the administration formed one of the most important bridges between the demand for reform that was making itself felt in d1e country and rhe comr. Directly or indirectly they played, in rhe struggle of court cliques for key political positions (primarily the ministries), a nor inconsiderable part Thar these struggles were nor yet rhe more impersonal, polirical conflicts they lacer became, when the various interests would be represented by parries within a parliamentary framework, has already been pointed our. Bm rhe courtly groups which, for rhe most diverse reasons, competed for influence and posts at the court were, at the same rime, social nuclei through which the interests of broader groups and classes could find expression at the controlling centre of the country In this way reformist tendencies, roo, were represented at court. By the second half of the eighteenth century, the kings had long ceased ro rule arbitrarily. Far more perceptibly than Louis XIV, for example, they were rhe
i11 th, Bdh11·io11r o/ tht Swtfcn Uj1pu· Classes i11 the \Vt.rt •)risoners of social processes and dependent on court cliques and factions, some of extended far into the country
59 acaJemic Their social bast was cht universicy, The social base from which Physiocracism emerged was che courr and court sociecy, where imellecrnal effon had specific concrece aims. such as influencing che king or his misuess. 5 The basic ideas of Quesnay and che Physiocracs are well known In his L1h!C:111 ( l '58), Quesnay depicted cht economic lift of society as a more or less autonomous process, a closed cycle of the produccion, circulation and reproduction of commodities . He spoke of the natural laws of a social lift in harmony wich reason. Basing his argumtm on chis idea, Quesnay opposed arbirrary imenemion by rulers imo die economic cycle. He wished them ro be aware of its laws in order ro guide its processes, instead of issuing uninformed decrees at whim. He demanded freedom of trade, particularly the grain trade, because self-regulation, che free pla\· of forces, creates in his view a more beneficial order for consumers and proJucers chan the rradicional regulations from above and the coundess trade barriers benveen proYince and province, country and country.. But he tully concecleJ that the self-regulating processes oughc ro be unJersrood, and guided, by a wise and tnlighcened bureaucracv. Here, above all, lav che difference becween rhe wa\·. in \\·hich che French and che En«lisi1 b reformers reacced w the discovery of seif-regulacion in economic life. Quesnay and his follows remained wholly wichin che framework of cht exiscing monarchical syscem. He lefr dit basic elemtnts of die cmciw and ics inscimcional scrunure umouchtd. And chis applied all d1t more w che seccions of che adminisuacion and imtlligtmsia \\·host posicion was close rn his, and who, in a ltss absuace, ltss exueme and more prnnically minded form, arrived ac resulcs similar w chose of die cemral group of Physiocracs. Fundamentally, die posicion common w all of them was excremtly simple: roughly, chey htld thac ic is not uut char rulers are almighcy and can regulace all human affairs as chev chink tic Socien· and the: economy havt cheir 0\\'!1 laws, ,,·hich resisr die. irracion
social evems, like narnral phenomena, form part of an ordered process . This samt experience manifosctd icstlf in che uansformacion of che earlitr <'fri/i.re imo che noun <'iz·i!ist1tiu11, helping ro giw ic a meaning chac cranscended inJi\·idual usage,
The binh pangs of the indusuial revolmion, which could no longer be underswod as che resulc of governmem direnion, rnughc people, briefly and for che firsc cime, w think of chemselvts and cheir social exiscence as a process. If wt firsc pursue the use of che cerm 'iz'ilisatio11 in che work of .Mirabeau, we set clearly how chis discovery caused him w view che enrire moral icy of his cime in a new lid1t He came rn regard chis moralicy, this "ci\·ilization" wo as a cyclical :mifesrncion, and wanted rulers to perceive ics laws in order w use chem . Thac was che meaning of che cerm cil'i!isc1tio11 ac this early srnge of ics use. In his Ami des ho1111110, .Mirabeau argues in one place chac ,1 superfluicy of money reduces populmion, so thac consumpcion by each individual is increased. He considers rhac this excess of money, should ic grow wo large, "banishes industry and the arcs, so casting srnces inrn povtrry and depopulation.. And he continues: "From chis we perceive how che cycle from barbarism ro decadence chrough civilizacion and wealch might be reversed by an alert and skilful miniscer, and che machine wound up again before ic has run down." 2 " This semence really sums up all chat was w become characceriscic, in very general ccrms. of che fundamenrnl srnndpoint of rhe Physiocracs: che concepcion of economy, populacion, and finally manners as an imerrelactd whole, developing cyclically; and the reformisc policical cendency which intended chis knowledge: finally for che rulers, w enable chem, from an undersrnnding of chese laws. w guide social processes in a more enlighcened and racional way than hi cherw In Mirabeau's dedicacion of his The(Jrie de /'ill!jJ&t w rhe king in l 760, in which he recommended to che monarch che Physiocracic plan for rnx reform, exactly che same idea was scill present: "The examplt of all che empires rhac hano preceded yours, and which have run che circle of civilizacion, would be derniled e\·idence of whac I have jusc advanced." The cricical anirnde of Mirabeau, che landed nobleman, rnwards \Walch, luxury, and che whole of prerniling manners gave his ideas a special cinge. Gtnuine civilizacion, he chouglu, srnnds in a cycle becween barbarism and a falst, "decadem" civilizacion engendered by a superabundance of money. The rnsk of enlighcened governmem is w sceer chis automacism so thm sociecy can flourish on a middle course becween barbarism and decadence. Here, the whole range of problems la cent in "civilization .. is already discernible m che moment of die concept's formacion. Even ac chis srnge it was connected rn the idea of decadence or "decline", which has re-emerged again and again, in an open or veiled form. ro che rhychm of cyclical crises . Bm we can also see quiet clearly thac this desire for reform remained wholly wichin rhe framework of che exiscing social syscem \vhich was manipulated from above, and chac ic did nm oppose w whac ic
40
-il
Tht Ci1'i!i::,i11g Process
criticized in presenr manners an absolurely new image or concept, but instead rook irs departure from rhe existing order, desiring to improve it: through skilful and enlightened measures by rhe governmenr, "false civilization" shall ,1gain become a good and true ci,·ilization In this conception of civilization there may ar first have been many individual shades of meaning. Bur it contained elements which corresponded to rhe general needs ,rnd experience of the reformist and progressive circles of Parisian society And the concept became all the more widely used in these circles the more the reform movement was accelerated by growing commercialization and ind usrrializarion. The last period of Louis xv·s reign was a rime of visible debility and disorder in rhe old sys rem. The internal and external tensions grew. The signs of social transformation multiplied. In 177 3 tea chests were thrown into Boston harbour In 1776 came the Declaration of Independence by England·s American colony: the governmenr, ir proclaimecl, is appointed to ensure rht happiness of the people. Should it nor succeed in this purpose, a majority of rhe people has the right to dismiss iL The French middle-class circles symparheric to reform observed what was happening across rhe sea with rhe urmosr attention, ancl with a sympathy in which their reformist social tendencies mingled with growing national hostility row,1rds England, even though their leading minds were thinking of anything but an overthrow of the monarchy. Ar the same rime, from l 77-i onwards, there was a growing feeling rhar a confrontation with England was inevirable and rhar preparations must be made for war In rhe same year, 1 Louis XV died. Under the new king rhe struggle for the reform of the administrative and raxarion systems was immediately renewed with intensified force in both rhe narrower and the wider court circles. As a result of these conflicts. Turgor was welcomed in the s<1me year as cu11trrJ/c11r dtS ji11t111ccs by all rhe reformist and progressive elements in the country.. "Ar last rhe belated hour of justice has come", wrote rhe Physiocrar Baucleau on Turgor·s •1ppointmenL o·Alembert wrote on rhe same occasion: "If good does nor prevail now. ir is because good is impossible:· And Voltaire regretted being at the gates of death at the moment when he could observe "virtue and reason in their place" c" In the same years, ciri!isc//io11 appeared for the first rime as a widely used and more or less fixed concepL In the first edition of Raynal's Histoin jihi!osophiqm et pr1/itiq!!e des [tah!iss1:111wts tt d!! rnm111ene des E11ropeem dam !es dwx Indes (1770) the word does nor occur once: in rhe second ( 1774) it was "used frequently and wirhour any variation of meaning as an indispensable term rhar is obviously generally undersrood ... ;o Holbach·s Sy.rtl:i11e de f,7 lhltitre of 1770 did nor yet contain the word cil'i!isc1tio11 . In his S_Jsti:111t sociale of 1774. citi!isdtio11 was used frequently. He says. for
example. "There is nothing that phices mo:e obsracles .in .the. way_ of public · s of rhe nrogress of human reason, ot rhe enure Civilizanon ot men than happines . rL . ,. _; i rhe continual wars into which thoughtless pnnces are drawn at every momem . Or, in another place: ·'Human reason is nor yet sufficiently exercised: the cizi/iz:itio 11 of peop!ts i.1 1111! yet co111p!tt1:; obsracles without number have hirherro "ress of useful knowledue. the advance of which can alone oppose cl [11e Pro o c . . . ·b re ro perfecrinn our ouovernmem ' our laws,, our educanon, our msnruconrn u b 2
rions. and our morals ... _; The concept underlying this enlightened, socially critical reform movemenr was always che same: rhar the improvement of insrimrions, education and law will be brought about by the advance of knowledge. This did nor mean \VisMJschafr in rhe eighreenrh-century German sense, for the speakers were nor university: people bur independenr writers, officials, intellectuals, courtly of the most diverse kind uni red through rhe medium of "good society , . the sa!om Progress would be achieved, therefore. first by rhe enlightenment of kmgs and rulers in conformity with .. reason .. or "nature .. , which comes ro the same thing, and rhen by placing in leading positions enlightened (i e _. reform-minded) men A certain aspect of this whole progressive process of reform, came to be desiunared bv a fixed concept: cil'ihwtio11. \'Vhar was visible in j\firabeau's of the concept, which had nor yet been polished by society. and what is characteristic of any reform movemenr was ro be found here also: a half-
_ expression in terms such as politesse or ciriliti. Bur rhe masses were nor yet civilized enough, said rhe men of the courtly/ middle-class reform movemenr. Civilization is nor only a stare, it is a process which must be raken further. Thar was the new element expressed in the term ciri!iwtion. It absorbed much of what had always made court society believe itself ro be, as compared with those living in a simpler, more uncivilized or more barbaric way, a higher kind of society: the idea of a level of morals and manners, including social racr, consideration for others and many related complexes. Bur in rhe h:nds of rhe rising middle class, in the mouth of rhe reform movement, rhe idea of what was needed to make a society civilized was extended. The civilizing of rhe state, rhe consriwrion and education, and therefore the JiberatioLn of broader sections of rhe population from all that was still barbaric or irrational in existing conditions. whether ir were the legal penalties or the class restrictions on rhe bourgeoisie or the barriers impeding a freer development of
.
)
-L
The Ciri/i:;ing PmCo:ss
trade. this civilizing muse follow rhe refinement of manners and the internal pacification of the country by the kings 'The king succeecled". Voltaire once said of the age of Louis XIV "in making of a hi the no turbulent nation a peaceful people dangerous on! y to i cs enemies. i'vfanners were softened .. ;, It will be seen in more detail lacer how important chis internal pacification was for the civilizing process Conclorcec, however. who was by comparison with Voltaire a reformist of the younger generation and alreacly far more inclined ro opposition. commentecl as follows on chis reflection of Volrnire's: "Despite the barbarity of some of the laws. clespite rhe faulrs of the administracin: principles, the increase in cluties, their burdensome form. the harshness of fiscal laws, despite the pernicious maxims which direct the government's legislation on commerce ancl manufacture. and finally despite rhe persecution of the Protestants. one may observe that the within the realm lived in peace under the protection of law... This enumeration, itself not entirely without affirmation of the existing order, gives a picture of the many rhings felt to be in need of reform . \vhether or not the term cirilisati1Jl1 was here used explicitly, it related to all chis, to everything which was still "barbaric" This discussion makes wry clear the divergence from the course of development in Germany and, with it, from German concepts: it shows how members of the rising middle-class intelligentsia in France stood partly wirhin rhe court circle. and so wirhin rhe courtly-aristocratic tradition. They spoke che language of chis circle and developed it further. Their behaviour and affecrs were. with certain modifications. modelled on the patcern of chis tradition Their concepts and ideas were by no means mere antitheses of chose of the courtly aristocracy. Around courtly-arisrocraric concepts such as rhe idea of "being civilized", they crystallized. in conformity with their social position within rhe courc circle. further ideas from d1t area of rheir political and economic demands, idtas which, owing to the different social sirnacion and range of experience of the German intelligentsia. were largely alien ro it and at any race far less relevant The French bourgeoisie-politicalh· active, ar least partly eager for reform. and even. for a shore period, revolurionary-remained strongly bound to rhe courtly tradition in its beha\·iour and its affect-moulding even afrer the edifice of the old regime had been demolished. For through the close contacr between aristocratic and middle-class circles, a great part of courdy manners had long before the revolurion become middle-class manners. So it can be understood chat the bourgeois revolution in France. though it destroyed the old political scrucrnre. did not disrupt the uniry of traditional manners The German middle-class inrelligenrsia. politically entirely impotent but inrellecrually radical. forged a purely bourgeois tradition of its own, di\·erging widely from the courtly-aristocraric tradition and its models. The German national character which slowly emerged in rhe nineceenrh century was not, to be
sure. entirely lacking in aristocratic elements assimilated by the bourgeoisie Nevertheless, for large areas of the German culrural tradition and German behaviour, the specifically middle-class characteristics were predominanr. particularly as rhe sharper social division bourgeois and aristocratic circles, and with ir a relative heterogeneity ot German manners, survived long after the eighteenth century. The French concept of ciz-ili.wtion reflects the specific social fortunes of the French bourgeoisie to exactly the same degree char the concept of K!!ltur reflects che German. The concepc of dz i!i.rt1tion was firsr. like Ki!ltm-. an instrument of middle-class circles-above all. rhe middle-class intelligentsia-in the internal social conflict. \vich the rise of the bourgeoisie, it too came rn epitomize the rnirion. rn express rhe national self-image. In the Revolution itself ciri!isc1ti1il! (which. of course, referred essentially ro a gradual process, an evolurion. and had not yer discarded its original meaning as a watchword of reform) did not play anv considerable part among the revolutionary slogans. As che Revolution grew moderate, shortly before tht turn of rhe century', it scarred on its journey as a rallying cry throughout the world. Even as early as chis. it had a level of meaning justifying French aspirations co national expansion and colonization. In 1798. as Napoleon sec off for Egypt. he shouted ro his troops: "Soldiers, you are undertaking a conquesc with incalculable consequences for civilizacion ... Unlike che situation when the concept was formed. from now on nations came to consider the J1111(cJS of civilization as completed within rheir own societies: they came to set themselves as bearers of an existing or finished civilization to ochers. as standard-bearers of expanding civilization . Of the whole preceding process of civilization nothing remained in their consciousness except a rngue residue. !rs outcome was taken simply as an expression of their own higher gifts: the fact char. and the question of how. in the course of many cenruries. civilized beh,n·iour has been arcaintd is of no interest And the consciousness of their own superiority, the consciousness of this "ci\·ilizacion". from now on serves ar least chose nations which have become colonial conquerors.
PART TWO Civilization as a Specific Transformation of Human Behaviour
I
The History of the Concept of Civilite l. The decisin: antithesis expressing the self-image of che \Vest during rhe Middle Ages was chat becween Christianiry and paganism or. more exacdy, berween de\'OUL Roman-Larin Christianiry. on che one hand. and paganism and heresy, including Greek and Eascern Christianicy, on che orher 1 Jn the name of che Cross. and lacer in char of ci,·ilization. \\7escern society waged. during che Middle Ages. ics wars of colonizacion and expansion. And for all ics secularizacion. rhe wacchworcl "ci\'ilizarion" always rerained an echo of Larin Chriscendom and rhe knighdy-feudal crusade The memory rhac chivalry and che Roman-Larin faich bear wirness w a particular srage of \Vesrern sociery. a srnge which all rhe major \Vescern peoples have passed chrough, has cerrainly nor disappeared. The concepr of ciz'iliti acquired irs meaning for \Vesrern sociery ar a time when knighdy sociery and rhe unicy of rhe Carbolic church were disinregraring. Ir was rhe incarnarion of a sociery which, as a specific srage in rhe formarion of \Vestern manners or "civilization". was no less important rhan the feudal society before ir The concept of cil'ilite. coo. was an expression and a symbol of a social formation embracing rhe most diverse narionaliries, in which. as in rhe Church, a common language was spoken. first Italian and rhen increasingly French. These languages rook over the function earlier performed by Larin. They manifested che unity of Europe. and at the same rime the new social formarion which formed its backbone, court society. The sirnacion, che self-image, and the characceristics of this sociery found expression in che concept of cizilitt! 2. The concept of cirilite received the specific stamp and funccion under discussion here in the second quarter of che sixteenth century. Irs individual starting-point can be exacdy determined Ir owes the specific meaning which btcamt socially accepted ro a short rreatise by Erasmus of Ronerdam, De cil'i!itate 11111m111 /i!!eri!iml! (On ci,·ility in boys). which appeared in 1530 This work clearly treated a rhemt that was ripe for discussion It immediately achieved an enormous circulacion. going through edition after edition. Ewn wichin Erasmus's lifetimerhat is, in che first six years after its publication-it was reprinted more chan rhircy rimes.' In all, more drnn 1.70 edicions may be counted. l .o of them as late as ri1e c:ighteemh century The mulcimde of uanslacions, imitations and sequels is almosc without limit. Two years after the publication of the treatise the first English rranslacion appeared In 15 3-i it was published in catechism form. and at this rime it was already being introduced as a schoolbook for the education of boyso German and Czech translacions followed. In 15.0,7, 1559. 1569 and 1613 it appeared in French. newly translated each ume.
-18
Thi: Ciz·i/i:;i11g P/'IJ
As early as rhe six[eenrli century a panicular French [ypeface was giw:n rhe name cil'i!it,·. afo:r a French work bv Marhurin Cordier which combined doctrines from Erasmus's trearist with [host of anodier humanise, Johannes Sulpicius. And a whole gtnrt of books. directly or indirectly influenced by Erasmus's [rta[ise, appeared under the title Cil'i!iti! or Ciriliti! p11t!1i/,; these were primed up w the encl of the eigh[eemh century in [his ciziliti! [ype.' _:; Here, as so ofren in the history of words, and as was w happen lacer in the de\·elopmem of the concept of ciz'ilitu into cil'i!isation, an individual was the instigawr. By his rrearise. Erasmus ,gave new sharpness and impetus to the longesrablishecl and commonplace word ciz·i!it.rs \\fittingly or noc, he obviously expressed in i[ some[hing [hat me[ a social need of the [ime . The concept of "il'ilitas was hencefonh fixed in the consciousness of people with the special sense i[ received from his creacise . And corresponding words were developed in the various popular languages: the French ,-Jri!itu, the English "civility", the Iralian ciz'i/t,/, and [ht German Ziz·i!itdt, which. admittedly, was never so widely adopted as the corresponding \\·ords in rhe ocher grta[ cul[ures. The more or less sudden emergence of words within languages nearly always points w changes in the lives of people themselves, panicularly when the new concep[s are dts[ined w become as central and long-lived as [hese Erasmus himself may nor have arcribmed any parcicular imponance w his shore creacise D, cil'ilit11h 11tff/t1111 p11i:1ili11111 wi[hin his coral fff:ttzrf:. He says in die imroclucrion [ha[ the an of forming young people involvc:s various disciplines, bm [ha[ [ht cirilir.rs 1i1om;11 is only one of [hem. and he does noc deny [ha[ ir is m;.rsns111!?! Jurs ld1t grosses[ pan of philosophy). This trta[ise has i[S special imporrnnce less as an individual phenomenon or work [han as a sympwm of change, an embodimtm of social processes. Abo\·e all, i[ is [ht resonance, the c:levacion of dit [ide \\·ore! tu a cemral expression of [ht st!f-imerprernriun of European socit[y. \vhich draws our acrencion w [his [rtatise. -!. \'Vhar is [ht trta[ise abom' Its [heme muse explain ro us for whar purpose and in wha[ sense die conctp[ was needed Ir mus[ conrnin indica[ions of [ht social changes and processes which made die word fashionable . Erasmus's book is abou[ somt[hing very simple: die behaviour of people in socit[y-above alL bm no[ solely. "outward bodily proprit[y .. It is dedicated w a noble boy, a prince's son, and written for the instruction of boys. It contains simple rhough[s delivered with grear seriousness, yer ar [he same rime wi[h much mockery and irony. in clear. polished language and wi[h enviable precision . It can be said [ha[ none of i[S successors ever equalled [his treatise in force, clarity and personal character. Looking more closely, one perceives beyond i[ a world and a pattern of life which in many respects are close w our own, yet in others still quire remo[e; [ht treatise points co acritudes that we have los[, [ha[ some among us would perhaps call "barbaric" or "uncivilized". It speaks of many
Change.I in th, Blh11io1tr of the Sumlm Uppi:r Clc1ssts in th, \Fest chat have in [ht meantime become unspeakable, and of many others [hat liin"s 0 are now raken for granted.' Erasmus speaks. for example, of rhe way people look. Though his comments are meam as instruction. [hty also bear witness to the direc[ and lively observa[ion of people of which he was capable . "Sine oculi placidi, verecundi, composici", he says, "non torvi, quocl es[ truculenciae nun vagi ac volubiles, quod es[ insaniae. non limi quod est suspiciosorum et insidias molemium. :· This can onlv with difficulty be cransla[ed withou[ an appreciable a!rtra[ion ot tone: a look is a sign of stupidi[y, srnring a sign of inenia; rhe looks of chose prone w anger are wo sharp; wo lively and eloquent [hose of the immodes[; if vour look shows a calm mind and a respectful amiabili[y, thar is best. Nor by do [he ancients say: the sear of [ht soul is in [he eyes . "Animi seclem esse in oculis ... Bodily carriage, gestures, dress, facial expressions-this "omward" behaviour wi[h which the treatise concerns irself is [he expression of die inner, rhe whole person. Erasmus knows [his and on occasion srn[es i[ explicidy: "Ai[hough chis omward bodily propriety proceeds from a well-composed mind. nevenheless we somerimes find [hat, for want of instruction, such grace is lacking in excellent and learned men ... There should be no snot on [ht nostrils, he says somewhat la[tr. A ptasam wipes his nose on his cap and cmu, a sausage maker on his arm and elbow. Ir does nor show much more propriety to use one's hand and dien wipe it on one's clothing. It is more decent w rake up [he snot in a clodi. preferably while rnrning away. If when blowing the nose wi[h [WO fingers some[hings falls w rhe ground. it muse be immedia[ely trodden away wi[h [ht foor. The same applies w spinle. \\/i[h [he same infinite care and maner-of-facrness with which chese things are said-[he mere mention of which shocks the "civilized" person of a later stage wi[h a different afftc[in: moulding-we art mid how one oughc rn si[ or greer. Gesrnres are described that have become strange w us. e . g., standing on one leg. And we migh[ reflect that many of the bizarre movements of walkers and dancers [ha[ we see in medieval paintings or srarnes do nor only represent the "manner" of die painter or sculpwr but also preserve acrnal gestures and movements cha[ have grown strange to us, embodiments of a different menrnl and emotional structure. The more one immerses oneself in the litde treatise, [he clearer becomes [his picture of a socie[y wi [h modes of behaviour in some respec[s rel aced to ours, and in many ways remo[t. \'Ve see people sta[td ar table: "A dextris si[ poculum, t [ culrellus escarius ri[e purgatus, ad laevam panis", says Erasmus. The goblt[ and [he well-cleaned knife on the right, on the lefr rhe bread. Tha[ is how [he rnble is laid. Most people carry a knife. hence the precept co keep it clean. Forks scarcely exist. or a[ mos[ for raking mea[ from the dish. Knives and spoons are very ofren used communally. There is no[ always a special implement for [
50 everyone: if you are offered some[hing liquid, says Erasmus, rns[t i[ and return [ht spoon afrer you han: wiped i[ \\'hen dishes of mea[ are broughc in, usually everyone ems himself a piece, takes i[ in his hand, and pms i[ on his pla[t: if [htrt are pla[eS, otherwise on a [hick slice of bread The expression Cji!t1dra used by Erasmus can clearly mean ei[her a mernl pla[t or a slice of bread "Quidam ubi ,·ix bent considerim mox manus in epulas conjicium ··Some pm rlieir hands into the dishes when [hey are scarcely sta[tcl. says Erasmus . \Valves or glutwns du rliac. Do nor be [ht firsr w rnke from a dish [ha[ is brough[ in. Leave clipping your fingers imo rhe brorh w die peasants. Do no[ poke around in [ht dish bm rnke rhe firs[ piece [ha[ presents irself. And jus[ as i[ shows a want of forbearance w search [ht whole dish wi[h one's hand-" in omnes parinae plagas manum mi[[tre"-neirher is i[ very poli[t w turn [ht dish round so rhar a be[[er piece comes w you. \Vha[ you canno[ rnke wi[h your hands, rnke on your q1111d1t1. If someone passes you a piece of cake or pasuy wirli a spoon, ei[her rnke i[ wirli your or cake rhe spoon offered ro you, pm [ht food on rhe 'fl!t11!m and rernrn [ht spoon. As has been memioned. plares roo are uncommon . Paimings of table scenes from [his or earlier rimes always offer the same spectacle, unfamiliar to us, [hat is indica[ed by Erasmus·s uea[ist . The rnblt is some[imes covered wirli rich clorlis, sometimes nor, bm always [here is little on ic: drinking vessels, sal[-cellar. knives. spoons, [ha[ is alL Somt[imes we see rhe slices of bread, die qN11drm, rha[ in French 'ire called tra11chr1ir or frti!!fJir. E,·eryone, from [ht king and queen w die peasant and his wife, ta[s wi[h [ht hands. In [ht upper class [here are more refined forms of [his. One ough[ ro wash one's hands before a meal, says Erasmus. Bm there is as yer no soap for [his purpose. Usually [ht gues[S hold om rheir hands and a page pours wa[er over [hem. The warer is some[imes slighdy scented wirh chamomile or rosemary.' In good socit[y ont does no[ pm bmh hands inw rhe dish. fr is mos[ refined rn use only [hret fingers. This is one of rhe marks of disrinc[ion be[Wttn [ht upper and lower classes. The fingers become greasy.. "Digiws uncrns vel ore praelingere vel ad tunicam tx[ergere incivile es[ .. , says Erasmus. Ir is nm poli[t rn lick [hem or wipe rhem on one·s coac Ofren you offer others your glass. or all drink from a communal rankard. Erasmus admonishes: "\Yipe your momh beforehand.·· You may want w offer someone you like some of rhe meat you are earing. "Refrain from [bar .. , says Erasmus. "i[ is nm very decorous w offer somerliing half-earen rn anmher." And he says further: .. To dip bread you have bi[[en into [he sauce is ro behave like a peasant. and i[ shows lirde elegance ro remove chewed food from die mou[h and put ir back on die q!!adri!. If you cannor swallow a piece of food, rnrn round discreedy and rl1row ir somewhere ... Then he says again: "Ir is good if conversation imerrup[s rhe meal from rime to rime. Some people ea[ and drink widiom stopping, nor because rhey are
in th1: B,hm'io!!r of th1: 51:mlc1r U/'/'1:1 C!t1ss1:s in the
\Vert
51
hungrv or diirs[y. bur because rhty can control rheir movemems in no other way. lia,·e to scrn[ch rheir heads. poke dieir ree[h. gesricuhue wi[h rlieir hands, or play with a knife, or [hty can·r help coughing, snoning, and spi[[ing. All rhis reallv comes from a rus[iC tmbarrassmtl1[ and looks likt a form of madness . ·· B;t[ ir is also necessary, and possible, for Erasmus to say: Do nor expose widiom necessiry "die pans rn which Narnre has amiched modesty". Some prescribe, he says, rha[ boys should "rernin [he wind by compressing [he belly .. Bur vou can conrracr an illness [har way. And in anmher place: "Reprimere quern natura fen, ineprnrum es[, qui plus uibuunt civilirati, quam salmi"
5.:2
53
Thi Ci1'i/i::;i11g Pmn:ss
process. ro arrempr ro suspend all the feelings of embarrassment and superiority, all the value judgements and criticisms associated with the concepts "civilization" or "uncivilized" Our kind of beha\·iour has grown our of rhar which \ve call uncivilized Bur rhese concepts grasp the actual chan!2;e roo srarirnllv and coarsely, In reality, our terms "civilized" and "uncivilized" nor constiCL;te an anti thesis of rhe kind rhar exists between "good .. and "bad", bur represent stages in a development which. moreover, is srill continuing. Ir might well happen rhar our stage of civilization, our behaviour, will arouse in our descendants feelings of embarrassment similar ro those we somenmes feel concerning rhe behaviour of our ancesrors. Social behaviour and rhe expression of emotions passed from a form and a standard which was nor a beginning, which could nor in am· absolure ro our own, we and undifferentiated sense be designar;d denote by rhe word "civilized". And ro uncle rs rand the latter we musr go back in rime ro rhar from \vhich ir emerged. The ·'civilization .. which we are accusromed ro regard as a possession rhar comes ro us apparendy ready-made, wirhour our asking how we actually came ro possess it, is a process or part of a process in which we are ourselves involved Every particular characteristic char we arrribure ro it-machinery, scientific discm·ery. forms of rhe scare or whatever else-bears witness ro a particular srrucrure of human relations, ro a particular social srrucrure, and to the corresponding forms of behaviour The guesrion remains whether rhe change in behaviour, in the social process of rhe "civilization" of people, can be understood, ar least in isolated phases and in its elementary features. with any degree of precision.
:10
II
On Medieval Manners In Erasmus of Rotterdam's De cizilitate 111om111 ji11trilim11 a particular kind of social behaviour is discernible Even here, the simple antithesis of "ci\·ilized" and "uncivilized" hardly a1:lplies. \Vhar came before Erasmus' \Vas he the first to concern himself with such matters' By no means Similar guesrions occupied the people of rhe i\ficldle Ages, of Greco-Roman antiguiry, and cloubdess also of the related, preceding "civilizations" This process has no beginning, and here we cannot trace ir back inclefinirelv. \X'herever we start, there is movement, something that went before. Limits necessarily be set to a retrospective inguiry. preferably corresponding ro the phases of the process itself. Here the medieval srandarcl must suffice as a startin"point, withour itself being closely examined, so that the movement, rhe curve development joining ir ro rhe modern age may be pursued
The Middle Ages have left us an abundance of information on what was considered socially acceptable behaviour at the rime. Here, too, precepts on conduct while earing had a special importance . Earing and drinking then occupied a far more central position in social life than roclay, when rhey provicle-freguently, nor always-rather the framework and introduction for conversation and conviviali ry. Learned ecclesiastics sometimes set clown. in Larin, precepts for behaviour rhar tescir}' to rhe sranclarcl of their society. Hugh of Sr Victor (cl. 11-i 1), in his De imtit11tionc n1t1·itiam111, is concerned wich rhese guesrions among ochers. The baptized Spanish Jew Petrus Alphonsi deals with them in his Discij1!inc1 clericalis of rhe early twelfth cemury; Johannes von Garland devotes ro manners, and particularly ro rable manners, a number of rhe 66.:2 Larin verses bearing the ride 1\Iora!c scol11ri11111 of 1.:24 l. Besides these precepts on behaviour from rhe Larin-speaking clerical society, rhere are, from abour rhe thirteenth cenrnry on, corresponding documents in the various lay languages-above all, at tirsr, from rhe courts of the warrior nobility. The earliest records of the manners prevalent in the secular upper class are doubtless those from Provence and neighbouring, culmrally related Italy. The earliest German work on m111loisie is also by an Italian, Thomasin von Zirklaria, and is called The ltalic111 Guest (Der ll'iilsdx Gt1st, pm inro modern German by Ruckerr) Another "courroisie-rexr" by Thomasin, in Italian, rransmirs to us in irs German ride an early form of rhe concept of "courcesy" (Hiijfic/;kuit) He refers rn this book. which has been lost. as a "buoch von der htifscheir" Originating from the same knighdy-courdy circle are the fifty Cr;11r!dics by Bonvicino da Riva and rhe Hof;:.11cht (Courdy manners) attribured to Tannh;iuser. Such precepts are also occasionally found in the great epic poems of knightly society, e . g .. rhe Roman ck !t1 r11se" of rhe fourteenth century. John Russell's Book of N11rt11r,, written in English verse probably in the fifteenth century, already gives a complete compendium of behaviour for rhe young nobleman in rhe service of a great lord, as does more briefly The Bah11s Bor,k. In addition there is, primarily in fourcetnth- or fifreemh-cenrury wrsions bur probably, in pare, older in subsrnnce, a whole series of poems designed as mnemonics to inculcate table manners, Tisch:;11d1tw of varying length and in rhe most diverse languages. Learning by heart as a means of educating or conditioning played a far greater part in medieval society, where books were comparatively rare and expensive, than it does roday, and these rhymed precepts were one of rhe means used ro rry ro impress on people's memories what rhey should and should nor do in society, above all at table . .:2. These Tisch:;11ch1c11, or rable disciplines, like medieval writings on manners of known amhorship, are nor individual products in rhe modern sense, records of the personal ideas of particular people within an extensively individualized society. \Vhar has come down to us in writing are fragments of a great oral
55
54 uadirion. reflections of what acwally was customary in that society: these fragments are significant precisely because they transmit not the great or the exuaordinary but the typical aspens of sociecy.. Enon poems handed down under a specific name, like Tannhiiuser·s or John Russell's Br;r1k o/ Siirt!lr,, are nothing ocher than individual versions of one of rhe many strands of uadition corresponding to the strucrnre of this society. Those who wrote them down wtre noc tht legislators or creators of these precepts but collectors. arrangers of the commands and taboos customary in their society; for this reason, whether or not there is a literary connection. similar precepts recur in almost all these writings. They are reflections of rhe same customs. testimonies to a particular standard of beha\·iour and emotions in rhe life of society itself Ir is perhaps possible on closer examination to discover certain differences of customs berwten individual national traditions, and variations in the social standards. Ptrhaps the material may also reveal certain changts within rhe same tradition. It appears, for example, that rht tenor and perhaps also the cusroms of society underwent certain changes in the fourteemh or fifteenth century with the rise of guild and burgher elements. much as more recently behavioural models originating in the court aristocracy were adopted in bourgeois circles. A closer srndy of these modifications within medieval behaviour remains to be carried our Ir must suffice here to note them, bearing in mind that this medieval standard was noc wirhom inner movemem and certainly was not a beginning or ""bottom rung .. of rhe process of civilization: nor does it represent, as has sometimes been asserted, the "stage of barbarism .. or that of "primitiveness'" It was a different standard from our own-whether better or worse is not here at issue. And if, in our 1"ch1:1th1: d11 tt111/1s f'trc!H, we ha\'e been led back step by step from the eighteenth to the sixteenth and from the sixteenth ro rhe thirteenth and twelfth cenrnries. this does not imply that we are. as already stared. in anticipation of finding the "beginning'" of the process of civilization It is a sufficient task for present purposes, ro rake the short journey from the mediernl to the early modern stage in an attempt ro understand what acrnally happened to human beings in rhis transition _;. The standard of "'good behaviour'" in the Middle Ages was, like all later standards. represented by a quire definite concept. Through it the secular upper cL1ss of the Middle Ages, or at least some of its leading groups, ga\'e expression to their self-image, to what, in their own estimation, made them exceptional. The concept epitomizing aristocratic self-consciousness and socially acceptable behaviour appeared in French as co11rtoisie, in English as "courtesy .. , in Inilian as corfr:;ia, along with other related terms, ofren in divergent forms. In Germ
which does not mean the knightlv class as a whole, but primarilv., the '· courdv circles around the great feudal lords, designated what distinguished them in the.ir own eyes, m1mely the specific code of behaviour that first formed at the l!rtat feudal courts. then spread to rather broader strata: this process of :liffertntiarion may, however, be disregarded here . Measured against later periods. rht great uniformity in rhe good and bad m
SEf'1 [Lln1 '
pervasive character of its precepts' Something, in the first place. rhar in comparison to later times might be Gllled irs simplicity. its 11ai"rtte There are, as in all societies where the emotions are expressed more violently and directly. fewer psychological nuances and complexities in the general stock of ideas. There are friend and foe, desire and aversion, good and bad people '{ou should i"ollo\\" honourable men and Yem your \\·r,1ch on die wicked.
\Ve read this in a German transbtion of the Disticht1 Ct1tl)11is,s the code of beh
In eating, roo. everything is simpler, impulses and inclinations are less restrained: ,-\ man of rttintmenr should not slurp from cht same spoon wich somebody else: chis is rht: \vay to behan: for
at court 'sho
oftt:n confronrt:cl with unrefined
conduce
This is from Tannhiiuser·s Hof:11cht. 1" Hiihsch1: Lu11h (fine people) were rhe nobles. were meant expressly for the the courtly people. The precepts of rhe upper class, the knights who liwd at court Noble. courteous behaviour was constantly contrasted to "coarse manners". the conduct of peasants Some people bite a slice and then clunk it in the dish in a coarse way: refined people re jeer such bad manners
11
If you have taken a bite from rhe bread, do not clip it in the common dish again Peasants may do that, not '"fine people'" A number o( people gnaw a bone and then put ic back in che dish-chis is a serious offence
57
Th, Ciz'ilizing Pm1us
Ch,111g.:s i11 the Bclh1611111 11/ ihc S,mfar Uj1/1t1 Classes i11 the \Vi:st
Do not throw gnawed bones back into the communal dish. From other accounts we know rhar it was customary to drop them on the floor. Another precept reads:
All rhis was said co adults, nor only to children. From rhe sranclpoint of our feelings today, these are very elementary precepts tO be giYen tO upper-class people, more elemenrnry in many respects dmn what, ar the present stage of behaviour, is generally acceprecl as rhe norm in rural-peasant srrara. And rhe sanw standard emerges wirh certain variations from rhe c1111rtois writings of orher linguistic areas. cL In che case of one of these different strands of rradirion, which leads from certain Larin forms primarily ro French, but perhaps also co Italian and co a Proven<;al code of cable manners, a compilarion has been made of the rules recurring in most or all of rhe variants. 2 ' They are by and large the same as in rhe German Tischwchten. First there is the instruction tO say grace, which is also found in Tannhiiuser. Again and again we find the injunctions to rake one's allotted place and nor ro couch one's nose and ears ar cable . Do nor put your elbow on the table, they often say. Show a cheerful countenance. Do not talk too much. There are very frequent reminders not ro scratch oneself or fall greedily on rhe food. Nor should one put a piece char one has had in one's mouth back into the communal dish; rhis, coo, is often repeated. Not less frequent is rhe instruction ro wash one's hands before earing, or nor to clip food into rhe saltcellar. Then it is repeated over and over again: do nor clean your ceeth wich your knife. Do not spit on or over rhe table. Do not ask for more from a dish that has already been taken away. Do nor let yourself go ar table is a frequent command. \'Vipe your lips before you drink. Say nothing disparaging about rhe meal nor anything that might irritate others. If you have clipped bread inco rhe wine, drink it up or pour the resr away. Do not dean your teeth with the tablecloth. Do not offer others rhe remainder of your soup or the bread you have already bicten into. Do not blow your nose too noisily. Do not fall asleep at cable. And so on. Indications of the same code of good and bad manners are also found in other collections of related mnemonic verses on etiquette, in traditions not directly relarecl co rhe French one just mentioned. All bear witness to a certain standard of relationships between people, to the structure of medieval society and of ti1e medieval psyche . The similarities between these collections are sociogenetic and psychogeneric: rhere may but need not be a literary relationship between all rhese French, English, Italian, German and Latin precepts. The differences between them are less significant than rhe common fearures, which correspond ro the unity of actual behaviour in rhe mediernl upper class, measured against rhe modern period. For example, the Co11rtesies of Bonvicino cla Riva, one of rhe most personal and-in keeping with Italian development-most "advanced" of table guides, contains, apart from rhe precepts mentioned from the French collection, the instructions to turn round when coughing and sneezing, and nor to lick one's fingers. One should, he says, refrain from searching out rhe best pieces in rhe
56
A man who dears his rhroat when he ears and om: who blows his nose in the rableclorh are both ill-bred. I assure ,·ou. 1
Here is another: If a man wipes his nose on his hand at table because ht knows no better. then he is a fool. believe me. 1 '
To use the hand to wipe one's nose was a matter of course. Handkerchiefs did not yet exisc. But at rnble a cerrnin care should be exercised; and one should on no account blow one's nose into the tablecloth. Avoid li1;-smackinu and snortinu b b' eaters are fi.ircher instructed: If a man snorts like a seal when he ears. as some people do. and smacks his chops like a Bavarian yokel. he has ;rin·n up all good breeding.''
If you have to scratch yourself. do not do so wi rh your bare hand but use your coat: Do not SCC
Everyone used his hands to take food from the common dish. For this reason one was nor to touch one's ears. nose, or eyes: Ir is nor decent ro poke your fingers inro your ears or eyes. as some people do. or ro pick your nose while earing These three habits are bad. 1-
Hands must be washed before meals: I hear that some ear unwashed (it ir is true. it is a bad sign). May their fingers be palsied! 1'
And in Ei11 .1j1mch dll° :::i: tischi: ki:rt (A word to those at table) 19 , another Tischz11d1t which Tannhauser's HfJ/:wcht has many affinities with and echoes of. it is demanded that one eat wirh only one hand, and if one is earing from rhe same plate or slice of bread as another, as often happened, with the outside hand: You should always ear wirh the omside hand: if your companion sirs on your right, ear with your left hand Refrain from earing \\·irh both hands?'
If you have no rowel, we read in rhe same work, do not wipe your hands on your coat but let rhe air dry rhem. 21 Or: Take care rhar. whatever your need. you do not flush with embarrassment."
Nor is it good manners co loosen one's belt at rable. 2 i
58
The Ciz'i!i:::i11g Prr1ct.rs
dish, and cm rhe bread decendy. One should nor touch rht rim of rhe communal glass with one's fingers. and one should hold the glass with borh hands. Bm here. mo, the tenor of co111"toisie, rhe standard. the customs are by and large the same. And it is nor uninreresring rhar when Bonvicino cla Riva's Co!!rttsiu were re\·ised rhrte centuries afrer him. of all rhe rules given by Da Riva only two nor \'try imporrant ones were al rt red: the edi mr advises nor w much rhe edge of the communal glass and ro hold it with both hands. and if seYeral art drinking from rhe same glass. ont should refrain altogether from dipping bread inw ir (Da Riva only required rhar rht \\·ine rhus used should be ripped away or drunkJ."' A similar picrurt could be drawn from rht German uadirion. German Tisch:::11d>ten, of which we ha Ye copies from rht fifteenth century, are perhaps somewhar coarser in tont rhan rhe ltC1!ic111 Guest of Thomasin von Zirklaria or Tannhaustr's Hrf:;!!cht from rht rhirreenth cenrury. Bur rhe standard of good and bad manners seems scarcely ro have alrerecl to any considerable exrent. Ic has been pointed om thar in one of the later codes which has much in common with the earlier ones already rnenrioned. rhe new injuncrion appears char ont should spic nor on rhe cable bur only under it or against rhe wall. And rhis has been interprerecl as a sympwm of a coarsening of manners. Bm ir is more rhan questionable whether things were clone very differently in rhe preceding cenruries, particularly as similar precepts from earlier periods are rransmirctd by rhe French tradition, for example. And what is to be derived from lirerarure in rhe broadest sense is confirmed by paintings. Here, roo, more derailed sruclies are needed: bm compared w rhe lacer age, picrures of people ar cable show. until well into the fifreenrh century, very sparse cable mensils, even if, in some derails, ctrrain changes are uncloubredly present, In rht houses of rhe more wealthy, the plarrers are usually raken from the sideboard, frequendy in no particular order. EYeryont rakes--or sends for-what he fancies ac rhe momenr. People help themselves from communal dishes. Solids (above all. meat) are taken by hand. liquids with ladles or spoons. Bm soups and sauces are still very frequendy drunk. Plates and dishes art lifred ro rhe momh. For a long period, coo, rhere are no special implementsJor clifferenr foods. The same knife or spoon is used. The same glasses are drunk from. Frequendy rwo diners ear from rhe same board . This was, if ir may so be called. rhe standard earing technique during rhe Middle Ages, Ir corresponded co a \·ery particular sranclarcl of human rtlarionshi ps and structure of feelings. \Vi chin rhis standard there was, as has been said, an abundance of rnodificarions and nuances . If people of different rank were taring at rhe same rime, rhe person of higher rank was given precedence when washing hands, for example, or when raking from rhe dish. The forms of utensils varied considerably in rhe course of centuries . There were fashions, bm also a very definite rrend char persisred through the flucruacions of fashion. The secular upper class, for example. indulged in extraordinary luxury at table Ir was nor a poverry of utensils char maintained rhe standard, ir was quire simply char
i11 th, Bcl.urifllll' rr/ the Stm!ar Upper C!t1ssts i11 the \Vi:st
59
else was needed . To ear in chis fashion was raken for granred. Ir suired b nor11 1.n" these people, Bm ir also suited chem co make visible rheir wealth and rank by the opulence of their mensils and cable decoration. Ar rhe rich tables of rhe diirreenth century the spoons were of gold. crystal. coral. ophite. Ir was occasionally menrioned rhar during Lent knives wirh ebony handles are used. at faisrer knives with ivory handles, and inlaid knives ar \Vhirsun. The soup-spoons were round and rather flat co begin with, so char one was forced when using rhem ro open one's momh wide . From rhe fourteenth cenrury onwards, soupspoons rook on •1!1 oval form. Ar rhe encl of rhe Middle Ages rhe fork appeared as an instrument for raking food from rhe common dish . A whole dozen forks are w be found among rhe valuables of Charles V The inventory of Charles of Savoy, which is \'try rich in opulent cable mensils. counts only a single fork. 2'' 5. Ir is sometimes said, "How far we have progressed beyond rhis sranclarcl", although ir is not usually quite clear who is rht "we" with whom rhe speaker idenrities on such occasions, as if he or she dtstrwd pan of rhe credit. The opposite judgement is also possible: "\Vhar has really changedi A few customs, no more ... And some observers seem inclined co judge these customs in much rhe same way as one would today judge children: "If a man of sense had come and told rhese people char rheir practices were unappetizing and unhygienic, if rhty had been caught ro ear with knives and forks. these bad manners would rapidly have disappeared ... Bur fCJrms of conduce while earing cannor be isolated . They are a segment-a ycry characteristic one-of rht roraliry of socially instilled forms of conduce Their standard corresponds ro a quire definite social structure. Ir remains to be ascertained what chis srrucrure is, The forms of behaviour of medieval people were: no less rightly bound to their total way of life. co rhe whole structure of their existence. than our own behaviour and social code are bound ro ours At rimes, some minor srnremtnt shows how firmly mored chest customs were, and makes ir apparent rhar rhey musr be understood nor merely as something "negative", as a "lack of civilization" or of "knowledge" (as iris easy to suppose from our sranclpointl, bm as something char fitted rhe needs of rhese people and rhar seemed meaningful and necessary ro chem in exactly this form In rhe eleventh century a Venetian doge married a Greek princess. In her Bvzantine circle the fork was clearlv in use, At anv rare, we hear rime she lifted fo.od to her momh "by means of golden with rwo prongs".'This gave rise in Venice w a dreaclfi.11 scandal: "This novelty was regarded as so excessive a sign of refinement char rhe dogaressa was severely rebuked by rhe ecclesiasrics who called clown divine wrarh upon her. Shortly afterward she was afflicted by a repulsiYe illness and Sr Bonaventure did not hesitare co declare that chis was a punishment of Goel ... Five more cenrurits were to pass before rhe srrucrure of human relarions had
60
Th, Ciz"i!izing Pmt'
so changed char che use of chis inscrumem mer a more general need. From che sixceemh cemury on. ac lease among che upper classes, cht fork came imo use as an earing inscrumem. arriving by way of Irnly firsc in France and chen in England and Germany. after having served for a time only for caking solid foods from che dish. Henri III broughc ic to France. probably from Venice. His courciers were nor a licde derided for chis "affecced" manner of earing. and ac firsc chey were nor very adepc in che use of cht inscrumem: ac least it was said chat half the food fell off che fork as it travelled from plate ro momh As late as che sevtmtenth cemury rhe fork was scill essemially a luxury article of the upper class. usually made of gold or silver. \\!hac we rake emirely for gramed, because we have been adaprtd and condicioned ro chis social srnndard from earliesc childhood. had firsc ro be slowly and laboriously acquired and developed by sociecy as a whole This applies to such a small and seemingly insignificam ching as a fork no less than ro forms of behaviour that appear ro us larger and more imporrnnr. 2H However, the attitude that has just been described cowards che "innovation" of che fork shows one ching wich special claricy. People who are rogechtr in che way cusromary in rhe Middle Ages, caking mear with their fingers from che same dish. wine from che same gabler, soup from rhe same pot or rhe same place, with all the other peculiarities of which examples have been and will furchtr be given-such people srood in a differem relationship ro one another than wt do . And chis involves not only rhe level of clear, rational consciousness; their emotional life also had a different suucrnre and characrer. Their affecrs were conditioned ro forms of relationship and conduct which, by roday's standard of conditioning, are embarrassing or at lease unattractive. \\!hat was lacking in this coiirtois world, or ac lease had nor been developed ro che same degree, was che invisible wall of affecrs which seems now ro rise becween one human body and anocher. repelling and separating, che wall which is ofren percepcible roday at che mere approach of someching that has been in comacr with rhe momh or hands of someone else. and which manifescs itself as embarrassmem at the mere sight of many bodily functions of others, and ofren at cheir mere mention, or as a feeling of shame when one's own functions are exposed ro the gaze of ochers, and by no means only chen.
III The Problem of the Change in Behaviour during the Renaissance 1 Diel che thresholds of embarrassment and shame advance at the time of Erasmus' Does his treatise conrnin indications char the frontiers of sensibility and the reserve which people expected of each other were increasing' There are good reasons for supposing so. The humanists· works on manners form a kind of bridge
ii! the Bd1,11·i1Ji!r of the Semlar Uj>/1tr C!c1sses in the West
61
between chose of cht Middle Ages and modern rimes. Erasmus's treatise,_ the high · . i· n rhe succession of humanist writings on manners, also has chis double point . . . . . . . face. In many respects it stands ennrely w1chm medieval cradmon . A good part of the rules and precepcs from rhe L'Oi!l'toi.r writings recur in his treatise. Bm at che 1·t clear!\·• contains the beginnings of something new. In it a concept was 1 '"'' sarne tj·m., ._, L--
,_
gradually developing which was to force the knightly-feudal concepc of courtesy inro the background. In che course of the sixreemh century the use of the conctpt pf ((!/!l'toisie slowly receded in the upper class, while ciz'i!iti grew more common and finally gained the upper hand,
rule;
62
Th, Ci1iii::i11g Pmce_r_r
It is not so much. or at least nor exclusively. the rules themselves or the manners to which they refer that distinguish a pan of the humanistic \Hitingsabovt all. rhe treatise of Erasmus-from the cr1i1rt11i_c codes. It is first of all their tone. their way of seeing . The same social rules which in rhe .Middle Ages \HTe passed impersonally from mouth to momh were now spoken in the manner and with the emphasis of someone who was nor merely passing on tradition. no matter how many medieval and. above all. ancient \Vfitings he may have absorbed. bur who had obser.-ecl all this personally. who was recording experienci:. Even if chis were nor seen in Dr cfrilih1!t JIJ(Ji!f/JJ /'!ltri!i1m1 irstlf. wt should know it from Erasmus's earlier writings. in which the permeation of medieval and ancient tradition with his own experience was expressed perhaps more clearly and directly. In his Cu!!uq11ir:s, which in pan cerrainly draw on ancient models (above all, Lucian). and particularly in the dialogue Diz ersori::1 (Basel, 15 ), Erasmus described directly experiences elaborated in the later crearist. The Din:;_rr1ric1 is concerned with the difference between manners at German and French inns. Ht describes. for example. the interior of a German inn· some eighty or ninety people are sirring together. and ir is stressed that they are nor only common people bur also rich men and nobles. men. women and children, all mixed rogtrher. And each is doing what he or she considers necessary. One W
. differences between such \Hirers Thar their writings do not contain as . much as others to which we habitually give more atttnt!On. the exuaorclm'.1n· 'd t- ·in oursrnnclinu incli\·idual., that the\-• are forced b\·. their subject irsdt to. o .
,111 cl r lle
. . cl(Jsch· as a source of ao'l1ere - . to social realit\". . uuiws them rheir special siu:nihcance . . ._ iuformarion on social processes But che observations of Erasmus on this subject are nevertheless to be with a few b\- other authors from the same phase. among che num ber cod ' ·1lon" ' o . ·ons in rhe tradition of wririnu: exctp tl ._ on manners For in them the presentation
of partly very anciem precepts and commands was permeated by a very
individual cemperamenc And precisely that was. in irs turn. a "sign of rhe ex1)rtssion of
· es·· • -'1n (!!11
somewhat misleadingly called "individualiz,uion" It also points to something else: rhe problem of behaviour in society had obviously taken on such importance in this period that even people of extraordinary talent and renown did nor disdain to concern rhemseh·es with it. Later chis task fell back in ,u:eneral to minds of rhe second and rhird rank. who imitated. cominued. extended. thus gi\·inu: rise once more. ewn if nor so strong!\· as in the .i\{iddle Ages, to a more impe;sonal tradition of books on manners The social rninsirions connected with the changes in conduct. manners and feelin(.(s of embarrassment will be dealt with more specifirnlly later. Howtncr. an of them is needed here for an understanding of Erasmus's own position, and therefore of his way of speaking ,1bour manners. Eni;muss ue<1tise came
64
Changer in tlx Bchm'io!!r of tht Stmlc1r Upj1tr C!m-se.r i11 the YVtst
Th, Ciz'i!i::ing Process
and you early had an excellent instructor or because all chat is said in this treatise applies to you; for you are of princely blood and are born to rule ... But Erasmus also manifested. in a particularly pronounced form, the characteristic self-confidence of rhe intelltcrnal who has ascended through knowledge and writing. who is legitimized by books, rhe self-assurance of a member of the humanistic intellectual class who was able ro keep his distance even from ruling strata and their opinions, however bound to chem he may have been . "Modesty, abon' all, befits a boy", he says ar rht close of the dedication ro the young prince, "and particularly a noble boy'· And he also says: Tet others paint lions, eagles, and ocher creatures on their coats of arms. More true nobili ry is possessed by chose who can inscribe on their shields all chat they have achieved through rhe cultivation of rhe arts and sciences . ·· This W
65
·
hi "h the later bourgeois am hors of books on manners usually spoke of o ' .__ . .1s something alien chat had ro be learned because chat was the way dungs nem , l were done at court. However familiar wirh the subject these authors may h<1ve , _ tl1ev s1Joke of it as omsiclers, wry often with noticeable clumsiness fr was Dt:tll, . . a rdarively constriettd, regional and penurious intellectual srratum which wrote in Germany in rhe following period, and particularly after rhe Thirty Years \'Var. And only in the second half of rhe eighteenth century, when the German bourgeois intelligentsia, as a kind of vanguard of the commercial bourgeoisie._ atwined new oppormnities for social advancement and rather more freedom or movement, do we again hear the language and expression of a self-image related tO that of rhe humanists, especially Erasmus. Even now, however, rhe nobles were hardlr ever wld so openly that all their coats of arms were worth less rhan the of rhe artcs !ibtrales, even if this was ofren enough what was really re lariv\,.. .
meanL \'Vhat has been shown in the introductory chapter on the movement of the late eighteenth century goes back ro a far older tradition, ro a pervasive structural cl;aracteristic of German society following the particularly vigorous development of the German cities and burgher class cowards rhe encl of the i\Iiclclle Ages. In France, and periodically in England and Italy also, a proportion of the bourgeois writers felt rhemselvts ro belong ro the circles of the court arisrocracies: in Germany this was far less rhe case. In the other countries, bourgeois writers did not write largely for the court-arisrocratic circles bm also identified with their manners, cusroms and views. In Germany this identification of memb;rs of the intelligentsia with the courdy upper class was much weaker, less taken for granted and far more rare. Their dubious position (along with a certain mistrust of those who legitimized themselves primarily by their manners, courtesy and ease of behaviour) was part of a long tradition, particularly as the values of the German court arisrncracy-which was split up into numerous greater or lesser circles. not unified in a large, central "Society'·, and moreover bureaucratized at an early stage-could not be as fully cultivated as in the \"lesrern countries. Instead, there emerged here more sharply than in the Western countries a split between rhe university-based culrural-bureaucraric tradition of Kult!!r of the middle class, on the one hand, and the no less bureaucratic military tradition of the nobility. on the ocher 5 Erasmus's treatise on manners had an influence both on Germany and on England, France and Italy. \"!hat linked his attitude with that of the later German intelligentsia was the lack of identification with the courtly upper class: and his observation that the treatment of "civility" was without doubt crassissima phi!osophiae pars points t0 a scale of values which was not without a certain kinship t0 the later evaluation of Ziz.i!isation and K11/t111· in the German tradition. Accordingly. Erasmus did not see his precepts as intended for a particular class . He placed no particular emphasis on social distinctions, if we disregard
66
i11 the Behm io111· of th1: Swdar UjJJ11:r Classes in th1: \\'est
Th, Cii'ifi:;i11g Prr1c<.1J
occasional criticism of peasants and small tradesmen Ir was precisely chis lack of a specific social oritnrncion in the precepts, their prtstnrncion as general human rules, chat distinguishes his rrearist from irs successors rn the Indian and esptcialh· rhe French traditions Erasmus simply says. for example. ··rncessus nee fracrns sir, ntc pratceps . " (One's srtp should be neichtr coo slow nor coo quick) . Shordv afterwards. in his Gt1!:1teo. rht Italian Giovanni della Casa says rht same thing (ch VL 5. pr III). Bur for him the same precept had a direct and obvious function as a means of social distinction: "Non dee l'huomo nobile correre per via, ne rroppo affrecrarsi, cht cio com·iene a palafreniert t non a gentilhuomo. Ne percio si dee andare si lemo. ne si contegnoso come femmina o come sposa." !The noblemen ought not rn run like a lackey, or walk as slowly as \\·omen or brides,) It is characrerisric, and in agreement with all our ocher observations. that a German translation of Gal{/fUJ-in a five-language edition of 1609 (Geneva)-rtgularly sought. like the Latin translation and unlike all rhe ochers, ro efface rhe social differentiations in the originaL The passage quoted. for example. was rranslactd as follows: '"Therefore a noble, or any other hiJm1m·t1b!t illcll!, should not run in the srretc or hurry coo much, since this befits a lackey and nor a gentleman. Nor should one walk unduly slowly like a stately macron or a young bride'" (p. 562). The words '"honourable man·· are instrctd here. possibly referring co burgher councillors. and similar changes art found in many ocher places; when the Italian says simply genti!h1ff111111 and cht French gentilhiJ1111111:, rht German speaks of rht ··virrnous. honoun1ble man·· and rht Larin of "homo honesrns er bene morarns·· These examples could be multiplied Erasmus proceeded similarly. As a result, rhe precepts chat ht gave without any social characrerizacion appeared again and again in the Iralian and rhtn in rhe French traditions wirh a sharper limiracion co rhe upper class. while in Germany tht tendency co obliterate the social characteristics remained. twn if for a long period hardly a single wrirtr achieved rht degree of social detachment possessed by Erasmus. In this respect he occupied a unique position among all those who wrote on d1e subjecL It stemmed from his personal character. But at the same rime. ir points beyond his personal character co chis rt!arivt!y brief phase of relaxation between two great epochs char wtrt characrerizecl by more inflexible social hierarchies. The ftrtiliry of this loosening transitional situation is perceptible again and again in Erasmus's way of observing people. Ir enabled him ro criticize ··rustic"', "vulgar"", or '"coarse·· qualities without accepting unconditionally (as did most who came lacer) tht behaviour of che grtar courdy lords. whose circle was finally, as he himself put it. the nursery of refined conduct. Ht saw very exacdy the exaggerated, forced nature of many courdy practices. and was nor afraid co say so. Speaking of how co hold the lips. for example. he says: "Ir is still less becoming co purse rhe lips from rime co rime as if whisding ro oneself This can be left co
67
. it ]orcis when rhev stroll among rhe crowd" Or he savs: "You should leave _ ,_ . . · . co a few courtiers rhe pleasure of squtezrng_ bread ll1 tht band and_ d:en breakrng it off with the fingertips. You should cut 1r dtctndy with a knife. 6. Bur here again we see \·ery clearly the difference between this and the medieval manner of giving directions on behaviour. Earlier, people were simply 1 "ive one example, "The bread cut fayre and do nor brtake"'.' Such rules [0 Id ' ( 0 b are embedded by Erasmus direcdy in his experience
the gre'
upon the food." Do nor ear bread before rhe meat is served. for rhis would appear greedy Remember ro empry and wipe your momh ber-ore drinking.·'
Erasmus gives the same advice, but in so doing he sees people direcdy before him: some, he says, devour rather than ear. as if thty were about robe carried off ro prison, or were thieves wolfing down rheir boory. Others push so much inro rheir mourhs chat their cheeks bulge like bellows. Ochers pull their lips aparr while eating, so that rhey make a noise like pigs. And then follows cht general rule char was, and obviously had ro be, repeated over and again: "Ort pleno vel bibtre vel loqui, nee honescum, nee rucum ·· (To tar or drink with a full momh is neither becoming nor safe ) In all this. besides rhe medien1l cradirion. rhere is cerrainly much from anriquiry. Bur reading has sharpened seeing, and seeing has enriched reading and \Vriting
Clothing, ht says now and again. is in a sense the body of rhe body. From it ·.ve can deduce rhe attitude of mind. And then Erasmus gives examples of what manner of dress corresponds to this or that mental condition. This is the beginning of the mode of observation char will ar a lacer stage be termed "'psychological"". The new sragt of courtesy and its representation, summed up in che concept of ciz'i!it&, was very closely bound up wirh this manner of seeing, and gradually became more so. In order to be really ··courteous" by rhe standards of cil'i!it(, one was co some extent obliged co observe, to look about oneself and pay attention ro people and rheir motives. In this, roo, a new relationship of person to person, a new form of integration is announced. Not quite 150 years lacer, when ciz'i!ite had become a firm and srable form of behaviour in the courtly upper class of France, in rhe 111011de, one of irs members began his exposition of the sciwce d11111rmdu with these words: "Ir seems ro me rhac co •Kquire what is called the science of the world one muse first apply oneself co knowing men as they are in general, and then gain particular knowledge of chose with whom we have to live, thar is co say, knowledge of rheir inclinations ;rnd their b"Ood and bad Oj)inions ' of their virtues and their faults .. ;;
68
Cha11glS in the Bthario11r of the Swt!e1r UPJM C/{/SStS i11 the \Pest
The Ciz·ilizing Process
\Vhat is said hert with great precision and lucidity was anticipated by Erasmus But chis increased tendency of society and therefore of writers to observe, to connect tht particular with the gtneral, seeing with reading, is found not only in Erasmus but also in the other Renaissance books on manners, and certainly not only in these 1. If one asks, therefore, about the new tendencies'' that made their appearance in Erasmus's way of observing the behaviour of people-chis is one of them. In the process of transformation and innovation chat we designate by the term "Renaissance", what was regarded as ''firring" and ·'unfitting" in human intercourse no doubt changed to a certain degree. But the rupture was not marked by a sudden demand for new modes of behm·iour opposed w the old . The rradirion of cu1trtuisie was continued in many respects by the society which adopted the concept of ciz.Z!itas, as in Cil'i!itm 111om111 j/l!erili11111, to designate socially "good behaviour". The increased tendency of people t0 observe themselves and ochers is one sign of how rhe whole guestion of behaviour was now raking on a different character: people moulded themselves and others more deliberately than in the Middle Ages. Then rhey were wld, do this and nor that; bur by and large a great deal was lee pass. For centuries roughly the same rules, elementary by our srandards, were repeated, obviously withour producing firmly established habits. This now changed. The constraint exerted by people on one another increased, the demand for "good behaviour" was raised more emphatically. All problems concerned with behaviour rook on new importance. The face that Erasmus brought wgerher in a prose work rules of conduce that had previously been uttered chiefly in mnemonic verses or scattered in treatises on ocher subjects, and for che first time devoted a separate book to the whole question of behaviour in society, not only at rable, is a clear sign of the growing importance of the guesrion, as is the book's success. And the emergence of related writings, like the Co!!rtir:r of Castiglione or the Ga/,iteo of Della Casa, to name only the most well known, points in the same direction. The underlying social processes have already been indicated and will be discussed in. more derail lacer: the old social ties were, if not broken, extensively loosened and were in a process of transformation. Individuals of different social origins were thrown wgether. The social circulation of ascending and descending groups and individuals speeded up. Then, slowly, in the course of the sixteenth century, earlier here and later there and almost everywhere with numerous reverses until well into the seventeenth century, a more rigid social hierarchy began to establish itself once more, and from elements of diverse social origins a new upper class, a new aristacracy formed. For this very reason the guestion of uniform good behaviour became increasingly acure, particularly as the changed structure of rhe new upper class exposed each individual member tO an unprecedented extent w the pressure of others and of social control. Ir was in this context char the writings on manners
69
. Eras n1 us , Casri o"lione ' Della Casa, and others were produced. People, forced t0_ live with one another in a new way, became more sensitive t0 the impulses ot - Nlor ·1brupdv bur verv 0uraduallv the code of behaviour became stricter ot lier,. ' and rhe degree of considerarion expected of ochers became grearer The sense of when w do and what not t0 do in order not to offend or shock others became subtler, and in conjunction with rhe new power relationships the social · er·Hive nor to offend ochers became more binding, as compared to the imp ' preceding phase. . . The rules of co11rtoisic also prescribed, ··say norhmg chat can arouse conflict, or
0t
anger ochers'': Non dims verbum cuiqw1m quod ei sir acerbum .,,
·'Be a good table companion": Awayre my chylde, ye be have you manerly. \V"hen ar your mere ye si rte at the cable Jn euery prees and in euery company Dispose you ro be so compenable Tl1'lt men may of you reporre for commendable For thrusteth we! upon your berynge l\fen wil you blame or gyue preysynge
So we read in an English Book of C11rtcsJe. ;- In purely factual terms, much of what Erasmus said had a similar tendency.. But the change of tone, the increased sensitiviry, che heightened human observation, and the sharper understanding of what is going on in orhers are unmistakable. They are particularly clear in a remark at che end of his treatise. There he breaks through the fixed pattern of "good behaviour", together with rhe arrogance that usm1lly accompanies it, and relates conduct back w a more comprehensive humanity: ··Be lenient towards the offences of others. This is the chief virtue of ciz•i!itas, of courtesy. A com1xmion ought not to be less dear to you because he has worse manners. There are people who make up for che awkwardness of their behaviour by other gifts ... And further on he says: "If one of your comrades unknowingly gives offence cell him so alone and say it kindly. That is civility." But chis accirnde only expresses again how little Erasmus, for all his closeness to rhe courtly upper class of his rime, identified with it, keeping his distance from its code, tao. Gtilt1tu1 rakes its name from an account in which Erasmus's precept "Tell him alone and say it kindly'' applied in reality; an offence is corrected in char very way. But here the courtly character of such customs is emphasized as far more self-evident than in Erasmus
?\knnvs acres can in no plyre abnle The\" .be changeable andt ofre meuide Thi;1gis somryme alo,,·ecl is now repn:uid
The Bishop of Verona. the Irnlian work rtlatts .. , one day received a visit from a Duke Richard. Ht appeared rn rht Bishop and his court as "gemilissime carnliere e di bellissime maniere·· The host noted in his guest a single fault. Bur ht said norbing. On the Duke"s departure the Bishop stm a man of his court,
:\.nd :tfrer this shal rhingts up aryst Thar men sec now bm ar lyryl pr\"Se.
Galareo. ro accompany him. Gahueo had particularly good manners. acquired at the courts of the great: ··molro havea de" suoi di usato alle corti de' gran Signori".
This sounds, indeed, like a motto for rhe whole movemem char is now coming:
This is explicitly emphasized. This Galateo rhtrefore accompanies Duke Richard part of rhe way, and says tht following to him before raking his leave: His master, rhe Bishop, would like to
make rhe Duke a parting gifr
The Bishop has never in his life seen a
nobleman with berrer manners than rhe Duke. He has discovered in him only a single fault-ht smacks his lips too loudly while earing. so making a noise that is unpleasant for others to hear. To inform him of chis is rhe Bishop's parring gifr, which ht begs will nor be ill received
"T'Iin"is somrvme alowed is now repreuid ... The sixreemh cemury was still ·l' transirion Ernsmus and his contt:mporaries were still permim:cl
w 10 '
.
·. k ·iboLlt rl11.n"S fLmcrions ' and wavs of behaving that one or rwo cenrunes w spe.1 , a , . " . later were overlaid wirh feelings of shame and embarrassment.
Tht precept nor to smack rhe lips while earing is also found frequently in
does char "speciem haber subinde venrris flatum em1rrenr1s anr em1rrere con-
mecliernl insuucrions. Bur irs occurrt:nce at the beginning of Ga!t1tuJ shows clearly what had changed Ir nor only clemonsrrarts how much importance was
·inris·· ( uives rhe impression of consrantly breaking or crying ro break wind). Tll!S :rill sh;\.S rhe old unconcern in referring to bodily functions char was characrer-
now arrachecl to "good behaviour" Ir shows, abow all, how the pressure people
;sric of medieval people. bur enriched by observation, by consideration of "what
now exerred on one another in this direction had increased Ir is immediarely apparent that this polite, extremely gentle and comparariYely considerate way of
others 111ighr think" Comments of chis kind occur frequenrly. . . Consideration of rhe behaviour of people in rhe sixreenrh century. ,rncl ot their
correcting was. panicularly when exercised by a social superior, much more
code of behaviour, casts rhe observer back and forth berwetn rhe impressions
compelling as a means of social conrroL much more effective in inculrnring
·Thar's srill utterly mediernl" and "Thar's exactly rhe way we feel wclay" And
lasting habirs. than insulrs, mockery or any threat of omwarcl physical vio-
nreciselv chis apparent contradicrion clearly corresponds to reality. The people of
lence.
;his
Internally more pacified societies were in rhe process of forming. The old code of behaviour was being transformed only step by step. Bur social control was becoming more binding. And above all. rht narure and mechanism of affecrmoulding by socitry were slowly changed. In rhe course of rhe Middle Ages rhe standard of good and bad manners. for all rhe regional and social differences. clearly did nor undergo any decisive change. Over and again, clown the centuries, rhe same good and bad manners were mentioned The social code hardened imo
b,1d a double face . They sroocl on a bridge. Behaviour and rhe code of
behaYiour were in morion, bur rhe movement was quire slow. And above all. in observing a single srage, we lack a sure measure. \Vhar is accidental fluctuation; \Vhen
where is something advancing; \Vhen is something falling behincP
Are we realh· concerned with a change in a definite direction? \Vas European soc:iet\" realh:, under the watchword of cirilitJ, slowly moving wwards that kind of char srnndard of conclucr, habits and affect formation, which s ch<1racrerisric in our minds of "civilized" society, of \Vesrtrn "civilization"; 1
srrucrural rransformarion of society. with the new pattern of human relation-
S. Ir is not vef\" eas1· to make chis movement clearly visible precisely because it rakes place so .slow.ly-in very small seeps. as it were-and because it also
ships. a change slowly came about: the compulsion to check one's own behaviour
shows manifold fluctuarions, following sm<1ller and larger curves Ir clearly does
111creasts In conjunction with chis rhe standard of behaviour was set 111 morion Caxron·s Br1oh of probably of rhe !are tifctenth century. already gives
nor suffice ro consider in isolation each single sragt to which this or that sratemenr on customs and manners bears witness \Ve must
unambiguous expression ro chis feeling char habits, customs, and rules of conduct are in flux:'"
Images must be placed rogerher in a series to give an overnll view, from one
lasring habits only to a limited extent in people rhemselves . Now, with rhe
Thingis whilom used ben now leycl a syde And newe feeris. day!\ ben cornreuide
movement itself, or ar least a large segment of it, as a whole, as if speeded up. particular aspect, of the process: rhe gradual transformation of behaYiour and the emotions, rhe expanding threshold of repugnance. Tht books on manners offer an opportunity for chis. On particular aspects of human behaviour. panicularly earing habits, rhey give us derailed information-
ch,mges in the Behrffio11r of the Swtfar Upj>er C!mses in the \Vest
Tix Ciri!i::.ing Procw
72
always on the same ftamre of social life-which extends relatively unbroken, even if at rather forruirous interv«1ls, from at least the thirteenth to the nineteenth and rwentierh centuries. Here images can be seen in a series, and segments of the toral process can be made visible. A.nd it is perhaps an advantage, rather than a disadvantage. that modes of behaviour of a relatively simplt and elementary kind are observed. in which scope for individual variation within the social srandard 1s relatively small. These Tisch::.!!cht1:11 and books on manners are a lirerary genre in rheir own right. If the written herirnge of rhe past is examined primarily from the point of view of what we are accusromed to call "literary significance". then most of chem have no great value . Bur if we examine the modes of behaviour which in every age a particular society has expected of its members, attempting to condition individuals to them, if we wish to observe changes in habits, social rules and taboos. then these insrrucrions on correct behaviour, though perhaps worthless as literature, rake on <.1 special significance . They throw some light on elements in the social process of which we possess, ar least from the past, very little direct information. They show precisely what we are seeking-namely. the standard of habits and behaviour to which society <.1t a given rime sought to accusrom individuals. These poems and rrearises were themselves direct instruments of "conditioning·· or "fashioning",'(! of rhe adaptation of individuals ro those modes of behaviour which the scructure and simarion of their society made necessary. A.nd rhey show at the same rime. through what they censure and what they praise, the divergence between what was regarded at different rimes as good and bad manners.
25
\\/hen you ear do noc forger rhe poor. G o d w1·
u reward
73
,_·ou if you rrear chem
kindly.* 33
3
A man o t- re 1·111emem should nor slurp from rht same spoon wich someone else: ., ,·e '<>r !JtOj)le ar courr who are often confromed wirh char is r l1e way co bel1 1 " unrefined conduce
., Jr is nor police co drink from rhe dish, alchough some who approve of chis rude habit insolemly pick up rhe dish and pour ir down as if they \Vere mad
41
Those who fall upon rhe dishes like swint while earing, snorting disgustingly and smacking rheir lips
-!
5
Some people bite a slice and rhen dunk ir in rhe dish in a coarse way: refined people reject such bad manners.
49 A number of people gnaw a bone and rhen put ir back in rhe dish-chis is a serious offence :r-
On \" 25, cf rhe first rule in rht Co11rhshs of Bonvicino d·,1 Riva: The first is this: when at cable, think first of the poor and needy
On
\'V,
3?i.
-! 1. cf Ein spr11ch dr:r :,
k2r1 (A word rn rhost at table): '
2
.) l) You should nor Jrink from rht dish. bur with a spoon as is proper
315 Those who srand
ur
and snorr disgustingly
C)\'tf
rht dishes like swine belong with orhtr
fitrmyard beasts 319
To snort like a salmon. gobble like a badger. and complain while earing-these three things art quire improper
IV On Behaviour at Table
fjf
In rht
of Bon' icino da Riva:
· c Do not slurp with your mourh whtn eat1nt! 1rom a spoon. This is a bestial ha bi c ffr
Examples (a) Examples represermng upper-class behaviour in a fairly pure form:
201 And suppt nor low
A
Thirteenth century This is Tannhiiuser's poem of courtly good manners: n
· I l rheic bones and !'Lit them back in the J\.foy refined ptople bt prtst-rYe d from t 1ose w 10 gnaw dish
I consider a well-bred man co be ont who always recognizes good manners and is never ill-mannered
2 There are many forms of good manners. and rhey servt many good purposes The man who adopts chem will ne,·er err
from Quhq11is
in !!NllSd (For those at table):+;
A morstl that has been casted should not be rtturntcl
to
the dish.
··!
Th, Cirili:::i11g Pmccss
Ch1111ge.r in the Bthal'irwr of the Sem!ar UJ1f7u- Cla.rsc.r in tin \\'est
5 3 Those who iih musrnrJ anJ salt shoulJ rake care to avoid rht filthy habit of putting their fingers into tbt:m
5-: A man who clears his throat when he eats anJ ont who blows his nose in the tablecloth art both ill-bred. I assure you
109 Do nor scrape your rhrnar wirh your bare hand while earing: but if you ban: to, do it politely with your coar
J l.3 And it is more firring to scratch wirh rhar than to soil your hand: onlookers notice people who behave like rhis
65 A man "·ho wanes co talk and eat ar the same time. and talks in his sleep. will ne,·er rest peacefulh-.'
l l""' You should nor poke your teeth with your knife. as some do: it is a bad babi r. ;;:
69 Do nor bt noiS\' at rable. as some ptoplt are Remember. my friends. rhar nothing
125 Jf anyone is accustomed
is so ill-mannen:J
l· ·:·
to loosening his belt at table. rake it from me rhat he is
not a true courtier
81 I find it very bad manners whenever I see somtone with food in his mouth and drinking ar the same time, like an animal **
129 If a man wipes his nose on his hand at table because he knows no better. then he is a fool. believe me
85 You should not blcm· imo your drink. as some are fond of doing: this is an ill-
l-ll J hear rhar some eat unwashed (if it is true. it is a bad sign) :\fay their fingers be palsied!'''
mannered habit rhar should be avoided.
95 Before drinking. wipe your mouth so that mu do not dirrv rhe drink: this act of courresy should be observed ar all rimes
.
,
15 7 Jr is not decent to poke your fingers into your ears or eyes, as some people do. or ro pick your nose while earing. These three habits are bad _ ±±±
l 05 lr is bad manntrs to lean against tht table while earing, as it is co kttp your helmet on \1·hen sen-ing rhe ladies."
B
Fifteenth century? From s·eilSJ!il'ei!t le.r
[O/J/uitll!CtS
de la tahle (These are good table manners): ;CJ
Never laut!h ur talk wirh a foll mourh Learn these mies
l) If you wish ro drink tlrsr em pry your mourh
II Take care to cur and clean your nails: dirt under the nails is dangerous when
scratching 1-t\J .r\nd wirht: fulk mourht: drynke
in
no
Ill
\\'/Se
\\!ash your hands when you get up and before every meal ! 11 i\r: blow rrnr on r-b;. drynke nt: mere.
:-·
fl(·thtr
for hen:
_10 Avoid clt:aning your ret:th wirh a knife at rnblt:
155 \\"hanne ye simile drynke. rnur rnouthe clence wirhe a cloche 11;'
From L1
Con!tnir ,;
(Guide co behaYiour ar r.iblt) '
Do nor :->lobber whi!t: you drink. for rhis
a sfrnmeful habit
l l Never pick up food with unwashed hands ::: On v. 15-:, cf QuiJ"t.jlliJ
tJ
h1
11hn.,..i:
9 Touch neirher your ears nor your nostrils wirh your ban: fingers This small stlecrion of passages was compiled from a brief perusal of VJ.rious guides ro behaviour at rable and court. Ir is verv far from exhaustive. Ir is intended only
l'.:or on rht.: borde lenynpt: be yet nar sent:
to
similar in tone and conte.nr wen: the rules in different traditions an
p:ive an impression of how different cenruries of rhe
76
The Ciz'ilizing Proass
Changes in the BelMrio11r
Xll
XIII Do nor pur back on your plare whar has been in your mourh
XIV Do nor offer anyone a piece of food you han: birren inro
on your servitrre To lick greasy lingers or ro wipt rhtm on your coar is impolire. Ir is berrer ro use rhe rableclorh or rhe servierre.
xv Do nor chew anyrhing you have ro spir our again
D
XVll Jr is bad manners ro clip food inro rhe salr-cellar
1558 From G'rt!c1teo, by Giovanni della Casa, Archbishop of Benevenrn, quoted from the five-language edition (Geneva, 1609), p 68:
XXIV Be peaceable, quier. and courreous ar rable
XXVJ If you have crumbled bread inro your wineglass, drink up rhe wine or rhrow ir away.
XXXI Do nor sruff roo much inro yourself. or vou will be obliged ro commir a breach of good manners .
XXXIV Do nor scrarch ar rable. wirh your hands or wirh rhe rableclorh
From De cirilitc1tt mr1r11111 p11u-1·1,··.1•,·1 (On • • dam, ch. 4:
\\Thar do vou rhink this Bishop and his noble company (if hscort " !" .wa 11,,f;jf, would have said ro rhose whom we sometimes see lying like swine wirh their snours in rhe soup, nor once lifting their heads and rurning rheir eyes. still less rheir hands. from rhe food, puffing our both cheeks as if rhey were blowing a rrumper or trying to fan a fire. nor earing bur gorging themselves. dirtying their arms almost ro the elbows and rhen reducing their servitrres ro a srare rhar would make a kirchtn rag look cltan Nonetheless. rhese hogs are nor ashamed ro use rhe sen·ierres rhus sullied ro wipe away their swear (which, owing to their hasty and excessi,·e feeding. often runs down rheir foreheads and faces to their necks), and t\·en ro blow rheir noses inro rhem as often as rhey please
c c1·\·i·1 1·r\· · . in
E boys ), br Erasmus of Rocter-
If a servierre is given. lay ir on your lefr shoulder or arm If you are seared wirh people of rank. cake off your har and see rhar vour hair is wt!! combed.
·
Your gobler and knife, duly cleansed, should be on rhe right. your bread on rhe lefr Some people pur their hands in rhe dishPs rhe momenr rhe\· h:n·e sar down \Volvcs do rhar, · Do nor be rhe tirsr ro rouch rhe dish rhar has been brought in. nor onh· because rhis shows you .greedy. bur also because ir is dangerous. for someone who something hor 1nro his mourh unawares musr either spir ir our or, if he swallows ir. burn his rhroar.. In either case he is as ridiculous as he is pi riable. Ir is a good rhing ro wair a shorr while before acrnsromed ro tempering his afrecrs
77
To dip rhe lingers in rhe sauce is rusric. You should rake whar you wanr wirh your knife and fork: you should nor search through rhe whole dish as epicures are wom ro do, bur rake whar happens ro be in from of you \\'bat you cannor rake wirh your lingers should be raken with rhe (ji!adra If you are offered a piece of cake or pie on a spoon, hold our yom plate or rake the rhar is held our to you, pur rhe food on your plare. and rerurn rht spoon If you are offtrtd something liquid. rasre ir and rerurn rhe spoon, bur first wipt ir
Do nor be rhe tirsr rn rake from rhe dish
1530
u/ the Semlar Uj1jJt1 Classes i11 the \Fest
so thar rlie boy· grows
1560 From a Ciz'i!ite by C Calviac ' 0 (based heavily on Erasmus. bm with some independent comments): \\'hen rhe child is seared. if there is a sen·ierre on rhe plate in from of him, he shall rake it and place it on his left arm or shoulder: rhen he shall place his brtad on rhe left and rhe knife on rhe right, like the glass. if he wishes to leave ir on rhe rable, and if it can be conveniently left there wirhour annoying anyone. For ir might happen rhar rhe glass could nor be left on rhe rnble or on his righr wirhour being in someone's way
The child musr haw rhe discretion ro undersrand rhe needs of rhe simarion he is in \Vhen earing he should rake rhe firsr piece rhar comes to his hand on his curring board
If rhere are sauces, the child may dip inro rhem decently. wirhour rurning his food over after having dipped one side
PJIJ(tJ.\
ClassfS i11 the \Vest
Ir is Yery n0cessi1ry tC)r a child to learn at an early age ho\\" to c1ryr: a ltg of nlutton, a partridge. a rabbit. ar:d such things Ic is a far ruo dirry ching for a child co offer ochers somechini: he has i:nawed. or son1ething he disdains to tat hin1stlf 1111/c\J it /;l tr; hiJ rAuchor"s e;;,r-ihasis] Nor is ic decenc co cake from che mouch somerhing he has already cht:wecL and puc icon che curring board. unless ir be a small boot from which he has sucked rhe marrow rn pass rime while awaicing rhe desserc: for afrer sucking ic ht should pm ic on his plate. where he should also place che srnnes of cherries. plums. and suchlike. as ic is nor good eirher rn swallow chem or co drop chtm on che floor The child should noc gnaw bones indecenrll. as dogs do \\'hen che child would like salr. he shall rake ir wich che poinr of his knife and nor with rhree The child muse cue his mear inrn n:ry small pitces on his cuccing board
and he
muse nor life che mear rn his mouch now wirh one hand and now wich che ocher. like lirclt: chi!dn::n who are learning ro ear: he should always do so wirh his righr hand. caking cht bread or meac decenrly wirh chree lingers only. /b for cht manm·r of
it \arits
co rhe counrn The Germans chew
wich che momh closed. and find ir ugly ro do orherwist. The French. on rhe ocher hand. half open che momh. and find che procedure of rhe Germans rarher din\·. The Iralians proceed in a \'ery slack manntr
G 1672 from Anwine de Counin. Sr1ill'ct1i1 trditJ de (iz'ilitJ, pp if evernmt is earing from rhe same dish. you should rake care nor rn pur \·our hand in(O it rh11.1c. r.1nh h:1n c/011:.. Jt1, and to cakt food only fron1 thr: part ot the dish opposire you Srill le;s should you rake che btsr pieces. tvtn rhough you mighc be rht Jase co help yourself _ le muse also be poinred our rhar you should always wipt ) our spoon when. after using it. you want to rake somechinf! fron1 another dish. thr:J·:: jJtojJIL' so d:lic.1!t th;.11 l(Oltfd
J](J/
u
idi
ff;
hi.L
t.I! SO/I/I infr; [{
)f/f!
l.ud .!ippr;,d it
/111ttii!p,
it
itJ!fJ )f1l!r l!JO!tth
[:\uchor s trnphasis} . And even. if you art at cht cable of ,-ery refined ptople. ic is not enough rn w1pt your spoon: you should nm ust ir bur ask for anocher Also. in many places. spoons are brought in with rhe dishes. t1nd Stffr rm/) takjng Jtwf! and .1.d!!Cr: [Author's trnphasisJ You should nor ear soup from the dish. bur pl![ ic nearly on your place: it ic is roo hor. it is impolire ro blow on each spoonful: you should wair unril ir has cooled
If vou have che misforrune rn burn your mouth. you should tndurt it patienrly if you can ..wirhol![ showini:: ir; bur if rhe burn is unbtar,1b!t. as sometimes happens. you should. btfore cht orhtrs have nociced. cake your place promprly in one hand and life ir rn vour rnol![h and. while coverini:: your mol![h wich rhe other hand. rewrn to rhe plact .whar you have in your mol![h. and quickly pass ic ro a foorman behind you
Furrher. rhe Germans ust spoons when soup and t\·erything liquid.
Civiliry requires you ro be police. buc ir does not txptcr you ro be homicidal rnward
The Iralians generally prefer to have a knife for each person. Bm rhe Germans place
fingers. aparc from rhe face chac ir obliges you rn commie two or rluee more imi•roper aces. One is co wipe your hand frtquenrly on your strvierce and co soil ic likt a kicchc:n
special importance on chis. to rhe excenr rhac chey are greacly displeased if ont asks for
rourstlf Ir is very impolire rn much anyching grtasy. a sauct or syrup. ere. wirh your
or rakes rhe knit(: in from of chem. The French way is quiet differtnr: a whole cable full
cloch. so char thost who see you wipe your rnol![h wirh ic fttl nauseactd. Anothtr is ro
of people will use nvo or rhree knives. wirhour makini: difficulries in
wipe rnur fingers on rnur bread. which again is wn- improper Tht rhird is rn lick them, which is rhe heighr of improprien·
for or
raking a knifi:. <>r passing ic if rhe) have ir Su rhac if s;1nicunc asks rht: child for his knife. he should pass ir afcer \viping ir wich his stn-ierce, holding ir by cht poinr and offoring rhe handle rn rhc: person requesring ir: for ir would nor bt polirt ro do orherwist
As rhere art many [cusrnms) which have already changtcl. I do nor doubt that several of chest will likewise change in rhe fuwrt formt:rh- one \\·as permirrtd
F
ro dip one's bread inrn rht sauce. provided only char
ont had n:ir alrtach birctn ir. Nowada\·s char would bt a kind of rusriciry
Between 1640 and 1680
formtrh· one w:1s allowed w cake irom one's mol![h whac one could noc ear and drnp ir cht Aoor. ])fO\·idtd ic was done skilfully Now thar would bt n:r)·
From a song by rhe J\Iarguis de Coulanges: s 1
disgusting
In rimts pasr. ptoplt art from rhe common dish and clipped their brtad and fingers in rhe sauce
Today tvtryone tars with spoon and fork from his own plat<:. and a valtr washes rht cuclery from rime w cime ac che butter.
0;1
H
1717 From Fran<;ois de Callieres, De c1!/lcl11ite dt !ti z·iu. pp. 97, 101:
!ti
S(ience d11 11101/{lt
i!f
des con11oissa11ces itti!ts Ci la
In Gtrmany and rhe Norchern Kingdoms ic is civil and cltcem for a princt rn drink
Changes
Tht Cirilizi11g Pmcm
80
tirsr ro rhe healrh of rhose he is enrerraining, and rhtn ro offer chem tht same glass or t:obler usually tilled wirh rhe same wine: nor is ir a lack of politeness in rhem ro drink from rhe same glass, bm a mark of candour and friendship. The women also drink tirsr and rhen give rheir glass, or have ir raken, ro rhe person rhev are addressing, wirh rhe: same wine from which rhey have drunk his healrh, 11 hhfll!! this t:1kc11 as tJ Jjh:cia! ,1s
it
is :1111t;11g 11s
j 11
the Belx1rio11r of the Sem/111 Upj1ei Classes in the \\/est
81
the snndard of "civilizacion·' which in realicy had been attained fl0 rgotten, t l1at ' cl - b . ' . cendv W'lS nken for vranred, what precede it emg seen as only qwte re , ' ' "' "barbaric"
I
[Amhor's emphasis]
1714
"I cannot approYt .. , a lady answers "-wirhour offence ro rhe genrlemen from rhe norrh-rhis manner of drinking from rhe same glass, and srill less of drinking whar rhe ladies have lefr: ir has an air of impropritry rhar makes mt wish rhey mighr show orher marks of rheir candour,"
ari anonymous Ciz·ilite frm1caise (liege, 17 14'), p. 48: ' , From l) olirt ro drink \_·our soup from rht bowl unless you
(b) From books addressed ro wider bourgeois scrara The following examples are from books which either, like La Salle's Les Rl:gles de la hiemer111cr: ct de /11 cfrilit{ chn!tie1111e, represent the spreading of courtly manners and models to broader bourgeois srrarn, or, like Example I, retlecr fairly purely the bourgeois and probably the provincial standard of their rime In Example I, from about 171-i, people still ear from a communal dish, Nothing is s<1id
- , ,
.
It we soup
·s 1· n ., con1mun·il dish rake some wirh 1·our spoon 111 your wrn, w!(hour " ' ' •
1
precipirarion. l k · 1 Do nor keep your knife always in your hand, as village people do, }Lit ra ·e !( on Y when vou need iL . . cl \V'l;en vou art being strYed meat, ir is nor seemly w rake 1r_ 111 your han. .
ou
should hold our your place in your left hand while holding your tork or k01te 111 your rid1r cl I ld l "Ir is againsr propriery ro give people meat ro smell, an you s 1ou um er" no_ · _ msr·incts pm me-u back imo rhe common dish if you have smelled 1r yourselr If orcu ' . ' . . . 1 k ." vou rake meat from a common dish, do nor choose rhe besr pieces Cm w1rh r 1e one. liolding srill rhe piece of mear in rhe dish wirh rhe _fork. which you will use w pm on 'ie pi'ece i·ou have cm off do nor, rheretore, rake rht meat WJ(h 1our hand vour p 1a re ( 1 , ' · • • l . cl] (norhing is said here againsr rouching rhe mtar on ones place wnh rhe un You should nor rhrow bones or eggshells or rhe sk111 ot any frun omo rhe floor The same is rrue of fruit srones Ir is more police ro remow chem from the momh wirh rwo fingers rhan ro spic chem imo one's hand
J 1729
From La Salle, Les Reg/es de /11 hiwse1111cc et de /11 ciz'i/iti dm!tiem1e (Rauen, 1729), p. 87: Oil Thing.< trt B, U.
82
TIJt
CAmges i11 the Behal'iom rj" the Sem/,1r UPJ!tl' Classes i11 thr: \Vt.rt
P1r1cess
The use you may and must make of the serviette when at rnble is blow your nose fi:ir wiping your mumh. lips. dnd iingers ,,·hen they cire greasy, wiping tht knife before cmting bread. and cleaning the spoon and fork after using them. [N B This is one of many examples of the extraordinarih· exact regulation of behaviour which is embedded in our eating habits. The use of each mensil is limited and defined by a multiplicity of very precise rules. None of them is simply sdf-evidem. as they appear to later t:enerations Their use is formed ,·ery gradually in conjunction with the strucrnre and changes of human relationships.] \Vhen the lingers are very greasy. wipe them tirst on a piece of bread. which should then be left on the plate, before cleaning them on rht sen-iette, in order not to soil it roo much \Vhen the spoon, fork and knife are dirty or greasy, it is very improper to lick them, and iris not at all decent ro wipe them. or anything else. on the tablecloth. On these and similar occasions you should use the serviette. and regarding the tablecloth you should rake care to keep it always very clean, and not to drop on it water, wine. or anything that might soil it. \Vhen the plate is dirty. you should be sure not to scrape it with the spoon or fork rn clean it, or rn clean your plate or the bottom of any dish with your lingers: that is nry impolite Either they should not be rouchecl or. if you have the opporrnnity of exchanging them, you should ask for another \Vhen at cable you should not keep the knife ahrnys in your hand: it is sufficient to pick it up when you wish to use it It is also n:ry impolite to pur a piece of bread into your mouth while holding the knife in your hand: it is eYen more so to do this wirh the point of the knife, The same thing must be observed in eating apples. pears or some other fruits. [N.B Examples of taboos relating ro kniws J It is against propriety rn hold the fork or spoon with the whole hand, like a stick: you should al ways hold them between your fingers You should not use ) fork tu lift liquids to the mouth it is rhe Sl'UOn that is intended for such uses, Ir is polite always to use the fork to pur meat into your momh, for Jm1j>rid1 d11
83
_·. nt with what be savs in another place: "If your fingers are greasy ere com1sre , . . . . _ . 1 robibirion is nor yer remotely so selt-ev1dent as it is roday. \Ve see how T 11e I · l" . , ll\' it was made into an internalized habit, a piece ot ··se1t-contro n-rad ua . . "' In the critical period at the end of the reign of Louis XV-during which, as r
the pressure l \\·n as an ounvard si b"n of social changes that were occurring . . t- rn1 urew stronuer and in which among other thrngs, the idea of
ror re o
o
b
'
'
._
· ·1·zati.on" caught on-La Salle's Ciz'i!iti!, which had previously· passed through "nv1 1, several editions largely unchanged, was revised . The changes in the standard are verv instructive (Example K, below). They were in some respects very cons1derThe difference is partly discernible in what no longer needed ro be said. Many chapters are shorter. Many "bad manners" earlier discussed in derail are mentioned only briefly and in passing" The same applies ro many bodily tlmcrions originally dealt with at length and in great derail. The rone is "enerally less mild, and ofren incomparably harsher than in the first version. b
-
K
1774
From La Salle, Les Ri:g!es tie la hieJ1si1111ce et tie lei ,-iz:i!ite chritien11e (177 4 edn),
pp. 45ff: The serviette which is placed on the plate. being intended to preserYe clothing from spots and other soiling inseparable from meals. should be spread over you so far that it covers rhe front of your body to the knees, going under the collar and not berng passed inside it.. The spoon, fork and knife should always be placed on the right - The spoon is intended for liquids, and the fork for solid meats. \Vhen one or the mher is dirty. they can be cleaned with the serviette. if another sef\·ice cannot be procured. You should avoid wiping them with the tablecloth. which is an unpardonable impropriety, \Vhen the plate is dirty you should ask for another; it would be revoltingly gross
to
clean spoon. fork or knife with the fingers At good tables. attenrive servants change plates withom being called upon No;hing is more improper than rn lick your lingers. to much the meats and pm them into your mourh with your hand, to stir sauce with your lingers. or ro clip bread
the first place only ro greasy foods, especially those in sauces, since this gives rise
inro it with vour fork and then suck it You should never rake salt with your lingers I[ is very common for children to !'ile pieces one on top of the other, and even to rake our of their mourhs something they have chewed, and flick pieces with their fingers. [All these were mentioned earlier as general misclemeanours. but are here mentioned only as the "bad" manners of children Grown-ups no longer do such things.] Nothing is more impolite [than] ro lift meat rn rour nose to smell it; rn let others smell it is a further impoliteness towards the master the rnble: if you should happen rn find dirt in the food. you should get rid of the
ro actions that are "'distasteful" ro behold. In La Salle this is nor entirelr
food wirhour showing it
This whole passage, like several others, 1s taken over from A de Counin's Not11'r:1111 traitr! of 1672: cf Example G, p. 75 Ir also reappears in other eighteenth-cenrnry works on cirilitr!. The reason given for the prohibition on eating with the fingers is particularly instructive . In Courtin, roo, it applies in
84
The Cfrili:::ing Pmeess
Ch,mge.r in the Beht1riu1/I' of the Sem!m· Uj1j1er Clmses in the West
L
85
"\Yell, you cerrninly did nor drink it like anyone else Ereryone drinks coffee from
1780?
rhe cup. never from rhe saucer
From an anonymous work, La Cizilifl; ho11ete j1011r lu wfc111ts (Caen, n.d.), p . 35: Afrerwards. he shall place his servierre on him. his bread on rhe lefr and his knife on rhe righr. ro cur rhe mear wirhour breaking ir. [The sequence described here is found in many orher documents. The mosr elemenrnry procedure. earlier usual among rhe upper class as well, is ro break up rhe mear wirh rhe hands. Here rhe nexr srage is descnbecl, when rhe meat is cur with rhe knife. The use of rhe fork is nor mentioned. To break off pieces of mear is regarded here as a mark of the peasanr, curring ir as clearly rhe manners of the rown] He will also rake care nor ro pur his knife inro his mourh. He should nor leave his hands on his plare nor rest his elbow on ir, for rhis is done only by rhe aged and infirm The well-behaved child will be the lasr ro help himself if he is wirh his superiors. next, if ir is mear, he will cur ir polirely wirh his knife and ear ir wirh his bread. Ir is a rusric. dirty habir ro rake chewed meat from rnur mouth and pur ir on rnur plare. Nor should you ever put back inro rhe dish somerhing you have raken from it.
M
1786 From a conversarion berween the poer Delille and Abbe Casson: ic A shorr while ago Abbt Cusson. Professor of Belles Lerrres ar rhe Collet.:e Mazarin. role! me abour a dinner he had arrended a few days previously wirh some /1,o/1/e at Versailles . ''I'll wager". l role! him. "rhar you perperrared a hundred incongruities " "\\ihar do you mean)" Abbe Cosson asked quickly. greatly perrurbed "] believe ] did e,·eryrhing in rhe same way as everyone else .... "\\!hat presumprion' J'll ber you did nothing in the same wav as anvone else. Bur l'll limir myself ro rhe dinner. Firsr. whar did you do wirh your when vou sat down)" · "\\iirh my servierre; l did rhe same as e\·tryone tlse. I unfolded ir, spread ir our, and fixed ir by a corner ro my burronhole . " "\\fell. my dear fellow, you are rhe only one who did rhar. One does nor spread our one's servierre. one ketps it on one's kntes. And how did you ear your soup;"
"Likt evtryone else. l rhink. I rook my spoon in one hand and mv fork in rhe · or her "Your fork; Good heavens! No one uses his fork ro ear soup you are your bread."
Bur rel! me how
"Cerrainly. likt everyone else: I cur ir nearly wirh mv knife " "Oh clear. you break bread, you do nor cur i,r you drink irY
Ler.'s go on. The coffee-how did
"Like everyone. ro be sure Ir was boiling hot. sol poured ir lirrle by lirrle from my cup inro my saucer.
N
1859
From The Habits of Good S11eiety (London, 1859; 2d edn, verbarim, 1889), p. 257: Forks were undoubredly a larer invenrion rhan lingers. bur as we are nor c1111nih11/s I am inclined ro rhink rhey were a good one
Comments on the Quotations on Table Manners Grol!/J L An Overview of the Societies to which the Texts were Addressed 1. The quorarions have been assembled co illusrrare a real process. a change in rhe behaviour of people. In general, rhe examples have been so selecred char rhey may srand as typical of ar lease certain social groups or srrara. No single person, nor even someone with such pronounced individualiry as Erasmus, invented rhe sal'uir-l'izn of his rime. \'Ve hear people from different periods speaking on roughly rhe same subjecr. In rhis way, rhe changes become more disrincr than if we had described chem in our own words. From ar least rhe sixreenth century onwards, rhe commands and prohibirions by which individuals were shaped (in conformiry with the srandard of sociery) were in continuous movemenc This movement, co be sure, was nor perfecdy unilinear, bur through all irs flucruarions and individual curves a detinire overall rrend is nevertheless perceptible if one lisrens ro these voices over rhe centuries rogerher. Sixteenth-cenrnry wrirings on manners were embodiments of the new court ariscocracy rhar was slowly coalescing from elements of diverse social origin. Wirh ir grew rhe distinguishing code of behaviour De Courtin, in rhe second half of the seventeenth century, spoke from a court society which was consolidared to rhe highesr degree-the court sociery of Louis XIV And he spoke primarily to people of rank, people who did nor live direcdy ar courr bur who wished to familiarize rhemselves wich the manners and customs of rhe court. He says in his foreword: "This treatise is not intended for priming bur only ro sarisf-y a provincial gendeman who had requesred the author, as a particular friend, ro give some preceprs on civility to his son, whom he intended to send to rhe court on completing his studies. He [the author} undertook this work only for well-bred people; it is 011/y to them that it is addressed; and parricularly to youths, who mighr derive some uriliry from rhese small pieces of advice, as not
86 t!l't!J!1l!t
f'oints
Th, Cfri!i::i11g P111c.:ss ht!S tht
pr1!ite11ess
People who lived in rhe example-serring circle did nm need books in order to know how "one" behaved. This was obvious: ir was rhtrtfore imporranr to ascerrain wirh whar intentions and for which publics chest preceprs, originally rhe disringuishing secrer of rhe narrow circles of rhe courr aristocracv, wrirrtn and primed . The intended public is quire clear. Ir was srressed char rhe advice was onlv for gws, i.e . , by and large for upper-class people. Primarih· rhe book rhe nted of rht provincial nobiliry w know abour behaviour ar and in addirion char of disringuishtd foreigners Bur ir may be assumed char rhe nor inconsiderable success of chis book resulred, among ocher rhings, from rhe imeresr of leading bourgeois srrara. There is ample evidence w show char in chis period customs, behaviour and fashions from rhe courr were continuously penerraring rhe upper middle classes, where rhey were imirared and more or less alrered in accordance wirh rhe differenr social sirnarion. Thev rhereb,- lose to some exrenr rheir characrer as means of disringuishing rhe upr;er class. The\'. were somewha; devalued. This compelled chose above ro furrher refinement elaborarion of behaviour And from chis mechanism-rhe development of courr cusrnms, rheir disseminarion downwards. rheir slighr social deformarion, rheir dernluarion as marks of disrinction-rhe perpetual movement in behaviour parrerns the upper class received part of its momentum. \Vhat is important was that 'in this change. in the inventions and fashions of courtlv behaviour, which are at first sight perhaps irregular and accidental, over extended rime spans certain direcrions or lines of development emerge. These include. for example, whar mav be described as an adrnnce in the rhreshold of repugnance and rhe frontier of or as a process of "refinement" or "civilizarion" A parricular social dvnamism rriggered a parricular psychological one, which had irs own regulariri;s. . L In rhe eighreenth century wealrh increased, and with ir pressure ot rhe bourgeois classes. The courr circle now included, directlv alongside arisrncraric elements; a larger number of bourgeois elements rl1an in' rhe preceding cenrury, wirhour rhe differences in social rank e\·er being lose Shordy before rhe French Revolmion rhe self-isolaring tendencies of rhe socially weakening aristocracy were intensified once more.
h1J/lnttcr
Neverrheless, chis extended courr sociery, in which arisrncraric and bourgeois elements intermingled, and which had no disrinct boundaries barring entry from below musr be envisaged as a whole. Ir comprised rhe hierarchicallv strucmred elire of rhe country. The compulsion to penerrare or ar lease w ir became srronger and srronger wirh rht growing interdependence and prosperiry of broader srrata. Clerical circles, above all, became popularizers of rhe courrh· customs . The moderared resrraint of rhe emorions and rhe disciplined shaping ;f behaviour as a whole. which under rhe name of ciz'i!itf had been developed in rhe
uo .er class as a purely secular and social phenomenon. a consequence of cerrain of social life, have affiniries wirh parricular rendencies in uadirional ecclesiasrical behaviour. Cfri!it( was given " new Chrisrian religious foundarion The Church prowd, as so often, one of rhe mosr important organs of rhe downwards diffusion of behavioural models. "Ir is a surprising rhing", says rhe venerable Farber La Salle ar rhe beginning of rhe preface w his rules of Chrisrian ciz'i!itf, "char rhe majori ry of Chrisrians regard decency and civiliry only as a /1mdr h1111i.111 ,111d u·r;r/c/!r (ji!cdity and, nor chinking to elevare their minds more highly, do nor consider it a virtue related to God, our neighbour and ourselves. This well shows how lirtle Chrisrianiry there is in rhe world " And as a good deal of rhe educarion in France lay in the hands of ecclesiasrical bodies. ir was above all. if nor exclusively, rhrough rheir mediarion tbar a growing flood of ciz'i!itf rracrs now inundared the counrry. They were used as manuals in rhe elementary educarion of children, and were often printed and disrribured togerher wirh rhe firsr instructions on reading and wriring. Particularly rhrough rhis rhe concepr of ciz'i!ire was increasingly devalued for rhe social elire. Ir began to undergo a process similar ro thar which earlier overrook rhe concepr of co11rtoisic.
Excursus on the Rise and Decline of the Concepts of Co1!ltoisie and Cil'iliti! _) Co111"!11isi, originally referred to rhe forms of behaviour char developed ar rhe courrs of rhe grear feudal lords. Even during rhe ivfiddle Ages rhe meaning of rhe word clearly lose much of irs original social resrricrion ro rhe "courr'', coming imo use in bourgeois circles as well. \Virh rhe slow exrincrion of the knighdyfeudal warrior nobiliry and rhe formarion of a new absolure courr aristocracy in rhe course of rhe sixreemh and seventeenth centuries, the concepr of cil'i!itf was slowly elevarecl as rhe expression of socially acceprnble behaviour . Co!!i'toisie and cizi!ite exisrecl side by side during rhe French rransirional sociery of rhe sixteenth century, wirh irs half knightly-feudal, half absolure courr characrer. In rhe course ot rhe sevenreenrh century. however, the conctpr of courtoisi, gradually wenr our of fashion in France 'The words comtois and 1w1rtoisic", says a French \vrirer in 1675,'' "are beginning ro age and are no longer good usage. \Ve say cil'i!, bu1111estc; ciz'i!itf, hoilllt.:Std{.,
Indeed, rhe word co11rtuisie now acrnally came w appear a bourgeois concept "My neighbour, rhe Bourgeois, says, following rhe language of rhe bourgeoisie of Paris ·affable' and 'courteous' (m11rtois) he does nor express himself polirely because rhe words 'courreous' and ·affable' are scarcely in use among people of rhe world, and rhe words 'civil' and 'decent' (ho1111ete) have taken rheir place. jusr as 'civiliry· and 'decency' haw raken rht place of 'courresy· and
88
The Cizili::i11g Process
Changes in thr: Beht11-io111 of the Semlar Uj1jJ1:r Classes in the \Vest
'affabilicy' " So we read in a conversacion with che title 011 Goud {ll/d Bad Usaae i11 L\jmssi11g 011u·elj.: 011 Bof!l;t;.:uis Mmmers of Sp
sociecy, civilizacion appeared as a firm possession, They wished above all co disseminate ir, and ac mosc co develop ic within che framework of che standard
In a very similar way in che course of rhe eighreenrh century, che concept of ciz'iliti slowly lost irs hold among rhe upper class of rhe absolutist court. This class was now for ics part undergoing a fairly slow process of cransformacion, of bourgeoisificacion, which, ac lease up co 1750, went hand in hand with a simultaneous courcizacion of bourgeois elements. Something of che resulrant problem is percepcible, for example, when in 17-[5 Abbe Gedoyn, in an essay "De l'urbauice romaine" Wu1zr1:s dinnes, p . 17 ."\), discusses che quescion of whr, in his own sociecy, che expression 11rht111iti, chough ic referred co someching fine, had never come into use as much as cil'i!it{, h11111a11iti, politesse or gt1la11terie, and he replies: "Urha11itas signified chac politesse of language, mind, and manners acrached singularly to che city of Rome, which was called par excellence Urhs, rhe city, whereas among us, where this policeness is nor che privilege of any city in particular, not even of che capical. buc solely of che court, che rerm urbanicy becomes a cerm . wirh which we may dispense."
89
already reached. The examples guoced clearly express the movement cowards chis srandard in rhe preceding scage of the absolute courts,
A Review of the Curve Marking the "Civilizing" of Earing Habits .t Ac che end of che eighceenth cencury, shortly before che Revolution, che French upper class attained approximately che standard of earing manners, and cercainly noc only of eacing manners, char was gradually ro be taken for granted in rhe whole of civilized society.. Example M from che year 1786 is inscrucrive enough: ic shows as still a decidedly courtly cusrom exactly the same use of che serviecce which in che meantime has become cuscomary in che whole of civilized bourgeois sociecy.. Ir sho\YS che exclusion of the fork from the eacing of soup, che
If one realizes chat "city" ac this rime referred more or less ro "bourgeois good
need for which, cercainly, is only undersrandable if we recall rhac soup often used ro contain-and in France scill contains-more solid content than it does now.
society" as against che narrower court society, one readily perceives rhe copical importance of rhe quescion raised here
Ir furcher shows as a courcly demand che requirement nor co cue but co break one's bread ar table, a requirement char has in che meantime been clemocracized.
In most of the scacemems from chis period, rhe use of ciziliti had receded, as here, in rhe face of politesse, and che idemificacion of chis whole complex of ideas wich h11111cmfri had emerged more sharply.
And che same applies ro che way in which one drinks coftee. These are a few examples of how our everyday ricual was formed . If chis series
As early as 17 ."\.),Voltaire, in che dedicacion of his Zc1ii'e co a bourgeois, A . .l\L Faulkner, an English merchant, expressed these tendencies very clearlr: "Since and che che regency of Anne of Austria che French have been che mosc . and this J10/ite11w is 11ot in the letut rll! arhitrarr mosc police people in che world 111atte1: like that uhich is frdled civilice, !J!!t is r1 l:rn rf ;uti!r, which rhev happily culcivaced more than ocher peoples.... . Like che concept of l'IJ!tr!oisie earlier, cil'iliti was now slowlv• be<,inninu ro sink " b b Shorcly afterwards, the content of chis and related cerms was raken up and extended in a new concepc, che expression of a new form of self-consciousness che concept of cil'ilisation. Co1trtoisit, r'il'ilit{ and r'iz'ilisatio11 mark chree srar;es social development . They indicace which sociecy is speaking and being addressed ac a given rime, However, the actual change in che behaviour of che upper classes, rhe development of che models of behaviour which would henceforth be called "civilized", rook place-ac lease so far as iris visible in che areas discussed herein che middle phase. The concepc of cil'ilisatio11 indicates quire clearly in ics nineteenth-century usage rhac che Jnucess of civilization-or, more scricclv speaking, a phase of chis process-had been completed and forgorcen. People on!;, wanted co accomplish chis process for ocher nacions, and also, for a period, for che lower classes of cheir own sociecy. To che upper and middle classes of their own
were continued up co the present day. further changes of derail would be seen: new imperacives have been added, old ones are relaxed; a wealch of nacional and social variations on table manners has emerged; che penerracion of rhe middle classes, rhe working class, the peasantry by che uniform ritual of civilization, and by che regulation of drives chac ics acquisition requires, is of varying screngch Bur che essential basis of what is required and whac is forbidden in civilized sociecy-che standard technique of earing, the manner of using knife, fork, spoon, place, serviette and other earing urensils-rhese remain in their essential feacures unchanged. Even che development of technology in all areas--even char of cooking-chrough che introduccion of new sources of energy has left the techniques of earing and ocher forms of behaviour essentially unchanged. Only on very close inspeccion does one observe craces of a trend chat is continuing co occur. \Vhac is scill changing now is, above all, che cechnology of production. The technology of consumption was developed and kepc in morion by social formacions which were, to a degree never since equalled, consumption classes \\!ich their social decline, che rapid and intensive elaboration of consumption techniques ceased and has been relegated into what have now become the private (in contrasc ro che occupational) sphere of life. Correspondingly, che tempo of
90
i11 zLn Bth111'io!!r of the S,mfar UjJ/>tr C!as.w:s i11 th, Wi:st
Tht Cil'ilizi11g Pmass
movement and ch
91
eoiJle acrnalh·. achie,·e and !Jroduce has become more imporranr rhan rheir P manners. 6. Taken togerher. [ht examples show very clearly how chis movemem adV
L
•
Thr: Cirilizinr, Proc<:Ss
disrribured wirh a specialized implemenr. Earing had acquired a new sryle corresponding ro rhe new necessiries of social lift Norhing in rable manners is self-evidem or rhe produce, as ir were, of a "narural" feeling of delicacy. The spoon, fork and napkin were nor invenred one clay by a single individual as rechnical implemenrs wirh obvious purposes and clear clirecrions for use. Over cenruries, in clirecr social inrercourse and use, rheir funcrions became gradually defined, rheir forms soughr and consolidared. Each cusrom in rhe changing rirnal, however minure, was esrablishecl infinirelv slowly e,·en forms of behaviour rhar ro us seem quire elemcnrary or simply such as rhe cusrom of raking liquid only wirh rhe spoon. b·ery movemem of rbe hand-for example, rhe way in which one holds and moves knife, spoon or fork-was srandardized only srep by srep. And rhe social mechanism of srnndardizarion can irself be seen in outline if rbe series of images is surveytd as a whole. There was a more or less limirecl courtly circle which firsr scamped the models only for the needs of its own social siwarion and in conformity wirh the psychological condition corresponding ro ir.. Bur clearly rhe srn;crure and development of French sociery as a whole gradually made ever broader strata willing and anxious ro aclopr the models developed above rhem: rhey spread, likewise very gradually, rhroughour rhe whole of socierv, cerrainlv nor wirhom undergoing some modification in rhe process. . . The rakeover, rhe passage of models from one social unir ro anorher, now from the cenrres of a society ro its ourposrs (e.g., from rhe Parisian courr ro orher courrs), now wirbin rhe same socio-polirical unit (e.g . , wirhin France or Saxony, from above ro below or from below ro above), is to be coumed, in rhe civilizin.g process as a whole, as among the mosr imporranr individual movemems. rhe examples show is only a limired segmenr of rhese . Nor only rhe earing manners bur also forms of chinking or speaking, in sborr, of beha,·iour in general. were moulded in a similar way rhroughour France, even if rhere were significanr differences in rhe riming and srrucrure of rheir parrerns of developmenr The elaborarion of a parricular rimal of human relarions in rhe course of a change in social and psychological srrucrures is nor somerhing rhar can be rreared in isolation, even if here, as a firsr arrempr, ir has only been possible ro follow a single srrand. A shorr example from rhe process of rhe "civilizing" of speech may serve as a reminder rhar rhe observarion of manners and rheir rransformarion exposes ro view only a very simple and easily accessible segmenr of a much more far-reaching process of social change.
Excursus on the .Modelling of Speech at Court 7. For speech, mo, a limirecl circle firsr developed cerrnin srandards. As in Germany, though ro a far lesser exrenr, rhe language spoken rn court sociery was differem from rhe language spoken by the bourgeoisie
Chmgc.r in the Bthtn•io11r of tl.n Swdar
Upper
Clmsts in the \Vest
93
"You know", we read in a lirde work which in irs rime was much read, 1\lots br• Callieres, in the edirion of 1693 (p. -i6J, "rhar rhe bourgeois speak
rc1t ,;1 ! Tl,,,, l
verv differendy from us . " we examine more closely whar is rermecl "bourgeois" speech, and whar is referred ro as the expression of rhe courdy upper class, we encounrer the same phenomenon rhar can be observed in eating-cusroms and manners in general: much of whar rn the sevemeenrh and ro some exrenr rhe e1ghreenrh cemury was disringuishing form of expression and language of court sociery gradually became rhc French narional language. The voung son of bourgeois parenrs, .M. Thibaulr, is presenred ro us visiring -mall.arisrocraric .!!arherin,!!. r' ._, '-- The laclv • of rhe house asks after his farheL "He is vour very humble servanr, Madame", Thibault answers, "and he is srill poorly, as well know, since you have graciously senr ofrenrimes ro inquire abour rhe ;rare of his healrh." The siruarion is clear. A cerrain social conracr exisrs berween rhe arisrocraric circle and tht bourgeois family. The lady of the house has menriontd it previously. She also says rhar the elder Thibaulr is a very nice man, nor wirhour adding rhar such acquainrances are somerimes quire useful ro rhe arisrocracy because rhese people, after all, have money.'' And ar rhis poinr one is reminded of rht very differenr srrucrure of German sociery. Bur social conracrs ar rhis rime were clearly nor close enough, leaving aside the bourgeois inrelligenrsia, ro have effaced rhe linguistic differences berween rhe classes Every orher word rhe young Thibaulr urrered was, by rhe sranclards of court sociery, awkward and gross, smelling-as the courtiers pur ir-"bourgeois from rhe mourh". In courr society one did not say ··as you well know" or "ofrenrimes" or "poorly" (co111il/e hi1:11 S{dl'tZ. Jo111wtes fois. mcdadij). One did nor say, like M. Thibaulr in rhe ensuing conversation, "Je vous demancle excuse" II beg ro be excused). In rhe courr sociery one said, as rnday in bourgeois sociery, "Je vous clemancle pardon" iI beg your pardon) 11. Thibault said: "Un mien ami, un mien parenr, un mien cousin" (A friend of mine, ere.), insread of rhe courtly "un de mes amis. un de mes parenrs" (p. 20) He said .. deffuncr mon pere, le paune deffuncr" (deceased) And he was insrrucred rhar rhar roo was nor one of the expressions "which civiliry has introduced among well-spoken people. People of the world do nor say char a man is deceased when rhey mean rhar he is dead" (p. 22). The word can be used ar mosr when saying "we musr pray ro Goel for rhe soul of the deceased . bur rhose who speak well say rarher: my !are farher, the !are Mr such and such, the lare Duke, ere." (!t11 111011 jli:rt, ere.). And ir was poinred our thar "for rhe poor deceased" was "a very bourgeois rum of phrase .. 8 . Here, roo, as wirh manners, rhere was a kind of double movemem: a courrizarion of bourgeois people and a bourgeoisification of courdy people. Or, ro put ir more precisely· bourgeois people were influenced by the behaviour of
If
95
P;-r;(r:SS
courdy ptople. and Yict Ytrsa. Tht influence from below on those abon: was certainly ,-ery much we absent: tht ch[1teau Vaux-le Vicomte of the bourgeois intendant of finances. Nicolas Fouquet. antedates the royal Versailles, and was in many ways its model That is a clear example. The wealth of leading bourgeois strata compelled those above to compete. And the incessant influx of bourgeois people to the circle of the court also produced a specific mm·ement in speech: \Yith the new human material it brought new linguistic material. the "slang" of rhe bourgeoisie. into the circle of the court. Elements of it were: constantly being processed into courtly language. polished. relined. transformed; they were made. in a word. "courtly". i.e .. adapted to the srnnd,1rd of sensibility or affect of the court circles. They were thereby rnrnecl into means of distinguishing the gws ck !t1 cW!I from the bourgeoisie. and then perhaps-thus refined and modified-after some rime penetrated the bourgeoisie once more and became "specifically bourgeois" There is. says tht Duke in one of tht conYtrsations c1uoted from CalliC:rts (Du hoi! d dit 11h!11rais 11sagc, p. 98). a manner of speaking "most common among the bourgeois of Paris and even among some courtiers raised among the bourgeoisie. Ir is to sc1y 'Lee us look and ste' (m)!lllS z-r1ir), insread of saying 'Let us see· (rfJyrl/Js), and aniiding rhe word 'look·. which is perfectly useless and diS<1greeable in this place.··
from rht Ch,1mber at Spever" · r\· "because ir is modelled on , , · . 't ,,_,- 1s rhe uni,·ersities chat atramed almost rhe samt imporrnnce tor T1en i ' , , l ·rnd lan<'LI
But chere has rtcemly come into use. rhe Duke cominues. "another bad mm of phrase:. which began among the lowesr people and made irs fortune ar the courr, like those fayouri res without meri c who gor thernsel ves elevated there in the old clays . It is 'il en sc,;ait bien long', meaning that someone is subtle and cleYer.. The ladies of the courr are beginning to use it, rno ... So ir wem on. The bourgeois and even some court people said "il faut que nous foisions cela" instead of "il faur que nous fassions cela". Some said "l on za" and "lon zesr" insread of rhe courtly "l'on ,1 .. and 'Ton tsc" They said "Je le L1i" instead of 'Jt L1i" In almosr all these casts the linguisric form which here appears as courtly has in fact become the narional usage. Bur there were also examples of courdy linguistic formations bting gradually discarded as "rno refintd". "too afftcred". 9 All chis elucidates at rhe same rime whar was said earlier abour rhe sociogenetic differences between the German and French national characrers. Language is one of the rnosr accessible manifestations of what we experience as ··national character" Hert one can see from a single concrete example how this peculiar and rypical characrer has been elaborated in conjunction with specific social formations Tht French language was decisively scamped by the court and courr sociery. For rhe German hrnguage the Imperial Chamber and Ch
il!:lil!',tis 11sagc.
bt exe n11)l '1 .
L
.._
question is raised that opens up a wide fit!cl for reflection ,rnd which must be at !t<1sr touched on here in passing: "By what srnndards were rhty acmally · d"in" wlnt was b"oocl and bad in \\/hat were their criteria tor JU c- t:''c...-
;i
selecring. polishing and modifying expressions'" Sometimes rhey reflected on chis themselves. \\ihat they said on the subject is at firsr sighr rarher surprising, and ar any rate significanr beyond rht area of. Phrases. words and nuances were good hc(dl!Sc rhey, the members of rhe used chem; and rhey were bad hccdi!Sr social inferiors spoke in chis social
war Thibault sometimes defends himself when he is role! thar this or thar rum
.;:;f phrase was bad. "I am much obliged w you. i\fadame··. ht says (Du ho11 er l' 2)). "for the trouble you are caking w instruct me, yet ir seems w me that the term 'dtceased' is a well-esrnblishecl word used by a great manv
well-bred people (ho1111i:tc gws)." "Ir is \'try possible". the Ltdy answers, "that there are many well-bred people who are insufficiently famib1r with the delicacy of our language a delicacy which is known rn only a small number of well-spoktn people and causes them nm w sa\· chat a man is dectased in order tO say that ht is dead ... A smail circle of people were versed in this delicacy of language: rn speak ·.is the1· did was w speak correctly. \\/hat the ochers said did nor count. The were apoclictic A reason ocher than that "\\le. the elire. speak rhus. and onh· wt haYe sensirivitl' rn languagt" was ntithtr netded nor known. "\Vich errors committtd. againsr good usage". it is exprtssly srartcl in another regard pl:Kt. ··as rhere are no definite rules it depends only on the consent of a certain number of elite people whose ears are accustomed to cerrain ways of speaking and rn preferring chem to or hers" (p 98) And rhen the words were listed char should be avoided Amiqumed words were unsuired rn ordinary. serious speech. Very new words must arouse the suspicion of afftcrntion or posing-we might perhaps say, of snobben- Learned words that smack of Latin and Greek must be suspecr to all gt11.r d11, 11111//ck. They surrounded anyone using chem wirh an atmosphere of pedantry. if other words were known chat expressed the same thing simply.
97
The Cirili:ing PmceJs
Chm1gu in tht Bt!Jt!l'iom of the Stml{/r Uf'l1tr Classes in the West
Low words used by the common people must be carefully avoided. for those who used chem showed char the\· had had
attached rhemseln:s to these older. distinguishing tendencies in their Ian-
96
guage,
Reasons Given by People for Distinguishing Between .. Good" and '·Bad" Behaviour l l. Language is one of rhe embodiments of social or mental life. Much rhar can be observed in rhe way language is moulded also becomes evident through the j 11 ,·c:srigacion of other embodiments of society. For example, the grounds on which people argue chat this behaviour or chat custom at rable is better than scarcelv. disrin"uishable from rhe wa,·; rhev. establish such claims ano [ller, ·1re ' b with regard w linguistic expressions. This does nor entirely correspond w the expecrarion that twentieth-century observers may have For example, they expect ro find the elimination of .. earing with rhe hands", the introduction of rhe fork, individual cutlery and crockery, an
in th, B1:hdzjo11r of the Sem!ar UJ>jier Classes i11 the \Vi:st
98 spoke simply of rht people
jiarlulf /;ju/', so Courrin (ar rhe end of Example
G) said, in efftcc "Formerly ont was allowed
rn do rhis or rhar, bm wday one is
no longer allowed w · Callii::res says in 1694 [hat [htre art a grtat many people who art not sufficitnr!I' conversam with tht tf,:/icatc.r."' of our language: "('est Ct[[t cltlica[tsse qui n'est connu qut d'unt petitt nombrt cit gens ... Courrin used the same expression in 1672 when he said [hat i[ was necessary always to wipe one's spoon before clipping it into [ht common dish if one had already used i[, .. [here being people so dc/i(({ft [hat [hey would not wish w ea[ soup in which you had clipped ir afrc:r pm[ing i[ inro your momh" (Example G). This clilict1tts.r<. [his sensibili[y and a highly de\·tloped feeling for what was "embarrassing". was ar firs[ a dis[inguishing fearnre of small courdy circles, then of court socit[)' as a whole. This applies w language in exacdy tht same way as
w ta[ing habirs . On wh
w rnkt soup from [ht s<'mt dish as ochers. Ir is, of course, the case char delicacy of fteling was heightened under rht pressure of rht courdy situarion in ways which were later jusrifitd pardy by scientific invesrigarions, even though a major part of [ht raboos that people gradually imposed on themselves in their dealings wirh each ocher, a far larger 1x1rt rhan is usually rhoughr, has nor rhe slightest conntcrion wi[h "hygiene .. but is concerned even wclay mtrtly wirh "delicacy of feeling" Ar any rate. rhe process has moved in some rtspecrs in a way chat is
99
,, cl Lw clear undtrsranding But "r,uional understanding" is not the mowr of nrlTlt _ -b l · " · .1·1 1·2 1·nu" ot eating or of other wavs of e iavlllg he en "' · . . r The close parallel berween tht "civilizing" of taring and char .of speech is ll1 . _ ·"[ hi<•hlv insrructivt. Jr makes it clear char the chani.;e in beha\'lour at this reoptL "' . _ . _ _ .' . , , .. c ,ur of a much laruer transtormat10n of human feelings and a[[Jtuclts. rir"'re \\(1-' 11-• o 'u · '11Lin11' natts the cleuret w which the motors of chis developmtnr came Ir a1so i ' c lie soci·1l srructure.. from the wav, in which people' \Vtre related w or • ' e! wirh t'lch other \\it see mort clearlv how relatlvelv small Circles a[ te integra ' · · · first formed rht cenrrc of the movemenr and how_ rhe process then y assed rn broader srrarn. Bur this diffusion irselt presupposed very specific and rherefort a quirt definite structure of society. .l\.foreo\'er, ir _could cerrninly nor ha\'e raktn place had there not been established: not only tor the model-forming circles but also for broader strata, conditions of life-or, in ocher words, a social situation-chat made bo[h possible and necessary a gradual_ [ransformation of the emotions and behaviour, an advance in the threshold of repugnance. The process [har emerges resembles in form-though nor in subsrance-rhose chemical processes in which a liquid. the whole of which is subjected w conditions of chemical change (t . g .. crysrallizarion). first rakes on crysralline form at a small nucleus. while the rest then gradually crystallizes around this core. Nothing would be more erroneous than w rake the core of tht crysrallizarion for [he cause of tht transformation. The fact char a particular social stratum in one or another pluse of social developmenr formed the cemrt of a process and thus elaborated models for ochers. and chat these models were diffused w other strata and received by them, itself presupposed a social sicuation and a parricular structure of society as a whole, b\· virtut of which rhe function of creating models fell ro one circle and that of and assimihning them fell w ano[htr. The kinds of changes in ' t e intt"rarion of socitt\'• rh,1t set these behavioural changes in morion will be b ._, t1 discussed in greater derail later.
exactly opposirt rn, whar is commonly assumed today. Firsr, over a long period and in conjunction with a specific c!Mngt in human relationships. chat is in sociery, [ht threshold of repugnance was raised
Gro11ji 2.·
The affecr-srrucrure. the
sensirivity, and [ht behaviour of people change, dtspi[t all sorts of fluctuations,
On the Eating of Meat
in a qui[e specific direction. Then, at a ctrrain poinr, this behaviour came w be recognized as "hygienically correct", i.e" ir was jusrifitd by a clearer insight into causal conntcrions and raktn further in tht same direction or consolidated. The advance of the threshold of repugnance may have been connected ar specific poinrs wi[h more or less inclttermimut and. at first, in no way rationally explicable experiences of the way in which certain diseases are passed on or, expressed more precisely. with indeterminate and therefore rationally unlimired fears and anxieties which pointed vaguely in rhe direction subsequtndy con-
l Alrhough human phenomena-wherher attitudes. wishes or structuresma\' be looked at on their own, independently of their connections with rhe social life of people, they art by nature norhing but subsranrializarions of human relations and of hum
100
101
The Cil'ilizing PmctJJ
worthless. Bur iris ofttn precisely these latter, apparently trivial phenomena that giw us clear and simple insighrs inro the structure and development of the psyche and irs relations which are at first denied us by rhe former. People's attitudes co meat-earing. for example. are highly illuminating with regard ro the dynamics of human relationships and personality structures. In rhe Middle Ages, people moved between at least three different secs of behaviour cowards rhe consumption of mear.. Here, as with a hundred other phenomena, we see rhe extreme diversity of behav10ur characteristic of medieval society as compared with its modern counterpart.. The medieval social structure was far less conducive ro rhe slow permeation of models developed in a specific social cemre through rhe society as a whole. Certain modes of behaviour often predominated in a particular social stratum rhroughour rhe \X'esrern world, while in a different srramm or estate behaviour was very different. For this reason, rhe behavioural differences between different estates in the same region were often greater than those between regionally separate representatives of the same social stratum . And if modes of behaviour passed from one stratum co another, as happened again and again, they changed their face more radically in correspondence with the greater self-comainment of rhe estates. The relation ro meat-earing moved in the medieval world between the following poles In rhe secular upper class rhe consumption of meat was extraordinarily high, compared ro rhe standard of our own rimes. A tendency prevailed rhen ro devour quantities of meat char ro us seem fantastic. In the monasteries an ascetic abstention from all meat-earing in part prevailed, an absemion resulting more or less from self-denial, not from shortage, and often accompanied by a radical disdain for or restriction of earing. From these circles came expressions of strong aversion ro rhe "glurrony" among rhe secular upperclasses. The mear consumption of the lower class, rhe peasams, was also often extremely limited-nor from a spiritual need, a more or less freely chosen renunciation with regard co God and rhe next world, bur from shortage. Cattle were expensive and ·therefore destined, for a long period, essentially for rhe rulers' rabies. "If the peasant reared cattle'', it has been said,'<• "it was largely for rhe privileged, the nobility, and rhe burghers'', nor forgening rhe clerics, who ranged in varying degrees from asceticism ro approximately rhe behaviour of the secular upper class . Exact data on rhe meat consumption of rhe upper classes in the Middle Ages and at the beginning of the modem age are sparse. There were, no doubt, considerable differences between rhe lesser, poorer knights and the great feudal lords.. The standards of the poor knights must frequently have been scarcely removed from chose of the peasants A calculation of the meat consumption of a north German court from relatively recent rimes, the seventeenth century, indicates a consumption of rwo pounds per head per day, in addition co large quantities of venison, birds and
a ma1·or.. ve"erables a relarivelv' minor role . Orher informa,. h.' 5p 1·ces pl·1ved '· b ns · ·nrs fairlv unanimoush· in rhe same direction. The derails remain to be non poi · · reseed furrber. . . . ? Another change can bt documented more precisely.. The manner rn which -· is · s·rved has changed considerabh·. from rhe Middle Ages co modern rimes. meat e ' . ·e of chis change is verv instructive. In rhe upper class of medieval T1t · . _ I cu f\ · . che de·1d animal or large pares or ir were often brought ro the cable soc1er}, ' ' . . . . · l N'or onlv whole fish and whole birds (someumes w1rh their feathers) bur '"hoe. . whole rabbits, lambs, and quarters of veal appeared 0£1 .rhe table, nor ro mention che larger venison or rhe spic-roasted pigs and oxen.'s The animal was carved on rhe cable. This is why rhe books on manners repeat, up co rhe seventeenth and sometimes even the eighteenth how impor·c ·s for a well-bred man to be buood at carnng meat. D1scenda a pnm1s 1 rant 1 ' srarim annis secandi ratio " (The correct way to carve should be caught from rhe first years) says Erasmus in 15 30 "When serving," says Courrin in 16 I 2, one mus! always givt away !he btsl ponion and keep !he smallest. and wuch nmhing excepl with !he fork; rhis is why, if a person of rank asks you for somerhing du! is in from of vou. il is imponam rn know how ro cm meal wirh propriery and merhoJ, and rn kno\\.' !he best ponions. in order rn be able rn serve !htm with civility The wav rn CLI! !hem is no! prescribed here. because i! is a subjec! on which special books been wrinen. in which all die pieces are illusrra!ed ro show where the meal mus! firs! be held wirh a fork rn cm il. for as we have jus! said. th, 11!«11 mm! ih'!'<:i /;, 1oud1,J hi h:111d 111Jt dd! zchj/, nJting: !hen where !he knife must be plaet:d w cm ic whal mus! be lifted tirsl whac is the bes! piece. and the piece of honour dial must be served ro the person of highesl rank. I! is easy w learn how rn carve when one has ea!tn !hree or four limes ac a good cable. and for !he same reason il is no dis,t;race rn excuse oneself and leave rn another what one cannot do oneself.
And rhe German parallel, rhe i\tzc n:n11ehrtts Trincier-Biich!ti11 (New, enlarged carving manual), primed in Rinrelen in 1650. says: Because !he office of carver al princely courls is no! reckoned as !he lowesl bm among rhe mos! honourable, !he same mus! d1erefore be eilher of !he nobilily or mher good descem. of straighl and well-proponioned body. good sm1ight arms and nimble hands In all public cmting he should absrnin from large mlwemems and useless and foolish ceremonies and make quilt sure dial he is no! nervous, so th.11 h, d'd not hring dishm1011 r throNgh 1,.,.111h/i11g of th< and hrmds and because in any case !his does nm befit !hose ac princely rnbles
Boch carving and distributing rhe meat were parricular honours. Ir usually fell co rhe master of rhe house or ro distinguished guests whom he requested to perform rhe office. "The young and chose of lower rank should nor interfere in
l ()',
. ·
l 02
serving.
DU[
only rake for d1emsclves in their turn." says the anonymous Ci1•iliti
ofl 7 l5. In the sevtmeemh cemurv [ht G1n-ing of mta[ at t
.1 _
C,)dlf,(,C.\ Ill ii. 1r; I
would arouse rather uneasy feelings in many people if [hey or ochers had ro
carve half a rnlf or pig ar rnble or cut me
fear hers Thtrt art e\·en du
gti/J
..-i dJ/i,t1ts-w repeat the phrase of Counin. which
referred w a rtl<1recl process-w whom rht sight of burchers shops \\·irh rhe bodies of dead animals is disrasreful, and ochers who from more or less rationally disguised feelings of disgust refuse to tar meat alwgerher. Bm chest are forward rhrusrs in rht threshold of repugnance char go beyond rhe standard of civilized society in rhe rwenrierh cenrnry. and
This direction is quire clear. From a srnndard of feeling by which the sight and carving of a dead animal on rhe rnble are acrnally experriencecl as pleasurable. or ar lt
to
rht utmost. In many of our meat dishes rht animal form
is so concealed
5,J; , 1·iol!r rf tht 5,mf,11 '"' - ·-
-
. on rhe continent, rht serving of large_ portions of ryrominendy. presen·ed. vhich falls w rbe master of rhe house. ot u1rvll1g and ' - r (and with ir rht ras , \ . l .. - - r" w ·1 ure·1rer extent rhan in rht rne:i · - irvives in rhe lorm ot r lt JOll1 ' " ' · c. - dnr .i·1srribur1ng it) SL l F i -- '-Ici\vtver , c1uire apan twm rhe ,acr ' u _ .-G ·m· anc ·wrct:. r . _ ban sooery or erma . I . l form of rhe sernng ot large pieces ur' cl _ - - r i·· irselt a verr recucec l . I, he 11reser1L- - a) JOifl , l c. rn it dnr mark rbe ac nrnct ll1 r it r b·en he..: ot reacnons ' c l 110 r n1e1r chert 1 l 1-JJ l . ro remove rbe disr<1sreful from rht sight ot - . - \\- suong renc encv · l· The wcreas1ng . ' · . , . ·in" of cbe who 1t arnm
Use of rhe Knife ar Table
t- .rs
. I use, . re. tlecrs cli-rn soCia , b"ts in rhe human cl .- I Ir is an embodimem of -I . I· n"in" dnves an \vis ies personality win its c i.i "' . "' ·rnnl reuulariries of society hisrnrical sirnaoons and the srruc _' - "' - . s ·m e·1tin'' implemem in . b , . ll ·s charricrensr1c ot its use a ' ' o One dung a O\ t '1 1 l narure o_ -! The knife, too, by tit
I
105
The Ci1,i/i;:,i11g ProtcsJ
Chtmgf.i in the Behe1rir111r r;( the Swtft1r Upper C!t1sses i11 the \\'!i·st
presenr-day \i(/esrern sociery: rhe innumerable prohibirions and raboos surround-
.h· · of socierv ro rhe preponderance of feelings of displeasure
104
1ng H
Cerrainly rhe knife is a dangerous insuumenr in what may be called a rational sense. Ir is a weapon of arrack. Ir in fliers wounds and ems up animals rhar have been killed Bur this obviously dangerous quality is beset with affects. The knife becomes a symbol of rhe mosr diverse feelings, \Vhich are connecrecl w irs funnion and shape but are nor deduced "logically" from irs purpose. The fear ir awakens goes beyond whar is rarional and is gremer rhan rhe "calculable", probable danger. And die same is rrue of the pleasure irs use and appearance arouse, even if rhis aspecr is less evident roclay In keeping wirh rhe srrucrure of our sociery, the everyday rirual of irs use is wday determined more by the displeasure and fear rhan by the pleasure surrounding ir.. Therefore its use even while eating is restricted by a mulrirucle of prohibitions . These, we have said, extend far beyond rhe "purely insrrumenral"; bur for every one of them a rational explanation, usually \·ague and nor easily proved, is in everyone's mourh. Only when rhese raboos are considered rogerher does the supposition arise rhar rhe social arrirucle rowarcls the knife and rhe rules governing irs use while eating-and, above all, rhe raboos surrounding ir-are primarily emorional in narure. fe,1r, clisrasre, guilr, associarions and emotions of the mosr disparate kinds exaggerare rhe probable danger. Ir is precisely this which anchors such prohibitions so firmly
. f knife poinred ar rhe face arouses fear: "Bear nor your knife roward your sighr o a .. . . . . . . c c ce for therein is peril and much dread. Il11s is rhe emor10nal basis 01 rhe ;O\\:erful raboo of a larer phase. which forbids the lifring of the knife ro the mourh. . . . . The case is similar with rhe prohibition which rn our senes of exa:nples was · eel first bv Calviac in 1560 (at the encl of Example EJ: If you pass rnenr10n · .. . .. . . '·nife rake rhe point in vour hand and ofter him the handle. lor ir someone a "' · ' . •oulcl nor be polite ro do otherwise·· \\' Here. as so ofren unril rhe larer stage when the child is given a "rarional" explanarion for every prohibition, no reason w.'.1s given for the social rirual except t!Hir "ir would nor be polite ro do otherwise Bur ir is nor cl1fficulr see th_e · nal n e·rninu of rhis command· one should not move the poinr of rhe knife 1 ' emorID o · rowarcls someone as in an atracL The mere symbolic meaning of this act, the memorv of rhe warlike threat, is unpleasanr Here, roo, rhe knife rirual con rained elemenr Someone mighr use the passing of rhe knife in order suddenly a ro srab someone Bur a social rirual was formed from rhis danger because rhe_ dangerous gesrure esrablished itself on an emotional level as a gen.era! source of displeasure. a symbol of death and clanger. Sociery, which was begmnrng ar rhis rime more and more ro limir the real dangers rhrearening people, and conseuenrlv ro remodel the affecrive life of individuals, increasingly placed a barrier rhe svmbols as well, the gesrures and insrrumenrs of clanger. Thus rhe resrricrions a.nd prohibitions on the use of the knife increased. along wirh the resrrainrs imposed on individuals. 6. If we leave aside rhe derails of rhis developmenr and only consider rhe result, of rhe prtsenr form of rhe knife riruaL we find an
106 emo[ional [hough psychoanaly[ical dieory poims a[ leas[ in [he direction ot an explana[ion There is a well-known prohibi[ion on holdiw, cudtry. parcicularly kni\'es, widi die whole hand. "like a S[ick", as Li Salle J[, diough ht was a[ dia[ [ime referring only w fork and spoon (Example j). Then diere is_ ob\'10usly a general [tndency rn elimina[e or a[ leas[ res[rin the comact of the knife_ with round or egg-shaped ob jeers. The best-known and one of the gr•l\·est ot such prohibicions is on cutting porarnes with a knife. Bur the rather less srricr prohib_itio_n on cutting dumplings with a knife or opening boiled eggs with one also pornr 111 the same direction, and occasionally, in especiallv sensiti\'e a knife. circles. one finds a nondency rn aYoid cuning apples or even oranges "I may him diar no epicure eYer yet put knife rn apple. and that an orange should be peeled with a spoon". says The Hahits u/ Good Sucittr of 1859 and 1890. 7 But these more or less scrict panicular the list of which could cerwinly be extended, are in a sense only examples of a general line of developmem in the use of the knife chat is fairly distinct. There is a tendency that has slowly permeated ciYilized society. with pressure from the top to the bottom. rn resrricr the use of rhe knife (within the framework of prernilin" techniques of earing) and where\'er possible not ro use rhe instrumem at ;ill. b This tendency made i[s first appearance in a precept as apparemlv triYial and obvious ;is that quoted in Example I: "Do nor keep your knife in rour hand. as village people do. bur rake ir only when you need ir." Ir was c,learh· ,verv strong in the middle of rhe last century. when rht English book on ju;t quoted, Th2 1-fohit.r o/ Goi,c/ 51£id). said: "Let me give you a rule-everything char can be cur wid10ur a knife, should be cur with fork alone." And one need onlv observe present-clay usage ro find chis tendency confirmed This is one of rhe distinct cases of a de\'elopmenr which is beginning ro go beyond rhe standard of earing technique and rirual attained by court society. Bur chis is not. of course. in tht le,1sr. rn S
Ch:f//gcs ii! rht Bch.!i io111·
o/ the Seci!lar Upper
Clas.rts iii dn ff·[st
instrument became ·incl nrohibirions which surround the menacing ornn1ancIs ' ,. . . of rhe threatening c - numerous and difterenriated. Finally. the use ever rnore . . . . _ bc,l ha> been limJtecl as tar
° "'
.
·
· ·
·
On the Use of the Fork at Table S. \\/hat is rhe real use of the fork; Ir ser\'eS ro lift food char has been _cut up 'v'h\· do we need ·i fork for chis; \\/hv do we nor use our hngers'. ro r Iie mou tll . w • ' Beoiuse it is "cannibal'". as rbe "Man in the Club-\\/indow". rhe .. anonymous ·y/_J· HJi·r o/-G11ocl Socii:!J said in 1859. \Vhv is it "cannibal ro ear with 1- _ aut l1or o t t '· • . one's fingers;, Thar is nor a question; it is self-evidently rnnnibal. barbanc, j
unciYilized or whate\'er else it is called . _ . Bur char is precisely rhe question. \\/hy is it more ci,·ilized to ear wJth a _tork! "Because it is unhygienic to ear with one's fingers." Thar sounds conv111c1ng. To our sensibility it is unhygienic if different people put their fingers into the same dish. because rhere is ,1 danger of conmicring disease through contact w1rh others. Each of us seems ro fear char the ochers are diseased _ Bur chis explanation is nor entirely satisfactory. Nowadays we do not ear from common dishes Enryone puts fC1od into their mouth from their own place. To pick it up from one's own pla[t with one's fingers cannot be:. more ··unhygienic... than w put cake, bread. chocolate or anything else mro ones mouth w1tli ones own fingers So whv does one really need a forki \\/by is it "barbaric' and "unciYilized" to pm food-into one's mouth by hand from one's own plarei BeG1use it clisrasr:ful w direr one's fingers. or at lease ro be seen in society with dirty hngers. The of earing by hand from one's own plate has very little to do w_irb the danuer of illness. rhe so-called ''rational" explanation. In observmg our feelmgs row:rcls rhe fork ritual. we can see with particular clarity rhar the first authority in our decision between whether behaviour
108
T!!l Cil'ilizing Pro(l:SJ
109
Modes of behaviour which in the Middle Ages were nor felt ro be in rhe least disrnsreful haw increasingly become surrounded by feelings of disrasce. The srnndard of delicacy finds expression in corresponding social prohibitions These taboos, so far as can be ascerrained, are nothing ocher rhan ricualizeJ or insricurionalized fedings of displeasure, disrasre, disgusc, fear or shame, feelings \vh1ch have been socially nurrnred under quire specific condicions and which are consrnnrly reproduced, nor solely but mainly because rhey have become institutionally firmly embedded in a particular ritual, in parcicular forms of conduct. The examples show-cerrainly only in a narrow cross-section and in the relacively randomly selected sraremenrs of individuals-how, in a phase of de\·elopmenr in which che use of rhe fork was nor .vet caken for o"ranted , tl1e feeling of distaste that first formed within a narrow circle was slowly extended. .. Ir is very impolite .. , says Court in in 167 2 (Example G), "ro couch anything greasy, a sauce or syrup, etc., wirh your fingers, apart from the fact char it obliges ro commit two or three more improper acts. One is ro wipe your hand rrequenrly on your serviette and ro soil ir like a kitchen cloth, so rhar those who see you wipe your mouth with it feel nauseated . Another is ro wipe your fingers on your bread, which again is very improper. [N B. The French terms pmjm: and 111a!proj1r, used by Courrin and explained in one of his chapters coincide less with the German terms for clean and unclean (s:whur and 1111sc111htr) than with rhe word frequently used earlier, "proper".} The third is ro lick rhem, which is rhe hei 2 hr of impropriety·· 0
The Ciz-i!it{ of 1 7 29 b1· La Salle (Example j), which transmitted rhe beha\·iour of the upper class ro broader circles, says on one page: "\'\(!hen rhe fingers are very greasy, wipe them firsc on a piece of bread ... This shows how far from ''enen;l acceptance, even ar this rime, was the standard of delicacv rhac had already represented decades earlier. On the other hand, La s:1lle rook m·er fairlv literally Courrin's precept rhar "Bie11s6u·11Cc does nor permir anything greasy, sauce or a syrup, to be touched wirh rhe fingers . ·· And, exacrlr like Courrin, he mentioned among the ensuing i11,frilitis wiping the hands on .bread and licking the fingers, as well ·as soiling rhe napkin.
Ir can be seen rhac manners were here srill in the process of formation The new standard did nor appear suddenly. Certain forms of behaviour were placed under prohibition, nor because rher were unhealrhr bur because they led roan offensive sighc and associations; shame offering such a originally absent, and tear of arousing such associations were gradually spread from rhe srandard serring circles to larger circles by numerous aurhoriries and insrirurions . However, once such feelings had been aroused and firmly established in socien- br means of certain rirnals like that involving rhe fork, they were constantly re;}ro·duced so long as the srrucrnre of human relations was nor fundamenrall r altered . older generation, for whom such a standard of conduct is accepted a matter of course, urges rhe children, who do nor come inro rhe world already equipped
· l rliese feelirn;s and chis standard, ro control rhemselnos more or less rigorouslr in ,1ccordance wirh ir, and to resrrain rheir drives and inclinations. It children tried w (Ouc·l1 somerhinl': srickv, wer or !.(reasv with their finuers rhev were role!, "You w1r 1
L-
•
L'
,
L
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,
musr nor do rhar, people do nor do things like rhar" And the displeasure rowards -'i c·onducr which is rhus aroused bv the adult finallv arises through habir. sud . , without being induced by another person. To a large extent, however, the conduct and drives of the child are forced even wirhour words inro rhe same mould and in the same direcrion by the facc rhar a P'1nicular use of knife and fork, for example, is completely esmblishecl in adulr sociery-rhar is, by rhe example of rhe surrounding world. Since rhe pressure or coercion of individual adults is allied ro the pressure and example of rhe whole surrounding world, mosc children, as chey grow up, forger or repress relatively earlr rhe fr!Ct rhar their feelings of shame and embarrassment, of pleasure and were moulded into conformity with a certain standard by external pressure and compulsion . All this appears ro them as highly personal, something "inside .. , implanted in rhem by narnre. \Vhile ir is scill directly visiblt in rhe wrirings of Courrin and La Salle rhar adulrs, roo, were ar first dissuaded from earing with their fingers by consideration for each other, by .. politeness", ro spare orhers a distasteful spectacle and rhemselves rhe shame of being seen with soiled hands, later ir became more and more an inner amomarism, rhe imprint of sociery on rhe inner self. the superego, that forbade rhe individual ro ear in any other way than with a fork. The social srandard to which the individual was firsr made rn conform from outside by exrernal restraint is finally reproduced more or less smoorhly within him or her, rhrough a self-restraint which operates ro a cerrnin degree even against his or her conscious wishes. Thus rhe socio-hisrorical process of cemuries, in rhe course of which the sranclard of what is felt to be shameful and offensive has been slowly raised, is reenacred in abbrt\·iared form in rhe life of the individual human being If one wished to express recurrent processes of chis kind in rhe form of laws, one could speak, as a parallel ro rhe laws of biogenesis, of a funclamenral law of sociogenesis and psychogenesis. L
v Changes in Attitudes Towards the Natural Functions Examples Fifteenth century? A From S ·w.wizu1t !e.r 1011te11m1c1:s de /,; table:
Cirili::ing
110
l ll Pr(Jo.:s.1
· · · d : "There art some \"erses in Yolume rl1e unhealrhiness ot· rern1nrng r lie . win Reuarcll.n" c c . . . •. · l c,· , , . ·harchos e11 iurams where he descnbts rhe dlncss-beanng ['O\\t:r Of t lt: rwo or L"-1c ,. ., .· . . l t., bur since rhese lines are quoted by e\"erybody I \\ill nor commcm on recan1ec. ,1rr. ,
VIII Btfore ,-ou sir down. make sure 1·our star has nor been fouled
B
rhcn1 here.
From [ii/
-oLwhness the exuaordinan· seriousness, and rhe complete freedom
L:; , • l: Tl 1e rl10 . . · ·l uesrions are {JLtbliclv discussed here that have subsequently -iecome 1 w1th\\1!Clq . · .· l.b .. - hi uh de"ree and owrlain in soC1al lite Wl(h strong pro 11 1(10115 . ·.·cl rrv:1t1ze c0 '1 c o cl · i
_:;2l) De, nor much yourself unckr your clorhts wirh your bare hands
c 1530 From D, ,-jz-i/itat, 11;r1m111 by Erasmus . The glosses are rnken from a Cologne edirion of 15 W which was probably already imendtd for edurnrional purposes Under the ride is the following nore: ""Recognized by rhe aurhor, and elucidared with new scholia by Gisberrus Longolil!S Ulrrarraiectinus, Cologne, in tht year XXX. .. The fact that these questions were discussed in such ,1 way 1n schoolbooks makes rhe difference from later attitudes particularly clear: Ir is in1polite co greet son1eone \Yho is urinating or ddtcaring A \\·ell-bred person should always a\"oid exposin!' wirhour necessir1· rhe pans to which narnre has arrached modesn· If nect:ssity compels rhis. ir should be done with decency and even if no wirntss is present. for angtls art always present. and norhing is more 11·elcome rn rhem in a boy rhan modesry. rht companion and guardian of decency It it arouses sh,1mt rn show rhem ro rhe eyes of mhers. srill less should rhey be exposeJ ro rheir much T(, hold back urine is harmful to healrh. to pass ir in secrer bernkens modesry There are those \\·ho reach rhar the should rernin wind by compressing rhe belly Yer it is nor pleasing. while srri,·ing ro appear urbane. rn conrracr an illness. If ir is possible rn wirhdraw. ir should be done alone. Bur if nor. in accordance wirh rhe ancienr pron·rb. !tr a cou!'h hide rhc sound ;..[orem·er. why do nor rhe same \\·orks reach that should nor dei"tcare. since it is mun: dangerous rn hold back wind rhan rn constricr rhe bowel> [This is glossed as follows in rhe scholia. p _:\_):] To conrrncr an illness: Listen rn rhe old maxim abour rhe sound of wind If ir can be purged \\·irhour a noise rhar is besr Bur iris berrer rhar ir be emirred wirh a noise rhan rlrnr ir be held back r\r rhis poim. however. ir would have been useful rn suppress rhe fteling of embarrassmenr so as w eirher calm your body or. follo\\·ing rhe ach-ice of all donors. rn press your burrncks rngtrher and rn acr according ro rhe suggesrioos in Aethon"s epigrams: Ewn rhough he had ro be careful not rn farr explosi,·ely in rhe hoh· place. he nel"errheless prayed rn Zeus. rhough wirh compressed burrncks. The sound of farring. especially of those \\·ho srancl on elernred ground. is horrible. One should make sacrifices \\"ith rhe burrncks lirmly pressed rngtrher To !tr a cough hide the explosil"e sound: Those who. because rhey are embarrassed. wanr the explosi\"t ,,·ind ro be heard. simulare a cough. Follow rht law of Chiliades: Replace farrs wirh cout:hs
p
··
·. l· l · cle·irlv che shift of rhe frontier of embarrassmem an 1rs ' . · . . . l ific direction. Thar feelings of shame are frequently menr1onec advance in a Spec discussion underlines the difference in rhe shame standard explicitly in '
shows pc1rr1cu ar >
D
1558
. Dell-,1 C·,1sa, quoted from the five-language edition (Geneva, From Ga !i!!U1, b> 1609). p )2: · l . nor btlir -1 modesr honourable m,1n ro prepare rn rtlien: narure in rht I( ( ots ' - , _ . . , . . .. . 1· rlier l'tl>j'le nor rn Jo u11 his clorhts alrenrnrd ll1 rhe1r presence. S1mda1 h. presence o o · . . . . .. .. . . • . . . . he will nor wash his hands on rtrnrning rn decent soC1ery trom pn\ ,Ht pl.ices. ,1s rht in people. .For .rhe same reason . li·· ,,·-islii·n,, \\"ill -1rouse dis,wreeable rL".1son tor l:) c ·c ._ it is nor a refined habit. when con1ing ,1cross son1erhing 111 rht sl_1eet. as somtrimes happens. ro rum ar once rn ones companion and po1nr ir om to him le is for less proper to hold our rhe srinking rhing for rhe ocher to :mtll. as_ some: are wonr. who even urse rhe orher rn do so. lifring rhe foul-smelling rhing to his nosmls and saying. ""I should like ro know how much rhar srinks"". 11·hen ir would be berrer ro s.iy. ""Because ir srinks do not smtll ir"
E
1570 From rhe \Vernigerocle Court Regulations of 15 !O:"c One should nor. like rusrics who ha\"e nor been rn courr or li\"ed among refined and honourable people. reliel"t: oneself wirhour shamt or reser\"t in fronr ot ladies. or before rhe doors or \\"indows of courr chambers or orher rooms Rarher. e\"eryone oughr ar all rimes and in all places to sho\\" himself reasonablt. courreous and rtspecrful in word and gesmrt
F
1589 From rhe Brunswick Court Regulations of 1589:"; , ·,1r. c>r afrer meals. tarh.· or !are. foul rhe Ler no one. whotvtr lie n1 .,1.\· be. l1c·f·c>r".
112
Thu Ciz'ilizing PmC1:ss
11.1
srnircases. corridors or closers wirh urine or other tilth bur "O to suinble .. ·t d 1 places for such relief · c ' ' JXe>cn "
c.
G
1619
1 Richard The Bljoke 01· Dw1em11Jr m1c.I tm C,rtt1i11e i\Iisd1:1mt1ll!11s i11 C1J111jJt111ie: 6'
exact opposite of what is prescribed in Examples C and G]: and it is shamefol and indecent to do it in a way that can be heard by orhers. Jr is never proper rn speak of the parts of rhe body rhar should be hidden. nor of cenain bodily necessiries ro which Nawre has subjecred us. nor even ro memion them
'ii11zcanc, d11c; Di.wllou·c111ct' of
J
11
1731
From Johann Chrisrian Banh, The Gal/am Ethic. i11 ll'hich it is shr1u'l1 h1Jll' "yo1111g !/it/II sho;dd co1m11e11cl hi111se!f !iJ polite sr1(idy thrrJ!!gh refined ?lctS and C()J11j>lt1isant zrnrdr. Pri:jJ:trul the spccii!l c1d1w1tilgt and p!w.wrc of cd! 11/llilftl!rs 1Jf good 11111e1:1, 4rh edn (Dresden and Leipzig, 17 31 ), p. 288: 1111
I-i3 Ler nor thy privy members be !aye! open to be view'cl. ir is mosr shameful and abhorcl. deresrnble and rude Reraine nor urine nor rhe wincle which dorh rhy body vex
German developments were somewhat slower rhan French. As rhe following excerpt shows, as late as rhe firsr half of rhe eighreenrh century a courresy precepr is given which represents rhe same srnndard of manners as rhar found in rhe passage by Erasmus quoreJ abon:: "It is impolire w greer someone who is urinaring or deftcaring··
so ir be done wirh secresie !er rhar nor rhee perplex
H
1694
From rhe correspondence of rhe Duchess of Orleans (October 9, 169-:J: dare also gn·en as Augusr 25. 1718): fhe smell of rhe mire is horrible Paris is a dreadful place. The srreers smell so badlv rhar .1·ou cannor c"0 our · The exrr"me hnr · · causing · [arge quanttt1es · · of· n1eat and rish· . · c -, is ro rnr In rhem. and rhis, coupled to rhe mulrirucle of people who in rhe sm:er. produces a smell so cleresrable rhar ir cannor be endured. ,
If you pass a person who is relieving himself you should act as if you had nor seen him. and so ir is impolite ro greet him
K
1774 Fron1 La Salle, Les Ri6les dt: ft1 biensit!lllf: ti cir: la ciz·ilitc! chrffjel!Jh' ( 1774 edn). p"
c,,1t• !a on · ·;1tr! · nn!tiw11e J. (Rauen, l 729),
The chaprer "On rhe Parts of rhe Body Thar Should Be Hidden, and on Narnral Necessities" covers a good rwo and one-half pages in rhe earlier edirion and scarcely one and one-half in rhar of 177-1 . The passage "You should rake care nor ro rouch. ere. .. is missing. Much rhar could be and had ro be expressed earlier 1s no longer spoken of:
Ir is a P<:rr of decency and modesty to co1·er all parts of rhe body except the head and hands. 101 ·I Id t ,. . . I. s iou. care. so ar as you can. nor to touch with your bare hand any part 01 rhe bod) rhar Is nor normally uncovered. And if rnu are ob!i"ed to dos · ·] II b d · • c O, It S lOU c e one wnh great precaution. You should get used to suffering small discomforrs wnhom rwisrrng. rubbing or scratching.
Ir is a part of decency and modesty to col'er all parrs of the body except the head and hands As far as nawrnl needs are concerned. ir is proper (e1·en for children) ro sarisfy rhem only 11·here one cannor be seen Ir is never proper ro speak of the parrs of rhe body rhar should always be hidden. or of cerrain bodily necessiries to which nature has subjecred us. or el'tn to mention them
I
1729
From La Salle. Les Ri:,,),s d, !" bit11.r,·:c111,·,. , pp. -15ff:
,•,t
fr is far more contrary to decency and propriety to touch or see in another person. pamcularly of rhe other sex. that which Heaven forbids 1·ou to look ·ir I·n 1•0 --It. \\?I . ' urse . ien you. need to pass wa:er. you should always withdraw ro some place And It IS proper (even ior children) ro perform other nawral foncrions where i·ou cannor be seen · /,
It is re;y i111J;ofitr.., /r1
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wi11d /rum
dr11h ll'i!ho/!l JHli.ff
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hr1dr u l.h::ll in mm/Jt.JJJ_)·.
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[This rule. Ill · 1· ·I me wn l more recent custom, is rhe
L
1768 Letter from Madame du Deffand ro Madame de Choiseul, 9 May l 7 68; 1'' q uored as an example of rhe presrige value of rhe utensil I should like to tell you. dear Grandmother. as I told rhe Grand-Abbe. how great was
in the Bchaz·i//!!r my surprise when a large ba/! from ,-ou was broughr to me ar my btd ytsrerdav mornin/! I hasrentd ro open ir. J'm in my hand. and found somt /!retn peas and rhtn a Yase - rhar I quickly pulled om: ir was a chamber por. Bm of such beamy anc] n1agnificcnct that n1y ptople say in unison rh.1t it r1l1ght fr, Ii:. 1ts:..d :1s .r hrut The d 1:n!ll::.:r /)(J/ ll dJ (Jjj the zcho!t r{ t'ldJji!p,, tllld u d,1 c!(/111i1·c:t! /;) (jj}c The peas wtre earen rill nor one was ldi:
Some Remarks on the Examples and on these Changes in General The c//111l1iis ,-erses Sa}· lirtle on chis subjecr. The social commands and prohibirions surrounding rhis area of life were relarively few . In chis respecr. coo, ar lease in secular society, everyrhing was far more lax. Neirher rhe funcrions rhemselYes, nor speaking abour rhem or associarions with rhem, were so intimare and privare, so invested wirh feelings of shame and embarrassment, as rhev later became. · Erasmus's treatise marks, for rhese areas roo, a point on rhe curve of civilizarion which represents. on rhe one hand. a notable rise of rhe shame threshold, compared ro rhe preceding epoch; and on rhe ocher, compared ro more recent rimes, a freedom in speaking of namral functions. a "lack of shame". which ro most people adhering ro rhe present-day standard may ar firsr appear incomprehensible and often "embarrassing" _ Bur ar rhe same rime, ir is quire clear char chis rrearise had precisely rhe tuncrion of culrivaring feelings of shame. Reference ro rhe omnipresence of angels, used ro jusrify rhe restraint on impulses ro which rhe child was ro be accusromed, is very characteristic. The foundations for rhe anxierr which was display of aroused in young people, in order ro compel rhem ro suppress pleasure in accordance wirh rhe standard of social condun, cham:ed in rhe course of cenruries. Here, rhe anxiety aroused in connection wich th; renunciacion of drive gracificarion was explained and given substance ro oneself and others m rerms of external spirits. Somewhat later, rhe resrraint which people had ro impose upon rhtmselves. along wirh rhe fear, shame and distasre rowards an\· infringement. ofren appeared very clearly, ar least in rhe upper class. in court! y-arisrocraric circle i cself, as social pressure, as shame and fear of ocher people. In rhe wider sociecy, though. reference ro rhe guardian angel clearly remained ,-ery long in use as an inscrument for condicioning children. Ir receded somewhat when damage ro healrh and "hygienic .. were given more emphasis in bringing abom a certain degree of rescrainr of impulses and a specific modelling of emotions. These hygienic reasons rhen played an important role in adult thinking abom civilization, usually wirhour cheir relacion ro rhe arsenal of childhood condicioning being realized Ir 1s onlv from such a realizarion. however. rhac what is rational in them can be from
o/ th<: Swtlar Uf'f't1
C!m.rts
i11
tlx \Fest
115
- o nlv. seeming\',· rational, i.e., founded primarily on the disgust and shame ,vhat is L
-
feelings of adults _ _ _ . _ . 7 As already mennoned, Erasmus m his uear1se acted as che forerunner of a ne;· srandard of shame and repugnance which firsr ro form slowly in che secular upper class. Yer he also spoke as a marrer ot course abom which it has since become embarrassing ro mention. He, whose delicacy_ of teelmg _is demonsm1ted again and again by chis very ueacise, round norhmg amiss m ca1·1·int:'>" b,-} rheir names bodih· functions \vhich, bv· our presenr srnndards, may noc be even menriontd in company, and still less in books on eriquene. Dur between . delicacv• and chis lack of inhibicion rhere was no contradiction. He spoke t h IS from another srngt of conuol and restraint of emotions. The different standard of sociery in Erasmus's rime becomes clear if one reads how commonplace it was ro meet someone "qui urinam reddit am alvum exonerar" (urinating or defecaring). And the greater freedom with which people were able ar chis rime to perform and speak about their bodily functions before ochers recalls the behaviour char can still be encountered, for example, throughout rhe Orient roday. Bur delicacy forbids rhat one greer anyone encountered in chis posirion. The different srnndard is also visible when Erasmus says ir is not civil ro require that rhe young man '\•tntris thmm rerinear" (hold back his wind), for in doing so he might. under the appearance of urbaniry. comracr an illness; and Erasmus comments similarly on sneezing and relared acts Healrh consiclerarions art nor found very frequently in rhis treatise. \Vhen rhev do occur ir is almost alwavs. as here. ro oppose demands for the resrraint of funcrions; whereas above all in rhe ninereenrh century, rhey nearly serve as insrrnmtnts ro compel rescraint and renunciarion of rhe gratificaalwavs rion. of drives. Ir is only in rhe rwenrierh century rhar a slight relaxarion appears 3. The examples from La Salle muse suffice ro indicate how rhe feeling of delicacy was adrnncing. Again rhe difference berween rhe edirions of 1729 and 177-:\ very insrrucrive. Certainly, even rhe earlier edirion already embodied a quite different standard of delicacy rhan Erasmus's rrearise. The demand rhat all namral funcrions should be remowd from rhe view of other people was raised quire unequivocally. even if rhe urtering of rhis demand indicates char the acrual beh,wiour of people-borh adulrs and children-did nor yer conform ro ir Although La Salle said char ir is nor very polite even ro speak of such functions or rhe parts of rhe body concerned. he himself srill spoke of rhem with a minmeness of derail asronishing ro us; he called things by rheir names, whereas rhe corresponding rerms are missing in Courtin's Cil'ilite of 1672, which was inrended for rhe upper classes . In the lacer edition of La Salle. coo. all derailed refertnces were avoided . More and more these necessiries were "passed over in silence" The mere reminder of
116
The Cirilizi11g Pl'f!c2ss
i11 rhe Bi:IJt1l'io111 o/ tht Semlm· Uj>/m Classc.,- i11 th1: \Vi:st
chem had become embarrassing w people in rhe presence of ochers who were nor close acquaintances. and in society everything that mighr even remorelv or . associarively recall such necessiries was avoided. A.r rhe same rimt, rhe txamples make ir apparent how slowly rhe real process of suppressing these functions from social life wok place. Sufficient marerial"r, has been passed down w us precisely because rhe silence on rhese subjects did not exisr earlier. or was less strictly observed. \\!bar is usually lacking is the idea char informarion of chis kind has more rhan curiosiry value, so char ir is seldom symhesized into a picmre of rhe overall line of development. However. if one rakes an overall view, a typical civilizing curve is again revealed. -4. A.r firsr rhese functions and rhe sighr of chem were invested onlr slighrlv with feelings of shame and repugnance, and were rherefore subjected o;ly ro isolar10n and restraint. They were raken as much for granted as combing one's hair or purring on one's shoes. Children were conditioned accordingly. "Tell me in exact sequence". says the reacher to a pupil in a schoolbook of 1568, Mathurin Corclier's dialogues for schoolbovs,"- "what vou did between getting up and having your breakfast. listen caref:1lk bovs. so. char \'OLI learn ro imitate your fellow pupil. .. "I woke up," says the ..·got our of .bed, pur on my shirr, srockings and shoes, buckled my belt, urinated against rhe courtyard wall, rook fresh water from the bucker. washed my hands and face and dried chem on the cloth, ere" In later rimes the action in the courryard. ar least in a book written like this one expressly as a manual of instruction and example, would haw been simply passed over as "unimportant" Here it is neither particularly "unimportant" nor particularly ''important". It is taken for granted as much as annhing else. A. pupil who wished ro report on this necessin· todar would ,do either as a kind of joke. raking the invitation of the reacher. "too literally". or would speak of it in circumlocmions. Bur most probably he would conceal his embarrassment with a smile, and a "complicit" smile from the others. rhe expression of a more or less minor infringement of a taboo, would be the response. The conclucr of :idulrs corresponded ro these different kinds of condirionin" For a long period the street. and almosr any place one happened ro be, served same and related purposes as rhe courtyard wall abo\·e. Ir was nor even unusual ro rum ro rhe staircase, rhe corners of rooms, or rhe hangings on rhe walls of a castle if one were overtaken by such a need. Examples E and F make rhis clear, Bm rhey also show how, given rhe specific and permanent interdependence of many people living together at the courts, rhe pressure exerted from above towards a stricter regulation of impulses, and therefore rowards greater restraint, grew in strength .
ti:;
Stricter control of impulses and emotions was first imposed by chose of high social rank on their social inferiors or, at most, their social equals It was onlr comparatively late, when bourgeois srrara with relatively large numbers of soci,;I
117
equa Is Incl ' become rhe upper., ruling. . _, class, that rhe familv"' became rhe_ only-or, · _ xacrlv more e· . • rhe primarv· and dominant-institution with rhe tuncrion of . ·11 ·n'' drive conrroL Only· then did rhe social dependence of children on their 1nsc1 1 parents become . important as a leverage for rhe socially required rc"ulacion and mouldrng ot impulses and emonons. rhe srnge of rhe feudal courts, and still more in rhar of the absolme courts, rhe courts themselves largely fulfilled this function for the upper class. In the btcer srage, much of what has been made "second nature" in us had nor yet been inculGlted in rhis form, as an auromatically functioning self-restraint, a habit rhat, within cerrnin limits, also functions when a person is alone . Rather. restraint on the drives was at first imposed only in rhe company of others, i.e, more consciously on social grounds. A.nd both the kind and the degree of restraint corresponded to rhe social position of the person imposing rhem, relative ro the position of those in whose company he or she was. This slowly changes as rhe social distance between people is reduced and as the gradations of dependency relations, the hierarchical character of society lose their sharpness of outline A.s rhe interdependence of people increases with the increasing division of labour, everyone becomes increasingly dependent on everyone else, even those of high social rank on those people who are socially inferior and weaker. The hmer become so much the equals of the former that they, the socially superior people. can experience shame-feelings even in rhe presence of their social inferiors Ir is only in this connection rhar the armour of restraints is fastened ro rhe degree which is gradually raken for granted by ptople in democratic indusrrial societies To rake from rhe wealth of examples one instance which shows the contrnsr particularly clearly and which, correctly unclersrood, throws light on the whole development, Della Casa gives in his Gc1h1teo a list of malpractices ro be avoided. One should nor fall asleep in company, he says; one should nor rake om lerrers and read them; one should nor pare or clean one's fingernails . "Furthermore", he continues (p. 92), "one should nor sir wirh one's back or posterior rurned towards another, nor raise a thigh so high rhar rhe members of rhe human body, which should properly be covered wirh clorhing at all rimes, might be exposed ro view. For this c111d similar thi11:;s are 11r1! done. e.\·etpr tlli!rillg J11:r1/>ft 1chom om is 110! t1shc1111ul (st non rra quelle persone, che l'huom non riverisce) It is trm that cl grMt lord might do so om of his serzmi/J" or i11 the /m;swce of a Ji'iwd of loli'i:I' ra11k: far in this he 1coiild 11ot sho1c him arrogance !Jiit /'{/ther a partimlar C111d fi'iwdship," There were people before whom one was ashamed, and others before whom one was nor. The feeling of shame was clearly a social function moulded according ro rhe social structure. This was perhaps not often e.\j>ressed so clearly. Bur rhe corresponding bthm'io11r is amply documented . In France, 68 as late as the seventeenth century, kings and great lords received specially favoured inferiors on occasions on which, a German saying was later ro run, even the emperor should
118
Pn;tlSs
119
bt alont. To rtctivt inftriors whtn gt[[ing up and being drtssed, or on going to bed, was for a \\·bolt period a maner of course. A.nd it shows exactly tht same srngt of the shame-teelings when Voltaire's mistress, the !\larquist de Chatelet, shows herself naked to her servam while bathing in a way diat casts him inro confusion. and rben wirh rornl unconcern scolds him btcause ht is nm pouring in rht hot water properly..<"!
Jiscoveries. On rhe contrary, fr would nm be very difficult demonstrate rhe . . ,sis ·111cl 1)s\·cho!!enes1s ot these 1m·ennons and d1scovenes .;ooouent ' ._, . . • c • ". in con ·unction with a gtneral rrnnstormar1on of human relations. a 1 Bor once. ' _ . ,- hunnn needs v\"lS set in motion, rhe de\·elopment of a technical . · res11ap1ng o1 , • . . . corrcsi)ondinu ro rbe chanued standard consolidarecl the changed habHs appar,1rus o . ei . This appararns sen·ecl both the constant reproduc(lon wan ex·c·r·wrdin-1f\' ' ' . de,•ree. c
Behaviour which in more democratized industrial socitries has become surrounded on all sidts wirh rnboos. with learned feelings of shame or embarrassment of varying degrees. was at this earlier period only partially so surrounded. Ir was omirrtd in tht company of those of higher or equal rank. In this area. roo, coercion and restraint were self-imposed on rhe same pattern as was \·isible earlier in cable manners. "Nor do I believe", wt read in Galateo (p. 580), "that ir is fi[[ing ro serve from rhe common dish intended for all guests, unless rhe server is of higher rank so rhar rhe other, who is served, is thereby especially honoured. For when this is clone among equals. it appears as if rhe sen·er is parth· placing himself above the others." In this hierarchically structllred society, ewry act performed in rhe presence of many people rook on prestige rnlue. For rhis reason the restraint of rhe emotions, that we call "politeness'', also had a different form from what it became later, when outward differences of rank had been parrly len:lled. \\!hat is mentioned here as a special case in intercourse between equals. that ont should nor strvt anothtr, later btcamt a gtntral practice . In company e\·eryont helps themselves, and everyone begins earing ar rhe samt time. The sitllation was similar with rhe exposure of rhe body. First ir became a distasteful offence ro show oneself exposed in any way before those of higher or equal rank; with inferiors ir could even be a sign of good will. Then. as all become socially more equal, it slowly became a general offence. The social determination of shame anJ embarrassment-feelings receded more and more from consciousness. Prtcisth· because rht social command nor w expose oneself or be seen ptrformi,ng natllral funccions now operates with regard to e\·eryone and is imprinted in this form in children, ir seems w adults robe a command of their own inner selves and rakes on che form of a more or less rornl and aurnmaric st 1f-res r rai nr 5. Bur this weeding out of rhe namral functions from public life, and che corresponding regulation or moulding of drives, was only possible because, together with growing sensitivity, a rtchnical
of the standard and irs dissemination. lt is nor uninteresting ro observe rhar today [in che 19.">0s, the rranslaror}. .s snnd·1rd of conduct has been so heavih consolicbted that it is taken wl1en r 111 ' ' · . is strring tor (rnu1 red , ·1 ' cert·11· • n relaxation . .__, in. l'arricularlv . in companson to the · "' tll cenrur\·. ' ·1r le·1sr wich reuard ro wlk about the natllral functions. The n1ntretn ' ' b . .-rreecIorn '-111 c! hck of inhibition with which people sav· what has ro be said ' without embarrassment. wi[hom rhe forced smile and laughter of a wboo · t- · 11 uemtnt has clearly increased in [he posr-war period Bm this, like modern !11flo , . . ba[hing anJ dancing practices, is only possible because the level of hab1tllal. and insrirnrionally consolidated self-control, the individual ca1x1ciry to restrain one's urges and behaviour in correspondence with the more advanced feelings for what is offonsi\'e, has bttn on the wholt secured. Ir is a relaxation within rht framework of an already established standard 6. The sr
120
The Ciz'i!izing Pmass
ca_ble, and nor ro scratch rhemstlves or rouch their noses, ears, eyes or other parts or their bodies at table. The child is instructed nor ro speak or drink \virh a full moll[h, or ro sprawl on the cable. and so on ..Many of these precepts art also to be found in Tannhiiuser's Hr;fz!!cht. for example, bll[ there rhey are addressed nor ro children bll[ unequivocally ro adults. This becomes still more apparent if one considers the way in which adults earlier satisfied their natural needs. This verv often happened-as the examples show-in a manner that would be jus't rolerared in children roday. Often enough, needs were satisfied where and when they happened to be felt. The degree of resrraint and control over drives expected by adults of each other was not much greater rhan that imposed on children. The disrance between adults and children, measured by that of roday, was slight. Today the ring of precepts and regulations is drawn so rightly about people, the censorship and pressure of social life which forms rheir habits are so strong, that young people have only two alternatives: ro submit ro the pattern of behaviour demanded by society. or to be excluded from life in "decent societv". A child that does nor attain rhe level of affect-moulding demanded by socier; is regarded in varying gradations from rhe standpoint of a particular caste or class, "ill", "abnormal", "criminal", or just "impossible", and is accordingly excluded from the life of that class. Indeed, from a psychological point of view, rhe terms "sick", "abnormal", "criminal'', and "impossible" have, up ro a certain point, no other meaning; how they are undersrood varies with rhe hisroricallv mutable models of affect formation . Very instructive in this regard is the conclusion of Example D: "Ir is far less proper ro hold out the stinking thing for the orher ro smell, ere." A driveformarion and behaviour of this kind would, by today's standard of shame and revulsion, simply exclude a person as "sick", "pathological". or "perverse" from mixing wirh others. If the inclination ro such behaviour were manifested publicly, the person would. depending on his or her social position. be confined indoors or in a mental institution. At best, if this rendencv were only manifested behind the scenes, a specialist in nervous disorders would -be assigned rhe cask of correcting this person's unsuccessful conditioning. In general, impulses of rhis kind have disappeared from the waking consciousness of adults under rhe pressure of conditioning. Only psychoanalysis uncovers them in rhe form of unsatisfied and unsatisfiable desires which can be described as rhe unconscious or the dream level of the mind. And these desires have indeed in our society the character of an "infantile" residue, because the social standard of adults ma-kes a complete suppression and transformation of such tendencies necessarv, so that rhey appear, when they occur in adults, as a "remnant" from childho;d The standard of delicacy represented by Gtt!atuo also demanded a detachment from these instinctual tendencies Bur the pressure to transform such inclinations exerted on individuals bv socierv was minimal compared to rhar of roda\·. The feeling of revulsion. disgust aroused by such behaviour \\:as. in
Chm1gcj i11 ihe Buh,11·io111 of the Scm!t1r Upper C!mses in the \Vest
121
·nu with rhe earlier standard. incomparablv weaker than ours. Consequently, · . · . keep1 o he social prohibition on rhe express10n of such feelings was much less grave. behaviour was nor regarded as a "pathological anomaly'' or a "perversion", bur rather as an offence against mer, courresy or good form Della Casa spoke of this "bad habit" with scarcely more emphasis than we might roday speak of someone biting his or her nails in public. The very fact rhar he of ·'such things" at all shows how harmless this practice rhen still appeared. . . . . Nevenheless, m one way this example marks a rurnmg-pomr It may be supposed char affect-expressions of this sort were nor lacking in the preceding period. Bur only now did they _begin ro attract attention . Society_ was _gradually beginning ro suppress the pos1tn•e pleasure component 1n certain funcnons more and more strongly by the arousal of anxiety. Or more exactly, it was beginning to "privatize" them, ro force them imo the "inside" of individuals, into "secrecy", and to allow rhe negatively-charged affects--displeasure, revulsion and repugnance-co be the only socially allowed feelings rhar art dtveloptd through socializarion. Bm precisely by this increased social proscription of many impulses, by their ·'repression" from the surface both of social life and of consciousness, the distance between rhe personality srrucmre and behaviour of adults and children was necessarily increased.
VI
On Blowing One's Nose Examples A Thirteenth century From Bonvesin de la Riva (Bonvicino da Riva), De !t1 zi11q11t111ta cortexit dt1 tctl'ola (Fifty table courtesies): (a) Precept for gentlemen: \'\!hen you blow your nose or cough. mm round so that nothing falls on the cable.
(b) Precept for pages or servants: Pox la tremena e quesrn: zaschun correse donzello Che se vore mondil lo naxo, con Ii drapi se faza bello; Chi mangia, over chi menesua,
in rhc Beh:11·io11r of thl Sw!lar U/1/nr Classes iii the \'Vi:sr
The Ciri/i::;i11g Pr1J
122
12.'\
[From dH: scholia on this passage:] Berween snot and spit there is litrle difference. except that the former fluid is
no Je'sofi11 con le clie: Con Ii Jrapi da pey se monda vosrra correxia ;:·
inrerpn:red
w be
coarser and the Lurer more unclean The Latin writers consrandy confuse
a bre,istband. a napkin or any piece: of linen with a handkerchief
B
F
Fifteenth century?
1558
From Ei11 spmch du :::c tische kl:rt.:
Frnm GtdC1teo. by Della Cas,1, quoted from the five-language edition
le is unseemly w blow your nose inrn rhe rableclorh
1609), pp. 72, 44, 618:
c From s·w.wizwt
!es (f;l/fci/{l//!H
de
!Cl
You should not offer your handkerchief w anyone unless it has been freshly
tc1hle:
washed Nor is ir seemly. ,1fo:r wiping your nose.
XXXIIl Do not blow your nose wirh rhe same han
to
spread om your handkerchief and peer
into it as if pearls and rubies might have fallen our of your head \\!hat. then. shall I say of those who carry their handkerchiefs abom in their mourhs?
D
G
From A. Cabanes. 1\foe111J intimes di! tm1ps pass!! (Paris, 1910), lsc series, p . 101:
from Cabanes, 1\foum inti111ts, pp" 103, l68, 102: In the fifreenrh cenrury people blew rheir noses into their fingers, and rhe scul pm rs of the age were nor afraid to reproduce the gesrnre, in a passably realisric form, in their
[From J\farrial cl Aun:rgne. "Lon: decrees']
monuments Among the knights. the plourans. at the grave of Philip rhe Bold at Dijon. one is
he decided to have one of rhe mosr beauriful and sumptuous handkerchiefs made for
seen blowing his nose into his coat, another inro his fingers.
co a fine golden hearr bordered with tiny hearr's eases,,..,...
her. in which his name was in leners enrwinecl in the prettiest fashion, for it was joined
[From Lesroil.}li1m1al d'Henri !\'] In 159-l. Henri IV asked his valet how many shim he [the King] had. and rhe larrer replied: "A dozen, sire, and some mm ones ... "And
E Sixteenth century
how many handkerchiefs;" asked the king "Have I nor eight?" "For the momenr rhere
From De civi!itate iil1Jri1111 /J11erili11111, by Erasmus, ch . l:
are only fi,·e.
To blo\\· your nose on your hat or clothing is rustic, and tu do so with the arm or elbow befirs a tradesman: nor is ir much more polire w use the hand, if \'OU immediatelv smear the snor on your garment. Ir is proper to wipe the noscrils \\'iti1 a handkerchief. and rn do rhis whi)t mming aw,1y,
i/ Ji/or, hono111'ahfc /v1plc ar,
pr
If anyrhing foils rn rhe ground when blowing the nose ,,·ith rwo fingers. ir should immecliarely be rroclclen awa\' meaning of passage (b) is not entirely clear \\1har is apparent is that it
\Vas
ad
he said
In 1599. afrer her death, the im·emory of Henri !V's mistress is found rn contain "five handkerchiefs worked in gold. silver and silk. worrh 100 crmrns" In the sixteenth century. Monreil tells us, in France as everywhere else. 1h, 01111mo11 /1,opf,
hku thr:ir //_Ii: J/u..Fc'
n11sr::s
As
h;1s tcudth,
r1ih
u itholt! d h:nulkc..,rchir:/ h111 illlJrmg thr.. hourgr:oisic.. it i.1 tlh ri(h. C:irJ) d in thr::ir Sd)S tlut hr:: dou not /;/ou· his nose: (JIJ his sherc
people who strYtd at cable. A commenrnror, Ugucciont Pisano, savs: "Those are called who art handsomt. young. and tht sen·;:mts of grtat lords Thtst. doni::1-l!i were not allowed ro to
sit at the s;:1me table as the kni_shts; or, if this was ptrmitttd, thty had
to
sit on a lower chair The\·,
pages of a kind and at any rate social inferiors. were told: The thirty-first counts\· is ,·i,urfois ·'Jonzel who wishes to blow his nose should beautify himself with a cloth. \\;hen he is or str•ing ht should not blow (his nose?) through his fingers. Ir is ,:1110'/ois ro use rhe fm;t bandage .. According to an editors nott
([J.;L
Br,,,J:. Yo! 2. p. 1-!L courtesy consisted in blowin<> the
nose with tht fingers of the left hand if one are and rook meat from rht
in order that she might remember him.
dish with the
"'
t/((tj1hcf jn'd(fi(c.. ft1 !!St
to
.Lt)
that
H
Late seventeenth century The Peak of Refinement First Highpoint of Consolidation and Rescrictions This cloth was intended
to
be hung from the lady's girdle. with her keys Like the fork. night-
commode. etc, tht handktrchitf is first an expensiYt luxury arriclt
Ch1111gc.r i11 the B2hario11r of t!Jt S1:wlar Upper Clmse_r in the \\'!i:st
The Cil'ilizi11g Process
12-i
125
1672
how improper ic is rn see such uncleanliness on clothes. which should always be very
From Courrin,
clean. no matter how poor they may be There art some who put a finger on one nostril and by blowing through their nose nist onw the ground the filrh inside; those who act thus are people who Jo nor know
1'\r111rcd11
traite de (i1·i!ite:
{Ac cable] to blow your nose openly inrn your handkerchief, withom concealing yourself with your serviette, and to wipe away your sweat with it are filthy habits fir co n1akt everyone's gorge rise,
You should amid yawning, blowing your nose and spitting If you are obliged to do so in places that are kept clean, do it in your handkerchief, while turning your face away and shielding yourself with your left hand, and do nor look into yom handkerchief afterwards
I
1694 From Menage, Dictio1111airc etymologiq11e cit la lcmg11e Handkerchief for blowing the nose. As this expression '"blowing the nose· "ives a vet\' impression ladies ou"ht to call this a pocket htrndk;rchief, as says neckerchief, rather than a blowing the nose. [NB 1\fo11choir dc poch,, T(1Schent11ch, handkerchief as mote polite expressions; the word for functions that have become disrastefol is suppressed ]
Eighteenth century Nore che increasing distance between adulcs and children Onlv children were scill allowed, ac lease in che middle classes, to behave as adults did in che Middle
Ages.
]
1714 From an anonymous Ciri!ite jim1fc1ise
what decency is You should always use your handkerchief to blow your nose. and rn:ver anything else. and in doing so usually hide your face with your hat. {A particularly clear example of the dissemination of courtly customs through this work] You should avoid making a noise when blowing your nose is impolire rn spend a long time raking out your handkerchief Ir u·,mlr the />,of'/, )'111 ttrc: 11 ith rn unfold it in different places to see 111 it. You should rake your handkerchief from your pocket and use
Before blowing it. it
shl/11 s 11 /,u'k (Jf rc.1;1ccr where vou are ro use it quickly in such a
wav chat you are scarcely noticed by mhers After blowing your nose you should take care nor to look into your handkerchief It is correcr to fold it immediately and replace it in your pocket
L
1774
From La Salle, Les Regkr de la himsiance et de!{/ cirilite dm:tie1111e (177-i ed). pp 1-if. The chapter is now called only "On the Nose" and is shortened: E,·ery nilunrnry movement of rhe nose. whether mused by the hand or otherwise. is impolite and childish To put your fingers imo your nose is a rernlting impropriety. and fron1 touching it roo often ?Jld) .nik u hid1 ,;rt :.1 fr!llg rillh ;;Children are sufficiemh in the habit of committing this lapse; p:1r,111J .•h"J!id c"1;r;·"·t :hc:m
'{ou should obserw, in blowing your nose. all the rules of propriety and cleanliness
All derails are avoided. The "conspiracy of silence" is spreading. Ir is based on rhe presupposition-which evidently could not be made at the rime of the earlier eclicion-char all the derails are known co adults and can be comrolled wirhin cht family
K
M
From La Salle, Les Reg/es de la biemec111ce et de la cil'ilite dm!tie1111e (Rouen, 1729), in a chapter called "On the Nose, and the Manner of Blowing che Nose and Sneezing", p. 23:
From La Mesangere, Lt z·oyt1ge11r de Pcll'is (1797), vol. 2, p 95. This is probably Sten, to a greater excenr chan the preceding eightetmb-cenrury examples, from
It is very impolite to keep poking your finger into your nostrils, and still more insupportable to pm what you have pulled from your nose into your momh It is vile to wipe your nose with your bare hand, or to blow it on vour sleeve or vour clothes It is very contrary to decency to blow your nose with two fingers and the,n to throw the filth onto the ground and wipe your fingers on your cloches. It is well known
Somt years ago people made an art of blowing the nose Ont imitated tht sound of the
1729
1797 the point of view of the younger members of "good sociecy";
*This argument. in the earlier edition. shows clearly how rht was p:raJuall: bt:ginning to tmergt: as an insrrumtnt of conditioning. ofrtn in place of tht remin
Thr.
126
IT P1·11(cJY
rrun1peL anorhcr tht: scn:ech of a cat Perfecrion la;, in n1aking: neither too n1uch noise nor rno
litde
Comments on the Quotations on Nose-Blowing In meditrnl sociecy people generally blew rheir noses inco rheir hands, just as rhey art wirh rheir hands . Thar nectssitartd special preceprs for nose-cleaning ar cable. PolHeness, (o;n·f//isic, required char one blow one's nose wirh rhe left hand if ont rook meat with the righr. Bur this prc:cc:pr was in fact resrricred to rhe cable. Ir arose solely out of consideration for ochers. The disrnsreful feeling frequendy aroused today by rhe mere rhoughr of soiling rhe fingers in chis way was ar first entirtly absent . Again rhe examples show very clearly how slowly rhe seemingly simpltst instruments of civilizarion have developed. They also illustrate to a certain degree rhe particular social and psychological precondirions that were required ro make the need for and use of so simple an insuumem general The use of the handkerchief--like that of rhe fork-first established itself in Irak and was diffused on account of its prestige rnlue. The ladies hung the precious, richly embroidered clorh from their girdles. The young "snobs" of the Renaissance offer it co ochers or carried it about in their mouths. And since it was precious and rtlati\·ely expensiw, at first there were nor many of chem even among rhe upper class. Henri IV, at rhe end of rhe sixreemh cenwry, possessed (as we hear in Example Gl five handkerchiefs. And it was generally raken as a sign of wealth nor ro blow one's nose imo one's hand or sleeve bm into a handkerchief Louis XIV was rhe first rn hm·e an abundam supply of handkerchiefs, and under him rhe use of them became general, ac lease in comely circles 2 . Here, as so ofrtn, rhe transitional siwarion is clearly visible in Ewsmus. Ir is proper rn ust a handkerchief he says, and if people of a higher social are present, wrn away when blowing your nose. Bm he also says: If you blow your nose with rwo fingers and something falls rn rhe ground, cre,1d on ir. The use of rhe handkerchief was known but nor yet widely disseminated, t\·tn in rhe upper class for which Erasmus primarily \\·rote Two cenrnries later, rhe sirnacion was almosr reversed. The use of rhe handkerchief had become general, ar lease among people who lay claim w "good behm·iour.. Bm rhe use of rhe hands had by no means disappeared Sten from abm·e, ir had become a "bad habit", or at any rare common and vulgar. Ont reads with amusemem La Salle's gradations berween cilc1i11, for certain ven' cm1rse wavs of blowing rhe nose with rhe hand, and tres (011trairi: ti Ill for rhe manner of doing so with two fingers
it (Examples E H, L K, L) Ir almost seems as if inclmations which had _ b . . eel w a certain control and resrraim by rhe llltroducrion or tht bten ,u 1ecr . . .. .. ·] ·. t' seekinu a new ouder Ill chis way Ar am· rare, a dnve which h;!lld kere 1ie c c . c . . . . . . . , . . . . ,. rs ·1r most Ill rht unconscious. Ill dreams, Ill the sphere or secrtc\, or 1 roday ap1x' · ' . .. . . . . . . . · . ...· ush· onlv "behind rht scenes , rhe rmeresr Ill bodily secreuons, heie more consLl 0 . . . . . . . , · -·If ·u ·rn earlier srnr.;e ot rhe historical process more cltMly and optnl], shows l rse ' ' c .. . . . . _ · . form in which coda\· ir is only "normally ns1ble m children an d ,o lll '1 . · . . · .. . , l l·ir•-r edition ot La Salle, as 111 orher cases, rhe major part ot rhe \et} in tie ' c . . , ·1 ! . recei1rs from die e
c/11/!i:el/i, pages, or servants, on rhe ocher, calls
to
mind a much clocumemed social
128
Th, Cfrili::i11g Prr1(t.>s
Ch:lilges
phenomenon. The masters found the sight of the bodilv functions of the·u servants disrasrefol: they compelled them, the social inforiors in their immediatf surroundings, ro control and restrain rhese functions in a wav rhar they did at first impose on themselves. The verse addressed ro the masters says simply: If you blow your nose, rurn round so that nothing falls on rhe rable. There is no mention of using a cloth. Should we believe that rhe use of cloths for cleaning the nose was already taken so much for granted in rhis society rhar ir was no longer thought necessary ro mention it in a book on mannersi That is highlv improbable The servants, on the other hand, were: expressly insrruned w use n;t their fingers bur their foor bandages if they had to blow their noses. To be sure this interpreration of the two \·erses cannot be considered absolutely cerrain. Bu; the fact can be freguently demonstrated that functions were found distasteful and disrespectful in inferiors which superiors were not ashamed of in themselves. This fact rakes on special significance when, with rhe emergence of absolutism that is at the absolute courts, rhe aristocracy as a whole had become hierarchically graded and simulraneousl>· a serving and socially dependent stratum. This at first sight highly paradoxical phenomenon of an upper class rhar was socially extremely dependent will be discussed larer in another context. Hert wt can only point out that this social dependence and its structure had decisive importance for the srrucmrt and pattern of affect restrictions. The examples con rain numerous indications of how these resrricrions were intensified wirh rhe growing dependence of rhe upper class. Ir is no accident rhar the first ··peak of rehnement'" or '"delicacr .. in the manner of blowing the nose-and nor onlv here--came in the phase when the dependence and subservience of rhe arisr;craric upper class was at irs heighr, rhe period of Louis XIV (Examples H and 0
•
i11
tbe Behal'irwr of thu Sew!m· UjJf7er Classes in the \Vi·st
• b' sed JJrimarilv on consideration and respect due to others and above all to a . ' · l superiors. In rhe subsequent stage, renunciation and restraint of impulses 50(1<1 . '-.. were compelled far less by parncular persons: expressed provisionally and .nnrelr it was now, more clirecrlv than before, the less visible and more appro Xl ' , ' . . . · ... . -·rsonal compulsions of sooal 1nterclependence, the cl1v1s10n of labour, the J!1ljA ' · ' . . . . . arker and compet1t1on rhar imposed resrramt and control on rhe impulses and :motions. Ir is these pressures, and rhe manner of conditioning and instilling t ·ols mentioned above which correspond to them, rhar make ir appear rhar con' ·,ill\· desirable behaviour is voluntarily• produced bv' rhe individual him or SOC!• , herself, on his or her own initiative. This applies ro rhe regulation and restraint of drives necessary for .. work .. : it also applies ro the whole pattern according to which drives are modelled in bourgeois industrial societies. The pattern of affect control, of what must and what must nor be restrained, regulated and transformed, is ctrrninly nor the same in this srage as in the preceding one of the court aristocracy. In keeping wirh its different interdependencies, bourgeois society applies srronger rtsrricrions rn certain impulses, while in the case of others aristocratic restrictions are simply continued and transformed ro suit rhe changed situation. In addition, more clearly distinct narional patterns of affect conr;ol are formed from the various elements. In both cases, in arisrocratic court societr as well as in rht bourgeois societies of the nineteenth and twentieth the upper classes are socially constrained to a particularly high degree The central role played by rhis increasing dependency of the upper classes as a motor of civilization will be shown later
VII
I)
The dependencv of the upper class also explains rht dual aspect which behaviour patterns and instruments of civilization had at least in their formatin: phase: they expressed a certain measure of compulsion and renunciation, bur rhey always also sen·e as a weapon against social inforiors, a means of distinction. Handkerchief, fork. plates and all related implements \Vere at first luxurr articles with a particular social prestige nlut (Exam pit G) . The social dependence in which the succeeding upper class, rhe bourgeoisie, lives, is of a different kind, certainly, from that of rhe court aristocracr, but rends . to be rather greater and more compelling
In general, we scarcely realize today what a unigue and asronishing phenomenon a "working .. upper class is. \\iln· does ir work; \\/hr submit itself ro this compulsion even though it is the ··rul.ing"' class and is nor commanded by a superior ro do soi The question demands a more derailed answer rhan is possible in this context. \\/hat is clear, however, is the parallel to what has been said on the change in rhe instruments and forms of conditioning During rhe sragt of the court aristocracy, the restraint imposed on inclinations' and
129
On Spitting Examples Middle Ages A 27 Do nor spit over or on the rable 37 Do nor spir into rhe bowl when washing your hands
B 29 Do not spit on rhe rnble 51 Do not spir into rhe basin when you wash your hands, bur beside ir
uo
Th, Ciz'ili:::i11g PrlJlHS
i11 th, Bch:11·iom
c
spin nor in basyn, ne wacer thou dasshe.
From Zarncke, D,r dr11tscht Ct1to. p. 137: Do not spit across the table in the manner of hunters
E
1530
F 1558 From Gdc1tt 11. bv Della Casa . C]Lloced t-ron1 clle cuve- j anguage ecl icion (Geneva, 1609), p. 570: lt is also unseemly tor someone sittinµ at table ro scratch himself At such a rime and place· you should also abstain as far as possible from spitting. and if it cannot be completely arnided it should be done politely and unnoricecL I have ofter. heard that "·hole peoples have sometimes lived so moclerarelv and conducted themseln:s so honourably that they found spitting quite unnecessan· .\Xrlw. therdon::. should not Wt too be able to refrain from it just fr>r a short rime' frhat during meals: the resmcnon on the habit applied only to mealtimes]
G 1672 From Courcin, 1\'0111-ec111 trniti! ,fL, cizi!iti!, p. 273: The custom we h,ffe just mentioned does not mean that most laws of this kind are immutable. And just as chere are many that have already changtd. I have no doubt that many ot these will likewise change in the fuwre to
on rhe saliva .At tlx hl!!!St:S rl tht. Olh spits i11fr1 Ir ill becomes you to spit out of the window or onro the tire. Do not spir so far that you have to look for the saliva to put your foot on it
f'11crilim11. by Erasmus:
Turn away when spitting. lest your saliva fall on someone. If anything purulent falls to tht be trodden u1oon som·-one . ground. it should . - , ltst - it n·1use·ue ' ' e . JI- you arc nor at liberty tu do rlm. catch the sputum in a small cloth. It is unmannerly ro suck back saliva, as equalh· are those "·horn we see spirrini; ·1r e\·en- third word not f · but from habit. . ' . rom necessity
c..'Xtlll!f'lc·
from an anonymous Ciriliti! jitlllfdist (Litgt. 171-i), pp. 6 7 • -i 1: Frcquenr spitting is disagreeable. \\?hen it is necessary you should conceal it as much ;is possible. and avoid soiling either persons or rheir clothes. no matter who they ate. nor 6 cn rhe embers beside the fire. And wherever you spir. \'OU should put your foot
D
Fr1nt!lr!).
H
1714
U.' Afrcr mtte when chou shall w;bshe.
ll/fJl'l!i11
it u dS flr:n:itfrd !o
/JJ1! 1J11t" s .r)IJ/ r111 tl.h .1J1lftlm1
s/1it Ml
Tod;1) 1h:11
Ul
person of rnnk would be shocked by this
HS If thou spite on:r the borde. or elles opon, thou schalle be holden an uncurrayse mon
From Dt cil'ilitatc
Su·l!!dr Upper Clc1ssc.r i11 tht \Fest
In rht old days you could yawn. provided you did nor speak while doing so: today. , 1
>-()
rf tht
the: gro!!nd is :n1
I
1729 from La Salle, Les Rig/es cit la bic11si:111cr
d
cit lc1 cil'iliti chri!tic1111c (Routn, 17 29).
p. 55: You should not abstain from spitting. and it is very ill-mannered to swallow what should be spat. This can nauseate others Nevertheless. you should nor become accustomed to spitting too often. and without need. This is not onh· unmannerly. but disgusts and annoys everyone \\"hm )"II di« 11 jfh u·c!/-/;1,rn /1,0/1/c, and when you ate in places that are kept clean, it is polite to spit imo your handkerchief while turning slightly aside It is ewn good manners for everyone to get used to spitting inro a handkerchief when in the houses of the great and in all places with waxed or parquet Hours. Bur it is far mote necessary to acquire the habit of doing so when in church, as far as is possible Ir often happens. howewr. that no kitchen or even srablt floor is dirtier than that of the church. Afrer spitting into your handkerchief. you should fold it at once, without looking
J 1774 From La Salle, Les Ri:gles de la hiwsec111ce et de la cirilite chrdtiwm (1774 edn), p 20. In chis edition the chapter "On Yawning, Spitting. and Coughing," which covers four pages in rhe earlier edicions, has shrunk ro one page:
' ) 1 _,_
Tht Ciz'ilizing Process
In church. 111 tht: houses of rhe great. and in all places where cleanliness reigns, you should spir into your handkerchief Ir is an unpardonably gross habit of children to spit in the faces of their playmares. Such bad manners cannot be punished too severely; nor are those who spit out of windows. on walls and on furoirure ro be excused
K 1859 From The Hc1bits of G()l)c/ Sr;ciety, p . 256: Spiering is at all rimes a disgusring habit l need say nothing more than-never indulge in it Besides being coarse and atrocious, it is l"
L 1910 From Cabanes, 1\Iowrs i11times, p. 264: Have vou noticed d1,u today we relegate to some discreet corner what our farhers did nor hesirnre to display quire openly' Thus a certain intimate article of furnirure had a place of honour no one rhoughr of concealing ir from view The same is rrue of anorher piece of furniture no longer found in modern households. whose disappearance some will perhaps regret in rhis age of "bacillophobia": I am referring to rhe spittoon
Comments on the Quotations on Spitting
. ·n" mourh or hands, bur beside ic These prohibirions were repeated •shen clean1 "' - . . . . . . . . '. , . . reorrped a tash10n m rhe co11rtu1s codes of manners rhar one c,1n 1magme in so ste . -, ,, , . d. . l . . c encr of this insrance ot ·bad manners . The pressure ot me 1eva socieq rhe rreq u . . . . . l. · racrice never became so srrong. nor rhe condmonmg so compellmg. t Mt on r liis p . .. . ·b . . l . . r ·d from soC!al lite Here agam we see rhe difference er\\'een soCla ir d1s<1ppea e . ' ls in rhe medieval and rhe subsequent srages. conrro · Ir was demanded rlur In rhe sixreenth century. social pressure grew srronger. . be rrodden upon-ar leasr if ir contained purulence, said Erasmus. who sputum . . . . _ . f . . ·ihv·ws marked rhe rransit10nal siruar10n. And here agarn the use o <1 here
1. Like the orher groups of examples, the series of guotarions abour spirring shows very clearly rhar, since rhe £,fiddle Ages, behaviour has changed in a parricular direcrion. In rhe case of spirring, the movement is unmistakably of rhe kind rhar we call "progress". Frequent spirring is even roday one of rhe experiences thar many Europeans find particularly unpleasant when travelling in rhe Easr or in Africa, rogerher wirh rhe lack of "cleanliness". If rhey starred out with idealized preconceptions, rhey call rhe experience disappointing, and find their feelings on the "progress" of \Vesrern civilizarion confirmed. No more rhan four centuries ago, rhis cusrom was no less widespread and commonplace in the \Vesr, as rhe examples show. Taken rogerher, rhey give a particularly clear demonsrrmion of rhe way in which rhe civilizing process rook place. 2 . The examples show a movement with the following stages: The Larin as well as rhe English, French and German guides ro table manners bear wimess to rhe facr rhar in rhe Middle Ages ir was not only a cusrom bur also clearly a generally felr need to spit frequently. Ir was also emirely commonplace in rhe courrs of the feudal lords. The only major restraint imposed was rhat one should nor spir on or over rhe table bur under ir. Nor should one spir into rhe washbasin
evolved from a prestige object ro a private urensil Graduallv rhis urensil too became
13-i mmi\·arion was anxic:r1· in rc:larion ro some long-rerm consideration . So in our rime rht fear of spini1:g. and rhe feelings of shame and repugnance in which it is expressed. rake rhe form nor uf magical influencts. of gods. spirits or demons bur of rhe more exactly circumscribed. more clear!) rransparem and lmv-like picrnre of specific clistases and their "pathogens" Bur rhe series of examples also shows H:ry clearly that rational undersrnncling of rhe origins of ctrrain diseases of the clanger of sputum as a carrier of illness. was neither the primary cause of fear and repugnance nor rht motor of civilization. die clrivin!!; force: of tllF c changes in behaYiour \Vith regarJ to spitting. Ar first. and for a long period. rhe retention of spirrlt was expressly discouraged To suck back salirn is "unmannerly". says Erasmus (Example E). 7 A.nd as late as I 29. La Salle says: "You should nor abstain from spitting" !Example IJ For centuries rhere was not rhe faintest indication of "hygienic reasons" for rhe prohibitions and resrricrions with which the expression of the drive to spit was surrounded. Rational uoclersrnncling of rht clanger of saliva was attained only at a very lace srage of the change in behaviour, and rhus in a stnse rerrospecrively, in the nineteenth century. And even then. rhe reference ro what is indelicate and disgusting in such behaviour still appeared separarelv, alon!!;side the reference ro its ill effects on health: "Besides being coarse and is n:ry bad for rhe health". says Example K of spitting
It is well to establish once and for all rhar something which we know to be harmful to health by no means necessarih· arouses fetlin!!;s of distaste or shame And conn·rsely. somerhing that these feeling's need nor be at ali detrimental to health. People who eat noisily or with their hands nowadavs arouses feelings of extreme distaste wirhour there being the slightest fear their heald1 But neither rhe thought of someone reading by bad light nor the idea of poison gas. for example, arouses remorelv similar feelings of distaste or shame. alrhough rht harmful consequencts for health are obvious. Thus. disgusr and nausea ar the ejection of sali,-a intensified. and the taboos SL1rroundio'g it increased. long before people had a clear idea of rht transmission of certain ge;ms by saliva. \Vhar first aroused and increased the distasteful feelings ,. and r;stricrions was a transformation of human relationships and dependencies. "Earlier it was permitted w yawn or spit openly: today. a person of rank would be shocked it". Example: G says. in effect. That is the kind of reason rhar people first gave lor increased restraint. Motivation from social consideration existed long before motivation from scientific insight. The king required rhis restraint as a "mark of respect .. from his courtiers. Io court circles this sign of rheir dependence, the growing compulsion to be restrained and self-controlled. became also a "mark of distinction" that was immediately imitated below and disseminated wirh the rise of broader strata.. And here, as io rhe preceding civilization-curves. rhe admonition "Thar is not clone". wirh which restraint. fear. shame and repugnance were inculcated. was connected only very late. as a result of a certain "democrariza-
. .. co a scientific rhtory. to an argument that applies to all people equally. non ' ·ss of their rank and srarns. The pnmary lse tor - t I11s - s low rtpress10n 1mpu rei:.:ardl e. _ . . :- · clr-n·1rion rhat was formerly suong and w1des1)reacl dnes not come trom ot an tr1 ' . . - . '-. . · . I undersrandll1'' of rhe causes of illness. but-as \\·tll be. d1scusseo 111 morerauon.i c . ·1 1-·t"r·-from chan«ts in rhe war ]JeO]Jle l!\·e together. II1 rhe srrucrnre of den11 d. L c . ._ 1
•
-
,L The modification of the manner of spitting. and hnally the more or less exam1Jlt of rhe malleabilin·· of cornp let ,,. _ el 1-n1ination of the netd for it, is a '-good econom1· of humc1ns. le may be: rhar rhis need has been compensated rhe "· . . bv others (e.g , the need to smoke) or \\-eakened by certain changes of diet. But it. is certain that rhe degree of suppression which has been possible in this case is not possible with regard to many other drives. The inclination to spit. like that of looking ar rhe sputum. mentioned in rhe examples, is replaceable: it now 111 ,111 ifests itself clearly only in children or in dream analyses, and its suppression is seen in the specific form of laughter rhat overcomes us when "such things .. are spoken of openlr _ Orhtr needs are nor replaceable or malleable to rhe same extent. And this raises tht question of rhe limit of the rransformabiliry of rhe psychic economy. \Vithour doubt. it possesses specific regularities that may be called "narnral" The historical process modifies it within rhese limits. The degree to which human life and behaviour can be moulded by historical processes remains ro be dererminecl in derail. Ar any rate. all this shows once again how natural and hisrorical processes interacr almost inseparably The formation of feelings of shame and revulsion and advances in rhe threshold of repugnance art both at once oarnral and historical processes. These forms of feeling are maoifesrarions of human nature under specific social conditions, and they react in their rnrn on rhe socio-historical process as one of its elements Ir is difliculr ro see \1-hether rhe radirnl conrraposirion of "civilization" and "nature" is more than an expression of rht tensions of rhe "civilized" psyche itself, of a specific imbalance wirhin psychic life produced in the recent stage of \Vestern civilization . At any rare, rhe psychic life of "primiriw" peoples is no less historically (i.e. socially) stamped than that of "civilized" peoples. ewn if the former are scarcely aware of their own history. There is no zero point in the historicity of human development, just as there is none in the sociality, the social imerdependence among people. In both "primitiw" and "civilized" peoples, there are socially induced prohibitions and resrricrions, rogerher with rheir psychological counterparts. socially induced anxieties. pleasure and displeasure, distaste and delight. It is, therefore, at least nor entirely clear what is meant when rhe former standard, that of so-called "primiti\·es". is contrasted simply as "natural" ro rhe hisrorical-social standard of "civilised" people . So far as rhe psychological functions of humans are concerned, natural and hisrorical processes work indissolubly rogerher.
Thl Cizili:::illg Pmo.:_i-.r
Ch(/i!gt.r in thr Buhariom· of the Swt!crr UjJjJer Clt1sses in the \Fest
VIII On Behaviour in the Bedroom
137
Ifrou share a bed wirh a comrade, lie quiecly: do nor toss wirh your body. for chis can l;iy bare or inconvenience your companion by pulling away rhe blankets
c
Examples 1555
From Des honnes 1i1ot1trs tt hon nest es contenm1c
A Fifteenth centurv Stam />!!er i11 m:mam, an English book of table manners from rhe period l-!63-83 (A Boole ol - PrccudwC<.. London , 1869. p. 63): 215 And if chac ic forren so bv nyghc or Any cyme -
If you share a bed wirh anocher man. keep srill 1cike care nor rn annoy him or expose yourself by abrupt movemencs And if he is asleep. see char you do nor wake him
Thar you scha!l lye wirh Anv man char is beuer than vou .
D
Spyre hym whar syde .of rhe bedd
1729
char most besc will ples hvm. :\nd lye you on chi rnrher si:de, for rhar is rhi prow; ·
From La Salle, Lu Rl:gkr de la hiemliance et de la ciri!ite dm!tie1111e (Rauen, 1729),
p. 55:
Ne go you nor rn bede before boc rhi becrer cause rhe, For rhac is no currasy, rhus seys docrour paler
You ought neicher ro undress nor go ro bed in rhe presence of any ocher person Above all. unless you ace married. you should nor go to bed in che presence of
223 A.nc1 when you arte in rhi bed. chis is curcasy, Srryghr downe rhar vou h·e wirh fore and bond. , . \vhen ze hm·e calkyd whar ze wyll, b:.d h} m gode nyghc in bye For char is grer curras 1· so schall thou understand ,,. -
If vou share rnur bed 1 · · l1 . t- l · l · _· 'tr a man o 11g 1er rank, ask him which side he prefers. Do nor go co bed before your superior im·ires you: char is nor courteous, savs Dr Paler. Then lie down srra1ghr and bid him goodnight. ·
1530
From La Salle, L:s Rl:gles de lt1 hit:i!SldilCe et de la ciri!itt! clm!tiu111e ( l 77-:i edn) p. 31:
Jr is a srrange abuse w make rwo people of differenc sex sleep in rhe same room. And
B
if necessicy demands ic, you should make sme rhac rhe beds are aparr. and char modesty
From De ·. Ft t ! w·1 ta i: i11om111 /111tri im11, by Erasmus, ch . 12, "On rhe Bedchamber .. : W'hen you undress. when you !(tr up. be mindful of m cl. . cl k •_ _ . o tSt}. an ta ·e care nor co expose rn che eyes ot orhecs anything char morality and nature require co be concealed :;: To focilirnr_e comprthtnsion. the o!J spelling is nor rer..,roJuced '·' text can b e tuun J B/j,,L rf p. 63
E
177-4
. The philolo,trica!ly accurare
dues not suffer in any way from this commingling" Only exrren1e indigence can exct;se
chis pracrice If you are forced to share a bed with a person of rhe same sex. which seldom happens. you should maintain a srricr and 1·igilanc modesty. \\ihen you have awakened and had sufticienc cime rn rest, you should gee our of bed wirh firring modesty and never stay in bed holding conversations or concerning yourself with ocher marrers norhing more clearly indicates indolence and frivolity: rhe bed is imended foe bodily resr and for nothing else
138
Classt.i i11 the \\'i-.11
Th:: Cfri!i:i11g Prr;c.:.iS
Comments on the Examples l The bedroom has btcomt ont of rht mosr "private'· and "inrimart" areas of human lift . Like mosr orhtr bodily funcrions, sleeping has been increasingly shifred behind the scents of social lift. The nuclear family remains as rlit legirimare. socially sanctioned enclave for rhis and many orhtr human function;. Irs \·i_siblt and im·isible walls wirhdraw rhe mosr "privare". "inrimare". unsuppress1bly "animal .. as peers of human txisrtnct from rhe sight of ochers In medieval society this funcrion. roo. had nor betn rlms privariztd and stparared from rhe resr of social life. Ir was quire normal ro recei\·e visirnrs in rooms wirh beds, and rhe beds themselves had a presrige value rtlared ro rheir opultnct. Ir was \'try common for many people ro spend rhe nighr in rhe same room: in rhe upper class, rhe master wirh his strvanr. rhe misrress wirh her maid or maids; in orher classes, even men and women in rhe same room.-_; and ofren guesrs who were sraying ovtrnighr.-'
.2. Those who did nm sleep in their clorhes undressed complerelr. In general people in lay sociery slepr naked. and in rhe monasric orders ei rher, fullr Ldressed or fully undressed according ro rht srricrness of rhe rules. The n;le of Sr Benedicr-daring back ar ltasr ro rhe sixrh cenrury-required members of rhe order ro sleep in dieir clorhes and even ro keep rheir btlrs on.·' In rhe rwelfrh ctnrury, when rheir order became more prosperous and powerful and rhe asceric consrrainrs less severe, rhe Cluniac monks were permirred ro sleep wirhout clorhes. The Cisrtrcians, when srriving for reform, rerurned ro die old Benedictine rule. Special nighrclorhes are never menrioned in rhe monastic rules of rhis period, srill less in die dornmenrs. epics or illusrrarions lefr behind bv secular sociery. This is also rrue for women. If anyrhing, ir was unusual ro clorhing on in bed. Ir aroused suspicion rhar one might have some bodilv defter-for what orher reason should rht body bt hiddtn'-and in facr rhi,s usually was rhe case. In rhe RrJ111:m d, la for example, we hear rhe serrnnr ask her misrress in surprise why she is going robed in her chemise, and rhe Lurer explains it is because of a mark on her body.-" This greartr lack of inhibirion in showing the naked body, and rhe posirion of rht shame fronrier represenrecl by ir. are seen parricularh· clear!\- in barhin" manners. Ir has been noted with surprise in larer ages rhar .knighr; were waired on in rheir barhs by women: likewise, rheir nighr drink was ofren broughr ro rheir beds by women. Ir seems ro han: been common pracrice, ar leasr in rhe rowns. ro undress ar home before going ro rhe barhhouse. "How ofren", savs an observer, "rhe fiuher, wearing nothing bur his breeches, wirh his naked and children, runs rhrough rhe srreers from his house ro rhe barbs How manv rimes have I seen girls of ren, twelve, fourreen, sixreen and eighreen yea;s enrirely naked exctpr for a shorr smock, ofren rorn. and a ragged barhing gown ar from and back' \Virh rhis open at rht feer and held
139
·ound rhelf behmds. runnmg from rheir houses through the long decorous 1Y 'll t midd
•
•
•
"m1ive" form of earlier phases. [n rhe courr socierv of France-where gerring up and going ro bed, ar leasr in the case of grear lords and ladies. was incorporated direcdy inro social lifenighrdress, like e\·erv orher form of clothing appearing in rhe communal life of rook on rep;esenrarional funcrions as ir developed This changed when. wirh rhe rise of broader classes, gerring up and going ro bed became more imimare and were displaced from life in rhe wider sociery inro rhe inrerior of rhe nuclear familv. The gener,;rions following \\/oriel \'Var I, in rheir books on eriquerre, looked back with a cerrain ironr-and nor wirhour a fainr shudder-ar rhis period. funcrions as sleeping. undressing and dressing was when rhe exclusion of enforced wirh special se\·eriry. rhe mere menrion of chem being blocked by relatively heavy prohibirions An English book on manners of 19.'>6 says. perhaps
140
Tht Cit'i!i:::ing Prrietss
i11 the Beh11l'ii!i!!' iJf the Sem!ar Uj1f!er C!mses in th1: \Y'i::st
with exaggeration,_ but certainly not entirely without justification: '·Durmg the Genteel Era before the \Var, camping was the only way by which respectable wrirers might approach the subject of sleep. In those days ladies and gentlemen did not go to bed at night-tlky retired. How rhey did it was nobody s busmess. An author who thought differently ,,·oulc! have found himself excluded from the circulating library... - 9 Here, too, there had been a certain reacnon relaxation since the war._ Ir was clearly connected with the growing mob1l1ty ot society, w1rl1 the spread ot sport, hiking and travel. and also with the relanvely separation of young people from the family community. The from the nightshirt to pyjamas-that is, to a more "socially presentable sleepmg cosmme-was a symptom of this. This change was not. as is supposed, simply a retrogressi\'t movement, a recession of the feelings ot sham_e delicacy, a release and decontrolling of drives, bur the development .of a torm that fits both our advanced standard of shame and the specific s1nwt1on m which present-day social lite places individuak Sleep is no longer so 1nr1mare and segregated as in the preceding stage. There are more simarions in which people are exposed to the sight of strangers sleeping, undressing or As a result. nightclothes Oike underwear) have been developed and transformed in such a way that the wearer need not be "ashamed .. when seen in such sima:ions by others. The nightclothes of the preceding phase aroused f_edmgs ot shame and embarrassment precisely because they were relativelv formless . They were nor intended to be seen by people ourside rhe famih· On_ the one hand, the nightshirt of the nineteemh cencury marked an in which shame and embarrassment with regard to the exposure of one's own bodv were so advanced and internalized chac bodily forms had ro be entirelv covered even when alone or in rhe closesc family circle; on che other hand, characterized an epoch in which the "intimate" and "private" sphere. because it was so sharply severed from che resc of social life, had nor w any great exrt:nc been socially articulated and patterned. This peculiar combination of strondv internalized, compulsive feelings of repugnance, or moral in-, with a far-reachin.l!: lack of social patterning w-ith respect to che "spheres of intimacy" was characr;risric of nineceemh-cenmry society and not a little of our own . "'
ir
-i The examples give a rough idea of how sleep, becoming slowh- more intimate and private, was separated from most ocher social and !;ow rhe precepts given to young people rook on a specificallv moralistic underrone with the advance of feelings of shame . In the medieval .quotation (Example A! the restraint demanded of young people was explained by consideration clue to others, respect for social superiors. Ir says, in effect, "If vou share vour bed with a becrer man, ask him which side he prefers, and do nor to bed he invites vou, for that is not courteous." And in che French imitacion ofJohannes Sulpicius Pierre Broe (Example Cl, the same attitude prevailed: "Do nor annov \·our nei,"hbour when he has fallen asleep: see rhat you do noc wake him up, .. : In we
1-i l
ro hear a moral demand, which required cerrain behaviour not out of nsiderarion for orhers but for its own sake: "\\'lhen you undress, when you get co be mindful of modesty." Bm the idea of social custom, of consideration for up, · l l · cl · · l l or htrs,. was still [Jreclommanc - The comrasr to t 1e ater _ per10 1s parncu ar ·,. cl ea1. ''t. '"e " remember that these prece1JtS, even those ot Dr Paler (Example A), were dearly directed to people who wem to bed undressed. Thar scrangers should sleep in the same bed appeared, to judge by the manner in which che question_ w;is discussed, neicher unusual nor in any way improper even at che time of Erasmus. In rhe guorntions from che eighteenth century this tendency was not continued in a straight line, partly because it was no longer confined predominantly to rhe upper stratum. But in the meantime, even in other srrarn, it had clearly become less commonplace for a young person to share his bed with another: "If you are forced by unavoidable necessiry ro share a bed with another person . on a journey, it is not proper ro lie so near him rhat you disrnrb or even much him·, wrices La Salle (Examplt DJ And: "You oughc neither to undress nor go ro bed in rhe presence of any ocher person .... In rhe 177-i edition, details were again avoided wherever possible. And the tone is appreciably stronger "If you are forced to share a bed wich a person of the same sex, which seldom happens, you should maintain a strict and vigilant modtscr" (Example E). This was the rone of moral injunction. EYen tO give a reason .had become distasteful to the adult. The child was made by the threatening rone to associate this situation wich danger. The more "natural" che standard of delicacy and shame appeared to adults and che more che civilized resrraim of bodily urges was taken for granted, the more incomprehensible ic became to adulcs that children do nor have this delicacy and shame by "nature". The children necessarily encroach again and again on the adult chresholcl of repugnance. and-since chey are noc yet adapted-they infringe the taboos of society, cross the adult shame fromier, and penetrate emotional clanger zones which rhe adults themse!Yes can only control with difficulty. In this situation che adulrs do not explain che demands they make on behaviour They are unable to do so adeguarely. They are so conclirioned rhar the\· conform to the social standard more or less auromatically Any other behaYiour, any breach of the prohibitions or restraints prevailing in their society means clanger, and a devaluation of the restraints imposed upon chemselves. And the peculiarly emotional undertone so often associated with moral demands, the aggressive and threatening severity with which chey are frequently upheld, reflects the danger in which any breach of the prohibitions places che unstable balance of all those for whom the standard behaviour of sociecy has become more or less "second nature" These attitudes are symptoms of the anxiety aroused in adults whenever the structure of their own drives, and wich it their own social existence and the social order in \vhich it is anchored. is even remotely threatened
l-i..?
1-i)
A whole series of specific contliccs berwetn adulrs-above all parems who art for rhe mosr parr licrle prtpartd for rhe rnsks of condirioning-and children. contlicrs which appear wirh rht adrnnce of rhe sha111e-fronritr and rhe disrnnce berween adulrs and children. and \\·hich art rherefort largely founded rhe srrucrure of civiliztd socitn- irself. are explained by rhis siruarion. The siruarion irself has been undersrood only relarivtly recenrly. firsr of all wirhin small circles. esptcialh· among professional educarors And only now. in rhe age char has been called rht ··cenrury of rht child'. is rht realizarion rhar. in vic:w of rhe increased disrnnce ber\veen rhem. children cannor behave like adulrs slowly
iris an exuemel1 dtlicact and difficulc rask to tnligh'.e_n growing girls and boys • boITT Cll emseh·es and whar gots on around chem. Ihe exrem w which chis ,. ·cin ( F from beinu self-e\·idenr is a furrher resulr of rhe civilizing process s1wan ' " • "' .. . . .. . .s on.' ]-- 1·x:rcti\'td if rl1e behaviour or people: 111 a d1Herenr srage IS observed 1 he 1 .-_ good exarn11le. race 0 ic Er·1sn1us's rc:nowned Colloc111ir:s is a .__, L
L
..
L
Erasmus discovered chac one of rhe works of his yomh had been published wichour his permission in a corrupr form. wirh acldicions by orhtrs and parrly in d sc\·le. Ht revised ir and 1x1blishtd ic himself under a nc:w ride: in 1522. a 1. DJ · . . llr·r1 u ic fdwi!icnillll co//oq11ir1u1111 ff,rmul:.u l!f1ll !1.n1t11111 dd
penerraring rhe family circle wirh appropriart educarional advice and cions. In rht long precc:ding period. rhe more severe arrirude prnailed char
Q
"'
moraliry and respecr for raboos should be presenr in children from rht firsr. This arrirucle cerrainlr cannor be: said ro han: disappeared roday
l'r.,)'i!lll
. ttic1111 de! l iti:!IJJ instil11ei!dc1111
He worked on chis rtxc. augmeming and improving ir. umil shorrly before his
The examples on behaviour in rht bedroom gin:, for a limirtd segmenr, a
learn a good Larin sryle, bur ont which could serve, as ht says in rht ride. w inrroduce chem ro lift. The Co!loqi!ils became one of rhe most famous and widely
cerrain imprtssion of how !are ir really was rhar rhe rendency ro adopr such arcirudts reached irs full developmcm in secular tducacion.
diev wenr rhrough numerous edirions and rranslacions. And like ir. chc:y became
The lint of rhis deye]opmtnr scarcely nec:ds furrl1er tlucidarion. Hert. wo. in
a s:l10olbook. a srandard work from which boys were c:ducared. Hardly anyrhing
much rht same way as wirh taring. rhe wall berween people. rhe rtstrvt. rhe tmorional barrier ertcrtd by cundirioning berwttn one body and anorher. has grown conrinuously. To share a bed wirh ptople ourside che family circle. wich srrangers. is made more and more tmbarrassing Unless necessiry dicraces orherwise. ir becomes usual tYen wichin che family for every person w han, rheir
read works of cheir rime:. As his crearise Du (il'i/itatr: 111om111 pmri/i;1111 did lacer.
"ives a more immediare impression of rhe change: in \Vesrc:rn sociery in rhe
b
process of civilizarion rhan rhe cricicism ro which chis work was subjecred bv chose who scill found rhemselvts obliged w concern themselves wirh ir in rhe ninereemh ctnrury. An influenrial German pedagogue, Von Raumer, commenrs on ir as follows in his Gc.1chicht1: du- Piidt1gogik (Hisrory of pedagogy):-'c
own bed and tirrnlly-in rht middle and upper classes-rheir own btdroom. Children are rrained early in chis disrancing, rhis isolacion from orhc:rs. wich all rht habirs and experitnces rhar rhis brings wirh ic.. Only if we set how narural ir seemed in che .i\fidcllt Ages frir srrangers and for children and aclulrs w share a bed can we appreciare \\·hat a fundamenral change in inrerptrsonal relarionships and bthaYiour is expressed in our manner of li\·ing ..And we n.:cognize how far from self-evidenr ic is rhac bed and body should form such psychological dangtr zones as chey do in che mosr recenr phase of ci\·ilizarion.
IX
How could such a book be imroduced in coundess schools' \Vhar had boys rn do with these satyrs' Reform is a marrer for marnre men. \\?har sense were boys supposed ro make of dialogues on so many subjects of which they undersrand nothing: conversations in which teachers are ridiculed. or between rwo women about rheir husbands. berween a suitor and a girl he is wooing. or the LullOlJUY '"AJolesccntis et Scurti" (Young men and prosrinm:sL This last dialogue recalls Schiller's disrich enrided '"Kunsrgriff'
b;-
Changes in Attitude towards the Relations between Men and Women 1. The: feeling of shame surrounding human sexual relarions has changed and bc:come noriceably srronger in rht civilizing process. 0 ; This manifts;s irself
The work was indeed dedicared w the young son of Erasmus's publisher. and rhe farhtr clc:arly felr no qualms ar priming ir.
2 . The book mer with harsh cricicism as soon as ir appeared . Bur rhis was nor direcced chiefly ac its moral qualiries . The primary rarger was the "imelltcrnal",
panicularly clearly in the difficulry experienced by adulrs in rhe more: recenr
rbe man who was neither an orrhodox Proresram nor an orrhodox Cacholic. The
srages of civilizarion in miking abour these relarions ro children. Bur rod:n· chis
Cacholic Church, above all, foughr against rhe Colloq11iu, which cerrninly conrain occasional \·irulenr acrncks on Church insrirntions and orders. and soon placed ir on rhe Index.
difficulty appears almosr narural Ir seems rn be explained almosr b\· reasons alone rhar a child knows noching of rhe relations of rht
and Lehar
144
Thi: Cil'ilizi11g Proas.r
But against chis muse bt stt tht txtrnordinary success of rht Colloq!!its and, abovt all. their introduction as a schoolbook.. "From 1526 on", says Huizinga in his Eras11111s (London. 192-f. p. 199). "chert was for two (tntunes an almost uninterrur,ced scream oi editions and translations ... In this period. therefore. Erasmus's treatise muse have remained a kind of standard work for a very considerable number of people. How is the difference berwetn its viewpoint and that of the nineteenth-century critic co be understood? In chis work Erasmus does indeed speak oi many things which with the
. of rhe humanises· writings, and parricularlv of chose of Erasmus, is aove l t} _ · . . · l,· chat chev do not contorm to the standard of clerical society but are preose 1 · . _ . · . n from che srandpornr ot, and for. secular society. wntte . The humanises were represenrativts of a movtmenr wh!Ch sought co release . L· ·n l·irl"Li'1''e from its confinement within the ecclesiastical rradirion and rne au , o c. . nuke ic a languaue of secular societv. at least ot the secular upper spI1ere, and ' . o . _ .· . _ _ _ chiss. Not rhe lease imporrnnr sign of the change lI1 the srrucrnre_ of \vesrern · . which has alreadv. been seen from so many other aspens lI1 chis soc1et}, _ study, was the fact rhar its secular consrirnencs now felt an increasing _need tor a secular.
scholarly literature. The humanises were the executors of this change. the
used as reading matter for children in the way Erasmus desired and expressly affirmed in the dedication co his six- or eight-year-old godson. As the nineceenth-
functionaries of chis need of rhe secular upper class. In their works the word once again drew close co worldly social life. Experiences from chis lite
century critic stressed, Erasmus presents in the dialogues a young man wooing a girl. He shows a woman complaining about the bad behaviour of her husband.
found direct access to scholarly lireramre This. coo. was a line in rhe great movement of "civilization" And it is here that one of the keys to the "revival"
And there is even a conversation between a young man and a prostitme.
of antiquity will have ro be sought. Erasmus on ct gavt Yery trenchant expression co this process prtcisel y in
Nevertheless. these dialogues bear witness. in exactly the same way as De
c"iz'ilitaft 111or11111 p11c;i/i11111, ro Erasmus's delicacy in all questions relating co the regulation of the life of drives. even ii they do not entirely correspond to our own
defending che Coll{Jq11ies: ''As Socrates brought philosophy from heaven ro earth. I have led philosophy ro games and banguers," he says in rht notes De !!ti!ita!l 50
standard. Measured by the srnndard oi medieval secular society. and even by that of the secular society of his own rime, they even embody a very considerable shift
co!!oq 11ium111 char he appended to the Co!l{Jt/lties (165 5 tdn, p. 668) For this reason_
in the direction of the kind of restraint of drive impulses which the nineteenth
behaviour of secular society. no matter how much their particular demands for a restraint of drives and moderation of behaviour may have transcended this
century was to justify above all in the form oi morality. Certainly. the young man who woos the girl in rhe colloquy "Proci et puellae" (Courtship) expresses very openly what he wants of her He speaks of his lo\·e for
these writings may be correcdy regarded as representing the standard ot
srandard and. reprtsenced in anciciparion of the furnre. an ideal. In De 11ti!itate m!loq!!iomm, Erasmus says with regard to the dialogue "Proci er
htr \vhen she resists, he cells her char she has drawn his soul half out of his body.
puellae" mentioned above: "I wish chat all suitors were like the one I depict and
He cells her char ir is permissible and right to conceive children . He asks her
imagine how fine it will be when he as king and she as gueen rule o\·er their
conversed in no ocher way when entering marriage." \Vhat appears to rht ninereench-ctncury obsen-er as che "basest depiction of
children and sen-ams. !This idea shows n:ry clearly how rhe lesstr psychological
lusr". what even by rht prtsenr swndard of shame must be veiled in silence
distance betwetn adults and children very often wenr hand in hand with a greater
particularly before children, appeared co Erasmus and his contemporaries who
social distance ) Finally rhe girl gives way to his suiL She agrees to become his wife. Bur she preserves. as she says, rhe honour oi her maidenhood. She keeps it
helped co disseminate chis work as a model conversation. ideally suited to sec an example for the young. and still largely an ideal when compared with what W
for him. she says. She en:n refuses him a kiss. Bur when he does nor desist from asking for one. she laughingh· cells him chat as she has. in his own words, drawn
accrn1lly going on around them.'·' -i The ocher dialogues mentioned bv Von Raumer in his polemic present
to
his soul half our of his body. so that he is almost dead. she is afraid char with a
similar cases. The
kiss she might draw his soul completely our of his body and kill him 5 As has been mentioned, Erasmus was occasionally reproached by the
she will have to change her own behaviour, then her husband's will change. And the conversation of young man with tht prostitute ends with his rejection of
Church. even in his own lifetime. with the "indecent character" of the Co/loq11ies.
her disreputable mode of life.. One muse hear chis conversation oneself ro
who
about her husband is instructed that
Bur. one should not be misled by chis inro drawing false conclusions about the
understand what Erasmus wishes to set up as an example for boys. The girl.
acrnal srandard. particularly oi secular society. A rrearise directed against
Lucrecia, has not seen rhe youth. Sophronius, for a long rime. And she clearly
Erasmus's Colloq!!i.:s from a consciously Catholic position, about which more will
invirts him to do what he has come to rhe house to do. But he asks whether she
be said lacer. does not differ in the least from the Colloq11ies so far as unveiled rtiertnces tO sexual matters are concerned. Its author, coo. \Vas ,1 humanist. The
she leads him co a darker room he again has scruples. Is she really sure rhat no
is sure char they cannot bt seen. whether she has nor a darker room. And when
146
147
one can see chem' "No one can see or hear us, noc even a fly." she says. "\X!hy do you hesitate'" But rht young man asks: "Nor even God' Nor even the angels'"* And then he begins to convert her with all rhe ans or dialectics. He asks whether she has many enemies, whether it would nor please her to annoy her enemies. \X!ould she nor annoy her enemies by giving up her life in this house and becoming an honourable woman' And finally he convinces her. Ht will secretly rake a room for her in rhe house of a respectable woman. he will find a pretext for her to leave the house unseen. And at first he will look after her However "immoral" the presentation of such a situation (in a "children's book", of all places) must appear to an observer from a later period. it is not difficult to understand rhar. from rhe standpoint of a different social srnndard and a different srrucrnre of feelings. 1r could appear highly "moral .. and exemplary. The same line of development, the same difference in srnndards. could be demonstrated by any number of examples. The observer of the nineteenth and, ro some extent. even of rhe rn·entierh century confronts the models and conditioning precepts of the pasr with a certain helplessness. And until we come to see char our own threshold of repugnance. our own structure of feelings. have developed-in a quite specific order-and are continuing to develop. it remains indeed almost incomprehensible from the present standpoim how such dialogues could be included in a schoolbook or deliberately produced as reading marcer for children. But chis is precisely why our own standard. including our attitude to children, should be understood as something which has developed. More orthodox men than Erasmus did the same as he. To replace the Co//r;q11ics, which were suspected of heresy. other dialogues were written, as already mentioned. by a strict Catholic. They bear the ride Joht!i111iJ 1\fo1 isori 111edici lihri q11c1t11111-. t1d Constantim1111 jilimll
tt:Xt
of this cxctrpt from the dialuc;ue is as follows:
:-.t iP111u 1:--.;ti ·:--:
?\ondum hie locus ml hi \'idetur saris
secretus
u·uzrTL\: l"ndl' isre no\"us pudor? Est mihi museion."' 1 ubi n:puno mundum meum. locus adto
obscurus, ur vix l',L;"o tc visura sim. aur :-.tiP11.:
uT
:
tl·
mt
Circumspice rimas omnts.
?\e musca quidem. me<.1 lux, Quid cuncraris? fallt:mus htic oculos Dci?
u ·c: Nt:quaquam: ilk· perspicir omnia
.:-OP!J: Er '-< lPH:
Thi.s pL!ce doe:m
t StT:11
secrt:t tnough to mt
Ll"( :
H(m come} ou
\Vt!L comt w my privart dressing room Ir s so dark wt shall scarctl}
Examint tn:ry chink u·c : Then. . ·s nor a single chink 0;or su much as a fl;.. m;. dt;iresr. \\'"h;. u·< : Of course· not: lw Sl'.t:.:i cYc.:r;.thing
Sl'l"
fl·
so b.1shful all
Is rhert nobody
ntar
rn
oncL"?
Jt
each orher there
:-0P1r.:
us:
UT.:
you hesirnring? Can we escape thl· e;.c ofGud here? :--c1Pil.: And the anp:ds:
uncertain. in Erasmus's Colloqilid. "whether one is listening ro a Christian or a heathen" And in later evaluations of this opposing work from a strictly Catholic carnp rhe same phenomenon appears.·" Ir will suffice ro introduce the work as ir was reflected in a judgement from 1911 '" In Morisorns girls. maidens, and women play a srill greater rolt rhan in Erasmus. In a lari.;t number of dialogues rhey are rht sole speakers. and rheir convtrsarions. which ev;n in rhe firsr and second books are by no means always quire harmless, ofren revoh·e in rhe last r\\·o:'around such risky marrers rhar we can only shake our heads and ask: Diel rht stern Morisorns wrire chis for his son' Could he be so sure char rhe boy would really only read and srnch· rhe lacer books when ht had reached rhe age for which rhe,· were intended? Admirredly. we should nor forger char rhe sixreenrh century knew lirrit of prudery. and frequently enough presented irs scholars wirh material in rheir exercise books char our pedagogues would gladly do wirhom. Bur another question! How did i\Iorisows imagine rhe use of such dialogues in practice' Boys. yomhs and men could never use as a model for speaking Larin such a conversation in which rhere arc only fcmalt: speakers Therefore has nor i\Iorisows. no berrer rhan rhe despised Erasmus. lose sighr of rht didacric purpose of rhe book'
The question is nor difficult to answec 5. Erasmus himself nevtr "lost sight of his didactic purpose" His commentary De 11ti!i!dte col!oq11irmm1 shows this quire unequivocally. In it he makes explicit what kind of didactic purpose was attached to his "conversations" or, more exactly. what he wanted to convey to the young man" On the conversarion of rhe young man with the prosrirure, for example, ht says: "\'Vhar could I have said rhar would have been more effective in bringing home to rhe young man rhe need for modesty, and in bringing girls our of such dangerous and infamous houses'" No, he never lost sight of his pedagogical purpose; he merely had a clifrerent standard of shame. He wanted ro show the young man rhe world as in a mirror; ht wanted to teach him what muse be avoided and whar was conducino w a tranquil life: "In senili colloquia quam mulra velm in speculo exhibentur. guae, vel fugienda sunt in vira. ve! viram reddunt rranquillam!" The same intention undoubtedly also underlay rhe conversations of J\forisotus, and a similar attitude appeared in many other educational writings of the rime. Thty all set om ro "introduce rhe boy to life". as Erasmus pm ir. 8 ' Bur by this they meant the life of adults. In later periods there was an increasing tendency ro tell and show children how rhey ought and ought nor to behave. Here they were shown, by introducing chem ro life. how adults ought and ought nor ro behave. This was rhe difference, And one did nor behave here in rhis way, there in rhar, as a result of theoretical reflection. For Erasmus and his contemporaries ic was a matter of course to speak ro children in this way" Even though subservient and socially dependent, boys lived from an early age in the same social sphere as adults. And adults did nor impose upon themselves either in anion or in words rhe same degrte of restraint with regard ro the sexual life as
148
Chc111gcs i11 the Bdh1l'io11r of the Semlar Uj1pu· Clc1ssc.r in the \Vest
The Cil'ilizi11g Proc.:s.r
later In keeping wirh rhe different srnre of restraint of feelings produced in rhe individual by rhe structure of human relations, rhe icb1 of srricdy concealing these drives in secrecy and intimacy was largely alien ro adults themselves. Ail chis made rhe disrnnce between rhe beha\·ioural and emotiom1l standards of adults and children smaller from rhe ourser. \x/e see again and again how important it is for an undersranding of the earlier psychic constitution and our own to observe the increase of chis distance, rhe gradual formation of rhe peculiar segregated area in which people gradually came to spend rhe first twelve, fifteen, and now almosr twenty years of their lives. The biological development of humans in earlier rimes will nor have taken a very different course from today. Only in relation ro chis social change can we berrer understand the \vhole problem of "growing up" as it appears roday, and with ir such special problems as char of rhe "infantile residues .. in the personality structure of grown-ups. The more pronounced difference between rhe dress of children and adults in our rime is only a particularly visible expression of chis development. Ir, roo, was minimal at Erasmus's rime and for a long period thereafter. 6. To an observer from more recent rimes, ir seems surprising char Erasmus in his Cd/oq11ie.r should speak ar all ro a child of prostitutes and rhe houses in which they lived. In our phase of a civilizing process it seems immoral even ro ntion of such social institutions can easily appear as an idea emanating from an individual If we see how rhe children actually lived with adults, and how small was the wall of secrecy benveen adults and therefore also between adults and children, we comprehend that conversations like those of Erasmus and Morisorus relate di recd y to the standard of their times. They could reckon wirh the fact that children knew abour all this: it was taken for granted. They saw it as their task as educators to show children how they ought to conduce themselves in the face of such institutions . Ir may nor seem ro amounr ro very much ro say char such houses were spoken about quire openly at the universities. All the same, people generally went to university a good deal younger than today And ir illustrates rhe theme of this whole chapter ro point our that rhe prostitute was a topic even of comic public
1-!9
c eeches at unin:rsities In 1500 a Master of Arts at Heidelberg spoke "De fide !ererricum in suos amarores .. (On rhe fidelity of courtesans ro their paramours). another ··De fide concubim1rum" (On rhe fidelity of concubines), a third "On the monopoly of the guild of swine ... or "De generibus ebriosorum er ebriemre 1
..
sq
viranda ,;\ncl exactly the same phenomenon is apparent in many sermons of the time; rhere is no indication chat children were excluded from chem . This form of cxrramariral reh1tionship was certainly disapproved of in ecclesiastical and many secular circles. But the social prohibition was not yer imprinted as a self restraint in individuals to the extent that it was embarrassing even to speak about ir in public. Society had not yet outlawed every utterance that showed rlwt one knew anything abour such things. This difference becomes even clearer if one considers the position of prostitutes in medieval rowns. As is the case roday in many societies outside Europe, they had rheir own very definite place in the public life of the medieval town. There were rowns in which they ran races on festival clays. They were frequently sent to welcome distinguished visitors. In 1438. for example, rhe prorocols of the ciry accounts of Vienna read: "For the wine for the common women 96 Kreurzers. 1 Item, for the women who went ro meet the king, 96 Kreurzers for wine ... " Or the mayor and council gave distinguished visitors free access to the brothel. In 143-i the Emperor Sigismund publicly thanked the city magisuate of Bern for purring the brothel free! y at the disposal of himself and his attendants for three This, like a banquet, formed part of the hospiraliry offered to highranking guests.
The venal women formed within ciry life a corporation with certain rights and obligations, like any other professional body. And like any other professiomtl group. rhey occasionally defended themselves against unfair competition. In 1500, for example, a number of chem went ro rhe mayor of a Germ
150
The. Ciz·i!i2ing Prf;(crs
cogerher" u' "Once in bed .vou are riduh·. wed" · the Sa\·in" went · In rht lacer . c Middle Ages rhis cusrnm i:'radual!y changed w rhe extent rhar rhe couple was allowed ro lie on rhe bed in rheir clmhes . No doubr rhest cusrnms varied somtwhar btrween classes and coumries. All rhe same. rhe old form was rerained in Li.ibeck. for example. up ro rhe firsr decade of rhe se\·emeemh cenwry "' Even in the absolmisr sociery of France, bride and bridegroom were rnken rn bed bv rht guesrs. undressed. ,1nd given their nighrdress All rhis is symptomaric different srandard of shame concerning rhe relarions of rhe sexes. And rhrough rhese examples one gains a clearer perceprion of the specific srandard of shame which slowly became preclominam in the ninereenrh and rwentierh centuries. In chis period, even among adulrs. everything perrnining to sexual lift was concealed to a high degree and dismissed behind rhe scenes. This is why it is possible, and also necessary. w conceal this side of lift for a long period from children . In the preceding phases rhe relations berween the sexes. together with the insriwtions embracing rhem. were far more direcrly incorporated into public lite. Hence ir was more narural for children to be familiar \virh chis side of lite from an early age From rhe poim of view of condirioning. there was no need ro burden chis sphere wirh rnboos and secrecy to rhe exrenr char became ntctssary in rhe lartr stage of civilizarion. wirh irs difterem standard of bthaviour . In coun-arisrocraric sociery. sexual life was certainly a good deal more concealtd rhan in medieval sociery \Vhar rht observer from a bourgeoisindusrrial sociery ofrtn interprers as rhe "frivolin·" of courr socitrv was nmhing orher dnn chis shifr roward concealmem. Nevenheless. bv srnndarcl of control of rhe impulses in bourgtois sociery irself. rhe conceaimem and segregarion of stxualiry in social life, as in consciousness, was rtlarively slighr in chis phase. Htrt roo, the judgemtnt of people in a lacer phase ofren goes astray. because rhev stt rheir own srnndards againsr courrly-arisrncraric ones, seeing borh as somtching absolure. rad1er rhan as imerlinking phases in a movemem, and rhty nuke rhtir own srandarcls rht mtasure of all orhers. In courr socitry. roo, rhe relarive openness wirh which rhe narnral funcrions were discussed an'iong adults, corresponded to a grtarer lack of inhibirion in speech and acrion in rhe prtstnce of children There art numerous txamples of chis. To rake a panicularly illusrrarive one. rhere lived ar rhe coun in rhe seventeenth century a lirde .Mlle de Bouillon who was six ytars old. The ladits of rhe courr were wont ro converse wirh her, and one day rhey played a jokt on her: they rried ro persuadt rhe young lady she was prtgnanr. The linle girl denitd ir. She defended htrself. Ir was absolmely impossible. she said. and rhey argued back and fonh . Bm rhen ont day on waking up she found a newborn child in her bed She was amazed; and she said in htr innocenct, "So chis has happened only to rhe Holy Virgin and me; for I did nm feel any pain" Her words were passed round, and rhen rht linle affair became a di\·ersion for d1t whole courr. The child recei\·ed ,·isirs. as was cusromary on such occasions. The
151 elf came rn console her and rn offer herself as i!odmorher ro the baby Queen l1ers . . . . "·ime wenr tunher: rht lirde c\.':Irl was 1)ressecl w sav who was rhe tarher i\.11 d [ le 1 /:'' . .. the child Finally. afrer a period of srrenuous rttlecnon. she reached rhe 1- 1·0 n rhar ir could onlv be rht Kin\.': or rhe Counr de Guiche. since rhej ··one·l L, • , . t·i htr a kiss."' Nobodv· rook chis joke amiss ,vere 1c·o c) 11 Jv· two men who had 'l!iven -Ir fell enrirely wirhin rhe exisring standard No one saw in ir a danger ro rht ad<1p [.,r· ,, 1 0 n of rhe child rn this srnnclard. or rn her spiriwal purirv, . and it was · rl\· nor seen as in anv wav contradicrin\.': her rtlil!ious tducarion . _ c1ea .' . . .__ ._ . 8. Only very gradually. subsequently. did a srrongtr associarion of sexualiry wirh shame and embarrassment. and a corresponding resrraint of beha,·iour. . -·icl n1ort or less evenh·· over rhe wholt of socierv. sprt< · And onlv· whtn rhe disrnnct berween adulrs and children grew did "sex educarion.. become an "acutt problem" Above. rht criricism ofErasmus·s CfJ!!oq11iu· by rht well-known pedagogue Von Rcmmer was quored. Tht picwre of chis whole curve of development becomes even cltartr if we see how rhe problem of sexual educarion. rl1t adaprnrion of rhe child rn rhe srnndarcl of his own [Raumtr's] society. posed irself rn chis tducaror Jn 1857. Von Raumer published a shore work called The Ecl11ct1tion rf Girl.r. \Vhar he prescribed in ir (p . 7 2) as a behavioural model for adulrs in answtring rht sexual quesrions of rheir children was ctrrninly nor rhe only possible form of behaviour ar his rime: nevenheltss. ir was highly characrerisric of d1t standard of the ninereemh ctmury, in rhe insrrucrion of both girls and boys: Some morhers are of rhe opinion. fun
152
Th, Cil'i!i:.i11g Procc.;s
should rake care not rn listen w anything said about it, · A truly well-brought-up girl will rrom then on fetl shame at htaring things of this kind spoken of
Berwttn the manner of speaking abom sexual relations represenred by Erasmus and that represenred here by Von Raumer. a civilization-curve is visible which is similar to chat shown in more derail in rhe expression of ocher impulses. In the ci,·ilizing process, sexualiry. coo, has been increasingly removed behind the scenes of social life and enclosed in a particular enclave. rhe nuclear family. Likewise. rhe relarions berween rhe sexes have been hemmed in, placed behind walls in consciousness. An aura of embarrassmem, rhe expression of a sociogeneric fear, came ro surround chis sphere of life. Even among adulrs it was referred co officially only wirh camion and circumlocurions, And wirh children parricularly girls, such rhings were, as far as possible. nor referred to ar all. Raumer gave no reason why one oughr nor to speak of chem with children. He could have said it was desirable to preserve the spirimal purity of girls for as long as possible Bm even chis reason was only anorher expression of how far rhe gradual submergence of these impulses in shame and embarrassmem had advanced br chis rime, Ir was now as namral nor to speak of rhese matters as ir was to speak of.them in Erasmus's rime,. And the fact that borh rhe wirnesses invoked here, Erasmus and Von Raumer, were serious Chrisrians who rook rheir aurhorirr from Goel further underlines the difference. .
Ir is clear! y not "rational .. motives char underlay rhe model pm forward by Von Raumer,. Considered rarionally. rhe problem confroming him seems unsolved, and what he said appears comraclicrory.. He did nor explain how and when rhe young girl should be made co unclersrancl whar was happening and would happen to her. The primary concern was rhe necessirv• of insrillina b "moclesry" (i e . feelings of shame. fear, embarrassment and (.Wilt) or, more precist!y, behaviour conforming co rhe social srnnclard,, And Lone feels how infinitely difficult ir was for rhe educaror himself to overcome rhe resistance of die shame and embarrassment which surrounded this sphere for him. One clerecrs somerhing -of- rht deep confusion in which this social developmenr had placed people; the only advice char rht educaror was able ro give mothers was to avoid contact wirh these things wherever possible. \Vhar is involved here is nor rhe lack of insighr or rhe inhibition of a parricular person: ir is a social. nor an individual problem. Only gradually, as if through insighr gained rerrospecrively, were better methods evolved for adapring rhe child ro the high degree of sexual resrraim, ro the comrol, rransformarion and inhibition of these drives char were totally indispensable for life in this sociery, Von Raumer himself in a sense saw char chis area of life ou<•hr nor ro be b surrounded wirh an aura of secrecy '\vhich is liable to arouse curiosirv". Bur as this had become a "secret" area in his socierv, he could nor escape necessity of secrecy in his own preceprs: "A morher . oughr only once ro say seriously:
Ch1mg,;s i11 the Bul.Jcn'in!!r of thu Swtlar Uf'f'tr Classes i11 the \Vist 'It would nor be good for you ro know such a thing, . · " Neither motives nor practical reasons primarily derermined this attirucle. bm shame of adulrs rhemselves, which had become compulsive Ir was prohibitions and resistances within themselves, rheir own "superego",
153
"rarional" rather rhe rhe social char made
them keep silenr, For Erasmus and his comemporaries, as we have seen, rhe problem was nor rh,ir of enlighrening rhe child on the relations of men and women, Children found our abom chis of their own accord through the kind of social insrirurions and social life in which they grew up. As rhe reserve of adulrs was less, so roo was the discrepancy between what was permirred openly and whar rook place behind the scenes Here rhe chief rnsk of the educaror was ro guide rhe child, within whar it already knew, in rhe correcr direction-or, more precisely, rhe direction desired by the eclucaror. This was what Erasmus sought co do rhrough conversations like char of the girl with her suiror or the youth wirh rhe prosrirure, And rhe success of rhe book shows rhar Erasmus struck the righr note for many of his com em poraries. As in rhe course of the civilizing process the sexual drive, like many ochers, has been subjected ro ever srricrer comrol and re-modelling, the problem ir poses changes, The pressure placed on adults ro privatize all their impulses (parricularly sexual ones), the "conspiracy of silence", the socially generated resrricrions on speech, the emotionally charged character of most words relating ro sexual urges-all this builds a thick wall of secrecy around the growing child. \Vhar makes sexual enlighrenment-rhe breaching of chis wall, which will one clay be necessary-so clifficulr is not only rhe need to make the growing child conform w rhe same sranclarcl of resrraim and comrol over drives as rhe adulr. Ir is, above all, rhe mental srrucrure of the aclulrs rhemselves char makes speaking abom these secret rhings difficult, Very often adults have neirher the rone nor the words. The "dirty" words they know are om of rhe question. The medical words are unfamiliar to many. Theorerical considerations in rhemselves do not help. Ir is the sociogeneric repressions in them chat lead ro resistance to speaking. Hence the advice given by Von Raumer to speak on these matters as little as possible, And chis siruation is further exacerbated by rhe fact that rhe tasks of condirioning and "enlightenment" fall more and more exclusively ro parems. The manysicled love relarionships between mother, father and child rend ro increase resistance to speaking abom these questions, not only on the pan of the child bm also on that of the father or morher. Ir is clear from this how the question of childhood is ro be posed,, The psychological problems of the growing person cannot be unclersrood if individuals are regarded as developing uniformly in all hisrorical epochs. The problems relating to rhe child's consciousness and drive-economy vary with the namre of the relations of children to adulrs. These relations have in each sociery a specific form corresponding ro the peculiarities of irs structure They are clifferem in
The Cizi!i:i11g P1r1c1:s.1·
155
knightly society from rhose in urban bourgeois socien·: . chev. are different in the whole secular society of che Middle Ages from chose of modern times. Therefore che problems arising from che adaptation and moulding of growing children che standard of adults-for example, che specific problems of pubtrt\" in our civilized society-can only be underscood in relation co rhe hisrorical phase, the structure of society as a whole. which demands and maintains chis standard of adult behaviour and rhis special form of relationship between adults and children. 9 A civilizing curve analogous to rhac which appears through che question of "sex education .. could also be shown in re lac ion ro marriage and ics development in \Xiescern society. Thar monogamous marriage is che predominant inscicution regulating sexual relations in che \Vest is undoubtedly correct in general cerms. Nevertheless, the actual control and moulding of sexual relations has changed
class ot.ctn called themselves "bascarcl .. ex1Jressh_· and 1;rouclh.· is well enough known. in che absolucisc court societies of che seventeenth and eighteenth the scruccure of ceow rl·c:s derived its special character from che face chac.· through . .
rhese societies. che dominance of che husband over che wife was
for che -nrst ci·me . The social !}OWer of che wife was almost equal to chat ot the husband. ·al opinion was determined ro a high degree bv• women. And whereas societ\·. v· v S0 c1, h:id hirherco acknowledged only che extramarital relationships of men. regarding rhose of the socially "weaker sex" as more or less reprehensible. the extramarital relarionships of women now appeared, in keeping wich che transformation of the balance of social power becween che sexes, as legicimact within cenain limits.
le remains co be shown in greater clecail how decisive chis first power-gain or, if one likes, chis first wave of emancipation of women in absolmisc court society
considerably in che course of \Xiescern history. The Church certainly fought ear!v
was for che civilizing process, for the advance of cht frontier of shame and
for monogamous marriage. Bur marriage rook on this strict form as a soci;I
embarrassment and for the strengthening of social control over individuals .
inscicucion binding on boch sexes only ac a lace stage, when drives and impulses
Along wich chis power-gain. che social ascent of ocher social groups necessiraced
came under firmer and stricter control For only chen were excramariral relation-
new forms of drive control for all ac a lewl midway between chose previously
ships for men really ostracized socially, or ac lease subjected co absolute secreC\·. In earlier phases, depending on che balance of social power between che
imposed on che rulers and che ruled respectively, so chis strengthening of che social position of women signified (ro express che point schematically) a decrease
excramarical relationships for men and sometimes also for women were caken
in the restrictions on their drives for women and an increase in che rescriccions
more or less for granted by secular society. Up ro che sixteenth cenrurv we bear
on cheir drives for men. Ac che same cime, ic forced both men and women to
ofren enough chat in che families of the mosc honourable citizens che l.egicimate
adopt a new and a stricter self-discipline in their relations with one another.
and illegicimace children of che husband were brought up rogecher; nor was anv
In che famous novel La P1i11ecss1: dt Cli:zu, by Madame de la Fayecce. che
secret made of cht difference before che children themselves. The man was no.t
Princess's husband, who knew his wife ro be in love wich che Due cit Nemours,
yec forced socially ro feel ashamed of his excramarical relationships. Despite all
savs: "I shall cruse only in you; ic is che path my heart counsels me ro cake. and
the countervailing tendencies chat undoubtedly alreadv existed, ic was verv often taken for gramecl char die bascarcl children were a p;1rc of cbe familv.
che
my reason. \Vich a temperament like yours. hy lmzi11g y1J11 )1Ji!r !ilm·ty I sd 111n-rr;zct:r
)IJ!t
!iwirs than I could enforce .... "'
father should provide for their future and, in che case of daughters, ;1rrange an
This is an example of che characceriscic pressure coward self-di sci pl int
honourable wedding. Bm no doubt chis led more than once co serious "misunclerscanding .. % b.ecween che married couples.
imposed on cht sexes by chis situation. The husband knows chat he cannot hold
The sirnacion of che illegicimace child was noc alwars and even-where cht same throughom the Middle Ages . For a long cime, nev.erchtless,
his wife by force. He does noc ram or expostula(e because his wife loves anochtr, nor dots he appeal ro his rig hes as a husband . Public opinion would support none
was no
of chis . He restrains himself Bm in doing so ht expects from her che same self-
trace of the tendency cowards secrecy which corresponds lacer, in proftssionalbourgeois society, ro the tendency cowards a scriccer confinement of sexualit\' ro the relationship of one man co one woman, ro che stricter control of
discipline as he imposes on himself This is a very characceriscic example of che new cons(ellacion chat comes inco being wich che lessening of social inequality between che sexes. Fundarnemally, iris not rhe individual husband who gives his
impulses, and ro che stronger pressure of social prohibitions Here, coo, the
wift chis freedom. Ir is founded in che structure of society itself Bur ic also
demands of che Church cannot be taken as a measure of che real scanclarcl of secular society.. In reality, if noc alwavs in law, che situation of che illegicimace
demands a new kind of behaviour. Ir produces very specific conflicts. And chere
children in a family differed from
of che legicimace children onlv in
are ctrcainly enough women in chis society who make use of chis freedom" There
che
is plentiful evidence chat in chis cour( aristocracy che rescriccion of sexual
or at
relationships ro marriage was very often regarded as bourgeois and as noc in
lease noc che same pare of ic as che legitimate children Thac people in the upper
keeping with cheir escace. Never(heless, all chis gives an idea of how directly a
former did noc inherit che srarns of che father nor in general his
156
The C il'i!i:i11g Proo:_;_;
specific kind of freedom corresponds to particular forms and stages of social interdependence among human beings. The non-dynamic linguiscic forms to which we are scill bound today oppose freedom and conscraim like heaven and htll From a short-term point of view, this chinking in absolme opposites is ofren reasonably adequate. For someone in prison the world outside che prison walls is a world of fretdom. But considered mort precisely, chere is, contrary ro what antitheses such as chis one suggest, no such ching as "absolute" freedom, if this means a rota! independence and absence of social constraint. There is a liberncion from one form of consrraim that is oppressive or inrolernble ro another which is less burdensome. Thus the civilizing process, despite the rransformacion and increased constraint that it imposes on the emotions, goes hand in hand wich liberacions of the most diverse kinds. The form of marriage at the absolutist courts, symbolized by the same arrangement of living rooms and bedrooms for men and women in the mansions of che court aristocracy, is one of many examples of this. The woman was more free from external consrraims than in feuclal society But the inner constraint, the self-control which she had rn impose on herself in accordance with the form of integration and the code of behaviour of court society, and which stemmed from the same structural features of this society as her "liberation", had increased for \vomen as for men in comparison to knightly sociecy The case is similar if rhe bourgeois form of marriage of the nineteenth century is comparecl wich that of rhe court aristocracy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In this later period, the bourgeoisie as a whole became freed from the pressures of the absolurisr-estates social structure. Both bourgeois men and bourgeois women were now relieved of the external constraints to which they were subjected as second-rare people in the hierarchy of estates. Bur the interweaving of trade and money, the growth of which had given them che social power to liberate themselves, had increased In chis respecc, the social constraints on individuals were also scronger chan before. The pa((ern of self-restraim imposed on che people of bourgeois sociecy chrough cheir occupacional work was in many respeccs different from che pauern imposed on the emocional life by rhe funccions of courc society. For many aspeccs of rhe "emocional economy", bourgeois funccions-above all, business life-demand and produce greacer selfrescraint chan courdy funccions. \'Vhy che level of development, why-to express it more precisely-che occupacional work char became a general way of life wich the rise of che bourgeoisie should necessirnte a particularly scrict disciplining of sexuality is a quescion in its own right.. The lines of connection becween the modelling of che drive-economy and the social scrucrure of che nineceenth cenmry cannoc be considered here. However, by the srandard of bourgeois society, che control of sexuality and the form of marriage prevalem in court society appear extremely lax Social opinion now severely condemned all excramarical relations becween the sexes, chough here, unlike che siruacion in
Cht111g.:s in tin: Bth,n·io11r of tin Sw1!t1r
Upper Classes in tht \Fest
15 7
. cierv, che social power of che husband was again greacer than chat of che coun so , . . . . so thac violac10n of the rnboo on excramanral relanonsh1ps by che husband . usually judged more leniendy chan che same offence by women Bm boch \\a5 1es now had w be emireh· excluded from official social life. Unlike chose in breac 1 · . . . -ierv rhev had ro be removed scricd v behrnd che scenes. barn shed to che courr ,uL . ' . . . . . . . . f secrecv. This is onlv one of manv examples of the rncrease rn rnh1bltlon I O ream · · · , nd self-resrrainc which individuals now had ro impose on chemselves. ,! lO. The civilizing process does nor follow a scraighr line. The general trend of cI1ang,e can be decermined ' as has been done here . On a smaller scale lhere are the diverse criss-cross movements, shifts and spurcs in this or that direction Bm if we consider che movement over large rime spans, we set clearly how cht compulsions arising directly from che chreat of weapons and physical force have araduallv diminished, and how chose forms of dependency which lead w che of che affeccs in che form of self-comm!, gradually increased . This appears ac ics most unilinear if we observe che men of che upper class of ,my cime-d1ac is, che class composed first of wamors or knighcs, chen of and chen of professional bourgeois. If che whole many-layered fabric of hisrorical development is considered. however. che movemem is seen to be intinicely more complex. In each phase chere are numerous flucmations. frequem advances or recessions of rhe internal and excernal conscraims An observacion of such flucrnacions. parcicubrly chose close to us in rime, can easily obscure che general crend. One such flucmacion is present today in che memories of all: in the_ period following \Vorld \Var I, as compared w che pre-war period. a "relaxation of morals" appears w have occurred. A number of conscraints imposed on behaviour before che war have weakened or disappeared emirt!y.. 1fany chings forbidden earlier are now permicced. And. seen at close quarcers. che movemem seems rn be proceeding in che direction opposice to that shown here: ic seems to lead to a relaxation of che constraints imposecl on individuals by social lift . Bm on closer examinacion ic is nor difficulr w perceive char chis is merely a very slighc recession. one of che fluctuacions char constantly arise from the complexicy of che hisrnrical movement wichin each phase of the roral process. One example is baching manners. Ir would have meam social ostracism in che nineceenth cemury for a woman rn wear in public one of rhe barbing cosrumes commonplace roday. Bm chis change. and wirh it the whole spread of sports for men and \vomen. presupposes a very high standard of drive control. Only in a society in which a high degree of rescraim is raken fi:ir granted. and in which women are. like men. absolmely sure char each individual is curbed by selfconrrol and a scricc code of eciquene. can bathing and sponing cusrnms having chis relacivt degree of freedom develop. Ir is a relaxarion which remains wichin rhe framework of a panicular "civilized" srnndard of behaviour involving a very high degree of automacic conscraim and affecc cransformarion. conditioned to become a habic
158
The
Ac che same cime. howen:r. we also find in our own cime che precursors of a shifr wwards che culrivarion of new and srricrer consrrainrs. In a number of societies there art arremprs ro establish a social regulation and management of d1t emorions far srronger and more: conscious rhan rht standard prevalent hirhtrro. a pattern of moulding rhar imposes renunciations and rransfrirmarion of drives on individuals with vast consequences for human life which are scarcely fortseeable as yer
11 Regardless. rherefore. of how much rhe tendencies may criss-cross. advance and recede. relax or righten in matters of derail and from a short-term perspecrin:. rhe direction of the main mowment-as far as ir is visible up ro now-has been the same for the expression of all kinds of driw. The process of ci\·ilization of rhe sex driw. seen on a large scale. has run parallel ro those oforher drives. no matter what sociogenetic differences of derail may always be present. Here, t00. measured in terms of the srandards of the men of successive upper classes. control has grown ever srricrer . The drive has been slowly but progressively suppressed from the public life of society The reserve that must be exercised in speaking of it has also increased.'"' And this restraint. likt all others. is enforced !tss and less by direcr physical force. Ir is culrirnrtd in inc!i\·ic!uals from an tar!y age as habirnal self-restraint by rhe srrucrure of social life. by the pressure of social instirnrions in general. and by certain executive organs of society (above all. the family) in particular. Correspondingly, the social commands and prohibitions become increasingly a part of rhe self_ a strictly rtgulared superego Like many other dri\·es. sexuality is confined more and more exclusi\·ely. nor only for women bm for men as well, ro a particular enclave, socially legitimized marriage. Social wlerance of other relationships, for both husband and wife, which was by no means lacking earlier. is suppressed increasing!)". if with flucrnarions Every violation of rhc:se restrictions. and e\·ernhing concluciw to one. is rhertfort rdtgated to cht realm of secrtcy. of what mav nor Ik menrioned wirhom loss of prestige or social position And just as the nuclear family only very gradually became. so txclusin:l)·, the sole legitimate enclave of sexuality and of all intimate funcrions for men and women. so it was only ar a recent stage that it became so decisi\·ely rhe primary organ for culrirnring the socially required control over impulses and bdiaviour in young people. Before this degree of restraint and intimacy was reached. and until the separation of the life of drives from public view was strictly enforced. rhe cask of early conditioning did nor fall so heavily on father and morher. All the people wirh whom the child came into contact-and when intimizarion \ms less advanced and the interior of the house less isolated. they were often quire numerous-played a part. In addition. rhe family itself was usually larger andin rhe upper classes-the servants more numerous in earlier rimes. People in general spoke more openly about rhe \·arious aspecrs of the life of drives. and gave way more freely in speech and
l59 .·, cl virh sexualitl" was less. This is what makes Erasmus's educational issoo,lte \ ". . . . . -" . so dithculr tor I'tcla;..'.o"ues ot a larer phase ro unclusrand. ,ork quorecI ·1bC)\·e ' · c. ;nd 50 conditioning. rhe reproduction of social habits in d1t child.did nor rake 50 exclusively bt:hincl closed doors. as 1r were. bur tar more directly lll the . u· f or her IJtOjJle · A bv· no means unrvpical picrnre of this kind. ot resence . .. . p 1· · ninu in rhe UJJ[Jer class can be tound. tor example, lll the diary of rhe cone iuo c ·in He' ro'1rd which records dav bv dav and almost hour b\· hour the donor ..Te ' ' · · · · , ·1c!l1ood of Louis XIII • what ht did and said as he grew up cni ,· . Ir is nor withom a wuch of paradox that the greater the transrormarrnn. ·rncl conce·ilment of drives and impulses that is . demanded conrro l . r"stnint c ._ ' ' . . · c1· ·i·clLi'ils Lw socierv ·rnd therefore rhe more dithculr rhe conclmon111g or ot 111 l\ ' • • · •• ' . . . young becomes. the more rhe rnsk of first socially re:uired habits 1s within rhe nuclear family. on rhe tarher and mother. _I he mecha111sm ot. cone1·r 1 1·onin<• b' howewr , is still srnrcelv . different than in earlier nmes . For ir does not involve a closer supervision of rhe task. or more exacr planning that rakes account of rhe special circumstances of rhe child. bur is effecrecl primarily by automatic means and t0 some extent through reflexes . The socially patterned_ consrellarion of habits and impulses of rhe parents gives rise t0 a consrellarion of habits and impulses in rhe child; these may operate either in rhe same direction or in one entirely different from rhar desired or expected by the parents on the basis of their own conditioning. The interweaving of the habits of parents and children, rbrough which the drive economy of rhe child is slowly moulded and viven irs character is, in other words, only t0 a slight extent determined by Behaviour and words associated by the parenr with shame and repugnance are very soon associated in the same way by the children, through the parents' expressions of displeasure. their more or less gentle pressure; in this way rbe social standard of shame and repugnance is gradually reproduced 111 the children. But such a standard forms at rhe same rime rhe basis and framework of the most diverse individual drive formations. How the growing personality is fashioned in particular cases by rhis incessant social inreracrion between die parenrs and children's feelings. habits and reactions is at present largely unforeseeable and incalculable ro parents. 1..2. The trend of the ciYilizing moYemenr rowards tht stronger and stronger and more complete "inrimizarion ··of all bodily funcrions. wwards their enclosure in particular enclaves, ro put them "behind closed doors". has din:rsc: consequences . One of the most important. which has already been obsen . ed lll connection with various other forms of drives. is seen particularly clearly lll the case of rhe developmenr of civilizing restraints on sexuality Ir is the peculiar division in human beings which becomes more pronounced rhe more sharply rhose as peers of human life rhat may be publicly displayed are divided from those rhar may nor. and which must remain "intimate" or "secret" Sexuality. like all
160
Tlk Cfrilizi11g PrrJCeS.l
rhe ocher narural human funcrions, is a phenomenon known ro everyone and a parr of each human lift. \\le have seen how all rhese funcrions have graduallir become charged wirh sociogeneric shame and embarrassmem, so rhar rhe me;e memion of rhem in public is increasingly resrricred by a mulriwde of conrrols and prohibirions. More and more, people keep rhe funcrions rhemselves, and all reminders of rhem, concealed from one anorhec \\!here rhis is nor possible-as in weddings, for example-shame. embarrassmem, fear and all rhe orher emorions associared wirh rhese driving forces of human lift are masrered by a precisely regulared social rimal and by cerrain concealing formulas rhar preserve rhe standard of shame. In orher words, wirh rhe advance of civilizarion rhe lives of human beings are increasingly splir berween an imimare and a public sphere, berween prirnre
Changes
·
Jil
1 toe
B,.'1, 11·1·0111· 1.1J t'v 1•• 1. . ,
5,.,·ufar
Up•t1tr /
Clc1ssr:s in the \\!i:st
16l
x On Changes m Aggressiveness . ffecr-srrucrure of human beings is a whole. \\le may call parricular_ drives · · -The .·1.. d'1recr10ns · ames ·1ccording ro rhe1r d1Herenr an cl f uncr10ns. \\le mav, b - d1Herenr n, ' . . Ji ,_ t' hun"er and rhe need to spir, of rhe sexual dnve and ot aggressive 0 0 · soeaK · ' b · l' ce rbese different dnves are no more separa bl e r Irnn r l1e I1eart ·rn ulses, ur 1I1 Jr• . . . , 1 • p l . m·icb or rhe blood in rhe brain from rhe blood 1l1 rhe gernralw. Tht} trorn t ie sto ' . '. . and in parr supersede each other, rransform rhemsehes \\ 1rl11n comp lemenr · ·· · If · 1· · and compensate for each orher; a d1srurbance here man1tesrs 1rse cerra!I1 im1 rs ' . . . shon rhev form a kind of circuir in rht human bemg, a partial urnr rhere. I n ' , . , . . . . , . l · I e roral unirv of rhe oraan1sm. fhe1r srrucrure is soil opaque m man} ' , o . . . . fi h wit 11n r 1 ur rheir sociallv imprinted form 1s of dec1s1ve 1mporrance or r e · . . . . . . respecrs, b funcrioning of a sociery as of rhe rnd1v1duals w1rh111 1L The manner in which impulses or emotional express10ns are spoken of today · l . els one ro surmise rhar we have wirhin us a whole bundle of sorner1mes ea . . ,, ·r· cl · . A "dearl insrincr'" or ·1 "need for recogrnnon are referred to as dirterenr nves. ' 1 ' . 'f l , were differem chemical subsrances. This is nor to deny rhar observanons t ne} · cl · · 1 cl.f-cerenr drives in individuals mav1 be exrremtlv• fnurful an rnsrrucove. orr r11ese 1 11 . _ . Bur the caregories by which rhese observarions are class1hed musr _remam powerless in rhe face of rheir living objecrs if rhey_ fail ro express rhe .urnry and toralirv of rhe life of drives, and rhe connecr10n ot each dnve ro rh1s tora I1.. ry. Accordi'ngl"1, aggressiveness • which will be rhe subject of rh1s chaprer,. is nor a .separable species of drive. Ar most, one may speak of rhe _"aggressive impulse" only if one remains aware rhar it refers ro a boddy funcr10n wirhin rhe toraliry of an organism, and rhar changes ll1 rh1s tuncr10n mdicare changes in rhe personality srrucrure as a whole. LLThe standard of aggressiveness, irs rone and intensity, is nor at _presem exactly uniform among rhe differem nations of rhe \\!esr. Bur rhese differences, whicl; from close up ofren appear quire considerable, disappear if rhe aggressiveness of rhe "civilized" narions is compared to rhar of socieries at a different stage of affect control. Compared ro rhe barde fury of rhe Abyssinian warriorsadmirredlv powerless against rhe technical appararus of rhe civilized army--or ro rhe of rhe different rribes ar the rime of the Grear Migrarions, rhe of even rhe mosr warlike nations of rhe civilized world .appears subdued. Like all other insrincrs, it is bound, even in direcdy \Yarl1ke acr10ns, by rhe advanced stare of rhe division of funcrions, and by rhe resulting greater dependence of individuals on each orher and on rhe technical apparatus. Ir is confined and rnmed bv innumerable rules and prohibitions rhar have become much rransformed, "refined", "civilized", as all rhe orher self-constraints. Ir is
162 forms of pleasure. and it is only in dreams or in isolated ourbursrs that We accounr for as pathological char something of its immediate and unregulated force appears In rhis area of the affecrs. the rheaue of hostile collisions between people, the same historical transformation has taken place as in all others. No matter at what poinr the Middle Ages stand in this transformation. it will again suffice here to rake rhe standard of their secular ruling class, rhe warriors, as a srarting-poinr, to illustrate the overall panern of this developmenr. The release of the affects in battle in rhe Middle Ages was no longer, perhaps, quire so uninhibited as in the early period of the Grear Migrations . Bur it was open and uninhibited enough compared to the srandard of modern rimes. In the laner, cruelty and joy in the destruction and tormenr of od1ers. like die proof of physical superiority, are placed under an increasingly strong social control anchored in the stare organization . All these forms of pleasure, hemmed in by threats of displeasure, have gradually come ro express themselves only inclirecrly, in a "refined" form. And only at rimes of social upheaval or where social conrrol is looser (e g., in colonial regions) do they break our more direcdy. uninhibitedly, less impeded by shame and repugnance . 2. Life in medieval society tended in rhe opposite direction Rapine. battle, hunting of people and animals-all these were viral necessities which, in accordance with the structure of society, were visible to all. And thus. for the mighty and strong, they formed part of the pleasures of life. ··r tell you ... says a \\·ar hymn aruiburecl to rhe minstrel Bertran de Born, ""that neither earing, drinking, nor sleep has as much savour for me as when I hear the cry 'Forwards 1' from both sides, and horses without riders shying and whinnying, and the err 'Help 1 Help!', and ro see the small and rhe great fall to the grass at rhe di re hes and the dead pierced by rhe wood of rhe lances decked with banners . " Ewn the literary formulation gi\"es an impression of rhe original saYagery of feeling. In another place Bertran de Born sings: '"The pleasant season is drawing nigh when our ships shall land. when King Richard shall come. merry and proud as he never was before. Now we shall see gold and sil\"er spent: che newly built stonework will crack to the heart's desire, walls crumble. rowers topple and collapse. our enemies taste prison and chains. I love the melee of blue and vermilion shields, the many-coloured ensigns and rhe banners, the rents and rich pavilions spread out on the plain, the breaking lances, rhe pierced shields, the gleaming helmets char are split, rhe blows given and received." \Var. one of the chc111so11s cit gcrtr: declared, was to descend as the stronger on the enemy, ro hack clown his vines. uproot his trees. lay waste his Janel. rake his castles by storm, fill in his wells, and kill his people. A panicular pleasure was taken in mutilating prisoners: "By my rrorh."" said the king in the same chcn1so11. ··r laugh at what you say I care nor a fig for your
I shall shame e\·ery knight I have raken. cut off his nose or his ears. If he rhrears. . _ .. 101 . _ "eant or a merchant he will lose a toot or an arm. is a . . . . . fwere not onl\"- said ll1_ song. These epics were_ an rnregral part o Suel1 r11inus c _ . life. And rhey expressed the ftelings ot the listeners tor whom they were . cl -d f:1 r more direcrlv than manv 1•)arts of our literature They may have ' 1nten t r-ired rhe derails. Even in the age of knights money already had, on e:s:agge" ._ . . ,. · ns some power to subdue and transform rhe affects. Usually only the poor occasio , . , - ,l,· for whom no considerable ransom could be expected, were mut1lared. ;:tOO 1Q\\ JJ . . knid1ts who commanded ransoms were: spared. The chronicles which and rlie . . cl.. rn.:c ti\·_ document social life bear ample wirness to these an1rndes Thev were mosdy written by clerics The \·alue judgements they conrarn are often those of the weaker group threatened by rhe warrior class Nevertheless, the picture rhey transmit ro us is quire genuine. ··He spends his life", we read of a knight, "in plundering, destroying churches, falling upon pilgrims. oppressing widows and orphans. He 1xirricular plea:ure ll1 rhe innocenr ' In a sinu[e monasrerv. that ol the black monks ot Sarlar, ·lari·n" OlU t 1 b b • there are 150 men and women whose hands he has cm off or whose eyes he has put our And his wife is just as cruel. She helps him with his executions. Ir gives her pleasure to torture the poor women. She had their breasts hacked orf or 02
;heir nails torn off so that they were incapable of work. "! Such affective outbursts may still occur as exceptional phenomena, as a "pathological .. degeneration, in later phases of social development. But here no punitive social power existed The only threat, rhe only clanger that could rnst1l fear was that of being overpowered in battle by a stronger opponent Leanng aside a small dire, rapine, pillage and murder were srandarcl practice in the warrior society of this rime, as is noted by Luchaire, the historian of rhirreenthcenrurv French societ\". There is little e\·iclence char things were clifferenr in ocher counrr.ies or in rhe ce,nrnries rhar followed Outbursts of cruelty did nor exclude one from social life. They were nor outlawed. The pleasure in killing and torturing others was great, and it was a socially permitted pleasure. To a certain extent, rhe social structure even pushed its members in this direction. making ir seem necessary and practically advantageous to behave in this way \Xihar, for example. ought to be clone with prisoners;, There was little money in chis society. \Xiirh regard to prisoners who could pay and who, moreover, were members of one's own class. one exercised some degree of restraint Bm the others;, To keep chem meant to feed chem. To return them meant to enhance the wealth and fighting power of the enemy.. For subjects (i e., working. serving and fighting hands) were a part of rhe wealth of che ruling class of char rime . So prisoners were killed or sent back so mutilated char they were unfitted for war service and work. The same applied to destroying fields, filling in wells and curring clown rrees In a preclominanrly agrarian society. in which immobile possessions represented rhe major part of property. this too served to weaken rhe
164
Th, Cil'i!i:i11g Process
enemy. The stronger affectivity of behaviour was ro a certain degree social!v necessary. People behaved in a socially useful way and rook pleasure in And it was entirely in keeping with the lesser degree of social control and constraint of the life of drives that this joy in destrucrion could sometimes way. through a sudden identification with the victim, and doubtless also as an expression of rhe fear and guilt produced by the permanent precariousness of this life. ro excremes of pity The vicror of roday was defeated tomorrow by some accident, caprured and imperilled. In the midst of these perperual ups and downs, this alternation of the human hunts of wartime wirh the animal hums or tournaments that were rhe diversions of "peacetime", little could be predicted. The furure was relatively uncertain even for chose who had fled rhe "world"; only God and the loyalty of a few people who held together had any permanence. Fe;r reigned everywhere; one had to be on one's guard all the time. And just as people's fate could change abruptly, so their joy could rum into fear and chis fear, in its rurn, could give way, equally abruptly, ro submission ro some new pleasure. The majority of the secular ruling class of rhe Middle Ages led the life of leaders of armed bands. This formed the taste and habits of individuals . Reports left to us by that society yield, by and large, a picture similar ro those of feudal societies in our own times; and they show a comparable standard of behaviour. Only a sm<1ll elire, of which more will be said later, stood om ro some extent from this norm The warrior of the Middle Ages not only loved battle, he lived for ic. He spent his yomh preparing for battle. \Xihen he came of age he was knighted, and waged war as long as his strength permitted, into old age. His life had no other function. His dwelling-place was a watchtower, a fortress, at once a weapon of attack and defence . If by accident, by exception, he lived in peace, he needed at least the illusion of war. He fought in rournaments, and these tournaments often differed little from real battles. 105 "For the society of that time war was the normal state," says Luchaire of the thirteenth century. And Huizinga says of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries: "The chronic form which war was wont to rake, the continuous disruption of rown and country by every kind of dangerous rabble, the permanent threat of harsh and unreliable law enforcement . . . nourished a feeling of universal uncerrainty." 10 ·' In the fifteenth century, as in the ninth or thirteenth, the knight still gave expression ro his joy in war, even if it were no longer so uninhibited and intact as earlier. "War is a joyous thing . " 105 It was Jean de Bueil who said this. He had fallen inro disfavour with the king. And now he dictated his life srory ro his servant. This was in the year 1465 It was no longer the completely free, independem knight who spoke, the little king in his domain. It was someone who was
Chilnges in the B1:htll'iol!r of the Swdt1r Uf'i'er C!t1sses in the \Vest
165
· en·ice: "\Var is a 1·ovous thing \Ve love each other so much in war. . . himsel f in s _ . l, t our cause is JUSt and our krnsmen fight boldly, tears come to our It we see t M . . . r . . . . eves. A sweet joy nses _m our hearts. m the red mg. ot our honest loyafr: to each ' cl seein" our friend so brawh· exposmg his bodv to danger 111 order ro orher; an b . . v . d Creator, we resolve ro go forward an cl f lfil the commandment of our . . . d"- or live with him and never leave him on account of love. This brmgs such 1 ". h 1 ,,t ·rnyone who has not felt it cannot say how wonderful it is. Do you del1g ( t 1c. ' • • • . . , . 'k l t someone who feels this is afraid of death, Not ll1 the least! He IS so wrn t 1a . _. _ . ed so deliuhted, that he does not know where be 1s. lruly be tears srrengt l1en , o nothing in the world'" . This was the joy of battle, certainly. bm ir was no longer the direct pleasure in rhe human hunt, in the flashing of swords, in rhe neighing of steeds, in the c . cl death of the enemv-how fine it is ro hear them cry "Help, help'" or see 1ear an · 10 rhem ly1·nub with their bodies rorn open'· <· Now the pleasure lav" in. the closeness _ ro one's friends. the enthusiasm for a just cause. and more than earlier we find the joy of battle serving as an inroxicant ro overcome fear. . VerY simple and powerful feelings speak here. One killed, gave oneself up ro the fight. saw one's friend fight. One fought at his side. One forgot where. one was. One forgot death itself It was splendid . \Xihat more' There is abundant evidence that the attitude rowards life and death in the sec.u.lar upper class of the j\fiddle Ages by no means always accords with rhe attitude prevalent in rhe books of the ecclesiastical upper class, which we usually consider "typical" of the 1Iiddle Ages For the clerical upper class, or at least for its spokesmen, the conduct of life was determined by the thought of death and of what comes after, the next world. In the secular upper class this was by no means so exclusively the case. However frequent moods and phases of this kind may have been in the life of everv knight, there is recurrent evidence of a quite different attitude. Again and hear an admonition that does nor quite accord with the srandard picmre of the Middle Ages roday: do not let your life be governed by the thought of death. Love the joys of this life. "Nul courtois ne doit blamer joie, mais roujours joie aimer." (No co111luis man should revile joy, he should love joy.) 1o- This was a command of col!rtoisie from a romance of the early thirteenth century. Or from a rather later period: .. A young man should be gay and lead a joyous life. It does not befit a young man ro be mournful and pensive " 108 In these srntements the knightly people, who certainly did not need robe "pensive", clearly contrasted themselves ro the clerics, who no doubt were frequently "mournful and pensive" This far from life-denying attitude was expressed particularly earnestly and explicitly with regard ro death in some verses in the Distiche Cdto11is, which were passed from generation ro generation throughom the Middle Ages. Thar life is
l66 uncerra1n StS:
was
Ol1t
of the funclamenrnl themes which recurred in these ver.
·. ro nke d'Escouchy He was_ a There 1,' ont example-the fate. of .Mathieu ._ and one of the numerous men ot the hfteenth century who wrote a
f(H
· l ·· ii 1 From rhis .. Chronicle .. we would suppose him to haw been a . · · · · · k B "Chrome e man of letters who devoted his nme to meticulous hisrnncal \I or.. Lit
To us all a hard uncertain lift. is !'in:n Bm this did nm lead to the conclusion that one should chink of death and comes afrerward, bur rather:
.
. r nc'
il we tr; to I ' en1erges
.
Or in anmher plact, expressed \1·ich panicular clarity and beamy· 11"
c
of his life from the documents. a totally ditterent
· . kine! of fr.ucl with the famil1 of rht procurarnr of the ro,1·n. Jean Fromenr. a
him 111 ,1 · , . ,c d El.1,n 1·)- fou"hr out in lawsuirs. Firsr ir is dk l'rocur
. . ' n1Lird e r. or of .. txcts et ·Hrem11raz .. The manir tor his pan rhreau:ns rhe "urrycn · ' · ·. or,. llb ·-- c e _ with inYesriwnion for n1anical The won1an obrains a <:-' c: _ . . .
\\/e well know rhar dearh shall come and our fornre is unknown: srealrhy as a rhief he comes. and body and soul he does parr Su be o( rrusr and confidence: be nor mo much afraid of clt:arh. for if you fear him owrnrnch joy you nevermore shall rouch
W! O\\
of tht ntxt life. He who allowed his life to be determined by thoughts of death no longer had joy in life. Cenainly. the knights felc themselves strongly to be Christians. and their lives were permeated by the traditional ideas and rituals of the Christian faith; but Christianity was linked in their minds. in accordance with thtir differtnt social and psychological simation, with an tntirely difterem scalt of values from that existing in die minds of the clerics who wrote and read books Their faith had a markedh· different tenor and tone. It did not pn:c\·ent them from savouring to the fiJ!l ch.t jon of the world: it did not hinder chem from killing and plundering. This
pan of their social
function. an attribme of their class, a source of pride. Not
to
tear death was a
viral ne-cessicy foF.the knight. He had to light. The struccure and tensions of this society made this an inescapablt condition for individuals
·I Bur in meclit\·al society this permanent readiness ro fight, weapon in hand, was a viral necessity not only for the warriors, the knightly upper class. The life ot the burghers in rhe cowns was characte-rized by greater and lesser feuds ro a far higher degree- than in later rimes; here-, too, belligerence, hatred and JOY m rormenting others were more- uninhibited than in the subsequent phase. \'Virh rhe slow rise of a Third Estate, the tensions in medieval socien· were increased. And ir was nor only rhe weapon of money that carried the b.urgher Robbe-ry, lighting, pillage. family feuds-all this played a hardly less
important role in the life of the rown population than in that of rhe warrior class
i rstlf
I Li
, · c1·Escouc!11 as a councillor. juror and mayor \farrntu . . be"ins "' .. his. carter
If you fear clearh mu will live in misery
upward
our something
in rht hands ot rhe mJli date. c·cli1111- c-·llin" :::- cl Escoucl11· . to 11lact rhe invesric;ation '. iud1oar1. _ The affair comes before the parliamenr in Paris. and dTscouchy goes co prison tor the first rime. \Ve find him under arresr six rimts subsequently. pardy as ddendanr and Each rin1e there is- a st:rious crin1irul case. and n1orc chan once 1 er 0 ( W'li' once a:-...<.1 1,i·i·sc,i • · • he sirs in heavy chains. The conresr of reciprocal accusarions between rht Froment and d'Escouchy families is intt:rrupred by a violent clash in which Fromenr·s son wounds dTscoucln· Both engage curthroats rn rake each orher·s lives \\'hen rhis len!'rhy feud ... · our view ' ir is re11lacecl Lw· ntw arracks. This time the manir is wounded p;1:'15L'S _. bra monk Ne\1· accusarions. then in 1-ihl cl'Escouchy s removal rn J\esle. apparemly suspicion of criminal acrs. Yet rhis does nor pre,·em him from having a successful rnreer. He becomes a bailiff. mayor of Ribemonr. procurnror rn the king at 5,1im Quinrin. and is raised w the nobilir) /1.frer ntw woundings. incarcerarions and expiarion we find him in war sen-ict. Ht is madt a prisoner of war: from ,1 lacer campaign he rerurns home c-rippled. Then he marries. but rhis does nor mc:an rhc be!'innin!' of a quiet life \Ve find him rrnnspom:d <\S a prisoner rn Pans .. like. a criminal and n1urdertr . accused of forging seals, again in feud wnh a n1ag1suare in Compiegne. broughr to
Ir was worldly people, master
craftsmen. who executed rhese- beautiful works. and the life of these secular artists was very far from being edifying.·· \Xie hear repeatedly of actions which by the present standards of society would be branded as criminal and made socially_ .. impossible .. For example-, rhe painters accused each other of theft; then one of chem, with his kinsmen. srabbe-d the other to death in rhe srreec. And rhe Due
dt Berry. who needed rhe murderer, had to request an amnesty. a lettrc cle 1{111issirlil
168
Ch(lllges in the Beh:ll"iOill of the Swt!ar Upper (/,mes i11 the W'tst
The Ciz'ilizi11g P1ocess
for him Yee. anod1er abducted 'in eight-year-old girl in order ro marry her. naturally_ agamsc rht will of her parems. These /dtres de r.:missiol! show us such bloody feuds raking place everywhere, ofren lascing for many years, and somec1me.s leading .ro wild b,ur!es in public places or in che countryside. And chis applied ro knighcs
169
_ . · v belligerence or cruelty appears ro be contradictory. Religion, the , chis pier,' v . , . . . or . , pLinishin" or rewardin" omnipotence of God, never has m irselt a in r11e o o .... · "" or affect-subduing effect On rhe contrary, religion is always exactly ''CJVl(!Zino . . · , . ··· d"' .1s rhe socierv or class which upholds ir And because emor10ns \\ere "c1v1!Jze ' . . . as . cl in a manner that in our own world is generally observed only m
.
.
.......
.d we call these express10ns and forms of behav10ur childish d11l ren, . . . . n \>Vherever one opens rhe documents of this nme, one hnds the same:. a I e . l structure of affects was different from our own, an existence w1rhour wnere r 1e . . · . •.th onlv minimal rhou"l1t for the future. \'Vhoever did nor love or hare secunt}, \\ 1 . "' . . · h most in rhis societv. whoever could nor stand their ground m the play coreut ·· . .. . · · s could "0 into a monasrerv; m worldlv lite they were JUSt as lost as of passion , "' . ·· . · . ·ersel'· in hrer sooery ,rnd parncularlv at court, persons who could nor con \ 1' ' . ' . curb. their passions, could nor conceal and '·ci_vilize" their aHecrs. ). In both cases it was the structure of society that required and generated a specific standard of emotional comrol. ·'\'Ve," .says Luchaire, ··with our peaceful . . nd habits with rhe care and protecnon rhar rhe modern state Ln ishes manners '1 , . _ . che property and person of each individual'·, can scarcely form an idea of rh1s 00
orher society. Ar rhar rime rhe counrry had disinregrarecl inro pro,·inces. and rhe inhabi ranrs of each province formed a kind of lirde nation rhar abhorred all rhe ochers T:1e provinces were in rum divided inro a mulrirnde of ieudal esrares whose owners toughr each incessandv Nor only rhe gre•lf lords, rhe barons. bur also rht smaller lords or rhe manor in desolare isolation and were uninrerrupredly occupied in \rn,t:ing v:ar against rheir "sovereigns'·, rheir equals or rheir subjecrs. In addirion, there was consrnnr rivaln· berween rown and rown, village and ,·illage, rnlley and \·alley. and consranr wars neighbours d1ar seemed ro arise from rhe very mulripliciry of rhese rerrirorial '
units.
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n:/dfjrJlJS .. 11r1
Not rhar people were always going around with fierce looks, drawn brows and martial counrenarn:es as rhe clearly visible symbols of their warlike prowess, On the contrary,
This description helps us ro see more precisely something which so far has been srared mainly in general rerms, namely, rhe connection between che social structure and the structure of affecrs In this society there was no cenrral power strong enough ro compel people ro exercise rescrainr. Bur if in this or rhar region the power of a central authority grows, if over a larger or smaller area the people are forced to live in peace with each other, the moulding of affects and rhe scandards of rhe drive-econom\· are very gradually changed as well. As will be discussed in more derail larer, .the reserve and ·'murnal consideration" of people increase, first in normal everyday social life. And rhe disclmrge of affects in physical arrack is limited ro cerrain temporal and spatial enclaves Once rhe monopoly of physical power has passed to central authorities, nor every srro_ng man can afford the pleasure of physical arrack. This is now reserved ro those few legitimized bv the central authority (e g , rhe police against rhe criminal), and ro .
.
The Ciz'i/i::,i11g PmctSs larger numbers only in exceprional rimes of war or revolll(ion, in rhe social!\' leg1r1m1zed srrugglt agarnsr internal or excernal enemies. BL!( even rhe_se remporal _or spacial enclaves wirhin civilized sociery in which aggressn·eness. is allowed freer play-abovt all, wars berween narions-have _become mor_e impersonal. and lead and less rn affecrive discharges _as srrong ar:d IIHense ,1s rn rhe medieval phase. The necessary rescra1nt and rranstormation of aggression culrrrnred in rhe everyday life of civilized sociery cannot be simplv reversed. even in rhese enclaves. All rhe same, this could happen more rhan \H: rn1ghr suppose. had nor rhe direcr physical combar berween a man and hrs hared given way rn a mechanized srruggle which required a srrict control ot rhe artecrs. In rhe civilized world. even in war individuals can no longer give free rein rn rheir pleasure, s1mrred on bv. rhe si buJu of rhe enem"y, but muse hghr, no mauer how rhey may fetl, according to rhe commands of invisible or only indirecdy visible leaders, againsr a frequendy invisible or only indirectlv enemy. And immense social upheaval and urgency, heightened rnrdulh· _concerted propaganda, are needed co reawaken and legirimize in large m<1sses ot people rhe socially omlawed drives. die joy in killing and desrruction rhar h,1,·e been repressed from everyday civilized life.
G. Admirredly. these affecrs do have, in a "refined" and more rationalized form rheir legirimare and exactly defined place in Ehe eH:ryday life of civilized societ; And rhis is \·ery characteristic of Ehe kind of uansformarion Ehrough which d;e civiliz,1rion of rhe affecrs rakes place For example, belligerence and aggression find socially permirred expression in sponing comesrs. And rhey are expressed especi,11ly in ··specrnting" (e.g .. at boxing marches). in the imaginarv iclemification wirh a small number of combarams to whom moderaLte
preciselv
;f
regulared scope is gramed for Ehe release of such affecrs. And this living-om affects in specraring or e\·en in merely listening (e.g., to a radio is
a panicu!arly characrerisEic feature of ci,·ilized society Ir partly determines- rhe de,·elopmem of books and rhe d1eaue, and decisiveh- influences rhe role of rhe cinema in our world . This rransformarion of what m;rnifested irself originallv as an accive. often aggressive expression of pleasure. into the passive. mor: pleasure of specrnring (i e .. a mere pleasure of rhe en:) is alreadv iniriared in education. in rhe condicioning preceprs for young In che 177-i edition of La Salle's Cit'iliti, for example. we read (p 23): ··children like to touch clothes and other things rh
to
much all rhey
_By now this precept is taken almost for gramed. Ir is highly cluracceristic ot ci\·ilized people tlut rhey are denied by socially insrillecl self-comrols from spomaneously rnuching what rhey desire. love or hare . The whole moulding of their gesrnres-no m<1rrer how irs parrern may difter among \\!estern naEions wirh regard rn paniculars-is decisi,·tly influenced by this necessiEy Ir has been
elsewhere how rhe use of the sense of smell. rhe tendency ro sniff ar food ·n"s lns come rn be restricred as somerhing animal-like. Here we see Cother [ llJ C • ' •• L 0 ' , f rhe interconnections through which a clitftrent sense organ, the eye. has 0 one on a very specific significance in ciYilized society. In a_ similar way co the · erh,1ps even more so. it has become a mediarnr ot pleasure. precisely ear, pl e direcr satisfanion of rhe desire for pleasure has been hemmed in by . . . because t 1 a mu ltitude of b,1rriers and proh1b1t1ons.
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·eri within chis transfer of emotions from drrect act10n w speetanng, But ev · . . ,. . . been a distinn curve of moderation and ·'human1zanon Ill rhe there lMS . -tormarion of affects The boxing march. to mennon only one example. tr,an , . . . cl , stron«lv rem1Jered torm ot rhe impulses of aggressiveness an represents '1 c- __ _ . cruelty, compared with rhe visual pleasures ot e<1rl1er stages.. . . An example from the sixteenth century may serve as an illusmmon. Ir has been chosen from a mulEitude of others because it shows an institution in whrch .·. ·il s·irr.sfacrion of the ur<'e to cruelrv. rhe jov in watching parn mfl1cred, r he V lSLh ' ' b · • in a panicularly pure form. without any rational jusrificarion or disguise as a punishment or means of discipline. _ _ . _ In Paris during the sixEeenrh cenrnry ir was one ot the fesnve pleasures of .Midsummer Day w burn alive one or EWO dozen cats. This ceremony was very famous. The populace assembled. Solemn music was played. Under a kind ot scaffold an enormous pyre was erecred. Then a s,1ck or basker conrnining die cars was hung from rhe scaffold The sack or basker beg1rn w smoulder. The cats tell imo the fire and were burned w dearh. while rhe crowd re,·elled in their caEerwauling. Usually the king and queen were presem. Sometimes the king or the dauphin was given the honour of lighti_ng Ehe pyre. And we hear thaE once; the si)ecial requesr of King Charles IX. a fox \V
,rnd public extcurions of ewry kind. Ir only appears
worse because rhe joy in torturing living crearnres is rnealed so nakedly and purposelessly. wirhout
to
see one
aspecr of change panicularly much of what earlier pleasure arouses displeasure rnd<1y Now, as rhen. ir is nor merely individual feelmgs rhaE are ill\·olvedc The caE-burning on Midsummer Day was a social institurion. like boxing or horse-racing in presem-day society. And in both cases rhe creared bv socieEV for iEself.
oC this social sranciarcl i.s considered "abnormal" Thus. someone who wished
to
grnEify his or her pleasure in the manner of the sixteemh century by burning cars
17, ·-
Tht Cirilizi11g Pmcess
would be seen toda\_· as "abnorm l" · j b l . a . simp y ecause norma condirioninu · f . ·1· b 10 0Ur stage o cn-1 1zacion restrains the expression of pleasure in such ·ice ions ti · . . . ' 1rough anxiety insnlled as self-control. Here, obvioush·. rhe simnle jJsuc! j · ' l · · . · ' · : 10 ogicaJ mec 1anisrn is at work on the basis of which rhe loni.::-rerm clnnne of jJ4rs .. 1 I . ona.11:tr 1 scrucrure 1as taken place: socially undesirable expressions of drives and )j are ch e cl cl ·l d · I easure r arene an punis 1e w1cl1 measures char generate displeasure and anxi . or allow chem ro becom cl · . I l . tty e omrn,mr. n c 1e constant recurrence of disj)l ·1rouse I b · l cl · easure ' c j t 1rears, an rn the habituation ro this rhvchm rhe do · dis ,j . · . · . . · • minant ·I easurt is compulsorily associated even with behaviour which ac root mav b pleasurable In chis manner. socially aroused displeasure and anxietv-no . d, e cl l · · \va ays represente _. r 1ough by no means always and by no means solely. by the parenrs-hghr with hidden desires. \'Vhar has been shown here from differ angles as an advance in the frontiers of shame, in rhe threshold of repui.::nance the standards of affect. has probably been set in morion by mechanis; s such in 1 rhese. as 0
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.Ir remains to be considered in greater derail what changes in rhe social structure actually mggered these psychological mechanisms. what changes in the on eacl1 or! l · " · ·1· · .. · ·· constrarnrs j)eople 1er set t 11s c1n 1zanon of ·1ttecrs d behaviour in morion. ' an L
XI Scenes from the Life of a Knight The question why people's behaviour and emotions change is reallv rhe same as the _quesrwn why their forms of living change. In medieval socien· .certain forms ot bte had b_een developed. and indi\·icluals were bound to live them as kn_i:1'hrs, m bondsmen. In more recent society different opporrunir;es, forms_ of livrng came to be pre-given. ro which individuals had to adapt. Ir they were ot the nobility they could lead the life of a courtier. But [hev could longer. even if they so desired (and many did), lead rhe less lite of a kniglu From a parcicular time on. this funcrion, this wav of life was no longer pre_sent in the srrucmre of society Orher functions. as rhose of the guild craftsman and the priest, which played an extraordinary pan in the med'.eval largely lost their significance in rhe total structure of social relanons. \'Vhy do these functions and forms of life, to which individuals must adap[ themselves as to more or less fixed moulds. change in the course ofhistorv? As lns bee · l l· · · '. n menr1onec, t 11s is really the same quescion as whv fet!ini.::s and emotions, the strucmre of drives and impulses, and everything with them change. A good deal has been said here abom the emotional standards of rhe medieval
clas::,,. To com1)lemenr chis, and at the same rime to provide a link with the of [ht causes of rht change these standards underwent, we shall now acid · pression of che wav• in which knights lived, and drns of the "social 5hoF 1111 · -11 societv. Oj)tned to individuals of noble birth, and wirhin which it "W lUC .- .. 1 rhem The [Jicture of this "social space". the image of the knight in also conm1cu . . . . . . became clouded 111 obscuncy qu1[e soon after what 1s called their . .. \'vhe[her che medieval warrior came to be seen as rhe "noble knight" "dee Irne · ' _ . . . .. . [he grand, beamiful, adventurous and movrng aspeccs of his life berng membered) or as rhe "feudal lord", the oppressor of peasants (only rhe re b<1rbaric aspects of his life being emphasized), rhe simple picrnre ot rhe acnia l l I·f-,, of chis class is usually disrorred by values and nosrnlgia from rht eriod of rhe observer A few drawings, or at lease clescripr1ons ot may help p [ore rhis f'icrnre. Apart from a few writings, rhe works of sculptors and . . -. · of. the period convey 1)articularlv srronglv the special quality ot 1rs paimer 5 .. . : · . · ... atmosphere or. as we may call 1r. rts emononal character, and the way rt cl1Heres .OLir ciw11 ' chouuh in its real rron1 :::. onlv . a few works reflect che life of a kniglu 'context One of rhe few picrnre-books of chis kind, admirtedly from a relatively late period, between 1-i/5 and l-i80, is rhe sequence of drawings that became known under che nor very appropriate ride 1\Ialicmf Hol!Je-Book (see Appendix ID. The name of the anise who drew chtm is unknown. but he muse have been verr familiar with che knightly life of his rime; moreover, unlike many of his craftsmen. he must have seen rhe world with the eyes of a knight and hir<'eh· identified with cheir social values. A. nor insignificant indication of chis is hi;'"' on one sheer of a man of his own craft as the only craftsmen in courtly dress, as is rhe girl behind him. who places her arm on his shoulder and for he clearly his feelings. Perhaps it is a self-poruair. 11 '' These drawings (see Appendix II) are from che lace knightly period. rhe rime of Charles che BolJ and Maximilian, the hm knight.. \Xie may conclude from the coats of arms char these cwo, or knights close to them, are themselves represented in one or another of che picrures . "There is no doubt, .. ir has been said, "rhar we have Charles rhe Bold himself or a Burgundian knight from his entourage before us " 12 " Perhaps a number of the pictures of tournaments directly depict the jousting following che Feud of Neuss ( l-i 7 5 ), at the betrothal of Maximilian co Charles rhe Bald's daughrer. Marie of Burgundy" Ar any race, chose we see before us are already people of the transitional age in which the knightly arisrocracv was being gradually replaced by a courtly one. And a good deal char is remini;cent of the courtier is also present in these pinures. Nevertheless, they give, on che whole, a very good idea of rhe social space of a knight, of how he filled his days, of what he saw around him and how he saw it. \Vhat do .we see; Nearly always open country. hardly anything recalling the rown. Small villages, fields, trees. meadows. hills. shore stretches of river and. frequently, the castle . Bm there is nothing in these pictures of the nostalgic L
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Tht mood. rhe ··sentimenrnl' auiwde rn "narnrt· that slowly bernmt ptrceptib!e nor very long atterwards. as rht leading nobles had ro foruo more ·tnc'1 _ ,'c ' 01 ore trtqutndy the_ rtlatiwly unbridled lift ar their ancesrral stars, and were bound 1ncreasrngly nghrly rn rhe semi-urban courr and rn dqx:ndtnct on kin"s 0r 6 . Tl . . pnncts: 11s ts one ot rhe mosr imponant ditforences in tmorional wne that rhtse ptcrnres conn:y. In lacer periods rht anises consciousness sifrs rhe material arndable w him in a n:ry srricr and specific way which direcdy txprtssts his rnsrt or_. more precisely, his affecrin: srrucrnre. ··i\arure··- rhe open country, shown hrsr of all as merely a background ro human figures, wok on a nosralgic glow, as rhe confintmtnt of rhe upper class rn rhe rowns and courrs incrtased rhe rifr berween rown and country lift grew more perctprible. Or narnre wok on like rht human figures it surrounded in rhe piccure_ a sublime. n:prtsemariv; characrer. Ar any rare. rhtrt was a change in rht .reki"tir111 /;_i icli11g, in what appealed w feeling in rhe rtprtsentarion of narnrt, and in whar was ftlr as unpleasant or painful And rhe same is rrut of rht people depicrecl For the public in rht: absolure cuurr. much char realh· txisred in rht countn-, in · narure" was no longer ponrayed. The hill was
bur nor rhe gallows -on ir. nor
,.
·rerior is visible, and a pig behind him is sniffing ar ir A frail old woman, b .I l cl . in rags, limps by suppontd on a crmch. In a small caw esrc t r 1e roa sns wirh his hands and feer in rhe srocks, and beside him a woman wrrh one
11'5 pOS
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· ( l1t, '·rticks. - rhe ocher in feErers ,-\ farm workc:r is roiling ar a waEercourse II1 .. ··hes berween rrees and hills . In rhe disrnnce we see rhe farmer and his rhar hmrs . . . . " held wtrh a horse. Snll rurrher back $0 11 l.-L LLL1 oriouslv . 11louuhrnu b b rhe h1llv . · r·i"s is beinu ltd rn rhe ...._,L:allows. an armtd man wirh a teacher in his cap a rrn1n in tei . . .
holds out a mare I11·n,,." rnroudlr- btside him: ar his ocher stdt. a monk ll1 his_ cowl . Behind him ridt rhe kmghr and rwo ot his men. On rhe l (·t·h-x w him forge crt . , . '. ,. . . rht ""nallows wnh a boclv, hanL:rng rrom 1r, and rht \vhetl rop o1c 1 j1c·, 11 1·11 snnds , , . - , , · ' . cori1 st on ir. Dark brrds fh· around; one of chem pecks ar rhe corpse. wrrn '1 · · The gallows is nor in rhe lease emphasized. Ir is rhere like rhe scream or a rree:
and it is seen in jusr rhe same way when rhe knighr goes hunting. A whole company rides pasr, rhe lord and lady ofren on rhe same horse. The deer vanish lnro a )irrle wood: a srng setms w be wounded. Furrher rn rhe background one sees a lirde village or perhaps rht yard of a household-:-well, mill wheel, · Jn.11"ll ·'·1 ttw builclinns wine c- , Tht farmer is seen 11loughinL: ._ '- a held: he looks round
corpse hanging from rhe gallows. The field was shown, bur no longer rht ragged ptasant laboriously driving his horses. Jusr as ewryrhing ··common·· or "vulgar"
ar die deer. which are jusr running across his field . High up ro ont side is rht
disappeared from courdy languagt, so ir rnnishtd also from rht picrures and drawings inttndtd for rht courdy upptr class.
birds circling The gallows. rhe symbol of rht knighr's judicial power. is pan of rhe
casde: on rhe ocher, smaller hill opposire. wheel and gallows wirh a body. and
In rht drawings of rht Ho11.rt-Br,r1h. which gi\·t an idta of rhe fttling-srructure
background of his lift Ir may nm be \·ery imporranr, but ar any rare, ir is nor a
of rht lart mediernl upptr class. rhis is nor so Hert, all chest rhings-i.:allows ragged servants, labouring peasants-are w bt seen in drawings a; in ;ea) life'.
parricularly painful sighr. Sentence. txecurion, dearh-all chest art immediarely
Thty art nor emphasized in a spirir of proresr. in rhe manner of lacer rimes, but
present in chis lift. They. rno. have nor yer been remo\·ed behind rhe scenes And rhe samt is uue of rhe poor and rhe labourers. "\\!ho would plough our
shown as somerhing n:ry marrtr-of-fi1cr, pan of ont"s dailv surroundings, like rhe
fields for us if vou were all lords·-_ asks Berrhold von Regensburg in one of his
swrks nesr or rht church rower. One is no more painfui in life rhan' rht ocher.
sermons in rhe -d1irreenth centun-. 121 And elsewhere he
and so is nor more painfi.d in rht picrnrt. On rhe conuan-. as t\·en-whtrc: in the Middle Ages. ir was an inseparable pan of rht txisrtnce. of rhe rich and noble
shall cell vou Chrisrian folk how Almighry God has ordered Chrisrc:ndom.
rhar rhere also exisrtd peasams and crafrsmen working for chem, and bei.:i.:ars and
the hiL:l1er as rheir rulers. The firsr d1fet are rhe highesr and mosE exalred whom
cripples wirh optn hands. There was no rhrtar w rht noble in chis. n:i; did he
Almi,:hrv God himself chose and ordained, so char rht ocher seven should all be r-o rhtm and strve chem" ice The same arrirude rn lift is srill found in
identify in any way wirh rhtm: tht sptcracle evoked no painful fetling. And ofrtn enough rht yokel and peasant wert rhe objecrs of pleasantries '
dividini.:
even more clearly: I
inw rtn kinds of people. "and whar kinds of services Ehe lower owe
these picrurts from rhe fifreenrh century. Ir is nor disrnsrefuL ir is pan of rhe namral and unquesrioned order of rhe world char warriors and nobles have leisure
The picrures reveal rht same arrirnde. Firsr rhere is a sequence of drawings showing people undtr panicular consrellations. They are not grouptd directly around rht knighr, bm rhey make clear how and \vhar he saw around him. Then
rn amuse rhemselves. while rhe ochers work for chem There is no identificarion of person wirh person. Nor even on rhe horizon of chis life is chert an idea char
comes a series of pages showing how a knighr spends his life, his ocrnparions and
all ptoplt are ··equal··. Bur perhaps for char very reason rhe sighr of rhe labourers
his pleasures Measured by lacer rimes. rhey all bear wirntss w rhe same srnndard of repugnance and the same social arrirndes
has abom ir nmhing shameful or embarrassing. A picrnre of rhe shows rht pleasures of rhe lords. A young lady of rhe
Ar rhe beginning, for example, we see people born uncltr Sarurn . In rhe
nobiliry crowns her young friend with a wrearh; he draws her w him. Another
foreground a poor fellow is disembowelling a dead horse or perhaps curring off
pair go walking in a close embrace. The old sen·ant woman pulls an angry face
rhe usable mear His rrousers have slipped down somewhar as ht bends: pare of
w1mes of rhe vounu jJeOjJle Nearb\·. rhe servants are \\·orking. One of at rhe lo\·e o'.
The Ciz'ili::;i11g Process them sweeps the rnrcL anocher grooms che horse, a chird scaners food for the ducks, but the maid waves to him from the window; he turns round, soon he wi]J disappear into the house . Noble ladies at play. Peasam amics behind them. On che roof che stork claccers. Then chere is a small courcyard by a lake On che bridge srands a young nobleman wich his wife . Leaning on che baluscrade chey wacch the sen-ams in the water cacching fish and ducks. Three young ladies are in a boar. Rushes. bushes in the disrance the walls of a small town ' Or we see workmen building a house in from of a wooded hill. The lord and lady of the castle look on. Tunnels have been driven imo che litde hill t0 quarry stones. \\!orkmen are seen hewing che stones; others care them away. Nearer us, men are working on che half-finished building. In the foreground workmen are quarrelling; they are about co stab and strike each other down. The lord of the casde srancls nor far from them . He shows his wife che angry scene; the com piece calm of the lord and his wife is placed in sharp comrast to the excited gtswrts of the disputants. The rabble fighc, the lord has nothing to do wich it. He lives in
ii! the Bdv1·io11r rl the Semlar Uf'f'tr Classes in the \\lest
177
ne looks at che hericage of che medieval upper class, one finds chis Wherever o . .. . l· de in ·rn unrescra111ed form. Ihe further 111terclependence and c le arntu ._ .. of Jabour in society advance. the more dependenc die upper classes che other classes, ;rnd the greater, therefore, becomes che social become on . . f these classes, ac least potennally. Even when che upper class was still I strengt 1 o . .. . fl ' . ·1, , \\.. irrior class. when it kepc the ocher classes dependent ch1e ) nrtn1an ) 1 ' r l he sword and che monopolv of weapons. some degree ot dependence on throug i c . . r chsses w'lS cerra111lr not ent1relr absent Bm it was 111comparabl) these oc l1 e ' ' · , . .. coo--as will be seen in greater derail later-was rhe pressure tram less: an cl less ' _ ' _ . . below. Accordingly. che sense ot mastery of the upper class. itS contempt tor other classes, was far more open, and che press1'.re on upper-class people co exercise resrraint and co control their drives, was tar scrong. . _ Seldom has the matter-of-fact sense of mastery ot chis class, and 1cs seltconfidenr, pacriarchal comempt of ochers, been so vividly conveyed as in chese · , s This is expressed not onh· in the gesture with which the nobleman · (_, dra\-vtn.! shows liis wife che quarrelling craftsmen and che workers in a kind of foundry who are holding cheir noses ro ward off the foul vapours; not only where the lord watches his servants catching fish. or in che repeated depiction of rhe gallows with a corpse hanging from ic: buc also in che matter-of-fact and casual way in which the nobler gestures of che knight are juxtaposed co the coarse ones of the L
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people. There is a picture of a cournamenc. Musicians play Fools cut clumsy capers. The noble specrarors on cheir horses, often the lord and lady on the same horse. are conversing, The peasants, the cicizens, the doctor, all recognizable by cheir dress, look on. The cwo knights, somewhat helpless in cheir heavy armour, waic at the centre Friends advise chem. One of chem is just being handed the long lance Then the herald blows his crumpec. The knights charge ac each other with rheir lances levtlledo And in the background. concrascing co che c11111rnis activities of rhe mascers. we see the vulgar pascimes of the people. a horse race accompanied by all kinds of nonsense. A man hangs on co che rail of one of the horses. The rider is furious. The ochers whip cheir horses and make off at a somewhat groresqut gallop. \\le see a military camp. A circular barricade has been made wich che gun carriages, \\ii chin it srancl resplendent rents wich their different coats of
178
in the Bchdl'ifJ!ll"
foreground, one of die soldiers is scabbing a prostrate peasant: on rhe ri''ht apparently in a chapel, a second man is scabbed and his possessions are . a. war . 0 n t l1e root the srorks _sir peacefullv · in rheir nest · FL1rrher back ·1' jJeasant is trymg ro escape over the fence. bur a knight on his horse holds him by th protruding of his A peasant woman cries our. wringing her peasant m terrers, doleful and wretched. is being beaten over the head by a knight on horsebacL Further back horsemen are setting tire ro a house: one of them drives off the car de and strikes at the farmer·s wife who is rn-in ,, ro st . . . . , . "' op him: abow. Jn the little rower ot the village church, the peasants huddle rogerher, and frightened faces look out of the window. In the far distance, on a sma_ll hill, srands a forrified monastery: behind the high walls one sees rhe church roof with a cross on it. Somewhat higher up, on a hill. a castle or another part of the monastery. These are rhe ideas suggested ro rhe artist by the sign of the god of waL The picture is wonderfi.dly full of life . As in a number of rhe ocher drawings. one feels that something that has been really- experienced is before one's eyes. One has this feeling because these pictures are nor yet "sentimental'', because they do nor express the greater of the emotions which from now on. for a long per10d, caused rhe arr ot rhe upper class ro express more and more exclusivelv its wishful fanrnsies, and compelled it ro suppress everything that conflicted ;virh this advancing standard of repugnance. These pictures simply narrate how the knight sees and feels the world . The sifring of fet!ing, the grid placed on the affects which admits to the picture what is pleasurable and excludes what is painful or embarrassing. allows many facts ro pass unimpeded which later attain expression only when a conscious or unconscious protest against rhe upper class censoring of drives is being expressed, and are then somewhat overemphasized. Here the peasant is neither pitiable nor a represenrati\·e of virtut. Nor is he a represemative of ugly vict . He is simply miserable and somewhat ridiculous, exactly as the knight sets him . The world revolves around the knid1r. Hun"f\' 0 , clogs, begging women. rotting horses. servams crouching against rhe ramparts, villages in Hames,· peasams being plundered and killed-all this is as much a part of the landscape of rhese people as are tournaments and hums . So God made tht world: some are rulers. rht ochers bondsmen. There is nothing embarrassing about all this. L
And the same difference in standards of feeling between even this late knightly society and the subseguem society of the absolute courrs is also shown in the representation of love. There is a picture of people under rhe sign of Venus. Again we look far imo rhe open coumrv. There are little hills, a meandering rin:r, bushes and a small wood . In the three or four pairs of young nobles. always a young lord and a young lady together; they walk in a circle ro the sound of music. ceremonioush-. elevamh-. all with the lonn-roed . b . ' c ' tashionable shoes. Their movements are measured and rounded: one noble has a
o/ the
Sw1!ar Uf'Jicr C!cJS.res i11 the Wi:st
179
. ·irher in his har· others have garlands in their hair. Perhaps we are looking large ttC< ' • L
•
•
•
. l ot· slow dance . Behrnd stand three bovs • makrng music; there is a table k !11C . c . . . l . fruits and dnnk and a young iellow leamng agamst it, w 10 JS t0 serve. Ar rhe opposite side. enclosed by a fence and gate, is a lirtlt garden. Trees ki· nd of bower. beneath which is an oval bathtub. In it sits a voung man, . . ..... , . urabs ea«erlv mto the bath \nth mtke
L
l]{"
,y
1 :1.
'
•
(._,
<....
180
The Cil'i!izing Proccrs
taboos. It seems quire carefree. Here, too, the arrisr drew what he must have S" l:imself often enough in life. And on account of this unconcern, this tacrness with which, compared to our standard of shame and embarrassment h . ,t e relat10ns between the sexes are presented, we call this attiwde ··naive·· Even in the Hwm-Book we occasionally a joke which is (to our taste) thoroughly coarse, as also m other artists of this phase-for example, Master E. F. and copied from him, in the p?pularizing "Master with the oles · And the adopt10n of such motifs b\· a pojJU!arizinu CO)Jvist who . b .. ' Was possibly even a monk, indicates how different was the social standard of shame. These things are depicted with the same matter of facrness as some detail of cloching. Ir is a joke, certainly a coarse one, _if we like to call it that, but really coarser than the 1oke the art1st permits himself when he makes the shirt-tail of the plundered and fleeing peasant stick out so that the knight can catch hole! of it, or when he gives the old servant surveying the love games of the people an angry express10n, as if mocking her for being too old for such dalliance. _ All these were expressions of a society in which people gave way to driws and feelings incomparably more easily, quickly, spontaneously and openly than today, m which the emotions were less restrained and, as a consequence, less evenlv regulated and more liable to oscillate more violently between extremes this srandard of regulation of the emotions, which was characteristic of the \Vhole secular society of the Middle Ages, of peasants as of knights, there were certainly considerable variations And the people conforming ro this standard were subjected ro a large number of drive controls Bur these were in a different direction: they were nor of the same degree as in later periods, and rhev did not rake the form of a constant, even, and almost automatic self-conrrol. Th.e kind of integration and interdependence in which these people lived did nor compel them to resuain their bodily funcrions before each orher or ro curb rheir aggressive impulses ro the same extent as in rhe following phase. This applied to everyone. Bur of course, for the peasants rhe scope for aggression was more restricted than frw the knighrs-resrricred, that is, ro their own kind . For the knights, by contrast. aggression was less restricted outside their own class rhan wirhin it. for here ir came to be regulated by the code of chivalrv. A sociallv rhat generated restraint was ar rimes imposed on peasants by rhe simple did not have enough ro ear. This certainly represents a restriction of drives of rhe highest degree, which expressed itself in the whole behaviour of a human being. Bur no one paid attention ro this, and their social siwarion scarcelr made it necessary for them to impose constraint on themselves when blowin" ;heir noses b or spitting or snatching food at rable. In this direction, coercion in the knightly class was stronger. However uniform, therefore, the medieval standard of control of emotions appears in comparison to later developments, it contained considerable ditttrences corresponding to the srrarificarion of secular socien· itself nor ro
i11 the Beha1·io11r of the Semien- UP/Jf:r Classes i11 the \Vut
181
· n clerical society; these differences remain to be examined in derail They menr10 . . . __ .· ·ble in these pictures, 1f rhe measured and somet1mes even attecred are vis1 of rhe nobles are compared ro rhe clumsy movements of rhe servants and pe;!Sancs. The expressions of feeling of medieval people were, on the whole, more us and unrestrained than in rhe following period. Bm rher were nor · . sponta neo . . . . or without soC1al mouldmg m anv· ahsol!!t1: sense. In this respect ·iined unres tr , rhere is no zero point. The person without restrictions is a phantom Admittedly, the narure, suengrh, and elaboration of rhe prohibitions, controls and depend-_ enc1·e- cli·in<'e ' o in a hundred wavs . ' and with them the tension and equilibrium of che emocions, and likewise rhe degree and kind of gratification rhar individuals and find. Taken rogerher, these pictures give a certain impression of where rhe knights sou.ghr and found gratification. Ar rhis rime they may already have lived more at court than earlier. Bur castle and manor, hill, stream, fields and villages, uees and woods still formed the background of rheir lives; they were taken for granted and regarded quire wirhom sentimenraliry. Here they were at home, and here they \Vere rhe masters. Their lives \Vere characteristically divided between war, rournaments, hunts and love. But in rhe fifteenth century itself, and more so in rhe sixteenth, this changed. At rhe semi-urban courts of princes and kings, partly from elements of the old nobility and partly from new rising elements, a new arisrocracy formed with a new social space, new functions, and accordingly a different emotional strLICrure. People felt this difference themselves and expressed ir. In 1562 a man named Jean du Peyrar translated Della Casa's book on manners into French. He gave it tht tide Gt1!atc!e Oil !t1 mt1nir:n: d COillllle ft gcntilhr1111111f se doit go111·r.1?Jtr 01 !Oith: (Galarto, or rht manner in which the gentleman should conduct himself in all company). And even in this title rhe increased compulsion now imposed on rhe nobles was clearly expressed. Bur Peyrar himself, in his introducrion, explicitly stressed rhe difference between the demands rhar life used to make on the knight and rhose which were now made on rhe noblemen by life in court: The entire virrue and perfection of rhe gentleman. your lordship. does nor consist in correctly spurring a horse. handling a lance, siEring straight in one's armour. using every kind of weapon. behaving modestly among ladies. or in rhe pursuit of love: for this is another of rhe exercises attributed to the gentleman. There is, in addition.
service ar table before kings and princes. the manner of adjusting one·s language towards people according to their rank and quality. their glances, gesrures and even the smallest signs or winks they might give.
Here, exactly rhe same things were enumerated as constituting the customary virtue, perfection, and acriv-iries of the noble as in the pictures of the H(Jlt.r,-Booh:
182
Proer:ss
fears of arms and love, Comrasrt:d rn rhtm wtrt rht addirional perfecrions and rhe new sphere of life of rhe nobleman in rhe service of a prince. A new consrraim, a new, more exrensivt comrol and regulation of behaviour than the old knightly lift made eithtr nectssarl' or possible, was now demanded of rhe nobleman . These were consequences of rht new, increased dependence in \vhich the noble was now placecL He is no longer rhe rtlarively fret man, rhe masrer in his own casde, whose casdt is his homeland . He now lives ar courr He serves the prince . He wairs on him ar table. And at court he lives surrounded by people, He musr behave rnwarc!s each of rhem in exact accordance with rheir rank and his own. He must learn to acljusr his gestures exacdy w rhe different ranks and standing of rhe people ar courr, ro measure his language exacdy, and even to control his eyes exacdy-, Ir is a new self-discipline, an incomparably srronger reserl'e rhar is imposed on people by rhis new social space and the new ries of i merdependence. The arriwde whose ideal form was expressed by rhe concepr of a111rtoisie was giving way rn anorher expressed more and mort by the concepr of ciz'ilite, The translarion of G,datt11 by Jean du Peyrar represems rhis rransirional period linguisrically as welL Up rn 1530 or 1535 rhe concepr of co111tr1isie predominated more or less exclusi\'ely in France. Towards rhe end of rhe cenrury rhe concept of cizilih: slowly gained precedence, wirhour rhe orher being losr Here, about the year 1562, rhe rwo were used rngether withom any noriceable precedence of one or rhe ()[her, In his dedicarion Peyrar says: "Ler rhis book, which ueats the insrruction of a young courrier and gemleman, be prorecred by him \\'ho is as the paragon and mirror of orhers in crJi1r!tSJ ciz'ility, good manners and praiseworrhy customs, The man w whom these words were addressed was that \'try Henri de Bourbon, Prince of Navarre, whose life most visibly symbolizes rhis uansition from the chivalrous w che courdy man and who, as Henri IV, was w be rht direct execurnr of rhis change in France, being obliged, ofren againsr his will, to compel or even condemn rn clearh rhose who resisted, rhose who did not understand rhar from being free lords and knighrs che\· were w become depend em servants of the king. i 2 '
VOLUME II STATE FORMATION AND CIVILIZATION
PART THREE Feudalization and State Formation
Introduction
I
Survey of Courtly Society 1. The S[ruggles benveen [he nobili[y, [ht Church and [he princes for [heir shares in [he comrol and [he produce of the land ran through the entire 1fiddle Ages. In [he course of the twelfrh and thirteemh cemuries a further group emerged as a partner in this play of forces: rhe privileged town-dwellers. the ''bourgeoisie". The actual course of this consram struggle, and the power relations among the concr:srnms. varied widely between coumries. But rhe outcome of rhe conflicts was, in irs suucture, nearly always rhe same: in all the larger cominemal countries, and at rimes in England too, rhe princes or their represenrnrives finally accumulated a concemration of power to which rhe estates were not equal. The aurnrky of the majority, and the estates· share of power, were curtailed step by step, while the dicrntorial or "absolute" power of a single supreme figure was slowly established, for a greater or lesser period. In France, England and rhe Habsburg coumries this figure was rhe king, in [he German and Italian regions it was the territorial ruler. 2. Numerous studies describe, for example, how the French kings from Philip Augustus to Francis I and Henry IV increased their power, or how [he Elector Frederick \\/illiam pushed aside [he regional estates in Brandenburg, and the
188
Sta!t Forl/latio11 m1cl Cil'ilizr1tio11
Tbt Cil'ili::;ing Proc,.rs
Medici rhe patricians and senate in Florence, or how rhe Tudors did rhe same to rhe nobilin-· and parliamenr in Em;land. Evernvhere ir is the individual a"en · ,.,,, ts and rheir various actions that we set, rheir personal weaknesses and gifts that are described. And ir is no doubt fruirful and even indispensable ro see history in this way, as a mosaic of individual actions of individual people Nevertheless, something else is obviously ar work here besides rhe fortuitous emergence of a series of great princes and rhe fortuitous vicrories of numerous individual territorial rulers or kings over numerous individual estates at approximately rhe same rime Ir is nor without reason that we speak of an age of absolutism.. \'\!bar found expression in this change in the form of political rule was a structural change in \'Vesrern society as a whole. Not only did individual kings increase rheir power but, clearly, rhe social institution of rhe monarchy or princedom took on new weight in rhe course of a gradual transformation the whole of society, a new weight which ar rhe same rime gave new power chances to rhe central rulers On the one hand we might enquire how chis or chat man gained power and how he or his heirs increased or lost this power in rhe conrexr of "absolutism". On rhe other, we may ask on rhe basis of whar social changes rhe medieval institution of the king or prince rook on, in certain centuries, rhe character and power referred ro by concepts such as "absolutism .. or "desporism", and which social structure, which development in human relations, made ir possible for rhe institution ro sustain itself in chis form for a greater or lesser period of rime. Boch approaches work with more or less the same material Bur onlv rhe second attains to the plane of historical reality on which rhe civilizing rakes place. Ir is by more than a coincidence char in the same centuries in which rhe king or prince acquired absolutist status, the restraint and moderation of the discussed in Parr Two. rhe "civilizing" of behaviour, was noticeably increased. In the quotations assembled earlier ro demonstrate this change in beh
of
189
· · s still shared their function with the universities turning out the ,,urhon tl e . . . . .
·· . elv bureaucracy, whereas in Roman1c and perhaps 1l1 all Catholic countnespnnc . cl- r l1e 1mporrance . . . point remains ro be esrablishe of rl1e courts as a rhis 1arrer _ . _
. rhorirv. a source of models of behanour. far exceeded that ot the au . . _ . _ . . _._. __ 'll1d all the other social tormanons of the epoch. fhe early Renaisuniver.::i1L1c,:, , . . ,. ., , . . . · Florence. characterized by men like i\fasacc10, Ghibem. Brunelleschi sance 1l1 · . . and Donatello, is not yet an unequivocally courtly sryle; bur rhe Italian_ High ' · nee ·ind more clearlv still rhe Baroque and Rococo, the srvle of Louis Renaissa , ' . ,, . .. ·. XV and XVI, are courtly, as finally is the . EmpHe , though a more · · n, l \\''l\. bein" alread\· permeated wirh !l1dusrnal-bourgeois features. rninsio 0 ,1 , _, "' . _ . .. Ar rhe courts a form of society was evolving tor which no very specihc and unequivocal term exists in German, for rhe obvious reason that in Germany this - l uman bonding never attained central and decisive importance, except at rype of 1 . . . . , . , . in rhe final uansmonal form it had at \'Veimar fhe German concept most On!\: ' . of ''good society", or more simply, of "society" in the_ sense of_ll!onde, like the social formation corresponding to it, lacks rhe sharp dehnmon ot rhe French and En<•lish rerms The French speak of la sociiti polie. And rhe French terms ho11ne 0 or gens de la Co11r and the English "Society" have similar connotations 4. The most influential courtly society was formed, as we know·, in France. From Paris rhe same codes of conduce, manners, taste and language spread, for varying periods, to all the other European courts. This happened nor only because France was rhe most powerful country ar rhe time. Ir was only now made possible because, in a pervasive transformation of European society, similar social formations, characterized by analogous forms of human relations came into being evervwhere. The absolurisr-courrly aristocracy of other lands adopted from rhe most powerful and mosr centralized country of the time the things which fined their own social needs: relined manners and a language which distinuuished rhem from those of inferior rank. In France they saw, most fruitfully "' . developed, something born of a similar social situation and which marchecI their own ideals: people who could parade their srarus, while also observing the subtleties of social intercourse, marking their exact relation to everyone above and below them by their manner of greeting and their choice of words-people of "disrincrion" and "civilitv". In raking over French etiquette and Parisian ceremony, rhe nirious rulers. obtained the desired instruments to express their dignirv, ro make visible rhe hierarchy of society, and to make all others, first and fo;em<;st rhe courdv nobilitv themselves, aware of their dependence. 5. Here, mo, it .is nor to see and describe the particular events in different countries in isolation. A new picture emerges, and a new understanding is made possible, if rhe many individual courts of the \'Vest, with their relatively uniform manners, are seen together as communicating organs in European societv at large \'Vhar slowlv began ro form at the end of the Middle Ages was not one society .here and another there It was a courtly aristocracy ._1
500
ai
191
190
embracing \Vesn:rn Europe with its cemre in Paris, its dependencies in all the other courts, and offshoots in all the other circles which claimed w belong to great world of "Socieff .. , norabh- the UJ)]X:r stratum of the bourgeoisie and to some extent even broader of the middle class The members of this multifarious socierr. S]Joke the same language throu<'llot '-'-b lt the whole of Europe, first Italian, then French: they read the same books, they had rhe same taste, the same manners and-with differences of de«ree-thF '=' ... sam.e style of living. Notwithstanding their many political differences and even the many wars they waged against c:ach other, rhey orienrared themselves fairly unanimously, over greater or lesser periods. towards the centre at Paris. And social communication between court and court, that is within courtly-arisrocratic society, remained for a long rime closer than between courtly society and other strata in the same coumry: one expression of this was their common langu<1ge. Then, from about the middle of the eighteenth cemury, earlier in one coumrv and somewhar later in another, bur alw<1ys in conjunction with the rise of middle classes and the gradual displacement of the social and political centre of gravity from the court to the various national bourgeois societies, the ties between the courtly-arisrocratic societies of different nations wtre slowly loosened even if they art ntvtr entirely broken. The French language gave way, nor without violent struggles, to the bourgeois, national languages even in the upper class. And courtly socitty itself became incrtasingly differentiated in rht same way as bourgeois societies, particular! y when the old aristocratic society lost its centre once and for all in the French Revolution The national form of integration displaced that based on social estate. 6. In seeking rhe social traditions which provide rht common basis and deeper unity of rhe various national traditions in rhe \Vesc, we should think not only of the Christian Church. rhe common Roman-Latin heritage, bur also of this last great pre-national social formation which, already partly in rhe shadow of the national divergences within \Vestern society, rose <1bove the lowtr and middle strata in different linguistic areas Here were created the models of more pacified social inttrcourse ·\\·hi ch more or less all classes needed, following rhe transformation of European society ar tht end of rhe Middle Ages: here rhe coarser habits, the wilder, more uninhibited cusroms of mediernl society with its warrior upper class, the corollaries of an uncertain, constantly threatened life, were "softened'', "polished" and "civilized". The pressure of court life, the vying for rhe farnur of the prince or the "great": then, more generally, rhe necessity to distinguish oneself from others and ro fight for opporruniries with relatively peaceful means, through intrigue and diplomacy, enforced a constraint on the affecrs. a selfdiscipline and self-control, a peculiarly courtly rationality, which at first made rhe courtier appear to the opposing bourgeoisie of rhe eighteenth century, above all in Germany but also in England, as rhe epitome of the man of reason. And here, in this pre-national, courtly-aristocratic society, a part of those <..-
-
•
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is ;incl prohibitions were fashioned or at least prepared that are cornmaoc . . .. . . . 'bit even rodav, nat10nal d1tterencc:s notw1thsrnndmg, as somethmg percepn · . ..1 . . tO the \Vest. Pardy from rhem the \\ estern peoples. despite all their have taken the common stamp of a specific ci,·ilizarion .. tl·e "r·1clual formation of this absolmist-counh- socien· was accom1xrnied 1 111at "' ' • • . st.ormation of rhe drive-econonw and conduct of rhe upper class in the bra tr•111 , . . : · of "ci,·ilizarion .. has been shown bv a senes ot examples. Ir has also d1rcctJO 11 ' · . _ ·ndi·c ted how closelv• this increased restraint and regulation ot elemental'\'•• heen 1 '1 "urge:>. 1·.::i bound Uj) wid1 increased social conscrnint, the \.;rowing dependence: or 1
<...-
....._,
nobilirv• on rhe cemral lord, rht king or prince. tie l How did this increased constraint and dependence come abour' How was an or knights supplanted by a more or upper class of relatively independent Jess pacified upper class ot courtiers: \Vhy was che mfluence ot tht estates ,rnd earl): modern progressively reduced in rhe comse of the Middle neriod, and why, sooner or later, was the d1ctaronal · absolure rule ot a smgle figure, and with it the compulsion of courtly etiquette, che pacification of larger ; smaller territories from a single centre, esrnblishecl for a greater or lesser 0 eriod of time in all rhe countries of Europe' The sociogenesis of absolutism fndeed occupies a key position in rhe overall process of civilization. The civilizing of conduct and the corrtsponding rranstCJrmation of the structure of mental and emotional life cannor be understood without tracing the process of state-formation, and within it rht aclrnncing centralization of society which first found particularlv visible expression in rhe absolutist form of rule
II A Prospective Glance at the Sociogenesis of Absolutism 1 A few of the most imporrnnr mechanisms which, towards rhe encl of rhe Middle Ages, gradually gave increasing power chances rn the central authority of a rerritory, can be quite briefly described ar this preliminary srage. They are broadly similar in all the larger countries of the \Vest and are particularly clearly seen in the development of the French monarchy. The gradual increase of rhe money sector of rhe economy at rhe expense of rhe barter sector in a given region in the Middle Ages had very different consequences for the majority of rhe warrior nobility on rhe one hand. and for rhe king or prince on rhe other. The more money that came inrn circulation in
192
Tht C il'i!i:ing
19.'i
Stall For111atio11 t111d Cil'i/i::;,/fion
Prf/Ct.i.'
The social functions w l1ose rncome · · increased with these new 0 ) Jor· . were placed at an advantage. They included certain seccions of the LUnu bur above all che kinu l1e cencra . l ru ler. For the raxarion ·1jJJ'ar·1rL1s ourgeo "'' c l' r • • • < < gave h• s 1Me o. the rncreasrng weal ch: a part of all che earnings in his area 1 l to hrm · ·rnd · rncomt · ru e ' . I115 consequentlv. increased to .an ' exrraor . . d.rnan- degr cl1t growrng circulacion of monev · ' ee
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As is always the case, this mechanism was onlv verv " ·id · ll · so to s e k · l · br' Ud y p "a., rerrospecnve y exploited consciously by che parries at a rdanvely lace scage by rulers as a principle of domescic poli;i rst result was <1 more or less automatic and constant increase in the ir1c cs: ctnr · I J cl Tl · · · ome ot .. rn or . 1rs rs one of the preconditions on the basis of which the instit . ot gained its absolute or uncircumscribed charactn m1on . -· As the hnanc1al open to the cenrral function grew. so too d'd 1 its military potennal. Ihe man who had at his disposal the taxes of a · coun trv w· s . ' n entire. · · . '1 rn a posmon ro hire more warriors than am· other· b . l . j,. cl cl · • ! t 1e same roken ht " bre\\ ess epen em on the war services which the feudal v·1s·al . o b lr"ed cl · ' '' was . b. tO ren er rn exchange for the land wich which he was invesced. Ibis too rs a process which, like all the ochers. began verv earlv b t l graduallvledrotl . · of· more perm
·! dtnck rhe Greats recrurnng racrics showed rhe solurions open co a prince \\ ien rhe manpower anulable in his rerriron- was nor sufficienr f·or 11· ·1· p Tl · · · is mi 1rarv urposes. le military supremacy char went hand in hand with super10ntv ' ' f. w,as. t I1ere fore, t l1e second decisive prerequisire enabling rhe central , PO\\ er o a region ro rake on .. absolure" characrer. A rransformarion of miliwry techniques followed and reinforced chis developmenr. Through rhe. slow development of firearms rhe mass of common footsold1ebrs became miliranly suj.Jerior ro the numericallv limired nobles fi<,htin" on · o o l1orse T ack. · Th 1·5 t 00 was to l l 1e a cl vantage of rhe central aurhorirv. 11e krng, who rn rhe France of the early Caperian period, for ex.ample. was nor muc11 .more than 'a b-iro · · 1 !orcl among ochers of equal power and ' n. one rernrona somenm.es. even '.ess powerful rhan ochers, gained from his increasin" rev•:nL1e< tie c \Xfhich ' " 1 poss1b . 1Iicy· o f miT][ary supremacy over all the forces in his counrrv no blle lamdv· managed m pMcJCu . ·. Iar cases ro wrn . the crown and elms gain · access to t 1ese power chances depended on a wide range of facrors including rhe
talents of individuals, and ofren chance. The growrh of rhe financial and power chances dmt gradually arrached rhemselves to rhe monarchy was ..•IonPn
of the will or talents of individuals: ir followed a srricr regularity
encounrertd wherever social processes are observed. ar , . . . 0I And rhis increase 1n che power ch
" be from a smgle centre case ma .r ' .__ . _ ::;, The tWO series of developments which acted to the advantage of a strong · aurhoriry were in all ways detrimental to the old medieval warrior estate. frs members bad no direcr connection with rhe growing money secror of the They could scarcely derive any direcr profir from rhe new opporrunicies thar offered rhemselves They felr only rhe devaluation, the rise in
It fo s been calculmed chat a fortune of 22,000 francs in rhe year 1200 was 1
worrh 16,000 francs in 1)00, 7 .500 francs in 1400, and 6,500 in 1500 In rhe sixteenth century this movement accelerared: the value of che sum fell ro 2,500 1
francs, and the case was similar in rhe whole of Europe. A movement origim1ring far back in rhe tfiddle Ages underwent an extraordinary acceleration in rhe sixreenth century From the reign of Francis I up to rhe year 1610 alone, rhe French pound was devalued in approximarely the racio 5 ro l The imporrance of chis developmemal curve for rbe rransformation of sociery was greater rhan can be stared in a few words \Vhile money circularion grew and commercial activiry developed, while bourgeois classes and the revenue of rhe central authority rose, rhe income of rhe entire remaining nobility fell. Some of rhe knighrs were reduced ro a wretched exisrence, others rook by robbery and violence whac was no longer available by peaceful means, others again kepr themselves above water for as long as possible by slowly selling off rheir esraces; wd finally a good pare of rhe nobiliry, forced by these circumstances and amacred by the new opporrnniries, entered the service of the kings or princes who could pay, These were the economic opcions open to a warrior class chat was not connecred ro rhe growrh in money circulation and the trade network 4. How rhe development of war rechnology operared ro rhe nobility's disadvanrage has already been mentioned: rhe infantry, rhe despised foot-soldiers, became more imporrant in banle rhan rhe cavalry. Not only the military superioriry of the medieval warrior esrare was thereby broken, bm also its monopoly over weapons. A siruarion where the nobles alone were warriors or, in other words, all warriors were nobles, began ro rum into one where the noble was ar besr an officer of plebeian troops who had ro be paid. The monopoly control of weapons and milirary power passed from rhe whole noble estate into the hands of a single member, rhe prince or king who, supported by the tax income of the whole region, could afford rhe largesr army. The majority of rhe nobility were
19-i
thereby changed from relatively free warriors or knights into paid officers in the sen·ice of the cenrral lord. 5 These are a ft\\. of the most imporcam lines of this srrucrural rrcon°•---tion . There was another as well. The nobility lost social power with the in the money sector of the economy. while bourgeois classes gained ir_ general neither of rhe rwo esrares prO\·ed strong enough to gain rhe upper over rhe other for a prolonged period. Constant tensions everywhere erupted in periodic struggles. The battle froms were complicared and varied widely from case to case. There were occasional alliances between specific noble strata and specific bourgeois srrnra; there were transitional forms and even fusions between sub-groups from the rwo esrares . But however char may be. both rhe rise and the ,1bsolure power of rhe cenrral insrirurion ahwys depended on rhe continued exisrence of this tension btrwten rhe nobility and rbe bourgeoisie. One of the srrucrural precondirions for rhe ,1bsolure monarchy or princedom was that neid1er of rhe esrares nor any group wirhin chem should gain rhe upper band. The representarin:s of the absolute central aurboriry therefore had ro be constantly on rhe alerr to ensure rhar this unsrable equilibrium was maintained wirhin their territory \\/here the balance was lose. where one group or stratum beGrn1e roo strong. or where aristocratic and upper bourgeois groups even temporarily allied. the supremacy of the central power was seriously threatened or-as in England-doomed Thus we ofren observe among rulers that while one prorects and promotes rhe bourgeoisie because the nobiliry seems roo powerfol and therefore dangerous. rhe next inclines rowarcls the nobility. this having grown roo weak or rht bourgeoisie wo refractory. withour the other side being ever quite neglected, The absolure rulers were obliged, whether rhey were entirely conscious of it or not, ro manipulare chis social mechanism rhar rhey had nor created . Their social existence depended on its sun·ival
1
Dynamics of Feudalization
I
Introduction 1
If we compare France, England and rhe German. Empire at rhe middle of
. · n rerms of rhe j)OWtr of theH cenrral aurhont1es, the rhe seventeent l1 cenrury i . · l l b · l l En"lish king and even more king of Fmnce appe
_,
__
•
"
development, . . . · l I Ar the end of the Carolingian and rhe begmnmg or the Capenan penoc r 1e siruation was almost the reverse Ar rhar rime the central power of the German k"n"S And England had yet to emperors was srrong as comparecl ro rl1e F renc l1 i o · _ undergo its decisive unification and reorganization by the Normans In the German empire the power of the cen_rral aurhority crumbled · l · l · pr·ons-rrom rh1s nme on. persistently-though wH 1 occaswna interru i . In England, from Norman rimes on, periods of strong royal power alrern,lted L
•
L
with rhe preponderance of the es rares or parliament· . . I F from abom the beninnin" of rhe twelfth century, the krng s power 0 0 , , · . n ranee, . . - . - ntinuous line led from the grew-again with mterrupt1ons-fairl; sread1l; A co Caperians rhrough the Valois ro the Bourbons, Nothin" entitles us to assume rhar rhese differences were prederermined by am· kind necessiry. Very slowly the different regions of the rhree countries
196
Tho: Cil'ili:i11g
P111c"cr.r
merged int0 national units. At first, as long as the integration of those areas which were later tO become "France", ''Germam·". . ''Iralv" . and "Emdand" '"" .. as relativelv. slight, thev. did not wei!!h verv. heavilv. as social on:anisms in" the balance of hiswrical forces. And the main developmental curws in the history of these nations in this phase were incomparably more strongly influenced by the formnes and misformnes of individuals, by personal qualities, by sympathies and antipathies or "accidents". than later when "England", "Germany" or "France" had become social formations with a quite specific strucrure and a momemurn and regularity of their own. At first the hiswrical lines of development were co. determined very strongly by facwrs which, from the viewpoint of the later unit. had no inherent necessity. 2 Then. gradually, with the increasing of larger areas and populations, a pattern slowly emerged which, according ro circumstance, either limited or opened opportunities tO the whims and interests of powerful individuals or even of particular groups . Then, but only then, did the inherent developmental dynamics of these social units override chance or at least mark it with their stamp. 2 . Norhing entitles us t0 presuppose any compelling necessity determining that it was the duchy of Francia, the "Isle de France", abour which a nation would crystallize. Culmrally, and also politically, the southern regions of France had much stronger ties with those of northern Spain and the bordering Italian regions than with the area around Paris . There was always a very considerable difference between the old, more Celw-Romanic regions of Provence, the langt1e cl'oc", and the !m1g11e c/'oil parts, that is, regions with
197
State F1,m1c1ti1;11 and Cil'ilizt1tio11
-l . r· such frontiers serJarated were neither states. nor peoples or nations, · . But w 1,1 . _ 1. t \\'e mean social formations that are in anv sense umfied and srable. At ··bvc1a ·
:o;t they were states,_ peoples, nations in the making. The most
feature
of all the larger terrirones m this phase is rhelf low level ot cohesion, rhe f the centnfu"al forces tendmg t0 dismtegrate them. 0 screngt 11 O . . . . \Xfhat is the nature of these centnfugal forces' \Vhat peculianty or the e of these terriwries gave such forces their particular strength; And what srructu r -. . , i· n the structure of societv, trom the hfteenth. sixteenth or seventeenth ""nange ' " . onwards finallv gave the central authorities preponderance over all rhe . . .. . cenrur; ' . centrifugal forces, and thus conferred on the ternrones a greater srabilHy'
II
Centralizing and Decentralizing Forces m the Medieval Power Figuration ::;_ The immense empire of Charlemagne had been brought rngether by Certainly the basic, though not the only function of his immediate predecessors, and more so of Charlemagne himself, was that_ of army leader, victorious in conquest and defence. This was the foundation or his royal power, his renown, bis social strength. As arnw leader Charlemagne had control of the land he conquered and defended. As vicwrious prince he rewarded the warriors who followed him with land. And by virtue of this authority be held them rogether even though their estates were scattered across the country The emperor and king could not supervise the whole empire alone. He sent trusted friends and servants into the country ro uphold the law in his stead, ro ensure the payment of tributes and the performance of services, and ro punish resisrnnce He did not pay for their services in money; this was cerrainly not entirely lacking in rhis phase, but was available t0 only a very limited extent. Needs were supplied for the most part directly from the land. the fields, the forests and the stables. produce being worked up within the household The earls or dukes, or whatever the representatives of the central authority were called, also fed themselves and their retinue from the land with which the central authority had invested them. In keeping with the economic structure, the apparatus for ruling in this phase of society was unlike that of "states·· in a later stage. Most of the "officials", it has been said of this phase, "were farmers who bad 'official" dmies only for certain set periods or in the case of unforeseen events, and so most directly comparable t0 landowners having police and judicial powers".) With this legal and law-enforcing role they combined military functions; they were warriors, commanders of a warlike following and of all the other landowners
l99
198 in die arta the king had given rhtm, should it bt threarened by an tnemy In a word. all ruling functions were drawn wgether in d1eir hands Bm chis peculiar power figuration-a measure of the division of labour. an· diffortntiarion in chis phase-again and again ltd rn characrtriscic d arising from rht narure of irs strucrure. Ir generartd certain typical sequences tVtnts which-with certain modificarions-were repeartd ovtr and again. -i \Vhoever was once entrusted by rhe central lord with the funcrions of in a particular area and was thus in effecr rhe lord of chis area. no longer depende: on rhe cemral lord rn susrnin and protecr himself and his dtptndants, ar least as long as ht \\'
'-"
, rieecl che king Thtv withdww themselves from his power \Vhen chey . . . . the king as militan- leader. rht mon:mtnr is reverstcl and che game scares
longer
over
lord _is \"tcwrious in che war. Then. through ·iricl dlfnr emanacinv trom his sword. ht rtgams actual conrrol met he power ' ' c · . . . t ·] i· cerriron- and can disrribure ic antw This is one of che recurnng d1e w io e . - . . . l in che clevelopmem ot \Vesttrn soCiety in che early 1f1ddlt Ages anc · es in somewhar moclifitd form. in lacer periods mo somec1m , . . . . , Examples of such processts are snll ro be found wclay outside Europe 10 ). with a similar social srrucrure The den:lopment of ,-\bvssinia shows such · rr in ·1bund·mce cbounh che\· hm·t lanerh· been somtwhac modified conhgurac1 0 ' ' · o . _ . . _ .' · tJow of mone\· and othtr inscirucions trom Europe. But che f!se ot Ras bv rtie 111 _ ·· · che l'osicion of cenrral rultr or emperor ot rhe \\·hole counrry was made Ta1an rn · . _ . . "bl
200
Tht Ciz'i/i::;i11g Pmccu
State For111atio11 and Cil'ifi::;ation
rhe bastard son of Karlmann, nephew of Charles rhe Fae Arnulf had proved wonh as a mrlrrary leader in rhe border conflicrs wirh rhe invadinu f( •·• ·b 'X.l . . o ore1gn rn es. ' 1 1en he led rhe Barnnans agamsr rhe weak cemral ruler, he gained rhe recognirion of orher uibes, rhe easrern Fnnks rhe ·rliLir·· 11 ·. . . . . . , , i g1.ins, the Saxons and . rht Swab rans. As armv.. .leader_ m rhe ori o"il1'1l sense , he \\''lS ra·1sed to _. . , , rhe kmgship by rht warnor nobrliff ot rhe German rribes 9 Oner- 'l"ai· · . _
·
·
'- 'o' n
It
it: r
shown very clearly from where rhe funcrion of kingship in rhis society derived po\ver and legmmar10n In 891 Arnulf succeeded in repellin" the Normans L . . "' near ouvam. Bm when, contromed by a new rhreat, he hesitated only slighrly to lead his army mrn battle, rhe reaction was immediate. Ar once centrifuu-11 c . o' 1orces gamed. rhe upper hand in his weakly unified domain: .. Illo diu morante, multi reguli 1l1 Europa vel regno Karoli sui parruelis excrevere, ·· savs a writer of h · J(I . . • ( e Everywhere m Europe little kings grew up when he hesitated for a time ro tight.. This illustrates in o_ne semence the social regularities which set their stamp on rhe development of European society in this phase. _ The movement was once again reversed under the firsr Saxon emperors. The tacr rhar rule o\·er emire empire fell to the Saxon dukes again shows what was rhe mosr 1mportam funcrion of the central ruler in rhis sociery. The Saxons were parricu!arly exposed ro pressure from rhe non-German tribes jJushing across fro l Tl . m r 1e easr 1e tirsr rask of rheir dukes was to prorecr rheir own rribal terrirn , Bur in so doing rhey also defended rhe land of rhe orher German rribes. In Henry I managed to conclude ar leasr a rruce with rhe Hungarians: in 91g h l l. d · _, e 1m1se t a vanced as far as Brandenburg: in 929 he founded rhe fronrier fortress ar Meissen; in 933 he defoared the Hungarians ar Riade, bm wirhom desrroying rhem .or really avemng rhe danger: and in 93-:l in Schleswig he succeeded in resrormg the northern fromiers againsr rhe Danes. 11 All rhis he did primarilv as Saxon duke. These were vicrories of rhe Saxons over peoples rhrearening rl1eir tromiers and rcrntory. Bm in fighring and conquering on their own fromiers, rhe Saxon dukes gained rhe milirary power and repmarion rhar were needed w oppose rhe· cemrifugal rendencies wirhin rhe empire . Through external vicrorv rhty laid rhe foundarion of a srrengrhened imernal central · Henry I had by and large maintained and consolidared rhe frontiers, ar Ieasr to rhe .north. As soon as he died rhe \Vends revoked rheir peace wirh rhe Saxons. Henry s son Ono drove them back. In rhe following years 9.:P and 938 rhe Hungarians advanced again and were likewise repelled. Then began a new and more powerful expansion. In 9-iO rhe German rerritorv was to rhe Oder region. And, as always, as in rhe presem day, rhe of new lands was followed by the ecclesiasrical organization which-rhen much more stronglv dun now-sen-eel to secure military dominarion. . The same thing happened in rhe somh-easr. In 95 5-srill on German rerrir_ory-rhe Hungarians were defeared ar Augsburg and so driven om more or less hnally As a barrier againsr rhem rhe Easrern Marches, embryo of rhe larer
20 l
were esrablished with rheir fromier roughly in rhe region of Pressburg ·sl·i\•·i] slowlv. [.,ran ' ' · To the easr, in rhe central Danube area, the Hunuarians o be.1;an to serde permanendy Orto·s milirary successes were marched by his power inside rhe empire. n
Wherever he could he rried ro replace rhe descendants of lords installed by earlier emperors, who now opposed him as heredirnry local leaders, with his O\Vn rehirions and friends Swabia went to his son Ludolph, Bavaria to his brorher Henry. Lorraine ro his son-in-law Conrad, whose son Otro was given Swabia when Ludolph rebelled At the same time
he sought-more consciously,
it seems,
rhan
his
;redecessors-ro counteracr rhe mechanisms which consramly weaken centralism did rhis on the one hand by limiring the powers of rhe local rulers he insralled.
ke
On rhe orher hand he and, more resolurely still, his successors, opposed rhese mechanisms by installing clerics as rulers over regions. Bishops were given rhe secular office of coum This appointmem of high ecclesiasrics wirhour heirs was intended ro put a srop ro rhe tendency of funcrionaries of rhe central aurhoriry to rnrn into a .. heredirnry, landowning arisrocracy .. wirh srrong desires for independence. In rhe long run. however, rhese measures imended ro coumer decenrralizing forces only reinforced rhern They led finally to the conversion of clerical rulers into princes, \Vorldly powers. The preponderance of cemrifugal rendencies over cenrripernl ones that was roored in the srrucrure of rhis sociery emerged yet again. In rhe course of rime rhe spirirual authorities showed rhemselves no less concerned for rhe preservarion of rheir independent hegemony over rhe rerrirory entrusted to rhem rhan rhe secular.. Ir was now in rheir interests roo rhar rhe central aurhoriry should nor grow too srrong. And rhis convergence of rhe interesrs of high ecclesiastical and secular digniraries was a main comributory facror in keeping rhe acwal power of rht cemral amhority of rhe German Empire low for many cenruries, while rhe power and independence of rhe rerritorial rulers increased-die inverse of whar happened in France. There rhe leading eccltsiasrics hardly ever became grear worldly rulers. The bishops, parr of whose possessions were scanered among rhe lands of the various rerritorial lords, remained imeresred in preserving a strong cemral amhoriry for rheir own security. These parallel interests of church and monarchy, exrending over a considerable period, were nor rhe leasr of rhe facwrs which, in France, gave rhe cenrral power preponderance over cemrifogal tendencies ar a relatively early srage. Ar firsr, however, by rhe same process, rhe wesrern Frankish empire disimegrarecl even more rapidly and radically rhan the easrern one. 6. The lasr, wesrern Frankish, Carolingians were by all accounts 12 courageous and clear-thinking men, some of them gifred wirh outstanding qualities . Bm they were contending wirh a sirnarion rhat gave the central ruler lirtle chance,
202
20.'i
Tlk Cirilizing Pmcu.1
and one .which. shows parricularlv I . · clearlv- how easih·' in this social srructLire , tie cemre of granry could shirr to the disadvanwge of rhe ctntrnl ruleL Lta\·ing aside his role as army leader. conqueror and discribuwr of new land the basis of the social power of rhe central lord consisted of his possess10m, rhe land ht controlled directly and from \\·hich he had to support servants. _his court and his armed retainers. In this respect rhe central lord was no better oH than any other territorial ruler. Bur rhe personal rtrrirory of the frankish Carolingians had in the course of lonu strul'."lts been lar l western • • '-_ • <:::> .._,o , ge y g1n:n away 10 exchange tor sernces rendered. To obtain and reward support, rhe1r foretarhers had had to disrribure land. Each rime this happtntd-wirhout new conquesrs-d1eir own possessions were reduced. This lefr the sons in a still more precarious position . All new help meant new losses of land. In rhe end the heirs had very little left w distribute. The retainers they were able w feed and pay became fewer and fewec \Ve find the last of rhe western Frankish Carolingians in a sometimes desperate position. To be sme, their vassals were obliged to follow them to war: bm if they had no personal interest in doing so. only the open or concealed pressure of a militarily powerful liege lord could induce rhem to meet this obligation. Tht vassals followed the king. rhe less threatening his power became and so even tewer vassals joined him. \Virh military power as with land, therefore. these social mechanisms. once set in morion. prol'.ressivelv weakened rht position of rht Carolingian kings. ' , Louis IV. a braYe man fighring desperately for survival. is somerimts called "le roi de i\Ionloon··. rhe king of Laon. Of all rhe family possessions of the Carolingians. little was left w him except rhe fortress at Laon. Ar rimes rhe last sons of the house had hardly any troops to fighr their wars, jusr as rhe\· had hardly any land to support and pay their followers: "'The rime arriYed rhe descendant of Charlemagne. surrounded by landowners who were rhe m;1srers of their domains, found no other mt
. , ,,. insr rhe invadinl'. peoples from the east and north, Slavs, Hungarians country ,1.0:-'1 . Danes, char is, rhe dukes ot Saxony. were made kmgs __ . · l cl been !'receded bv ·1 1•rorracred strU"gle between rhe house ot Franc1<1 Th1S lll . ' · be ., d rhe last. western Frankish Carolingians _ \'\/hen rhe crown wem ro rhe former in rhe person of Hugh Caper. rhey were . ·i!rt·1d\· somewlnr weakened bv a 1>rocess similar to the one char had rhernse lv es ' ' . . ' . . own rhe Catolinl'.ians. The dukes of Francia too had had to form broug lir c! , . . , . . alliances, and obtain strvices in exchangt tor land and nghrs. Ihe rernrory or rhe dukes who had sercled and become Chnsria111zed m Lhe meantime, rhe . _ . Norman · - "' AqL11·r·1i·n,, ·md Bur<•Lmdv. rhe counties of Aniou and Fhinders. due l11b 01 ' ' ' b . . . Verniandois and Champagne. was scarcely smaller, and !11 son:ie respects more . r· nr rlnn rhe familv rerriron- of rhe new roral house ot Francia. And it impor'1 . ' , . . . . ·: ni.l\' J>O\\'er and rerrirorv,, rhar counred The power available to rhe kmg was r,1 i . . . rhrough bis family possessions was rhe real basis of his royal power If lus family ssions were no <•rearer rhan rhose of ocher rerriwnal rulers. then !us power posse b . . . . · . . "re·1rer either Ir was onh from rhe tam1h· possess10ns and rernror1 rh|
•
•
dependent on chem. In contrast, rhe western Frankish area, since rhe Normans had serried. had scarceh· been rhrearened b\· outside tribes. In addition. there was no possibiliry new lands clirecrly outside iLs borders. unlike rhe siwarion in rhe of eastern Frankish region. This accelerared its disinregrarion. The prime factors giving rhe king preponderance over the centrifugal forces. defence and conquest, were lacking . Since rhere was virrually nothing else in rhe social srrucrure rhar made rhe various regions dependent on a central ruler. rhe larrer's domain was in fact reduced ro lirrle more rhan his own rerrirory This so-called sovereiun is a mere baron who owns a number of counties on rhe banks of rh: Seine and rhe i:oire rhaL amuunr w scarcely four or five prtstnr-clay c/(/"irt.:m.:nts
204
The Cfrili::ing Process
The royal domain jusr manages w susrain his rheorerical majesry. Ir is neither th largtsr nor rhe richesr of rhe rerrirnries making up rhe France of roua\· The kin"· 1 e ,· . . . '• b IS .t£s powerrul rhan some or his ma1or rnssals. AncJ like chem he liu:s on rhe . , f rorn his esrnres. dmies from his peasams. rhe work of his bondsmen and rhe gifrs" from rhe abbeys and bishoprics in his rerricory 1 "
. Soon after the crowning of Hugh Caper the weakening nor of the individual kings bur ot the royal function itself, and with ir rhe disintegrarion of rhe roval rerrirories, began slowly and steadily to increase The first Caperians travelled rhroughour the whole country with their courts. The places where the royal decrees were signed give us an idea of rhe way in which rhey journeved in back and forth. They still sat in judgement at rhe sears of major vassals. southern France rhey had a certain traditional influence Ar the beginning of the twelfth century rhe wholly hereditary and independent of rhe various territories previous! y sub jeer to the king was an accomplished face The fifrh of rhe Caperians, Louis rhe Far (1108-_17), a brave and belligerent lord and no weakling, had lirrle say outside his own territory. The royal decrees show that he hardly ever rravelled outside rhe borders of his own ducln·. 1' He lived within his own domain. He no longer held court in rhe lands of his grear rnssals . They hardly ever appeared at the royal court. The exchange of friendly visits grew more infrequent, correspondence with other parts of rhe particularly in rhe south. more sparse. France at the beginning of rhe r:·elfth century was at best a union of independent territories, a loose federation of greater and lesser domains between which a kind of balance had provisionally been established. 8. \Vithin the German Empire. after a century filled wirh wars between rhe wearers of the royal and imperial crown and rhe families of powerful dukes, one of rhe larrer. the house of Swabia, succeeded in rhe rwtlfrh cemury m again subjugating rhe others and. for a rime. bringing together rhe necessan- means of power in tire central aurhoriry. . Bur from rhe encl of the twelfth century onwards the social centre of gravity moved ever more clearly and inevitably towards the rerritorial rulers in Germany too. However. while in the immense area of the German "Imperium Romanum" or "Sacrum Imperium", as ir was later called. rhe territorial estates were consolidating themselves to the point that they could now for centuries prevent the formation of a strong central power and so the integration of the whole area, in the smaller area of France the extreme disintegration of the end of rhe rwelfrh cenrury now began gradually and-some setbacks norwirhstanding-fairly steadily to give way to a resrorarion of the central aurhorirv and reintegration of larger and larger regions around one centre . The scene of this radical disintegration must be envisaged as in a wa\· the Starting point if we are to understand how the smaller areas joined ro
5111te
Fr1m1atio11 and Ci1·i!i:atio11
205
forn1 a srrong er unit ' and bv_ which social processes were formed the central units of rule that we designate bv• the concept of crans ot. rhe laruer b .... l ti.sm"-rhe rulinu appararus which forms rhe skeleton of modern srares. ··aoso u ei . . . . · -!· cnbilirv of rhe central aurhorirr and the central msr1rur10ns 111 the The re ,1 ' " ' . • . .. . . . • . . • ·e l··1ll rhe "A"e of Absolunsm contrasts shar1Jlv with rhe msrabd1n ot phase " ' . 0 . .. _ , .. ' · the central aurhonry m the feudal_ phase . . . \Vh
Middle Ages, writes: The (eudalizarion of scares eYerywhere forced rulers rn proYicle rheir army leaders and oflicds wirh land. If rhey were rn arnid being impoverished in rhe process. and co make use of rhe milirary serYices of rheir vassals, they were virnwlly driven rn arremprs ar milirar\· expansion. generally ar the expense of rhe power vacuums around chem. Ar th,1r rime ir was nm economically possible rn avoid this necessity by consrrucring a bureaucracy on the modern parrern.
11
•
This quotation implicitly shows rhe basic dyamics of both the centrifugal forces and rhe mechanisms in which rhe monarchy was embroiled in rhar society. provided rhar ··feudalizarion" is nor undersrood as an external "cause" of all these changes. The rnrious elements in this dilemma: rhe necessity of providing warriors and officials wirh land. the unavoidable diminution of the royal possessions unless new campaigns of conquest rook place, the tendency of the central amhorirv to weaken in rimes of peace-all these are pares of rhe great process of ··feudalizarion.. The quotation also indicares how indissolubly chis specific form of rule and its appararns of government were bound to a parricular economic structure To make rhis explicit: as long as barter relationships predominated in society, rhe formation of a rightly centralized bureaucracy and a stable apparatus of government working primarily with peaceful means and clirecrecl constantly from rhe centre, was scarcely possible The imminent tendencies we have described-conqueror-king. envoys sent by the central authority to administer the country, independence of these envoys or d1eir descendenrs as territorial rulers auainst the central power-correspond to certain forms of and their srruuule bb b economic relationship If in a society rhe production from a small or large piece of land was sufficient ro satisfy all the essential everyday needs of its inhabirnnrs
_?()()
Prr;ccss
from clorhing w food and household implements, if rhe diYision of labour and rht exchange of producrs O\'tr longer disrnnces were poorly de,·tloped. and if ,1ccordingly-all chest are difrertnr aspecrs of rhe same form of incegrarionroads were bad and rht means of uansportarion rudimtnran·. rht:n dlt: inrerdependence of differem regions \ms also slighc Only when chis inrerdependence grows considerably can relariYely srnblt cemral insriwriuns for a number of larger areas be formed. Before chis rhe social srrucrnre simply offers no basis for chem. A hiswrian of rhe period \Hires: "\Ve can scarcely imagine how difficulr it was. giYen medie,·al rransporrarion conclirions, w rult and adminisrer an . . .. 1exrenSI\'e empire ·
Charlemagne. too, supported himself and his courr essenrially from rhe produce of his old family esrare scarrered berween rhe Rhine, rhe .Maas and rhe Moselle. Each "Palarium .. or manor-in Dopsch 's convincing accoum 1'-was associated with a number of households and Yillages in rhe vicinity. The emperor and king moved from manor co manor in rhis relatively small area. supporting himself and his followers on rhe re,·enut from rht surrounding households and villages. Trade over long distances was never enrirely lacking e\·en ar chis rime: bur ir was essenrially a uade in luxury goods, ar rare nor in articles of dailv use. En:n wine was nor, in general. transported O\'tr long distances. AnHme wanted to drink wine had w product ic in his own disuicr. and onh· h.is nearest neighbours could obr,1in am· surplus through exchange. This is rhere were in rhe i\ficlclle Ages vineyards in regions \\·here wine is no longer rnlrirnred today, rhe grapes being roo sour or rhtir planrarions "uneconomic". for example in Flanders or Normandy. Conversely, regions like Burgundy which art for us synonymous wirh viniculture. were nor near!:· as specialized in winemaking as rhey lartr became. Thtrt. rno. ever\' farmer and esrnre had to be. up w a certain point. "aurarkic" As lace as rht seve!1[ee!1[h century rhere were only eleven parishes in Burgundy where everyone was a wine-grower Thus slowh· do rhe various disrricrs become imerconnecrtd. are communications dt\'tloped: are rhe division of labour and rhe inregrarion of larger areas and popularions increased; and increased correspondingly is rhe need for a means of exchange and unirs of calculation ha\'ing rhe same \'alue o\·er large areas: mone\· To understand rht ci,·ilizing process iris particularly important ro ha\'t a clear and vivid conception of chest social processes. of what is meam b,· ··barter or domesric economy ..... money economy", "imerdependtnce of large "change in rhe social dependence of the individual". "increasing division of functions". and so on. Such concepts too easily become verbal ftrish;s which have lose all pictorial qualit\' and rhus, really, all clariry.. The purpose of this necessarily brief account is ro give a concrete perception of rhe social relationships referred ro here b\· rhe concept of the "barter economy" \\fhar it indicares is a quire specific way in which people are bound rogerher and dependent on each
20"' r refers w a society in which rht rrnnsfor of goods from rhe person who c;rher. I . k l .. chem from rhe soil or nature to tht person who uses rhem ra ·es p ace 1. tine is wirhour or almost wirhour i!1[trmediaries. and where rhey are . drrccr')' ' . . . . worked up ar rhe house of one or rhe mhtr'. ,,·h1ch may well be rhe samt This ·t"• verv uraduallv btcomes more d1tterenm1red. J\fore and more people er . b . " . . ,. . . . . . themseh·es as f'uncnonanes or j)rocessmg and d1srnbunon m the 1 1 . ·l 11 rer11ost 5,()\1') · " .. from rhe 1)fimar\' ixoducer to the hnal consumer. How and, passage. 0 (1 rhe ouoods . . . . . . , . , .., ·ill ' whv· rh1s ha1J11ens. what is the motI\'t power behmd rh1s prolong.H1on the chains. is a question in irself. At an:· nm: mone;· is nothing o_rher rhan an • irselt when these rnsuu , which is needed and wirh which socierr· provides .... . · ..
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l O. Two phases can generally be distinguished in rht developmem of such prtclominanrly agrarian warrior socieries. phases which may occur once only or alrernate frequently· [he phase of rht belligerent expansionist central lords and char of rhe consen·ing rulers who win no new land . In rht first phase the central aurhoriry is strong. The primary social funcrion of rhe central lord in rhis society manifests irself direcrly. rhar of the army ltadeL \Vhen over a long period the roval house does nor manifest itself in this belligerent role, when rht king is nor needed as army leader or has no success as such, rhe secondary functions lapse as well. for example rhat of rhe highest arbitrator or judge of rht whole region. and rht ruler has ar borrom no more than his ride ro distinguish him from orher rerrirorial lords. In the second phase, when the frontiers are nor threatened and the conquest of new land is impossible for one reason or another. centrifugal forces necessarily gain rhe upper hand. \Vhile earlier the conquering king has actually controlled
208
The Cil'i/i::;ing Process
che emire coumrv. in rimes of relacive peace it increasingly slips away from auchority. Anyone wich a piec<: of land regards himself as ics firsc ruler. reflects his actual dependence on the cemral lord which in more peaceful is minimal Ac chis srnge, when che economic imerdependence and imegracion of J . . . . . _ _ arge areas is lackll1g or only beg!l1n!l1g, a noneconomic torm ot incegration appears all the m_ore scrongly: milirary imegracion, alliance t0 repel a common foe . Beside sense ot community wich ics scrongesc supporc in che common faith a and its mosc 1mporranr promorers in the clergy-but which never prevents disimegration, nor of itself brings about an alliance, merely strengthening and guiding it in cerrain directions-the urge co conquer and the necessity of resisting conquest is che most fondamemal faccor binding cogether in regions lying relatively far apart. For this very reason every such alliance in this society is, compared wich lacer periods, highly unstable, and the preponderance of decemralizing forces very great The two ph,1ses of chis agrarian society, the phases of conquering and of conserving rulers. or merely spurcs in one direction or the ocher, ma\· alcernate as has been noted. And this is what actually happened in che hiswry ,of countries. But the examples of German and French development also show thar despice all che countervailing movements in che periods of conquering rulers, rhe tendency for che larger dominions t0 disincegrnte and for land t0 pass from the control of che cemral lord t0 char of his erstwhile vassals proceeded, up ro a cercain rime. continuously
209
Std!t For111atio11 c111cl Ciz'i/i::;ation
. · n in che \Vesc The cendenC\· t0 chink in terms of isolated causes, t0 . . . . . . for individual creators ot sooal uansformar10ns, or ac mosc to see onl} che ,1specr of social insrirncions and ro seek che examples on which chey were rhis has made chtse processes and 111sr1turnodefl ed bv, chis or chat auenc-all o . . rions as inaccessible w our rhoughc as namral processes were earlier ro scholasnc
feuda Iiz<1t1 0
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More recendy hiscorians have begun tO break chrough tO a new way of posll1g . hist0rians concerned with che origins of feudalism are rhe ques rion . Incre1singh· 'zin" char this is neither a deliberace crear10n ot 1!1d1v1duals, nor dots _ic . ernp lMSI c. . . .· of· inscirncions char can be s1111ph· explarned br earlier ones. Dopsch, tor cons 1st · · . . . . . sws of feuclalizacion: "\Ve are concerned here w1rh ll1St1nmons char examp le, '· · into beinu were nOr cilled ' o deliberarelr . and inremionallv . bv . sraces or che bearers of state power in order ro realize cerrnin policical ends." 2 (1 • And Calmecce formulates still more clearly this approach tO the social 1
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processes of hisrory: However diffr:rtm the feudal system is from the preceding it. No revolution, no individual will has produced it le feudalicy belongs rn the caregory of what might be called "narnral fans· of hisrnry. Its formarion was determined by proceeded seep by seep
one, it results direcrly from is part of a long ernlution the ·'nawral occurrences" or quasi-mechanical forces and
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Elsewhere in his study La .rociJt( ffr1r!C1!e be says:
1
\Vhy Had che external rhreac tO che former Carolingian Empire, which really conscirnced che \Vesc at rhat rime, abated) \Vere chere yec other causes for rhi.s progressive clecentralizacion of the Carolingian Empire' The question of the mocive forces of this process mav rake on nt\\. sil!nificance if seen in relation to a familiar concepc This gr:1Jual dtcentraltzarion of governmem and cerrit0ry, this rransicion of che land from rhe concrol of che conquering central ruler ro rhac of rhe warrior caste as a whole is nothing ocher chan che process known as ··feudalizarion"
III The Increase in Population after the Great Migration 11 For some rime, undersrnnding of che problem of feudalizacion has been undergoing a pronounced change which perhaps merits more explicit emphasis than ic has received hicherrn . As with social processes in general, che older mode of hiswrical research has failed ro come properly ro grips with rhe process of
To be sure. knowledge of antecedents, char is, of similar phenomena preceding a given phenomenon, is interesting and instrucrive rn historians, and we shall nm ignore it Bur these "amecedems' are not the only factors involved and I'erhaps not rhe most important The main thing is not rn know where the "feudal tlemem comes from, whether its origins are rn be sought in Rome or among the Germans. bm why rhis element has rnken on its "feudal .. character If these foundations became what they were. d1e 1· owe chis rn an en1lmion whose secret neither Rome nor the Germans can cell us . irs formarion is the- n:sL1lt of forces char can only be compared with geological ones:-:.2
The use of images from rhe realm of nacure or technology is unavoidable as Jon!! as our language has nor de,·eloped a clear, special vocabulary for sociohis;orical \Vhy images are provisionally sought in these realms is readih· explained: for che rime being they express adequately rhe compelling strengch of social processes in hist0ry And however much one may thereby expose oneself ro misundersrnnding, as if social processes and their compulsions, ori"inac1·n" b ' b in rhe inrerrelacionships of men., were really of rhe same nature as, for example, the course of rhe earth about che sun or che acrion of a lever in a machine. the endeavour w find a new, scructural manner of posing hiscorical questions reveals itself ,·ery clearly in such formulacions . The relacion of later
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inscicmions to similar inscirncions in an earlier phase is alwavs of siunifi . . . . . b Bm here the h1sronca! question is why insricmions. and also people's conduct and attecnw make-up and whr cher chanue in chis inn· I •. . .. . "" ' rcu ar way \Ve are concerned \\"Ith the strict order ot socio-historical And perhaps it is .not easy even today to understand chat chest transformations are not to be explamed by something chat itself remains unchanged. and scill easy to r_ealiz_e char in history no isolated fact ever brings abom any transformation by itself. bm only in combination wirh others . F.inally. these transformations remain inexplicable as long as explanation is limited to the ideas of individuals written clown in books. \\!hen enquiring into soc'.al processes one must look at the web of human relationships. at society irsel( find rht compulsions rhar keep them in morion. and give chem their particular form and their particular direction. This applies to rht process of ftuclalizarion as to the process of increasing division of labour; it applies w countless other processes represented in our conceptual apparams by words wirhom processwhich stress particular institutions formed by rhe process in question, tor example. rht concepts of "absolmism... '·capitalism". "barter economv" ··money economy" and so on. All these point beyond themselves ro changes in structure of human relationships which clearly were nor planned by individuals and to which individuals were subjected whether willindr or nor And ti · lls applies finally ro changes in the human habitus itself. to rhe ci\"ilizing process L·
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1' One of the mosr important motors of change in rht structure of human relationships. and of tht insricutions corresponding ro them. is rhe increase or decrease of population Ic too cannoc be isolated from the whole drnamic web of human relationships. Ir is nor, as prevalent habits of thought. incline us to assume. in itself the "firsc cause" of socio-historical movement But amidst rhe intertwining factors of change chis is an imporrnm clement char should ne\·tr be neglected. It also shows particularly clearly the compelling narure of these social forces. Ir remains to bt established what role factors of chis kind playtd in the phase under discussion It may help unclersrancling of chem ro recall brietly rhe last movements in rht migration of peoples Up ro the eighth and nimh centuries tribes migrating from the ease. north and south pushed in recurrent spurts inrn the already populated areas of Eurnpe. This was the lase and biggest wave in a movement that had gone on owr a long period. \'Vhat we set of it art small episodes: the irruption of Htllenic "barbarians., into the populared areas of Asia Minor and the Balkan peninsula. the penetration by the Italian "barbarians" of the neighbouring western peninsula, rhe aclrnnce of che Celtic "barbarians·· into rht cerrirory of che former who had now in their turn become to some txttnt "civilized" and whose land had becomt a centre of "ancient culture". and the definitive settling of these Celtic tribes ro rhe west and parch· to che north of them
tribes overran a large part of the Celts' rerriron-, which in . II.! rhe G•·rman f!na ' , rime had likewise ui,·en rise to an "older culture", The Germans 111 their b . . land they had conquered agamsr new waves of I f nded .rhis . "cultured" curn lee . Jes ,1drnncrng from all sides . 2 after rhe death of Mohammed in 632 the Arabs were set in • -,1' chev had conquered the whole of Spain with rhe exception ot the l3v f J , . . . ' · n moL1nrains century rh1s wave came Astuna ' · Towards .the middle . of the eighth . ro a sr.1, nclsrill ·1r ' the souchern frontier of che Frankish empne, as Celtic waves had earlier done before rht gates of Rome · t tilt Fr,1nk1'sl1 en11)ire. B\.' the · rn'b es acl vance cl agams From rhe east Sl avon1c . . rhe ei"hrh centurv the\· had reached the Elbe . Of cl en · · L
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Thr: Cizi/i::;ing Prncess
less rapidly In consc:quence rhe social insrirutions corresponding to relatively large and dense populations disappeared also. The use of money within a societ, for example, is bound up with a certain level of populariun densiry. It is essential prerequisire for rhe differentimion of work and the formation of markets. If the popularion falls below a certain level-for whatever reasons-the markets automatically empty. The chains berween the person producing a commodity from nature and ics consumer grew shorter . .Money lost its instrumental funcrion . This was the direction of development at the end of antiquity. The urban senor of society grew smaller.. The agrarian characrer of society increased. This development took place the more easily as the division of labour in antiquiry was never remotely as great as, for example, in our own societv. A proportion of urban households were always to a degree direcdy suppiied. independemly of commercial or manufacturing intermediaries. by the grear slave estates. And as the overland transportation of goods over long distances was always extremely difficult, given the state of technology in antiquity, longdisrnnce trade was essentially confined to waterborne transport. Large markets and towns and \·igorous monetary activiry developed in proximity to water. Inland areas always preserved a predominantly domestic rype of economy. Even for the urban population, the autarkic household and economic self-sufficiency never declined to rhe exrent chat they have in modern \Vestern society. \Vith the fall in population this aspect of che social structure of antiquity regained prominence. \\?irh the end of the migration of peoples, chis movement was once again reversed. The influx and subsequent seeding of so many new rribes provided the basis for a new and more comprehensive popularion of che whole European area. In rhe Carolingian period chis population srill had an almost completely domestic economy, perhaps even more so than in che Merovingian period. 2 ' One indication of this may bt chat the political cemre moved still further inland, where hitherto-owing to the difficulties of overland transport-the political centres preceding those of rhe medieval \Vesr had never been situated, with few exceptions such as ·rhe Hittite Empire. \Ve may assume char the population was beginning co increase very slowly in chis period \Ve already hear of forest clearance, and that is always a sign thar land is growing scarce, the density of population rising . But these were cerrninly only the initial stages. The great migrations had not yet entirely abared . Only from the ninth cemury onwards did the signs of a more rapidly increasing population multiply. And not very long afterwards there are already indications of overpopulation here and there in the former Carolingian regions Fall in population at the end of amiquicy, slow rise once more under different circumstances in che aftermath of the migrations of peoples: a brief recrospecrive summary must be enough to recall to mind the curve of chis movement. l-i Phases of perceptible on:rpopulacion alternate in European history with
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State Formc1tio11 and Cfri/i::;c1tio11
flower internal pressure. But rhe term "overpopularion" needs explaining. those o . b r l . l b. . . I Ir is not a product of the absolute num. er or peop e m 1a a certain area n heavily industrialized society wlth intensive unlizatton of the land, highly a eve loped Jon"-discance trade and a government favouring che industrial againsr "' d . . "rafrm sector through imr)ort and export duties, •a number. of people can rne ,1.:::i ' • . ore or less tolerablv which in a barter tcononw with extensive agncultural ·vem · ' · ._ I and little long-disrance trade, would co_nstic_me with all irs typical symptoms. "Overpopulation" is rheretore hrsc of all a term tor growth of population in a parcicular area to a point where, in the given soCial scructurt, sacisfacrion of basic needs is possible for fewer and fewer people. \Ve rims encounter "overpopulation" only relative to certain social forms and a certain sec of needs, a social overpopulation. _ _ Irs svmproms in societies which have attained a certain degree of difterentiaci;n are, broadly speaking, always the same: increased tension within sociecy; greater self-encapsulation by those who "have", i.e., in a predominantly barter economy, chose who "have land", over against chose who ··have nor", or ac anv race not enough to supporc themselves in a manner conforming with their st;ndards; and often, increased self-encapsulation, among che "haves", of chose who have more than che rest; a more pronounced cohesion of people in tht same social situation co resist pressure from chose omside it or, inversely, co seize opporrnnicies monopolized by ochers. In addition, increased pressure on neighbouring areas with lower population or weaker defences, and finally, an increase in emigration and in the tendency to conquer or at lease setde in new lands. It is difficult co say whether available sources can give an exact picture of population growth in Europe in rhe centuries following the migrarions, and particularly of differences in population density berween different regions. But one chin<' is certain: as rhe miurntions slowlv came co a srandscill, once the major stfll"''le: amonab the different had to an end, one after another all the bb symptoms of such "social overpopulation., showed themselves-a rapid growth of population accompanied by che transformation of social institutions, 15. The symptoms of increasing population pressure first appeared clearly in rhe wescern Frankish empire. Here. about the ninth century. the threat from foreign rribes slowly receded, unlike rhe situation in the eastern Frankish empire In che part of che empire named after them rhe Normans had grown peaceable. With the help of the western Frankish Church, they rapidly absorbed the language and che whole tradition about chem. in which Gallo-Romanic and elements were mingled. They added new elements of their own In particular. they brought about important advances in the administrati\'t strLlCture within che territorial framework. From no\v on rhey played a decisive part as one of che leading rribes in rhe federation of western Frankish territories . The Arabs and Saracens caused occasional unrest on the Mediterranean coast, L
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5tdfr Fom1t1ti11n and Cizi!i::atio;1 but by and large rhe\· coo. from die ninth centunchrear ro rhe survival of rhis empire
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n"l colonizarion wenr rhe exrernal conquesr of new rerrirory elsewhere. By
ncer ,. . • . . '11<' ot rhe elevend1 ctntun-• Norman kn11o;hrs were 1o;o111g ro southern r}1e bCi! ·111 n 1 t;
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To rhe east of France lay rhe German "Imperium" which under che emperors had again 1o;rown 11owtrfuL \virh minor exce1)[ions rhe fronr 1·,,- be
. . . . u rween 1r and rhe wescern Frankish emp1rt scarcely moved trom rhe renth ro the
215
r;J hire rhemselves our as warriors to individual princes,
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\y·is ' enfeoffed for his services wirh a small piece of land on rhe norrhern .
In 925 Lorharingia was won back from the
boundary of rhc duchy of Naples. Ochers followed. among rhem orher sons ot a inor Norman lord. Tancrede de Hameville. Ht had rwelve sons m all; how
empire. and 111 l 0.'>-1 Burgundy. Apart from chis. rension along this line was nor high until 12.26 The empire ·s expansionisr rendencies were direcred essenrialJ,, 1 rn rhe east.
:ere rhey ro be sustained ro a firring srnndard on rheir farher·s land' Eighr of • 1 rherefore went to southern Irn!v. . and rhere obrained in rime whar was
quarter of rhe rhirteenrh cenrury
. The external rhrear ro che wesrern Frankish empire was rherefore relatively sl1ghr Equally sl1ghr. however, were the possibiliries of expanding beyond ex1snng frontiers. The easr in parricular was blocked bv borh rhe 1101)Liht' . . ·"ion cIens1ty and the military srrengrh of rhe empire Bur within rhis area, now rhar rhe exrernal rhrear had diminished. population began to mcrease markedly. Ir grew so strongly after the ninrh centun- rhat b che beginnmg of rhe foLuTeen;_h century ir was probably almosr as large. as ar begmnmg of rhe eighteenth This movement cerrainlv did nm proceed in a scraighr line. bur rhere is an abundance of evidence ro show rhar, by and large. popularion increased sreadilv; rh1s evidence has w be seen as a whole if rhe srrengrh of rhe overall movemen.t. and rhe meaning of each individual piece of e\·iclence wirhin ir. are ro be unclersrood
denied ro rhem ar home: control of a piece of land. One of them, Robcrr Guiscard, gradually became rht acknowledged leader of rhe Norman \Varriors. He unired rhe scarrered esrares or rerriwries rhar indi,·iduals had won for themselves. From 1060 onwards rhey began under his leadership rn advance inro Sicily By Roberr Guiscard·s dearh in 1085 rhe Saracens had been pushed back into rhe sourh-\vtsr corner of rht island. All rhe resr was in Norman hands and formed a new Norman feudal empire. None of rhis had acrually bten planned. Ar rht ourser we haw rhe population pressure and rhe blocked opportuniries ar home. rhe emigration of individuals whose success arrracrs orhers; ar rhe end we bt\'e an empire Something similar happened in Spain . In rhe renth century French knighrs wenr w the aid of rhe Spanish princes in rheir srruggles againsr rhe Arabs. As memioned, rhe wesrern Frankish area, unlike rhe easrern, did nor border on an extensive area open ro colonization and peopled by largely disunirecl rribes. To
From rhe end of rhe tenth onwards. and more so in rht elevtmh, rhe pressure on land. rhe desire for new land and grearer producti\·iry from rhe old, art more and more visible in rhe wesrern Frankish region.
or small bands crossed rhe mounrains: rhen, rhey gradually became armies, The
As menrioned. forests were already cleared in rhe Carolingian period and no doubt earlier roo. Bur in che eleventh cemury rhe rempo and exrenr of the
taken. and in 109-i Valencia under rhe leadership of El Cid, onh· ro be losr
clearance accelerare:d. \X'oods wert ftlled and marshlands made arable as far as rhe rechnology of rhe rime permirrecL The period from abom 1050 w abour 1300
mum was invesred wirh rhe reconquered rerrirory of Portugal. Bm ir was only
was rhe gre:ar age of cleforesrarion. of rhe inrernal conquesr of ntw land, in 2 France. ' Abour 1300 rhis movemem slowed clown again
IV Some Observations on the Sociogenesis of the Crusades
rhe tasr rhe empire prewntec! furrher expansion. The Iberian peninsula was rhe only direcr way our. Up ro rhe middle of rhe eleventh century only individuals Arabs, splir internally, offered slighr. sporadic resisrance . In l 085 Toledo was shordy afrerwards. The struggle was waged back and forth. In 1095 a French in 11-i'. wirh rhe aid of members of rhe Second Crusade, thar his son finally succeeded in gaining control of Lisbon and rhere ro some degree srabilizing his rule as a feudal king Aparr from Spain. rhe only possibiliry of gaining new land near France lay across rhe Channel. Even in rhe firsr half of rhe eleventh century individual Norman knighrs had srruck our in rhis direcrion Then in l 066 rhe Norman Duke wirh an army of Norman and French knighrs crossed ro rhe island, seized power and redisrribmed rhe land The possibiliries of expansion, rhe prospecrs of
16 The grear onslaughr from ourside had subsided. The earth was fruitful. Popularion was growing, Land, rhe mosr important means of producrion. rhe epitome of property and wealrh in rhis sociery. was becoming scarce. Deforesranon. rhe opening up of new land wirhin. was not nearlv sufficienr ro offset rhis scarciry New land had ro be soughr omsicle rhe Hand in hand with
new land in rhe vicinity of France, grew more and more restricted. Eyes were casr furrher afield. In 1095. before rhe grear feudal lords began ro move. a band led by rhe knight \\?airer Habenichrs. or Gamier Senzavoir. ser our for Jerusalem; it perished in Asia J\Iinor. In 109' a mighry army under rhe leadership of Norman and French
216
The Cil'ili:::ing Pmcess
rerri torial lords adrnnced into the Holy Land . The Crusaders first had rhemse!v . rnvesred b?· the Eastern Roman Emperor with the lands ro be conquered, e;, advanced further, conquered .Jerusalem and founded new feudal dominions There is no reason co assume char wirhouc rhe guidance of rhe Church. d·. l"' . . re 1g1ous lrnk with the Holy Land, this expansion would have been directed p'reci.stly char place. Buc nor is it. probable rhar wichouc rhe social pressure \\_1cl11n the \\esrern Frankish reg10n and then rn all the other reuions of L . . d . b attn Cl1nscen om, the Crusades would have taken place The tensi.ons within this society were not only manifested in desire for land and bread. Ibey exerced pressure upon the whole person . The social pressure the monve force. as a generator supplies currenr Ic ser people rn monon. fhe Church steered this pre-existing force. Ic embraced the general distress and gave It a hope and a goal omside France. Ic nave rhe struggle fior l d . . b new an an overarchrng meanmg and justification Ic mrned rhis into a stru
l-; The Crusades are a specific form of the first urear movement ot· · . . b ' c., ans1on colonizanon by the Christian \'\Iese. Dming the great migrations, in which tor cenrnries tribes from the ease and north-ease had been driven in a western and souch-wescern d!reccion, _rhe urilizable areas of Europe had been filled up with people to the furthest frontiers. rhe British Isles. Now rhe migrations had sropped. The r:1ild climate, fertile soil and unfettered drives favoured rapid mulnpl1canon Ihe land grew too small The human wave had trapped itself in a cul-de-sac, and from this confinement it strained back towards rhe easr. both in the Crusades and within Europe itself, where the German-populated area slowly spread, through heavy conflicts, further and further ease beyond che Elbe to rhe
C?der. then to the Vistula esrnary, and finally Prussia and rhe Baltic lands, even it it were only German knights, nor German farmers. who succeeded in n1igraring so fi1r.
. Bur precisely this lase face shows \'ery clearly one of the peculiarities d1srrngu1shing this first phase of social overpopulation and expansion from later ones. In general, wjrJ1 the advance of the civilizing process, and rhe concomitant constraint and regulation of human dri\'es-and their advance is alwavs scronuer fi . b , or reasons to be discussed later, in the upper than in che lower classes-the birrhra:e slowly_ declines, usually less rapidly in rhe lower rhan in che upper srrara. fh1s. difference between the average birch race of rhe upper and lower classes is often highly significant for the maintenance of rhe standard of rhe former. This first phase of rapid population growrh in the Christian \'\Iese is distinguished from the later ones, howe\·er, by rhe face rhac in ir che ruling stratum, the warrior class or nobility, increased hardly less rapidly rhan rhe stratum of bondsmen, tenants and peasants, in shore, of chose who directly worked the land. The struggle for rhe available opportunities which. wirh
of population, necessarily shrank for each _indi_vidual; rhe .incessant feuds nsions unleashed· rhe hi ,,h rare ot rnrant morralnv, illness and thllt these re ' b . • . d . . all chat may have eliminated a part ot the human surplus . An it IS chat rhe relariw:ly unprotected peasantry were harder hie than the . Moreover, the freedom of movement of the former group was so Ii mired warnobrs.. . 11 communicHions between different regions were so difficult, that a O\'e ,1 ' ' . . hbour power could not be guicklv. and evenly. discnbured Thus 1n l he sur•J us ' 1 r r shorrnue of labour might result from feuds and pillage, plagues, the one a.ea b . . . . l . · ot· new land or the flight ot serfs while a surplus was accumu atrng opening up . _ .c ' . • .. • • in ochers. And rn tact we have, for the same penod, clear e\ 1dence _of an excess attract free tenants, d m en in one area and of efforts . rn ochers ro .. boos • · W labourers 1m1xoved cond1t10ns. JJosp1tes - cl1at i's ' rulers ortecinu b . . . Be char as it may, what is above all characrerisnc of the operarmg · t li·ir nor only• was a' "reserve army" of bondsmen or serfs .formrng m rh1s here 1s ' . · . but also a "reserve arnw" of rhe 11pptl' c/,1ss, of k111ghcs sooety, · . . w1rhour property, · l Lit enouuh ro maintain their standards . Only lil this way can the narnre or w1c 10 b . of chis first \'\/estern expansionist phase be undersrood. Peasants. the sons of bondsmen, were certainly involved in one way or another in rhe for colonization. bur rhe main impulse came from the knights' shortage of land. New land could only be conquered by rhe sword. The knights opened a way by • torce o 1· arms· ' , the\' . rook rhe lead and formed rhe bulk of the armies. The surplus population in the upper class gave this first period of expansion and colonization . its special scamp.. The rift between those who had land and chose who had none or too linle, ran right d1rough chis society. On rhe one hand were the land-monopolises-warrior families, noble houses and landowners in the first place, bur also peasants, bondsmen. serfs. hosj1ites, who ocrnpied a piece of land that supported them, however meagrely. On che other hand were chose from both classes who had been_ deprived of land . Those from the lower classes--displaced by the shortage of opporrnniries or rhe oppression of their masters-played a pare in the emigration or colonization, bur above all they provided the population of rhe growing towns. Those from the warrior class, in short rhe "younger sons", whose inheritance was roo small either for their demands or for their mere sustenance, rhe "have-nots" among rhe knights, appear down rhe centuries wearing the most disparate social masks: as Crusaders, as robber-leaders, as mercenaries in the of great lords; finally they form the basis of the first srancling armies. 18 . The often-quoted dictum: "No land wirhour a lord", is nor only a basic legal principle. It is also a social watchword of rhe warrior class . Ir expresses the knights' need ro rake possession of every scrap of L1Sable land. Sooner or later this had come about in all the regions of Larin Christendom. Every available piece of land was in firm ownership . Bur rhe demand for land continued and even increased. The chances of satisfying ir diminished. The pressure for expansion
218
The Cil'iIi:;i11g Pmc,.c_r
Std!, F11m1t1!i1Jn
rose, as did rhe rension wirhin sociery. Bur rhe specific dynamic which was imparted ro sociery as a whole did nor emanare solely from rht malcontents:; was nectssaf!ly communicared also to chose rich in land. In rhe poor d · .t . !! ! l. . k . l . , ebtfl cc en.' c ec i_nrng ·n1g irs the social pressure maniftsred itself as a simple for a piece of land and labourers ro support rhtm in keeping with their standards. In tht f!cher warf!ors, the grtater landowners and territorial lords · - - - . . - .· ' It Was expressed 11kew1se as an urge for new land. But what lowtr down was a · I . _ . _ . . d es1re for .i means of subs1srence appropnate to one's class was hi"her llj} a51mpe l . . ' 'c( c rive tor enlarged domrn1011, fur "more" land and so more social !}0\Vtr as well Th' _·
-
•
IS
ll1g tor enlarged property among the richer landowners, above all those of the hrst rank, tht counts, dukes and kings, sprang nor onh· from rhe j}er- al b. · >On am mon of individuals. \Ve have already setn by the example of the western Frankish Carolll1g1ans. also the first Capetians. how unremittingly, unless there was_ a poss1bi11ty of conquering new land, even royal houses were forced 1nro. dtclll1e by a compelling social process cenrred on the ownership and d1srnbu[]on ot land. And if, rhroughout this whole phase of ounvarc! and inward expansion, we see nor only 1:oor knighrs but also many rich ones striving afi:er new land to ll1crease their family power. this is no more than a sign of how strongly rhe structure and situation of this society imposed rhe same srrivinrr on whether simply ro mvn land in rhe cast of the dispossessed. or to more land 111 the case of the rich . Ir has thought that craving for "more" property, rht acquisitive urge, is a spec1hc charactensr1c of "capitalism .. and thus of modern rimts . In this view medie:al society was distinguished by conrenrmenr with rhe income appropriate ro ones social sranding. \Virhin certain limics this is no doubt correcr. if the striving for "more" is undersrood as applying _ro money alone. Bm for a long period of rhe Middlt Ages 1 r_ was nor ownership or money but of land which consrirurecl rht essential form of ownership. The acquisitive urge thus necessarily had a differenr form and a differenr direction. It demanded differenr modes of conduct ro those of a socierv with a money ancl·market economy. It may be rrut that only in modern rimes did there develop a class specializing in trade, with a desire ro earn ever-increasing amounrs of 111011c) through uninrerrupted roil. The social structures which. in rhe predominantly barter economy of rhe Middle Agts. led to a desire for everincreasing means of production-and it is structural fearures that are important 111 both cases-are less easy ro perceive, because land not monev was desired. In addition, political and military functions had nor yet been differenriartd from economic ones as they have gradually become in modern socierv. Milirnn- action and political and economic striving were largely idenrical, ;111d rhe .urge to increase wealth in the form of land came ro the same thinu as territorial sovereignty and increasing military power. The man in particular area, i.e. the one with most land. was as a direct result the most
,//Id Ciz'i!i::c1tio11
219
!J1Jwert-ul n1·1·r 1 1 a ril\· . . w1.th the lar.!!eSt retinue: he was at once armv. leadtr and l
Pre ciselv. because tstate owners were in a certain sense opposed ro one another, as states are roday, the acquisition of new land by one neighbour represenred
•· ---c or indirect threat ro the orhers. Ir meanr, as todav, a shift of equilibrium ' '.' ·Inc was usuallv a very labile svsrem of power balances in which rulers were _, (1J[CC
1!JW'
•
-
'
.
-
.
.
.
allies and j}Otenrial entm1es ot one another. fh1s. therefore. 1s l . .5 jJOtential · .
mechanism which, in chis j)hase of inrernal and external expansion. h - -·mjJle Lit kept cht richer and mort powerful knighrs in morion no less than the poortr - e·1c]1 beinu <•uard agarnst ex1x1ns1on bv others. and consramlv 0 constanth. on e> 0 ne=>1 h ·n" to enlarue his own jJossessions. \\!hen a societv. has once betn. put in such k seeic c <..---
•
•
scare of flux by rhe blockage of territorial expansion and populat10n pressure. anvone who declines ro compete, merely conserving his property while others 'strn ':,,e tor increase ' necessarilv· ends UjJ "smaller" and weaker than the others, and is in ever-increasing danger of succumbing ro them at the first opportunity The rich knights and terrirorial lords of cha[ tirnt did not view the matter quite so theoretically and generally as we hano put it here; but they did see quite concretely how powerless rhey wtre when their neighbours were richer in land than they, or when others around them won new Lind and sovereignry This could be shown in more derail in relation ro the Crusade leadtrs, for example Godefroi de Bouillon. who sold and mortgaged his domestic possessions ro seek larger ones far away. and in fact found a kingdom. In a later period this could be shown by the example of rht Habsburgs. who even as emperors were possesstd by the idea of extending their "family power .. , and were in fact, even as emperors, compltrely imporenr without the support of their own family power. Indeed. it was precisely because of bis poverty and powerlessness that the first emperor from the family was selected for this position by mighty lords jealous of their power. It could be illustrated particularly clearly by rht importance which the conquest of England br the Norman Duke had for the developmenr of the western Frankish empire. fact. this growth in the power of one rerrirorial ruler meant a total displacemenr of equilibrium wirhin the alliance of territorial rulers comprising this empire. The Norman Duke who, in his own rerrirory, Normandy, was himself no less affecrtd by cenrrifugal forces than any other rerrirorial ruler, did not conquer England for the Normans as a \vhole but solely ro increase his own family power. And the redistribution of English soil ro the warriors who came with him was expressly designed ro counter centrifugal forces in his new domain by prevenrin<' the formation of lar<'e rerrirorial dominions on English soil. Thar had to land ro his knight: was dictated by the necessit; of ruling and administering it; but he avoided allocaring a large self-contained area to any individual. Even co the great lords who could demand the produce of large areas for their mainrenance. he assigned lands dispersed throughout the counrry.·; 1 At the same rime he had automatically risen. with this conquest, ro be the
220
The Cirilizi11g P/'()cc.rs
most powerful rerriwria! ruler in rhe western Frankish empire. Sooner or late there had rn be a confromarion between his house and rhar of rhe dukes rf. . . 0 Francia, who ht! d. rhe k·ingsh1p-a confrontation in which the crown itself Was ar stake. And 1r 1s kno\vn how grearlv clevelo1)mems in subsequent cent · ' uriedetermined_ by struggle between the dukes of francia Normand;, ho\\ die_ ot the Isl_e cle France slowly resrorecl rhe balance of pO\ver by the: ot new rernrones, and _how these struggles on both sides of the Channel hnally gave nse ro rwo different dominions and rwo different natio But this is certainly one of many examples of the compelling rlm dynamic phase ot rhe .!\fiddle Ages, which impelled both rich and poor knights ro seek new land
v The Internal Expansion of Society: The Formation of New Social Organs and Instruments 19 The driving force of this social expansion, rhe disproportion between rising population and lan_d in fixed ownership, drove a large part of rhe ruling class ro conquer new remrory. This outlet was largely blocked ro people of the lower, labouring strata. The pressures arising from rhe land shortage here Jed mainly in a different direction, ro rhe differentiation of work.. The bondsmen driven from the Janel comprised, as we have mentioned, material for rhe growing settlements ot artisans which slowly crysrallizecl around favourablv situated feudal sears, rhe evolving rowns. Somewhat larger agglomerations of people-the word "rown" perhaps gives the wrong impression-are already ro be found in rhe socierv of rhe ninth century which operated a barter economy. But these were nor d;e communities which "livec! by crafts and trade instead of labour on rhe land, or had anv special 2 rights and insrirutjons". _; They were fortresses and ar rhe same rime of the agricultural administration of great lords. The rowns of earlier periods had lost their unity. They were juxtaposed pieces, groups often belonging ro different knights and different dominions, some secular, others ecclesiastical, each leading its own independent economic life. The sole framework for economic acriviry was the estate, the domain of the terrirorial lord. Production and consumption rook place ar essentially rhe same place. 3_; Bur in the eleventh century these formations began ro grow. Here roo, as usually hap_pened wirh knightly expansion bur was now happening among bondsmen, 1r was ar first unorganized individuals, surplus labourers, who were driven to such centres. And rhe attitude of rulers ro rhe newcomers, who in each case had just left a different esrare. was nor always rhe same.·;., Sometimes rhey
5t.1h FormC1ti1111
<111cl
Cil'ilizc1tirJ11
221
chem a modicum of freedom; bur mostly rhey expecred and demanded the services and rribures as from rheir own bondsmen and tenants. Bur the . li1p . b· erween rlie lorcl an d -
fr;m
The and mo_re acti\·e. more money is needed Money is indeed an incarnation of social fabric. a symbol of rhe nerwork of exchange-acrs and human through which a commocliry passes on irs \vay from irs narura] state consumption. Ir is only needed when exrenc!ed chains of exchange form wi'rn· . I . m r iar is ro say. ar a cerrain level of popularion density and a higher · of social inrerclepenclence and difterenriarion. Ir would rake us too far afield to explore here rhe quesrion of rhe gradual of the money economy in many areas in !are anriquiry and irs resurgence rrom abom the elevenrh century onwards; but one observation on the quesrion necessary in connecrion wirh rhe foregoing.
Ir muse be poinred our rhar money ne\·er wenr completely ollt of use in the older 111habned area of Europe. O\·er rhis whole period there were enclaves of mone:· economy wirhin rhe barrer economy. and in adclirion. Olltside lhe area rhere were large regions of rhe old Roman Empire where money rrafhc never receded to rhe same exrenr as ir did here. One can, rherefore, alwa;s and n:ry righrly ask abour rhe .. anrecedtnts· of rht money economy in tl;e Chrisrian \Vesr. rhe enclan:s in which ir never disappeared. Ont can ask: where did rhe money econom\· originate;, From whom was rhe use of monev relearned) This kind of enquiry is nor wirhour value; for ir is difficult ro imagi.ne char msrrumenr should have rerurned to use so relarively quickly had it nor been so far developed in orher. preceding or neighbouring civilizarions. or if ir had never been known Bur rhe essenrial as peer of the question concerning rhe re\·ival of mone\· rraffic in rhe \Vest is nor answered in rhis way. The question remains whv Western society needed relatively little money owr a long stretch of irs develq;menr, and why rhe need and use of money, wirh all rhe consequent transformations of sociery. gradually incrtased once more. Here again rhe enquiry musr be direcred toward the rhe facrors And rhis qucsrion is nor answt:rtd by examining the origins of money and the anrecedenrs of rhe moner econornr. It is answered only by examining rhe acrual social processes which. arier rhe ebb of money traffic in dtclining anriquity. once again broughr forrh rhe new human relationships. the new forms of inregrarion and inrerdependence. which caused rhe need frir money to increase again: rhe cellular srrucrure of socien· became more clifforenriared. On, expression of rhis was rhe revirnl in rhe use moner. Thar ir was nor only inrernal expansion but also migrarion and colonizario,n which-d1rough rhe mobilizarion of properry, rhe awakening of new needs. rhe esrablishmenr of trade relations over longer disrances-played an imporranr pare 111 rhis revirnl is immediarely evidenr. Each individual movemenr in rhe whole inrerplay of processes reacrs on the ochers. eirher obsrrucring or reinforcing rhem, and rhe web of movemenrs and rensions is from now on considerably complicared by rhe social diHerenriarion. Single facrors cannor be absoluteh· isolared. Bur wirhom rhe clifforenriarion wirhin sociery irself. wirhour rhe pas;ing of the
intO fixed ownership. wirhour the sharp increase in population. wirhour the of indept:ndenr communirits of artisans and tradesmen. the need for wrm.io . . . . nev within soc1ery would never have nsen so sharply. nor the money sector ur haw grown so rapidly. Monty. the decrease or increase of its use-_ rcannot 1-c understood bv· itself. bm univ· from rhe srandpoinr or . rht: srrucmre or u _ _ . human relationships. Ir is here. in rhe changed rorm of human 1nttgrar10n. rhar rhe prime movers of chis transformation are robe soughc; or course. when rhe use of money had onct begun ro grow-__1t helped 1n 1rs rnrn _rn propel thIS_ wholt rnovemtnr-population increase. ditterenriarion. growrh ot towns-snll rurrher. up w a certain point of sarurnrion. .. The beginning of the eleventh cenmry is still charncrerized by the absence of !Hrge-scale money transactions. \Vealrh is to a large exrenr immobilized in the hands of the Church and the secular territorial lords. Then che need for mobile means of exchange gradually increased. The existing coinage was no longer sufficient. Firsr of all people made do with plart and ornamenrs in precious meral char were weighc:d ro provide a unit or calculation: horses roo could serve as measures of value; new money was minted to meer d1t growing demand-rhar is to say. pieces of precious mera] of a certain weight ;auged b\· aurhoriries. And probably. wich the growing need for mobile means ;Jf e:chan.gt. rhe process was repeated on various levels; perhaps exchange by barter, \\·hen rhe supply of coinage no longer met rhe incrtased demand. repeatedly gained new ground. Slm\·ly rhe increasing differenriarion and interweaving of human actions. rhe growing volume of rrade and exchange:. pushed up rhe \·olume of coinage and then rhe reverst took place. In berwtt:n. disproportions conrinually arose. Bv che second half of rhe chirreenrh ctntury. at lease in Flanders. and earlier or Luer in orher regions. mobile wealth was very considerablt Ir circulartd fairly rapidly .. thanks ro a series of insrrumtnrs rhar had bttn crtared in rhe meanrime·:;- gold coinage minted within tht country rhirhtrro evtn in France, as in Abyssinia ro rhe present day [ 19 56}. no gold coinage had been mimed: what was in use, and srored in rhe rreasurits. was Byzanrine gold coin) rogerher with small money. rhe letter of exclrnnge and measurement-all these are symbols of how rhe irwisible network of chains of exchange was growing more and more dense. 21 Bur how could exchange relations berween differenr areas. and clifforenriarion of work extending beyond rhe local region bt established. if transport was inadequare. if sociery was incapable of moving heavy loads over long Jisrnnces;, •
, ·0 n
Examples from che Carolingian period han: already shown how the king had travelled with his courr from one imperial palace ro another in order to consume the products of his es rares on rhe spor. No marrer how small rhis courr may have been in comparison ro chose of che early absolmisr phase. ir was so difticulc ro
Tht
225
PmL°ess
move che quamicies of goods char were needed for ics sustenance char che had ro move ro che goods instead . Bm in che same period when populacion, che towns, interdependence and ics instrumems. were growing more and more percepcibly, transporr too was developing In amiquity che harness of horses, as of all other beascs of burden. was little suited to the cransporcacion of heavy loads over long distances. It is open to quescion what distances and loads it could cope wich, bm clearly this mode of conveyance was sufficiem for che suucrure and needs of chc: inland economv of antiquity. Throughout the whole of that period land transport remained e;tra. ordinarily expensive. slow and difficult, in comparison ro waterborne transport. Virrually all major cemres of trade were situated on the coast or on navigable rivers. And this cemraliwtion of transport about the waterways is very characteristic of the structure of the society of antiquity. Here, on the waterways and above all on the seacoasts, arose rich and sometimes very densely populated urban centres whose need for food and luxury articles was often met from very remote parts, and which formed central links in the highly differentiated chains of an extensive exchange traffic In the enormous hinterlands, which by and large were open only to overland transport, that is, in by far the largest part of che Roman Empire. the population mer cheir primary needs direcdy from the produce of their immediate environmenc. Here, short exchange chains predominated, in other words. what can be roughly called a '"barter economy": very little money circulated. and the purchasing power of this barcer sector of the ancient economy was too low for che acquisition of luxury arcicles. The comrasc between the small urban sector and the vast inland areas was thus very greaL Like thin nerve strands the larger urban settlements along the waterways were embedded in the rural districts, drawing off their strength and the products of cheir labour until, with the decline of the cemralized government. and partly through the active struggle of rural elements against the urban rulers, the agrarian secror freed icself from the domination of che towns. Then chis mirrow, more differtntiared urban seccor, with its ex.tensive interdependencies, fell into decay, to be obliterated by a somewhac alrered form of shorr, regionally limited exchange chains and barrtreconomy institutions . In rhis dominant urban secror of ancient society, however, there was clearly no need to develop overland rransporr further. Everyching that ics own country could not supply or only at a high transportation cosc, could be more easily obrninecl from overseas. But now. in the Carolingian period, the chief waterway of rhe
cities and England, again played a decisive part in the rise of the \Vest. -pecific character of \Vestern de\·elopment is no less determined by che fact pe . . k c l > the necwork of• sea routes was arrached an 111creas111gly dense necwor · 01 . . . . . · J connecnons and that ma1or rnland centres of trade were also gradual!; ' . . . . 0 ver1an • . c[ The develo1)ment of land transporc bevond the level it had arra111ed 111 devewpe · . . · . . . . . .em world is a 1x1rcicularlv clear dlustrat10n of this growrng d1fferenrnmon rhe an Cl · . ·. 1 imerweavin'' throughout che inland areas of Europe. and sOcl ,1 "' . . . ie use of rhe horse tor haulage was, as has been mennoned, not very highly T1 . . ·y developed in the Roman world. The harness ran across the d1roac.' This was s useful to rhe rider in <'uiding his horse. The thrown-back head, rhe l P _ o . . . . . . c1·· postL1re of rhe horse trequentlv seen m anoent reliefs 1s connected with · prou . · . this mode of harnessing. Bur 1r made the horse or mule fairly unusable for ·i".e parricularlv of heavv loads which necessarilv constrict its throat. The • ' " llJU l '- ' case similar with the shoeing of the animals. The ancients lacked the nailed iron horseshoe without which the full power of the horse cannot be exploited. Both states of affairs slowly changed from the centh century onwards. In che same phase when che tempo of forest clearance was gradually increasing. when socierv was becoming differentiated and urban markers were being formed, when was coming increasingly into use as a symbol of this interdependence, land too, in rhe form of devices for the exploitation of animal labour power, made decisive progress. And this improvement, insignificant as it may appear ro us today, had scarcely less importance at that time than the development of machine technology in a lacer age 111 "'In a mighty constructive effort", it has been said, the scope of use of animal labour was slowly extended in the course of rhe eleventh and twelfth centuries The main load in haulage was transferred from the throat to rhe shoulders. The horseshoe appeared. And in the thirteenth century the modern h;mlage technique for both horses and oxen was creaced in principle. The foundacion for the overland rransport of heavy loads over long distances had been laid. In the same period the wheeled cart appeared and the beginnings of metalled roads. \Virh the development of rransporc technology, the water-mill rook on an importance it had lacked in antiquity. It was now profirable rn transport grain ro it over quite long disrances, ll That mo was a step on rhe way rn differentiation and interdependence, w the severance of functions from rhe closed sphere of the estate.
VI
Some New Elements in the Structure of Medieval Society as Compared with Antiquity 22. The change in conduct and drive-control that we call ··civilization" is very closely related to the growing interweaving and interdependence of people. In
rhe ftw examples rhar ir has bttn possible ro givt here. rhis interweaving can be seen as ir were in rhe process of btcorning. And even here. ar rhis relarively ear)y phase. rhe naturt of tht social fabric in rhe \Vesr is in cerrnin rtspecrs from rhar of antiquiry. As rhe cellular srructurt of sociery began once again to becomt more differentiared. wharever institurions rhe preceding srage of high differtnriarion had lefr behind were used in many ways. Bur rhe condirions under which rhis renewed clifferentiarion rook place, and rims rhe nature and direction of rhe difftrentiarion itself. diverged in certain respects from those of rhe earlier periocL People have spoken of a "renaissance of trade"' in rhe eleventh or twelfth centuries . If this means rhar institutions of anriquiff were now to a certain extent revived, it is certainly correct. \Vithout the herirage of antiquiry, the problems confronting sociery in the course of rhis development could certainly not have been successfully overcome in rhis \vay. In this respen it was a consrruction on earlier foundations. But the driving force of the movement did nor reside in "learning from antiquity· Ir lay wirhin rhe sociery irself. in irs own inherent dn1amics, in rhe conditions under which people had ro accommoclare rhemselves ro one anorher. These conditions were no longer rht same as in antiquiry. There is a very widespread conceprion thar the \Vest only really regained and then surpassed rhe le\·tl attained by antiquity in rht Renaissance. Bur whether or not we art here concerned wirh a ··surpassing". wirh ··progress··. srrucrural features and cltwlopmenrnl rendencits departing from those of amiquiry are visible not only in the Rtnaissanct bur already-at least to a cerrnin exrtnt-in rhe early phase of expansion and growrh rhar has been discussed here. Two such structural differences will be memioned . \Vesrern sociery lacked the cheap labour of prisoners-of-war. slaves. Or when thty were available-and they were nor in fact tntirtly lacking-rhey no longer played anv \"try significant part in rhe o\·c:rall srructurt of socitty.. This gave social developmtm a new direcrion from tht outser. No less imporrnnt was another circumsrnnce rhat has already been mentioned. Restrdemem did nor rnke place as previously about a sea, or as exclusively along warerways. but very largely in inland areas by land rransport routes. Borh rhese circumstances, often in close interacrion. confronted \Vesrtrn socitry from the start wirh problems rhar ancient sociery had not needed to solve and which guided social development into new parhs. The fact thar slaves played only a minor role in rhe working of esrnrts may be explained by rhe absenct of large slave resef\·oirs or by rht sufficiency of rht indigenous popularion of bondsmen for tht needs of rhe warrior class. However rhat may be, the insignificance of slave labour is marched by the absence of rhe typical social patterns of a slave economy. And it is only againsr the background of rhese different parterns rhar the special nature of the \Vesrern structure can be fully apprtciared. Not only do rhe division of labour. d1e interweaving of people, the mutual dependence of upper and lower
classes, and concomitantly, the clrin: economy of borh classes, develop difftrenrly . , shve socief\" rhan in one with more or less free labour, but also rhe social Ill a ' · _ _ . _ rens1-0 ns- '-me! en:n rhe tunctions ot monev. are nor rhe same. to sav. norhmg of the ·rnnorwnce of free labour for rhe developmtm of work-techniques . 1 fr must be enough here ro comrasr to rhe sptcific processts of \\!esrern · ·1 1-.,.1r 1"on a brief summan- of rhe different j)rocesses Oj)trnting in a societv wirh c1v1 highly developed slave mark_ers These are no less compelling i_n the l'.1rrer rhan in rhe former. In a n!s11111u of present-day research, rhe mecharnsms of a soc1ery based on slave labour have been summarized as follows: µ'
,
•
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•
slave-labour inrerfercs with the work of production by free-labour Ir inrerferes three ways: it causes the wirhdrawal of a number of men from production
in to
supervision and national defence: it diffuses a general sentiment against manual labour and
-:c
The use of slaves rends to disincline free men from work as an unworthy occuparion. Alongside rhe non-working upper class of slave-owners a 11011-u·orking middle class forms. By rhe use of slaves sociery is bound ro a relatively simple work srructure, embodying techniques that can be operated by slaves and which for this reason is relarively inaccessible ro change. improvement or adaptation ro new siruarions . The reproclucrion of rnpiral is rite! ro the reproduction of slaves, and rhus directly or indirectly ro rhe success of military campaigns, ro rhe ourput
228 of rhe slave reservoirs. and is never calculable ro rhe same degree as in a so · . . . . .. cietv In which H 1s whole people who are bought for rheir liferime bm work services ot people who are socially more or less free Ir is onlr againsr rhis ba_ckground rhar we can undersrand die importance for rht whole devtlopmem ot \'Vesrern socierv. of rhe facr rhar.· durinv rhe slOV; b growd1 of population in rhe Middle Ages, slaves were absent or played only a minor part From rhe scan society was rherefore set on a different course than in Roman antiquiry.·'' Ir was subjecred ro differem regulariries. The urban revoJu. rions of che eleventh and rwtlfrh centuries, rhe gradual liberation of rhe workers · a displaced from rhe lancl-d1e burghers-from rhe j}OWtr of rhe feucl·1l ' lord , IS first expression of this. From this a line of descent leads ro rhe gradual rransformarion of rhe \'Vest inro a sociery where more and more people earn 11 living rhrough occupational worL The very small pan played by slave imports and slave labour gives the workers, even as rhe lower srrarnm, considerable social weight. The funher rhe interdependence of people proceeds and the more, therefore, land and irs produce are drawn wirhin rhe circularion of rrade and money, rhe more dependent rhe non-working upper srrara, warriors or nobility, become on rhe working lower
5utc Formation dlld Cii·i!i::.t1tiu11
229
ro break rhrough by force All these changes and struggles may well have begun_ osen rhe commurncanons encircling rhe Medirerrane
course rhe oid importance of die Mediterranean as a means of cransporr and nicition as rhe b,1sis and centre of all higher culrural development on comm u ' ' . . . n so1·1 was more rl1oroughlv desrroved bv the Invasion of rhe Arabs. Ir Eurouea ' · · · ' I. chis char finallv ruprnrecl rhe weakened connecring threads The Roman was on y • . . , . e in voocl pan an Arab one. "The bond urnting eastern ana western b . . . b 1111 rhe Bvzantine Empire and rhe German Empires in rhe \'Vest, is Europe, . _ . . . The consequence of rhe IslamlC Invasion was co place these suncIered · . _ Empires in circumstances which had never previously existed since rhe beginning_ of hisrory"· 1« To puc it somewhar differently: ar least In the Inland pans ot Europe, away from rhe major river valleys and rhe few military roads, no highly differenriared sociery and therefore no differentiated proclucnon system had so far developed. Ir is still difficult ro decide whether che Arab invasion alone created the conditions for a development concencrared inland The filling up of rbe European lands by cribes during rhe great migrarion may also have played its pare. Bur at am· rate this temporary conscricrion of che hirherro main cransporr
2)1 __ oncli-n" ro cht clitfrring magnicude of land ownership emerged more and
is imponanr to reco"nize d1ac chis sociecy encered ac chis ven-- earh-• sn"e c 'o 0 n a pach on which ic has remained up w modern rimes. One can reaclih-. ima<>; {D4ne· char. \·iewing che developmem of chis whole period of human sociecy, the
corre> p cc arlv And che v·1rious rides char earlier bad des1gm1rtd posmons w1d1rn more cle:- . . , - - -
mec'.iernl and modern periods wgecher. lacer ages will see chem as a single unihecl epoch. a greac --Middle Age" And ir is scarcely less imporrnnr w observe
--n,,lv fixed mt·1ninu: d1ev were linked rn che name of a panicular house :is
L
-
•
-
L
-
-
-
-
to che ruler. much as CI\"ll sernce grades do wday. wok on a ne\\ and
increa:,1 c . · ' c _ . _ . . . "l ression of che size or its esrncts and chus or ics m1lirnn- power The an e 1 k. A
char die Middle Agts in the narrowtr sense of che word were noc cht scaric period. che "petrified foresc". which chey are ofren rnken w be, bm chat thev
dukedoms were descended from rht royal servants once sem rn _represent che ·mg ·wn-· rhev. b••ndu-ilhbecame more or less rnclependent liege lords over chis jn a rtrn ., ' ' . _ · . ,_ _ __ _ .
contained highly dynamic phases and senors moving in precisely rhe direction which rhe modern age cominued. srnges o( expansion. of adrnncing division of
, le c-rritor\" 1)osstssors ot a more or less expensive unenteofted familv,--no e . ·incl ' · '' rn· within ic The case is similar wich coums The viscoums were prope . ·_ of a man whom a coum had placed as his clelegact cm:r •l parc1c.ular
j;
labour, of social rransformarion and revolmion, of rhe improvemem of the insrrumems of labour . Alongside chese. admicceclly, were sectors and phases in which inscimcions and ideas became more rigid and w a degree "perrified". But even rhis alrernacion of expanding phases and secwrs with others where conservation is more imporcant rhan growth and development, is by no means alien to modern rimes, even if the pace of social development and of this
smaller region and who now controlled rhis land as his herecl1rnry possess1,on The ··seigneurs·- or "sires" \\·ere descendants of a man whom a counc hact earlkr insra!led as guardian of one of his casdes or mansions, or who may have bu1lc himself a casde in che small area he had been appointed w superintend." Now rhe e
alcernacion has increased sharply since rhe Middle: Ages.
above them
And chert was no room for am·ont from below The land was
allocated A sociecy expanding imernally :ind excerm1lly. in which social bener-
VII On the Sociogenesis of Feudalism
menr. rht acquisicion of land or more land \\·as nor wo difficulc for a warrior. rhac · .1 socien· with reLuivelv Oj)tn posicions or opporruniries. had become within JS, '
•
-
Processes of social expansion have cheir limics Sooner or lacer they come co
a few generations a socieEy in which mosc positions were more or less closed 25. Transitions from phases wiEh large possibilicies of social improvement and
a hale. So. mo. rht movement of expansion char btg
expansion ro chose offering diminished sacisfacrion ro these needs, in which che
2-i
gradually reached a sranclsrilL Ir became increasingly difficult for rhe
relariveh- depri\·ed are sealed off and rims more suongly uni red wich those in che
F rnnkish knights w open up ne\v land by forest clearance. Land omside cheir
same pr.edicament-processes of chis sort recur frequently in histon-. \Ve are ourselves now in rhe midst of such a cransformaEion, modified by the peculiar
frontiers was obrainablt, if at all. only by heavy fighting. The colonization of rhe tasctrn I\fedicerranean coastal regions ptrertd om after these first successes . But che warrior population continuc:d rn increase. The dri\·es and impulses of chis ruling cbss were less restrained by social dependencies and civilizing processes chan in subsequent upper classes. The dominance of women by men was still unimpaired. "On -every page in che chronicles of rhis rime knights, barons and grtac lords are memioned who have eighc. ren. rwelw or even more male children ... ,- The so-called "feudal svsrem" char emer<•ed more clearh- in the
elascicic\" of indusuial sociery which is able w open up new senors when old ones art and b\- che differtm levels of development of imerdependem regions. Bm. rnken as a che siruacion is noc only char each crisis marks a shifr in one direction and each boom a shifr in another: rhe overall trend of society points increasinulv clearlv rnwarcls a svscem wich closed opporwnicies Such be from afar bv :1 cerrain despondency of mind.
chirreenth. is. nothing
chem from below and. as already memioned, by rhe stronger cohesion of those
other drnn the concluding form of chis movement of expansion in the agrarian senor of sociecy. In rhe urban secwr chis movement persisted somtwhac longer
occupying che same position in rhe hierarchy The particular paccern of rhis process. however, is differem in a barter economy from rliac in a money society, though no less scricr \Vhar above all stems
twelfth century and was more or le;s established in
in a different form. umil ic finally found ics definitive form in the closed guild system . Ir became increasingly difficulc for all those warriors within society who did noc :1lready ha\·e a piece of land and possessions to obrnin chem, and for
incomprehensible w rhe lacer observer in che process of feuclalizacion. is the fact
families wirh small possessions co enlarge them. Property relations were ossified. Ir grew more and more difficult w rise in societ\'. And accorclinul\" class 0
prevem cheir
differences becween warriors were hardened. A
have alreaciy skecched che pressures which broughr aboll( the slow decline of che
within che r;obiliry
char neicher kinus nor dukes nor <111\' of the ranks below them were able w becoming
owners of che fief BU( precisely rhe
uniYersalirY of rhis face shows rhe screngch of che social regubricy at work. \Vt
The Ciri!izing P10cess royal house in a warrior societv. with a barter economv. ' once the crown no lo noer succeeded in expanding. that is. in conquering new lands. Analogous were at work, once the possibility of expansion and the externai threat had d1mm1shed. throughout the warrior society. This is the typical panern of a society built up on land ownership. in which trade did not play a major pan, in wh_ich each estate was more or less aurarkic, and in which military alliance for defence or arrack was che primary form of integration of large regions. Here the warriors lived relatively close together in relatively small tribal units Then they slowly spread throughout the whole country Their number grew. with increase and dispersal across a large region the individual lost the protecrion once offered by the tribe. Single families ensconced in their estates and castles •:nd often separated by long distances, the individual warriors ruling these tamilies and a retinue of bondsmen and serfs, were now more isolated than before. Gradually new relationships were esrablished between the warriors, as a function of the increased numbers and distance, the greater isolation of tbe individual and the intrinsic tendencies of land ovmersbip. \Virh the gradual dissolution of the tribal units and the merging of Germanic warriors with members of the Gallo-Romanic upper class. with rhe dispersion of warriors over large areas, the individual had no other way of defending himself against those socially more powerful. than by placing himself under the protection of one of them. They in their mm had no way of protecting themselves against ochers with similarly large estates and military power, other than with the aid of warriors to whom they gave land or whose land they protected in exchange for military services. Individual dependencies were established. One warrior entered an alliance with another under oath. The higher-ranking parmer with the greater area of land-the two go hand in hand-was the "liege lord", the weaker partner the "\·assal" The larcer in turn could. if circumstances so required. rake still weaker warriors under his protection in exchange for services. The contracting of such individual i1lliances was at first the only form in which people could protecr themsel\'es from one another. The "feudal system" stands in strange contrast ro the tribal constitution . \Vith the latter's dissolution new .i;roupings and new forms of integration were necessarily set up . There was a strong tendency towards individualization. reinforced by the mobility and expansion of society. This was an i11clirid11c1!i:::atir111 rclatin: tu tl;e tribal 1111it, and in part relative to the family unit roo, just as there would lacer be movements of individualization relative to the feudal unit, the guild unit, the Status unit, and, again and again, to the family unit. And the feudal oath was nothing ocher than the sealing of a protective alliance between individual warriors, the sacral confirmation of the individual relationship between rhe warrior giving land and protection and the other giYing services. In the first stage of rhe movement the king stood on one side. As the conqueror he controlled whole
Statt Formatio11 mu! Cil'i/i::;atiriil
-eaa nd Pe rformed no services; he merelv· allocated land The bondsman was at the ailner extreme of the pvramid: he controlled no land and merely performed · · 0 ··ces or-what comes ro the same rhing-1Jaid dues All the degrees between servt . . . . distribute. below ·it first had a double face. Tht\'. had land and prorecnon w t I1en1' _ rhem and services w perform above chem. But this network ot _dependenoes, the need of chose higher up for services. particularly military, and ot those lower down for land or protection. harboured tensions that led ro quire specific shifts . The ,.,rocess of feudalization was none ocher than one such compulsive shift in this of dependencies. At a particular phase everywhere in the \Vest the de endence of chose above on services was greater than that of their vassals on This reinforced the centrifugal forces in chis society in which each piece of land supported its owner. This is the simple structure of those processes fn the course of which, throughout rhe whole hierarchy of warrior society, the former servants over and again became the independent owners of the land entrusted to them, and titles deriving from service became simple designations of rank according to size of property and military power. 26. These shifts and their mechanisms would nor in themselves be difficult ro understand if the later observer did not constantly project his own idea of "law" and "justice" upon the relations between the warriors of feudal society. So compulsive are the habits of chinking of our own society chat the obser\'er inrnluntarily asks why the kings, dukes and counts tolerated this usurpation of sovereignty over the land which they had originally controlled . \Vhy did they not assert their "legal rights"; But we are nor concerned here with what are called "legal questions" in a more complex society. It is a prerequisite for understanding feudal society nor ro regard one's own "legal forms" as law in an absolme sense. Legal forms correspond at all rimes w the srrucwre of society. The crysrnllizarion of general legal norms set down in \Hiring. an integral pare of propercy relations in industrial society. presupposes a very high degree of social integration and the formation of central instirmions able to give one and the same law universal validity throughout the area they control and strong enough to enforce respect for written agreements. The power which backs up legal tides and property claims in modern times is no longer directly visible . In proportion ro the individual it is so great. its existence and the threat emanating from it are so selfeYidem, that it is very seldom put w the rest . This is why there is such a strong tendency to regard this law as something self-explanatory, as if it had come down from heaven, an absolme "right" that would exist even without the support of this power structure, or if the power structure were different The chains mediating between the legal system and the power structure ha\'t today grown longer, in keeping with the greater complexity of society. And as the legal system often opm1fi:.r independently of the power structure, though never completely so, it ts easy w oYerlook the frict that the law here. as in any
Tl_h_' Ci1ili::i11g Pro(cs.1
235
sociery, was a funcrion and symbol of rhe social strucwre or-whar com_ same thm!;!-rhe balance of social power..,,, es to
In feudal societv this was less conce·ded The · d - I · . . . .: · ' · inter epenc ence ot people reg10ns was less. There was no stable power srrucrure srrerchin" Yrciss -] hand ". p . . . b ' ' · L le W 0 l re"' ion. roperr: relar1ons were regulated direct!v ·iccord·n l I t l I '-. ' 1 g to r i t c enre murua c ependence and acrual social power.* b e ot There is in indusrrial society a kind of relarionshij) which c1n i·n . . sen - b · cl ' a cerra1 . se e compare ro rhe relationship between rhe warriors or !it"e l , _n feudal soc1ery.. and rhrough which rhc parrern of chis relationship can be in Ir is the relar10n between scares . Here roo l cl · . . t. . . ed . . . ·. • . . .. , • t 1e ec1s1\e actor is quire naked!. soc1d 1 j)O\\er, m which military power plays a rt!arivt!y major pan alon"sid· h}· mrerclependenc1es ansing from rhe economic strucrure. This military ::: :\1:it i,11 :h:. .o.r_·.11,:·i.;/ /Viu Tht: "social powtr of a person or r.:roup is a com )ltx .,ht:n - As ret:ard:; EhL- md1\'1dual it is ne\"t:r exactk idt:nricd with his ·· 1 I I .· II - f ornenon. 1 r ., ·t l · ·l l . ' I\ 1L ua P lVSJCa stren"th ·mm\·· I l I· and tht: plan: uf the indi\·iduals in ir. tu whar s ,0;1 r.hL· tc'.rlal strucrurt.ot society Tht: larri:r \'·1 .. i.. . . . . . . . .'l • . i.:n,t.t 1 conrn )lites to soual pmver t::-. m i_r:-. srrucrun: much as dot:s it.'lt:lf In industrial societ\ for .... 1 • rn an can ro,µtthcr wirh low bt: ph,bt'S Ill lb dt:Yt:lopnit:nt when bodih strcnuEh ·Hn· . k-· . . .-thtr,_ CdJI i · '!1 . 1· ,. . . ,. . ",:--'-·rn t.1 cs on rncrc..·ast:d imporranct: fur cVLT\·o · !!1LL:rt:c 1c:nr or social powt:r .. ne +
,
.
"\ +
. ._ i
In the tt:udal w<:rrior :->uciet_\· · ·l ' j I · Lon:->iccran e pl) sica! .'ltrenL.'th was :m ., [I· +I. · · f"'O\\'t:r. bur no means its sole dtu:rn11.11·111r 5,·111 1·,· .· !Sf ... ns,1) t:.. '. t:ment in socrn! ' Pin Jnu som · l .f'O\\·i.:r ;1 m.:n in it:udal :->ociet_\ was txacrly .tnd the Ltbour rurce he cuncroll · 1. H .. I .· ··! . . c land t;. ,.l T . . ' tt is p l).'l!(,• .'ltrcngrh was undoubted!} an important t:lt:mtnt . 1 11 . 's. it: to it. .f"lI1}(l!lc who w,:s u1ublc to fi..,u:hr like a warrior and commit l · · · J. in •Huck and dctence had lf1 rht lung run lin!e chance of owninu anvchinn in th'· . . ·1!:-. btHJ} to who once controlled a pitct of hn l . I . . . .· c ::::b souet} ur anyone . , . ' t 111 t i1s soutry possessed, as monopolisE of rh. imporr.rnr ITii:ans ot production. a <.k·,!!ret of social 'OWtr l ·1 . • ., • " • ,'. L most rr.i.nsci.:nd111g hi:-; indi\'idual personal srrenJ.Zrh To .. l 1::t JIS· to ::i.l} . ._1lquanr1ty O.I opportunities, j · . ' ::ittp._ntt:1ltO!l1r ll:COull1-,\ .. rk· t klr scr\'Jci:s in l·xclunt:c: That hi .. -',1] . . • w <::-· ... ,Hit, d ·mg acrualh conrrnlkd ,dso.., !lkinr th·i; ••. equalled tht: SIL:t: and producti\'it; o( the: land lw ·1 · , . . ,. •· ::i soua power wa:-; ;JS p:rL-dt as his hi-., ,·1rn1)·. h1".o m 1 1tary power L
But t:qu:illy. it is olwious from rhi · ti_ ' l J I l Tl·. j ..... I· ·. ." l.U.llL- was lt:pt.-nlent on servict:S to maintain and defr.nU his ant. ii:-. c tf·dll t:llcc.. on rollowers 01 \',irnn{' (•r·i l ·. ., 1 . . 1 • . 10\\ tr \\?h -n I .. l .. I I : !::" ,:-- ,.c. t:S \\ ,.s .. n imporcrnr dtmc:nt lf1 rhc brrt:rs social ! c t 11s. 11s t cptnt tncc on Sl'f\'!Ct:S ur - .. ! ·. . .· I dtnnn ! t( r !· l . , . ,. . . t:\ •• lb :-ioua pmvL·r was rnluced: when rht nte
•,
To l!l\'tsrig..irt· what constitutes "social powtr in mort det·1il j·· .. , ·l- . . .. . . understanding social proctssts in rhc past and prtsenr sur. ·l'. .in imr•onance for is norhing bur a cc-rrain form of social . , ) . . . .. - . ! ntt( s surmg. Pol1tJCal f'O\\'tr . mo, I (\\tr. One c.i.n rhtrcrort understand ntither tht bel1·1\'iour nor ti - I·. . . . " ll c. ot1n1e:-. or p::upk "fOU(Y sc c· 1! ·J ' ret;,1rdlec1s of what tl ·_;:::. ! . :i •.•• Ji. or s.rnces onL· flnds our thtir actu;_d power
'i
:,,,:';l
!t.s
ha,wrdousne;; and nn '.',;. 1t:cal life. i tstlf would lose some of its w . "\ 11· ·I. I l t rt:!.1rmnsh1ps rn and httWtt-n all counrrits trL I u ) 1c \ an
. _ rurn • hO\\·ever. much as in feudal societ\·. largehdetermined Lw. the size and . ' '- . producriviry of a rerrirory and the number and work porential of rhe people ir otn supporr. There is no law governing rht relations between srntes of the kind that is valid wirhin rhem. There is no all-embracing power apparatus that could back up such an inrernarional law . The exisrence of an international law wirhour a corresponclini:: power srrucrnre cannot conceal the fact rhar in rhe long run rhe relarionships narions art governed soltly by their relarive social power, and rhar any shift in rhe latter. any increase in the power of a counrry wid1in rht various figunirions of states in different pans of rht world and now-with growing i;terdepenclence-wirhin world society as a \Vhole, means an auromaric reduction of rhe social power of other countries And here roo the tension between the '·haves·· and ··have-nors·, between those ,vho do and those who do not have enough land or means of production to meet rheir needs and their sranclarcls, auromarically increases rhe more world-wide bourgeois society approaches the srare of a ··system wirh closed opporruniries· The analogy that exists between rhe relationships among individual lords in feudal society and among srnres in the industrial world. is more rhan forruirous. It has its basis in the clevtlopmental curve of \Vesrern sociery itself In the course of rhis development, with its growing interdependence, relationships of an analogous kind are established. among them legal forms. at first between rebriwly small territorial units and rhen ar higher and higher levels of magnirude and integration, even if the transition ro groups of a difftrent order of size does represent a certain qualirative change . le will be shown later what importance rht process which we have begun to delineate here. i.e. the esrablishment of increasingly large. internally pacified bur externally belligerent units of integration, had for the change the social standard of conduct and the parrtrn of drin: comrol-for che ciYilizing process The relarions of rhe indi,·idual feudal lords ro one another did incited resemble those of present-day scares. Economic interdependence, exchange. rhe division of labour between individual estates was, robe sure. incomparably less developed in the tenth and eleventh cenruries rhan between modern stares, and so the economic cleptnclence between warriors was correspondini;!ly less. All the more clecisiYt in their relationships. therefore, was their military potential, the size of rheir following and the land they controlled Ir can be observed over and over again that in this society no oath of allegiance or contracr-as is the case between srares roclaycould in the long run withstand changes in social powec The fealty of vassals was in the encl regulated \'try exactly by the acrual degree of dependence between the parries, by the interplay of supply and demand berween those giving land and protecrion in exchange for services on the one hand and those needing them on the mher. \\/hen expansion. when the conquest or opening up of new land grew more difficulr, the grearer opportunities were firsr of all on the side of those who
236
re!ldered services and received Lrnd. This is the backgroulld of rhe first of the which Dow rook place ill this society, the self-eDfornchisemem of the sernms. LmcL in this society. was always the .. property .. of the person actually controlling it. really exercising rights ofpossessio!l and strong enough to defend what he possessed. For this reason those with land to invest in exch
VIII On the Sociogenesis of Jilfinnesang and Courtly Forms of Conduct 27 Two phases can be disringuished in the process of feudalization: the one of extreme disintegrarion just discussed, and then a phase in which rhis movement began ro be reversed and the firsr, srill loose. forms of reimegrarion on a
/ ')7 _ ,
Stair Formatiu11 and Ci1·ifi::;atio11
Tht Cil'i/izi11g P/'!Jass
lar"er scale emerued Thus bena!l, if we rake rhis state of exrreme 0 as rhe poim, a hisrnricd process in rhe course of . . r larf.(er areas and numbers of people became interdependent and finally wl11ch e' e ' . · l1t l\·. or"anized in imegrared unlts. ng o ._ In che cemh and elewmh cencuries chis fragmemarion cominues. le seems char no .one ·tl l Id on rn a porcion of rule big enough w enable him w exen any dfecuve acuon \\'l
10
'-
'-
fiefs. che chances of ruling. and righcs are splic up mo.re and more trom rnp w hcou•d1 ouc che whole hierarchv. all auchonn· 1s h1·adrng cowards dis( o . , borcoo1 . inregrarion
.
.
Then. in che ele\·emh and especially che cweltch cemury. a secs m A phenomenon occurs char has been repeaced in hisrnry several rimes in different torms The liege lords who are beccer placed and ha,·e che gremesr chances. sequescrace rhe feudal movement They gi,·e feudal law. char bas begun w become hxed, a new rum Tbev fo: ic rn che disad\·,rnwge of their vassals. Their effons are favoured by cemun hisrnrical conneccions and chis reaccion sen·es in che firsc place rn consolidace ch; sicuacion just reached.
After rhe gradual transition of the w<1rrior sociery from a more mobile_ phase with rebrively large opportunities for expansion and social benerment tor rhe individual, rn a phase wirh increasingly closed posirions, in which everyone tried to retain and consolidare what he had. power once again shifted among the warriors scattered across the land and tnsconced like n:g!!li (like linle kings) in their rnstles The few richer and larger lords gained in social power relative to the mam· smaller ones. Ti1e monopoly mechanism which thus slowly began rn operate will be discussed in more derail later. Here we shall refer rn only one of the factors that from now on acrecl more and more decisively in favour of the few grearer warriors at the expense of the many lesser ones: die imporrnnce of slm:ly ptocteding commercialization, The nerwork of dependencies, the interplay ot supply of and demand for land, protection and services in the less differenriated sociery of rhe tenth and even the elevemh cemury, was simple in its strucmre, Slowly in the eleventh, and more quickly in the rwelfrh cenrnry. the network grew· more complex. At the present srage of research it is difficult ro determine accurately the urowrh of trade and monev circularing ar this rime. This alone would prov:de a possibility of really the changes in social power relations, Suffice it to sav char the differentiation of work. and the market and money secror of were growing, even though the barter form of economy as ir would for
Th:
Pr1JCr.:SS
minimal Tht former, by concrasr, noc only enctred che necwork of trade relations chrough che surplus produce of cheir esrares: che growing seccltmtncs of artisans and cradtrs, rhe W\\·ns, generally acrachtd rhemseh·es to rhe fortresses and adminisrrarin: cenrres of rht grtar dominions, and hlJ\n.:ver uncerrain relations becwten rhe grtac lords and cht communes wichin rheir ccrricory mav scill have betn, howe\·tr much rhty wan:red benn:en misrrusc, hosrilicy, open srruggk and peaceful agreemtnr, in the encl chey coo, and rhe clucies flowing from chem srrengrhenecl rhe great lords as compared co che small ones . They offered upporrunicies of escaping che perpecual cycle of land invescicure in exchange for sen·icts, and subsequem appropriacion of rhe land by che rnssal-opporcuniries chac coumeracced che cencrifugal forces Ar rhe courcs of rhe greac lords, by \·irrue of cheir direcc or indirecr im·oh·emtnc in rht rracle network, whether chrough raw macerials or in coined or uncoined precious meraL a wealth accumulaced char rht majority of lesser lords lacked. And rhtse opporruniries were supplemtnrtcl by a growing demand for opporruniries from below, a growing supply of services by rhe less favoured warriors and ochers clri\·en from rht land . The smaller societ\''s possibiliries of expansion btcamt, rht larger grew rhe rtserw arm\· from all srrara, including rht upper stratum . Vtry many from this srrarum were well conrenc if rhey could simply find lodging, clothing and food ar rhe courts of rht great lords through performing some function And if e\·er, by rhe grace of a great lord, rhe:> received a piece of land, a fie:f, chis was a special stroke of fortune. The scory of \Valrher von cler Vogtlweide, well known in Germany, is rvpical in chis rtspecr of rhe lives of many men in France as we!L A,ncL realizing rht underlying social necessities, we can gutss whar humiliations, vain supplications and disappoinrrnencs may have lain behind \\/alrher's exclamation: "I have my fief! .. 28. The courts of rhe c:rearer ftudal lords, rhe kings, dukes, counts and higher barons or, w use a mun:: general rtrm, rht rerriwrial lords, rhus arrracred, by virrue of rhe growing opporruniries in rhtir chambers, a growing numbtr of people Quire analogous processes would rake place again somt ctnruries lacer ar a higher level of incegrarion, at rhe courrs of rht absolute princes and kings. Bur by char rime rhe interweaving of social functions, rhe cltwlopment of trade and monev cirnt!arion were so great, char a regular income rhrough raxarion from rhe whole dominion and a standing army of peasants· and burghers sons wirh noble officers financed by rhe absolute ruler from chest raxes, could corally paralyst rhe centrifugal forces, rhe landed arisrocracy's desire for independence, rhrough rht whole count!'\'.. Here, in the twelfth century, integration, rhe network of trade and communications, was nor remotely so far dewlopecL In areas rhe size of a kingdom ir was srill quirt impossible co oppose rht centrifugal t()[cts continuously Even in rerricorits the size of a duchy or a county ir was still very cliffirnlr, usually only afrer hard fighting, to restrain vassals who wished to wichdraw their land from rht control of a liege lord. The increase in social power
foll firstly ro rht richer feudal lords on account of rhe size of rheir family P'-oi)ert\·, . . their Lmenfioffecl land . In chis rtspecr rhe bearers of rhe crown were no different from rhe orher major feudal lords. The opporruniries rhar rhty all deri\ed, rhrough rhtir large holding of land, from rrade and finance, gaw chem a superiority, including milirary superiority, over rhe smaller self-sufficitm knights, firsr of all wirhin rhe limits of one rtrricory. Here, even wirh rhe poor uavelling conclirions of rhe rime, access by the central aurhoriry was no longer ,:err clifficulr All rhis convtrgecl ar chis stage of devtlopmenc ro give rht rultrs of ;nedium-sizecl rerricories, smaller than kingdoms or "starts· in the lacer sense of chis word, and largtr rhan rhe bulk of rhe knighrly estates, a special social
significance" Bur chis is by no means ro say char at char sragt a really srablt governmtncal and adminisrrarive appararus could be established tven within a territory of chis size. The interdependence of regions and rhe permeation of rht councry by money had nor yer advanced remmely far enough ro permit rhe highest and richest feudal lord of a region to tsrablish a bureaucracy paid exclusi\·ely or even primarily in money, and thus a more srricr ctnrralizarion . A whole series of struggles was net:decL srruggles char were constantly rtkincllecl, before rhe dukes, kings and coums could assert their social power even wirhin their own rerrirory And wharen,r rht outcome of rhese battles, rhe vassals, rhe smaller and medium kmghrs, srill retained rhe rights and functions of rule within their esrares; here they continued co hold sway like lircle kings. Bur while rhe courts of rht grear feudal lords became more popularecL while rhtir chambers filled and goods began co pass in and our, the bulk of rht small knights continued ro lead rheir stlf-sufficienr and ofren very resrricrecl lives. They rook from rhe ptasanrs wharewr was co be gor our of chem: they fed as besr rhey could a few servams and their numerous sons and daughters: rhe1· feuded incessantly wirh each ocher: and rhe only way in which chest small knights could gee hold of more than the produce of their own fields was by plundering rhe fields of orhtrs, abo\·t all rht domains of abbeys and monasteries, and rhen gradually, as monty circulation and so rhe need for money grew, by pillaging towns and convoys of goods, and ran so ming prisoners of war. \var. rapine, armed arrack and plunder consri rured a regular form of income for the warriors in rht barrtr economy, and moreon:r, rhe only one open ro chem . And rhe more wrerchedly rhey lived, rhe more deptnclenc rhey were on chis form or income. The slowly increasing commercialization and monetarizarion therefore favoured rhe few large landowners and feudal lords rarher rhan rhe mass of rhe small. Bm rht superiority of rhe kings, dukes or counts was nor remotely as great as lacer, in rht age of absolutism 29 Analogous shifts, as already mentioned, have often raktn place in rhe course of history. The increasing clifferenriarion benn:en the upper middle srrarum and rhe perry-bourgeois strata is probably most familiar to rhe
The Cizilizi11g Proctss
Sta!t Fomh1tion 11ncl Ciri/i:;11tion
twentieth-century obsen·er, Here roo. after a period of free competition with relatively good possibilities of social improvement and enrichment even for small and medium property owners. the preponderance within the bourgeoisie is gradually shifring to the disa
mide, money. the rise and fall of marker prices. all these were alien and often hostile phenomena from a different world. The barter sector of society which, in the .Middle Ages and for long after. comprised the great majority of people, was certainly not entirely untouched even at chis early stage by rhe social and historical movement. But despite all rhe upheavals. the pace of real changes in it was. compared w that in ocher srrara,_ verv small Ir is nor "without history": bur in it, for a very large number of ne;ple in the Middle Ages and for a smaller number even in recent rimes, the r . same living conditions were constantly reproduced Here, urnmerrupredly. production and consumption were carried on predominantly in the same place within the framework of rhe same economic unit: the supra-local integration in other regions of society was traceable only late and indirectly. The division of labour and work techniques which, in the commercialized sector. advanced more quickly, here changed only slowly. It was only much later. therefore, that people·s personalities were here subjected to the peculiar compulsions. the stricter controls and restraints which arise from rhe money network and the greater division of functions. with its increasing number of visible and invisible dependencies. Feeling and conduct undergo far more hesitantly a civilizing process As already scared. in the Middle Ages and long after, the agrarian barter sector of the economy with its low division of labour, its low integration beyond the local level and its high capacity to resist change, contained by far the largest portion of the population. If we are really w unclerscand the civilizing process \Vt must remain aware of this polyphony of history, the pace of change slow in one class, more rapid in anorher, and the proportion between them. The knights. the rulers of this large, ponderous, agrarian sector of rhe medieval world, were for the most part scarcely bound in their conduct and passions by money chains . 1v1ost of them knew only one means of livelihood-thus only orlt direct dependenctrhe sword. Ir was at most the danger of being physically overpowered, a military threat from a visibly superior enemy, that is w say direct. physical, external compulsion. that could induce them to restraint. Otherwise their affecrs had rather free and unfettered play in all the terrors and joys of life . Their time-and rime, like money. is a function of social interdependence-was only very slightly subject ro the continuous division and regulation imposed by dependence on others. The same applies to their drives. These were wild, cruel. prone to violent outbreaks and abandoned to the joy of the moment . People could be like this. There was little in the situations in which people found themselves ro compel them ro impose restraint upon themselves . Lierle in their conditioning forced them to develop what might be called a strict and stable super-ego, as a function of dependence and compulsions stemming from ochers transformed into selfrestraints To\vards the end of the Middle Ages. w be sure. a rather larger number of
Something similar rook place in the western Frankish knightly society of rhe late eleventh and twelfth centuries . The possibilities for expansion of the agrarian sector of society. predominantly a barter economy. were as good as exhausted. The division of labour, the commercial sector of society, was-despite manv reverses-still spreading, in the grip of growrlL The bulk of the landowners profited but little from this expansion. The few great landlords had a part in it and profited. In this way a ditterentiation rook place within feudai knightly society itself that was nor without consequences for acrirndes and styles of life. · Feudal society as a whole: [says Luchaire in his incomparable srnd) of society in the age 1 of Philip Augusrus ' ] has. with the exception of an t!ite scarctly altered its habits and manners since· the t!e,·enrh cenrun- t\.lmosr everywhere the lord of the manor rtn1ains a brutal anJ currhroar: he gots tu war, fights at rournan1tnt.s, spends his peacetime hunting. ruins himstlf with extravagance. oppresses the pe,1sanrs, practises exrnrrion on his neighbours and plunders rhe properry of che church
The suara influenced by the slowly increasing division of labour and monerarization were in flux: the others remained srationan- and were drawn onlv resistingly and, as it were, passively into the current of: forces of cham;e. It is doubt never quite correct to say that this or that stratum is history··. But what can be said is this: the living conditions of the lesser landlords or knights changed otily very slowly. They played no direct or active part in the exchange network, the money tlow. the quicker movement that passed with it through society. And when they felt the shocks and convulsions of these social movements. it was practically always in a form detrimental to them. All these things were disruptions which the landlords like the peasants usually failed ro understand and often detested, until they were actually driven by them more or less violently from their autarkic base into the suara with a faster currenL They are what their land, their stables and the work of their bondsmen yielded. In this nothing had changed. If supplies were short or more was wanted, thev were rnken by force, through pillage and plunder. This was a simple. clearly· .visible and independent existence: here the knights. and very much later the peasants mo. were and remained in a certain sense always the lords of their land . Taxes,
241
) •7
--L
Th, Cin"li::i11g
PmCl:i.r
knights had been drawn within the sphere of influence of the grtar foudal courrs. The examples from the lift of a knid1r gi\·en earlier in connection with <1 -,er·!CS of pictures (cf pagt l '.2ff.J come from this circle. But rhe bulk of rhe knights still liYed at this stage in much the same way as they had in the ninth or tenth century. Indeed. a gradually dwindling number of lords of the manor continued ta lead a similar life long after the Middle Ages. And if we can believe a poetess George Sand-and she expressly confirms the hisrnrical authenticity of \\·hat sh; says-there were still a ftw people leading these untamed feudal lives in pr0\·inci'.1l corners of France right up ro the French ReYolurion. by now doubly savage, teartul and cruel as a result of their outsider situation. She describes life in one of these last castles. that had by now taken on the characrer of robbers' caves less because they had changed than because society around them had done so. in her short story "Mauprat" L
L
'
.\fy grandfather (says tht hero of rhe srnry] was from then on. with his eighe sons, rhe last debris our prm·ince had consern:d of that race of peen· feudal tyrants h) which France had been covered and infested for so mam· centuries Civilizacion. "·hich was striding rapidly rnwards ehe grear renilmionary uphec1rnls. was increasingly scamping our these exactions
\Vt would nttc! to quote whole secrions of this description ro show how modes of conduct thac in the ttnth. eleventh and twelfth centuries wert characteristic of the major part of tht upptr stratum, were scill to be found among isolated outsiders thanks rn their similar conditions of life. Still present among thtm was the lO\\" degree of regular drive-control Still lacking was the transformation of elementary urges into the many kinds of refined pleasure known w societv around thtm There was mistrusc cowards womtn-who were essentially objec;s of sensual sar,isfaction--c!elight in plundering and rapt. desire rn acknowledge no master. sen·ility among the ptasants on whom they lived, and behind all this the impalpable that could not be met with weapons or physical \ iolence: debt. the cramped. impoverished mode of lift contrasting sharply \vith their large aspirations. and mistrust of money \\·hether in the hands of the masters or the peasants: J\Iauprar did nor ask for money. J\Iom:cary values art what rhe peasant uf these lands obcains with greatest difficulty and pares wirh most reluccantl\" ",\lo1Jn i.i d"'°r ·. is one of his proverbs. because money represems ti:ir him something ft i.f :! (()!/llJhFCc ll ith ,nu/ jJr.J1jJ/i 0111.rid.' c!ll of
243
Stc1h Forwatio11 ,md Ciri!i:t1!io11
111·
physical \\·ork. :r
11ur.ku d .
Here we still find enclaws of a predominantly barter economy within a large
, bfl·c· woven of trade relations and the division of labour. En:n here, no one ra ·(Oll Id qL11.te resist beinl! drawn into the current of circulating money. Primarilv C -es. bur also the nted ro buv· certain things rax · ,__ one could not produce oneself, forced people in this direction, But the pernliarly opaque nature of the control what is rec1uired bv. necessary. 1.111 d. r'-oi·""sr· '- b''ht ' the restraint of inclination bevond . physical work, that any involvement in money chains on people, in these enclaves remained a detesced and uncomprehended kmd of compulsion. This quotation refers ro masters and peasants at the end of the eighteenth cenmry. It serYes rn illustrate once more the slow pace of change in rhis secrnr of society. and something of the attitudes of people within it _)(L From the broad landscape of the barter economy with its innumerable castles and its many greater and smaller dominions, therefore, there slowly emerged in France during the eleventh, and more clearly during the twelfth century, two new kinds of social organ, two new forms of settlement or inregration, that marked an increase in the division of labour and in the interdependence of people: the courts of the greater ftudal lords, and rhe rowns, These rwo institmions are very closely connected in their sociogenesis, however mistrustful and hostile their members may often have been rowards one anorher. This should not be misundersrnod. It is nor as if the undifferentiated secrnr of the barter economy were confronted at one stroke with more differentiated forms of settlement in which rather larger numbers of people could be supported directly or indirectly on rhe basis of exchange and the division of labour. Infinitdy slowly new. economically autonomous Stations \Vere built into the path of goods from the natural start to consumption. And so. step by step, rnwns and larger feudal courts grew om of the form of economic acrivity that survived on the small estates. In rhe rwelfrh century and long afrer it neither rhe urban setdements nor the great feudal courrs were remotely as divided from rhe barter economy as rhe cities of cht nineteenth century were from the so-called open country. On the contrary, urban and rural production were still intimately connected . The few great feudal courts were, to be sure, attached rn the trade network and the market through their surplus produce, through the duties flowing inrn them, and also through an increased demand for luxury goods; but the major part of their everyday needs was still met directly by the produce of their own domains . In this sense they rno still operared a predominantly barter economy. Admittedly. the very size of their domains brought abom a differemiation of operations within them. Much as in antiquity the great slave estates worked in part for the market and in part for the direct needs of the ruling household and in this sense still represented a more differentiated kind of nonmarket economy, so rno did these grtat feudal estates, This may apply rn some extent rn rhe simpler work carried our within them, but it applied above all to the organization of the estate. The domain of the great feudal lord hardly ever formed a single. powerful complex on a self-contained piece of land . The esrares L
,
'_
245
The Cil'ilizi11g Process had often been acquired very gradually by very different means, conquests inherirance, l.':ifr or marriage. Thn·, were usuallv· scarrered in different re"ions b or a rerrirory and were rherefore nor as easy ro supervise as a small propeny. A cemral apparatus was needed, people ro suptrimend incoming and omgoing goods. rn keep accoums. however primirive they might at firsr be. people who both checked the income from duties and adminisrered rhe rerrirnries. "The small feudal estate was from an imellecrual point of view a rudimentary organ, parricularly when rhe master could neither write nor read." 5c The courrs of rhe great and rich feudal lords firsr artracred a staff of educated clerics for adminisrrarive purposes. Bur rhrough rhe opporruniries opening rn rhem at this rime rhe grear feudal lords were, as we have mentioned, rhe richesr and most powerful men in rheir region, and wirh rhe possibiliry grew rhe desire ro express rhis posirion by rhe splendour of rheir courrs. They were nor only richer rhan rhe ()[her knighrs bur also, ar firsr, richer than any burgher For rhis reason rhe great feudal courrs had far more culmral significance rhan rhe towns at rhis rime. In rhe com per it ion berween rhe rerrirorial rulers, rhey became rhe places ro show off rhe power and \vealrh of rheir lords. The larrer therefore gathered scribes around them nor only for adminisuati\·e purposes bm also to chronicle their deeds and desrinies. They were bountiful towards minstrels who sang rhe praises of rhemselves and their ladies . The great courts became "potential cemres of lirerary 1 patronage" and "poremial cemres of hisroriography" 1 · As yet rhere was no book marker. And within the framework of secular society, for anyone who had specialized in writing and composing and had ro live by ir, whether or nor he were a cleric, courr patronage was rhe only means of livelihood.'' Here, as always in hismry, higher and more refined forms of poetry developed from simpler ones in conjunction with a differemiarion of socierv, with rhe work as a formation of richer and more refined social circles. The poet does wholly self-sufficiem individual writing for an anonymous public of which he knows at rhe most a few represenrarives. He creares and \vrires for people he knows chrough daily conracr. And rhe convivial icy, rhe forms of relarionship and behaviour, che armclsphere of his social circle as well as his place wirhin ir, find expression in his words, Players rravellecl from castle w castle. Some were singers, many were merely clowns and fools in rhe simplesr sense of rhe word. And as such rhey were ro be found rno in the casdes of che simpler and smaller knighrs . Bur rhey visiced rhem only in passing; rhere was no room here, no interesr and ofren no means to feed and pay a player for any lengrh of rime. These were only available ar rhe few larger courrs And by "players" we musr understand a whole range of funcrions from rhe simple jesrer and fool w rhe J1Ii1111esti11gtr and rroubadour The funcrion was clifferemiared wirh rhe public. The grearesr, richesr-which is m sav rhe highesr-ranking-lorcls were able rn arcracr rhe besr performers to rheir More people were garhered rhere; rhere was a possibiliry of more refined
· . ·,itin· and enrerrainmem so rhar rbe rnne of poeuv was also refined. The 1' . 'd J ar "rhe hi<,her rbe lord and !adv, rhe higher and berrer the bard" was i ea r 1 "' __ , entl\' urcered ar rhe rime.)) Ir \Vas taken for gramed. Frequemlv, nm one , trequ , · ,,·en! sin"ers lived ar rhe grt
•
L.
L
swod. There are rhree forms of knightly exisrence which, with many inrermediare srages, begin ro be disringuishable in rhe eleventh and rwelfrh centuries. There were rhe smaller knighrs, rulers over one or more nor very large esrares; there were rhe grear, rich knights. rhe rerriwrial rulers, few in number compared m rhe former. and finally the knighrs wirhom land or wirh very lirde, who placed rhemselves in rhe service of grearer ones . Ir w
The
246
more peaceful forms of conducr became obligarnry.. Cerrainly, chis should nor be exaggeracecl; pacificacion W•lS noc nearly so far adYanced as Luer when absolure monarch could even prohibit duelling The sword scill hull'' loose!" andC h L
war and teud were close ac hand. Buc che moderation of pc1ssions. sublimacion, is unmistakable and ine\·irnble in feudal courc sociec\'. . Boch che knighth· , and ti1t bourgeois singers were socially dependent; and cheir subordinate scams forms the basis of chtir song, their accirudes and their affeccive and emocional mould. If the court singer wished to secure respect and ret;ard for his arc ,1nd his person, he could only raise himself ptrmanenrly abovt rht mn·tlling pla)tr by bting raktn into rht stn·ice of a prince or prinu:ss. i\linnesongs ctddressed w a disrant misrress ,,·horn he hcts nor yer visired. had no other purpose rhan ro express rt:adiness and desirt ro serve ar_ rht courr of rht addn:ssee. Thar was and remctins by rhe narnre of rhings rhe real goal ot all who had ro gain rhtir livelihood from rheir arr. for mtn of low ori!:'in a:, for younger, non-inheriring sons of noblt l10usts In \'Valrher von cler Vogeh,·eide's conditions of service \n: rnn, as has been clearhdemonsrrared by Konr,td Burdach, observe a typical example of rhe lift of ;1 ,\[i1111c.r:i11gcr King Philip had raken \\?alrher ··w himseW: chis was rhe usual expression for entry ro minisrerial service. Ir was a service wirhour payment or securin or· renure lasring from four monrhs rn a year \Vhen chis rime tlapsed he could seek a new masrer wirh rhe permission of rhe old. \Vctlrher recein:d no iitf from Philip, nor from Dierrich of i\feisstn, nor from Ono IV or Hermann of Thuringia. rn whose household he once belonged . Likewise his servict ro Bishop \Vol(tutr of Ellenbrechrskirchen was brief. Then. tinallv. Fritdrich IL a connoisst:ur of arr and a poer himself. granrc:d him a salary char secured him a li,·ing A lief of land or office lonh· lacer of moner) was, in rhe b,mt.r and rhe ultimate economy of rhe feudal age. rhe highesr honour for s.errices goal. Seldom was ir granted rn court singers eirher in France or Germany The\· usually had ro be content rn serve as court pot:rs enterrainine socien· and receivinLC board and lodging in exchange-. service, <-ti
32
as
<.l
srecial honour ._
rht:. Jrc:ss ntcdc-J t()r court
The jJarricular srrucruring of attects expressed in che
is
inseparable from rhe social position of rhe i\Um1csd11g1:r The knights of che nimh and tenth centuries, and the majority of knights eYen lacer, did nor behave particularly delicately rnwards their own wi\·es, or with women of lower rank in general. The women in che castles were always directly exposed co rhe cough ,1dvances of che stronger man. They could defend rhemstlves bv ruse, bm here the m
•
\Ve hear from rime ro rime of women who by cemperamenr and inclination differed little from men. The lady of the castle is in chis case a "virago" with a violent cemper, lively passions, subjected from her \·ouch ro all manner of physical exercise. and caking part in all the pleasures
clangers of cht knights
!lf0 Ul1d
her.'>i Bm often enough \\·e hear of che ocher side. of a warrior, whether a c
king or a simple seigneur, bearing his wife. Ir seems w have been almost an cs ["bit.shed habit for the kni!!ht, th-inc: into a rage:, to 1)unch his wife on rhe nose rill blood flowed: "The king hears chis and anger rises imo his face: raising his fisr he strikes her µ
_._
'--'
•
'--
L
on rhe nose so hard char he draws four drops of blood. And rhe lady says: 'l\fosr humble d1
W•!S
often censured for raking
advice from his wife. "Lady, go into rhe shade." che knighr says for example, '"
2-48
The Cirilizi11g Process
erocicism_ and a cerrain eclipse of women, are ro be found more or less clearly in ics crad1c1on. Relacionships of chis kind predominaced in medieval warrior sociecv. Ch . acacceriscic chem is a kind of mis cruse between the sexes, reflecring the greac d1fterence m the torm and scope of che lives they each lead, and the spmtual escrangemen_c which _arises as a result. As in lacer rimes-as long as women are excluded from professional life-che men of che .Middle Ages, when women were generall_y exduded from che central sphere of male lifr, military acr10n, spent most of rhe1r nme among themselves. And their superiority was marched by a more or less explicic contempc of man for woman: '"Go to your ornamented chambers, lady, our business is war..·· That is entirely cypicaL The woman belonged in her own special room. And chis accitude, like che social basis which produced ir, persisted for a very long rime. Irs craces are ro be found in French literature as late as the sixteenth century, for precisely as long as the upper class was primarily a military and landed aristocracy.I'' Then this attitude disappeared from literature-which by now in France was almost exclusively controlled and modelied by courtly people-but certainly nor from che life of the landed nobility itself. The great absolutist courts were the places in European history in which the most complece equality between che spheres of life of men and women, and also of their behaviour, had so far been achieved. It would rake us too far afield here ro show why e\·en the great feudal courts of rhe twelfth century. and incomparably more so the absolutist courts, offered women special opportunities to overcome male dominance and anain equal status with men. It has been pointed our, for example, that in southern France women could at an early stage become liege ladies, own property and play a political role; and it has been surmised rhar this fact favoured the development of Mi1111es(/11g 1'0 Burro qualif}· this it has also been emphasized that ""rhe succession to che throne by daughters was only possible if the male relations, che liege lord and rhe neighbours did nor prevent rhe !adv from raking· up her inheritance"''" In fact even in the narrow stratum of gre;r feudal lords, the superiority of man over woman resulting from his warrior function is always perceptible. \Virhin the great feudal courts, however. the military function of the men receded ro some extent. Here, for rhe first rime in secular society, a large number of people, including men, lived together in constant close contact in a hierarchical structure, under the eyes of rhe central person, the territorial lord. This fact alone enforced a certain restraint on all dependents An abundance of unwarlike administrative and clerical work had to be done. All this created a somewhat more peaceful atmosphere. As happens wherever men are forced ro renounce physical violence, rhe social importance of women increased. \Virhin the great feudal courts a common sphere of lite and a common social life for men and women were established . To be sure. male dominance was by no means broken as it sometimes was later
2-49
Sta!/: For111atio11 mu/
.
I absolutist courts For the master of the courc, his function as knight and
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.
.
.
.
. . . ie1der was snll rhe pnman- one: l11s educar10n too was that of a warnor f!Jl 1tt:ll} ' . . . . . . upon the w1eldm" of arms. For JUSt this reason the women surpassed him cenrre d . b . . . . . , . in the sphere of peacdul society As so m the ot_ the \Vest it was nor ' 1r women of high class \vho were first liberated tor mrellecrual developm ... went, for reading. The wealth of the great courts gave the woman the poss1bil!ty of filling her leisure rime and pursuing such luxury interests. She could singers and learned clerics . And so it was about women rhar tht first poets, . . . . .. . . . . · I s mrellecrnal acr1v1rv- were established. In anstocranc. CJrcles m c1rc e of pe-iceful ' the rwelfrh century the education of women was on average more refined than chat of men."· 6- This certainly refers only to the man of the same srarns, the husband The wife's relationship to him was not yet very different from _that customary in warrior society. Ir was more moderate and somewhat more refined th'm in rhe case of che small knights; bur the compulsion the man placed on himself, as compared with that he placed on his own wife, was in general not "rear. Here too the man was quire unmistakably the ruler. " 33. It is nor this relationship of husband to wite that underlies troubadour poetry and 1\li11nesm1g, but the relationship of a socially inferior man to a high;anking woman . And it was only in these courts rich and powerful enough to generate such relacionships that 1\Ii111ma11g was to be found. Bur compared to the knighthood as a whole they represented a narrow stratum, an "elite". The connection between che srrucrure of relationships in society at large and the personality structure of people emerges very clearly here . In the greater pan of feudal socierv, where the man ruled and the dependence of women was unconcealed and almost unrestricted, nothing compelled the man to constrain his drives and to impose control on them . There was little talk of "love" in this warrior society. And one has the impression that a man in love would have appeared ridiculous among these warriors . \Vomen were generally regarded by these men as inferior beings. There were enough of them available. They served to gratify drives in their simplest form.. \Vomen are given to man "for his necessirv and delectation". So it was once expressed at a later rime; bur this is exacdy .in keeping with the behaviour of warriors earlier. \Vhat they sought of women was physical pleasure; apart from this. ··there is scarcely a man with the patience ro endure his wife"f. 8 The pressures on rhe libidinal life of women throughout \Vesrern history, with rhe exception of the great absolutist courts, have been considerably heavier than on men of equal birth. The fact that women in high positions in this warrior society, and thus with a certain degree of freedom, always found it easier to control, refine and fruitfully transform their affects than did the men of equal status, may reflect habituation and early conditioning in this direction. Even in relation to the man of ourwardly equal social starus, she was a dependent, socially inferior being
5t:1fr For//!atio11 ,md Ciz-ili::.atio11
The Cil'ili:i11g Prr1ass
250
Accordingly ir was only rhe relarion of a socialh· inttrior and dependenr a woman of higher rank rhar led w rht restraint. ;enunciarion and rhe con man to . D . . . . . sequenr rr,rns ormar10n ot dnYes. Ir 1s no accident rhar in rhis human siruarion wh poetry" evoh·ed as a social and nor mertlv. as an individLnl . We call "lyric . . , evenr-* as _a soci
251
The lirerary sources and precursors of ,\!i111mc111g ha\'e often been . . ,-ti'''irecl. Irs relationship with religious poetry addressed ro rhe Virgin and Litin lyric of rhe \Vandering Scholars has, probably correctly, been
10'"'
-(l
oinrecl our . . . p -[jUt t'ic· en1tr"ence and essence ot t o · · , Glnnor be understood onh" .... Il1 f literary anrecedenrs These earlier forms conrained many cl1Herenr . . . ·b·1 ·ries of devtlo1)mtnr \Vl1\" did rht manner rn wh1Ch people sought ro pOSSI I 1 · . . . . . rhemselves chanue' To pur rhe quesr1on quirt srn1plv: wlw did nor rhe express o · _ . . , • : _ _ ·- r"orms of rtli"ious and secular lync remam soc1tr\" s predommant forms ot 0 ear l1cr · · . . s'ion' \'li/h\' were formal and emotional elements raken from rhem and ex pres · . . _ r 1 ·onec! into somerhin" new' \Vlw did chis new genre cake on 1usr char form tilS 11 e> 'which we know as i\Iim1e.w11g' Hisrory has irs conrinuiry: winingly or not. chose ·n,, hrer srarr wirh what already exists and develop it further. Bur what are com1,"' ' · . che dynamics of rhis movement, the shaping forces of historical change' Thar is rhe q.uesrion here. The invesrigacion of sources and antecedents is doubtless of impomince for underscanding 1\Iin11tSdllg, but wirhour sociogentEic and psychoo-enecic srudy irs origins. irs feudal connections, remain obscure 1\l1m1esc111g as a ;upra-individual event, as a social function in relation co feudal society as a whole, cannot be undersrood, any more rhan irs specific form
=:=
the German ttxt I am speaking here of social and indi\·iJu,d
:\c rht cimt: of writing
dl!S book nw awartness 1,f the ambiguities inherent in the term "'phenomenon , tspeci,dl) of its unJerrnrn:s.
nor yet sufticiendy sharpt:ntd ro avoid its use. In rht: Ent.dish rr.rnslarion,
rn replace it by expn:ssions such as e\·ents . ·darn . ere. Ir is. or· course.
it
hibhly
tor rht intlutnct which phenomtnalisric rypts of philosophy have had nor univ on
academic bur also on non-academic linguistic us·.i..g.ts char rhe term ··phenomenon
has become. rhe
:nost common unspecific expression for darn or events of <-di sorts. Ont ma\· nor bt aware of it that It is by the solipsistic
carries with it the notion thm rht Jm,: to which it
conjured up by tht constitution of the human subject Bur whether
only
one ts conscious ot the philosophical heriragt rtprtstntt
reinforces again an
/I/
rh!
/r;1;u/dtifJ1;]
from rhe
looks Romanesque or Gochie, and now Baroque. \Vhat has been shown here ,1rt a few basic inrerdependtnt rrends rhar led ro the shaping of society in the form of the "feudal sysrem". and finally co the kind of relationship expressed in 1\li11111:s1111g. One of these rrends is the more rapid growth of population after the migration of peoples, closely connected with rhe consolidation of property relationships, the formation of a human surplus, among rhe nobility as in rhe class of bondsmen or serfs, and the pressure on these superfluous persons from both groups ro find new services Connecred wirh chis coo was rhe slow insertion of discrete stations in the passage of goods from production ro consumption, rhe growth of demand for unified. mobile means of exchange. the shift of rht centre of gravity within feudal society in favour of rhe few great lords ar rhe expense of rht many small,
252
Stafr f!Jmhltion and Cil'i!i:atio11
Tht Ciz'ili2i11g Proass
the formation of large frudal courts at the centre of re"ionc the size of ·1 t- · . _ "" . o -' erntorv where krnghtly-teudal traits combined with courtlv ones in a j}eculiar u · " . . . . . . . nity, as . b arter and money relatwns
•
{_)
•
•
•
4
'
'
can .observe. this small upper stratum of knightly society, a . Likewise first form ot emanc1pat10n, ot greater freedom of movement, for women-very slight, .to be sur:· when compared ro rhe freedom of women ar rhe courts. flus 1s 1'.1arked by more continuous contacts between rhe lady ot the court, the woman ot !ugh rank, and rhe troubadour, rhe man of lower rank dependent, whether or nor he be a knight; by rhe impossibility or difficulty ot arra111111g the desired woman, rhe self-restraint imposed on rhe dependent man, _rhe need for circumspection and a certain. still very muted. regulation and rr:rnsformarion of his elementary drives and needs; and finally by the expression ot such scarcely realizable wishes in rhe language of dreams, in poerrv. The bea1:ry of one poem and the empty conventionality of the grearness ot this i\li11msii11gtr and the triviality of rhar, are facts in rheir own right. Mi11msa11g as a social institution, however. the framework in which the individual develops-and this alone concerns us here-evolved directlv• from th"IS interplay of social processes 36. In this very situation, that is, ar the great feudal courts, rhere emerged ar the same rime a more rigid convention in behaviour, a certain moderation of the affects, and a regulation of manners. It was that standard of manners, that convention of behaviour. that polishing of conduct to which rhis society itself gave the name of 011/i"toisit, and we get a fully rounded picture of it if we incorporate what was said in Part Two about w11rtois conduct into the of feudal courts given here. Precepts of courtois society were given in Part Two, at rhe beginnings of various sef!es of examples illustrating rhe civilizing of conduct and sentiment. The sociogenesis of rhe great feudal courts was at the same time rhe socionenesis of co1ntois conduct. C!J11rtoisit, too, was a form of conduct that first die more socially dependent members of this knightly-courtly developed upper class.. However that may be, one thrng re-emerges here very clearh-: rhis co11rtois srandard of conduct is in no sense a beginning. It is not ;n exan;ple of how people behave when their affects have free, "natural" play unfettered by society, that is to say, by rhe relations between people. Such a condition of rorallv uncontrolled drives, of an absolute "beginning" simply does nor exist. The rel;rively great licence for acting out affective impulses characteristic of men in the
upper classes-great in comparison with the later secular upper classes in \Xfesr-corresponded exactly to rhe form of integration, rhe degree and k111d rhe01uCLh.1[ d·opendence in which IJeOj}le lived together here. The division of ._ . ,..1s less develo1Jed than in the phases when the srncter absolutist svsrem jabOLlf ' " •. - I ""lS develOjJed·' rhe trade network was smaller and so the _number ot people -. . . ild be sustained in one place was less . And whatever the torm ot 111d1ndual woro . . .. h l ies mav have been rhe social web of dependencies char 111rersecr w1rl1111 !e[lc dcpenc . • _ . . . . . . . · dividual was here much less 111tf!cate and less extensive than 111 soCieties \nth rte h 1n ·
•
•
,-
.
_)·!
255
The Ciz
conrinuous. din:cted processes rather than a nmdom sequence, permits indeed leads us rn speak in comp
of
rmlt rhe crt
.:256
Tht Cil'ih:::ing Process
was indeed a seep on rhe parh leading ro our own affecrive and emorional a seep m rhe direcrion of "civilization... mould, On the one hand. a loosely imegrated secular upper class of warriors wit! . symbol. the casrle on rhe aurarkic esrare· on rhe ocher rl1e n10 : . 1 its . ' ' re ti<>ht], imeg.rared secular upper class of courtiers assembled ar rhe absolurisr cour;, thy cemr,11 organ of rhe krngdom: rhese are in a sense rhe rwo poles of rhe r ld e b . l. ne of , o servanon w 11ch has been isolared from rhe far longer and broader . d . . . . . , mo\emenr m or er ro gam mmal access ro rhe soc10genesis of civilizinn change Tl l f o . . 1e sow emergence rom rhe casde landscape of the grearer feudal courrs rhe .. ' counoisie, has been shown from a number of asrJecrs. Ir remains ro cl l b . - cl . emonstrare r 1e asic ynamics ot the processes b\· which ont of the grear feud·il or rerr· _ · l cl l " -· .· ' ' l(orial or s, t 1e kmg, g,11ned preponderance over rhe ochers and rhe opjJOrru · . ' ' rnty to :1 more stable governmem over a region embracing many rerrirories, a scare r_his is also rhe path chat leads from rhe srnndard of conduct of COlf ·t · . ro rhar ot civi!itt. · 1 ome
2
On the Sociogenesis of the State
I
The First Stage of the Rising Monarchy: Competition and Monopolization within a Territorial Framework l. The crown signified very differem d1ings in differem phases of social dcvelopmem, even though all its wearers had in common cerrain acmal or nominal central funcrions, above all char of milirary leader againsr external enemies. At the beginning of the twelfth century rhe former western Frankish empire, hardly rhrearened any more by srrong exrernal foes, had finally decayed imo a collecrion of discrere dominions:
The bond char formerly united rhe "provinces" crnd rhe feudal dynasties wirh rhe monarchy, was as good as completely ruprured. The last traces of real dominance char permitted Hugh Caper and his son, if nor ro act in rhe large regions controlled by his vassals, rhen ar least ro appear in rhem, had disappeared. The feudal groups of rhe first rank conducted themselves like independent stares impervious ro rhe king's influence and more so ro his acrions. The relarions between rhe great feudal lords and rhe monarchs were reduced ro a minimum. This change was reflected eYen in rhe
258
The Cil'ili::ing
Std!t' Fom1t1tioil
Prr1Ci.:J"J
official EiE!t:s. Tht feudal princes of che Ewtlfrh cemury ceased calling "comEes du Roi' or "con1Cts du fO) au mt"
In chis siruarion rhe "kin1( did whac other great foudal lords did: he concentrated on consolidating his own increasing his power in the only reg10n sci!! open ro him. the duchy ot Francia. Louis VL king from l l 08 ro l 13"7. was preoccupied throughom his Jife two casks: to increase his own direcc Janel ownership wichin rhe duch. .. · l Y ot 1e esrares and . casdes nor .\TL or onlv. rnanh·. enfeoffed , i ·.e ·, h-IS 0\Vf! F- ranc1a-r . _ , family w1d11n rhe same area. ro subdue all possible rivals, everv warnor who mighc equal him in power. One rask assisted rhe orher: fron•1 t h.e . feudal lords_ he_ had subdued or conquered he rook all or pan of their property wid10m enteofhng ir to anyone else; rhus by small steps he increased bis possessions, rhe economic and milirnry basis of his power. ' 2 . In rhis rhe monarch was, to begin wirh. no different from a great feudal lord . T_he means of JXi\Ver ar his dispos,i! were so small char medium and even lesser feudal lords-in alliance-could successfully oppose him. Nor only had rhe preponderance of the ro1«11 house in the whole kingdom \·anishtd with the decline of his function as cht common army leader, and wirh advancing foudaliza.. cion: even his monopoly power wichin his own heredirnry cerriwry had become excremely precarious. Ir was dispmed by riYal lords or warrior families. In che person of Louis VI, rhe Caperian house struggled againsr rhe houses of Mommorency. Beaumom. Rocheforr. 1\fondhery, Fent-Alais. Puisec and manv ochers. ' jusc as centuries lacer rhe Hohenzollerns in the person of rhe Gre;t Elenor had rn contend wirh the Quitzows and che Rochows. Only the Capetians had much less chance of success. The difference becween rhe milirarr and financial means of rhe Caperians and rheir opponents was sm,1ller. t::i\·en less developed Stace of money, taxarion and milicary cechnique . The Grear Elenor. already had a kind of monopoly control of power wirhin his rerricon-. Louis VI was, leaving aside his support from rhe ecclesiastical inscirncions, a grear landowner ·,who had w contend wirh lords with somewhac smaller possessions and military power; and only rhe vicrnr of rhese baules could anain a kind of monopoly posirion within che rerrirnry. beyond rhe compecicion of ocher houses. Only from reading contemporary reporcs can we judge by how linle rhe milirary and economic means of rhe Capenans in chis period surpassed chose of orher feudal houses in rhe duchy of Frnncia; and how difficulc. giYen rhe low degree of economic integration, undeveloped rransportarion and communications, and rhe limiracions of feudal military organizacion, was rhe "so\·ereign's" struggle for monopoly power even wichin this small area. For example, rhere was the forrress of rhe Mondhery family commanding che rome becween che cwo mosr imporrnnr pans of rhe Capecian domain, che areas
259
Ci1'i!i::<1tion
i1;1d
Paris and Orleans. In l O15 the Capecian king Roberr had given chis land of his sen«HHS or officials, rhe "grand forescier", wirh permission w build ro one on ic. From chis casde rhe "grand foresrier's" grandson already controlled d'nu '1fe·1 ·ts 'lll independem lord . This is a cvpical example ot the the surroun I o ' ' ' ' . ". . . - "i , - wtl movements rhac were wkrng place everywhere in this per10d. Atrer cenrnfllc' . VI .s wther r . . ·l · scrugules LoLlls hnally managed rn re.ic 1 .,1 k'111 cl o t' . lei dint:: wirh che 1\fondher\'s; he mamed a bastard son abouc ren years o underscan l· ndherv heiress and dms broughr rhe casdt under rhe control or 11s L
,0
rhe
li\{ o
'
"
,
' Shordr before his deach he said house. ·
.
to
his eldesc son, Lo111s VI:
. 11 tl 1,1t tO\\·e·-r t)f :-.1011rlherv which lw causint.; me so mam· rnrments has aged GuJJ.rc! '' e ' -" -- n1 \- E·im'- ·incl on ·iccounc of \Yhich I have ne\·er en1m·td last1ng peace or trut nr brrorc . L.' ' · c " it was a centre for perfidious people from far and near and disorder 01me it or wiEh its help for J\Ionrlhtry being sirnmtd between Cmbeil I - n j and Chatt
•
•
•
._
•
•
•
Problems of communicarions nor unlike chose which cominue ro play a role between srnces roday. were ar rh,1c earlier srnge of social develop:11ent no less troublesome on a differenr scale: in rhe relacions between one feudal lorclwhtrher he wore a crown or nor-and ochers. and in regard w che microscopic distance benveen Paris and Orleans: Mondhery is cwenry-four kilomecres from Paris. . . A good p:1rr of Louis Vfs reign was rnken up by fighcing for chis forrress. unnl he fi;ally succeeded in adding Mondhery to the Caperian possessions As all such cases, chis meant a military srrengthening and economic enrichment ot rhe vicrorious house. The Mondhery esrnce broughc in an income of rwo hundred pounds-a handsome sum for those rimes-and belongin_/f ro ir were chirteen direcc fiefs and rwenry indirecc ones depending on rhese. whose cenants now swelled rhe milirnry power of che Capetians. No less protracred and difficulr were rhe ocher bardes Louis VI had ro figl:r He needed d1fee expeditions in 111 l. 1112 and 1118. to break the power ot a sincde kniuhdv familv in rhe Orleans disrricc;-' and ic cosr him rwenry years w b b . . . deal wirh che houses of Rocheforc Ferre-Alais and Puiser, and add rhe1r possessions to chose of his family. By rhis rime, however, the Caperian domain was so large and \veil-consolidated rhat, rhanks w rhe economic and military advantages conferred by such large properry, its owners h:1d omsrrippecl all ocher rirnls in Francia, where they now rook up a kind of monopoly position, Four or five cenruries lacer, the mom1rch had emerged as rhe monopoly comroller of enormous milirnrr and financial means flowing from che whole area as rhar of Louis VI against other feudal lords of che kingdom Campaigns wichin rhe framework of one territory represenred rhe first step on the way w chis lacer monopoly posicion of rhe monarchy. Ar firsr rhe house of the nominal
kings was scarcely superior to the feudal houses around it in terms of ownership and military and economic power.. The difference in properrv warriors was relarivelv slight. as therefore was the social difference no. matter with what titles rhev. adorned themselves. Then ' rhroLJ
•
•
261
Sttih For///C1tio11 C111cl Ci1ilizatio11
Thu Cil'ili::i11g Procuss
260
L
'
l
.
rerrirory, with the largest area of land: and . its political power would . · l ·r its milirarv j)Ower stemming from the size of 1rs domanrnl revenues JifrI!n1s 1 1 . , " the number of its bondsmen and rerarners, did nor exceed that of all the L
•
•
•
warrior families within its rerrirory. orher ·· · l· ll · l Once cht preponderance of one house was ta1rly secure 111 r 11s sma reg10n. t 1e for he<'emom· in a hirger area moved into rhe foreground-the struggle strugg le b . . . . . bet;een the few larger territorial lords for predomrnance w1th111 the krngdom. . ., s r·l1e rask confront in" the descendants of Louis VI, the next generations
Tlns
,v,1
'
o
of Capetians
II Excursus on some Differences in the Paths of Development of England, France and Germany l. The rask implied in the struggle for dominance, i.e. for both centralization and rule, was for a very simple reason different in England and France from that in the German-Roman Empire. The latter formation was very different in size to the other rwo; geographical and social divergences within it were also much greater. This gave rhe local, cenrrifug<1l forces a very different strength, and made ;he rask of attaining hegemony and thus centralization incomparably more difficulc The ruling house would have needed a far greater rerrirorial area and power than in France or England ro masrer rhe centrifugal forces of rhe GermanRoman Empire and forge ir into a durable whole. There 1s good reason ro suppose rhar, given rhe level of division of labour and inregrarion, and the_ milirarv. rransporrarional and administrative techniques of rhe rime, the rask ot holdin;, centrifuual tendencies in so vast an area permanently in check was nearly b
b
insoluble 2. The scale on which social processes rake place is a not unimportant element of their structure In enquiring why rhe centralization and integration of France and England was achieved so much earlier and more completely rhan in the German regions, we should nor neglect this point. In rhis respect the trends of development in rhe three regions vary very widely. \Vhen rhe crown of the western Frankish region fell to the Caperians, the area in which the house had real power extended from Paris ro Senlis in rhe north and to Orleans in rhe south. Twenrv-five years previously Otto I had been crowned Roman emperor in Rome. R.esisrance by other German chiefrains he had ruthlessly put down, primarily supported, at first, by the experienced warriors of his own tribal area. At that rime Orro"s empire stretched roughly from Anrwerp and Cambrai in the west, at least (i.e. withour the margravares east of rhe Elbe) as far as rhe Elbe, and beyond Brno and Olomouc to rhe sourh-easr: it stretched
263 262
The Ci1·i!i:i11g Pmcu.'
co Schleswig in rht north and rn Verona and Iscria in rbe south: in addition.
It
included a good pan of Italy and for a time Burgundy \Vhat we have
therefore. is a formacion on an entirely diff'forenr scale, and conseguently one fraught with far grtattr tensions and confliccs of inreresc. than the western Frankish area. e\·en if we include in the latter the Norman-English colonv acquired lacer. The cask confronting the dukes of Francia and Normandy or che Angevin cerricory. as kings in che struggle for hegemony in chis region,
was
entirely ditforenc co char wich which every ruler of che German-Roman Empire had co conrencl. In rhe former area cenrralizacion or integration, despite numerous swerves to one side or the other. proceeded on the whole continuously In the larcer incomparably larger
\Vhen Charles V
abdicated, the imperial adminiscrncion was on the \·erge of bankruptcy He too had exhausced and ruined himst!f in trying to rule such an enormous empire torn by such massive centrifugal forces . And it is an indicacion of che rransformacion of sociecy in genernl. and of che royal function in particular. that the Habsburgs were nevertheless able ro maintain themselves in power. :1. The mechanism of srnce-formacion-in the modern sense of rhe word stare-has been shown ro be, in the European area at the time when sociecy was moving from a barter economy ro a money economy. in its main outlines always the same. Ir will be illustrated in more decail in relation ro France. \Ve always find, at least in the history of the great European staces. an early phase in which units of the size of a cerrirory play the decisive role within the area later to become a srace. These are small. loosely scrucrured dominions such as ha Ye arisen in many
" !' l r cheir size ' ld where division of Ltbour and integrat10n are s ig 1 . . l of r the limits placed on the organization of rule by the prevalence correspon ::: . l ". - " l , economv One example is rht feudal rernronal barter rehmons 1q» lI1 t 1e ." . l l l ·e of the .. ns within rhe German-Roman Empire which, wit 1 t 1e '.1c \'clllV . . dorf1ll110 . l' l· , l ro form small kinudoms. duchies or counties, . " _ nom\'. were conso ic atec · '=' " ,· 111one) eco l . " "ts lil·e rhe 1)[inci1x1licv of \vales or che klilgdom or '"tmp es arc are, ' · . B · · other ex, , meruecl with England in tht United Kingdom or Great ntall1 o l f l , "" m1Jle is rhe duclw ot Francia. whose scod:rnd, no\\ "T rbern Ireland: anc a urt 1er ex,1 . . .. and Nor . , . uhtl \' knit feudal dominion has 1usc been d1sdevclopment mto a more tlz:: . 0
"
•
. • l l'rocess raking pt.ice hctu·u:ll cl1e different . "1 _ schematic out 1lilt. r 1e .
cussed.
I
L
io:iring territorial dominions rook a very similar course rn cbe" one ne1i:..hb l . 1cithi11 a firmly esrnblisbed territory between the l!1dl\ previous !k " l nri'l one of them actained predominance and a rather more l l- or ·mg HS, u . oro " '-: l lominion w·1s formed Just as. in one phase. a number ot esrnres -olid tern ton a c '. . .f l o be , o. ,d in competition experienced the need ro expand i c 1ey were nor t pL;_c"e ·cl b\· e'.['l"llldinu neil!hbours, so in rhe next a group of unHs one degree 'UL1JL' ''ace "., c c• 1· ·::: or counties. found rhemseh·es in the same prec ic1menr . l argerl. : lre·1ch" been shown in some derail how. in chis sociery. rhe "inttrna Ir M>. '1 ' . " l " . fie l \\'i th che urowc l1 o1c popu lar10 n . che oetition tor lam was intensi c 1:' ." '" rnmj. l. larion of hod-ownership and difficulties ot exrernal expansion" Ir \\dS conso ic ' k " l · mi'lt desire I . cl " ·e for hnd W"lS exerted in cbe poor ·mg HS as a si , . ' ' . l " l l · uhest and richesc as shown liow r 1lS fl\ . " cl of living a1111ropriare to their srnrus, anc lI1 c 1e 1i::: .. tor '1 mo e l r· ·surL's . demand "more" land For in a sociecy with sue 1 competitl\'t p e:,. .. a spur ro " b . "! .. Here ·t""llfl we see ·I l es not uain "more" auromancally ecomes ess , o' . l1e \\ 10 co o . . . ." . f op co bottom: i c sec the effect of che pressure runnlilg chrough t 11is souer: rom t " l " ·l . rulers c11Lainsr ont anocher: and chereby set rhe monopo y rnec Mche territorial ' " "·ned even in rh1s " . " n Ar first the diYergences of power were contai , - . msm w mono · tl b. ot teudal phase, within a framework that allowed
L
L
"
lar between them. . l I . In these "elimination conresrs". chis process of social selecr10n, t 1e persona . . . t. ·ndiYidtnls ·l!ld other "accidenrnl" facrors such as the late deach ot qua l i tles o i ' '
264 one man or a ruling house's hick of male heirs, undoubtedly played a crucial P
265
Stc1tc Formation d11tl Cirdi::dtio11
. . I German or semi-German colonial region, slowly expans10n mto r 1e ' ll A rru'"'le s "'"' . inro co . . .f I Hohenzollerns. to the tormar10n . , . ensued. lead mg ro vicrory or t 1t for suprem,1q . . ... n1on<' German territorial rulers and eventual!}. bl «L!OUS supremacy ,1 b · l {' of an um1m "' I . h- . . . f rl1e German rerri rories under a smg e ru mg e ro r 1e urn car10n o . f l ;rep by sr this struggle for supremacy between rhe rwo most power u iippararus .. of the empire, while leading ro greater tbt cornponenrs . l. I n1eanr ·1 furrher step rowarcls the cl1smtegrar10n o ' _ . Tl · . · f ·Hes wlt 1111 t 1em- ' tion o sr, . ire \'Vith their defeat the Habsburg lands !eh rhe un10n .11s was m rhe old emp l f rhe slow ·111d continuous decav of rhe empire In tht of rhe ast stages o ' · · d cl nr facr one . nd more p·1rrs crumbled away ro become in epen e r cenrunes more a ' · I l course or . . l rue and diverse ro be or 1er t rnn a . . s As a whole. the empire was roo a "' dorn11110n . . c ro srnre-form<1t1on. . f . . n rhe Germano-Roman Empire was so hin d ran e "' fleer on whv scare- ormar10n t . . l.l l io re . . cl b l· d I an in irs western neighbours cerram y 1e ps re hbor10us an e are t 1 l'f' rnuc l1 mo ' . l . Modern experience ot rhe c I terenct d'n" ot rhe rwenr1er 1 century. undersn111 1 o . b l d . d more full\' expanded western l .1b!ishec! better a ance ,111 . scares descended from the old empire, srares, m lace, gives this question topical imporrance. From whICh exp,111decl co _P. . ,cl . d'fficulr ro answer. at any rare nor c l oint of vtew 1t oes nor seem 1 a strucrura p . :vhich is sclfceh· less important wr an le complementar\' quesnon \ ' , 1 • · •I . chis colossus. despite more so rl1an r understanding of historical structures-the quesnon \\ 1) f . fu «al forces . - unfavourable srrucrure and rhe unavo1ch1ble strength H> . . ' thtr so !on«, whv the Empire did nor foun er ear ier w1th111. lt. held ro. ge db ll . l . b r for cenrurie<: border areas ot rhe - A , r y it did incite co apse are, LI ) . s a rota tt ' d l Ind been crumbling away and em ire-particularly to the west an som .' . ' f p while incessant colo111wr1on and expansion o . going their O\vn \Vay. cl I l the west come extent compensate r 1e osses 111 ' serdemenrs in rhe ease ro Up to the hire Middle Ages, and roan though only ro some extent l 'f d rl1e Rl1one It \\e l .1 hr ·1s t 1e n aas an · lacer, the empire spread to r 1e west.' s ' 'l I l trend of chis move. . d Jer on \' r ie 0uenera disreuard rhe irregularmes an consi . .· d diminution · · • 0 . · f he emj)tre s constant arrnr10n an ' menr. we have rhe impress10n o r . . . . . I . drift of the , 'eel b\' a slow shift in rhe d1recr10n of expans10n. anc a . cl accomp,1111 . Tl . k rem,1ins to demonstrate chis rren 1e ras . rrend is still cenrre of grnvity trom west to ease more exacdv rhan is possible here. Bur purely 111 terms of area,. the . 'bl e 111 . r1'1e most recent changes in German ttrnrory proper. v1s1
tiifotlg. l1 . mi)eritton . . . l1 r l1e, older H·1bsbur«s: the Hohenzo erns. wit ' o
0
The German Confederation before 1866 Germany after 1870 Germany after 1918
630,098 sq. km
540,-484 sq. km. 471,000 sq. km.
I The rradirional In England. and in France coo. the rrend is almost r 1e reverse
266
T /;, Cil'i/i::,ing Proc's-'
insriturions firsr developed in relarivt!y small and resrricred areas and exrended rheir scope. The fare of rhe central insriturion. rhe srrucrure denolopment of rhe whole gm·ernment apparatus in rhese countries, cannot Ii;: understood. nor the difference between rhem and rhc: corresponding formations in the stares descended from the old empire explained, unless this simple factor rhis slow growrh from small to larger, is raken inro account. ' Compared ro the German-Roman Empire. rhe island rerrirory that the Norman Duke \Villiam conquered in 1066 was quire smaJL Ir reminds us roughly of Prussia under rhe first kings Ir comprised. apart from small areas on rhe northern border wirh Scotland. present-day England. an area of about 1_'l1.76-l square kilometres. \Vales was completely uni red with England only at rhe end ofrhe rhirreenth cenrury !England wirh \Vales 151.150 sq km ) Union wirh Scotland has existed only since 160} Such figures are visible bur very crude remind us rhar rhe formation of the indicarions of structural differences. English nation. and rhen the Brirish, rook place within a framework which, compared wirh rhar of rhe grear Continental nations, scarcely extended, in its decisiw phase, beyond rhar of a rerriroriaJ dominion \Vhar \Xfilliam the Conqueror and his immediare successors built up was in fact norhing other than a large rerrirory of rhe wesrern Frankish empire. and nm very different from those which exisred ar rhe same rime in Francia. Aquitaine or Anjou The task with which rhe struggle for supremacy confronted rhe rerrirorial rulers of this arearhrough rhe sheer necessity of expanding ro avoid domination bv orhers-rhis task could nm in any way be compared wirh rhar facing a potential cenrral mler of the: Conrinemal empire . This is rrue even of the first phase in which rhe island rerrirory formed a kind of western Frankish colony, when irs Norman or Angevin rulers also conrrolled considerable rerrirories on rhe Continent and when they \verc:: dJerdore srill srruggling for supremacy in the wesrern Frankish area. Bm it is rrut above all of rhe phase when they were thrown back on rhe island from the Continem, !ll1d had ro unire ir under one government on rhe basis of England alone. And if the. royal funcrion, like rhe relarion of king ro tsrnres, rook a difftrtm form here than in the Continental empire. one of rhe facrors ar work, though certainly nor rhe only one, was rhe relarive smallness and also, of course, rhe isolated position of rhe area ro be uni reel. The likelihood of major regional differemiarion was n•ry much less, and the srruggle for supremacy between two rivals simpler, rhan berween rhe many factions in the empire. The English
· p01·nt · E\·en wirh . . soon as rerrirorv had been unired b eyon cl a cerrarn t"lln ,\S ' · · · ·j l acr a"'' d .. 1re«r·1r1'on ·rncl communications rhis empire is provrng c angerous } c ·n11 ' ·1 verycexperiencecl and flexible government is h_olding ir .rogerher.\\'IE 1 c1· .h. Ir\· Des1Jire verv different precondmons trom rhose or rht old 1[ cu ' ' l b ir still illustrates how a very large empire, broughr roget 1er \' E orman mp ' ' b f G c _ . cl coloniZ'ltion finalh· rends to disintegrare into a num er o more or ue> r ,rn ' , . . .... cl l . ,.. !· ··nclent uni rs. or at least robe rransformecl into a krnd ot te era sr<1te I SS inaepc · ·If "cl e l .. t close ou·irrers rhe mecharnsm seems almosr se -ev 1 em. t 1us a ·1 ' ' · l l. ::,een . . f the C11Jefr1ns !'. The nanve reg10n o ' ' • the duchv· ot Francia. was smal er run . l1 rer r·ror\' l ,v.Eng 11s 1 . controlled b\·. rhe Norman dukes.. Ir was roughly -rhe same 8 ut r.1c, <1s,rhe Elecrorare of Brandenburg at rhe rime ot rhe s1ztre wirhin rhe framework of rhe empire, ir rook five or six centunes tor rhe rhe
u' colonial area
ro become a power capable of confronting the ol:l-esrnblished f I .. \Virhin rhe more limited framework of rhe western rernwnes o r lt empire. . . . . - " . I . l . . .. , to"tther with the nuren,1l ,rnc F . nk1sh area. r le pO\\ er 01c siich .'1 rernron· .. , "' ra. . l hel[J niven bv the Church ro rhe Caperians, was enough ro enable .the spin ru,1 "' · 1· F . .. . . · · .. b•,nin rhe stru""lt for supremacy over larger areas o r,rnce ,1r ,1 \er) house to cc"'"'
sm,1.
.
earlr stage. · rhe basis of rhe lartr · .l l f behind by rhe western Frankish empire, [ lt area e r . . · . · ·. .. ncerned France. occupied a roughly midway posmon. as far as its size \\as. co_ ,, . ' berween rhe Germano-Roman Empire and what was to become En 0 L1ncl Regional divergences. and thus centrifugal forces, were less here rhan ll1 i,"hbouring empire and rhe rask of rhe porential cenm:l ruler accordmgl\ los ne"' and arren cl am centn·t·uga l t orce s \,·ere · "'ure·uer ' .tlnn ' l ·f·h· cu lr . Bur rhe clivernences ( l b . cl f the 1 · · l · I· d -, In Ennhnd however rhe \'try re,rncre ness o on rhe B nr1s 1 is an . "' ' · , _ . __ r · r. facilirarecL under cerrain circumstances. an alliance of rhe d1tterenr te.mo ) . . . l . ·l l . · . rhe cenrral trom r le \v 10 e ! ·a bo\·t ·ill esrnres anc, , ' of w·Hnors ' . . · . cl ruler. Furthermore, \Villiam rhe Conqueror's disrribu[lon of land fa\·ou1e rhe lancl-o\vning class rhroughom rhe conracr a nd Con1n1 on interests among v whole of England. ar Jeasr as far as relationships ro the_ ruler were concerned Ir remains ro be shown how a cercain degree of trngmenta[lon and · · disparateness in a clomm1on, not enoug l1 ro per·mir clisimenra[lon "' ... bur enough rn make a direcr alliance of the estates rhroughour rhe country d1fhculr, srrengrh-
parliament. as far as its manner of formarion and therefore irs srrucwre is concerned, was in no way comparable ro the German Imperial Dier. bur rarher
ened rhe posirion of rhe cemral ruler. . . . . . _ Thus rhe chances offered by rhe former western Frankish region, ll1 terms of bl e ro t I1c-- emerg.ence of ·1' central ruler and the · its size, were nor unfavourn ..
wirh rhe regional estares Much the same is rrue of all rhe mher insrimrions. They grew. like England itself, from smaller to larger; rhe institutions of a feudal territory evolved continuously into those of a stare and an empire.
formarion of monopoly power. Ir remains ro be seen in derail how rhe Caperians rook advanrage of these opporrnnities and. in genera l . b\. . what mechanisms monopoly rule was estab-
In the British Empire too. however. centrifugal forces immediately began to
lished in rhis territory
5rdlt:
268
III On the Monopoly Mechanism 1. The sociery of what we call rhe modern age is characrerized, above all in the \vesr, by a cerrain level of monopolizarion. Free use of milirary weapons is denied rhe individual and reserved to a cemral amhority of wharever kind, 80 and likewise the taxation of the properry or income of individuals is concemrated ia. the hands of a central social amhority. The financial resources thus flowing into this cemral authority maintain its monopoly of military force, while this in turn maimains the monopoly of taxation. Neither has in any sense precedence over the other; they are two sides of the same monopoly. If one disappears the orher automatically follows, rhough rhe monopoly rule may sometimes be shaken more strongly on one side rhan on the other. Forerunners of such monopoly control of rnxes and the arm\· m·er relarively large rerrirories have previously exisred in societies with a less advanced division of functions, mainly as a result of milirary conquest. It rakes a far adrnnced social division of functions before an enduring, specialized apparatus for administering the monopoly can emerge And only when this complex apparatus has evolved does rhe comrol m·er army and raxarion take on its full monopoly character. Only then is the military and fiscal monopoly firmly esrnblished . From then on, social conflicts are not concemecl with removing monopoly rule bm only with the question of who are to control it, from whom they ue to be recruited and how the burdens and benefits of rhe monopoly are to be disrribured . Ir is only wirh rhe emergence of rhis continuing monopoly of rhe cenmd amhoriry and rhis specialized apparatus for ruling rhar dominions rake on rhe character of "stares". \virhin rhtm a number of orhtr monopolies crystallize around rhose alreacly mentioned. Bur rhese rwo are and remain rhe key monopolies If rhey decay, so do all rhe q:sr. and wirh rhem rhe "srnre·· 2. The quesrion. ar issue is how and why rhis monopoly srrucrure arose . In rhe sociery of [ht nimh. renth and elevemh cenmries ir clefinirely did nor yer ex1sr. From rbe eleventh century-in rhe rerrirory of rhe former wesrern Frankish emplft-we see H slowly crystallizing. Ar firsr each warrior who controlled a piece of land exerred all the funcrions of rule; rhese were rhen gradually monopolized by a cemral ruler whose power was adminisrered by specialisrs. \vhenever he pleased, he waged wars ro gain new land or defend his own. Lancl-acquisirion and rhe governmemal foncrions going wirh irs possession were. like irs milirnry defence, lefr to "pri,·are iniriarive", ro use rhe language of a larer age. And since, with rhe increasing popularion of rhe area, hunger for land was exrremely keen, comperirion for ir rhroughour rhe coumry was rife. In rhis comperirion borh milirary and economic means were used, in conrrasr ro rhar of
269
fr;rmc1tio11 cmd Ciz'ili:ati1J11
cemurv for ex
b roughly summarized as follows: ii social 1!11it," lcll'ge 1111111htr J· ·1r· ·1·11·1'r11dcnce (iJl!Jtitl!fc tht /cll'ger IJl/t. 1
th, ,111cil!t1 \OCwl m11t1 uhll'h. th11Jlfgh of rnl!ghl) cq11al Joua! /1011,r and art . f' j- the ll/€il/1S fO l /I t ' ' 1''Cf/' /,·/·· t1J coiii/it!e j;Ii:ly-!ll1hc1111jmwl by Jm-cxisti1.1g 1110111Jj!o 1es-.. or : • !JJ!!S d.1 t.. • I· - · J. is h,:gh ·· r i.e. primarilr rhc 111wm 11 i11bs1stti!t't am/ pmc i/t:!!Oll. r .le . I1011 ' • • / fl It jw"r ,1.,, , ll'ill /;u l'ictMiom a11d others l'clliCfi!ishul. and that grm !!Cl Y· as cl resfl · . · ' 111a1 S!Jil.c . . I .. . / .... tr zed! Ir • ·11 ,. , rrol mort mu/ more oj!ji1Jrtill//t1us, anc 11101u <111c. 1111 1c 11111.. ' 1 11 11 1 I 1 · · cfi .. ctly 111 indirc:ct!y depenc1mt 011 a11 c1·crtm comptt1t11111. " will 1111111 /;e;. The human figurarion caughr up in rhis movemenr rherefore' unless coumervailing measures are taken, approach a stare in which all · · s ·ire controlled bv ,1 sinde amhoriry: a sysrem \Vlrh open opporrunopporcumne ' : ·· ,·11 become a svsrem w1d1 closed opporrunmes. . 1 mes '' · . · I . · . · l · rea The ueneral patrem followed by rhis sequence 1s very s1mp e. 111 a .soo,1. a. rhere a cerrnin number of people and a cerrnin number of opporrunmes w h1ch are scarce or insufficienr in relarion ro rhe of rhe people. I'. we assun1e ro begin wirh all rhe people in rhis area fighr one orher for rbe avmla le Ir l)rob·ibilirv rbar rhev will maintain rh1s srnre of equ1libnum oppo1mnH1t>, c c ' . · . · I. · definireh· and char no parmer will rriumph in any of rhese pairs 1s exrreme ! 10 · . . . · a c·ed b\· ·mv monopolv power; small, if rhis is indeed a free compermon unmuuen . ' , . ., and rhe probabiliry rhar sooner or larer contesrnnts will .o' ercome l . I i "h Bm if some of rhe contenders ;ire '1cronous. · · · . rheir opponenrs 1s exrreme } 1 "' · . -. . _ rheir opporruniries mulriply; rhose of rhe vanqu'.shed decrease. Grearer oppor · · !· e · n the hands of one group ot rhe ongmal nvals, rhe others rnrur1es accumu ar 1 . f l b- ·11 " eliminared from clirecr comperirion wirh rhem. Assum111g rhar eacho ne ei "' · , d· once ·1,,an1 one vicrors now srruggles wirh rhe orhers, rhe process 1s repeare . '"'. . · ··crori.OL!S ·incl u-iins control of rhe power chlmces of rhe vanquished. a IJj
tllc
1
L·
.L
•
•
•••
_
''fOUp IS \I ' o' l · ;rill smaller number of people controls a srill grearer ot power c 1ances, a srill grearer number of people are eliminared from rhe free compermon; anld fi 11 · I . , e case one 1nd1v1dual contro s ' . rhe process is repearecl unnl na y, 111 t 1e exrrem all power chances and all rhe orhers are dependent on. him. In hisrorical realiry ir is certainly nor always individual people who become L
•
TO
Tih
embroiled in chis mechanism: frequendy it is largt associations of ptoplt:, examplt ttrnrones or srnrts. Tht course of evtnts in rtalin- is uscnlh· f 1 . ' 'r mnr"' complicartd dian in chis schtmacic parrtrn. and full of Ir v" happtns. for txamplt. thar a number of weaker ]'arties combint rn brin'· de . . . . · c rndff1dual who has accumulared roo man\· l)Ossibiliries and urown rcJc·i s _ . .. : . . . . . c rrong. rhe},. succeed and rnkt over tht poss1bilmts ot chis parry, or some of rhern thty rhen nght among rhemselves for predominance The effocc. tht shift power balances, is always the same. In this way. rno, an ever-increasing number ot power d1ances rends rn accumulate in rhe hands of an ever-diminishing number of people rhrough a senes ot el1mrnanon contests. Tht course and pact of chis shifr in favour of rhe few at rhe expense of the depend tO a large txttnt on dit relation bttwttn tht supply of and demand for opportunities If wt assumt that the ltvel of demand and tht number of opporrun!ties remain unchanged overall in the course of the movement, the dtmand opportunities will increase with the shifr in the power relations; the number of the dependents and the dtgret of thtir dtptndenct will increase and change in kind. If rtlarively independent social functions are increasingly replaced by dependent ones in socitt}·-for txample. free knights bv knighrs and finally courtiers, or relati\·ely independent merchants by d.eptude;r merchants and tmployees-rhe moulding of affecrs. rht srrucrurt of drives and consciousness. in shorr rhe wholt social personality structure and the social attitudes of people art necessarily changed at the same rime. And chis applies no less to those who are approaching a monopoly posirion than ro those \\·ho have losr rht possibility to compete and fallen into direct or indirect dependence. _ .'i For this process should in no way be understood merely as one whereby ftwtr and fowtr people become "frtt .. and more and more "unfree ... although some phases ir appears rn answtr this description. If the movement is as a whole. we .can recognize wirhour difficulty rhar-ac least in highly difftrtnriared socittits-dtpendence undergoes a ptculiar qualitative change at a ctrrain Staf!e of the proci:ss. The more people are made dtptndent by die monopolv mtchanism. the gr.eater becomes the power of rht dependent, nor on]\- indi·vidually bm also collecci\·tly. in relation to the one or more monopolis;s This happens nor only because of rht small numbtr of chose approaching rhe monopoly position. bm because of their own dependence on evtr more dependents in preserving and exploiting the power potential rhey have monopolized. \vherhtr it is a question of land. soldiers or monev in anv form. rht more that is accumulated by an individual. the less easily it bt supervised b\· this individual. and the more surely he becomes by his very monopoly on increasing numbers of orhers. the mort he becomes dependent on his dependents. Such changes in power and dependence relationships often rakt centuries ro become perceptible. and cemurits more to find expression in lasting insrirucions. Particular structural proptrries of society may place endless obstacles in rhe way
che p roe·ess . .\·tr its mechanism and trend are unmistakable Tht . - more . .. h· nsivt cht monopoliztd power poctnrial, rhe larger che web of funcr10ncornPre e . . . . · . _ .,Jminisrerinu it and the ,_greartr rhe d1v1s10n of labour among chem. Ill ,. c . . h more 11to11lt on whose work che monopoly is m any way . or funcrion . . 5[lorr. t c . by the monopolist depenc · cht more srroni.dv , . does this whole held. .controlled . . 1·rs- own wei<•ht and irs own inner_ regularmes. Iht monopoly ruler can .issert /:> , . . _ • this ·md im11ose• on himself rhe resmunts that• l11s tuncr10n as• rhe ac kno\v·l ed"e <=:: ( • cenrr,1. l ruler of so mi o"hff . a tormarion demands: or he can mdulge h1mselt and_ his own inclinations precedence over all ochers. In che laner case rhc complex social apparaws which has developtd along_ wirh chis prirnrt accumula. clnnces will sooner or later lapse into disorder and make its o1•· 11ower · ' . non resiscance. irs auronomous srrucwre. all rhe more strongly felc In other words, che more comprehensive a monopoly posirion becomes and_ rhe more_ highly developed its division of labour, the more clearly and ctrrnmly dots 1r move rowards a point at \vhich its one or more monopoly rulers become the central funcrionaries of an apparaws composed of differentiated functions, more powerful than ochers. ptrhaps. but scarcely less dependent and fttrertd. This change mar come about almost imperceptibly by small steps and struggles, or through wh;Jle groups of dependents asserting their social power over the monopoly rulers_ by force: in one way or another the powtr tirsr won rhrough rhe accumulation ot_ in private struggles. tends, from a poim marked by an oprimal size ot possessions. ro slip away from the monopoly rulers_ into the hands of dit dependents as a whole. or. ro begin with, ro groups of dependents, such as r_ht monopoly administration. The privately owned monopoly in che hands of a single individual or family comes under rhe control of broader social strara. and transforms itself as the central organ of a start into a public monopoly. The clewlopmenr of what \\·e roday call a "national economy .. is an illustracive example of chis proctss. The national economy dewlops from the .. private tcononw .. of feudal ruling houses. i\Iort precisely. thtre is ar firsr no distinction whar art later opposed as .. public .. and "private .. income and expenditure. The income of the central rulers derives primarily from rheir personal family or domanial possessions: expenses for rhe ruler's courr, hunts, clothes or presents art mer from this income in exactly rht same way as the cost of the rtlativtly small administration. paid soldiers if any, or the building of castles . Then, as more and more land comes rouether in rhe hands of one ruling house the management of income and the administration and defence of his property become increasing!\· difficult for the individual ro supervise. Bur even when the direct of rhe ruling house, irs domanial esrnre, are no longer by any means d1t most important source of tlie rultr·s income: even when, wich che increasing commercialization of sociecv, duries from the whole country flow into the .. chambers' of rhe central ;uler: and when. with rhe monopoly of force. the monopoly of land has become at the same rimt one of duties or raxes-e,·en then
27.2
Tin Cirilizi11g Pn1cess
the central ruler at first contrnuts to control this revenue as if it \\ere the personal income of his household I-fr can std! decide how much of it should b,, spent on castles, presents, his kitchen and the court, and how much on ' the troops and paying the administration. The distribution of the income frorn t_he monopolized resources is his prerogative. On closer examination, however, We find that the monopolist's freedom of decision is restricted more and more bv 1 . . t1e immense human web that his property has gradually become. His dependence 00 his adm'.nistrative staff increases and, with it, the influence of the latter; the fixed costs ot the monopoly apparatus constantly rise; and at the encl of this development the absolme ruler with his apparent! y unttstricred power is, to an extraordinary degree, governed by and functionally dependent on, the society he rules. His absolute sm·ereignty is not simply a consequence of his control of opportunities, but the function of a particular structural peculiarity society in this phase, of which more will be said later. Bur however that mav even the budget of French absolutism still made no distinction the "prirnte" and "public .. expenditure of the king. How the transformation into a public monopoly finally finds expression in the budget is well enough known. The \\·ielder of central power, whatever ride he may bear, is allocated a sum in the budget like any other functionary; from it the central ruler, king or president, meets rhe expenses of his household or courr; expenditure necessary for the governmental organization of rhe country is strictly separated from rhar used by inch·iduals for personal ends. Prirnre monopoly rule has become public monopoly rule. even when in the hands of an individual as the functionary of society. The same picture emerges if we trace the formation of rhe governmental apparatus as a whole. Ir grows om of what might be called rhe "private" court and clomanial administration of the kings or princes. Practically all rhe organs of scare gowrnrnent rtsulc from the differemiation of the functions of rhe roval housthold, sometimes with the assimilation of organs of autonomous administration. \Vhen this governmental apparatus has finally become the public affair of the state, rhe household of rhe central ruler is at most one organ among others and finally hardlr even that This is one of the most pronounced examples of rhe way in which private property becomes a public function, and the monopoly of an individual-won in contests of elimination and accumulation over several generations-is finally socialized.
Ir would rake us roo far afield to show here what is actually meant by saying that the "pri\·are" power of individuals over monopolized resources becomes "public", or "stare", or "collective" power. As was said earlier, all these expressions have their full meaning only when applied ro societies with extensive division of functions: only in such societies are the activities and functions of each individual directly or indirectly dependent on those of many ochers, and
Sutt For111ati1111 and Ci1·ili::t1tion Iv l1e re l·s rhe wei b"ht of these manv. intertwined actions and interests so great
on-,
·en rhe few with monopolv control over immense possibilities cannot rhar t\ escape irs pressure . ,· . Social processes involving the monopoly mecharnsm are to bt round m many .· · ·s even those \virh relativelv- low division of functions . and integration. . 500 ene , roo everv monopolv rends, from a certain degree of accumular10n .. TI1ere, , . · · _ on_ . ro escape the control of anv single individual and to pass into that of entire war ds. . ,_, . . - l o.,r0 uns frequentlv• starting wirh the former government funcr10nanes, the -ocia r- ' ".nrsr ser\•anrs of rhe mono1)olisrs · The process of feudalizarion is one example ot ' · _ . Ir was shown earlier how, in the courst ot this process, control over ·r I11>. • L.
_
relatively large territorial possessions and military slips_ away from rhe rnonopoly ruler in successive waves, first to his former tunctionanes or their heirs, rhen ro rhe warrior class as a whole wirh its own internal hierarchy In societies with a lower degree of interdependence between social functions, this shift away from private monopoly control leads either to a kind of "anarchy", a more or less complete decay of rhe monopoly, or ro its appropriation by an oligarchy instead of an individual dynasty. Later, such shifts in favour of the many do nor lead ro a disimegration of the monopoly, but only to a different form of control o\·er it OnlY in rhe course of a growing social interdependence of all functions dots it possible to wrest monopolies from arbitrary exploitation by a few without causing rhem ro disintegrate, \Vherever rhe division of functions is both high and increasing, the few who, in successive waves, claim monopoly power, sooner or later find themselves in difficulry, at a disadvantage in face of the many, through their need of their services and thus their functional dependence on them. The human web as a whole, wirh its increasing division of functions, has an inherent tendency that opposes increasingly strongly every private monopolization of resources Tht tendency of monopolies, e . g. the monopoly of force or raxarion, to rurn from "privare" into "public" or "stare" monopolies, is nothing other rhan a function of social interdependence. A human web with high and increasing division of functions is impelled by its own collective weight rowarcls a state of equilibrium where the disrribmion of the advantages and revenues from monopolized opportunities in favour of a few becomes impossible. If ir seems self-evident ro us today that cerrnin monopolies, above all the key monopoly of government, are "public", held by the srare, although this was by no means the case earlier, this marks a step in the same direction. Ir is entirely possible that obstructions may again and again be placed in the path of such a process by rhe particular conditions of a society: a particular example of such obsrrucrions was shown earlier in rhe development of the old Germano-Roman Empire. And wherever a social web exceeds a certain size optimal for that particular monopoly formation, similar breakdowns will occur. Bur the impulsion of such a human web rowards a quire definite structure, in which monopolies are administered to rhe advantage of rhe whole figuration, remains
St.1!1:
perceptible, no marrtr whar factors may repeatedly intrude as mechanisms to arrest die process in recurrent siruarions of contlicc Considered in general terms, therefore, rhe process of monopoly formation a \·ery srrucrure. In ir. free comptririon ha: a precisely definable place and a posttffe tuncr10n- it 1s a srrugde among manv tor resources nor ver mono!)0 1·ized '.rny md1v1dual or small group. Each social monopoly is preceded by this kind ot tree el1mrnar1on conresr: each such comest rends towards monopoly.. As this phase of frte competition, monopoly formation means on one hand rnt closure of d1recr access to cerrnin resources for incre·1sin<' numb f ' o ers o people. and on rhe ocher a progressive cenrralizarion of rhe conrrol of resources. . . B,·· _rhis cenrralizarion.· such resourcts are !Jlaced omside rhe d'irecr comptrmon ot the manv: in rhe exrreme case rhe\· are controlled b'· a s· I . . . ·· . : ' · ing e ennry. fhe Lurer, rhe monopolist, is never in a position ro use the profit from hrs monopoly for himself alone, parricularly in a society wirh a hi h division of functions. If he has enough social power, he may ar lirsr claim m·erwhelming pan of rhe monopoly prolir for himself, and reward services with rhe minimum needed for life. Bur he is obliged. jusr because he deptnds on the services and funcrions of ochers. co allocate ro others a large pan of the resources he controls-and an increasingly largt part, rhe larger his accumulated possessions become. and rhe greater his dependenct on others, A new srruggle over the :1llocarion of these resources therefore arises among those who depend on them. Bm whertas in the preceding phase rhe comperirion was "free"-rhar is, its omcomt clependtcl solely on who proved stronger or wtaker ar a gi\·en rime-it now depends on rhe funcrion or purpost for which rhe monopolise needs the individual co supervise his dominion. Free comperirion has been replaced bv one thar is conrrolled, or at any rare conrrollable. from a central position by agenrs: and the qualities rhac promise succtss in chis restricted comperirion, the selection ir operates. the human types it produces, differ in rhe exrreme from those in the prectding phase of free comperition. .
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The diffe-rence berween che situation of rhe free feudal nobilin· and char of the courtly nobiliry is an example of this. In rhe former. rhe social power of the individual house. a function of borh irs economic and military capacity and of rhe physical srrtngrh and skill of rhe individual. determines rhe allocarion of rtsources: and in this free comperirion rhe dirtct use of force is indispensable. In rhe larrtr. rht allocation of resources is linallv determined b,· rhe man whose !must or whose predecessors have emerged viccoriously the struggle by violence, so char he now possesses rhe monopoly of force. Owing co this monopoly, rhe direct use of force is now largely txclucltd from rht competition among rhe nobility for the opporruniries rhe prince has co allocate. The means of struggle have been refined or sublimated. The rtsrrainr of rhe affects imposed on rhe individual by his dependence on the monopoly ruler has incrtased. And individuals now waver between resisranct to rhe compulsion ro which rhey are
fiJmutio11 a11d Ciri!i:::atiiJ11
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of rheir de1Jendence and unfreedom, nosralgia ·ecre cl . ll ,1trecl ' '- for free knighrlv suo) on rhe one hand, and pride in rht self-conrrol rhey have acquirtcl, or in rhe new possibiliries of pleasure char ir opens, on rhe other. In brief · is a new spurt in rhe civilizing process rhrs l. c l .. l tcl . The next seep is the seizurt of rhe monopo res 01 p 1ys1rn orct an raxar10.n, all rhe other governmtnral monopolies based on them. by rht bourgtorsre. The Iac rer was ar rhis srage a stratum which, in irs .rnralirv, , conrrollecl cerrain economic opportunities in rhe manner of an orgarnzed monopoly..Bur chest among rts _ . mtmbers char relanvely . large . opporn1111.ties were srill so evenlv. Sj)[tad of them could com1)ete treek \\!'hat d11s srrarum was srrugglmg with num b ers · . ' rr·nces for and what it finallv arrained, was not rhe desrrucnon of monopoly me p ' · . . did nor aspire co re-allocate these monopolies . of raxar10n I T he bourueoisie roe b i1nd military and police powtr to cheir own individual members; their members did nor want to becomt landowners, each controlling his own milirnry means and his own income from rnxes. The existence of a monopoly for raising raxes and , ., rin"b rnlwsical violence was the basis of their own social existence; ir was the cxer . _ precondition for the restriction to economic, non-violent means. of rhe free cornpetirion in which they were engaged with each orher for certain economic J
opporruniries. . \Vhar rhey were striving for in rhe srruggle tor monopoly rult, and what they finallr attained was nor, as nored before, a division of rhe existing monopolies but ,; different disrribmion of their burdens and benefits. Thar conrrol of rhest monopolies now depended on a whole class instead of an absolme prince was a srep in rhe clirecrion jusr described; it was a srtp on that road which led the opportunities given by this monopoly to be allocartcl less and less according co rhe personal favour and inreresrs of individuals, bm increasingly according co a more impersonal and prtcist plan in the inreresrs of many inrerdependenr assocrares, and linalh- in the interests of an entire interdepencltnt human figuration. fo orhe,r words. through centralization and monopolizacion. opportunities char previously had co be won by individuals through milirary or economic force, could now become amenable co planning. From a certain point of development on, rhe struggle for monopolies no longer aims ar rhtir destruction; it is a struggle for control of rheir yields, for che plan according to which rheir burdens and benefits are co be cliviclecl up, in a word, for the keys ro distribution. Distribution itself, rhe rask of rhe monopoly ruler and adminisrrarion, changes in this stfll"''le from a relatively- j)fivare co a 1x1blic function Irs dependence on all bb the other functions of rht imerdepenclenr human network emerges more and mort clearly in organizational form In rhis enrire srrucrure rhe central functionaries are, like everyone else, dependent. Permanent institutions co control rhem are formed by a greater or lesser portion of rhe people dependent on this monopoly appararus: and conrrnl of rhe monopoly, che tilling of its key posirions, is itself no longer cleciclecl by rhe \·icissirudes of "free" competition. but by rtgularly
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recurring elimination contests wirhom force of arms, which are regulated bv monopoli;, apparatus, and thus bv- "unfree" competition. In other words ' ,.,,1 a' , 1, t We are accusromed ro call a "democratic regime" is formed. This kind of regime is nor-as simply looking ar certain economic monopoly processes of our tirne might make it appear-incompatible with monopolies as such and dependent fo . r its existence on the freest possible competition. On rhe contrary ir presupposes highly organized monopolies, and it can only come inro being or Sur\'i\'e under certain conditions, in a very specific social structure at a \'try advanced stage of formation. Two main phases can thus be distinguished in rhe dynamics of a monopoly mechanism, as far as we are at present able ro judge . First, rhe phase of competition or elimination contests, with a tendency for resources rn be accumulated in fewer and fewer and finally in one pair of hands, rhe phase of monopoly formation; secondly, rhe phase in which control over the centralized and monopolized resources rends to pass from the hands of an individual ro those of ever greater numbers, and finally to become a function of rhe interdependent human web as a whole, rhe phase in which a relatively "pnvare monopolv becomes a public one. ' Signs of this second phase are nor lacking even 111 societies with a relatively low division of funcrions. Bur, clearly, it can only attain its full development in societies with a very high and rising division of functions The orerall movement can be reduced ro a very simple formula. Its srarting point is a simarion where a whole class controls unorganized monopoly oppormniries and where, accordingly, rhe disrriburion of these opportunities among rhe members of this class is decided by free competition and open force; iris then driven towards a situation where the control of monopoly opportunities and those dependent on rhem by one class, is cenually organized and secured bv insrimrions; and where rhe disuibmion of rhe yields of monopoly follows a that is nor -exclusin:ly governed by rhe interests of single individuals or single groups, bur is oriented on rhe overall network of interdependencies binding all participating groups and individuals ro each other and on irs optimal function111g For in rhe long run rhe subordination of the quest for the optimal functioning of the overall network of interdependencies ro the oprimarion of sectional interests invariably defeats irs own end. So much for the general mechanism of competition and monopoly formation. This schematic generalization rakes on its full significance only in conjuncrion with concrete facts; by them ir must prove its worth. \Vhen we rnlk of "free competition" and "monopoly formation" we usually have present-day facts in mind; we think first of all of a "'free competition" for '"economic" advantages waged by people or groups within a given framework of rules through the exertion of economic power, and in rhe course of which some
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_duallv increase their control of economic advantages while destroying, . . . . . b"ecrin" or resrnctmg the economic existence ot others. SLl .J "' . But rhese economic struggles of our day do not only lead betore our eyes ro a constant restriction the scope for really "monopoly-free .. competition and ro the slow formation ot monopolistic srrucrures. As has already been 111d1cared, rhey actually presuppose the secure existence of_ certain very advanced monopolies \Virhour the monopoly organization ot physical violence_ and ·ati"on ' limited at 1)[esent ro national boundaries, the resrricrion ot this HLX "de for "economic" advantaiJ;es ro the exertion of "economic" power, and the st ruco <_ maimenance of irs basic rules, would be impossible over any length ot time even within individual srnres. In other words, rhe economic struggles and monopolies of modern rimes occupy a particular position within a larger hisrorical context J\nd only in relation ro this wider context do our general remarks on rhe mechanism of competition and monopoly rake on their full meaning. Only if we bear in mind the sociogenesis of these firmly established "state" monopoly institutions-which during a phase of large-scale expansion and differentiation, no doubt open rhe "economic sphere" ro unrestricted individual competition, and thus ro new private monopoly formations-only then can we distinguish more clearly amidst the multitude of particular hisrorical facts the interplay of social mechanisms, rhe ordered structure of such monopoly formations How did these "stare" monopoly organizations come robe formed; \Vhar kind of struggles gave rise to them; Ir must be enough here ro follow these processes in rhe hisrory of rhe country where rhey rook their course most undeviatingly, and which, partly as a result of this, was for long periods rhe foremost power in Europe, setting rhe example for others: France . In so doing we must not shy away from derails: otherwise our general model will never rake on rhe wealth of experience without which ir remains empty-just as wealth of experience remains chaotic to those unable ro perceive order and structures within it Qfi:l
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IV Early Struggles within the Framework of the Kingdom \Virhin the former western Frankish terrirory there was a very high probability, in accordance with rhe inherent tendency of rhe monopoly mechanism, that sooner or later one of the rival warrior houses would gain predominance and finally a monopoly position; and that in this way rhe many smaller feudal territories would be welded into a larger uniL That ir would be this particular house, the Caperians, who emerged as vicrors from the elimination struggles, so becoming rhe executors of the monopoly
St . rfl mechanism, was ac first far less likek even rhmwh a number of hcrors 1:1,, · . . . . . c . ' , • ouring this house can be readtlv discerned. It can be said chat 1r was only the course rhe Hundred Years' \Var chat conclusivtlv decided wlierhet rhe dtscrnd·i . . · 'nts of the Capeuans or of anorhtr house were to become rht mono1xilisrs or . . rulers of rht emerging state. .
Ir _is not unimporram to bear in mind rhe difference berwten rhese two qutsr10ns, berwe_en rhe general_ problem of monopoly and state frirmarion, and rhe more specdic quesuon . of why this particular house won and rerained hegemony. Ir 1s with rhe former rarher rhan rhe Janer char we have bee concerned and are still concerned here. n The first shift wwards monoi)oh·. afrtr the ueneral Jevellinu of· jJrop· . . . . ·· c c . etty relat10nsh1ps that earned on mro rhe remh and even the eleventh cemurv h b n as . een sketched above. Ir in\'olved rhe formation of a monopoly within rhe frame:vork of a rerriwry. \'
Fon11t1fi{)il
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region, large or smalL was rht possession of a warrior family, what primarily decided the composition of a ttrrirorial unit was the vicwries and defears, rhe and the shifrs in hegemonv over a .a''ts J)LlfChases and sales of this famih·; n1arrl c ' · ._, · art
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Tht Ciri!i::i11g Procus
Bm this enrichment of the Norman Duke, this enlargement of his mili't . . ary an d fi nanc1al resources, was a grave disturbance ro the jJrevious equil ·b · 1 nurn between the ternronal rulers ot France. The full extent of the shift did !. . d. l - l nor oecome 1mme iate y apparent; for t 1e Conqueror needed time ro orwm 1· h' . . . . . b' ze power w1th1n his new domrn10n, and even when this had been done the th . . . . . emammng from this aggrandizement of the Norman dukes ro other terr· · . . . . rulers, given the low 1ntegrat10n of the western Frankish territories, first d itself felt only in the direct vicinitv of Normandv i.e. in norrhern France mah e -' , rat er than further south. Felr ir was, however, and most directlv br the house wi'th • . . . · tne rradmonal claim _ro predominance in rhe area neighbouring Nornnnd\• .__ , .. t o rhe ease, the house of the dukes of Francia, rhe Caperians. Ir is nor unlikely chat the threat from his stronger neighbour was a powerful factor impelling Louis VI in rhe direcnon that he adhered to tenaciously and energetically throughout his life his urge to consolidate his power and defeat any possible rival within his rernrory. •
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That he. rhe nominal king and liege lord of rhe western Frankish region was in fact, in keeping with rhe size of his possessions, far weaker than his vassal and neighbour, who now as ruler of England likewise wore a crown, was apparent in every conflict between chem. \\!illiam the Conqueror, because he had recently conquered chis island territory, had had the chance to create what was for his time a fairly centralized governmental organization He distributed the land in a manner intended as far as possible to prevem the formation of houses and families as rich and miulwr as . b J I1is own, chat might become rivals. The administration of the English central ruler was the most advanced of its rime; even for money revenues rhere was already a special office. _The army wirh which \'Villiam had conquered the island consisted only in part of his feudal rerainers, the resr being mercenary knights driven bv the same desire treasury large for new lands. Only now. after the conquest, was rhe Norman enough to engage paid soldiers; and quire apart from rhe size of their feudal following, chis mo gave the island rnlers military superiority over rheir continental neighbours. Louis rhe Far of Francia could nor afford this any more than his predecessors. He had been accused of being covetous, seekinu bv every at this means at his disposal to rake possession of money.. In face ir was rime, as in many periods when money is relatively scarce and the disproportion between what is available and what is needed particularly keenly felt, char an urge or "greed" for money was particularly prominent. But Louis VI did indeed find himself in particularly difficult srrairs in face of his richer neighbour. In chis respect, as in rhe question of organization, centralization and rhe elimination of possible internal rivals, the island terrirory set an example char continental rulers had to follow if they were nor to succumb in the struggle for supremacy. Ar rhe beginning of the twelfth century, therefore, rhe Capetian house was
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, blv weaker than its rival, which controlled land and people across the sea. rioricea , . . . . I , VI was deteared in practically every battle with l11s English nva , even loUIS . . . . .· . If ah rhe latter did nor succeed rn penemm ng rhe tern rory ot F ranua 1rse . dioub . . . . . fi' cl I . lf l, . , '"S rhe s1tuat10n rn wl11ch the ruler of Francia con ne 1imse ro en .ugrng 'f]J1s w.. . _ . . . . the basis of l11s power, his family property, and ro breakrng rhe res1srance of the _ lier feudal lords within or between his rernrones. In so dorng he was ,rna. r'in" his house for rhac great struggle, for chose centuries of conflict for prep,1b _. '1C\' in rhe former western Frankish reg10n, rn the course ot which more supre n1, , . . . . d more territories grew rogether rnro a srngle bloc 111 the hands of a srngle an . . l. l in which from then on all the ocher warn· 0 r [1ouse , a srruugle a._ _ tens10ns wit 1rn t 1e · bec, n1e more or less entanuled-rhe srrub<>gle for rhe French crown rec-ion ,1 o ._ b:Cween rhe rulers of the Isle de France and the rulers of rhe English island. 5. The house char rook up rhe struggle with the Capetians when \\!illiam the Conqueror's family extinct was that of the Plantageners. Their famdy dominion was Anjou, 8 ' likewise a region neighbouring Francia. They made rhe1r wav upwards at about rhe same rime as the Caperians, and in almost the same rn;nner. As in Francia under Philip I, so in neighbouring Anjou under Fulk, the Counts' acwal power in relation ro their vassals has become very slight. Like Philip's son, Louis VI, the Fat, Fulb son, Fulk the Young, and his son, Geoffrey Plantagenet, slowly subdued the smaller and medium-sized feudal lords in their domain; and they. coo, thus laid the foundation for further expansion. In England itself, at first, the reverse process rook place, showing the mechanisms of chis warrior society from the ocher side . \\!hen Henry I, \\!illiam the Conqueror's youngest son, died without male heirs, Stephen of Blois, the son of one of William's daughters, laid claim ro the English throne. He gained the recognition of rhe secular feudal lords and the Church; but he was himself no more rhan a medium-sized, Norman feudal lord. His personal property, rhe family power on which he had ro depend, was limited. And thus he was fairly impotent in rhe face of rhe other warriors, and also the clergy, of his region. \\!irh his accession ro the throne. a disintegration of governmemal power on the island immediately set in. The feudal lords built castle upon castle, mimed their own money, levied raxes from their own regions; in short, they rook over all the powers char hitherto, in keeping with their superior strength, had been a monopolv of rhe Norman central rulers . Furthermore Stephen of Blois committed a of blunders, alienating the Church in particular, rhar a stronger man might perhaps have been able ro afford, but not one needing the help of ochers. This helped his rivals. These rivals were the counts of Anjou . Geoffrey Plantagenet had married the daughter of the last Norman-English king. And he had the power ro back the claim he based on this marriage. He slowly gained a foothold in Normandy. His son, Henry Plantagenet, united Maine, Anjou, Touraine and Normandy under his rule. And with chis power base he could undertake to reconquer rhe English
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dominions of his grandfather as the Norman Duke had done before him. In 1 he crossed the Channel, In 11 ):i, at the age of rwenty-two, he became kin,, a king who, by virtue both of his military and financial power, and personal energy and talent, became a strong centralizing force Two Year prev1ouslv, moreover, he had become rhrou(ih his m·1rriane with the he· · s . . · . · ' a 1ress of AquHarne, the ruler ot this region in southern France. He thus combin cl . . . . e With his English lands a temrorY on the mainland beside which the C·11)etian l . . , ' . aoma1n appeared small indeed. The question whether the western Fnnkish ter · . . ' \\'ere_ robe 1ntegrmed around the Isle de France or Anjou was wide open England itself was conquered temrory and to begin with an object of politics rather a subjecr "' Ir was-if one will-a semi-colonial part of the loose federation of western Frankish territories.
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The distribution of power at that time bore a distant resemblance rn tl . . . currently ex1strng rn the Far East . A small island territory and a dominion ma . . . . nme_s its size on the Contrnent were under one rule. The whole southern part of rhe former Capetian realm belonged to it. The chief southern area not belongin" ro the Plantagenet dominions was the county of Barcelona. Its rulers were up 1l1 a similar expansionist movement and had become kings of Aragon likewise on the basis of marriage. Slowly, and at first almost unnoriced, rhe; disengaged themselves from rhe union of wesrern Frankish territories. · Also outside the Angevin-English dominion in the south-apart from a smaller clerical territory-was the county of Toulouse. Its rulers, like smaller lords north . of the Aquirainian region, began, in face of the threatening supremacy ot the Angevin realm. ro incline towards the rival power centre, the Capetians. The characteristic power balances found in figurations such as these tend always ro determine the conduct of people in the same way; in the smaller was little sphere of the western Frankish terrirorial federmion. their different from that determining the politics of srntes in modern Europe for example, and even. incipiently, across the whole globe. As long as no absolmelv dominant power has emerged. no power that has unequivocally outgrown ah competition and taken up a monopoly position, units of the second rank seek ro form a bloc against the one which, by uniting numerous regions, has come closest to the position of supremacy. The formation of one bloc provokes another; and however long this process may oscillate back and forth. the system as a whole tends ro consolidate larger and larger regions about a centre, to. concentrate real power of decision in ever fewer units and finally at a single centre The expansion of the Norman Duke creared a bloc which displaced the balance in his favour at first in northern France. The expansion of the house of Anjou built on this and rook a step further; the bloc of the Ani..:evin realm called into question the equilibrium of the whole western FrankishL region. However loosely connected this bloc may have been, however rudimenrnn- the centralizing government within it, nevertheless the movement by which, the
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,,eneml hunger for land, one house constantly drove another to unire with · ·or to seek "more· land ' manifests itself clearly· enough in these formations. it from the south. a broad band comprising the whole of western France now ro the Plantagenets· dominion. Formally the king of England was to rhe Capetian kings in respect of this mainland area. But "law" counts . l. rle when ir is nor backed b\· corresponding social power. for it · . . When in 11 "'i Louis VI's successor, Lorns VII of Francia, now an old and ·1n held a meetin<' with the represenrntive of the rival house, Henry II, tveary. n1"" _ o . ,. u 1" he rolcl him: 1 0 r1e f o King .__, ot England, ._, ! 0
Oh Sire. sinct: tht: beginning of your reign and earlier you htl\"t heaped nutragts upon me. mimpling underfoot the loyti!ty you owed mt and the homage you havt done me: and of all these outrages the gravest and mosr flagrant is your unjust usurpation of Auwrgne which you hold to the detriment of the French Crmvn. To be sure, old '.1ge is on my heels and robs me of the strength to recover this and other lands: bur before God. before these Barons of the Realm and our loyal subjects. I publiclv protest and uphold the rights of my Crown. most notably to Auvergne. Berry. and Chateauroux. Gisors and the l\:orman Vexin, beseeching the King of Kings who has gi,·en me an heir. to accord to him whac he has denied ro me . '·
Vexin-a kind of Norman Alsace-Lorraine-was a contested borderland becween the domain of the Capetians and che Norman dominion of the Planrngenets. Further south the frontier between the Capetian and Angevin dominions ran through the Berry region. The Plantagenets were clearly strong enough already ro seize parts of the Capetian domain. The struggle for supremacy berween Capetians and Plantagenets was in full spate; and the Angevin ruler was still far stronger than the ruler of Francia. Accordingly. the demands the Capetian made of his opponent were really very mocksc; he wanted w be given back a few pieces of land that he counted among his own dominions . For rhe rime being he could comemplace norhing more . The glory of the Angevin rule and rhe pauciry of his own he fully realized ... \Ve French," he once said, comparing himself with his rival, "have nothing bur bread, wine and comentment.·· 6. Bur this manner of ruling did not yet possess great stability. It was in fact a "private enterprise .. ; as such it was subject to the inherent social dynamics of a scruggle berween freely competing units, which in any given case was much more srrongly influenced by the personal capacities of the competirors-their age, rheir succession and similar personal factors-than were polirical formations of a later phase, when not only the person of the owner of the monopoly bm a certain division of functions, a mulriplicity of organized interests and a more srable governmental appararus, held together larger units. In 1189 a Capetian again confronted the Plantagenet. Almost all the conrested areas had in the meantime been won back ro Capetian rule . And now the
284
Plantagene[ was an old man, [he Caperian younger; he was Louis VH·s Philip II, surnamed Augustus. Age, as noted above. meam much in a where the incumbem of power is nor yet able ro delega[e milirarv where very much depends on his personal initiative and where he m.usr cl e fen cl 111 · person Hemv II, personallv a S[ronu ruler who srill J ·1s [Ile canackor 1' . . . . . . o · ontro] of his large doma111s securely 111 his hands, was now plagued-along wi[h [ht rebellions and even rhe haued of his eldest son Richard, surnamed C . . oeur-delion. who somenmes even made common cause against his father wirh the Capen ans Exploiting [he weakness of his adversan-. PhilijJ Au"usrus rook b·ick A .. o ' uvergn and the parts of Berry memioned by his One momh after rhey faced other at Tours, Hemy II died at rhe age of tifry-six. In 1193-Richard the Lion Heare lying in prison-Philip seized the long. comesred Vex111. His ally was John, the younger brother of rhe prisoner.. In 1199 Richard died. Both he and his brother and successor John, who was soon to be John Lackland, had squandered much of the basis of rheir powe h f ·1 . r, r e am1 y possess10ns and treasure of their father.. Facing John as his rival, however : was a man who had felt to rhe quick rhe whole humiliation and consrricti· . oom Capenan power by rhe growth of rhe Angevin-English, and whose whole energy, snrred by this expenence, was channelled in a sin"le direction· more land o · , more power. More and ye[ more. He-like the first Plantagenet before him-was obsessed by [his \Vhen John Lackland enquired whe[her he might not have back some ot the land lost to Philip for payment, Philip ans\vered bv askin if he did nor know anyone else willing to sell land; he himself would bu; mo:e. And a[ this nme Philip was already a man rich in land and power, _Clearly. this_ is nor_ yet a S[ruggle between scares or nations . The whole hiswry ot the tormar10n ot later monopoly organizations, of nation stares, remains incomprehensible umil rhe special character of rhis preceding social phase of "prirn[e initiative"_ has understood. This was a struggle between competing or nva[ houses whICh, following a general movemem of this socierv, drove each O[her, first as small and then as larger and larger units, ro expand ,;nd strive for more possessions. The Bartle of Bouvines in 1214 provisionally decided rhe issue John of and his allies were defeated by Philip Augustus And as so often in teudal warrior society, defeat in an external battle meant an internal weakening as well Rerurning home, John found [he barons and clergy in revolt, and their demand was the Magna Carra Conversely, for Philip Augusrus tl1e victorv in the . foreign war strengthened his power within his dominion. As his father's heir, Philip Augusrus rook over essentiallv rhe small inland district of Paris and Orleans, together with parts of Be;ry. He added-to mention only his major acquisitions-Normandy, then one of the larges[ and nchesr territories in the whole realm; [he regions of Anjou, Maine and Touraine;
St,ltc
F11n1wt ion t111d
Cil'i li=dt ion
285
. ran[ parts of Poitou and Saimonge; Arrois. Valois, Vermandois; region !lllpor d a lar"e part of rhe region around Beauvais "The lord ot Pans and an o ,.ss has become the greatest lord _in · · He had "rhe Caperian house the richest family 111 France His domarn had outlets to rhe sea. In other territories of northern France, in Flanders. . Bur"undv and Brirrany, his influence was increasing in propornon Champagne, "" . . . . . . . And even in rhe south he alreadv. controlled a nor rnconsiderable to his po\\ er. Caperian dominion was still anything but imegrated _territory .ou and rhe Orleans reuion lay [ht doma111 ot the Count of Blois. In Berween AnJ ' . . o . . _ . . • " • rhe coastal districts around Sarnres and, turrher eas[, All\ er0 ne, \\ere as rhe sour l1 • 1 yer scarce l ), connected to rhe northern regions. Bur rhe la([er, the .old tami y 'domain · tog ether with Normandv. and new!;·. conquered areas srrerch111g beyond . .. . constituted a fairlv• u111fied bloc 111 a purely Arras to rhe north ' alreadv ' • geographical sense . .. .. . . .. , . . Even Philip Augustus did not yet have France rn our sense rn \ ie\\, and his · ·on \\"lS reaI cl om111i ' nor rhis France ' · \\/hat he aimed at above all was .the tern . tonal, .. roilirary and economic expansion of his family power and [he sub1ugar10n ot its most dangerous competitors, the Plantagenets. In both aims he succeeded. On Philip's death rhe Caperian dominions were roughly tour nmes as large as at his accession The Plantagenets, by contras[, who had lived hitherto more the cominem rhan on rhe island-and whose administration in England 1rselt was made up as much of continental Normans and people from their other mainland possessions as of natives of the island-now co_ntrolled on rhe ma111land merely a part of rhe former Aquitaine, the area north ot the central and Pyrenees_ along [he coast as far as the Gironde esruary under r_he name ot rhe. duchy ot Guvenne; apart from rhat there were a few islands off rhe coast of Normandy. balance had shifted against them. Their power had decreased. But thanks ro [heir island dominion it was nor broken. After a rime the balance on mainland shifted back in their favour. The ourcome of this struggle tor he·,emonv in the former western Frankish area long remained undecided. Ir ap;ears ri1ar Philip Augustus regarded as his chief rivals after the Planrngeners the counts of Flanders; and cha[ a new power centre had rndeed come 111ro exis[ence there is shown by the whole subsequent history of France. Philip is reputed to have once said [hat either Francia would become Flemish or Flanders French . He cerrainlv did nor lack awareness that in all these conflicts among the lesser territorial what was at issue was supremacy or the loss of independence. Bm he could still imagine Flanders equally well as Francia as dominating die whole area. 7 Phili; Augustus' successors at first held firm to rhe course that he had set: [hey sounhr to consolidate and further extend the enlarged dominion. No sooner wa; Phifip Augustus dead rhan rhe barons of Poirou turned back to the
280
'[he
Plamageners. Louis VIII. Philip A.ugusrns· son. stcurtd rhis region afresh for own dominio_n. as ht did Sainrnnge._ Aunis_ and Langutdoc, pan of Picardy and rhe coumy of Ptrcht. Pardy rn rhe torm of a religious war. rhe srruggle rht hererics. rhe Caperian houst began rn adrnnce somh inro thP sphere of rhe only grtar rerrirorial lord in rlmr parr who could. beside th. . l r l1e powtr of- rhe Captrians. rhe domain of rhe counrs f Pl amageners, nva Toulouse Tht nexr Caperian, Louis IX. rhe Saine had once again rn prorecr his conglomerared possessions against every kind of inrerna] and exrernal arrack. At rhe same rime he wtnr on building. uni ring parrs of Lmguedoc norrh-east Pyrtnees. rhe counries of M<,lcon, Clermonr and Morrain. and some smaller areas with his family possessions Philip III. the Bold. seized rhe coumy of Guine; between Calais and Saim-Omer, only ro Jost ir rweh·e years larer rn rhe heirs of rhe Coum. He acquired through purchase or promise of protection every minor possession in his vicinity that offered itself; and he prepared rhe assimilation of Champagne and rhe great rerrirory of Toulouse inro the dominions of his house. There was by now scarcely a single terrirorial rultr in the whole western Frankish area who could. wirhom allies. srnnd up ro the Caperians. with the exception _of the Planragenets. The latter. rn be sure. were no less preoccupied rhan rhe Capetians with enlarging their sphere of power . On the conrinenr their rule had once again extended beyond the duchy of Guyenne. Across rhe sea thev had subdued \Vales and were in the process of conquering Scotland. They still had possibilities of expansion that did not lead ro a direct collision wirh the Caperians. The latter. roo. srill had scope for expansion in other directions. At the rime. under Philip the Fair. their dominion was expanding to rhe frontiers or the Germano-Roman Empire. on one side as far as the Maas. which ar that was usually considered as the natural and-in remembrance of the partition or the Carolingian Empire in 8ci_)-the traditional fronrier of rhe wesrern Frankish area: on the other side-further somh-it exrended as far as rhe Rhone and rhe Saone. rhar is. as far as the regions of Provence. Dauphine and rhe counry of Burgundy. which likewise did not belong ro the traditional contederation \\·esrern Frankish terriwries . Through marriage Philip acquired Champagne and Brie wirh nuny annexed areas. some of them in the terrirnn· of rht GermanRoman Empire itself From rhe Coum of Flanders he obtained. the dominions of Lille, Douai and Bethune; the counry of Chartres and the esrnre of Beaugenc\' he rook from the counrs of Blois. In addirion he acquired the coumies of and Angou!eme. the ecclesiastical properties of Cahors. Mende and Pur, and further south the counry of Bigorre and the viscounrcv of Soult . His three sons. Louis X, Philip V and Charles IV.. died ont after rhe other withom leaving a male heir; the family possessions and crown of the Capetians passed rn a descendam of a younger son of the house who owned the counn· of Valois as an apanage. ,
ro this poim a cominuous efforr had been made in more or less the same . · throughour generarions: ro accumulare land Ir must bt enough here ro direcnon ' ' - . -, . . ·"rize rhe results or this ettorr . Nonetheless. even this summar)- t\en the -un1rn,. . .. -· " . min" of rhe manv lands which step by step were brought together, !:'1\ to niere n,i "' · . . . . _ . n idt:
28H
The Cil'i/i;:;ing Pron:JJ
Stato: For111atin11 and Ci1•ili::.c1tio11
non. neither rhe expansion nor rhe governmental organization of these \\·oulcl be conceivable . Bur the significance of to\vns and comm· r .·. I · . . . . . e c1a izauon t le Integranon of larger areas was snll mamh· indirect in so f: r . I · . · · '1 t iey instruments or organs of the princeh houses. This inceuracion fi f . · o ,ant rsr oremosc the conguesr of one warrior house b\· another cine is cl e ab . . . ' , 1 ' sorpt1on b . one y anorher or ar leasr its subjection, irs dependence on che vice . l k. m. ·mg ac rhe area from chis point of view as ir appeared at rhe beginnin the fourteenth century ac rhe extinction of che direct Captci·rn line cl d. c l. . d ·1 . . , . , ' le irection 01 c Mnge is rea J \ percc1vecl fhe suuuule of lesser ·ind med· . · . . . oo ' n11n \v arnor hous for land _or more land had cerramly nor stopped; bur these feuds no longer es remorel; the pare they played ar the rime of Louis VI, nor to speak predecessors. Ac char tlme the lands were discribured relarivelv evenlv , 1 many; to be sme, there were differences between j)Ossessions · ._mong cl . may seeme very to contemporaries. Bm even the possessions, and thus the power, of the nominal princely houses were so small char a Iarue nu b J·'u!J·'· T · l. · o merof ,1110 lt } rnm1,ies 111 r 1e1r nt1ghbourhood could tr\· their . · ·· l l . _ . . arm w 1r 1 r lem as rivals . for land or power It was left to rhe '"pnvare iniriarive"' of all these 1 1ouses to cl · l l . · . . _ec1c e low far they parnc1paced in chis general struggle. Now. in the fourteenth century, these many warnor houses were no longer inclividuallv a force b recko l · l l · to e nee w1c 1; at most r ley carried a certain social weight colleccivelv. as estate . the real_ initiative now lay with the very few warrior houses c.hat emerged tor the nme being as victors from the precedinu conflicts and h d l cl o , 'a accumu ace, so much land char all the ocher houses could no longer challenge but ace only _111 dependence on chem. To these ochers, rhe majority of \\Mnors, rhe poss1bd1cv of wmninu new hnd on their O\"n · · · · · fj . . · o ' ., m1c1anve m ree compecmon was by and large foreclosed, and with it che chance of risin in sociery. Every warrior house muse at most remain on rhe run! ot the s_oual _ladder it had reached, unless one or mher of ics members succeeded m moving higher through the fin·our of one of the great lords, and rhus cbrough dependence on him.
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The num_ber of chose who were still able co compete independently for land and power m the wescern Frankish region had steadily diminished. No independent duke or house of Normand\· now existed and none of A · · · ·1 · . · g u1 ta111e, ass1m1 anon or suppress10n had overtaken-co mention onh- rhe verv largesrrhe counties of Champagne, Anjou and Toulouse. There existed. beside che of Francia, only four ocher houses char mattered in chis region: duchies ot and Brittany, rhe county of Flanders and-mosr ;owerful of allrhe kings of England, dukes of Guyenne and lords of several smaller areas. A warr10r sociecv with relacivelv free competition !1ad become · l · . a soc1et\' w lere . . compecmon was restricted in the manner of a monopolv. And even om of the five great houses char sci II possessed some degree of compecicive power. and preserved a certain corresponding independence. cwo houses again rose as che most
289
che Capecians and their succession, che kings of France, and the The confroncarion between chem muse decide 1·nra(Tene ts ' kin"S o of Encrland. o Pa !cl ulrirnacelv control monopolv power in the western Frankish region, ,vho wou . .· _ . . wher e rhe ctntre and the boundanes ot the monopoly would lie.
v 'fhe Resurgence of Centrifugal Tendencies: 'fhe Figuration of the Competing Princes S. However, che formation of che monopoly of rule was nor by ans ' L S srraiuhcforwardlv as appears merelv from consideration of the 0 • • anv n1e' ' . · Lil·1cion of land · The laruer accurn ' o the area became char was gracluallv . . . umced and cenrra ll.zed bv1 rbe Caperians • the more strongly did a countervailing movement make irself felt; and rbe stronger, once again, grew the tendency wwards decenrralizacion This tendency was still represented first and foremost by cbe closest relations and vassals of the monopoly ruler, as in the preceding phase where the barter economy was more intact, and as in rbe Carolingian period. Bue the mode of action of the decentralizing social forces bad changed considerably. :Monev, crafts and trade now played an appreciably greater role in society chan at dmt rime; groups \vbo concerned themselves specially with all chis, the burghers, had rnken on a social importance of their own. Transport had developed. All chis offered cbe ruling organization of a large territory opportunities chac were lacking earlier. The servants a central ruler sent into the country to administer and his possessions no longer found it so easy to make themselves independent. Moreover, a growing proportion of these helpers of the central ruler now came from urban strata . The danger of such burghers developing into rivals of che ruler was incomparably less than before, when be had to cake some of his aides from the warrior class, and when even bondsmen char he parronized could very rapidly acquire, thanks to the land with which he rewarded their services, rhe power and social rank of a warrior or noble. However, a particular social category of people still posed a real rhreac to the cohesion of very large dominions under single rule, even though their power might have diminished and their mode of action changed. Even under the_ changed social circumsrances, they became over and over again the chid of decentralization. These were che closest family members of the ruler, char is, his uncles, his brothers, his sons or even, though far less so, bis sisters or daughters. A dominion and the monopoly of rule within it were nor really, at chis time, the possession of a single individual; they were very much a family possession, the property of a warrior house . All che closest relations of chis house had and
.290
Ih, Ciri/i:;i11g Pmcu.1
as_strrtd a claim [Om leas[ parrs of [his proptny. This was a claim w . ot the house was. tor a long period. less will" " .ll hrch the ·: ·1 . rn"' or d J t w rduse d ramr _r possessions grew. Ir was ctnainh- nm a .. ltual c·J·11·m .. . l' l1e l j I l · · · c' ' [ 1t \\ore. n [ 115 SOC!t[y die rt were harclh· more r11'ln I r111 t 1e are- r sense all-embracin•• ''!- .·· . .. . ' r ic rue rmenrs ot a"'"'"P•··'·'· "' d\\ rn \\ hKh even rhe grea[ warrior rulers were SL' . r Iiere was ·rs \·er no ·rll b · IDJect l. . ' : . ' -em rac111g power [bar could enforce such a l·,. · on} rn con1unn1on wirh [ht frirnn[ion of 1· . a.\. It . . _ -· ' monopo res ot rule: .,.cenrra 1rzanon of [ht ruling funcrions l . . . , '·It11 th0 r iar d common leual cod \ ·· _ . tor large areas To provide for children was a soci·il obl. . lt \as ts[ablrshed stt d · · l ' igatJon t 1at \ve oft O\\ n 111 [it 1"f//1t;1111t-r . U ndoub[e 11 . · . l en . c ) I[ \\as on y [ht be[[er-tndm .. l l. - l r ia[ .cou d adhere_ rn [his cusrom I=or jus[ [his reason ir carried Jrt\_ec' H1l\\ could [ht rrchts[ house of [h - l l l I- s[rge . . . t anc • [ 1t roral house h-tve - . presrrgrous oblrgarion; · · ' escaped L
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291 as irs properry. No doubt rhere were quarrels, fighrs wirhin the household everywhere else. Bm a_r tht same rime. all-or ar ltasr pan-of the family constantly ro ddtncl or expand the family possessions. The relarively es[aces of rhe royal family. like rhose of all warrior houses, were essemially they lacked any larger social importance and had indeed very much the of a small family emerprise. The brothers and sons. even the morhers wives. of htads of families had a say in [he running of rhe esratt which varied
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The rerrirnrial possessions of a house conrinued rn b- .f . . . . resrrrcred sense, whm we \vould call privare proi)trrr aln tr_nclreasing!y conrroll--cl · · · . ·· t kac o r ie e I[ 111 )LIS[ as unrtsrrrcred a fashion. and ptrha )S tvtn m a gren landowner comrols his propeny wday, or [ht of ·1 . ort than irs caprrnl. 111comt and branches. Jusr as rhe landow . , amrly firm ot his esrn[es for die btnefir of a roun"t l rl1er can splrr ott one or other k. . . o r son or r ie c owrr ot -1 chu"lHtr . I as ·111g irs renanrs whtrher their new lord is ·t" - -· bl - I ' '. "' ' WH iour f l . 'c-rtt,1 e ro riem· Jusr .. ·! h [ 1t hrm can \vrrhdraw capital fi:lr his claughrer·s down- or 1e ead c rrec[or of a subs1d1ary. wi[hom owing his em Jlorees [he -. s son as rn rht same W
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9. Ar [ht beginning of rhis line of cl . l . famih- possessions of di - C·. . t\e opmenr, 111 rhar early phase when the · c apenans were scarcelv hruer d. I warrior families in [!1 1 d. l d . · ' "' Mn [ 10se ot many other e an . t 1e anger rm l" · · f properry is immediarelr obvi . . p rcrt rn ragmenra[ion of this families seldom ab·1red. Tl . ous . _[hreat from neighbouring feudal ' . 11s curse each tamrly rn hold i[s people wgedier as
with their personal qualities and circumstances . Bm ir hardly occurred ro anyone -Pver anr significant part from rhe famih possessions and hand ir over w a ro '' · sons miLdu receive a small esrare here and roe-rnber of the familr.. The .rounger <-<-marn-. inro a small proptrrv; bur we also hear of one or other rht'-re ' or rher. mighr .... • the younger sons of a royal family leading a fairly penurious existence. This changed complerely as rhe royal house grew rich. Once rhe Caperians had hecorne the richest family in the whole rerrirnry or indeed the entire coumry, ir w,15 impossible w !er rhe younger sons of the house live like perry knights. The reputation of [he royal house demanded rhar all its members. even dit younger sons and daughters of the king. receive a firring endowmem. rhar is w say a sizeable area over which w rule, and from which [hey could live. In aclclirion. now char rhe Caperians far surpassed most mher families in rhe country in propeny and wealth. [he clanger from severing a porrion from rheir possessions was no longer so keenly felt. And so the enlargemem of rhe Caperian dominion was accompanied by [ht steadily increasing size of [ht areas passing as apanages to rhe younger children of rht kings. Disintegration ser in on a new basis. Louis VI, the I=ar. gave his son Robert the nor very exrensive county of Dreux. Philip Augustus. who brough[ about rhe family's firs[ grear rise from srrairentcl L
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circumsrances, held his hard-won possessions together wirh a firm hand; the only thing ht gave up was a small esratt. S[ Riquier, as his sis[er's dowry Louis VIII, however. laid down in his will rha[ rhe counries of Artois. Poiriers. Anjou and Maine-char is to say. considerable portions of [he family possessions. though never i[S heardand-should pass as apanages w his sons. Louis IX gave his sons Alern;on. Perche and Clermom as apanages; Philip III endowed a younger son with rhe coumy of Valois. Bm Poiriers. Alern;on and Perche rerurned ro rhe Caperian possession when rheir princely owners died wirhom male heirs. In 1285 five counries-Dreu.x, Artois, Anjou. Clermom and Valois-were split off as apanages, and on rhe death of Charles the Fair in 1328 rhe number rose w nine. \Vhen Philip of Valois inherited dte esra[es and crown of the Cape[ians, rhe apanages of his house, Valois, Anjou and Maine, were reunired wi[h the larger possessions of rhe ruling family. The county of Chanres returned to rhe crown esrnres with rhe dearh of ano[htr Valois . Philip himself gained a few new smaller dominions as well, among [hem .l\1onrpellitr. which he boughr from the King of
292
J\fajorca Under him, howewr, ir was above all Dauphint rhar came Caperian hands. Thereby Capetian expansion took a major srep eastwards rhe rraditional fronriers of rhe wesrern Frankish empire, into rhe Lorharin12:ian region-an exi)ansion rhar Philij) the E:1ir had be.,un b"..r "cqu·. 0 .__ a. ltllV" 6 rhe archbishopnc of Lyons and rhrough a closer associarion wirh rhe bishoprics Toul and Verdun. The manner in which Dauphint came into rhe possession of rhe Par· · . . • . lS!ll!l rulers. however. was less charactensnc of rhe relanon between the central'!Z!Qrr · 6 and decentralizing forces of this period than of the importance of apana .'bl d · · ges. ro rhe Arlesian or_ Burgundian realm char ,1rose callow· D aup !1rne • e onge • <- • n rhe Lorharrngian rnrerregnum, ease of rhe Rhone and rhe Saone. Irs last Huberr II, bequearhed or, more exacdy, sold his possessions to rhe Caperian heir following rhe dearh of his only son, on a number of condirions. They included payment of his considerable debrs, and also rhe sripularion rhar Philip's second son, not his eldesr, should receive Dauphint. Clearly the Dauphine's owner wished co give his land to someone rich enough to pay the sums he needs; b bequearhing ir to rhe ruler of Francia he prorecred it from becoming a bone contention for other neighbours afrer his de<1rh, for rhe Paris kings were strong to defend rheir acquisitions. And rhis is certainly nor rhe only example of the artrncrion which rhe immense power of rhe Capetians held for weaker neighbours; the need for prorecrion of rhose less strong was one of rhe factors rhar furrhered rhe process of centralizarion and monopolizarion once it had reached a certain level. Bur ar rhe same rime rhe old ruler whose heir had died clearly wished to prevent his land, Dauphint, from losing its independence enrirely on passing inro French ownership. This is why he demanded that his domain should be given ro the king's second son as apanage. Thar demand obviously implied an expectation that this region should become a ruling house in irs own right and so preserve an independenr existence. At rhar rime apanaged regions were indeed beginning· ro develop more and more clearly in rhar direcrion Philip of Valois, however, did nor abide by rhis agreemem. He gave Dauphine nor ro his younger but ro his eldesr son, John, rhe heir ro rhe rhrone, "in recognition", so his nominarion declares, "rhar Dauphint lies on che frontier, that a good and srrong rule in Dauphine is necessary for the defence and securiry of rhe Kingdom, and thar if we acred otherwise, grear danger to rhe future of the Kingdom might arise". 90 The danger artending rhe separation of disrricts for younger sons was rims fairly clearly perceived ar rhis rime; rhis is arresred by a large number of pronouncements. Bur the need for rhe king to provide firringly for his younger sons persisred. He wirhheld Dauphine from his younger son for securiry reasons; bur in its place he gave him the Orleans region as a duchy and a number of counties as welL And his eldesr son, John rhe Good, rhe very man who received Dauphine in l._,
293
State Formation c111d Ciri!i:atio11
Th1: Ci1'ili::i11g Pmn:.cs
,
th;
:r
. nr .1 "ood dnl furrher once be was king of rbe entire region on his ' :::: ' r....• he spread bounry unsrintingly Firsr he. gave away r\\'O counnes, . · unrcies He endowed his second son LolllS wirl1 An1ou and Mame, . . . . ' n tour v1sco rIJ: - n received rhe counrv or Pomers. rhen Macon. Snll larger 1o1trs bis younger ,o . raV we
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fo!lowejc!.I rbe Good cime to power in l 150. Under his predecessor, rhe long 10.. o 1n ' · . . .. . l . · · b"r\"een rhe two hr"esr !Jowers and mighriesr \varnor muses 111 nt rens1on c ,, ' b ._ . . . !are. n Frankish region bad eruixed; in 1)37 began rhe ch,11n of m1lm1ry e wester cl n1 . known as rhe "Hundred Ye
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295 29-! At any rare. under John a specific tendency of large family possessions w•1s
kingdom of Aquiraine: and furrher norch Calais. rbe counties of Ponrhieu. and .i\fontreuil-sur-I\fer: in addition. three million golden 111sre,1d ot the tour million demanded by rbe London rrean-. as ransom for krng. Bur the latter. a worthy c111d chivalrous m<1n. rernrned from prison oblinous ot the extent of bis defe,1c. His conduct in this sirnarion shows to what extent he was srill the sole authority in control of rhe territory ro_him. which was one day to become "France", a state and a nation ..He felt
reinforced. a tendency which. once their possessions had reached a cerrnrn . of rhe 1)rtcedin<' re1)resenrarives of the Caperian house had been able none b Its conStljUences are clear. \'Vhen John rhe Good died. rhe existence <111cl occupancy of rhe cenrral despite the clebilirarion and rhe defeat. were in no way lf1 doubt. This
h1,. !10.use musr_ now all rbe more osrenrmiously demonstrate its glory. The sen.,
se
of 111krrorHy resulung trom dett:al led him to overemphasize his own And he. considered that the dignity· and glory of his house could find no
ex:1ress1on. than by :ill his son: figuring as dukes at rhe ratification of rhe Peace rre,1ry One of his hrsr acts after his rernrn trom prison was therefore r0 . cl uc I. 11es from parts of his dominion as a1Janaues for his sons 'Ii·s Jd . I ... . . . ' . "' r e est was ,ueady Duke of Normandy and Dauph111. the nexr: Louis, he made Duke An.Joli and Mame; to the nexr. John. he gaw Berf\' and Auvergne ·is 111·s (UC I hy· ancl rn rhe youngest, Philip. Touraine. This was in the rear 1)60 " A year brer. in 1361. the young. fifteen-year-old Duke. of Burgunch· die l ,,., · c. 1wo L
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prenous 1Y he had. married J\fargarer. the daughrer and sole heir of rhe Count ot Flanders: bm he died w1thom leaving children Ir w·1s ·1 hr<'t re"i.on b · l. '''co tat tounc. 1rselt \V1thour -a ruler on the D ll l-,e,. It · cJ . unexpected death of rhe ·1·oun" c <..
cons1sre nor only of rhe duchy or Burgundy proper. bm also rhe counties of Boulogne and AuYergne. rogerher with the counf\"• of Buruund\· , 0 . ' rh•· Fran h eL
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Comre <111d other areas_ benJ11d rhe rradirional frontiers of the western Frankish empire. On grounds of somewhat complex family relationships. John rhe Good claimed rl11s whole esrnre for himself There was no one ro comest it with hi and .in he gave. it to his youngest son Philip. whom he particularly Philip fought. especially braveh· ar his side in rhe Bartle of Poiriers and accompanied him to prison. This was cu be his aixmciut: in ];lace of Tour' ine '·,,, l . . . "' ' ,,e )e111g m111cltul.·· said rhe King. '"that we are enjoined by muure rn give our ch1lclren enough rn allow them rn honour the glory of their origin. and rhar we must be especially generous rn those who have parricularlv merited ir'" " 1 unmisrnkablv how . Both the fact of these apanages and their morirnrion tar .French territorial power still had rht character of a family possession i,n this ptnod: bm they also show how this promoted fragmenwrion. No doubt strong tendencies were already operating in rhe opposite direction. tendencies resrricr1ug rhe private .or domanial characrer of rule: rhe groups representing these opposed r.endenc1es at rhe court will be discussed shordy.. The personal character and rndnxlual forrnnes of John rhe Good no doubt played a part in his particular propensity tor nchly endowing all rhe royal sons for rhe sake of family prestige. rh1s tendency clearly owed no less rn the heightening of competition rhat expresswn 111 the Hundred Years· \Var and which. afoor rhe Caperians' defeat. gaye nst to a particularly insiscenr demonstration of the wealth of rheir
· d·c·irion of how firmlv rhe power of the cenrral ruler was already founded an in i ' . . . . ·.1 "unctions ocher rhan rhar ot armv leader. The Dauphrn. a physically soo,1 ' . . mn\'. including che apanaged ones Bur looking c,.,pet1c1 , 1. . . "' . . . . ar rhe clisrribmion ot po\Yer we can see clearly how. bene<1th rhe veil ot . g·s soYerei ,,nn· the centrifugal tendencies had gained renewed strength re "' .• . h k.in . .,. in a number of territorial formations were emerg111g wlth1n the 1 1 nee ' 0Caperian dominion rhar aspired more or les_s obYiouslyro amonomy. and benYeen L
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which chert was rivalry Bm what gan this nYalry w1th1n the western Frankish re"ion irs special character w<1s rhe fact rhar almost all chose involved were d:Scendanrs of the Caperian house irself \Virh few exceptions. ir was apanaged men or rheir offspring who now faced each orher as potential comperirors. There were, certainly, orhtr major rerrirori<1l rulers who were nor members of the royal house, or ,u least nor directly.. Bur in rhe struggle for supremacy rhey were no )on!!tr proragonisrs of rhe first order Amon;:: rhese at rhe rime of John rhe Good vrns Charles rhe Bad. King of Navarre LHis father. Philip of Evreux. was a grandson of Philip III, a nepht\\ of Philip rhe Fair and of Charles of Valois: his mother was a granclclaughrer of Philip rhe Fair, a daughrer of Louis X: in addirion he himselfw«1s rhe son-in-law of John rhe Good. To him belonged. besides rhe Pyrene•m rerriwry of Navarre. a number
of prtYiously apam1ged regions from che Capecian possessions. norably rht county of Eneux and pares of che duchy of Normandy.. His possessions thus txttncled dan!!erouslv close ro Paris itself Charles .rhe Bad of Navarre was one of rbt first proponents of this struggle among apanaged family members of rhe Caperian house for supremacy in the western Frankish region. and ulrimarely for the crown. He was rhe chief mainland ally of rhe Planrageners in rhe first phase of the Hundred Years· \Var. During this war he was for a rime the military commander of P,uis ( 13 58); even the of rhe cirr, eYen Etienne J\Iarcel, vvas temporarily on his side; and his of wresring .the crown from rhe other Capetian heir seemed close w realization" To rhis end his membership of rhe King·s family gave him <111 imperns. powers and claims rhar others lacked. The Planragener wirh whom he allied himself, Edward III, was likewise, rhou"h only rhe female line of descenr. a close relarion of rhe Caperians He too
a
of Philip III. ,1 nephevv of Philip rhe fair
296
The Cil'i/i::,ing PrrKcJS
Valois; his mother was a daughter of Philip the Fair, a niece of Charles of and he was thus at least as closely related to the Capetians as the French opposing him, John the Good, the grandson of Charles of Valois Adjoining the mainland terrirnrv of the Plantauenecs to the nor·t'11 \"e . .. . c ,, re rhi; regions that John the Good had given hrs younger sons, the territories Duke of Anjou, John, of Berry, and of Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy rngether with the land ot Louis, Duke of Bourbon. He, the Duke of Bourbo ' was descended from the Ca1)etians through a brother of Phili1) IIi Robert c n, ._ ' ,ount of Clermont. who married Beauice, the heiress of Bourbon; his mother was Valois, his sister the wife of Charles V: and he himself was thus on his moth , . . · ' , ers side an uncle of Charles VI, as the Dukes of An1·ou Burgundy and Berrv· n·e re on the paternal side. These were the main actors in the struggles of the period of John the Good, Charles V and Charles VI. Apart from the Plantagencts aud the Bourbons, they were all owners of apanaged parts of the Capetian inheritance who were now for their part srruggling ro increase their family's power finally co win supremacy. '
297
51'1tt Fum1t1tion dlld Cil'ili:atio11
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The balance within these tensions first tilted. under Charles V, to tt1e reignin Valois. \Vhen he died. his son and successor was only twelve years old . Here,! always, circumstances-accidents from the poim of view of the whole development-favoured certain tendencies already inherent in the structure of society The youth and weakness of the ruling Valois strengthened the cemrifugal forces that had long been gathering, and released the pem-up pressures. Charles V had absorbed Dauphine once and for all imo his family possessions; he had recovered the Norman rerrirnries of the King of Navarre as well as a number of other apanaged lands like the duchy of Orleans and rhe coumy of Auxerre . But on his death there were already seven great fruclal lords in the land, descended from St Louis (Louis IX) and thus from the Caperian house: at the rime they were called '"princes des fleurs de !is"; and there were now-apart from a number of smaller and medium lords who had long ceased w play an independe-m pan in the struggles for power 02 -only two major houses besides the Plamageners-whose members were nor in direct male line of dtscenr from the Capetian house: the dukes of Brittany and the coums of Flanders. But the Count of Flanders at this time had only one child, a daughter. For her hand and rhe future ownership of Flanders there arose, after the death of the young Duke of Burgundy ro whom she was originally berrothtd, an inevitable conflict between the Plamageners and rhe Capetian heirs . After much vacillation the hand of the heiress of Flanders finally \vem. with the help of the head of the Valois, Charles V. rn the Llfter's younger brother Philip, who through his father's imervemion had already become Duke of Burgundy. The marriages of great feudal lords were arranged from what we would roday call a purely "business" poim of view, for the sake of expansion and success in the territorial competition. Philip the Bold thus uni red. after the death of the Coum of Flanders, the latter's possessions with
an cl of the great older feudal houses on the mainland only the duchy . , remained. This older srrarnm, however, had now been replaced by a . -- l 01r13ntran} circle of terrirorial rulers, sremm111g from offshoots ot t 1e apeo:in cl these were now driven inrn conflict by the mechanism of rernrnnal 'onse, an . . cl f- . . . 11 - · compulsions wh1ch-ow111u to the low egree o 1megr,lf10n or . JJ1pet1tIOn. c . co . . t. t. ncrions in any society with a barter economy, and parocularly a
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cierv-rhrearen rhe existence of a monopoly of power and possessrons warn or so · .ons rendinn rn d1s1meurare . cl · t- · ·t. "' l pro1)ertv• an rein orce cenrn uc,1 . r 1ar
5
r h· C· olinnian dominions and then to the feudal soCial order ot the rnelfrh orrc:M"" · fl" . Once auain j)eople ro whom the cemral ruler had given land rom 11s century. c . . . l 111dependem and become nva s own large p ossessions ' rencled rn make themselves . . _ _ . . . of rhe weakened cemral house. Bue rhe poss1b1lrry ot entenng the competmon , l"I mired ro a few descendants. of the original central house, .a clear \Vl!S nO\\ . . .md"ic,1u . ·011 of how far the structure of human relauons had changed 111 tlus . . .
society, how far chis human network had already become, at least 111 its agranan ·ror a system with closed opportunities s.c ' . fl cl l .. l l l. The rivalry between rhe most powerful "princes des eurs e rs eruprec immediately after the death of Charles V in the struggle for the regency and . s111·1) ot· rhe heir co rhe throne guard ran _ ' .who was still a _minor. Charles . . V had _. appointed his brother Louis, Duke ot An1ou, as reg:m, hrs brother Phdrp, D_uke of Burgundy, and his brother-in-law Louis, Duke of Bourbon, as guardians of hrs son. This was clearly rhe only thing he could do to prewm power passing emirelv into the hands of a single man. But it was precisely complete power that Louis ;f Anjou, and Philip as well, were really pursuing. They wished to l'.l1!te guardianship and regency. And the conflicts between the rival members of the_ ;oval house filled the whole reign of Charles VI, who possessed little power ot p
d;cision and finallv succumbed ro a kind of madness. The lc:·idin" in the struggle for supremacy among the King's relations dunged co rime. The ;lace of Louis of Anjou as the strongest rival of the Burgundian Duke, for example, was raken at a certain srnge in the struggle br the brother of Charles VI, Louis, who ruled the duchy of Orleans as his But no matter how the persons changed. the network of compulsions impelling chem remained the same: again and again two or :hree people within chis, b\· now, very small circle of competirors came face to face, none of rhem prepareci or able--on pain of annihilation-to allow any of the othe,rs to become stronger than himself These conflicts between relar1ons of the Kmg, howewr nec;ssarilv became imerrwined with the larger conflicr of the rime, which still ven: far from being decided-the struggle with the Plamagenets, whose offshoots li,kewise becam; embroiled in similar rivalries by reason of analogous mechanisms
.298
Th, Cii'i!i::i11g PmctSs
Sulc Formafi()il 1md Ci1·ili::.ati11n
. _The sirnation of these members of the royal house must be visualized: all lift they were second or third. Their feelings told rhem oti:en tnow'h I · l b o t 1ar m1g H e berrer and stronger monarchs than rhe man who happened to bt ltgl[Jmact heir to die crown and dit main possessions_ Between them and the goal c.Jften swod only one person, or only two or three. And there is no l k l . l . tac examp • _ . es m l!Story o two or more such people dvinn • c- in- quick SLiccession opc:nmg the way to power w the next in line. Bur e\·en then, there would ' be hard struggles with their rivals. In rhis situation the less ]JOwerful rn·in h cl · l ' ar lv t\·er arrnmec .rhe throne it he belonged ro onlv. a secondarv• line of ti1e f:amiJv · ·. c rhough he .might have the besr claim . There were near!;· alwavs otl1'' . . . . . . .c:rs who conreste d his churn; their chum might be worse bur thev would win if tl1ey \Vere stronger. So those next rn lme ro the throne who ·ilre·1dr ruled . . . _. . . . .· ' ' . apanaged ternrnnes ot \arwus sizes. were preoccupied wirh creating and extending h · b• ' ' ' ' t eir asis ot support, rncreasrng their possessions, dieir income, their power. If thev had no d!fect access ro the rhrone, rheir rule should be ar lease no less ' mighty and ostentatious rhan rhar of rheir rivals. if possible ourshininu ev l K" · l f ll o en t 1e mg s .. w 10 a rer a was no more rhan the grearesr among all rhe rivals or compenrnrs •
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This was rhe si rnarion and atti rnde of the closest relarions of rhe we·ik Cl l _ _ ' 1ar es VI l · . - 1is unclb-nor all, bur some ot rhem-and also his brorher_ And with certam changes. wirh ever-diminishing chances for rhe second and rhird in]' l. . cl . . . me, r 1is atnrn e. this sHuanon. chese tensions around rhe rhrone were rransmicte
B'.'ld. rhe youngest son of John the Good. To begin wirh he had onh· rht duchv of Burgund1· as his apanage. Then he uniced wirh it-primarily rnarnage--=rhe counries of Flanders, rhe Arrois region, rhe count\' of Nevers and the barony of Dcincy His second son Anroine. Duke of Brab,;m and Lord of Anr1\·erp. became by marriage Duke of Luxembourg. His son married the heiress of Hainaur . These were the first steps of the Burgundian lords wwards expansion 1l1 thelf own nghr, rowards rhe foundation of a secure realm lying at least in pare outside the sphere ot the Paris kings, in the territory of presenr-day Holland. A similar course of action was adopted by Charles VI's Louis. rhe strongest rim! of Philip the Bold in the scruggle for supremacv in France . Both built on their own family power wirh considerable hasre an.cl dererminarion. Louis firsr received as apanage the duchy of Orltans, which under Charles V, after the dearh of his uncle. Philip V of Orltans, had been reunired wirh the crown possessions Then Louis obtained rhree or four counries and large estates in Champagne.
.299
He further acquired by purchase-with rhe aid of a large dowry from his wife Valentina Visconti-several counties including char of Blois Finally. through his he owned rhe counry of Asri in Italian territory. and he had rhe reversion
of a number of other Iralian terrirories The Burgundian expanded in rhe direction of Holland. Orltans inro Iraly. \Vithin rhe former wesrern Frankish ---i·rorv irself. relations of ownership had betn consolidated; the major parts of teu . this region belonged either to rhe London or ro rhe Paris kings; and between chem even a ''jlri11<'1 dcr _1!,·11rs c/1 !is" could only assert himself. only compete wirh one or ocher for supremacy. if he managed in one direction or anorher to build up a large domestic power of his own As rhe earlier elimination struggles within rhe large area of pose-Carolingian feudaliry had clone previously, so now analogous tensions impelled members of the far narrower circle of tht grear Caperian territorial lords to expand rheir land, ro crave incessantly for more possessions. Bur as means ro expansion, marriage, inherirance and purchase now played at least as important a parr as war and feud. Ir was nor only rhe: Habsburgs who marritd into greatness Since relarively large properry unirs wirh correspondingh· grear rnilirnry potential had by now formed in chis society. individuals. and individual warrior houses who wanted to rise ar this stage. could only hope ro survive a military confrontation if rhey had already gained control over terrirorial possessions which made them militarily cornperirive_ And chis roo shows, therefore, how sharply the possibiliries of competing in rhe sphere of major rerrirorial ownership had diminished in this phase, and how the srrucrnre of tensions between people necessarily gave rise ro the formation of monopolies of rule in regions above a certain order of size, The Franco-English area at this time was srill an inrerclependent rerrirorial system. Every change in social power rn rhe adrnnragt or disacl\·antagc of one of d1t rival houses. sooner or lacer affected rhe others and rhus rhe equilibrium of the whole system. At any given time one can say wirh considerable accuracy where the central and where the less central tensions lie: the balance of powu· and its dynamics, irs developmental cun·e. can be rrnced fairly precisely And thus rhe Hundred Years' \\1ar is ro be considered nor only as rhe war-games of a
few ambitious individual princes-although ir was chat wo-bur as one of the inevitable discharges of rension within a ttnsion-laden sociery consisting of terrirorial possessions of a cerrain size. as the competitive srruggles bee ween rival houses wirhin an interdependent system of dominions with a very unstable equilibrium. The houses of Paris and London. gradually represented by rwo offshoots-Valois and Lancaster-of rhe earlier royal houses were. rhrough rhe size of their possessions and military potential, the rwo main rivals . Sometimes the aspirations at lease of the London rulers-occasionally even chose in Pariswent as far as the wish ro unite the whole western Frankish area, tht mainland
300
Th, Cil'ilizil!g Pro«cs.1
cerritories and che excended island realm, under one rule. Onlv in the . . · course clltse scruggles chtmst!ves did 1c become unmistakablr clear how ur . . b C(tt, at stage or social development. were che resisrnnces to rhe ri1ilitarv con b . ,, . . . . . . quest, and a O\ e all che subsequem internal cohesion. ot so large and dis para re a under che same rule and che same gm·ernmental machinery The quesc· . . . . ion mav be raised whed1er, ac chis stage ot_ social che creation of a monopoly and the permanent mcegranon ot mainland ·md island t · cl , ernrories un er London rule would have been possible even if rhe Valois had kings and cheir allies . However chat may complecely defeated by the Jt was at any race che houses of Paris and London chac IJrimarih· comp·· d c . . . ere, •Or supremacy m che same area, and all the other competitive tensions within this area, above all those between the different branches of the Paris house crystallized abom this main tension of the whole territorial srsrem· th h . . . . , us t e Burgundian Valois, for example, were sometimes on one side of rhis central struggle, sometimes on the other But the growth of the division of functions, and of interdependence beyond the local level, not only brought the different units of the enlarged western Frankish terntorial society closer togecher as friend and foe. Less obviously, but unm1srnkably nevertheless, interdependencies and shifts in rhe territorial balance began at this time to be discernible over the larger area of western Europe as a whole. The Franco-English territorial society gradually became, in rhe course of this growing integration, more and more a partial system wid1in the encompassmg European one . In the Hundred Years' \Var this growing interdependence w1thm larger areas, which doubtless was never entirely absent. manifested itself clearly German and Italian princes were already throwing their interests and power into the scales in the scruggk within tht Anglo-Frtnch sector, even though as yet they played only a peripheral role. This is the first sii.:n of what was tO show much more fully a few centuries later in the Thirty Years' \Var: the European contine.nr as a whole began ro become an svsrem of countries with its own dynamic equilibrium, within which tach shift power directly or indirectly involved every unit, e\·try country A few further centuries on, in the 19l-i-18 war, the first "\\/oriel \Var·· as it has been called. wt can see
early signs of how tensions and shifts of balance within the same ever-advancing process of mccgration now affeccecl units over a far wider area, countries in distant parts of the world. The nature and stages of the monopolization rowards which the tensions of this worldwide interweaving are moving, like their possible outcome, the larger units of rule that mav arise out of chest struuulesall this appears only vaguely to us, if it has even. risen above the our consciousness at all. But it was scarcelv clitforent with the cerrirorial houses and groups of people enmeshed in the Hundred Years \Var; there. too. each unit felt
St.ire Formation
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Cil'i!i::.atirm
301
rhe dire([ threat that the size or expansion of others meant for it; for the Unj.rs that slowlr came into being in these srrui.:gles, France and England
1:i.rger . .. cill as we ' them. were scarceh·· more present _m the consc10usness ot those tormmg .,... than ··Europe" as a political unit is tor us ne,.. l L
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J-{ow tht individual tensions between rival groups and houses were resolved,
Jiow che balance between the main the English Lancasters, the French Valois and the Burgundian Valois, tilted first this way and then that, how rhe English seized a yet larger portion of French land and even the French kingship, and how finally, through the appearance of Joan of Arc, all the forces the French Valois u!lathered themselves in successful resistance and wp Po[[!. n" b 1orou"l1t back the weak king first to Rheims for his coronation and then as vicror 0 ro Paris-accounts of all this are readily available elsewhere. \'Vhat was decided in this way was the question of whether London and the Anglo-Norman island, or Paris and the dominion of rhe rulers of Francia, were to become the centre of crystallization of the former western Frankish region . The issue was decided in favour of Paris. London's rule was confined to the island. The Hundred Years· \Var accelerated and made irreversible the breach between rhe mainland territory. that really only now became "la France'", that is, rhe domain of the rulers of Francia, and the overseas region that previously was nothing but a colonial territory of mainland rulers. The first consequence of this war was thus a disintegration. The islanders. the descendants of the Continental conquerors and the natives, had become a separate society going their own way. forming their own specific instiwtions of government, and developing their mixed language into a specific entity of a new kind. Neither of the contending rivals had succeeded in gaining and keeping control of the whole area. The French kings and their people had finally lost their claim to the island realm: the English kings attempt ro defeat their Paris rivals and recolonize the mainland had failed. If the people of rhe island needed new land. new areas to colonize, new markers, they must from now on seek them further afield. The English kings were eliminated from the mainland struggles for the French crown. It is a process not unlike that which. centuries later, in the communicy of German cerritorial States, ended with the victory of Prussia over Austria. In both cases, as a result of a disintegration, integration was confined to a smaller area and thus made very much easier But through the repulsion of the English from the mainland, rhe elimination of the English kings from the struggle for supremacy there, the cension and balance within this area were altered . As long as the London and Paris kings roughly balanced each other, and as long as the contest between them constiwted the main axis of tension. ri\·alries between the various territorial rulers on the mainland had only secondary imporrance They could have considerable iniluL
30.1
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ence on whether rhe main strug!:'lt was cltcicled in fayour of rl1r- p
. 0 Lon J on .u ltr;, ... 1.Out they could nor Jirtcth· cause any of rht c ti , '. ans . r . 1 · J l t f COmjY"tlt rn k e hrst place. · ors
The Last Stages of the Free Competitive Struggle and Establishment of the Final Monopoly of the Victor
Now. with d1edeparrurt uf the English, rht: compc:ririon berween the marnlancl rernrnnal abon: all tht rivaln-· between differtr1t b r,rnc . l1es C · · rulers. · .iptnan house irstlr, became rht dominant tension Th H I . I . . .. . . e outcome of ' unc rte Years \Var drd nor decide. or ar any rate nor tinalh-. D\' whicl .- tne
t2-
farer observers. particularly rhost of the twenrieth century. of course. must bear in mind in looking back-is rht fact char social functions which have become
and wirhin which fronriers the inrtgrarion of the m:1inl;rncl ttr:i:r .. rhe tormtr wesrtrn f rankish regions was w be accomplished In thi 1. !ts
l " t.
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r 1crt ore. t 1e struggles continued
\Vhat here ga\·e tht monopolizing process its special characrtr-ancl whac
c lftCtJQh
sepan][td in rtctnr times were still more or less undifferenriatecl in chat earlier
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ph, e. Ir has alrtady been stressed char rht social role of rht great feudal lord. or
. In tht last years of Charles VII there were. besides rhe Paris
15
the funcrion of being rhe richest man. che owner of rhe largest means of production in his was at firsc complecely indistinguishable from char of
orher large houses which could pir thtir weighr in the clecisiw ror . A rm,u;n.ic. Bourb B supremacy.. They wtrt rht houses of AnJ·ou · Al enson. __urgundy, Bntrany. Dreux and foix. Each of rhese houses was irself alrtaon,
being rhe owner of military power and jurisdiction Functions roclay rtprtstnrtd
bv different peuplt
by sewral branches: rht mi«::-· uhtiesr dy lrt presented ,I . \Vis , rh•, ' ho us· • c: cf ' B uri::uncI I" which on Burgundy and Flandtrs as rhe core of its family !)O\\·•-r \\""S .• k. ' },tsec .. l . . . ' , ,, \\or ·m l grear .ttnaciry and . . J om1n1on. . . g . sindt-mindeclness . ' · to tsnblr·-11 ' ' '·1 m,qor related tht earlier Lorharrngra. btrwttn the emi)ire and fnnct T"l1 . · ·· J . 1. B " .. _ . . . ' · e n \ .i f) oerween ur"'und) ,rncl che Pans kings now tormecl rhe main axis of dre system of feudal
\\it to
ternrorrts from \\"ts B · ·which. with the . lam::r s vicrorr· ' "fnnce, ' ' t.rn.i. 11 \ . ro emerge. ur ro begin with, the houses ot Bourbon and Britrnm· wtrt ·ilso power c. ' of major importance · ' · · - enrres
groups of people conntcrtd through rht ch·ision of
1:bour. e.g. the functions of great landowner and of head of government, formed hert. inseparably bound rngtrher, a kind of private property. This is partly explained by rhe
facr that in chis society. \\·hich srill had a primarily if
diminishingly barter-based economy. land was rhe most imporranr means of production, whereas in later society ir has been supplanted in chis role by money, rhe inc.1rnation of rht division of funcrions. Ir is explained no less, howtwr, by rhe face th"1r in rhe later phase rhe key w all monopoly power, rht monopoly of physical. of milicary violence, is a tirmly escablished soci,11 insrirurion extending
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w·irh the txctprion of the larrer, rht ducal house of Brirrany. rht members of
over large areas, \\·hertas in rht preceding stage ir only slowly developed through
,1U rht houses named were clesctnclanrs and relations of people apana!.(ed bv the
cenwries of struggle, first of all in rht form of a private, family monopoly. \Ve are accusromecl to distinguish rwo spheres, "economics" and "politics".
C1pet1an house. and therefore its offshoots. Seigneurial. post-Carolin .:ant-. d l it\·· has .. conrr.rctt . . . ·d.. . .
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from rhe conflicts of rht many great and small warric;r houses of rhe \\tSctrn reg10n.
and rwo kinds of social function, "economic" and "poliric1l" ones By "economic" we mean tht whole nerwork of activities and insrirurions serving the creation and acquisition of means of consumption
indispensable means of production. Only when the division of
functions is Yery far adrnncecL only when, as rhe result of long scruggles, a
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specialized monopoly aclminisrrnrion has formed chat exercises tht functions of
bten tsrablished for all rhose
rule as irs social property; only when a centralized and public monopoly of force
drcl nor belong ro a parncular family, the chance of acquiring and owning
exisrs oYer large areas, can comptticion for means of consumption and producrion rake its course largely wichouc rhe inrerYention of physical violence; and only
ur a srage on rhe way ro absolme monopok A srnre of highly resrricttd comperirion
a. !1UJOr clomrn1on. or tnlarg!llg , their exisrin" · . "' ont . ·111 ' cI rl rns ta k.·!!lg parr in turrher elimination struggles. had become exrremtly small. .
then do the kind of economy ;me! rhe kind of srruggle exist that we are
Suic Formatioil aiid Cil'i!i:ation accusrnmed to designate by rhe ttrms "economy" and "competition'' in a specific sense The compericive rt!acionship icself is a far more general and all-encompassln social face chan appears when the concept of "competition" is restricted 8 1
economic structures ' '-usually chose of rhe ninereemh and nventierh centuries. A si[llation of compecicion arises whene\·er a number of people strive for the same oppor[llnicies, when demand exceeds che possibilities of satisfaction whether chest possibilities are controlled by monopolises or nor. The panicula; kind of competition char has been discussed here, so-called "free competition", is characterized by· rhe fact char demand is directed ar opporruniries not Vet controlled by anyone who does nor himself belong ro rhe circle of Such a phase of "free competition" occurs in che hisrory of many societies, if nor all A "free competitive struggle" chus arises also, for example. when land and military oppor[llniries are so evenly disrribmecl among several interdependent parries char none of them has clearly che besc chance, the greacesc social power. Ir arises. therefore. in char phase in the relationship between feudal warrior houses or becween scares, when none of the parries has clearly outgrown its rivals, and when no organized. centralized monopoly of power exists Likewise, a "free compecicin: struggle" arises when che financial oppor[llnicies of many interdependem people are fairly evenly discribmed; in boch cases. rhe struggle is intensified wirh rhe growch of population and demand. unltss che opporrunities grow ar che same rare The course rnken by these fret compecicive scruggles. morem·er. is relatively unaffected by che fact char, in one case, chey are brought abom by rhe threat and use of physical violence and, in che ocher, only by rhe chreac of social decline, through loss of economic independence, financial ruin or material distress. In the struggles of che feudal warrior houses. che cwo forms of \·iolencc: char we distinguish as physicallmilican· and economic frirce. acted cogecher more or less as one . These feudal conrlicrs have, indeed. a functional analogy within modem society boch. in free economic compecicion, such as rhe struggles of a number of firms for supremacy- in rhe same commercial field. and in che struggles of states a particular rerrirorial system. conflicts char are resolved for predominance by physical violence
In all these cases what manifests itself as struggles within che sphere not yet monopolized is only one layer of che continuous, general compecirion for limited opporcunicies pervading rhe whole of sociery The opporcunities open ro those engaged in free competition, char is. competition free of monopoly. themselves conscirme an unorganized monopoly from which all ochers are excluded who are unable co compete because they have far smaller resources These ochers are chus directly or indirectly dependent on che '·free" compecicors, and are engaged among themselves in an unfree compecicion for cheir limited opporcunicies. The pressure exerted wichin rhe relatively independent section stands in rhe closest
305
. ·l11p . co tlnt on all sides by chose already dependenc on . n-il re lanons ' exerted · f!incno '. cl Jorrnnicies. · ll · . . · for clnnces nor vec cencr ,1 } opolize opj !JJOI1 . d l . . n modern rimes, tree compec1t10n ' . . . cl ·l , I n teu a ,1s I to\var s c 1t lized ten cl s r lltoug l1 .'1ll ics nmihcanons ' cl an monopo , . .' . . number of rivals. who are . , cl elimination ot an ever-mcreasmg , . f ,m . . r· 11 . cl endence: cowards the ·accumutlr10n o subjugar10n cl ·ooa! uni cs or a mro ep l cl desrroye as s ' l f , n e\•tr-diminishinL!: number or riva s: rowar s · · · n che bane s o a ' j· · · mssihilines I . l . A . . dr soci·1l event of monopo izanon is ,. . nd finalh- monopo \. gam. c ' . d -1 dominar10n a . . ·l . I normallv comt to mmd to ay \\ 1en . . . . . l b h. cl co the processes \\ 11c 1 not con ne . l 'I'l of poss1b1lmes c lat can e lt 'lCcumularion ' l l .... ·ire menc10nec "monopo ies ' J .. essed as such, represents on y one . f monev or at east expr . converred me? sums o ,,l . clr ]Jrocess of monopolization. Funct10n. l l . tr ·1mon u manv or lers m c r· l histonca s 11 ' b , . ! . ow·irds ·rn overall scruccure o rnman . . . s-rhac 1s, renc encies c ' ' . f similar processe . . , bv direct or ind1recr threat o · · •l · h ind1v1duals or groups can, . cl relationships m \\ llC l l ' ss of ochers ro certain comesre · . . nd contro c le acct .. . violence. restrict a . . . . of forms at ven· dilterent pomcs ·b·1·r1'es-such {Jrocesses occur m a vantt) ' . pOSSl I I •. in human history. l . l the 'KtLnl social existence of all che ""Jes in both r 1ese penoc s. ' ' l ._ l In c lt srruoo . l . b,l ·nd chest stru"glts. T Mt I> . k Tlnr is che compu s10n e 11 be . Participants is ac Sta e. , . . nesc1pable wherever che basic ""Jes and their outcome, so 1 ' l . what makes sue 1 scruoc · .· . . mb·uked on a movement . · · n arises Once a soc1en 1BS e ' siruarion ot free comper1c10 . '. . l :er monopolized. whether these · l unlt m the sp 1ere nor \ l ! of chis kine' eac 1 sooa . .. . - irories or scares, is always . ,ar e kni ouhdv. families, economic tnttrpnses, terr urnrs
· cl b · che same choice In conlronce } . cl-whether che\· choose to struggle or nor Eicher they can be conquere . ,· 1. r death or material distress. . ns· impnsonment. \ 10 en . 1· . . ·, l l"cline loss or independextreme cases t 11s mt,l · , . I 1 che mildest cases ic means sooa cc . . . perhaps scan at10n I . l .. , cl l .. bv rhe descrucc10n ot what · b . ,1 hruer sooal comp ex. an r 1cre · ence. absorpnon } ' ' c . . . _ , n if these things appear ro . . ,, value and cononu1t}. t\ e . . 1· , gave che1r 1\ es me,rnmc. . . _ . s comran· ro their own ' . chose comm" atrer c11em, '1 , . their concemporanes. or ro .. . ."' ... , cl thus as encirelv deserving or · ··al existence and conrmuit} ' an · n1ean1ng, soc11. · destruction. . Then their life, rheir social uer their nearest nvals. 1. 1 Or chey may repe anc conq . . . l . . . che comesred opporwnicies. . . ns tulhlment r 1t\ seize existence, their srnv1ng arra1 . ' ,! cl in the sicuarion of free . f social existence c eman s, The mere presen·ar10n o ' . \\/hoever does nor rise. falls back. . . l · consnnt enlarnemenc. compennon, t 11s ' 1: l ·I her this is imencled or note . 1· n che first p act-\\' 1et Viccory, rheretore, means ! l . reduction ro a position ol . . . , · closest nvals anc t 1e1r . dommance O\ er ones . . l her·s loss whee her m cerms · 0 f one is here necessan 1\ r 1e or ' Tl · dependence. 1e gam lrce of social power. Bur . . . .. , · . monev or anv or 11er reso1 . of land, m1lirar1 opacity, · · . · . cl conflict with a nval . . . . lacer means conrroncanon ,rn beyond chis. v1cror1 sooner or . . c . l - ·iJansion of one, and che o11ce ,·1gain che s1cuar10n entorces t le ex of the new c c·
Tix C
306
Ste!!<
ProtesJ
absorpcion, subjugarion. humiliarion or desrrucrion of rht ocher. The power relarionshi ps. rhe tsrablishmtm of domin·uion mw be ·1cco 1· 1 . . . . . . . . , . '. ' mp is ied optn mil1raq or econ.om1c forct. or by peaceful agretmtm; bur however ic abour, all rl1ese r1rnlnts are impelled ' wherher slowh·· or c1uickl\·. · rl1rc)LIJ.!n• a ot downfalls and aggrandisemems. rises and descems. fulfilmtms and of l mtaning. . . in rhe direcrion . of a new social order. a monO]JO!v. order rli ar none r 1e parnc1panrs has really 1nrtnded or foresetn. and which re1Jlaces frte . . b. . . . . COl11petJ. non } compermon subJtCC ro monopoly. And ir is only rhe formarion f _ . " ) · · . CJ SUcb monopo l 1<:> r iar hnallr makes 1r ]JOSs1blt ro reguhre rht d 1'sr n·b unon · opporrunmts-and rims rhe confticrs rhemstlvts-in rhe inreresr of rI1e . · .. . . . 'moorh. tuncnonmg collaborar1on mro which ptople are for btner or worse bo d . each other. ' · · un With •
•
•
L
'
Alternatives of this kind confronted the warrior families of medieval · or roo. . And the .resistance .of the great feudal lords ' and final! .v of C·ip ' enan pnncely feudal1ty, to the mcreast of royal powtr is ro be understood in th' Tl . . is sense · 1t 1-:1ng m_ Pans was. both in fact and in tht minds of die other rulers, one rhemseh·es. not more: he was a rival. and from a ctrtain ti mt on the most. powerful. most rhreatening rinil. If he won. rhtir exisrenct. social if not physical. was desuoyed: rhty lose whar in their eyes gavt their life mtaning and splendour, rht1r rndependtnt rule, the control of their famih· 11osstssions· ' · J l · . . . . , tneir ,10nour. r 1t1r rank. rhe1r social standmg was ;1r worse annihilartd, at best If the1· won. centraliwrion. domination, monopoly. rhe scare were tor a r1mt obsrrucred: Burgundy, Anjou, Brittany. and so on. remaintd for the nme bemg more or less independtnt dominions. This may appear senseless to some COnttmpo_raries, all the royal officials, and tven ro us in rtrrospecr; for by nrtue of our d1ftertnr state of social inregrarion we rend nor ro identify w1rh such l1m1rtd geographical unics . For chem. the rulers of Burgundv or Bnmmy and a largt number of rheir deptndtms. hO\\'tVtr, it was extre:nely wordrn'.hilt rn prevent rht formation of an over-mighry ctntral government Pans. tor chis mtant rheir downfall as independent social unirs Bm if they wirr; soontr or lacer rht victors confronr each ocher as rivals: and rhe ensuing rensions and contlicrs cannot tnd until once again a cltarlv superior powtr has emerged. }//Jr ilJ. fil tho: capitt1list (jf the 11iw:hcilth :!iicl .;hrm: ,r/!. the flcwtidh tt11!111:r. the imj!i!lsi(Jll f(J/l't1rc!r t(011r11i1ic 111r;//f1poli:;t1tirli/ shozcs of 11hid1 /Mrtimla1· Cf//11/Ji:titor trimilj1hs Clilcl 011tg1l!ll'S th, others: jl!St as, ai11011Tt11tly. ill/ tll1ti/r;g11m twdelll} !r11CC1rdr tho: dwrtr do111i11t1tio11 thdt each '.'.l1Ji/1Jf!r'./i::;atio11. "uach iilftgrC1tir;11. is enr 111r1re ajJJ>t!i't/// iii the ({)/!/CS! of .1!t1frJ · 'if all 111 E11mpe: Iii the Jell/It u
Formation a11cl Ciz-i!izatiffll
307
. rnx,·es and of conrrol of all rhe instrumenrs chat serve physical r""Jizarion Of b'ugarion. . $ll w
i
Louis XI himself by no means ide:nrified wid1 his royal cask from rhe firsL On the conm1ry As crown prince he acted vtry much in die same way and _in the ., si·li.rir as rhe ocher nrear Caperian feudal lords who wert working tor rhe sam\.... '" o . ·ncenr·ition of rht French rerriwrial complex: and he lived for a rime ar rhe 151 b d court of the strongtst rival of rhe Paris monarchy, rhe Duke of Burgundy. This is certainly bound up wirh faces rhar may be called ptrsonal. above all wi_rh the peculiar barred exisring berween Louis his. facher. Bm. it is also furrher evidence: of rhe specific individualizarion ot rhc nchesr house: 1n rbe land, which in its nun is bound up with rhe apanaging of tach and every prince:. \Vhare:ver the earlier causts of Louis's barred for his forher may have been, rhe control of a rerrirnrr of his own unired his feelings and actions in a common front wirh his farher·s· other riv,ils. Evtn afrtr his accession to rhe throne. he firsr rhoughr of avenging himself on chose who had betn hosrilt w him as Dauphin. including m;in\' !oval servants of rht monarchy, and of rewarding chose who bas showed frier;dship for him then. including many opponems of rhe monarchy. Power was sti!l. rn a considerable excenr, private property dependenr on the personal inclinations of rhe ruler. Bur ir also had, likt any very large possession, a very strict regularirv of irs own char its wieldtr could not contravene wirhom ir. Vtf\' soon rhe enemies of rhe monarchy became rhe enemies of Louis;, rhe monarchy became his friends and servams. His personal ambitions became one with the rradirional ambitions of rhe central ruler in Paris, and his personal qualities-his curiosity, bis almosr parhological desire_ to penetrate all rhe secrets around him, his cunning. rhe undeviacing violence ot his hatred and of his affecrion, even rht naive and inrtnse piery char caused him rn woo saints. and especially rhe parron saints of his enemies, with gifts, as if rhev were venal human beings-all chis now unfolded in the direcrion in which he , was impelled b\· his position as ruler of the French terrirorial £_
308
Tht Cii'i!i::.ing Pmress
possessions; the struggle against centrifugal forces, against the rival feudal became the decisive rnsk of his life. And the house of Burgundy, the friends his time as crown prince, became-as the immanent logic of his royal demanded-his main opponents The struggle thus confronting Louis XI was by no means an easy one, At times the Paris government seemed on the verge of collapse Bm at the end reign-partly through the power which his great possessions put at his disposal partly through the skill with which he wielded it, and partly through a numbe; of accidents that came to his aid-his rivals were more or less defini ti\·ely beaten, In l-!76 Charles rhe Bold of Burgundy was defeated at Granson and Murten bv the Swiss, whom Louis had incited ro oppose him. In 1.:177 Charles was k1lled while attempting ro conquer Nancy. Thus the chief rival of the French Valois among the competing Capetian heirs-and, afrer the elimination of the English, their strongest rival of all-was himself eliminated from the conflict between western Frankish terrirorial lords. Charles the Bold left an only daughter, Marie; for her hand and inherirance Louis competed with the power which was now gradually emerging in the larger European context as the main rival of the Parisian monarchy, the house of Habsburg. As the elimination contests within the western Frankish area drew ro an encl with the predominance and monopoly of a singlt house, rivalry between this vicrorious house, which now began to become the centre of the whole country, and powers of a similar magnitude omside the country, moved into the foreground In the competition for Burgundy the Habsburgs won their first vicrory; with the hand of Maria, Maximillian gained a large part of the Burgundian inheritance This created a situation that feel the rivalry between the Habsburgs and the Paris kings for more than two centuries. However, the duchy of Burgundy irsel( and two furd1er direct annexations from Burgundian lands, returned to rht crown estates of the Valois. The pans of the Burgundian inheritance that were particularly needed ro round off French rerrirory were incorporated in it. There were now only four houses left within the western Frankish region that controlled terrirories of any significance The most powerful or, more exactly, the most important and traditionally most independent, was the house of Brittany. Bur none of these houses could now march rhe social power of Paris; rhe French king·s rule had now grown beyond the reach of competition from neighbouring terrirorial rulers. He rook up a monopoly position among rhtm . Sooner or later, by treaty, violence or accident, they had all become dependent on him and lost their autonomy.
Ir was-if one will-fortuitous that rowarcls the encl of rhe fifteenth century a Duke of Brittany left an only daughter on his cltarh, as the Duke of Burgundy had clone before him. The conflict which this accident unleashed shows very exactly the existing constellation of forces Of the remaining rerrirorial rulers of the old western Frankish area, none was now strong enough to contest the Breron
Stc1tt F(Jr//lation and Ciz'i/i:::atir111
309
. ru Ier As with the Burgundian inheritance, ·e \V1d1 the P ans c l I-I·the b brival' . came from outs1 cl e.. H ere, roo , the question was whet ier a ,1 s urg rhis l,1 ·so ' I ! k B t n\· br m·irri·1"t ' ' b ' whether Charles VIIL the young l l cl V 5 shou c ta ·e flt a · · a a o1 · XI or i\hx1mdlwn . . . o t- H·cl b s b uro, " rh·" Holr· Roman Emperor anc - orl
! nhenranc l
ll
concenr10n f , Clnrles of France. The Habsburgs proresrecl, there \\as war hand \vem l a rer...a ls to·md '_hnallr a compromise. . ,. he Franche-Comre, which lay r . between tit flhl . ' cl cl·.cl t belonu to the traditional western Frankish .d French rernron- an i no b i\I . ·1r ours1 le . ce cl eal ro t Iie, H·1bsburus· in exchange i · ax1m1 f lands was . o ' I cl.ian cl comp ex . . . . . . And when Charles VII iel. ·- clo Charles' VIII .s acqu1smon o f- B nttan}. , recogmze . successor L01us . "XII ' 'a Valois from the Orleans branch, prompt } .ldl his ' chi ! ess, . .' marnage an nu ll ecl b.} the Pooe • and married the twenty-one. · .·srin" had 11s . . or cler to ]Jreserve her inherirance, Bntrany, lei ex1 :
year-o . l1 llcl. cl no\\• become uce , 1 - \ wn estates w l11c - his . \Vhen this marnage pro . torl ned Lro hrers the kmu . . cl l11s . eldest , who would receive Bnttany marne .. as on y aug 1 . , ther to o t l1e l1e1r-.1ppare . . . . nr to the rhrone, the nearest 1iVJng . heiresscl.to mo _ '. . _. of An"ouleme. The danger that this f the familv, Count F ranus o . descen ant o · n- mwhr . . ta - II mro . t l1e I1,·1ncls of ·1' rinL ' above all a Habsburg, rernro . o f. And so under the pressure of the imporranr I s·ime course o acnon. , 1 cl always e to tie '. l l , ·rof\· in the western Frankish region that . irive mechanism, tie asr tern . I •l . comptt cl · omv t l1ro1w l1ou t all rl1e el1· minarion struggles, was s cm 1 had preserve HS auron . ·. - cl p . !·. Ar fi- rst when the heir ro the · I l on ot r 1e ans ,mg ' integrated mro tie c omm1 k. cl the name of Francis I, Brittany . u· f An<>ouleme became ·mg un er ' - . . apan,1be o o . . The inclepenclenr-mincleclness of its Estates retained a. cerram auronom;.. I . ·1· , . o \·tr of a sinnle territory was now · cl ·I1 ·1li\---· bur r 1c: mi 1t,1n P \ o rema1ne very muc ' c, . ·. cl" " · I 151.2 the fir too small ro withstand the great clomrn1ons now surroun mo . n nGrmecl . . . . . the French domain was rnsnrur10na ! co . ' incorporanon of Bnrtan) mro . f- N . , cl Vencl6me, and the I cl l . 0 f Alencon the counties o l 'evers an , ' '!< . l · n the former western Onlv r 1e uc 1) ' . b cl Albrer · now remarnec 1 dominions of Bour on an . . ·1 ·s areas not belonging either to Frankish region as mclependent rernrones, th, t i ' l H· bsburus Even though LL
the Paris kings or-like Flanders and_ of may still some of their rulers, such as the lord of Albrer olr . cl ·1·ons ·rncl might still , ' l Id enlarge r 1e1r omm c , II . more than enclaves within have worked as best : :er cou .ro dream of royal crowns, J their reg10ns were re,1 Y no . . • nrireh· I l . . ns of the French kings. The wearers of the crov.n \\ere no\\ e . ne c om1010 _ lords. The houses rhat once 1 beyond the competition ol these other remroclna., . cl \Virhin the former cl l cl . dependence or isappeare . existed here ha apse mro . . .· ,, were now finallv without rivals; from L
rankish western now on rFl1e1r posinon
•
••
clearly the
of an absolute
.'.\10
Th, Cizili::iilg
P111(tJ-'
monopoly. Bur omside rhe wtsrern Frankish rtgion similar proctssts had raking plact, t\'tn though the monopoly process and the tlimination octugrtthad nowhtre ad\'anctd to tht point they had rtached in france . All rhe same Habsburgs, too, had now assembled family posstssions which, in milirary'a!ld financial potential. far surpassed most of the ocher dominions on the LLtllJD;"'" mainland \Vhar earlier rewaltd itself through the Burgundian and succtssions now emerged, from the beginning of rhe sixteenth century more and more clearly· rhe house of rhe Habsburg emperors and rhe House of the French kings, represented ar this srage by Charles V and Francis I, now StooQ face to face as rivals on a new scale. Boch held, to slightly \'arying monopoly powtr oner a \·ery large area; they were competing for opportunities and supremacy within a large sphere which as yet had no monopoly ruler, and were rims in a siruarion of "free competition" And accordingly, die between chem now became, for a long period, a main axis within a larger evolving European system of tensions. 1-l In size the French dominion was considerably smaller than chat of the Habsburgs. But it was far more cenrralizecl and, abm·e all, self-contained, better protected b\· "narnral frontiers" Its western boundaries were the Channel and rht Atlantic; rhe whole coastal area as far down as Na\'arre was now in rhe hands of rhe French kings. The southtrn boundary was rhe J\Itdittrranean; here too rhe whole coast-\\·irh rhe exception of Roussillon and rhe Cerclagnebelonged ro the French rulers . To rhe ease the Rhone formed rht frontier with rhe county of Nice and rhe duchy of Savoy: for rhe rime being rhe frontier projected beyond rhe Rhont as far as rhe Alps only in Dauphine and Provence, North of chis, opposite rhe Franche-Comre. rhe Rhone and rhe Saone conrinued to form rhe frontier of the kingdom; in its middle and lower parts rhe Saone was somewhat overstepped. In rht north and norrh-easr the fronriers fel I further short of chose of presenr-day France: only by raking posst:ssion of dit: archbishoprics of Merz. 'foul and Verdun did the kingdom approach rhe Rhine: bur these were for the rimt being encl:l\"es, outposts within the German Empire: the frontier with it lay only slightly to rl1t west of Verdun and further north, roughly in rhe region of Sedan; likt rht Franche-Comre, Flanders and Arrois belonged to the Habsburgs One of rhe first issues to be decided in rhe struggle for supremacy against them was how far the frontier would move in chis area. For a considerable period French rule was conrained within these limits. Only in the years berwten 1610 and 1659 were the Arrois rtgion, together with the area between France and the three archbishoprics and-a new enclavt within the empirt-upper and lower Alsace, assimilated to France; only now did France approach rhe Rhine. A great part of the territory forming France today had now been assembled under a single rule. All char was in question was the extent of chis unit's possible expansion, the question whether and where it would finally find "natural", i . e. easily defensible, frontiers within the European system of tensions.
Stdh Form:1rifJ11
(!ild
Cil'ili::dfi(Jll
311
back from within a start, a society with a srable and 'nvont lookrng F or a re ·. l 1\ . 10110 of 11 h\'Sical \·iolence, a Frenchman li\'ing in "raIKe ·1hzec mm · · · f l· I· f centr, ·. G . n\· 15 · 'lj)t to ukt for "ranred rhe existence o r 11s monopo ) o 10 ern1a . , '( o . . , .. l and rht unification of areas of this size and kmcl, as somerhmg n,1rwa . l reu-1rd chem as consciously planned; and consequent!), usefu · to c' l· l I l to chem in cl bserYe and t\·aluare the particular acr10ns w 11C 1 ec up . ten direct use to an order char seems w him self-evident and selfrenns o t 1eHe 1s . . l' cl be Ie-s conctrned with rhe acrnal dilemmas and rnc me to ' . . " Iv. , less our of which groups and persons actecI former . with their d1recr go.od wishes and interests, than with the question wherher_rh1s or char rl e chin" with which ht iclemifies And, 1usr as 1f rhe actors of the p,1sr . 1 bacl tor "' l· l · I· or ·I 1. cl before their e\'tS a prophetic \·ision of rhar tumre w 11c 1 1s to llm so alreac '.\' lu nr ·incl j)trhaj)S · so em1)haricall \' a f.fi. rme cl , l1e praises · · or condemns these Jf ev1c e ' , ' , · cl· cl I l se - .a\\..,1rels chem marks according to whether their actions cl1d or 1 nor eac actors, J' '"Cth· to tht desired result. _ . . orBc . l1rotwh such censures, through such expressions ot personal sansfacnon, r " . · , . ll · block our -h 'ut 1"h chis subjecrivisric or partisan new of the past, \\ e usua } ' W- c I · · d mec . -Iu. msms , ro. the .I'<:al . .. "l rlie elemental'\' formati\'e regu annes an access tc · · - . · I f· These tormamms . . l hisron· ·me! socio"enesis ot h1sronca ormanons. . 0 srrucwr,i · ' I l · in rht .. c1-,\·elo1) ·1n rhe su1wi.de between opposec or. more exact ), l •tV"l\S c CL fl' ' " 1·. · ot- ·imbi\"llenr imertsrs \Vhar finally meets its encl in such con ices or reso ur10n ' ' I · I .. I _ ",. 1· nro new formations, as rhe princely dominions mergec lflto t 1e ro: a mer..,es · 1· ble w these _c l rO\"tl \)O\\·er into rhe bourgeois scare, is no 1ess me 1spensa .' ... . · " I one' anc new formations than the victorious opponent. \V1rhour v10lem acnons'. wit 1 motive forces of free competition, there would be no monopoly of force, an L
•
no pacification, no suppression and control of \'iolence owr The con\'olurions of the mon:ment leading rn _rht 1nregrnr1on .ot t:\tr-lar"'cr · as rhe ctnrre ot cnsrnll1zat1on, 1llusuare_ he)\\ reg10ns arouncI t 11'"c dticl1•\· of Fnnci·i ' ' . · f . I l fonl inte''l"ttion of rhe western Frankish area was rhe omcome o ,1 muc 1 r 1e ' "' ' . . . _" .. " " . cl how series of elimination comesrs in a compellmg proctss ot 1mcnve,n rn,,s, an . ns10n · · · 'Otous \)hn little it resulted from a prophetic or a ni:. ' w which all the (P
individual parries adhered. . . 1 1 "L-,nquesnona · bl }··.. Henri H·mser once sa1·d ,' • .. r I1trt ·is· ·1! ' W'l\'S '. somerhm" ' . . . . cl I k' " ."' slidHh· artificial in placing oneself in an ti j>Mhnrm position an oo m':' l· : from back to front, as if rhe administrative monarchy and the centralizec 11stor} . . . f . " b born and France of Henry II had been destined since rhe begmnmg o nme to e co live within determined limits · a momtm m · ro rhe landscape of rhe. past, and On!\' if we are rransporrecI tor . . . see strU'"'les between rhe many warrior houses, their viral necessities, their · 1·1are "'" Is... on!\· 1·ci. 1· n .1 word , we havt rhe full precariousness of their in1n1ec struggles and rhe1r social existence b t fore o ur eyts, can we understand how L
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T ht Cfrilizi11g PmctsJ
probable was the formation of a monoi)olv within rhis ·1re·1 bLit [10 . • ' '• \V uncertoj · "ll it> centre and i rs boundaries To some extent rhe same is true of rhe French kings and rheir as was once said of rhe Amerirnn pioneer: '·He ro ·rnorlier· d o (. , an to a troublesome neighbour or rival from growing suonger than themselves. J\nd u some among them did harbour an image of a larger realm. rhis image was for a long penod rather the shadow of past mono1Jolies a reflection oF h t e aro mgian and western Frankish monarchies; more a product of memory than of prophecy or a new_ concept of rhe future. Here, as always. from the tangle of mnumerable md1v1dual interests, plans and actions, a single development emerged, a regulanry governing rhe rotality of these entangled people and intended by none of rhem, and giving rise ro a formation rhar none of rhe actors !:ad really planned, _a state: France. For this wry reason the understanding of a formarwn of this kmd requirts a breakthrough ro a still little-known level of re_aliry: _rn the le\·el of the immanent regularities of social relationships, rhe field ot reLmonal dynamics
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VII The Power Balance within the Unit of Rule: Its Significance for the Central Authoritythe Formation of the "Royal Mechanism" 15 Two main phases have been distinguished in the development of monopolies: the phase of free competition rending ro rhe formation of private monopolies. and rhe gradual rransformarion of "private'· into "public" monopolies Bur on closer consideration this movement does nor consist of a simple
_ ·on of tendencies Even though the "societalization'· or "collecrivizarion" succe,s1 . . . . . . . monopolies ll1 rhe course of such change only reaches rrs full extent ,rnd dominant ar a late srage, rhe srrucrures leadmg up to rr were already ,md active in rhe phase in which. through numerous struggles, the power olv slowlv emerged in the form of a private possession. rnono P . · . . Cenainly the French Revolunon, for example, represents a massive srep on the wav ro the opening-up of the monopoly of taxation and physical force in France. B;re, rbese monopolies did pass into power, or at least the . ·rLttionallv secured control, of broad soCial classes. fhe central ruler, whatever 1nsn · ride be may bear, and all rhose exercising monopoly power, became mo_re uneq lll.vocallv. rhan before functionaries among others within rhe whole web of a society based on rhe division of functions. Their functional dependence on rhe representatives of other social functions has become_ so great that ir is clearly . ressed in the orvanizarion of societv. However, this. funcrwnal dependence of exp · o • _ . rhe monopolies and their incumbents on other funcrwns ot soCiety was already resent in the preceding phases. Ir was merely less developed, and for this reason p nor expressed in a direct and unconceale cl way 1n . t l1e orgarnzanon ' ' was an cl insrirurional srrucrure of society. And for this reason the power of rhe monopoly ruler had at first more or less rhe character of a "private possession". 16. As noted above tendencies towards a kind of "societalizarion" or "collectivization" of rhe monopoly of a single family show themselves under certain conditions-namely, when rhe area ir controls or irs possessions begin ro grow verv large-even in societies with a barter economy. \'Vhar we cal! "feudalism", was described above as rhe work of centrifugal forces, is no more than an expression of such tendencies. They indicate rhat rhe funcrional dependence of a lord on his servants or subjects, that is, on broader strata, is increasing; rhey lead ro the transfer of control of land and military power from the hands of a single warrior family and its head, first to rhe hierarchy of its closest servants and relations, and rhen in some cases ro rhe whole warrior society Ir has already been pointed our rhar in feudal society rhe "socieralizarion" or "collectivization", as a result of the peculiarities of land-ownership and rhe insrrumems of violence, means a dissolurion of the centralized--even if only loosely centralizedmonopoly; ir leads to rhe transformation of a single large monopoly possession inro a number of smaller ones, and so to a decentralized and less organized form of monopoly. As long as land ownership remains the dominanr form of ownership, new shifts in this or that direction can rake place: the esrablishmenr of supremacy within free competition, the assembly of large areas of land and masses of warriors under a single cenrral lord; waves of decentralization under his successors, new struggles in different strata of their servants, their relations or their subjects, new attempts ro gain supremacy. And this whole ebb and flow of centralization and decentralization can sometimes--depending on geographical or climatic facrors, on particular economic forms, on the kind of animals and
Th, Cizi!izil!g Pr11ct.•.> plams_ on which the lift of people d_epencls, and always in conjuncrion with trnd1nonal strucrnrt of OQ,:amztd rtl1g1on-all this can lead to a complex of social deposits from the various shifts. The hisron- ofothtr feudal societies everywhere follows the same pattern in. this respt,ct. Bue much this kind of ebb and flow is detectable in tht development of F . . . . . . ranee, l!J companson with most orher societies the movemem here tollmvs a srraight path_ 'L''"'v"''" This rhythm that over and over ;wain threatens the dissolution of ! . . . . . "'. . t 1e great monopolies ot_ power and possesswns 1s '.11_od1hed and lmally broken only to the extent that, w1d1 the growmg d1ns1on at functions in society, money rather cent 1· land becomes the dominam form of proj)ertv. Onlv then is the . . - . • ' oL ra.1zed monopoly:, rn passing from the hands ot one ruler or a small circle into the comrol of a larger not broken up into numerous smaller areas as was tht• case rn _each advance _at_ teudalization; instead, it slowly becomes, centralized as it i_s, an rnstrument at funct:onally divided society as a whole, and so first and foremost a central organ of what we call the state. The development of money and exchange. together with the social formations carryrng them,_ stands in a permanent reciprocal relationship ro the form and development at monopoly power within a particular area These rwo series of developments. consramly imercwining, drive each other upwards. The form and development of power monopolies are influenced on all sides b\· the differentiation of society, the advancing use of money and the of classes earning and possessing money On the other hand, the success of the division of labour itself, the securing of routes and markets over large areas, the standardization of coinage and the whole monetary system, the protecrion of peaceful production from physical violence and an abundance of orher measutes of coordination and regulation. are highly dependent on the formation of large centralized monopoly institutions. The more, in other words. the \\·ork processes and the totality of functions in a society become differentiated, the longer and more complex the chains of individual actions which must interlock for each action ro fulfil its. social purpose. the more clearly one specific characteristic of the central organ emerges: its role c1s .flljlre111t (1J-ordi1Mt11r mid rcg!!!t1t11 r the dijjirc11tir1tecl ,if From a certain degree of flrnctional differentiation onward, the complex \veb of intertwining activities simplv cannot continue ta grow or even to function without organs correspondingly high level of organization Their role is no; entirelv lacking in the central institutions of more simply organized less diffe;entiated societies. Even a society as loosely bound together as that of the manv autarkic estates of the ninth and tenth cenruries needed a supreme co-ordinat;r under certain conditions. If a powerful enemy threatened from outside, necessitating war, someone was needed to ensure the collaboration of the manv knights to co-ordinate their activity and to rake the final decisions. In this th;
15 eptndence of the many scatctred rulers re-emerged more clearly. Each ,ore rd l l· ·' d1VJ . 'd Lhil \\ ' is thrtattnt:d if the whole armv• failed ta co-operate. Anc as, in t 11s in · n the dependence of all on a central ruler. the king. increased consiruano ' . . . . . . - . so too did his importance. his soCial power-provided he tulhlled his fonnion. provided he was nor beaten. But when the external threat or 'bilitv of expansion lapsed, the dependence of individuals and groups on a l poss · · · and reuulat1ng · centre was rt lat1ve · lv s l.1g l1t 'fl11s · f-unct10n · · ·supren . 1e co-orcl111at1ng . c. _ • , . emerges as a permanent. sptCialized rnsk ot the central organ when society as a whole becomes more and more diffcrcntiared, when irs cellular srrucrurE: but incessantly forms new functions, new professional groups and classes. Onlv then do regulating and co-ordinating central organs for maintaining the wh;le social network become so indispensable that while alterations in the power srrucrure can change their occupants and even their organization, they cannot dissolve chem. as happened earlier in the course of feudalization t7. The formation of particularly stable and specialized central organs for large uions is one of the most prominent features of \Vestern history. As we han: re0 said, there are central organs of some sort in every society. But as the differentiation and specialization of social functions have attained a higher level in the \Vest than in any other society on earth-and as they begin ro reach this level elsewhere only through an imperns coming from the \Vest-it is in the \Vest that specialized central organs first attained a hitherto unknown degree of stability. However, the central organs and their functionaries do nor necessarily gain social power corresponding to their rising importance as supreme social co-ordinators and regulators. One: might suppose that, with advancing centralization and the srricrer control and supervision of the whole social process by stable authorities, the rift between rulers and ruled would be deepened. The acrnal course of history shows a different picrnre. \Vestern history is certainly not lacking in phases when rhe powers of the central authority are so great and wide that we may speak with some justice of the hegemony of single central rulers. But precisely in the more recent hisrory of many \Vtstern societies there are also phases when, despite their centralization, the control of the centralized institmions themselves is so dispersed that it is difficult ro discern clearly who are the rulers and who tht ruled. The scope for decision vested in rhe central functions varies. Sometimes it increases: then the people exercising these functions rake: on the aspect of "rulers" Sometimes it diminishes, without centralization, or the imporcance of the central organs as the highest centre of co-ordination and regulation, being reduced. In other words. in the case of the central organs as of all other social formations, two characteristics must be distinguished: thtir ji111ctiu11 zrithi11 the hiililtli! iltfli r;;f fl) u hich the) be!u11g. t111cl th, s11(ia! jlou er thcrt is l'l:Sted i11 the f!111ctio11. \'Vhat we call "rule" is, in a highly differentiated society, no more than rht special social power with which certain functions. above all the central functions, endow their occupants in relation w the representatives of orher functions. Social
_::; 16
The Cil'ili:i11g Process
power, however, is decermined, in the case of che highest central funccions highly differen:iaced in exactly the same way as with all othFts: it corresponds-it these functions are nor allied ro permanem control of individual hereditary monopoly power-solely ro rhe degree of dependence of rhe interdependent functions on one another. Growth in che "power" of rhe central functionaries is, in a society wich a high division of functions, an expression of the face rhar the dependence of other groups and classes within this society on a supreme organ of co-ordinacion and regulation is rising: a fall in the latter appear;; ro us as a limirarion of rhe formeL Nor only rhe earlier srage in rhe formation of states which is central ro the present study, but also the contemporary hisrory of the \\/es tern figuration of scares, offers examples enough of such changes in. the social power of the central functionaries. They are all sure indications of specific changes in rhe system of tensions within the society at large. Here again, beneath all the differences between the social structures, we find certain mechanisms of social interweaving which-at least in more complex societies-rend verv generally cowards either a reduction or an increase in rhe social power of central authorities . \\/hether it is rhe nobility and the bourgeoisie, or the bourgeoisie and the prolerariat, whether, in conjunction with these larger divisions, it is smaller ruling circles, such as competing cliques within a princely court or within the supreme military or parry apparatus, char form che rwo poles of the decisive axis of tension at a given rime within society, it is always a quire definite sec of social power relationships which strengthens rhe position of rhe authority at their centre, and a different set chat weakens it. Ir is necessary to deal here briefly with che figurarional dynamics which determine the power of the central authority The process of social centralization in the \'\/est, parcicularly in rhe phase when "states· were formed, remains incomprehensible, like rhe civilizing process itself, as long as rhe elementary regularities of figuracional dynamics are disregarded as a means of orientation and as a guide ro both thought and observation. This "centralization .. or staceformacion has been shown in the preceding sections from che point of view of the power-struggle between various princely houses and dominions, i . e. from the point of view of what we would roday call the ·•foreign affairs" of such dominions. Now the complementary problem poses itself; we face rhe task of tracing the figurarional processes 11'ithi11 one of rhe uni rs which give che central authority-as compared with the preceding phase-a special power and durabiliry, and drns endow che whole society with the form of an "absolutist srate". In hisrorical reality these two processes-shifrs in power between classes ll'ithin a unit and displacements in the system of tensions bet11w1 different unicsconsrantly intertwine In the course of the struggle between different terrirorial dominions one princely house-as we have shown-slowly outgrew all the others. Ir thus assumed the function of supreme regularor for a larger unit; bur it did not create
Std!t Fon1Mtir111
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Ciz-i!i:ation
funnion. Ir appropriated it by virrue of che size of ics uhired in the course of the struggles. and its monopoly control ot army and -ccun1 · l · · The function itself derived its form and power trom r 1e mcreasmg ni:,:s· . ri"on of funcrions within sociecv at large . And from this aspecc it stems. ditterenti,1 . . · _ "
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ruler; It was nor only rhe prince's monopoly control of military powtr which held the ocher classes within his rerrirory, and especially the powerful leading groups, in check. Owing ro a peculiar social constellation, the dependence of precisely these groups on a supreme co-ordinaror and regularor of cht tension-ridden srrucmre was so great at this phase char, willingly or not, for a long period they renounced che struggle for control and participation in the highest decisions. This peculiar constellation cannot be undersrood unless we rake account ot a special quality of human relationships which was likewise emerging with the increasing division of functions in socitcy· their 1Jf't11 or !t1t1:11t .1111hi1idu1c·, In the between individuals, as well as in chose between different functional strata, a specific cl!!ality or 1:1-w 111!!/tiplicity nf i111tn:sts manifests itself more stronglv, che broader and denser the network of social interdependence becomes. people, all groups, estates or classes, are in some way dependent on one another: chey are potential friends, allies or partners: and they are at the same rime potential opponents, comperirors or enemies . In societies with a barter economr there are sometimes unambiguously negative relationships, of pure, enmirr. \\/hen migrant nomads invade a settled region, there need be in their relation," with rhe settlers no trace of mutual functional dependence. Between these groups exists pure enmi cy ro the death. Far greater, roo, in such societies, is rhe chance of a relationship of clear and uncomplicated mutual dependence, unmixed friendships, alliances, relationships of love or service. In rhe peculiar black-and-white colouring of many medieval books, which ofren know nothing but good friends or villains, che greater susceptibility of medieval
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The Cil'i!i:::i11g P1r1(tJS
power, however. is derermintcL in rht case of rhe highesr cenual foncrions of a highhdifferenriared socierv. in exacdv• rhe same wav• as wirh all orher"' . <.... • • ::::.* 1t corresponds-if rhese funcrions are nor allied ro permanenr conrrol of individual hereditary monopoly power-solely ro rhe degree of dependence of rhe inrerdependenr funcrions on one anorher. Growrh in rhe "power" of rhe central funcrionaries is, in a sociery wirh a high division of funcrions, an expression of rhe facr rhar rhe dependence of ocher groups and classes wirhin rhis society on a supreme organ of co-ordinarion and regularion is rising; a fall in rhe larrer appears ro us as a limirarion of the former. Not only the earlier stage in the formarion of srates which is cenual to the present study, bm also rhe contemporary hisrory of rhe \Vesrern figurarion of srares, offers examples enough of such changes in the social power of rhe central funcrionaries. They are all sure inclicarions of specific changes in rhe sysrem of rensions wirhin rhe sociery ar large . Here again, benc'lltll all rhe differences berween rhe social structures, we find cerrain mechanisms of social inrerweaving which-ar lease in more complex socieries-rend very generally rowards eirher a reclucrion or an increase in the social power of rhe central amhorities. \Vherher it is rhe nobiliry and rhe bourgeoisie, or the bourgeoisie and rhe proletariat, whether, in conjunction with rhese larger divisions, it is smaller ruling circles, such as competing cliques wirhin a princely courr or wirhin rhe supreme military or parry apparatus. rhar form rhe rwo poles of rhe decisive axis of tension at a given rime wirhin sociery, ir is always a quite clefinire ser of social power relarionships which suengrhens rhe posirion of the aurhoriry ar rheir cenrre, and a different ser rhar weakens ir Ir is necessary ro deal here briefly with rhe figurarional dynamics which derermine rhe power of rhe cenrral amhoriry. The process of social cemralization in the \Vesr, particularly in rhe phase when "srares" were formed, remains incomprehensible, like rhe civilizing process itself, as long
State Fom1c1tio11 a11d Cil'ili:::atio11 his funcrion Ir appropriarecl ir by virrue. of rhe size of irs ubred in rhe course of rhe srruggles, and ns monopoly control ot arnw and ace urn . _ . . . The funcrion irself derived irs form and power trom rhe mcreasmg ra.xes. -. . . l. . l A cl t. l. . d'lferenriarion ot tuncr10ns w1r 1111 soc1c:ry ar arge. n · rom t 11s aspecr n seems._ 1 rhorou"hh' paradoxical char rhe central ruler in rhis tarly phase of -r fl. rs t si«hr. o . o . t
:rure-formarion should anain such enormous social p?wer For,. from_ encl of 'fiddle Ages onwards with the rapid advance of rhe cl1v1s10n ot funcr1ons, rhe 1' ' . , 1• monarchy became more and more percepnbly dependent on rhe other ·ons Ar 1xtciselv rhis rime rhe chains of acrion based on division of runcn · · . . _ foncrions rook on ever wider scope and ever grearer clurab1lity.. The auronomy ot social processes, rhe cenrral amhoriry's as a functionary, which graclll • received clearer insrirurional expression atrer rhe French Revolurron, were v bv r.his rime far more prominent rhan in the Middle Ages The dependence rhe lords on the revenues from their dominions was a clear indication ot rhrs Bevond cloubr, Louis XIV was incomparably more righdy bound ro rhis vasr and au;onomous nerwork of chains of acrions, rhan, for example, Charlemagne. How, rherefore, did the central ruler in rhis phase have, ro begin with, such scope for decision and such social power rhar we are accusromecl ro call him an "absolme"
:"e
ruler 1 le was nor only rhe prince's monopoly control of milirnry power which held the ocher classes wirhin his rerrirory, and especially rhe powerful leading groups, in check Owing ro a peculiar social consrellarion, rhe dependence of precisely these groups on a supreme co-orclinaror and regularor of rhe rension-ridclen smICrure was so grear ar rhis phase that, willingly or nor, for a long period they renounced rhe srruggle for conuol and parriciparion in rhe highesr decisions. This peculiar consrellarion cannor be undersrood unless we rake account of a special qualiry of human relationships which was likewise emerging wirh rhe increasing division of funcrions in socitr!·: their r,p,11 ur latwt .i111birdc11c" In rht rtlarions berween individuals, as well as in chose berween clifferenr funcrional strata, a specific cl!!ality or 1:zw 111!!/tip!icit) of i11t1:1nts manifesrs irself more strongly, rhe broader and denser the nerwork of social interdependence becomes. Here, all people, all groups, esrates or classes. are in some way dependent on one another; rhey are porential friends, allies or parrners: and they are ar rhe same rime porential opponents, comperirors or enemies. In socieries wirh a barrer economy rhere are somerimes unambiguously negarive relarionships, of pure. unmoderared enmiry. \Vhen migrant nomads invade
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realin- to relationships of this kind is cltarly expressed 0.:o doubt, at the chuns or functional interdependencies art relari,·eh· shorrswirches from ont extreme to another. an t
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tLi·ill\· de11enclent rhrmwh the diYision of functions. art struggling '" , C> , opporwniries. They mo are at once opponents and partner: Thtrt art ·011 s i·n wl1ich the exisrinu ot a socitt\"· tuncuons so · c- oruanizarion c _ situat1 1s n1u
iind the tensions within it grow so lari::t:. that a large portion of the people . ··tliin it "no lonuer care" In such a sirnauon the negat1Ye side of the classes \\I o . . -. . . rehirionships. rhe opposltlon ot 1meresrs. may so gam the upper hand ·t-I\"'· ci.clt the communir\· of intertsts arising from the interclepenrhe pos1 c " . . . . ,. of functions. char there are v10lent chscharges or tens10ns. abrupt shifts u1 · 1 ce - nrre of reoruanization of sucien·. on a changed social soc1a , :ur·1vin· : :- ' . . ·me! ' ::::._ Up ro chis reYolmionary sirnarion. the classes _bound together by the of functions are cast back and forth between their split and contradictory . _ . Thev oscillate between the dtsirt to win major advantages over their . _ _ _ . . 1nrere,rs. opponents and their tear of rurnmg rht whole social apparatus_. on the · · " of which their actual social existence depends. And this is the 1uncnornno constellation. the form of relarion_ships. char harbours the_ key to an . t' rl1•, clnn<,es in the social i)ower ot the central tuncr1onanes !1 rhe d inc c1 > 'on functional classes giYes rise to no special difficulties, co-opeuitI of the 11owerful · . . L
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their conflicts of interest are nor great enough to conceal from them rhelf to threaten the functioning of the tmire social appara< • 1 del) pndpnce ·me! L
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rus. the scope of rhe ctnual authorit\' is restricted It rends rn increase when the tension between certain leading groups of society grows. And It atra1ns HS optimum leYel when the majority of the rnrious functional :=lasses are suU so concerned ro presen-e their social exisrenct in the esrnblished form that thty fear anv major disturbance of the rornl apparatus and the concomitant uphearnl_ their own existence. while at che same rime the structural contlicr or interests between powerful groups is so great that an ordered voluntary compromise can scarcely be reached. and troublesome social skirmishes without a decisive outcome becomt a ptrmant:nt feature of social life. This is most acutely rhe c,ise in phases when cliffertm groups or classts of a society han: attained roudilv rht same power. and hold each ocher in balance. even though, like the and the bourgeoisie. or the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, they may be on a guite unequal footing. Someone who, in this constellation, in a society \\·taried and disrurbecl by inconclusiYe struggles, can acrnin power owr che sui;reme organs of regulation and control. has the chance of _enforcing_ a compromise between rht divided interests in order to preserYe the ex1sung soCial distribution of power. The various interest groups can move neither apart n_or cogerher: this makes chem dependent on the supreme central co-ordinator for social existence to a guire different degree from when the imerdepenclent imeresrs are less diYergem and direct agreements between them more easily reached. \Vhen rhe situation of the bulk of the various functional classes, or at least their acriw leading groups. is nor yet so bad char they are willing to put rhtir social existence at risk. and yet when they feel themselves so threatened by
320 each ocher, and power. is so evenlv· distributed between rhem · cl1,u · tac I1 . sl1ghcesr advantage ot the other side, rhey tie each ocher's hands: this central authority better chances than any ocher consrellacion wichin · gives those invested wirh chis authorirv whoen:r che\· nn•· b•· c!1· . . . . . ·' . '-' '· e opr1mal for dec1s1on. The vammons on rhis figuration in hiscorical realitv are Thar it only emerges in a clearly delineated form in more societies, and rhac in less interdependent societies with Im;er d' .· . f · · · .. l\1s1on uncnons 1t is above all mil1tary success and power rhar form rhe basis of a central aurhoriry over large arc:as, has already been srnced. And even in =I .. . war or con fl ices with orher powers u ' b p ex soc1enes, success m . I· . cl . . . naou tedj.; P·1)S a ec1s1ve part for strong central aurhorities . Bur if for rhe time bein : disregard rhese external relations of a society and their influence on the g we balance, and ask how a strong central authority is possible in a richlv entiared society, despite rhe high and evenly disrribured functions, we always tine! ourselves confronted wirh thar specific const ll · . e at1on which can now be srnced as a general principle: the hom of the stm11a cwtral aiit' . .. I. . I. . I. ... ' . . . ,, . /}(Jffty ll 1tJ111 a J1g;/y cl1jje1e11twtetl sooety stnkes whw the cm1bimle11cu o/ i11ttrcsts of the 1111jJorta11t )1111ctw11ril grrw/1s gmzcs so lmge. r111d pouu is clistrib!!ted s11 ez-mfr thm1. that there "111 he 11eitha cl du"i.rfre co/J//Jromise 11or a rkcisin crr11jlict bttu·:Cn fr is a figL!rarion of rhis kind co which here rhe rerm ··royal mechanism" is fact rhe central authority arrains rhe optimal social power of an absolute monarchy in conjuncrion wirh such a consrellarion of social forces. Bm this balancmg mechanism is certainlv. nor onlv. rhe sociouentti'" moti."e c. _ . o c ' tOrCe of_ a powerful monarchy; we find ir in more complex societies as rhe foundation of every strong one-man rule, whatever irs name might be. The man or men at the centre are always balanced on a tension between greater or lesser groups who keep each orher 111 check as interdependent antagonists. as opponents and at on.ce This kind of figuration may appear ar first sight extremely fragile. H1sroncal reality shows, however, how compellingly and inescapably it can hold 111 the individuals who constitute it-until finally the contmuous sh1h. of its centre of gravity rhar accompanies irs reproducrion through generations makes possible more or less violent changes in rhe mutual bonds of people. so giving rise ro ne\v forms of
18.. The. regularities of social dynamics place rhe ruler and apparams in a cunous s1ruanon, rhe more so the more specialized rhis apparatus and irs organs become . The central ruler and his staff may have reached rhe rop of rhe central adminisrrari.on a.s p:oponents of a particular social formation; or rhey may be recrll!red pnmanly from a certain class of society Bur once someone has attained a position in rhe central appararus and held on to ir for any rime. ir imposes its own regularities upon him Ir distances him in varying degrees from all rhe other and classes of society, even rhe one which has brought him to power and tram which he originates His specific function gives rhe central ruler of a
State Formation a11d Ciz-ilization
321
society specific interests. Ir is his function to superintend rhe security of rhe whole of society as ir exists, and he is rhus concerned interests of rhe other functional And rhis cask, wirh which balance r l1e . . . . . . .. . . · Iv confronted bv da1h· expenence and \vh1ch condmons l11s \Vhole · : . . . 15 sunp. f socicry-rhis cask irself d1srances !um from all rhe other groups of 0 Bur he musr also. like any orher person, be concerned for his own ,;,ncf!IJ 11"·" survival. He must work ro ensure rhat his social power is nor but, . . h'n, increased In rhis sense he. roo. is a party within rhe play ot soCial 1fanyr 1 g, . . · · · · : r ·1s l1is imeres1s throuuh rhe j)tculrnnrv of his funcr10n, are bound f ces. InSot'1 ' · "' . or .· l1 rhe securirv and smooth functioning of rhe whole social srrucrure, he up wi: .our some individuals within rhis structure, he musr win barrles and enter . . .. . . .. \"I'tl1in ir wirh a view ro his personal position. Bur 111 rh1s l!lhances " "' . . . . ,. · • res rs of rhe cenrral ruler ne\·er become qlflte 1denncal w1 rh those or any the w,e . . . orher chiss or group. They may somenmes w1rh. of one group or bur ifhe identifies too stronuly with one of rhem, if rhe d1srance between e, "' . . . . 3 not hr himself and any group diminishes roo far, his own soCia! posmon is sooner or later threatened. For irs srrengrh depends, as nored above, on the one hand on rhe reservation of a certain balance between rhe different groups, and a certa111 of co-operation and cohesion berween the different interests of society: it also depends on rhe persistence of sharp and permanent tensions and conflicts of interest between rhem. The central ruler undermines his own position in using his power and support to make one group clearly superior co others. Dependence on a supreme co-ordinator. and rims his own funcr1onal dominance, necessarily shrink when a single group or class of society unequivocallv has rhe upper hand over all ochers, unless rhis group is itself torn by intern.al tensions. And rhe central ruler's position is no less weakened and undermined if rhe tensions berween rhe leading groups of society are so reduced that thev can serrle their differences between themselves and unite in common actions .This is rrue ar least for relatively peaceful rimes . In time of war, when an external enemv of the whole of society, or ar least of its mosr important must be ;epulsed, a reduction of internal tensions can be harmless and useful even to rhe central ruler. To put the matter in a few words, rhe central ruler and his appararus form within his socierv a centre of interests of its own. His position often urges an alliance with rhe .second mosr powerful group rather than identification with the mosr powerful; and his interest requires both a certain co-operation and a certain tension between society's parts . Thus, his position nor only depends on the nature and srrengrh of rhe ambivalence between rhe different formations making up society; his relationship ro each of rhese formations is itself ambivalent. The basic pattern of society rhat emerges in this way is very simple. The single ruler, the king, is always as an individual incomparably weaker than the whole society whose ruler or first servant he is. If this whole society, or even a
Th, Ciriliz.ing
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considtrablt part of· 1r. stood W_l
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hev wn have no efftcc At the wuch of a finger an individual releases the rl1em r , . . · · · · · 1 ' of one side: he umres h1mselt with the latent torces operatmg 111 ont so chat they gain a slight advantage. This enables them to become This type of social organization represents as it were a power-station uuromatically multiplies tht smallest effort of the person in control.. Bm _. remelr cautious manipulation of chis apparaws is called for if it is to eict for ,anv lenuch of rime without disruption. The man in control is subject - re,,, . "uhrit,its com1JLilsions to exacdv. the samt degree as everyone else ' c is "ftater rhan rhc:irs, but he is highlv dependem on rhe ·or clecision Bis scop e- t /::- . . . c • srructure of tht apparatus; his power is bur absolute _ . _ . This is no more than a schemanc outl111e ot the arrangement ot social forces ·,·es tht central rultr Oj)timal power But this sketch shows clearly the 1rs
rhat gi
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fundamental srrucrnre of his social posmon. Not chance, not wheneYer a rulin" personalitv is born, but when a sptc1fic social srrucrurt provides strong o · . . rmnitv does the central or«an attain chat optimal power which usuallv rhe opp O .• "' _ . . : Jinds expression in a strong auwcracy. The relatively wide scope for Jeus10n leh
because any Strtngthening of one side will thrtaten the social existence of the
open in chis way w the central rul_er of_a large and_ complex society comes abom rhrough his standing in the crosshre ot social tens10ns. so be111g ablt to play on
other; they cannot split wholly apart because their social existence is inrerdependtnc This is a sirnarion that gives tht king. the man at the wp, the central
the variously directed interests and ambitions counttrpoised in his dominion Of course, chis outline simplifies the acrnal state of affairs to a certain txttnt
ruler. optimal power. Ir shows unmistakably where his specific interests lie. Through this interplay of strong inttrdependencies and strong antagonisms there arises a social apparatus which might be considtrtd a dangerous invention, at once important and crut!, were it tht work of a single social engineer. Like all social formations in these phasts of history, however. chis "royal mechanism" which gives a single man extraordinary powtr as supreme co-ordinaror, arises vtry grndually and unintentionally in the course of social processes This apparatus can be brought
to
mind most \·ividly and simply by rhe image
of the tug-of-war Groups. social forces, that hold each other roughly in check,
Equilibrium in the field of tensions making up every society ahvays arises in differentiated human networks through the collaboranon and coll1s10n of a large number of groups and classes. But the importance of this multi-polar tension for rhe central ruler's position is no different from that of the bi-polar tension outlined above . The antagonism between different parts of socitty certainly does not only rake rhe form of conscious conflict.. Plans and consciously adopted goals art far less decisive in producing tensions than anonymous figurational dynamics. To givt one example, it was the dynamics of advancing monecarization and commerciali-
stretch a -rope. Ont side pits itself with all its might against the other; both
zation, far mort than the conscious attacks of bourgeois-urban circles, which
heave incessantly: bm neithtr side can dislodge the othtr appreciably from its position If in this situation of mmost tension betwten groups pulling the same
pushed tht bulk of tht knightly feudal lords downhill at tht end of the Middle Ages. But however the antagonisms arising with the advanct of tht money
rope in opposite directions and yet bound together by chis rope. chert is a man
network may be expressed in the plans and goals of individual ptople or groups,
who belongs tntirely to neither of the two contending groups. who has the
with chem grew the tension between the urban classes who art gaining strengrh
possibility of interposing his individual strength now on tht side of one group, now of the ocher, whilt taking great care not to allow the tension itself ro be
and the weakening lords of the land. \Vith the growth of this network and this tension, however, grtw the room to manoeuvre of thost who,
reduced or either of tht sides ro obtain a clear advantage, then ht is the one who
having won the struggle between initially freely competing units, had btcomt the central rulers of the whole-the kings, until finally, balanced between the
actually controls this whole tension; rhe minimal powtr at tht disposal of a single man. who alone could set neither of the groups in motion and quite certainly not both combined, is sufficient, with chis arrangement of social forces,
bourueoisie and the nobilitv. thtv" attained their optimal strength in the form of b •'
to move the whole. The reason why it is sufficient is clear. \Virhin chis balanced
the absolute monarchy 19. \Ve asked earlier how it is possible at all for a central amhority with
apparaws enormous forces are latent but bound: without someone to release
absolmt power to evolve and survive within a differentiated society, despite the
324
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facr rhar chis cenrral ruler is no less de]Jendenr o l k. . n r 1e wor ·10g of h . . t ee mec 11anism than the occupants of 0 l ·! . . t 1er posmons The parrern f mec 1anism provides rhe answer. Ir is no Ion•' l . ·1· o the l. . cer 1is mi irary power 0 h 1is possess10ns and revenues alone thar can eX]Jlain rl1e ..I r_ t e . , socia power of l l . l. ru er in t 11s phase. even though no central authorirv can function . 1e two componenrs. For rhe cenrral rulers of . . . I . . w1r our . ,1 comp ex soc1erv to . . opnmal power as rhev had in the age of b I . . , attain . l d. .b · c a so utism requires in add· . spec1a. isrn urion of forces wirhin rheir socierv. ' it1on, In facr the social institution of the attained that phase in history when a weakening b ·1: . '. I its gre,1test power . • c no 1 rty was a readv be 10 g £ compete 10 many ways with risin4 bourgeois . I . . c orced . bl d . . I . c groups, WI( 10U( eirher sd a e ecisrve y co detear rhe other Tb . ·k . . . r e .. r . . · e gurc en10g moneranzatron and era izanon of rbe sixteenth cenrur,·1 '"1ve bour . . . commer. b' ge01s groups 10creased · . · b apprecra · ly pushed back rhe bulk of ti . I impetus; it . . 1e warnor c ass, the old nobilit. A f . . /. t the en d of the social srruggles in which this •.1 I . c \ 0 em rrans.ormat1on of socie expression. rhe interdependence berween pares of rhe nobilir\· and ry bourgeo1s1e had grown considerably Tl1 b·1· . I . . . pans ot the e no 1 rty, w 1ose social funcr" f . . .· orm was irselt undergoin4 a decisive tran f, . wn and c c s ormatron, now bad to come d . .d a rl1ir esrate, whose members had b . . n With . ll . . ecome, 10 part, far srronuer a d socra y ambmous rhan hirherro. Manv famT" 0 t. h Id . b n more . · i ies t e o warnor nobiiit .. our. many bourgeois families took on ar·s . .. l Y " . . I tocratrc c 1aracter and within a fi beneraoons their descendants themselves Uj)held the . f. l ew interests o t 1e tnnsfo d .. . no b i1rtv aga10st those of the bo . . . ' rme . I l. c . • urgeoisre, interests which bv then in k . wit 1 t 1e closer were more inescapably opposed . ' eeping of this bourgeois class, or at least of its leading groups, was of subsrannal parts of the bourgeoisie in i -189 1· . · · as a socia · 1 1nst1tur10n · . . ' -to e 1m10ate the nob i·1 ity The l · ,,! " l ·. . . · we h • . d . ·. 1lb 1est boa of rnd1v1dual bourgeois was a1 a\ e men none . to obrarn tor tl I. d l · · . c ·' with the attendant privileues \es an t 1eir family an aristocratic tide . . c · 1e representative leadinn !;roups of th bourgeo1s1e as a whole s . b c • e thev !"d OUt to seize the privileges and prestige of the military their p·l:1ce a.s Cal not \vabn·t1·to remove the nobility as such, bur at most to take ' ' new no i ity suppl · Incessantly ti . l d. - anr1ng or merely supplementing the old. . ' 1rs ea rng group ot the third . l 11 se •l d c . estate. t 1e IJfJ01tss1: de mbe, in the 'enteenr l an above ·ill rn tl . I I . nobilit' was ·u ·t ' ' . 1e e1g 1teent 1 century, emphasized that their l ..'I lJ s as good, rmportanr and genuine as that won bv the sword And t lt nva ry t1us expressed cerrainl, d.d ·· . · · ideolo ,B h. d . . } I not manifest itself only in words and gies. e 10 it was a conrrnuous if mo l strug"le for power · . d d ' re or ess concealed and indecisive b posmons an a vantages between the representatives of the two estates. As has been stressed above d . d. · . blo ·k d .f f ' un erstan mg ot this social constellation will be c e i we start rom the p . · · l f, . resupposmon t mt the bourgeoisie of this phase was rough! ' ti c } 1e same ormanon as roday or at least yesterday-if, in other words, wt
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rhe "independent merchant" as the most typical and socially most representative of the bourgeoisie. The most representative and socially :rtttiie""'" example of the bourgeois in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries at least in the larger continental countries, the middle-class servant of or kings, that is, a man whose nearer or more disrant forefathers were craftsmen or merchants, but who himself now occupied a quasi-official within the governmental appararus. At the top of the third estate, merchant classes themselves formed the leading groups of the bourgeoisie. here were-ro speak in our language-bureaucrats. t. . .. The structure and character ot official posts varied widely in particular countries. In old France the most weighty represenrativt of the bourgeoisie was peculiar mixture of r1:11tier and official; he was a man who had bought a position in rhe state service as his personal and, as it were, private property, or, which comes to the same thing, had inherited one from his father. Through this official p0sirion he enjoyed a number guite specific privileges; for example, many of rhese posts carried exemption from raxes; and the capital invested bore interest in the form of fees, a salary or other income which the post brought in Ir is men of this kind, men of the "robe", who during the ancien represented the bourgeoisie at the assemblies of the estates, and were in general, even outside these assemblies, its spokesmen, the exponents of its interests z'is-'1rhe other estates and the kings. And whatever social power the third estate possessed was expressed in the demands and political tactics of this leading group. Undoubtedly, the interests of this bomgeois upper class were not always identical with those of the other bourgeois groups Common ro them. however. was one interest above all others: the preservation of their various privileges For ir was not only the social existence of the noble or official which was distinguished by special rights and privileges: the merchant of this time was likewise dependent on them; so, too, were the craft guilds. \'V'hatever these privileges might consist of in particular cases, the bourgeoisie, as far as it carried any social weight, was, up to the second half of the eighteenth century. a social formation characterized and maintained by special rights in exactly the same way as the nobility itself. And here, therefore, we come upon a particular aspect of the machinery by virtue of which this bourgeoisie was never able to deliver a decisive blow 2gainst its antagonist, the nobility It may have contested this or that particular privilege of the nobility; but it could and would never eliminate the social instiwtion of privilege as such, which made the nobility a class apart; for iEs own social existence, the preservation of which was its main concern, was likewise maintained and protected by privileges . It was only when bourgeois forms of existence no longer based on class privileges emerged more and more in the tissue of society, and when as a result an ever-larger secror of society recognized these special rights guaranteed or created by the government as a serious impediment to the whole functionally divided network of processes-
The official hierarchy of rht secular governmenrnl appararns was in
only. .rhtn Wtrt social tCJrces in txisrtnct which could cl•·-· · l v op . .::usive no b iliry. which strove w eliminare nor onh- j)arricuhr noble · .-( Pose ·. l · · · · . . . .· ' prl\1.eges. soc1,1 msnmrwn of noble pnnleges irselt. ·
open or larent comptririon for power and presrige wirh rhe clerical The clerics in rnrn wert forever colliding for one reason or anorher wid1 . circle of rhe nobilirv So rhis mulri-polar s\·srem of equilibrium or r l1ar . . . · . . _ ,,we rist w minor explosions and skirmishes. ro social rnals of srrengrh
Bm rht new bourgeois groups who now opposed pri,·ileges as such hands. knmnngly or orherwise. on rhe foundarion of rhe ol ! b . . . . . . c ourge015 rwns: bourgeois esrnrt. Irs pnvileges, irs whole organizarion as an a social hmcnon only as long as a privilei.;ed nobilin- exisrtd in · · Tl - - . . - . . . . opposmon lt tor.ires \vtrt hosrile or, more precisely. ambivaltm siblings. cells ot rht same social order. It one were desrroved ·1s ·in · - · · . . . . ' ' msnrurion, rhe aurnmarically tell. and wirl1 ir rhe whole order
. .1::-;·cleolo<'ical clisL:uises and for rhe mosr diverse and ofrtn quirt vanous o reasons. . " or his re1Jrtsenrarin:s, however. steered and conrrolled rhis whole The kw"' . . . . bv pining his weighr now m one clirtcuon. now anorher, and his
In facr. rhe Rtvolmion of 1789 \ms nor simply a srruggle of rhe agamsr the nobiliry By it rhe middle-class esrare, parricularh· rhar rhe . · 1 cl ffi . I . 1 . r tie pnvi ege o cia s of tie rhird esrnre and also chose of rhe old crafr were desrroyed no less rhan rhe nobilirv. And rhis common •-nd ·11 · i uminates at srroke rhe whole social entani.;lement rhe s11ecific consrelhrio11 ot· r rorces of prccedmg phase. Ir illusrrares whar was said earlier in uenenl rerms b · I . _ /: ' a out mrerc ependence and ambivalence ot rhe imeresrs of cerrain social classes
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so "rear 1oreciseh· because rhe srrucrnral rension berween rhe \·er \·,,·1s pO\' ' b . . groups in rht social nerwork was roo srrong w allow rhem rn reach c!irecr in rheir affairs and rlrns ro make a derermined common stand againsr king.
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rhe b_alanced mechanism chat arose ,,.i rh chem. and abom rhe sou al powe; of the cenn,11 amhonry The polmcally rtltrnnt pans of rht bourueoisie whicl1 d'd _ . /::1 not consrirmt an esrnre and emerged very slowly from rht earlier one, rhese old bourgeois groups were bound in rheir interesrs their ·icrions ·me! rl her · ·ol . . .. • ' ' 10ug. ts. entire : ro rhe exisrence and rhe spec1hc equilibrium of an order basecl on estatet, For this reason. in all rheir conflicrs wirh rhe nobilin- and ·ilso of COLir-e · :· l f . ' . ', wm, r le irs_r esrart. rhe clergy,. rhey were always being caughr. like che Ianer, in rr.1p ot rheu ambivalent i!l(eresrs . They never d·ued -1c!v-rnc•- roo f:ar in · t heJr · •
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) ow agamst rhe nobil1ry as an insrirmion would shake rhe whole: scare and social
know, ir was in only one counrry during rhis period rhar bourgeois and ((roups rook such a srand successfully againsr rhe king-in England.
m<1y have been rhe special srrucrnrni characreristics of English society "rmined rhe rension berween rhe esrarts ro relax and srnblt conrncrs rhar PL h rween rhtm ro be esrablished-rhe social consrellarion which. afrer considtrable cribularions. led in England w a resrricrion of rhe central rultr·s powers. makes clear ro us once more rht differem basic conscellarion which in ocher countries mainrnined rht social power and rhe absolurisr form of rhe central aurhoriry. During rht sixretnrh and even rhe early sevemeemh ctnrnry. rhere was no lack, in France roo. of arremprs by people of rhe mosr different social origins ro combine againsr rhe menacing increase in royal power. They all failed. These civil wars and re,·olrs reveal quirt nakedly how srrong even in France was rhe desire among rhe various esrates w resrricr the powers of rhe kings and rhtir
srrucmre and rhus knock down like: skirrles rhe social exisrence of rhis privileged
represenrarives. Bur rhty show no less clearly how strong were tht rivalries and
classes were equally concerned nor w push the
confliccs of interesr berween rhese groups. which impeded a common pursuir of
srruggle berwten_ roo far: rhey all feared norhing more rhan a profound upheaval and shih of weighr wirhin rht social srrucrure as a whole.
farnur. and each was jusr strong enough ro prevent ochers from doing so. They
All rhe
Bm ar rhe same rime rhey could nor t!l(irtly avoid conflicr wirh each ocher; for rhtir rnrertsrs. parallel in one direcrion. were diamerrically opposed !11 many ochers. SoCJal power was so disrribmed berween rhtm and rheir rivalrr so "r··a;
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r lar one si e e r rhrearened by rhe slighrest adrnmage of rhe orher and bv anythmg rhar mighr give rhe orher the lease superioriry of power. According!;,
rhis objecrive. Each of rhem would have liktd ro limir rhe monarchy in irs own all held each ocher in check, and so rhey finally found rhemselves resigned ro their common dependence on a suong king. There was, in orher words, wirhin rhar great social rransformarion which made bourgeois groups funcrionally srronger and arisrocraric ones weaker, a phase when both groups-despire all rhe rensions borh berween rhem and rhird parties and within rhemselves-by and large balanced each orher our in social power. Thus
rhere was on rhe hand lack of courreous and even friendly relationships berween members of rhe difttrent groups: bm on the ocher rheir relarions. above all bern·een rht leading groups, remained exrremelv srrained rl1row,hom the 0 whole of the m1ciw Ea'cl l 1e,uec c. . I r lle or ller: eac l.1 o b served rhe ocher's steps . ·. _
was established for a grearer or lesser period rhar appararns rhar was described above as rhe .. royal mechanism .. : rhe amirheses berween the rwo main groups
wir1 1
disrribmion of power. rogether wirh rheir close interdependence, prevemed a decisive srruuule or rhe clear j)reclominance of one or rhe mher. So, incapable of
consrnnt it concealed misrrusL J\foreover. this main axis of rension berween rhe nobi!iry and bourgeoisie was embedded in a mulrirnde of orhers no less
were roo grear r.o make a decisive compromise berween rhem likely; and che
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uniting, incapable of fighting with all their scren<>th and winnirn.: leave to a cemral rultLr the decisions th
u
This appararus was formed, as we have said, in a blind. unplanned way in course of social processes \\/hether ic was controlled well or badlv depended very much on the person exercising the cenrral function R. Lrence a tew parncular h1stoncal tacrs muse be enough here ro show how the up1.Ja!1lhi, was formed, and w illustrate what has been said in absolmisc royal mechanism 20. In che sociecy of che ninth and tenth centuries chert were two free men. che clerics and the warriors. Below them, the mass of the more or unfree, who were generally excluded from bearing arms. played no leadin r l . . 1 l'. l g Oe 111 soua 1te, even t 1ough the existence of sociecy depended on cheir \'Ve have noted thac under the special conditions of the western Frankish area. dependence of rhe warriors, practically aurnrkic lords on cheir esrntes, on coordinaring acti\_·iry of a cemral ruler was only slighr. The dependence of the clencs on che k111g, for che most diverse reasons, was far greater. The Church in the western Frankish area never anained major secular power a:; ir did in the empire Archbishops did not here become dukes.. The ecclesiasrical peers remamed by and large omside rhe system of competing rerrirorial lords. Thus their centrifugal imerests directed ac weakening the central ruler were not particularly strong. The possessions of rhe clerics lay scarrerecl amongst the dominions of secular lords.. They were constantly exposed w attacks and encroachment by the latter. The Church therefore desired a cenrral ruler, a king, who had enough power co protect her against secular violence. The feuds, the major and minor wars char were incessantly flaring up across che whole region, were ofren highly unwelcome ro the monks
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Ch ·stian Church itself. This Church was older and its organization more n bl. 1 ed rlnn most secular dominions of rbe rime; and it bad irs own esca 15 1 ' . . . . . ·red more and more clearlv co combJOe spmrnal pre-emJOence with who asp1 . ,1mborirv trnnscendinu ,11! orbers. Sooner or later. ' , . ·1' sup re-rri·ic\· a comperitive sirnation arose, a struggle for supremacy between che d cbe worldlv central lord of a given area . This struggle everywhere an_ l l1 Pope beinu thrown back on his spirirnal predominance. \Vith che wJt 1 t L • dlv character of emperor and king re-emerging more clearly, and w1rl1 cbe worl ' incipient assimilation ro the Church hierarchy and ritual regressing . ntirelv disai)pearing. But rbe face thar there \vere even rhe begJOnJOgs w1rhout e . L . . . . , assimilation in rhe \'Vest is worthy of note-espec1ally 111 companng 10 . · l srrucrnres and in explaining differences between social processes 111 fosronca van·ous IJarts of che world. . . d · 1 l The western Frankish kings, tor thelf part, at first collab_arate qwte c ose Y . ' l Church in keeping with the srrucrnral regulanty governJOg their wirn ne , · di·scussed earlier. Thev derived support from che second srrongesr · . funcnon. · rbeir conflict with the srronger and more danuerous They were aroup in the liege lords over all warriors. Bur in the domaJOS of_ rbe other great lords they were, co begin with, virrually powerless, and even w1thJ11 their own · . tl e ·r power was sharJJlv resrrictecl. The close assocwnon of royal house territory 1 1 . . Church turntd the monasttries, abbeys and bishoprics in rhe lands of other an d . c·1 l' · · 1 lords into b·1stions of tht monarchy· ir pm a 1x1rt of the mrc 1 s rernrona ' ·· . spiriwal influence rbroughout rhe country ac rheir And rhe kmgs derived numerous advantages from rhe writing skills of rbe clergy. the polmcal and or"anizarional experience of the Church bureaucracy, and not least HS finance" Ir is an open question wherher rhe kings of the early Caperian period received, over and above the revenues from their own rerrirory. any act_ual "royal income .. , char is, duties from rhe whole western Frankish kingdom. It they had such income, it was hardly a significam addition to what they received from their own domestic estates Bm one thing is certain: they received dmies from Church insrimrions in regions omside their own terrirory, for example the income of a vacam diocese or occasional subsidies in extraordinary simarions. And if anyrhing gave the rradiriorn1l royal house an advamage in power over the competing houses. if anything contribmed ro the face that in these early stru"gles be<>innin" within their own territory, the Caperians were the first to bc..; b b begin to rebuild their power, it was this alliance of rhe nominal _central r=1lers wirh the Church From this alliance above all. in a phase of powerful centnfugal tendencies, sprang those social forces which worked independently of the individual kings for the continuity of rhe monarchy, and in the direction of centralization. The imporrance of tht clergy as a motive force of centralization receded, without entirely disappearing, in proportion as the third esrnte ach·anced . But even in this phase ir is apparem how the tensions between L
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Th£ Ciri!i:::i11g Procc.iJ different social group,;, beginning wirh rhar berwttn the priesdy class warnor class .. benehrred rht cemrnl ruler; bm ir is clear, wo. how he Was by rhese rens10ns. impnsoned by rhem. The excessi\·e poWtr of the many . nl! lords dro\·e king and Church rogerher. e\·tn rhough minor rhen: were nor lacking. Bm rhe firsr major difference berween king and uer
••·
rhe hrsr real power srruggle berwetn rhtm. occurred only when more human and financial resources were be<,innin" rn flow rn rl1 ,, ki'ri ac•JUtlcfa.>;;:::·. .
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pardy consciously. pardy unwirringly, these rwo social posid e·ich other· bm their relarions alwavs remained
tfOU'[
bourgeois camp. m rhe period ot Philip Augusrns. 21 \\!irh rhe formarion of a rhird es rare, rht nerwork of rtnsions became complex and rhe axis of rension wirhin sociery moved. Jusr as in an ent sysrem of comptring countries or rtrrirnries. parricular rensions predominant ar differem rimes. all rhe orher anta«onisms bein« . o c. subord'1nared rhem unnl one ot rhe main power cemres esrablishes prepondewnce. rhere were, wirhin each dominion, cerrnin central rensions abom which""""'ill'iih•·• ous ones crysrnllize, and which gradually shifr in favour of one side nrthe mhtL Ir rhese cenual_ rens10ns mcluded, up ro rhe ele\·enrh
• bv these assemblies, both the smaller regional ones and rhe ones ciU;:e 11 ' broad areas of rhe kingdom, shows clearly how difterenr rhe of rensions in society srill was, despire all irs flucrnarions. from thar in rbe ,1bsolurisr period !Ile The parliaments of the esrares-w use their_ name-were able w function. noc unlike rhe parry parliaments or · -·ndusrrial socien·. as lon« as direct agreement between rhe represenrabonrgeo1s I , . .o . . . . . , I • t- l'fferenr classes over parrKular obJecnves was possible The) funcnonec nveso c1 . --11 the more difficulr direct compromise became. and rhe greater the Jess \Vt . . l · .· rhin socier\.. ·rnd w rhe same de«ree the porenr1al power ot rhe cenrra rens10ns \\ 1 .·' _ o . . . . ._, Given the low de(.';ree of moneran· and commercial mregrar1on !l1 rhe ruler rose . · . . , l world ar firsr neirher rhe inrerdependence nor rhe ,rnrngon1sms roeciev.i · . ! berween rhe land-owning warrior class and rhe .bourgeois class were such diar rhey needed w hand over rhe regulation ot their relat10ns rn rhe. cenrnil ·icl es ore rhe kni «hts and rhe bum hers. like rhe clergy, despHe their ru ler. E, 1 ' · o ... . li·\·ecl hr more wirhin rheir own confines than later. The ditferenr esrares .. conracrs. ' did nor yet compere so frequently or directly for rhe same social opporrnmties; and tht leading bourgeois groups were still far from being strong enough. to challenge rhe social pre-eminence of rhe nobility, rhe warriors. ar one po1nr in socitry did rising bourgeois elemenrs, wirh rhe help ot rhe monarchy, gradually displace knighrs and clergy clirecdy from rheir positions: wirhin the
"overnmemal apparnws, as officials 22 The funcrional dependence of rhe monarchy on whar wenr on in sociery ar large is rm111ifesred parricularly cbuly in rhe developmenr of machinery of governmenr. in rhe splirring-off of all those insrirnrions which hrsr ot all were much more rhan parrs of rhe royal domestic and domanial adminisrrarion. When rhe socien· of free men consisted tssenrially only of knighrs and clergy, the gO\·ernmenr app.ararus. roo, was made up above all of knights and clergy; rhe clen:v or clerks, as already mentioned, usually being loyal servants and propoof rornl interests. while rhe feudal lords. even ar courr and within the royal were often enough rivals of the king, more concerned wirh dewloping rheir own power positions than wirh consolidating his. Then, as rhe warrior class outside the governmental apparatus bernmt more complex. as 111 rhe course of rhe eliminarion struggles major and minor feudal lords were more sharply differentiated. rhis consrellarion was mirrored in rhe srrucrnre of a growing go\·ernmemal machine· clerics and members of minor warnor houses
0
5!ti!t
formed ns scarf while major feudal lords . found themselves confi ne"cl to ver' . positions, for example as members ot rhe great assemblv or t!-· j council · '" En:n in this phase men from rht stratum below the warriors ·rnd · · . . ' pnests cerramly nor lackmg rn the .rornl c . · administration · even if elements of un1ree
cl id nor play the same role m the development of rhe hench central
they did in the development of rht German. Perhaps rhar is connecr,d · l. . l t. e with the ,1cr t Mt rn r 1e ormer case. urban communities. and rhus -1 r!11· cl · I . · ' r estate · treec men. had nsen somewhat earlier to inde1Jendent si«nificanc·e rl l. . . . . "' ' 1an tn the ,lfter. In France the parnc1panon of urban groups rn rhe roval ad : · , . l l l . . m, msrrarion rose \v It 1 t 1e growr 1 of the rowns. and as earh· as rhe Middle Aues n ' ' l · "' 1emoers t 1ese groups graduallv permeated the uovernmennl 'lj)j)ararus to 1 ,. . . . . _ o ' ' ' ' n extent that \\,1s_ nor reached m the ma1onry of German territories until well into rhe penod.
fi .
They_ entered this apparatus by two main routes: 10; first through their share ot secular posrs. rhar is,. posi rions previous!\·. filled Lw. nobles·.· .ancI secondly . . r l1rough rhe1r share of eccles1asncal posts rhar is as clerks The rerm .1 .. b , . . . _ ' · ueu egan s. l 0\\ l} to. change HS meanmg from about the encl of rhe rwelfrh centLlr\· 0 ..L . · nwarU>· its eccles1asncal connotation receded and ir referred more ·md more ro . ' l. I · ' a man who uc stuc!1ed. who _could read and write Larin. though it may be diar the first stages career · . . ot . an ecclesiasr1cal . . were for a rime a 1:irerequisi re for this . Tl1en, m con1uncr10n wJth die ex:ens10n of rhe administrative apparatus. both the term di:r( and cerrarn kinds of university study were increasingly secularized. People no longer !earned Lat1n exclus1velr ro become members of rhe cler"\' tl l cl · .. . · "'" 1ey a so l . earne_ to become .ofhciak To be sure, there were still bourgeois who entered the kmg s council simply on account of their commercial or organizational compertnce. Bur the majority of bourgeois attained dle higher regions of gm·ernment through study. _rhrough knowledge of canon and Roman Srudv became a normal means of social advancement for rhe sons of leading strata. elements slowly pushed back rhe noble and ecclesiastical elements in rhe government. The class of royal servants. of "officials", became-m contrast to rhe situation in Germany-an exclusively bourgeois formation. From AuuusrL1s on,,·arcs I .ir · r l1e Iaresr · _ ..rhe rime. of _Philij} . c · r )1e lawyers. rrue "knights of law
The furnre was rheirs linlikt the grand
ofhcers ot a p•darinare. rhey had no ancesrnrs. bm were themselves co be
ml
Fr1r11Mtio11
t11!il
Ciz-ili:wtio11
With the growth of rht royal possessions a class of specialists was formed -hose social position depended first and foremost on their place in royal service.
whose prestige and interests were largely identical with those of rhe and rhe governmental appararns. As rht Church had done earlier. and did ro some extent, members of the rhird esrate now upheld the interests of rbe central function. They did so in the mos[ diverse capacities, as scribes and councillors to rhe king, as rax administrators, as of rhe highest courrs it was rhey who sought to ensure rhe continuity of royal policy beyond rhe life of a particular king and quite often against his personal inclinations Here wo, bourgeois classes elevated rhe monarchy. and rhe monarchs elevated rhe >¥
classes
23- \V'ith this almost rota! expulsion of rhe nobiliry from rhe governmental apparaws, in rhe course of time rhe bourgeoisie attained a power posirion which was of the utmost importance to rhe overall balance of power in society. In France, as already mentioned, ir was not, almost rill rhe end of rhe anciw the rich merchants or rhe guilds who directly represented rhe bourgeoisie in conflicts wirh the nobility; it was rhe bureaucracy in irs various formations. The weakening of rhe social position of rhe nobility. rhe srrengrhening of rhe bourgeoisie, is mosr clearly expressed in rhe fact rhar rhe upper bureaucracy lay claim, ar least from rhe beginning of rhe seventeenth century onwards, ro equal social starns wirh the nobility. Ar rhis rime rhe interweaving of interests and rhe rensions between nobility and bourgeoisie had indeed reached a level which secured exceptional power for rhe central ruler. This permeation of the central apparatus by sons of the urban bourgeoisie is one of the strands within rhat process indicating mosr clearly the close functional imerdeptndence between rhe rise of rhe monarchy and of rhe bourgeoisie. The bourgeois upper stratum. which gradually evolved from the families of rhe higher "royal serrnnrs", in the sixteenth and sen:nteenth centuries attained such increased social power rhat the central ruler would have been ar its mercy, had ir not had counterweights in rhe nobility and clergy, whose resisrance neutralized rheir screngrh; and ir is nor difficult to observe how the kings-above all, Louis XIV-played constantly on rhis system of tensions. In rhe preceding phase. however, rhe nobility and clergy--clespirt all the ambivalence already inhering in their relationship-were still, ar first. far stronger opponents of rhe central authority than the urban bourgeoisie. For rhis very reason rhe bourgeois eager for social advancement were as welcome helpers of rhe king as they were willing. The kings allowed rhe central apparatus ro become a monopoly of people from the third esrare, because rhis was srill socially weaker than rhe first and second es rares. This interdependence between rhe growth of rhe power of king and bourgeoisie. and rhe weakening of nobility and clergy. is seen from a different aspect if we consider rhe financial connections between rhe social existence of rhe
_o,_;5 various 1nnies , , ,'1]rea J )' L1ten J ,, , , Ir Ius suessecl EhaE Ehis sl1"l -I bT , - m w E1e ,L 1e rw I HY JS rn be anribured only in small pan rn conscious au1ons " - on El1t one hancL a conse' , , b\' : bourge01s L , circles, , I-L \\,lS, comptcmve mechamsm b\- which cht btdk of d ,_ '']' , lJLitnce , · • ie noo1 1n- sank ui-o on a smgle noble house, che roval house '1!1cl thus , ,1 - . L "'-ur11r1• . Ebe bourueoisie O I _ · , '' - ll1 ' sense rn Ehe same , -c , n Eie other, H was a consequence of aclv'rn " inregranon Hand in hand wiEh Ehe rise in the volume of ' CJng Tl , , mone\' wenc a d- ," , 11s mcrease and dtl)rtudrwn - -" · , tprtuanon.. or" mont\' accelenEtcl -' cttnrh cenrury co an exrraordinan· c:xrenr And rlie n;lbil' , 'l l_rn the incc n1 , f l , · · H\ w 10 ive e rom Eie1r esrares, which che\· cot1Id , _ ,, · on I - ,, I , , · nm rncredst to keep ct\ a uarwn, \\·ere impoverished. The religious wars-rn menrion onh· chis fiml '!Ct h I I b'l' · ' ' ac r le same onr. for rht · k , - \\et'. ·enrng no I icy as ci,,il wars so often have for declinin< -j concealed tram chem, for ,1 rim- l _ ,' L . . ,. , _ ;;!, c asses: _ ' e, tie ll1t\ 1c1w1 11cv or rhelf face Th_ unresc che selt-assenion in fi ,l1 " l _ · _ _ e uproar g rrnc, t 1e poss1bdHy ot pillage and Eh- £ T all chis encoura:.;ecl the nobilicv cu be!' , l , L I! ,e ac1 ity l ," - - I - , , It\ t c ie1 cou c ma1mai c l!taEentc social pos1c1on and save chtmselvts from downt: 11 . I n m· Of l , d ,rnc impov - h tnt. c le tconom1c upheavals whirlinu them b'1c·'- 'tn'I t'o·E' l ens., l ' l ' - ' c ' K ' l I n, C.lOSt emb ·1 ' rn c iem iad scarct!v an mklrn". Th , ., . 1 , ro1 eu , "" " , c t) s,n\ c Mt money was rncreasin ' r1'1l\=-- bm d1t\' did not undtrsnnd it B r'1nwme , • g, ' one ot- cht courd tie , Y warriors I period, caprnrtcl chis mood: , liecI F·rnnct. Eh is (civil) war has posirin:-11 tnri . ·:fi1r ",fron1 . .iniiom,ens so r.tr "' Jr has uncovered and placed in full " - , ,, , - , ,. chtd her, hidden under;,;round \''ht•t rhev ,, rn I 'It\\ ,.i1 llllmit> ur rreasures previouslv " , . • - >e 'L no purpose. Ir has pl->cecl them . ll : rIJc sun, and rurned them into such . , , - - " so we m milliow of ,. I I b , , qu,Jllt>tJes ot good money, char there were more . ' c-O l to e seen shl!llllg 111 France rhan rher- I, J l __ , , " . pounds before, cl!ld there appeared more Il<:W subrl, "I , t , l',lc Xtll millions ot silver I, 11 ', e st.H·r LO!lls from these fine 1!l Ct'n than there had bl't.:fl before r\ -· . . , - t . merchants, usurers, bankers and other ""'" , , nd rlur Js no, a.I: rhe nch locked >n their cofrt•s and ne'rh- - , ni"'f"rdsl down to rhe priests. kept rheir coin
. .. . . I tr CDJO} e<.. n t ien1stlYeS nor lent it exec "1( at , or morrwi;,;e ot- hn ll IJntcresr "nd w1rh excessJn: usun - . · or b>- r llt- pure-J iase dbross ir
wood co keep himself \\"1rr-1 f
I , J s tllL. "it iuur t\·en rhe , ' ' , or r iese scamps ot usurers had pocketed e\'ef\'rhini,:-·h·-J \\ar restored them to rheir , u] .- I I, ' b birrh "·ho, before the , "] " , rl'c- irru pace, Su I ha,,e seen genrlemen of high Cl\! \\elf, \\t:nt ll)(Jllt With t'\'Cl hor' j " such effect rhar during and after it the\- \\' - . ,,_' . , -ses am a roorman. recov:r ro St\'tn ;,;oucl horses .-\- ,; ' • " '·, ere seen rr,tHlllllg the country with six or ', . . 11. /i)d: /J /Jt1U !tJ:.i /;r,nn·t r/ f·· '. '· I / gru-Ct' r1;: ''lll 1 , · i.n.u oJr hdl ru!f!ru. Yd) O) ltk /Jr.'d.ft dk good cjl'i/ U«:n:
"
I ""I -
c00c ll\
, _,In rtalin·: cht majoritv. of ch e F renc-!l no b J Iicy, on their rtrnrn from rh1s ""ood" CI\ ii war, found chemselves clebc-ndcltn and - ! _ ,c - - ,. _, . rurnec once more lift grew more expensn e. Creclirnrs, along with rich merchams, usurers and bankers, Land above
officials, men of Eht robe, clamoured for repayment of cht money chty !enr, \Vhern,tr Ehey could, thty possessed d1emselws of che noble escares. often che rides rno The nobles who held on w rheir estates wry soon found their incomt no
longer sufficient co cover rht increased cosc of living: The lords who had ceded hrnd rn their peasants against duties in cash, continued co co!kcr rht sc1me re\'enue bur without rhe same value. \'\111ar had cost fi,-e sous in rhe 1x1sr cost cwenry at rhe rime of l lenr) Ill. The nobles grew poor wirhour knowing 1r
2-t Tht picrnre of tht discribucion of social power seen here is fairly unambiguous. Tht change in die social scrucrnre which had long been working rht warrior nobility in favour of bourgeois classes, accelerared in rhe sixreenrh cemury. The lacEer gained in social weight whac rhe formtr losc. Antagonisms in sociecy grew. The warrior nobilicy did nor unclersrnncl rhe forcing rhem ouc of rheir hereditary positions, bm rhty saw ir embodied in chest men of che chird estate wich whom chey now had ro comptce direcdy for
rhe same opponunicits, abovt all for money, but also, chrough money, for cheir own land and even cheir social pre-eminence. Thereby cht equilibrium \\·as slowly established which gave opcimal power w one man, tht cemral ruler In rhe scruggles of cht sixteenth and sevenreemh centuries we come across bourgeois corporations which haw become wealthy, numerous and powerful enough co confronr the warrior nobility's claims ro dominance and power wich firm rtsisrnnce, but neicher able nor strong enough ro makt che warriors. Ehe milirary class, direcdy dependent on chem. \Ve find a nobilicy still strong and belligerem enough co represent a consrnnt chrtac to rhe rising bourgeois classes, but already coo weak. above all economically, rn control direcdy che rnwndwellers and cheir caxes. The face thaE at chis Eime Ehe nobilicy had already emirely lost the funccions of adminisuarion and jurisclicEion, chest being now in rhe hands of bourgeois corporations, comribuces in no small way ro che nobiliEy's weakness. Ne\·enhtless, no pare of socitcy was yec able to atrnin a lasting and decisive preponderance over che ochers In Ehis sirnacion the king again and again appeared w each class or corpornrion as an ally againsE che chrtacs from ocher groups which chty could not mascer on d1tir own Of course, che nobility and bourgeoisie themselves consisted of various groups and sErata whose interescs did noE always run in the same directionc Imo che primary cension becwten chest EWO classes were woven numerous ocher censions, whecher wichin these groups or becween one or ocher of chem and Eht clergy. But at che same cimt all Ehese groups and strata were more or less cleptndem for their exiscence on cht ochers; none was at chis stage srrong enough co ovenhrow che esrnblished order as a whole. The leading groups, tht only ones which could exerc a cercain policical influence wichin che framework of che existing inscirucions,
·rhe
Cirilizi ng P rotc.i".1
were the least disposed to radical change. And chis mulriplicirv of te . srrengrhened all the more rhe porential power of rhe kin us. · ns Of course, e-ach of these leadinu "roUJJS rhe hi<s cltarly tnough how tense were rtlarionships benvten all these groups. The is a kind of social experimtnt Ir txposts onct again rht srructurt of tfnsions which gave rhe cenrral aurhoriry irs srrengrh. bur which remained concealed from vitw as long as rhis aurhoriry was firmly esrablished . No soontr
25 For a long period of rhe .Middle Ages rhe urban classes. through rheir social position. were decidedly weaker than rhe warrior nobilirr In period rhe community of intertsrs berwten rhe king and rhe bourgeois secrion of societv was considerable, if nor so grear rhar friction and even c;nflicrs between and rhe central ruler were entirely absent. One of rhe mosr visible consequences of rhis community of interests. as we have nortd, \Vas rhe expulsion of the nobility from rhe monarchy's governmental organization, and irs permeation bv people of bourgeois origin. . Then. as rhe relative social power of the nobility diminishtcl wirh rht advance
S1'1tl· For111afi(Jil a11d
Ciz-i!i:::atir!/l
.'137
. ·nce«rarion and mono1Jolizarion, rbt kings shifted some of rbtir c. . . .. - l 11e side of rhe nobrlrrv· . fhe\·· now securtd rbe txisrenct ot · r 1e t . as a priviltged class against rhe and they drd so ro Jl!St Cess·rrv ro prestrw rhe social dirterences btrween nobrlHy and dehour the a11cit11 rhe mass ot. r I1e l·1nded ' c . . led .a thoroughly ·. cl l 'f Thev could hardly compete in marenal prospenry wrrh rhe upper resrnctc rt. . . . . . . l ". 0 f rhe bour«eoisie. \ii.r-c/-r1s rbe aurhormes, above all the courts, r 1e1r srni.ra ·as hr fivourable· for rht posts in the latter were held by people rn1Sftl00 W ' ( ' · f . . ,.. · · · I n ·a dd.rr.on 1 . rhe kin<>s c- , SUj)jJOrttd bv • a stcrron o ansrocrarrc 0 fbour«ems ong111 . . c- pheld, rht rule rhar a noble who engaged directly in commerct should ooinron, u . .' . . t, . b o rh his ride and all his noble pnvrleges, renounce . .ar least for. rht . duration . .. _o · acm - · .·rr;· This rule ctrrainlv. served rht exrsrll1g drfterences rhrs . ro ma!l1ra!l1 . bl between bourgtoisie and nobility, which the k111gs no less rhan rhe no ts rhemseh·es were concerntd ro prtserve. Bur ar rhe same time. lt blocked rht nobility's only direct access ro grtarer prosperity Only '.ndirtcrly, through " ,e could a noble !Jrofit from the wealth char stemmed trom commerce: marrr,1g • . l and · l rh· -··I srs The nobilirv would have bad nothing of rbe splendour an( o, cI,l po · . . soCia · - r 11e\· srr"ll en 1·o,.ed in rhe seventeenth and eighteenth cenrunes: they presnge 1 , .. would unfaiiingly have succumbed ro rhe increasingly prosperous bourge01s1e and perhaps ro a new bourgeois nobility, had rhey nor--or ar l.easr a small of them-obtained with rhe king's help a new monopoly posrrron ar court. fhrs borh permitted them a modt of life adequate ro _rhti: social srar_r_on, and preserved rhem from involvement in bourgtois acrrnues. Iht courr ofhces, the manv and various official positions within rhe royal household, w_tre reserved ro the In rhis way huneois o mono•Jolv with the king's help, now that che nobility was weaken111g, the court likewise witl; royal assisrance, became a preserve of rht nobility. The exclusive filling of courr posrs by nobles did nor happen ar _one stroke or by rht dtsign of a particular king. any more than rhe rtstrvarion ot all rhe other start posrs ro rhe bourgeoisit had been earlitr. 1110 netar: r bac k to
The Cirili::i11g
_Under Henry IV. and still under Louis XIIL court positions. like the ot military appointments and, still more. like adminisuative and judicial
339
Stc1fi: Formation tJl/{I Cil'i!i:::t1tio11
Prf)Cl.:.\.1
rhem.. And nor only these offices. They dtsirecl a share in sOLl"ht to win back their lost positions in the governmental In t 627 rhe; addressed to Louis XIII, under the tide "Reguesrs and for the Restoration of the J:\obility". a petition with precise proposals to to
0
were and thus the p_roperty of their occupant This was even true the post ot go111cmc1ir. the rnil1rary commanders or particular regions of , k111gdorn .. To sure, in particular cases rhe occupant of such a post could toe exercise his othce with the king's approval, and it narnrally happened, too. this or that posmon was awarded soleh· rhrou"h rov·1l hvour BLit 1·n · 0 _ _ • . . _ _ : general the - ' ' · purc!Mse of othces had by rh1s (!me gamed rhe upper hand over their no · . . ,l . . . _ _ .. mmatton rl11oug 1 Ll\our. And s111ce the ma1ont\' of the nobil1rv were no m·ir l c _ _ _. . _ . , c 1 1or the upper bourgeo1s1e 111 terms of wealth, the thlfd estate, or ar least families from it and onlv recenth· ennoblecL slowh· but visiblv rook over tl1e . . · · . . court and military posts as well Only the great noble families still had enough partly thanks ro the size of their lands and partly through pensions paid tO by the king, ro hold on ro positions of this kind in face of such competition Nevertheless. a willingness ro help rhe nobility in rhis situation is · unmistakable :n Henry IV. just as ir is in Louis XIII and Richelieu. None of them forgot tor a moment char they were themseln:s arisrocrars . Moreover Hen:y IV attained rhe throne ar rhe head of an army of nobles. Bm apart the fact char even they were largely impotent in face of rhe economic processes working against the nobility. the royal function had necessities of its own, and its relation ro the nobility was ambivalent. Henry IV Richelieu and all their succ_essors. in order ro their own position. were anxious ro keep the nobil1ry as far as possible from positions of political influence: but ar the same timt rhty were obliged to preserve the nobility as an independent social facror in rhe internal balance of forces The double_ fact of rht absolutist court corresponded txacrly ro rhis split relar10nsh1p ot king ro nobility. This court was ar rhe same rime an instrument for controlling rhe nobility and a means of sustaining it. In rhis direction it gradually dtvelopecl. Even Henry IV rook ir for granted that rhe king lived within an arisrocratic circle. Bur it Weis nor yer his srricr policy to demand permantnr residence at courr of those members of rhe nobility who wishtd to remain in rornl favour. No doubt he also lacked the means to financt as tnormous a court, an;! ro distribute court offices, favours and ptnsions as lavishly, as Louis XIV was able ro do later. In his rimt, moreover. society was still in an extreme srare of Hux. Noble families were declining. bourgeois rising. The estates wert surviving. bur their occupancy was being drastically transformed. The wall dividing the estates was riddled with holes . Personal gualiries or lack of them. personal fortune or misfortune, often played as large a part in a family's destiny as its origin in rhis or rhar estate. Even the gates to the court and court offices were srill fairly wide open ro ptople of bourgeois origin This rhe nobility deplored. Ir was rher who desired and proposed that these
10-
.
t:The petition began by saying that, after help and the _sword or Henry . . s the nobilitv who were ro be thanked tor the presef\'anon of rhe crown JV, 1r w,1 . _ . . . . - · e when the majoritv of orher classes had been 111c1ted ro 111surrecnon; yer "r a nm · ,. b'lit\' were "in rhe most pitiable stare they had ever known crushed by rhe no I . . rendered vicious by idleness reduced by oppressrnn almost ro poverty despair... . . . ]:-{ere. in a few words. a picture of rhe decl111111g class is sketched. Ir Most landed estates were overburdened with debt. On ds closelv ro realitv. " . Many noble families had lost all their possessions. The youth of the ansrocracy :vas hope: the unrest and social pressure emanating from these displaced le was ftlt everywhere in the life of this society \Vhar was to be clone' 0 pep . . . ... . . cl fl Among the reasons tor rh1s stare ot athurs. express mtn(lon 1s ma e o t 1e mistrust which a number of noblemen had aroused in rhe king through their arrogance and ambition. This had finally led rhe kings ro believe it necessary ro red;ct the power of such nobles by excluding them from official positions which thev had perhaps misused, and by elevating rhe rhircl estate; so rhat since that riO-:e rhe nobles had been stripped of their judicial and fiscal duties. and expelled
.
from rhe king's councils. Finallv, in nvtnt\"-two articles, rhe nobility demanded, among orher things, the in addition to the military command of the various g1111fr1'illi!W!s of the kingdom, the civil and military functions of the royal house-that is, the skeleron of what was later rn make the court a sinecure for rhe nobility-should cease ro be purchasable and become reserved to rht nobiliry. In addition. rhe nobilitv demanded a certain influence on pro,·incial administration and access for a of particularly eligible arisrocrats to the high courts, rhe parliaments, at least in an advisory capacity and without emoluments: and rhev clemancltcl. finallv, that a third of the membership of the financial and military: councils. and od;er parts of the royal government. should come from their ranks. Of all these demands, if we disregard a few minor concessions, only one was fulfilled: court posts were closed ro the bourgeoisie and resef\'ecl ro the nobility. All rhe others, insofar as they involved participation by the nobility, however modest, in government or adminisrrarion, remained unfulfilled In manv German terrirories, nobles sought and received administrative and judicial ot:fices as well as military ones; at least since the Reformation, they had therefore been found in the universities 108 J\Iost of the higher offices of state remained virrnally a monopoly of the nobility: elsewhere. nobles and bourgeois
_)-iO
Tix Ciz.i!izing Proa:Js
normally balanced each orher icitbin many stare offices formula of allocarion
ar his mt,i!s, in his gardens ar Versailles, ht was always looking about him, everyont. He rook it amiss if rhe mosr disringuished nobles did not residt
In rhe French cemral governmem, as \ve have memioned rhe r . consr-·m 01 en · l l b ' ension and ) or arem srrugg e erween rhe rwo esrares was expres d . . " rhar rhe whole adminisuarion remained a monoiJo!v of rh b se the l l J · · e ourgeo1s1e t 1e w 10 e court m the narrower sense, which had alwavs been l , b . bl b . arge v } no es m was threarenecl by bourgeoisificarion when of·i: . l tl · uces were pure iasa J e, lI1 rhe sevemeemh cemurr became once and f . ll b made poly . ' or ,1 a no le Richelieu, in his will, had recommended rhar the court shoul I b I rhos l "l c e c osecl to e w 10 lave nor rhe good fortune of a nob! .... iu" L . . t ongm o111s XIV resrncrecl access to court ofhces by bourgeois to rhe mmosr; but even h J' complerely close chem. Thus, after many preparatory movemems in not 1 sooal mcerescs of the nobility and rhe monarchy were so to SfY"ak \\•e' .c and · l · ' • 1g11mg ' resting tac 1 ocher, the court was ''iven its clear role l b ' as an asv um for h b. . . no d1r1 on one hand, and a means of comrolling and taming old w r e class on rhe other. The untrammelled kninhdr life was "on· t'. arrior 0 • F · o <: orever or mosr_ of the nobility, nor only were rheir economic f now on scra1cenecl, bm their horizons and scope for acrion were their me<1gre revenues rhey were resrriccecl to rheir countf" se·1r· E· fi ith l. . T . J ' ' scape rorn r l!S m m1 J[ary campaigns was, ro a larue excenr blocked E . . l 0 I . , · 'en m war ney n0 onger fought tor rhemselves as free knighrs bm .1s t.h. . , · . . . , ' o cers lI1 a strict And spec1,1l luck or connecr10ns were needed ro . t l escape permanent!;· rom r le 1anded nobd1cy ro rhe wider honzons
h;:
L
Tclhe of Versailles corresponded perfecr.ly ro both rhe interrwined ren enc1es ot the monarch,1.. ro p "cl ti cl · ·1. i · , . . ' rov 1 e or an visw Y elevate pares of rhe nobility \\ 111 1e conrrollmv ·rncl nm·n, I T.l k. f: . o ' ' 1 6 r lem. le ·mg gave libernllv, parricularlv ro his alvourcl1ces. Belue he clemanclecl obedience; he kept the nobles. consranrlr ;ware of h . · t 1e1r epen ence on rhe mone . cl } an or er opportunities he had co clisuibure. The King [Saint-_Simon rtcorcls in his i\Ie11Jr1fr,·s1' i] nor only saw char rht hil.!h nobility d l:
\\ert pn:stnt ar his courr. ht demanded ir also of rhe j)trn· nobles Ar hi·s '" .
3-ll
St,i/1: Fomhlti1111 ,;nd Cil'ili::c1tio;;
- cd d
an
11s
-nnanend)' ar courr. and if rht mhers camt only seldom, and rornl disgrace awairtd who showtd rhemseh·es harclh· or nor ar all If ont of chest had a rtqutsr, tht :f,::lflt;_ .,·ould "'" 1)roudh·: .. ! do nor know him." And his juclt!tmtnt was irrevocablt. Ht did not mind if a ptrson enjoyed living in rht country. bur he had ro show mocltrarion in this and rake precautions before longer absences. Once in my yomh when I went ro Rouen on somt legal business, rhe king had a minister wrire ro enquire my reasons H
"'
"
'-
This surveillance of everyrhing that went on is very characcerisric of rhe srrucrnre of rhis monarchy. Ir shows clearly how strong were the basic tensions which rhe king had ro observe and master in order ro maintain his rule, nor only within his society bur oursicle ir as welL "The arr of governing is nor ar all difficulr or unpleasanr", Louis XIV once said in his instructions ro his heir. "Ir consists quire simply in knowing the real rhoughrs of all the princes in Europe, knmving everything rhar people cry ro conceal from us, their secrers, and keeping 112 dose warch over rhem." The king's curiosity ro know whar was going on around him [Saint-Simon writes in another place; 1 'l grew mort an
Hardly anything is as characrerisric of rhe peculiar srrucmre of rhe sociery which makes possible a srrong aurocracy, as rhis necessity of minutely supervising ewryrhing rhar goes on within the realm. This necessity shows up borh the immense rensions and the precariousness of rhe social apparatus wi rhour which rhe co-ordinaring function would nor endow rhe central ruler wirh so high a power ratio. The tension and equilibrium between rhe various social groups, and rhe resulting highly ambivalent arrirnde of all rhese groups ro the central ruler himself, was cerrainly nor created by any king. Bm once chis constellation had been established, it was virally importam for rhe ruler ro preserve it in all its precariousness. This cask demanded exact supervision of his subjects For good reasons Louis XIV had a particularly warchful eye on people closesr ro him in rank. The division of labour and rhe interdependence of everyone, including dependence of rhe central ruler on the masses, were nor yet so advanced char pressure from the common people was rhe grearesr threat ro the king, even though popular unrest, above all in Paris, was cenainly nor without danger; one of the reasons for rhe removal of his court from Paris ro Versailles lies here But whenever, under Louis's predecessors, dissatisfaction among the masses led to uprisings. ir was members of the royal family or rhe high nobility who
Sr.th F(JrJJZu"fifJn
Ir was shown earlier how. in rhc: course of monopolizarion. rht circle of
in relarion w thtm. "The suresr place for a son_ of France is rht_ htarr of King". he replied when his brorhtr asked him for a governorship and a a de sfirtte. Thar his eldtsr son held separart court ar Meudon he wirh rht mmosr displeasure And whtn rhe heir w rhe rhwne d1ed, rhe
able ro compert for rhe chance rn rule was gradually reduced ro rht members rht royal house. Louis XI finally conquered d1tst princel1 ftudal lords and resrortd rheir rerrirorits w rhe cro\\·n; bur in rhe religious wars different parties. wtrt srill headed by branches of rhe royal family \Virh Henry IV, afrer the exrincrion of rhe main brauch. a member of a secondary ont again came ro the rhrone. And rhe princes of rhe blood, "rht grear onts', rhe dukts and petrs of Franct, conrinutd ro witld considerable powtr Tht basis of rhis power is clear It was primarily rheir posirion as gl)ill
Cirili::.1tir1n
And rhe courr·s role as a place of dtrenrion emerged parricularly
plactd rhtmselves ar rheir head and used rht facrions and disconrenr for own ambirions. Here. in his closesr circlt. rhe monarch's mosr dangerous were srill ro be found
t!l!d
. , . srilv had rhe furnirnre of his ch!itct111 sold in case rht grandson who ki01' 1],L , . . ' "cl' _. l l · cl 'feLidon should make rht samt ust of 1t and once again 1\ 1c e r 1e inhente
i>
.. 11-\
court · t- l k · says s,11nr-S1mon. was C]UICe -groundless For none 0 ( lt ·rng s_ This fear, l!randsons would ha\ e dared w displtase him Bur whtn 1_r was a, marrer. v . • · · n ,, his j)rtsri "e and securrng 111s personal rule. rht krng s st\ en CJ m,1de ma1nt,un1
b
'='
L-
' ·ncrion berween his rtlations and other persons. no d is(I . .
. . -. l ol\· rult ctnrred on rhe monopol1ts of rnxar10n and ph) s1cal v 10 tnce. onop . , had thus arrained. for chis parricular srage as rht ptrsonal of_ an . d'1ncua, · 1 l irs- consumnnrt form Ir was prorecrtd b\· a fa1rlv tfhcitnr organ1zam ' · . .· . · . rion of survtillanct. The land-owning king d1su1bur111g land or nrhes_ had ·becon1e .'1 111 ontr-owninv kin" disrriburinl!._ salants: rh1s_ gave ctnrral1zanon a . o o ._ . 'f iv
power and solidity unarrnined hirherw The of rhe cemnfuga.l soC1al -forces l1ac! been fimllv broken All 1)oss1ble rivals of rhe monopoh ' , · _· rultr h.id. been .
rnins of srrongholcls srill had a high degree of indtpendtnce. The governors of
b U"hr inw an insrirnrionally secured dtpendenct on him. No longer 111 frte ro "' · o f r l1e no bT comperirion bur in one resrricttd by monopoly. on l y a secnon 1 1ry, r l1t courdr section. compered for rhe opporrnnitits clisrributed by rht monopoly_ ruler, ,and was ar rhe samt rimt under consranr pressure from a resern: arnw of
provincts regarded rheir purchased and salaried positions as rhtir property. So
coumrv ariswcracy and rising bourgtois tlemenrs. Tht courr was the orgamw-
chert wtrt rentwed flickerings of ctmrifugal rendencits in rhe land Under Louis XIII rhey wtrt srill percepriblt. The king's brorher, Gasron, Duke of Orleans,
nobilir:(s arrtmprs ar rtsisranct had rhtir basis in a similar power posirion. The army was nor yer compltrtly cenrraliztd; rhe commandtrs of fi.Jrrrtssts and cap-
Ht formally
rional .form of chis resrricred cornperi rion. Bur even if ar rhis srnge rhe king's ptrsonal conrwl of the monopolized · was an yr l1rng · b ur un l'irnl(ec · !· In rhe srrucrnre of this opporruniries were grear. 1r .
renounctd friendship for rht Cardinal afrer raking over rht leadership of rhe
relariwly privart monopoly rhtrt were alrtady unmisrnkablt elemenrs which
facrion hosrile ro him, and wenr ro Orleans w begin his srrugglt against
would finallv !tad from ptrsonal conrrol of the monopolits ro public conrrol by ever-broaclt; secrions of sociery. For Louis XIV rht srartrnenr: "I.:Erar c'esr moi"
rose. like many royal brod1trs befort him, againsr rht king
Richelitu
had. indeed. a measure of rrurh. wherher or nor ht hirnstlf urttred ir.
and rhe superior financial means they pm ar his disposal.. The rtsisring lords died rnnquished. somt in prison, somt in txilt. some in b,1rdt: Richtlitu !tr t\'tn the
Insriwrionallv. the monopolv organizarion srill had w a considerable cxrent rht
king's mothtr dit abroad. The belief rhar as sons or brorhers of rhe King, or princes of his blood. rhey may disrnrb the realm with impunity. is mistaken Ir is far more judicious m sernre the realm and monarchy than to respect impunin· endowed lw rank
So he \Hires in his memoirs. Louis XIV reaped rht btnefir of these vicrories; bur a stnse of rhrear from rhe nobiliry, parricularly tht high nobility closest ro him, was stcond narure w him . The ltsser nobiliry ht forga\·e an occasional abstnce from courr if reasons wert given. Towards "rhe great onts" he was
personal Funcrionally. howewr. rht monopoly rule_r's dependtnce on odier srrara. on rhe tnrire ntrwork of differtnriared soC1al funcrions, was already very grear, and was consrandy incre,1s111g wid1 the advance of rhc commercial and montrary inregrnrion of sociery. Only rhe pamcular sirnarion of socien·, rhe peculiar balance of rensions btrwten rhe rising bourgeois and rhe declinin; arisrncraric groups, and rhen berwten rhe many major and minor groups rhe land, gavt rhe cemral ruler his immenst powers of comrot and dtcision Tht independtnce wirh which earlier kings ruled their domains.
34-i
The Ci!'i!i::.i11g Proccs.1
of gravity which he had ro respect. Ir cost immense effort and self-co , ntro1 to preserve the balance of people and groUjJS and. b\.· j)la>.·ing on the t · ens1ons, to sreer the whole. The central functionary·s ability ro govern the whole human network was only seriously restricted when rhe balance on in his personal he \Vas poised tilted shar1)ly in favour of rhe bourgeoisie and a new soci·al lo I • . • u • ' a ance w1rl1 new axes ot tens10n was established. Only then did personal monopol" . b b" . b egm to. ecome pu lie monopolies in an institurional sense. In a long series of elimmanon comests, m a gradual cemralization of the means of j)hvsical v 1·0 1 · ence and taxation. in conjunction with a constantly increasing division of functions and the rise of professional bourgeois classes, French society had been organized step by step in the form of a state.
VIII On the Sociogenesis of the Monopoly of Taxation 26. A certain aspect of this monopolization, and thus of the whole process of state-formation, easily escapes the retrospective observer because he usually has a clearer picrnre of the later stages, of rhe results of the process, rl1an of developments lying further back He can hardly conceive that this absolutist monarchy and centralized government emerged quire gradually from rhe medieval world as something new and extraordinary in the eyes of its contemporaries. Ne\·errheless, only an attempt ro reconstruct this aspect gives us the possibility of understanding what really happened. The main outlines of the transformation are clear. From a particular central point it can be described in a few words: the ttrritorial propu·t) of onc its co11tro! r;f Ctillli11 lands a11d its dai111 to tither !ii' scn·ices of mriom· ki11dr ji-0111 the /1wple lil'ing 011 this la11d. is tramjim1ml ll"ith the ad1m1cing dil'ision of /imctiom and i11 the course o/ n11111ero11s struggles. into c1 cel/frali::.u! control of mi!itm:r mu! of regl!iar 1h1ties or taxes r11·u'a j;11 lmxer area. \'Vi thin this area no one may now use weapons and forrificarions or physical violence of any kind without the central ruler's permission. Thar is something ,·ery novel in a society in which originally a whole class of people could use weapons and physical violence according ro their means and their inclinations . And everyone of whom the central ruler requires it is now bound ro pay a certain portion of his income or his wealth ro the central ruler. This is even more novel, measured by what was cusromary in medieval society. In the barter economy of rhar time, where money was relatively rare. demands by princes or kings for money payments-leaving aside certain occasions fixed by tradition-were regarded as something quite unprecedented; such measures were regarded in much rhe same way as pillaging or the levying of tributes. "Consriruti sum redirus rerrarum. ur ex illis vivemes a spoliatione subdirorum
State Fomwtion and Cii-ili::.atio11
345
. bscineanr": 115 the revenues of the land are intended ro prevent those living on Jhem from plundering their subjects. said Sr Thomas Aquinas. In this he was :errainly nor expressing the opinion only of ecclesiastical circles, even though church institutions were probably particularly exposed to such measures on account of their wealth. The kings themselves did nor chink very differently, even if, with the general shortage of money, they could not refrain from repeatedly demanding such compulsory duries. Philip Augustus, for example, aroused so much unrest and opposition through a series of taxes, particularly the comriburion for rhe Crusades in l l88-the famous dime scd{/{!iJlt-that in 1189 he declared that no such raxes would ever again be levied. In order, his decree runs, that neither he nor his successors shall ever fall into the same error. he forbids with his royal authority and the whole authority of all the churches and barons of the realm, chis damnable effrontery If anyone, whether rhe king or anyone else, should attempt "by audacious remperity" ro revere ro it, he wants them disobeyed. 11 " Ir may be that in the formulation of this decree his pen was guided by agitated norables . Bur when he was preparing for the Crusade in 1190, he himself expressly ordered that in rhe event of his death during the Crusade, a part of the war treasury should be disrribmed among those who had been impoverished by the levies. Duries demanded by the kings in this society. \Vith irs relarive scarcity of money, were indeed something different from taxes in a more commercialized society. No one rook them for granted as a permanent institution; market transactions and the whole level of prices were in no way adjusted ro chem; they came like a bolt from the blue, ruining large numbers of people. The kings or their representatives, as we can see, were sometimes aware of this. Bur with the limited revenues they received directly from their domanial estates, they were constantly faced with the choice of either using all the threats and force at their disposal ro raise money by levies. or succumbing ro rival powers. All the same, the agiration over rhe "Saladin tithe" and the opposition it unleashed seem ro have been long remembered. Ir was only afrer sevemy-nine years that a king again demanded a special rax, an aide feodct!e for his Crusade. The general belief of kings themselves was that the rulers of a territory and their government should support themselves on the income from their domanial possessions in the narrower sense, that is, on the income from their own estates. To be sure, the kings and a number of other great feudal lords, in the course of monopolization, had already risen considerably above the mass of rhe feudal lords, and we can see in retrospect that new functions were evolving . Bur these new functions developed only slowly, by small steps and in constant conflict with the representatives of other functions, into solid institutions. For the rime being, the king was a great warrior among many other greater or lesser warriors. Like them, he lived on the produce of his estates; bur like them he also had a traditional right to raise taxes from the inhabitants of his region on certain extraordinary occasions Every feudal lord demanded and received cerrain duties
3-i6
Tho: Ciz'ili2i11g Pm(cso
51'1h Fr1mMti1;n ,n1cl Ciz-i/i::,ation
when his daughter was married, when his son was knit:hted and ro P . . . . v ' av ransom it he were made a pnsoner-ot-war. These were the original ' and the kings demanded them like every orher feudal lord. Demands for over and above rhest had no basis in cusrom: rhis is why rhey had a rtpute ro pillage and exrortion <
Then, in about the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, a new form of revenue began ro establish itself. In rhe twelfth century tht cowns were growing. Accord_ing to ancient feudal custom, only men of the \varrior class, the nobles,. were enntled ro bear arms:· but the burghers had now fouuht sv'o d in . . . . b .• r hand for unc freedom or were about ro do so: and about the rime of Louis VJ It became customan·- to enrol the rown-dwellers • the "'bourutois·· f'or \\'ar d ut1es. · t:> • , Very soon, howe:·er, the rown-dwellers preferred ro offer the territorial lords money rnstead of war sen·ices so that he could hire warriors. They commercialized war service; and to rhe kings and rhe other great feudal lords this was nor unwelcome. The supply of war services by indigent warriors was usuallv greater than rhe purchasing power of rht rival feudal lords. So rhese payments for exemption from war service quire quickly became an established cusrom or an institution. The king's representatives demanded from each town comn:unity such and such a number of men or rhe payment of a corresponding sum for a particular campaign, and the rowns agreed or negotiated a reduction. But even this cusrom was still seen as only a further form of the feudal aides in extraordinary cases; iris called the aidt ck /"ost and rhese aids were taken together as the "aids in the four cases ... It would take us too far afield to show how the rown communities themselves gradually began to form a kind of internal rnxation system for the various communal tasks. Suffice ir ro say that dle king's demands served ro develop this, just as, conversely. the urban taxation institutions thar began to be consolidated about the end of the twelfth century had an imporrance for the organization of royal taxation rhat should not be under-esrimated. Here, too. the bourgeoisie and the royal house-usually involuntarily-carried each other along. But this is certainly not ro rhat the burghers or any orher social class paid willingly and without resistance . As is the case with regular taxation later, no one paid these occasional taxes unless he felt directly or indirectly forced co do so. Borh cases indicate exactly the nature of the mutual dependence of groups in society at a given stage and of the prevailing power balances. The kings did not wish and could not afford to provoke excessive opposition; the social power of the royal function was clearly not yet strong enough for this. On the other hand, for their function and self-assertion. they needed above all ro finance the constant struggles with rivals, continual and gradually increasing sums of money that they could only obtain by such aides. Their measures changed . Under rhe pressure of rhis situation rhe royal representatives groped for one solution after another; they shifted the main burden first on co rhis urban or
class, then on ro that. But in all this twisting and turning the social power monarchy was constantly growing, and with this growth, each furthering other. raxes gradually rook on a new character ln 1292 rhe king demanded a duty of one "denier"' in the pound for all wares the duty being payable by both buyer and seller. "An exaction of a kind -ard-of in the French realm"', a chronicler of the time called it. In Rouen the l unic: in ,,_!Jouse of the rornl tax-collecrors was plundered. Rouen and Paris, rhe cOtl nt o · . . tWO most imp?rtant towns in the kingdom, finally bought their exemption for 11 fixed sum But this tax long remained in rhe popular memory under rhe ominous name 111c1f-11jtc; and the opposition it aroused long remained in the minds of the royal officials . Accordingly, the king attempted in the following vear to raise compulsory loans from the wealthy bourgeois. \\!hen rhis roo met violent resistance, he reverted in 1295 tO the aidt in its original form; rhe levy was demanded from all estates, nor only the third. One hundredth of the value of all goods was ro be paid. But the yield of this tax was clearly not enough . The following year rhe duty was raised ro a fiftieth. And now, of course, the feudal lords also affected by the tax were txrremelv angry.. The king therefore declared himself willing co return ro the religious and secular feudal lords a part of the sum ht raised from their dominions. He gave them, so to speak, a share of the boory. But rhis no longer reassured them. Above all, the secular feudal lords, the warriors, felr increasingly threatened in their traditional rights, rheir independem rule and perhaps even in their whole social existence, by this central governmental apparatus The king·s men were intruding everywhere: they· appropriartcl rights and duties which had earlier been the exclusive prerogative of the individual feudal lord . And here, as so often, it was money duties that were the last straw. \\!hen, in 131-1, shortly before the death of Philip the Fair, high taxes for a campaign in Flanders were once again levied, unrest and discontent, reinforced by tht mismanagement of the war, became open resistance. '"\'Ve cannot tolerate rhe levying of these ·aides'", says one of those affected, 110 "we cannot bear them with a quiet conscience; they would cost us our honour, our rights and our freedom . " "'A new kind of unjustified exrortion, of unseemly money-raising, unknown in France and particularly in Paris," another man of tht time records, '"was used to cO\·er expenses: it was said ro be intended for the Flanders war. The servile councils and ministers of the King wanted buyers and sellers to pay six deniers for each pound of the selling price. Nobles and commoners united under oath ro maintain their freedom and that of the fatherland.·· The unrest was indeed so great and general rhat rowns and feudal lords formed an alliance against the king. Ir is one of those historical experiments from which we can read off the degree of divergence of their interests, the strength of the tension between them. Under rhe common threat from the fiscal demands of the royal representatives, and rhe high feelings it aroused on all sides, a league
348
Tin Ciz'i/i::;i11g Proa.u
Stt1!t Fom1atioJ1 and Ci1·i!izatir111
berween bourgeoisie and nobiliry was still possible. \Vould ir last , . -· . . . ' . . ' \vou!d it ettecnve' Ir has already oeen pornted our char rn other countries . . . .. , especially . England on _the basis of a different social srrucmre, a rapprochement concerred acuon between cerrain urban and rural chsses gndll'l!I . _ • • • <- ' ' Y 1..ame berng wh1ch--desp1re all the rensions and hostilin· between th fi . . . . . em- na!J. contnbured rn no small way ro the curtailment ot royal power. The fare Jr alliances in France, as can be seen here in embr\'onic form and f: r . •1 more lacer, wirh t1:e growing interdependence of the estates, was very different. un,rnimity ot rhc csrares _did nor survive long; the impacr of rheir combin acr10ns was broke_n by rheir mutual misrrusr.. "Anger and discontent bring ed rogerher. bur their interests admir no uniry." 11 'J 11 sonr lignte Jeslignet Conrrtfai re er mal alignte
runs a song of the rime about the allies All rhe same chis violent re·acnon · to wilrully ltned rnxes ltfr a srrong impression, nor lease on rhe royal officials. Such upheavals Wl[hrn_ rhe domrn10n were nor without dan<•er for rhe strLio·h b og le Wit rivals. The social position of rhe central ruler was not yet strong enough tor him alone ro derermrne the dunes and then level; power was still distributed rn such a way chat he had ro negotiate on each occasion with the estates whom he was taxing and gain their approval. And as yer rhe aiclcs were no more than and extraordinary payments ro assist in a particular concrete purpose. fh1s was only gradually ro change in the course of rhe Hundred Years' War. As war became permanent, so also did the duties needed by the central ruler for its conduce.. •
,.
L.
•
•
,
. 27. "The struggle facing the monarchy in seeking ro esrablish and develop its hscal power can only be appreciared if we are aware of the social forces and interests it encountered as obstacles ro its designs." 1c" This srarement does indeed point w the basic feamre of rhe sociogenesis of the taxation monopoly. To be sure, the kings rhemselves could not foresee, any more than their adversaries in this struggle, rhe new institution w which it would give rise. Thev did not really have any general intention w "increase rheir fiscal power" To b;gin with they and rheir representatives wanted quire simply ro exuacr as much money as possible from their dominion on one occasion after another, and rhe tasks expenses necessitating this were always quire specific and immediate. No single person created taxes or the taxation monopoly; no individual, nor series of individuals throughout the century in which this insrirurion was slowly formed, worked rowards this goal by any deliberate plan . Taxation, like other _is a producr of social imenveaving. It arises-as from a parall;logram ot forces-from the conflicts of the various social groups and interesrs, until sooner or later the instrument which has developed in rhe constant social trials of suength becomes more and more consciously undersrood by the interested
and more deliberately constructed into an organization or insrimtion . In \. 1·n coni·unCLion with a '-gradual uansformarion of sociery and a shift of wa.. po>
relationships within it. rhe occasional aids ro rhe lords of estates or le\·ied for specific campaigns or ransom or dowries or the provision of
ons, \y,.e-re rransformed into regular payments As rhe mone\' and uade sector of
5
L
'
,
,he econom\'. slowh·. increased, as a particular house of feudal lords gradual!\' a house of kings over an ever-larger area, the feudal aide 1111x q!!cttrt ws L
•
step by step into taxarion
from 1328 onwards. and more strongly from 1337, this transformation of rhe dinarr aid inro regular duties accelerated . In 1328 a direct tax for rhe war ext•raor · 'Flanders was again levied in certain parts of rhe kingdom; in L\35 there was an indirect tax in a number of western rowns. a duty on each sale, for equipping a fleer; in 13_'>8 all royal officials had somerhing deducted from their av: in 1)40 the tax on the sale of wares was re-introduced and made general; in p ·. rhere was an additional rax on the sale of salt. the gahulk cl!! st!. In l .'>4-L and 1346 rhese indirect taxes continued ro be raised. After rhe Bartle of Crecy. rhe royal officials again uied a personal direct tax, and in 1347 and 13-18 they reverted once more to the indirect form, the tax on sales. All this was ro some degree experimental; all these levies were regarded, as we have said, as remporary assistance from society in rhe conduct of rhe king's war; they were !cs aides s11r le ;;1it ck la gf!l:rn:. The king and his officials declared over and over again 121 rhat the demands for money would cease wirh rhe hosriliries. And whenever the esrnrc:s· represenrnrives had the chance, they underlined rhis; they tried w ascertain thar the money coming from the aides was actually used for military purposes. The kings themselves, however, ar least from Charles V on, never adhered very strictly w this demand . They controlled the funds from rhe aides and continued, when they thought it necessary. to meet their own household com or w reward their favourites from chis money. This whole development. chis inflow of money to rhe king's treasury as well as the establishment of a military force paid from this money, slowly bur surely led roan extraordinary strengthening of rhe central function . Each of the estates, the nobility above all, opposed the central authority's increase in power w rhe best of its ability. Bm here, roo, their divergence of interests weakened their resisrance. They were far roo much affected by rhe war, far roo directly interested in a successful repulsion of the English, ro be able w refuse the king funds. In addition, the strength of the amagonism between them, wgerher with local differences, nor only undermined any common from w limit rhe king's financial demands or ro supervise the use of chis income, bur prevented a direct organization of rhe war by rhe esrares. The threat from outside made the people of this society, which still had relatively linle unity and interdependence. particularly dependent on rhe king as supreme co-ordinawr and on his governmental machine . So they had w pm up year after
Th1:
_)51
year with the le\·ying in the king's name of "extraordinary aids .. for a War did nm end Finally. after King John was rnken prisoner in the Barde of Poi tiers in ·-' . , 0 [Qt r_o pay rhe enormous. ransom demandccd_ by· rhe English. a tax was levied for th; hrst time not JUSt tor one ·vtar bur ror six . Here ' as so oft'-11 · n a· _ ' • ' 1 1')Or torrnirnus event. merely accelerated something dmr had long been prepared in the strucrnrt ot society. In realiry d11s rnx was raised conrinuouslv nor for 51· • -
·
-X}'ears
bur for twenty. and we may suppose rhar by rhis rime a certain adaptation of the marker w such payments was rakrng place. Moreover. apart from this purchasethe kmg s ransom there were conti.nual rnxes for other purposes as Well: rnx Il1 l J6J a d1recr tax to cover rhe immediate costs ot war· in l :;6-, ·inotl . · · ' 1er to combat pillage by d1e soldiery; in l.'\69. on the resumption of war. new direct and 111d1rect rnxes mcluding the specially hated house-rnx. the 0
"All d1ese are srilL no doubt. feudal 'aides, bm generalized. made uniform and levied nm only in the king's domain but throughout rhe kingdom under the supen·isi?n of a special. centralized administrative machine."1.c.c In fact, in this phase ot the Hundred Years' \var when the :1idi:s were slowly becoming permanent. there graduallv e\·olved specialized official functions devoted to collecring and legally enforcing these "extraordinary payments". as they were still called. First of all they were represented simply by a few G,:i1cu 11x 511 r who supen·ised the army of those responsible for the aides throughom the land. Then. in U 'O. there were already nvo supreme administrators. one of whom specialized in the financial and the other in the legal questions arising from the collection of c1idn. This was the first form of \vhat later. throughout whole c111<·iei1 remained one of the most important organs of fiscal administration. the Chamlm or CrJi!r du· Aidu·. But here. in the years L'70 ro 1380. this institution was still in the process of formation; ir lacktd a definite flirm; it was one more attempt in the open or silent struggle in which the different social power-centres were constantly resting each other's strength. And its presence did nor. as often happens with solidly established insrirntions, obliterate the memory of the social conflicts from which it had resulted. Each time the monarchy. meeting resistance in different parts of the ]Xl]'Ulation. had to limit its taxation demands. these official functions also receded. Their level and the cun·e of their growth is a fairly exact inclicaror of the social strength of the central function and the apparnrns for ruling in relation to the nobility, the clergy and the urban classes . Under Charles V, as has been mentioned. the aides sm Ir: ;;1it ,/i; !t1 g!!l·rrc became as permanent as the war itself They weighed upon a people that was being impoverished in this war by devastation, fire, trade clifficulties and not least bv continual raids by troops who wanted ro be fed and fed themselves b\· force. Ail the more oppressiw were the taxes demanded by the king; and the strongly their becoming the rule instead of the exception was ftlt as a contravention of
, dirion As long as Charles V was aliYe all this found no visible express10n Bm it seemed that the king was to vrsr re·s , c-"rew unseen. •and. with it. discontent . . _ c tent aware of this growmg tension m the countr\'. ot the suppressed ex e 50rn· "" .· . particularly against the taxes. He probably realized the danger ro which .. mood must Lgive rise if. in his place. in place of an old. experienced ,king. a L , 'ld his son who was still a minor. came ro the throne under the guard1ansh1p "I] ! ' rival relations. And perhaps this fear of the future was coupled with pangs of -onscience. Certainly the taxes that his government had brought in year after ' seemed ro the king inevitable and imlispensable. Bur e,·en for him. rhe beneficiary. these taxes clearly still had a tinge of injustice about them. At any rare, a few hours before his dearh. on 16 September 1380. he signed a decree repe,t!ing above all the most oppressiYe and unpopular tax. the house-tax which ed equal!\'. on rich and I)OOr. How appropriate this decree was to the w·e 1·,,r t' 1 siruarion created by the king's death wry quickly became apparent. The central function weakened. the repressed tensions in the country broke our.. The competing relations of rhe dead king. above all Louis of Anjou and Philip the Bold of Burgundy. contested predominance and not least control of the royal rmisury. The towns began to reYolt against the taxes . The people put tht royal GL'C-collecrnrs ro flight.. And the agitation of the lower urban strata was at first nor unwelcome to the richer bourgeoisie. The desires of borh ran paralleL The urban notables who in November USO met representatives of the other estates in Paris, demanded the abolition of the royal taxes. Probably the Duke of Anjou. rhe king's Chancellor, promised to fulfil the demand under this direcr pressure. On 16 November 1.)80 a decree was issued in the king's name by which "henceforth for ewr. all 'fouage' impositions, salt taxes, fourths and eighths. by which our subjects have been so much aggrieved. all aids and subsidies of any kind which ha,·e been imposed on account of the said wars .''. were abolished "The whole financial system of the last ten years. all the conquests maclt in the years l 358:59 and l,167168. were sacrificed. The monarchy was thrown back almost a century It found itself at almost the same point as at the beginning of the Hundred Years' \\/ar." 1c; ,r:i
Like a S\'Stem of forces that has not yet reached equilibrium. society S\rnyecl back and forth between the various poles in the struggle for power.. It speaks for rhe social power already possessed by the central gO\·ernmem and the royal function at this time. that thev were able ro make up the lost ground with extraordinary speed. although the king himself was a child and wholly dependent on the administrawrs and servants of the monarchy. \\/hat was seen later once more under Charles VII with particular clarity, emerged fairly clearly en'n at this time: the opportunities open ro the royal function in rhis structure of French society and in this siwation. were already so great that the monarchy could increase its social power e\·en when the king was personally weak or insignifi-
352
Std!c For111ation diid Cil'ili:atio11
Th, Cil'i/i;:;ing Pmcu.1
1cant The dependence of tht groups and classes in this society on a . . . . . . . supreme orelmdtor who mamramed co-operanon between the v·1rious -uci·il f · ·_ . . . . . ' , ' Unctions di,tncrs, grew with their mterdependence and "rew even mor'" d _ . . . . ' c un er pressure of milirary clanger. And so, wdlmgly or nor. they very quick!v the means needed to conduct the war to the men who represented thei; interests, above all in conflicts with external enemies· tl1e !·· . . . · 'mg and represenrat1ve. Bur m so domg they also gave the monarchy the means to them. In 1382-83 the monarchv. i.e. the kinu to<'ether with ·ill tl1e l . . . . "' "' ' re anons counCJ!s and servants whom any wav Lielon"ed to the uovernn1ent m l · ; . . . . . . . "' "' ac 11ne. w agam m a posmon to d1crate to the towns. the chief centres of resis,. _ as . . .ance thk raxes it considered necessary. ' ' The question of taxes was at the centre of the urban risinus of 1 '87 B . . . . _ b )<._ ..... Ut 1!1 the struggle over raxes and the d1stnburion of their burden bv th .. . . . _ . . . . e central appar,1rus, the guesr10n of the whole d1stnbut10n of power as so often \\ _. . . . . . . . '' ' 'as tested and deuded. . The .obiecnve. _of gammg disrri·b ut10n · ot, _ , a voice in rhe raising , ·ind '
raxts. rhar is. ot superVIsmg trom a central position rhe working of the government machme. was pursued guire consciouslv bv the urban notable f I . · · ' so tie rime, and nor only br them. Ar assemblies, representatives of rhe other estates sometimes pushed m the same direction. The horizons of rhe lower and middle classes were_ generally narrower; what they wanted above all was release trom their oppressive burdens, nothing more. Even in rhis direction tile boas " l of •
offi;:s as
353
urban notables demanded theirs in the larger spl:ere of the government of the The urban upper srrara rook flight or detended themselves; and they iallY saved at this srage of the struggle bv the arrival of roval troops t.vere ust, . ._. . . . '. . . . . us too far afield to follow these srruggles and the nsmgs m Jr WOLlid [·1ke ' _ _ . _ c rowns in derail They ended wich a rurrher shift of power m favour of die central apparatus and the monarchy. The ringleaders of rhe revolt, panicrhose who had refused to pay rnxes. were purnshed by death. others with · nes On che towns as a whole large 1)avments were imposed. In Paris, rhe heavy f1 · ':- _ · . . 'fiecl roval castles or bascilles were: remforced and new ones bu1lc, manned by forn · . . . men-at-arms. gem c/'armus And urban liberties were resrncred. From now local town administrations were increasingly placed under royal officials until 00 rhey roo were essentially organs of rhe royal apparatus for ruling. In this way the hierarchy of the central government appararns, whose occupants were the leadmg bourgeois, excended from ministerial posts and the highest judicial offices ro the sitions of mayor and guild-master. And the question of raxes as a whole was db l . . . decided in the same way. They were now dicrart y t lt central orgarnzar10n If we examine the reasons why this trial of strength was so quickly decided in favour of the central function, we again encounter the fact already mentioned so often: it is rhe anragonisms becween the various groups of this society that gave rbe central function its srrengrh The boutgeois upper class had a tense relationship nor only ro rhe secular and clerical feudal lords, but also to the lO\ver urban srrara. Here, it is above all the disunity of the urban classes themselves which favoured rhe central ruler. No less important was rhe face that as yet scarcelr anv close association existed between the different towns of the There were weak tendencies towards a collaboration of several cities. was nor yet nearly close enough to permit concerted action. The different rowns still confronted each other to some extent like foreign powers; between them roo there was more or less intense competition. So the royal representatives first concluded a truce with Paris in order to have a free hand against the towns of Flanders. Thus secured, they broke the urban resistance in Flanders; rhen they broke it in Rouen, then in Paris. They defeated each town singly. Nor only social bur regional fragmentation as well-within cerrain limits and nor excluding a certain degree of interdependence-favoured the central function. In face of rhe combined opposition of all parts of rhe populacion, the monarchy would necessarily be defeated. But in face of each individual class or region the central function, drawing ics power from the whole country, was rhe suongeL
Nevertheless, sections of society continued to try ro limit or break the growing power of the central function. Each rime, in accordance with the same structural regularities, rhe disturbed balance was restored after a time in the monarch's favour, and each of these trials of strength further advanced its power. Taxes paid to rhe king still disappeared now and then or were briefly resrricred,
The Ciz'ili::i11g
bm they were always very soon revived. In exactly rhe same wa·· concerned with the administration and collection of taxes vanished peared. The history of rhe Chm11brt des Ait!o, for example. is full of upheavals and sudden reversals. There were several successive between 1370 and 1'>90 Then again in l-113 > l-il8 • 1-P)1-,;6)- , l/o6' ' -, 'l d l-i7-i it underwem, as its historian writes. "excesses of life and death unp d".11 . .. ' '' ·1 . ll . b . , .re Itta bl e resurrecnons : · um1 hna r 1r · ecame a hrmh· established institut· . . · . · . ron in the royal governmental mach111e. And while rhese flucwat1ons do not, of reflecr only the ._great social rrials of strengd1 ,_ ' the\· · nevertheless o,, 1·,.e a cert'-ai. picwre of rhe sociogenesis of the roral funcrion. rhe urowrh of rhe mon ' .n . . . . •. b opoiv orga111zanon 111 fhey make rt clear how little all these funcrions and tormanons resulted from rhe long-rerm conscious plans of individuals, and much they arose by small, rentarive sreps from a mulriwde of imerrwininn "nJ . . l . 0 ""' con fl 1ct111g mman efforts and activities. 28. The individual kings rhemselves were. in rhe deploymem of their personal wholly dependent on the sirnarion in which thc:y found the roval tuncrion. This seldom showed irstlf so clearly as in rhe case of Charles VII. As.an individual he was certainly nor especially strong; he was nor a grear or powerful person. Yet. afrer rhe English had been expelled from his rerrirory, during his reign the monarchy grew stronger
L•
Sit1h
Pro(U.1
•
Formation
tlild
Ciz·ili::.atirm
355
blv in rhis phase of rhe adv,mcing clitfrrentiarion and integration of _ . . . . . . the power of rhe central tuncnon \\"
1•
When your predecessors intended to go to war, it was their custom to assemble the three estates: they invited peoplt from tht Church. the nobility and the common people w meet them in one of rheir good cities Then thty came and explained how thinL:s stood and what was needed to resist the enemy and they required that the rook counsel on how the war was to be conducted in order to help rhe king with taxes decided in this discussion You yourself always maim,1ined this procedure until vou realized that God and fortune-which is changeable-h
In another passage the archbishop gives free rein to his indignarion: "He deserves to be stripped of his rule who uses ir wilfully and not one half ro rhe Take care. rherefore, rhat rhe surfeir of money advantage of his subjects
356
The Ci1·i/i:;i11g Pmcd.1
35 7
5tah Fom1t1tio11 t111cl Cil'ili:t1tio11
flowing to you from rhe aic!ts. which you draw from rhe body. does not your soul. You are also rhe head of rhis body \V'ould ir nor be great rhe head of a human crearnre desrroyed rhe heart, rhe hands, and feet probably symbolizing clergy. warriors and common people}.." From rhen on. and for a long period, ir was rhe subjecrs who pointed to th<> public characrer of the royal funcrion. Expressions like "public cause", land" and even "srare" were first used generally in opposition to rhe princes and kings . The central rulers themselves controlled rhe monopolized opportunities in rhis phase, above all rhe revenue from their dominions--as Juwnal des says-like private properry. And ir is in rhis sense, too. as a reply to the opposition's use of such words as farherland or srare. rhat we should understand rhe saying arrributed to the king: "I am rhe stare." Amazement ar this whole development was nor, however, confined to rhe French. The regime that was emerging in France, the strength and solidity of rhe central apparatus and function-which sooner or later appeared subsequenrly, on the basis of analogous srrucrures, in almost every country in Europe-was in rhe fifreenth century something even more surprising and novel to observers outside France. \V'e need only read reports of Venerian envoys of rhis rime to have an impression of a foreign observer, who undoubredly had wide experience in such matters, encountered in France an unknown form of go\·ernment. In 1-492 Venice sent rwo envoys to Paris, officially to congramlare Charles vm on his marriage to Anne of Brittany, bur in realiry, no doubt, to find out how and where France intended to use her power in Italy, and in general, how things stood in France, what was rhe financial simarion, what kind of people the king and government were, what products were imporred and exporred, what factions exisred; in a word, the envoys had to discover everything worth knowing to enable Venice to rake the correct political acrion . And these embassies, which were now gradually changing from an occasional to a permanent insrirurion, were rhemselves a sign of how in this period Europe was slowly becoming interdependent over larger areas Accordingly, we find in their report, among other things, an exact depicrion of the French finances and of financial procedure in rhe country The envoy escirnare, the king's income ac approximacely 3,600,000 francs per annum-including "l ,--±00,000 franchi da alcune imposizioni che se solevano meeter es//aordi11e1rie ... le quali si sono conrinuare per ta! modo che al presence sono fane ordillarie" (l ,400,000 francs from imposirions which used ro be extmordi11t11)' bm have become ordi11m)'). The ambassador estimates che king's expenses ar 6,600,000 or 7 .300,000 francs. The resultant deficic, he reports, is raised in the following way: k
Every year, in January, the direcrors of the financial administration of each regionthat is. those of the royal domain proper. Dauphine, Langutdoc. Brittany and Bnrgundy-meet ro calculate incomes and expenses ro meet the needs of the following
by considering expenses [pri11!d 111ct1r1110 t11ttt1 !" _1jld:1]. and rn co,·er · - ll between the expenses ,ind the expected revenues they hx a general rnx tor a 111 •· -es of the Kin<,dom Of d1ese taxes neither prelates nor nobles pay anything. rbe ptO' 1nc o . . . . . l. rhe 1eo11le. In this wav the ordinan· revenues and this rax bnng in enough to 1· · .· . . 0ur on! . . ·i endirure of rhe cominf..'. year It. dunng the ye
vnr. n.n
1
·
l . other t·1x is levied or stipends are cur so that under all Circumstances the
tnoug 1. an
.
',
.
i2r,
necessary sum 1s obrained
of rhe .rnxarion. Up w now a goo cl cl ea l [ms been S·,11·d . aboL1r rhe formation . . Here in che Venerian envovs account, we are given a clear p!Crnre of roonopo l}· ' · . . . . c ·ind functioning at chis staue of developmem. \V'e also frnd one of che trS rorm ' o . . · orr·mr scrucrnral fearnres of ab sol m1sm and-to a cenam exrenr-of !JJOSt 1mp ' . . . " ['ire" in "eneral: rhe !Jrimacy ot expend1mre over income. For che nes' "' . . .. I . d' ··cl ·ii members of sociecv·' particularly in bourgeois soc1erv, 1r became more !U fVI u, and more a habit and a necessity ro clerermine expenditure sr:1crly by mcome. In the economy of a social whole, by contrasr, expenses are che pomr; on them .mcom, e 1··e · rhe sums demanded from rhe individLwl members of soCJety . chrough .. monopol\· are made dependent. This is anorher example ot how rhe t he (,IX roralicy arising from rhe interdependence of individuals possesses srrucrnral chamcrerisrics and is subject ro regulariries different from rhose of individuals. and noc robe undersrood from rhe individrnd's point of view . The only limit ser ro che financial needs of a central social agency of chis cime was che raxable capaciry of sociery as a whole, and che social power of individual groups in relarion to rhe controllers of the rax monopoly. Later, when che monopoly adminisrrarion had come under rhe control of broader bourgeois srrara. rhe economv of sociery as a whole was sharply divided from rhar of rhe individual peoplt ,;dminisrering rhe central monopoly.. Sociery as a whole, rhe scare, could and musr continue to make raxes, income, essenrially dependent on the soC1ally necessary expendiwre; bur rhe kings, che individual central rulers, now h<1d to behave like all other individuals; they had precisely fixed stipends and managed L-
L-
•
"
•
their expenses accordingly In rhe first phase of full monopoly, chings were different The royal and public economies were nor yer separnre. The kings ser raxes in accordance with rhe expenses rhey considered necessary, wherher these were for wars or casrles or gifts ro their favourites. The key monopolies of rule still had rhe characcer of personal monopolies. Bur what from om point of view is only rhe firsc stage on the way ro the formation of societal or public monopolies, appeared ro these Venetian observers of about 1500 as a novelcy which they regarded with curiosity, as one is apt ro consider che unknown manners and cusroms of strange peoples. \'\(!here they came from things were quire different. The power of the supreme Venetian amhoriries, like char of medieval princes, was restricted to a high degree by che local government of different regions and esrares Venice. too, was che centre of
358
359
a major dominion. Ocher municipalities had ]Jlaced l l ·· I · voum · or 1en\ 1st unatr 1rs rult. Bur t\·en in rhe cast of c . . . b. ar!ly l ... . . . . ommu11es su 1ugated · r 1c condmons on which rhe\· were incoriJorared inco rl1t \T -· l . . .,, . · : . ' c:ncrran near} ah'"} s rncluded a pro,·1s10n "'char no new nxt""' 111 -1\· b·- 1·1 _. , · . . . '· ·' '. c Hro d uced l at,rtemenc ot rht ma1on ry ot rhe council"'_ 12ne dispassionate rei·Jorrs of rhe non-1)·1rrr· c-1 n . In rht . ·' J' Vtnc:rran tm ovs I formation d1ar had raken plact in France is perhaps more' J\ idl\ . ' t le trans. n l I I . expressed r r le rnc 1gnanc wore s of rhe A.rchbishop of Rheims. I n I )- J) ' - rIle rc:porr of. rhe Venetian envors cone", 1· ns rl r- • JI 1 to owing:
and cht various t:rades of che military. So char if someone enters your service
L
"
L
usually has an income of
cv'.
mdliun. 1 say "'usually : for. if he so wishes. he can increase che caxes r;o a 115 \V hace,·er burdens he places on rlPm rl . . . . .- I . . n people. I-. ., . . . c · lt} pa; \\I[]OllC resrncuon. Bm I mus . c. .11s re8.ird rhac che secc1on of che populacioo which be·1rs . p,1n . 0 f lw . t say ' . rlic·, m·a1or is ,·ery poor. so rhac any increase in che burden however small.. would be
,
In 1546. finally. the Venetian Ambassador Marino Cavalli l I F . ga\·e an exact and c era1 ec reporr on ·ranee in which rhe ]J. ""Clrl1··,1r1·r1·es ot rht t:OYernment of ti country. as ir ai}!Jtartd ro 'm rmparr1a · · l conremporary wirh wide ' horizons .lat pare icularl y clear! y: • emerge
I
Many kingdoms are_ more fercilt and richer chan hance rl>r '"X"n11'le !·' · '· '" · · rnngarv a J . c,1 ). many are larger and more powerful. for example. Germam· and S ,ain n . I is as urnced and obedient. 1 I 1. . · l ut none co nor oe 1itve r lat her prest1 "t Ins ·rnv orhe h chest: ewe rl . '.. . l l . "' ' ' . r cause t an . J 11nt:s. un1cy anc o 1ed1ence [1111ifJl1c , 0 /;/;.-cfj, 1,-.1] .,.0 sLir· ' cl · . . . ·.. .,. . · ·-· · " . e. iree om is th mosc clkrbhecl gm lll che world: bllt nor all are worchy of ic For chis e peoples are usualh· born rn obe,·, ochers rn comm· cl !". . . l I reason some I ...... " . . . . ,rn . r ic is c ie m ier wav round we 1,1\t " s1nuc1on like die present om: in Gcrnun;. or earlier in Spain. The French ho1\e\er. perhaps reeling unsuiccd rn ic. haYt fr,ndecl Cl\"·r cli · ··. I cl ' .. ·-I· . _. . . . '" c t1r rretcom an will cnure ) rn rhc king. So 1r 1s enough tor him rn sa1·: ] wane such-and-such I a . such-and-such. I decide such-and-such ·rncl ·di chi..0 . I .I pprme . II cl .. . . ·' ' is prompr Y execmec. as 1f rhev had '1] e\ided IC Thint:s_ ha,·e gone so far that rnday one of chem who has more wi; thon tie " l or 1ers, says: Earlier cheir kings - had called chems·e/,-,..... s ··reges Francorum'', today
] .I.
, ·rn.
tJlC
,
.
011<:
occasion in cheir lives. some remain cwo. chree 1·ears wichom .
nny rt\\·ard. Your Strenity. who giYe away quirt definite things. bur co son1t
exrenr heredicary ones. should cercainh· nm be influenced by che example of whac is
done elsewhere In my judgemem che rnsrnm of gi1·ing only for che duration of a Hferin e 1
is excellent Ir alwa\"s t:ives che king che opportunity of rew,irding chose
who are desen·ing: and chert: is always someching lefr rn giw away If che gifrs \\"ere herediwry. we would no\\· ha\"t: an impon:rished Francia and che present kings would
have nod1int: more rn give away: bur in this way chey arc served by people ol more
Aparr from che face char che kint: is militarily ]'O\H:rful. he obrnins mone,· peoples obedience. I say char his
,iJd says he has had such-and-such reward. rides and pro,·isions from che French. Your will know or whac kind these provisions. rides cllld gifrs are. ne1·cr attain
8' '
cJ H:y can d call rhemse!Yes "reges serYorum · So rhei· nor cJnli· pay rht king whace1·er he· c eman s, bllt all ocher capital is likewise open er: his grasp f Charles VIJ rncreasecl rhis obedience of che people. afrer he had freed che countrv r_om the yoke of che English; and after him Louis XI and Charles VIII , ·Ii . -d' Na,!·.. · d'l l'k·.. .-. . , · ' oconque,e ( . _1 c.': Jc., 1 c\I ise .. Louis XJI made his own comribmion Bue che ruling King
Fr,rnus n c,.n boast ot havrng greacly omdone his predecessors: he has his subjeccs 'Y'}' 1 excraordrnan· .. l1e \l'
rneric chan che heirs of some earlier recipient Your Serenity might retlecr. if France aces
in rhis way. on whac ocher princes oughc rn do who do nor rule such a large country Jf we do nor carefully consider where these heredicary gifrs lead-rn che preser\"acion
of the family, ic is saicl-ic will happen that chert are no sufficient rewards left for cruly deserYing people. or new burdens will ha\'e to be placed on che people. Boch chings are unjust and harmful enuugh ff t:ifrs are made only for lift:cime, chen only rhose who desen·e ic are re,rnrded. Esrnres circulate and afrer a rime revere co rhe tisc.
For
eighty years new agreements haw continually been made wich rhe Crown wichom
giving anything away. through confiscation. reversion on inhtriranct or purchast::, In rhis way che Crown has absorbed everything.
to
cht excem char chert is nor a single
prince in cht whole realm ,,·ho has an income of 20.000 scudi. J\forem·er. chose who possess incomes and land are nor ordinary owners: for the king recains supreme rule by virwe of cht
to
cake accion against che king. as the dukes of
Brinany. Normandy. Burgundy and many ocher great lords of Gascony did earlier. 1\nd if anyooe does anyching ill-considered and cries rn bring abouc some change. like che Bourbons. chis onh· t:iYtS che king an even earlier oppormnin·
to
enrich himself
chrough char man"s ruin "'
Hert, compressed inro a single \·iew. we have a summary of rhe decisive smrcrural ftarures of emergenr absolutism One feudal lord has won predomir.ance over all his comperirors. supreme rule over all land . And chis control of land is increasingly commercialized or monerarized The change is expressed on rhe one hand by rhe fact chat rhe king possesses a monopoly in collecting and fixing raxes rhroughour rhe country, so rhar he controls by far rhe largest income. A king owning and disrriburing land has become more and more a king owning money and distributing income This is precisely what has enabled him ro break our of the vicious circle which trapped rhe rulers of counrries with barter economies . He no longer pays for rhe services he needs, milirary, courtly or administrative, by giving away parts of his property as rhe hereclirary property of his servanrs, as is clearly srill in part rhe case in Venice. Ar mosr he gives land or salaries for life. and rhen withdraws chem so char rhe crown possessions art nor
360
Th1: Cirilizi11f!, Pn1cu_,
reduced; and in . . _ an increasing!v , . largt " number of casts ht rewards S"'n·· with money g1trs, with salaries He centralizes the raxarion of rhe whole and distributes tht inflowing money at his own discretion and in the his rule, so that an immense and ever-growing number of people throughout countn·. are c!Irecrlv or indirecrlv denendtnt on rht kinu·s favour ' on j}a"J ments . . . . ., r . b the rornl financial adm1I11srrar10n . Ir 1s tht more or less private intere·>tS 0 f the . . . . kings and their closest servants \vh1ch veer toward exploication of their s . , . . . ! . d. . b OCJru opporrunmes ll1 r 11s 1rect1on; · ut what has emerged in the conflicts of betwc:c:n rhc: various social functions, is the form of social organization wh· h .. .. . . , 1c we call rhe srare fhe rnx monopoly, rngerher with the monopoly of physical are the backbone of this organization. \\le can understand neither the <>ene ·. _ .. ,, _ o Sfa nor the existence ot states unless we are aware--even from the example of a country-how one of these central institutions of the ··srare" developed ste b. · . d .I I . l d ynam1cs, . p y step rn accor. ance wit l re ar10na as a result ot- a very specific regulanry ansIOg froIT! rhe structure of interwoven interests and actions. Even at rh1s srage-as we see trom rhe Venerian·s reporr-rhe central organ of society has raken on a hirheno unknown swbiliry and strength because its ruler, thanks to rht monerarizarion of society, no longer needs ro pay for sen·ices from his own possessions, which without expansion would sooner or later be exhausted but w!rh sums of money from the re?ular inflow of taxation. Finally, the ot money has exempred him tram the necessity, firsr raken over from the procedure of rew,1rding with land, of repaying services with a property ro be held for life and hereditary. Ir makes it possible to reward the service or a number of services by a single payment, by a fet or salary. The numerous and far-reaching consequences of this change must be lefr aside here The asronishmem of rhe Venetian envoy is enough ro show how chis rnsrom, which roday is commonplace and raken for granted, appt<1red as something new ro people of the rime. His account also once again shows 1x1rricularlr clearly whv ir was onh· rhe monerarizarion of sociery that made possible org-ans: money ;x1yment keeps all recipients permanently dependent on tht central authorirv Onlr rhen could the centrifugal tendencies be finally broken. . , And it is also from this wider context that we must understand what was happening to the nobiliry ar this rimt. In rhe preceding period, when rhe rest of the nobility were stronger, the king exerted his power as central ruler, within cenain limits, in favour of the bourgeoisie. His apparatus for ruling rhus became a bastion of the bourgeoisie . Now rhar, as a result of monerarv inte"ration and military cenrralizarion, the warriors, the landowners, rhe nobili,ty declining further and further, the king began to pit his weight and the opportunities he had at his disposal somewhar more on rhe side of rhe nobiliry. He gave a part of the nobility the possibility of continuing ro exist as a stratum elevated above the bourgeoisie . Slowly, after the last fruitless resistance by elements of rhe esrares in the religious wars and thtn in the FrrJ11de, coun offices became a privilege and
Stc1te Formt1tio11 and CiZ"ilization
361
. · n of rhe nobilirv In rhis wav rhe kings protected the nobility"s pre.1 b,1st10 . · . . ' _ . hev distributed their favour and rhe money they controlled ll1 such a roinenLe, r . . . , . cl B t• rhat rhe balance endangered by the no?1liry s decl1nt was preserve. ut . b. rhe relarivelv free warrior nobility ot earlier nmes became a nobility Ill r!Iere y d endence ,on ·ind in the service of the central ruler. Knights became lifelong ep ' ' . ·' · · , I· ! I . And if we ask what sooal funcnons these courr1trs real!) 1ac, t 1e -·urr1ers. · · - I . · tv . . here. \'Ve are accusromed ro refer ro rht courtly nobility ot r 1e ,mc1t11 llf!Swer 11es . . .. _ .. . as a '"funcrionless'" class. And IOdeed, this nobility had tuncrwn ll1 f the division of Jabour, and thus in the undersranding ot the nanons of [PfiTIS 0 . f f . . I • · eenth and twentierh centuries The conhguraoon o uncoons ll1 t 1e the niner . . . I was different. It was pnmanly derermmed by the fact that t 1e entral ruler was still ro a great extent rht personal owner of the power c l' tint rhtre was nor vet a clear division between rhe central ruler as a monopo y, ' . . .. . ·nd 1·,, 1·c1 11a1 and as a functionary of soc1en·. Tht courtly nobility had no pnvate 1 ' · ' . . .. t funcrion in rhe division of labour, bur it had a funcoon for the kIOg. Ir was dtree bl d l k. d. the indispensable foundations of his rule. Ir ena e r 1e ·IOg ro 1stance one of . . · d. himself from rhe bourgeoisie just as rhe bourgeo1s1e enabled him. ro 1stance . If. from the nobilirv.·· Ir was rhe counterweight t0 the boutgto1s1e ll1 soc1ery , ·_ . h1mse Thar, rogerher with a number of others, was its most important. runcoon for the king; without rhis tension between nobility and bourgeo1s1e, without this marked difference between rhe esrares, rht king would lose the maior of l:1s . . Tl1e ·xi·srtnce of rhe courtlv arisrocracv is indeed an express10n ot how tar power. e . · monopoly government here was still the personal property of tht central ruler, w far rhe countrv's income could srill be allocated in the special interests an d Ii O . f of rhe central funcrion The possibility of a kind of planned distribution o narional revenue had already created monopolization Bur this possibility of olannini.c was used here to prop up declining srrnrn or functions ' A cle:r picture of the structure of absolutist society emerges from all this. The secular socierv of rhe French ancie11 rJgiwe consisted, more markedly rhan rhar of the century, of rwo secrors: a larger rural agrarian secror. and an urban-bourgeois one which was smaller; but steadily if slowly gaining in economic s;rengrh. In both rhere was a lower stratum, in the latter rhe urban poor, rhe mass "of journeymen and workers, in the former the peasants In both there was a lower middle stratum, in rhe latter rhe small artisans and probably the lowest officials roo, in rhe formtr the poorer landed gentry in provinci;il comers; in both an upper middle stratum, in the latter rhe wtalrhy merchants, the hi"h civic officials and even in rhe provinces rhe highest judicial and b cl administrative officials, and in the former the more well-off country an provincial aristocracy. In both secrors, finally, there was a leading extending into the court, in rhe latter the high bureaucracy, rhe noblesse ae robe, and rhe courtlv nobilirv, the elite of the nohless1: ctdpie in the former In the and bt-rween rhest secrors, complicated by the tensions and tensions
Th, Cil'i!i::i11g Pro(cr.1 alliances of boch wich a clergy scruccured on a similar hierarchy, the carefully maintained equilibrium He secured che privileges and social che nobles againsc che growing economic screngch of bourgeois groups. And ' has been mencioned. he used pare of che social produce chac he had co by \·ircue of his concrol of che financial monopoly, co provide for the nobilicy. \\/hen, not long before che Revolmion, afrer all accempcs at reform failed. che demand for che abolicion of noble privileges moved into foreground among che wacchwords of che opposing bourgeois groups, this implied a demand for a differenc managernenc of the cax monopoly and Ill}( revenue . The abolicion of noble privileges meant on che one hand che end of the nobilicy's exempcion from caxes and elms a rediscribmion of the cax burden; and on che ocher che elimination or reduccion of many courc offices, rhe annihilation of whac was-in rhe eyes of chis new professional bourgeoisie-a useless functionless nobility, and elms a different discriburion of tax revenue, no longer in che interests of che king bm in chose of sociecy at large, or at least, to with, of che upper bourgeoisie. Finally, however. rhe removal of noble privileges meant the descruccion of rhe posicion of che cencral ruler as the balance maintaining che two esraces in their existing order of precedence The central rulers of the subsequenc period were indeed balanced on a differenc network of censions. They and cheir funccion accordingly had a differenc characcer. Only one ching remained the same: even in chis new srruccure of tensions, the power of the cencral aurhoricy was relatively limiced as long as che tensions remain relatively low, as long as direct agreemenc were possible becween the represencarives of the opposed poles. and it grew in phases when these tensions were growing, as long as none of the compecing groups had accained a decisive preponderance.
PART FOUR: SYNOPSIS Towards a Theory of Civilizing Processes
I
The Social Constraint towards Self-Constraint \i(fbac has the organizacion of sociecy in che form of ··sraces", wbac have che roonopolization and centralization of rnxes and physical force over a large area, w do wirh "civilization"' The observer of the civilizing process finds himself confronted by a whole tangle of problems. To mention a few of the most important ar the oursec, there is, first of all, rhe mosr general question \Xie have seen-and rht quotations in PHrt Two served ro illusrrare rhis wirh specific examples-chat the civilizing process is a change of human conduce and sentiment in a quire specific direction. But, obviously, individual people did nor ar some pasr rime imend rhis change, this "civilization", and gradually realize ir by conscious, "rational", purposive measures. Clearly. "civilization" is nor, any more rhan rarionalizarion, a producr of human "ratio" or rhe n:sulr of calculated long-cerm planning How could ir be conceivable rhar gradual "rationalization" could be founded on pre-existing "rational" behaviour and planning over centuries' Could one really imagine dmr rbe civilizing process had been ser in mocion by people wirh rhar long-norm perspective. rhar specific mastery of all short-term affects, considering char chis rype of long-rerm perspective and self-mastery already presuppose a long ciYilizing process' In fact. nothing in hisrory indicaces char rhis change was brought about "rationally", through any purposi\·e education of individual people or groups. le happened by and large unplanned; bur it did not happen, ne\·erd1eless, wirhour a specific rype of order . Ir has been shown in derail above how consuaims through ochers from a variety of angles were converted imo self-resrrainrs, how rbe more animalic human activities were progressively rhrusr behind the scenes of people's communal social life and invested wirh feelings of shame, how die regulation of che whole insrincrual and aHective life by sready self-conrrol became more and more srnble, more even and more all-embracing. All rhis cerrainly did nor spring from a rational idea conceived centuries ago by individual people and then implamed in one generation afrer another as che purpose of acrion and the desired srare, until ir was fully realized in che "cenruries of progress" And yer, rhough nor planned and intended, rhis uansformarion is nor merely a sequence of unsrrucrured and chaotic changes. \\/har poses irstlf here with regard to the civilizing process is nothing ocher than rhe general problem of historical change. Taken as a whole chis change is nor "rationally" planned; bur neither is ir a random coming and going of orderless patterns. How is this possible' How does ir happen at all rhat formations arise in
rht human world rhar no sindt human being has imendecL and wl11·c;1 " '/eta.;, anyrhrng bm cloud tormarions wirhom srabiliry or srrucrnrei ;:e •
•
L
L
The preceding srndy. and particularly rhose parts of it devoted ro rhe of social ch·namics. arrtmprs to provide an answer to rht:st questions I· is · . . . . . . . . . l . s1mp11: t:nough. plans and actions. the emorwnal and ranonal 1mpulsts of individual people. constantly imenvean, in a friendly or hostile way. This lusic tissm jio111 ma11y si11glt plnu t!i!il dCfi!illS rfp,r41/r: ca11 <111d jh1ttcms that i11cli1 icl1ul J1trs1111 has j1/;111111:J or oc:afrd Fmll! this !if pc!if'fe arises 411 fJrdc;· s111 gr.'lllns. (!IJ (Jrdr.r 111r1n co111jJt:l!ing and .1trongc:r thdll thl' u ill aJJd i'i:C/SfJ!J 1
i11c!il'lc/;1t1! f'u1j1/, co111jlf1sing it. Ir is this order of interweaving human impulses and srnnngs, rh1s soual order, which determines the courst of historical chan"e· · b 'lt underlies rhe civilizing process. This order is neither "rarional''-if by "rarional" we mean char it has resulted intemionally from rhe purposive deliberation of individual people; nor "irrational"-if by "irrational .. we mean rhar it has arisen in an incomprehensible way. Ir has occasionally been iclemitied with the order of ··l\arnre"; it was imerprtred by Hegel and some others as a kind of supra-individual "Spirit", and his concept of a "cunning of reason .. shows how much ht roo was preoccupied by the tact that all the planning and actions of people give rise w many things that no one actually inrendtd Bm the mental habits which rend to bind us to opposites such as "rational" and "irrational", or "spirir" and "nature", prove inadequate htrt. In this respect. mo. reality is nor constructed quire as the conceprnal apparatus of a particular standard would have us believe. whatever valuable services it may have performed in its rime as a compass ro guide us through an unknown world.. The i111111d11e11t of .rrn·ial are idmtiul mith,r u·ith r,g11lt!ritits of the "illind". of imlil'ich;al u•ith
o/ ll'ht1t ll't wl! "n:1ti!l"t''. tfrll tho11gh _f;mctir111td!i al! the.rt diJJuJJsio11s dr1. hnk . cl to t.dch oth,,,i: On its O\\'Il. hO\\·ever, [his general statement abom the rtlarivt aurnnomv of social ti "Urations is of little help in their understanding: it remains tmpry ·,rnd unless rhe acmal dynamics of social ·imerwtaving art direcdy illustrated by reference ro specific and empirically demonstrable changes . Precisely this was one of rhe rnsks ro which Parr Thrtt was dt\·ortd. Ir was arrempred there to show \Yhar kind of interweaving. of murnal dependence between people. set in morion. for example, processes of feudalizarion Ir was shown how the compulsion of competitive situations drove a number of feudal lords into conflict, how rhe circle of competitors was slowly narrowed, and how this ltd to rhe monopoly of one and finally-in conjunction with other mechanisms of integration such as processes of increasing capital formation and functional differemiarion-ro rht formation of an absolmisr stare. This whole reorganization of human relationships certainly had direcr significance for the change in rhe human habitus. rhe provisional result of which is our form of "civilized" conduct and feelings The connection
rhest specific changes in the structure of human relations and the . ondinu chanues in the srrucrnre of the psychic habirns will be discussed corresp c"' . . . • . • . . . .
change •
"
'- ,
.
_
es ·irise in human mtnralirv. in rht 1)atrernmg ot rhe malleable psycho' · · '0 ·'"1r1ca · 1 •'11,p·1r·1tLIS which can bt observed over a11cl again in human history• from ) ' ' ' 'rI
.
!0 0
ear1·1es r rimes rn rht 1)resenr. And onlv· then. therefore. can we understand that . rhe change in habiws characteristic of a civilizing process is subject w a quire specific order and direction, although ir was nor planned _by i_ndividL.1al people o.r roJuced by "reasonable", purposive measures. C1vil1zanon 1s nor reasonable : "rational",' any more than it is "irrational" Ir is set in morion blindly, and kept in morion by rhe amonomous dynamics of a web of relariomhips, by - cific chan<,es in the way people are bound ro live rouerher. Bm 1r 1s by no ,pe c . . . '.' .. .. means impossible rhar we can make om ot Jt somerhmg more reasonable . something rhar functions better in terms of our needs and purposes. For ir is precistly in conjunction with rht civilizing process that the blind dynamics of people inrerrwining in their deeds and aims gradually leads rowards greater scope for planned inrervemion inro both rhe social and individual scrucrL:resinrervemion based on a growing knowledge of rhe unplanned dynamics of these srrucrnres. Bur which specific changes in rht way people are bonded w each other mould their personality in a "civilizing" manner; Tht most general answer ro this question roo. an answer based on what was said earlier abom the in \X'esrern society. is very simple. From the earliest period of rht history of the Occidcm ro rht prtstnr, social functions haw become more and more differemiared under rhe pressure of competition. The more differentiated they become, rhe larger grows rht number of funcrions and rhus of people on whom rhe individual constantly depends in all his acrions. from rhe simplest and most commonplace ro the more complex and uncommon. As more and more people must arrnne rheir conduct ro rhar of others. rht web of acrions must be organized more and more strictly and accurately, if each individual action is w fulfil irs social funcrion Individuals are compelled to regulate their conduct in an increasingly difftrtnriared, more even and more stable manner Thar this involves nor only a conscious regulation has alrtady been stressed. Precisely this is characrerisric of rhe psychological changes in the course of civilization: the more complex and stable control of conduct is increasingly instilled in the individual from his or her earliest years as an auromarism, a self-compulsion that he or she cannot resist even if ht or she consciously wishes ro The web of acrions grows so complex and extensive, rht effort required ro behave "correctly" within it
368
Th, Cil'ilizi11g Pn1cc1.1
becomes so great. that beside the individual's conscious an a· macic. blindly functioning apparatus of self-conrrol is firmly established. Uto. seeks to prevent offences to socially acceprable beha\·iour by a wall ofuc•=o-rnn •. , fears. bm, just because it operates blindly and by habit, it frequenrlv produces such collisions \Vith social reality Bur whether conscious];. or unco sciously. the direcrion of rhis transformation of conduct in the form of nin.creasingly
of impulses is derc:rmined by rhe directi:: ditterenriation. by the progressive division of functions and the: growth or rhe imerdependency chains into which. directly or indirectly, every impulse. every move or an md1v1dual becomes 1nregrarecL A simple way of picturing rhe difference berween rhe integrarion of the individual wirhin a complex sociery and wirhin a less complex one is to think of rheir differenr road systems. These are in a sense spacial functions of 2 social integration which: in its rotality, cannot be expressed merely in terms of concepts denved from rhe four-dimensional continuum. Think for example of rhe counrrv ro.ids of a simple warrior society wirh a barrer economy, uneven, unmetalled exposed to dam;1ge from wind and rain. \\!irh few excepcions, rhere is very rwffic rhe main danger which a person here has ro fear from ochers is an attack by soldiers or rhieves. \\!hen people look around them, scanning the rrees and hills or rhe road irself, rhey do so primarily because rhey muse always be prepared for armed attack. and only secondarily because they have ro avoid collision. Life on rhe main roads of this society demands a consrant readiness ro fighr, and free play of the emorions in defence of one's life or possessions from physical attack. Traffic on rhe main roads of a big city in che differentiated society of our time, by conrrasr, demands a guire different moulding of rhe psychological apparatus: Here the danger of physical arrack is minimal.. Cars are rushing in all directions; pedescrians and cyclisrs are crying ro thread their wav through rhe meli!e of cars; policemen stand at rht main crossroads to rtgulare rhe traffic with varying success. Bur chis exrernal comrol is founded on rhe assumption char everv individual ·is himself or herself regularing his or her behaviour wirh rhe mmo;t exacritude in accordance with the necessiries of chis nerwork. The chief danger char people here represent for ochers rtsulrs from someone in chis bustle losing their self-conrroL ,-\ consranr and highly differenriared regulation of one's own behaviour is needed for individuals ro sreer their way rhrough rraffic. If rhe strain of such consranr self-conrrol becomes too much for an individual, chis is enough ro pm him or her, and others, in morral danger. This is. of course, only an image. The web of chains of acrion into which each individual act wirhin chis differemiated sociery is woven, is far more intricate, and the self-conrroJ ro which ht or she is accustomed from infancy far more deeply rooted, than this example shows. Bm at least ir gives an impression of how the grear formative pressure on rhe psychic habitus of "civilized" people, their consrnnr and differemiared self-constraint, is connected co rht growing ot the process or
Sute For111afi(Jil ai!d Cirili:ation
_169
.. ·. r·ion and stabilizing of social functions and the growing multiplicity d'fierentI
.FO
Stt1!i: For111c1tim1 and Cil'i/i:;ati1111
The Ci6/i::;i11g Proa.rs
monopolization of tht mtans of production, of "tconomic" mtans. is only one of those which stand out in fuller relief when rhe means of physical \·iolence become monopolized, when. in other words. in a more pacified stare society the free use of physical force by those who are physicallr stronger is no longer possible. In general. rhe direction in which the behaviour and rhe affective make-up of people ch
371
··et\.• , it r)ermits the warrior extraorclinarv' freedom in !iring our his feelings • • nd passions, it allows savage joys, the uninhibited satisfaction ot pleasure trom 3 women. or of hatred in destroying and tormenting anything hostile or belonging roan enemy. Bur at the same rime it threatens the warrior, if he is defeated, with ?.n extraordinary degree of exposure to the riolence and the passions of others, and with such radical subjugation, such extreme forms of physical torment as are_ later. when physical rormre, imprisonment and the radical humiliation ot individuals have become rhe monopoly of a central authority, hardly to be found in normal life. \Virh this monopolization, the physical threat to the individual is slowlv depersonalized It no longer depends quite so directly on momentary it is gradually subjected ro increasingly strict rules and laws; and finally. within certain limits and with certain fluctuations, the physical threat when laws 5()Cl
are infringed is itself made less severe. The greater spontaneity of clrires and the higher measure of physical threat, that are encountered wherever strong and srable central monopolies have nor yet formed are, as can be seen, complementary. In chis social structure the victorious have a greater possibility of giving free rein ro their drives and affects, but greater roo is the direct tl1fear to one man from the affects of anorher, and more omnipresent che possibility of subjugation and boundless humiliation if one falls into the power of another. This applies not only ro rhe relationship of warrior to warrior, for whom in the course of monetarizarion and the narrowing of free compecition an affect-moderating code of conduct is already slowly forming; within society ar large rhe lesser measure of restraint impinging upon men initially stands in far sharper contrast than later to the confined existence of women and to rhe radical exposure of subjects, defeated people, and bondsmen to the whims of more powerful people. To the structure of this society wich irs extreme polarization, its continuous uncertainties, corresponds the structure of the individuals who form it and of their conduct. Just as in the relations between person and person danger as well as the possibility of victory or liberation arise more abruptly, more suddenly and incalculably before rhe individual, so he or she is also thrown more frequently and directly between pleasure and pain The social function of the free warrior is indeed scarcely so constructed that clangers are long foreseeable, that the effects of particular actions can be considered three or four links ahead, even though his function was slowly developing in this direction throughout the Middle Ages with rhe increasing centralization of armies. But for the rime being it is che immediate present char provides the impulse. As the momentary situation changes, so do affective expressions; if it brings pleasure this is savoured ro the full, without calculation or thought of the possible consequences in the future, If it brings clanger, imprisonment, defeat, these roo must be suffered more desolately And the incurable unrest, the perpetual proximity of clanger, the whole atmosphere of rhis unpredictable and insecure life. in which there are at
373
The Ciz'ilizi11g Prricess
Std!e For111atio11 and Cil'ili:ation
most small and transient islands of more protected existence, often engend .l Il . . ers even wit 1out external cause, sue c en sw1tches from the most exuberant ple asure to the deepest despondency and remorse . The personality, if we may put it thus. 1s more ready and accusromed ro _leap with intensity tram one extreme ro the other. and slight 1mpress10ns, uncontrollable assoc1at10ns are often enough to induce these immense flucrnations.' As the srrucwre of human relations changes, as monopoly organizations of I?hysical force develop and rhe individual is held no longer in the sway of constant teuds and wars but rather in the more permanent compulsions of peaceful functions based on rhe acquisition of money or prestige, affect-expressions too slowly gravitate towards a middle line. The fluctuations in behaviour and affects do nor disappear, but are moderated. The peaks and abysses are smaller, the changes less abrupt. \Xie can see what is changing more clearly from its obverse. Through the formation of monopolies of force. rhe threat which one person represents for is subject to stricter control and becomes more calculable. Everyday life is treer of sudden reversals of forrnne. Physical violence is confined to barracks: and from this store-house it bre<1ks our only in excreme cases, in rimes of war or social upheaval, into individual life. As rhe monopoly of certain specialist groups it is normally excluded from the life of others: and these specialists. rhe whole monopoly organization of force, now stand guard only in the margin of social life as a control on individual conduct. Even in this form as a control organization, however, physical violence and the threat emanating from it have a determining influence on individuals in society, whether they know it or not. Ir is, however, no longer a perpetual insecurity that it brings into the life of the individual, bur a peculiar form of security. It no longer throws him, in the swaying fortunes of battle, as the physical victor or vanquished, between mighty outbursts of pleasure and terror: a continuous, uniform pressure is exerted on individual life by the physical violence stored behind the scenes of everyday life. a pressure totally familiar and hardly perceived, conduct 'and drive economy having been adjusted from earliest youth to this social structure. Ir is in fact the whole social mould. the code of conduct which changes: and accordingly with it changes, as has been said before, not onlv this or that specific form of conduct bur its whole pattern, the whole structu;e of rhe way individuals steer themselves. The monopoly organization of physical violence does not usually constrain the individual by a direct threat. A strongly predictable compulsion or pressure mediated in a variety of ways is constantly exerted on the individual. This operates to a considerable extent through the medium of his or her own reflection. Ir is normally only potentially present in society, as an agency of control; rhe actual compulsion is one that rhe individual exerts on himself or herself either as a result of his knowledge of the possible consequences of his or her moves in the game in intertwining activities, or as a
result of corresponding geswres of adults which have helped to pattern his or her own behaviour as a child . The monopolizarion of physical violence. rhe concenrration of arms and armed troops under one authority, makes rhe use of violence .more or less calculable, and forces unarmed people in rhe pacified social spaces ro restniin their own violence through foresight or reflection: in other words it irnposes on people a greater or lesser degree of self-control.. This is not to say that e\·ery form of self-control was entirely lacking in medieval warrior society or in other societies wirhour a complex and stable .monopoly of physical violence. The agency of individual self-control, rhe superego, the conscience or whatever we call it, is instilled, imposed and maintained in such warrior societies only in direct relation to acts of physical violence; its form marches this life in its greater contrasts and more abrupt transitions. Compared to rhe self-control agency in more pacified societies, it is diffuse, unstable, only a slight barrier to violent emotional outbursts. The fears securing socially "correct" conduct are not yet banished to remotely the same extent from the individual's consciousness into his or her so-called "inner life" As the decisive danger does not come from failure or relaxation of self-control, bur from direct external physical threat, habirnal fear predominantly rakes rhe form of fear of external powers. And as this fear is less srable, rhe control appararns too is less encompassing, more one-sided or parriaL In such a society extreme self-control in enduring pain may be insrilled; bur this is complemented by what, measured by a different standard, appears as an exrreme form of freewheeling of affects in torturing others. Similarly, in certain sectors of medieval sociery we find exrreme forms of asceticism. self-restraint and renunciation, contrasting to a no less extreme indulgence of pleasure in others, and frequently enough we encounter sudden switches from one attirnde to rhe other in rhe life of an individual person. The restraint rhe indi\·idual here imposes on himself or herself, rhe struggle against his or her own flesh, is no less intense and one-sided, no less radical and passionate than irs counterpart, the fight against others and rhe maximum enjoyment of pleasures . \'Vhat is established with rhe monopolization of physical violence in the pacified social spaces is a different type of self-control or self-constraint. It is a more dispassionate self-controL The controlling agency forming itself as part of the individual's personality strucrnre corresponds to rhe controlling agency forming itself in society at large. The one like rhe other rends to impose a highly differentiated regulation upon all passionate impulses, upon people's conduct all around. Both--each to a large extent mediated by rhe other--exerr a consranr, even pressure to inhibit affective outbursts. They damp down extreme flucwations in behaviour and emotions.. As the monopolizarion of physical force reduces the fear and terror one person musr have for another, bur at rhe same rime reduces rhe possibility of causing others terror, fear or torment, and therefore certain possibilities of pleasurable emotional release, rhe constant self-
_')72
The Ciri!izi11g Process control tO which the individual is now increasingly accusromed seeks to the contrasts and sudden switches in conduct. and the affective charge of. II l , ' a sef. . The pressures operating upon the indi\·idual nm\· tend to produce transformation of the whole drive and affect econom\· in the direcrion of . . .. · __ -a more cont111uous. scable and even regulanon ot dnves and aftects in all a . . .. , .reas of conduct, 111 all senors of lite. And it is in exactly the same direction that the unarmed compulsions operate the constraints without direct phvsirnl violence ro which the individual · ' . .. · . , rs now exposed 111 the pacified spaces. and ot which economic restraints are ·m 'nst 1 ' ano:. They roo are less affect-charged, more moderate, stable and less erratic than consrramts exerted by om: person on another in a monopoly-free warrior societv. And they, roo, embodied in the entire spectrum of functions optn to th individual in society, induce incessant hindsight and foresight transcending th: moment and corresponding to the longer and more complex chains in which each acr is now auromatically enmeshed. They require the individual incessamlv to overcome his or her momentary affective impulses in keeping with the longe;. term effects of his or her behaviour. Relative to the other standard, they ins;il a more even self-control encompassing his or her whole conduct like a tiuhr ring and a more steady regulation of his or her drives according ro the norms' Moreover, as always. it is not only the adult functions themselves which immediately produce this tempering of drives and affects; partly amomatica!ly, partly quite consciously through their own conducr and habits. adults induce corresponding behaviour-patterns in children,. From earliest yomh individuals are trained in the constant restraint and foresight that they need for adult functions. This self-restraint is ingrained so deeply from an early age that, like a kind of relay-station of social standards. an automatic self-supervision of their drives, a more differtnriated and more srable "super-ego" develops within them, and a part of the forgocten drive impulses and affect inclinations is no longer directly within reach of the level of consciousness at all. Earlier, in warrior society, the individual could use physical \·iolence if he or she was strong arid powerful enough; he or she could openly indulge their inclinations in many directions that have subsequenrh- been closed bv social prohibitions. But they paid for this greater oppormnit}: of direct pleasL;re with a greater chance of direct and open fear,, lvfedieval conceptions of hell give us an idea of how strong this fear between person and person was. Both joy and pain were discharged more openly and freely. Bm the individual was their prisoner; he or she was hurled back and forth by their own feelings as by forces of namre,. They had less control of their passions; they were more controlled by them" Later, as the conveyor belts running through their existence grow longer and more complex, individuals learn ro control themselves more steadilv; they are now less a prisoner of their passions than before" Bm as the1· are. now
375 cighdy bound by their functional dependence on the activities of an every-larger number of people. they are much more restricted in their conduct. in their chances of directly satisfying their drives and passions. life becomes in a sense less Jangtrous. bur also less emotional or pleasurable. at least as far as the direct reieast of pleasure is concerned, And for what is lacking in everyday life a substitute is created in dreams. in books and pictures. So. on their way to becoming courtiers. the nobility read novels of chivalry; the bourgeois conrcmplate violence and erotic passion in films. Physical clashes, wars and feuds diminish. and anything recalling diem. even the cucting up of dead animals and rhe use of the knife at table, is banished from view or at least subjected to more and more precise social rules,. But at the same time the battlefield is, in a sense. moved within. Parr of the tensions and passions chat were earlier directly released in the struggle of man and man. must now be worked out within the human being. The more peaceful constraints exerted on people by their relations to others are mirrored within; an individualized pattern of near-auromatic habits is esrablishecl and consolidated. a sptcific "super-ego'. which endeavours ro control, transform or suppress his or her affects in keeping with the social structure. But the dri\'es. the passionate affects. that can no longer directly manifest themselves in the relationships htt1cw1 people. ofren struggle no less violently 1cithin the indi\'idual against this superYising part of themselYes. And this semi-auromatic smrggle of the person with him or herself does nor always find a happy resolution; the self-transformation required by life in this society does not always lead ro a new balanct bttween dri\·t-satisfacrion and clriYe-conrroL Verv often it is subjecr ro major or minor dismrbances, rtvolts of one part of the person against the other. or a permanent atrophy. which makes the performance of social functions even more difficult. or impossible, The vertical oscillations, if we may so describe them. the leaps from fear ro joy, pleasure to remorse are reduced, while tht horizontal fissure running right through the whole person, the tension between the "super-ego" and the "unconscious .. or "subconscious"-the wishes and desires that cannot be remembered-increases, Here roo the basic characreristics of these patterns of intertwining, if one pursues nor merely their static strucmres bm their sociogenesis, prove ro be relatiYely simple, Through the interdependence of larger groups of people and the exclusion of physical violence from them, a social apparatus is established in which the constraints between people are lastingly transformed into selfconstraints. These self-constraints, a funcrion of the perpetual hindsight and foresight instilled in the indiYidual from childhood in accordance with integration in extensive chains of action, ha\·e partly the form of conscious self-control and partly that of auromatic habiL They tend rowards a more even moderation, a more continuous restraint. a more exact control of drives and affects in accordance with the more differentiated pattern of social interweaving, Bm depending on the inner pressure. on the condition of society and the position of
_)76
Thi: Ciz'i!hing Pruass
rhe individual wirhin ir, rhese consrraints also product peculiar rens· disrurbances in rhe conduce and drive economv of rhe individual In s ions and . . . . . . . . ome cases the! lead to perperual restlessness and d1ssaC1sfacr10n. precrselv bee .. auk rh. . . _ . af only graC1fy a p:ur of his or her_inclinarions and impulses modrhed torm, tor example rn fantas\-. rn lookrnu-on and overl1ea · . _ . . . . "' .. nng, 10 . . da) dreams or dreams . And sometimes rhe hab1ruar10n to attecr-inhibirion c - . . . gees so far-:-consrant teelrngs of boredom or_ are examples of rhis-rhar the 111d1v1dual rs no longer capable of any form of tearless expression of the m d'fi ff t. d' 'fi' . . 0 I ed a _ecrs, or o . lftcc grau canon of. che repressed drives. Particular branches of dnves as re were an_aesrherrzed 111 such cases by the specific srrucrure of the social framework 111 whICh the child grows up. Under rhe pressure of rhe clangers rhar rhe1r express10n 111curs 111 rhe child s social space, rhey become surrounded with _automaC1c fears to such an exrent char they can remain deaf and unresponsive rhroughour a whole lifetime . In ocher cases certain branches of drives may be so diverted_ by the heavy conflicts which rhe rough-hewn. affecrive and pass10nare nature ot rht small human being unavoidably encounters on irs way to be111g moulded into a ··civilized .. being, char rheir energies can find on[; an unwanted release through bypasses, in compulsive actions and ocher symproms of cl1srurbance. In ocher cases again, rhese energies are so transformed char rhey flow into uncontrollable and eccentric arrachments and repulsions, in predilections for this or rhar peculiar hobby-horse. And in all rhese cases a permanent. apparently 111ner unresr shows how many drive energies are clammed up in a form rhar permits no real sarisfacrion. Until now rhe individual civilizing process, like rhe social. has run irs course by and large blindly. Under rhe cover of what adulrs chink and plan, the relationships char form berween them and rhe young have functions and effects in the larrer·s personalities which rhe adults do nor intend and of which rhev scarcely know In char sense, those results of rhe social parrerning of individuais to which one habimally refers as .. abnormal .. are unplanned; psychological abnormalities which do nor result from social parrerning bllt are caustd bv unalrerable hereclirary rrairs need nor be considered here . Bllt rhe habims which keeps within rht prtvailing social norm and is subjectivelr more comes abollt in an from \;hid1 emerge both more equally unplanned way Ir is rhe same social favourably and more unfavourably srrucrured human beings, rhe '\veil-adjusted" as well as rhe "mal-acljusred .. , wirhin a very broad spectrum of varieties, The auromarically reproduced anxieries which become arrached ro rhe expression of specific drives in rhe course of rhe conflicrs char form an integral part of each individual civilizing process may lead under certain circumsrances ro a lasring and complere anaesrherizarion of rhese drives, and in ocher circumsrances only ro rheir dampening and regularion wirhin the framework of what counts as Under present condirions ir is more a question of good or bad luck rhan of anybody·s planning whether a person experiences rhe one or rhe ocher. In either
St,1ft Formation t111d Ciri!Le1tio11
377
i!Se ir is rhe web of social relations in which individuals live during their mosr
:!11 ressionable phase, rh
378
The Ciz'i!i::i11g Process
positive correspondence ro the structure of society. But as this structure p . . . . . . · . .. . . ' reciselv our nmes, 1s highly murablt. It demands a tlex1bil1ty ot habits and • which in most cases has ro be paid for by a loss of srabiliry. Theoretically, therefore. ir is nor difficult ro say in what lies rhe differen between an individual civilizing process rhar is considered successful and ce . .d d . c . one t liar 1s cons1 ere unsuccessrul. In the 10rmer after all rhe ]Jains and con fl· . • . 1 i1crs of this process, patterns of conduct well adapted ro rhe framework of adult . . . . . . ' social funcr10ns are tinallv rormed. an adeciuarelv runcrionin<• set of habits and h . . . . o at t e same r1me-wh1Ch clots nor necessarilv• uo hand-in-hand with it-a pos· · pleasure balance. In che other. either rhe socially necessary self-control is repeated! y purchased, at a heavy cost in personal satisfaction. by a major effort to overcome opposed libidinal energies, or the control of these energies, renunciation of their satisfaction is not achieved at all; and often enou b"h no p 0 , 1·r·rve pleasure balance of any kind is finally possible, because the social commands and prohibitions are represented nor only by other people bur also by the stricken self. since one part of it forbids and punishes what the other desires . In reality the result of the individual civilizing process is clearly unfavourable or favourable only in relatively few cases at each end of the scale. The majority of civilized people live midway between these rwo extremes. Socially positive and negative features. personally grarif}·ing and frustrating tendencies, mingle in them in varying proportions. in
The social moulding of individuals in accordance with the structure of the civilizing process of what we now call '"the \\lest .. is particularly difficult. In order ro be reasonably successful it requires, in correspondence with the srrucmre of \\/esrern society, a particularly high differentiation, an especially intensive and stable regulation of drives and affects, of all rhe more elementarv human impulses. It therefore generally rakes up more rime. particularly in d;e middle and upper classes. than rhe social moulding of individuals in less complex societies. Resistance ro adaptation to rhe prevailing standards of civilization, the effort which this adaptation, this profound transformation of rhe whole personality coses rhe indiyidual, is always very considerable. And lacer, therefore, rhan in less complex societies rhe individual in rhe \\/esrern world attains with his adult social function rhe psychic habirus of an adult, rhe emergence of which by and large marks rhe conclusion of rhe individual civilizing process. Bm even if in rhe more differentiated societies of rhe \\lest rhe modelling of rhc individual self-steering apparatus is particularly far-reaching and intensive, processes tending in rhe same direction, social and individual civilizing processes, most certainly do nor occur only rhere. They are to be found wherever, under competitive pressures, the division of functions makes large numbers of people dependent on one another, wherever a monopolization of physical force permits and imposes a co-operation less charged wirh emotion. wherever functions are established that demand constant hindsight and foresight in interpreting rhe
Stt1h Foni1atio11 and Cil'i/i:;;atioi1
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. ns ,ll1d intentions of ochers. \\/har determines rhe nature and degree of such *CC!O · l d. · •• .. . ·nu spurts is alwavs rhe extent of interdependencies, the level ot tie 1v11 " ov11z1 .. . . . . . f functions. and w1rhm It. rhe structure of these funcnons themselves
5100
°
II Spread of the Pressure for Foresight and Self-Constraint \'{!hat lends the civilizing process in rhe \\/esr irs special and unique character is the facr rhar here the division of functions has attained a level, rhe monopolies of force and raxarion a solidity, and interdependence and comperirion an extent, both in terms of physical space and of numbers of people involved, unequalled in human hisrory. Hirherro extensive networks of money or trade, with fairly stable: monopolies of physical force at their centres, had developed almost exclusively on waterways, that is, above all, on riverbanks and seacoasts. The large areas of rhe hinterland remained more or less at rhe level of a barter economy, rhar is, people remained lar"elr aurarkic and their chains of interdependence were short, even though a '" . few rrade arteries crossed such areas and there were a few larger markers . \\/irh Wesrern society as its focal point, a network of interdependence has developed which nor only embraces more of rhe oceans rhan any other in rhe past. bur extends ro rhe furthest arable corners of vast inland regions. Corresponding ro this is rhe necessity for an arrunement of human conduct over wider areas and foresight over longer chains of actions than ever before. Corresponding ro it, roo, is the strength of self-control and rhe permanence of compulsion, affecrinhibirion and drive-control, which life at rhe centres of rhis network imposes. One of the characteristics which make rhis connecrion between the size of and pressure within rhe network of interdependence on rhe one hand, and the psychological make-up of the individual on rhe ocher particularly clear, is what we call rhe "tempo .. ; of our rime. This "tempo .. is in fact nothing other rhan a manifestation of rhe mulrirude of intenwining chains of interdependence which run through every single social funcrion rhar people have to perform, and of the competitive pressure rhar permeates chis densely populated network, affecting directly or indirectly every single individual acr. This may show irself in rhe case of an official or businessman in rhe profusion of his appointments or meetings, and in char of a worker by the exact timing and duration of each of his movements; in both cases rhe rempo is an expression of rhe multitude of interdependent actions, of rhe length and density of the chains composed by the individual actions, and of rhe intensity of rhe competitive struggles rhar keep this whole web of interdependence in morion. In borh cases a function situated at a
380
Th2 Ciz'ilizi11g Pmcus
junccion of so many chains of action demands an exact allocation of rime; it people become accustomed to subordinating momentary inclinations to the OVF• riding ._ necessities of interdependence; it trains chem to eliminate all . _, tes from behaviour and co achieve permanent self-control This is why tendencies in the individual so ofren rebel against social rime as represented by his or her own super-ego, and why so many people come into conflict with themselves when wish to be punctual From the development of chronometric instruments and the consciousness of rime-as from chat of money and ocher instruments of social incegracion-ir is possible to re<1d off with considerable accuracy how the division of functions, and with it the self-control imposed on individuals, advances. \'Vhy, within chis network, patterns of affect-control vary in some respects, whv for example, sexuali cy is surrounded by stronger restrictions in one country in another, is a question in its own right.. But however these differences may arise in particular cases, the general direction of the change in conduct, the "trend" of the movement of civilization, is everywhere the same. It al ways veers towards a more or less automatic self-control, towards the subordination of short-term impulses to the commands of an ingrained long-term view. and towards the formation of a more complex and secure "super-ego" agency. And broadly the same, too, is the manner in which chis necessity to subordinate momentary affects to more disrnnt goals is propagated and spread; everywhere small leading groups are affected first, and then broader and broader strarn of \'Vescern society. Ir makes a considerable difference whether someone lives in a world with dense and extensive bonds of dependence as a mere passive object of these interdependencies, being affected by distant events without being able to influence or even perceive them--or whether someone has a function in society which demands for its performance a permanent effort of foresight and steady control of conduce To begin with in \'Vestern development it is cerrnin upperand middle-class functions that require of their incumbents such steadily active self-discipline in long-term interests: courtly functions at the ruling centres of large societies, and commercial functions at the centres of long-distance trade networks which are under rhe protection of a monopoly of force which h'1s been stabilized co some degree . But it is one of rhe peculiarities of social processes in the \'Vest chat with the extension of interdependence, rhe necessity for such longterm thinking and the active attunement of individual conduct to some larger entity remote in time and space, spreads to ever-broader sections of society. Even the functions and the whole social situation of the lower social strata demand and make more and more possible a certain foresight, and produce a correspor1ding transformation or restraint of all those inclinations that promise immediate or shore-term satisfactions at the cost of remoter ones. In the past the functions of the lower strarn of manual workers were generally involved in the web of interdependencies only to the extent that their members felt the effect of remote actions and-if they were unfavourable-responded with unrest and rebellion,
Stt1h F()ri/!atioi! cmd Ci1·ili::<1fi()J1
381
wn. h sliort-term discl1,irges of affect. But their functions were not so constructed
. , t within chemseh·es che "alien" constraints were constantly converted into b · · J · "self-restraints; their daily casks made chem capa le or restraining t 1e1r jrnmediace desires and affects in favour of something not tangible in che here and now u. nlv. to a com1x1rarivelv. small degree. And so such outbursts hardly ever had
rill
Jasring success Here a number of different nexuses are interlocking. \'Vithin every large L ·in network there are social hierarchies, some sectors which are more central nun1, 0 d1ers The functions of these central senors, for example, die higher coordin
The Ci!'i!i::ing Pmcc.u
of certain funcrions and panerns of conclucc rn mort and mort outsider and outsider chis vision. and the realization that we: ourselves ate ll1 the midst ot che swell or such a C1vd1zmt; mmement and rht c!nra .. . . . " ' crensric cnses It produces. nor at 1rs encl. places the problem of "'civilization"' in . _ . proper perspective. It one steps back from the present mto the past. what patterns structures does one discover in the successive waves of chis movemen- '-c L, Ii one looks nor from us to chem. but from chem to us;
III Diminishing Contrasts, Increasing Varieties The civilizing process moves along in a long sequence of spurts and coumerspurts. Again and again a rising outsider stratum or a rising survin1l unit as a whole, a tribe or a nation srate. attains the functions and characteristics of an establishment in relation rn other outsider strata or sun-irnl units which, on their part. are pressing from below. from their position as oppressed outsiders, against the current establishment And again and again. as the grouping of people which has risen and has established i rself is followed by a srill broader. and more populous grouping arrempting ro emancipate itself, to free itself from oppression. one finds char the larrer, if successful. is forced in turn into the position of an established oppressoc The time may well come when rhe former oppressed groups, freed from oppression. do nor become oppressors in rurn; bur iris nor vet in sighL ' There are, of course, many unsoh·ed ptoblems raised by chis visra. In the presem comexr ir may be enough to draw attemion to rhe fact rhar brand rhe lower srrara. rhe oppressed and poorer outsider groups ar a stage of developr'nenr, cend to follow rheir drives and affects more direcdy and spontaneously, rhar rheir conduct is less srricrly regulated than rhar of the respective upper srrar'a. The compulsions operating upon rhe lower strata are predominandy of a direct, phys""ical kind. rhe rhrear of physical pain or annihilation bv rhe sword. poverry or hunger. Thar rype of pressure, howewr. does nor a srnble rransformarion of consrraims rhrough orhers. or "external"" consrraims, into "self"-restraims A medieval peasam who goes wirhour meat because he is too poor. because beef is reserved for the lord"s table. i . e. solely under physical constraim. will give way to his desire for mear whenever he can do so wirhour external danger, unlike rhe founders of religious orders from the upper srrara who deny themselves rht enjoyment of mear in consideration of rhe afrer-life and rhe sense of rheir own sinfulness. A tornlly desrirure person who works for others under constant rhrear of hunger or in penal servirnde, \vill stop working once the rhrear of external force ceases, unlike the wealrhv mercham who "Oes on and on working for himself although ht probably has to live without rhis
The larrer is compelled to do it nor b\· simple need bm by the pressure of die comperirion for power and prestige. because his occupation. his tlernred
384
The Cil'ili::ing Procc1..
civilization" in the narrower sense, that is, the spread of our institutions srandards of conduct beyond the \'\lest, constitures, as we have said, the last so far within a movement that first rook place for several centmies with. '" in \Vest. and whose trend and characteristic patterns, including science, and other of a specific type of self-resrraint. established themselv here long before the concept of "ci\·ilization ·· existed. From \Vesttrn socie , es · ·1·1ze d"' patterns ot- conduct are t}-a;, a k.ll1 J o f- upper cl ass- 'v' western ''Cin spreading over wide areas omside the \Vest. whether throuc,h the settlem . . . . _ b ent ot Occidentals or through the ass1m1lanon ot the UJ)!Jet strata of od1er n·•ti.on · . '· S, ]USt as models of conducr earlier spread wirhin the \vest itself from this or tbt . , upper strarnm. from certain courtly or commercial centres. The course taken bv all these expansions is determined onlv to a small de"rtt b\· the 11lans or des·· _ • b • . ires ot those whose pacrerns ot conduct were taken over. The classes supplying the models are even today not simply the free creators or originators of Lie expansion. This spread of the same patterns of conduce from the "white morhercountries or farher-lanJs" follows the incorporation of the ocher areas into the network of political and economic interdependencies, into the sphere of elimination struggles and within nations of the \Vest. fr is nor "technology" which is the cause of this change of behaviour; what we call "technology" is itself only r111t of rhe symbols, one of the lase manifestations of chat constant foresight imposed by the formation of longer and longer chains of actions and competition between chose bound together by chem. "Ci\ ilized" forms of conduce spread to these ocher areas because and to rhe exrem char in them through their incorporation imo the network whose centre rhe \'Vest still consrirntes, the srrucmre of their societies and of human relationships in general, is likewise changing. Technology, education-all these are facets of the same overall development. In the areas into which the \Vest has expandecL rhe social functions with which the individual must complv are increasin,,h· ch
5tdfr Fur111atio11 and Ciz'ilizati1111
385
"le ttin« "0 · b\· their members, with greater or lesser disapproval. This ;::-. o . . .. roval increases when rhe social power and size of the lower. nsing group d1sapp . . . ,· ·_ b , _ and concorn1tanrly. rhe compeor10n ror rhe same opporru111t1es en\een er anJ lower groups becomes more intense. The effort and foresight which rhe up P . . . . l . rs co maintain the posi rion of the upper class 1s expressed ll1 rhe rnrerna it cos ce of its members with each ocher bv. the degree of reciprocal supervision -ornrner , . ' , racrise on one another, by rhe severe stigmatization and penaloes they d.1sringu1s · · l1ing · co d e. ·r11e .rhe} P upon chose members who unpose _ breach rhe common _ . .. ar 1·sin" from die situation of rhe whole ._group, from their struggle to preserve rear u . . . rheir cherished and threatened position, acrs directly as a force mmnramrng the code of conduce, the culrivarion of the s_uper-_ego in irs members. Ir is convened intO individual anxiety, the individual"s rear ot or merely loss_ of prestige in his own society. And it is chis fear of loss of p::esoge ll1 rhe eyes of orhers , instilled as self-com1)ulsion ' whether in the form of shame or a sense of honour, which assures the habitual reproduction of distinctive conduce, and the strict drive-conuol underlying it. in individual people. Bur while on rhe one hand these upper classes-and in some respects, as noted above, rhe \vesrern nations as a whole have an upper-class function-are rhus driven co maintain at all coses their special conduct and drive-control as marks of disrincrion, on rhe other their situation, rogerher with rhe structure of rhe general movement which is carrying chem along, forces them in rhe long run and more to reduce these differences in standards of behaviour. The expansion of \vesrern civilization shows chis double tendency clearly enough. This civilization is rhe characteristic which confer distinction and superiority on Occidentals. Bur at rhe same rime Western people, under rhe pressure of their own competitive struggle, are bringing about in large areas of rhe world a change in human relationships and functions in line wirh their own standards. They are making large pares of rhe world dependent on chem and at the same in keeping with a regularity of functional differentiation char has been observed over and again, are rhemseh·es becoming dependent on these pares. On the one hand they are building, through institutions and by rhe strict regulation of their own behaviour, a wall between themselves and the groups char they are colonizing and whom-by the "right of the srronger"-rhey consider their inferiors . On the ocher, with their social forms, they also spread their own style of conduct and institutions in these places . Largely wirhour deliberate intent, thev work in a direction which sooner or later leads rn a reduction in the differences both of social power and of conduct between colonists and colonized. Even in our dav the contrasts are becoming perceptibly less. According to the form of and rhe position of an area in the large network of differentiated functions, and nor least rn the region's own history and strucrnre, processes of commingling are beginning to rake place in specific areas outside the West similar rn chose sketched earlier on the example of courtly and bourgeois ,1
n\'
Th, Cil'i/i:;i11g Pmcc.rs conduce in diffen:nr countries wichin che \Vesc 1·rselt. I l · . n co 0111al region5 accordrng w che posicion and social srrtn.gch of rht rnrious vroLi· o j)S, srnndards are spreading downwards and occasionally even upwards from we mav adhere rn rhis spatial image. and fusing co form new unique
L
new variecies of civilized .conduce The 1w1trasts i11 01/l{/;1ct !:du u:n the PPer 11 lr1tcc:r grr111ps t1r1.: rc:d11cr.:d u 11h the .1jJJh1d r1/ cil'i!i::t1tion: th{; z·t1riair:r r.r
(iri!i:u!
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m1J(/Nct drc
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1111a11ce1
i11cn:t1sed Ih1s 111c1p1enr cranstormarion of Oritncal or
people in the .dirtccion of \Vescern scanclards reprtsencs die lase wave of the cont111u111g Civil1z111g movtmem char we art able co observe . Bue as ch· .. . . .. . rs Wave nses, signs of new and turrher waves 111 the same direcrion can alreadv . forming in ir: for uncil now che groujJS ap1)roachinv che \Vesctrn Uj)p:r ' seen 1 c:cass1n colonial areas as the lower. ns111g class. art ac hrsr primarily the upper wirhin chose narions . •
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, rrned of monarchy and bou:geoisie in which the nobility was rrapFed_ ..For die . nobilirv. coo, che selt-resuarnr imposed on them by che1r tuncr1on ,1nd 1 courr\ . ,. d . . ·1· . : served ar the same cime as a presrige value, a means or 1snngu1s 1111g qtllflnon . cl l . 1· I ., . l . " •h rnse· l-ve . s t'ro111 the lower o"roU])S harrnng them, an t iey c 1c e'er:- c 1111"" . t .e·. cheir j)Ower to pre,·enc these differences from being tltaced. Only the w1t1un · l · l· .. cl che iniriarecl member. should know rhe secrecs ot good cone ucr. on > ins1 er, . . . . . ' l . within good sociery should rh_1s be Granan clelibtrarel:11.s · 011 "savoir-vivre", che famous Hanel Oracle , Ill an obscure sr:- le, a rrPfitISt b l b .. - l. j)rincess once explained. 1' so char rhis knowledge could nor be oug 1t Y court 1 . . . . . cl . l. am•one for a few pence; and Courrm did nor forgec. Ill che rnrro ucnon . ro i1s · ·.. on "Civilire·· to stress char his manuscnpt was really wncren tor che rre,mse . . . . l · use of ·1 few friends and that even j)rinted 1t was intended only tor peop e pn,·ace ' · . . . . . ... I sociery Bur even htre rhe amb1rnlence ot the s1manon 1s reve,iled. . . . . 0 f gooc Owing to rhe peculiar form of interdependence 111 which chey ln·ed, the rtJ.
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One srep furcher _back in one can observe in che \Vest icself a similar movement: che ass1mdac10n of che lower urban and agrarian classes to the srnndards of civilized conducr, tht growing habitllarion of rhese "roup . ''o s to rores1ghr. ro a more even curbing and more srricr control of the affects, and a higher measure ot individual self-conscraint in their case roo . Here roo, according w . rht srructllrt ot che history ot each countn-. . ven-. diverse rnricc 1"c: s of af·.-recttormarion emerged within the framework of civilized conduce. In rhe conduct of workers in England. for example, one can still see craces of che manners of the
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ariswcracy could not prevent-indeed, through their concacrs with nch bow. s·rr'ic·i (reo1s ' ' whom che\· . needed for one reason or anorher. rhey ass1sred-rhe ;preacling of their manners. cheir customs. rheir rnstes and cheir language to other classes First of all in che sevenreemh century, these manners to small "' d'nu urOUj)S of cht bourgeoisie-the "Excursus on the i\fodellmg ot Speech ar ]. . a i 0 b ._ Courr" gives a vivid example--and then. in the tighrtemh century, to broader bourueois strarn: che mass of ciz·ilite-books chat appeared at rhat nme shows di1s
landed noblemen and gentry and of merchants within a large rrade network. in
Here too rhe force of rhe current of interweaving as a whole.
cens1ons
France che airs of courriers and a bourgeoisie brought to power by revolmion: In
and
workers too, we find a srriccer regularion of conclucr, a type of courresy more i_ntormed by cradirion in colonial powers which have for a long period had the
differentiacion. to the individual's dependence on an ever-larger number
function of an upper class within a large network of interdependencies. and iess polished control of the affects in nations thar achieved colonial expansion late or
barricade which rhe nobility had been seeking to build around themselves. Ir is at small functional centres thar the foresighc, more complex self-
nor ac all. because strong monopolies of force and taxarion. a centralization of
discipline. more srablt suptr-ego formarion enforced by . growing i_nrerdeptndence, firsr became noticeable. Then more and more tuncr10nal Circles
nacional power-pre-condicions for any lascing colonial expansion--c!eveloped lacer Ill ther;n than in their comperirnrs
leading wichin ir ro ever-grtarer complexity and tuncnonal_
or
orhers, to rhe rise of broader and broader classes, proved srronger than rhe
within rhe \Vest itself changed in the same direccion Fmally, rn co111uncnon
Further back, in. the seventeenth. eighretnth and nineceenth centuries-earlier or lacer according to the structure of each nacion-we find che same parrern in a
with cheir pre-exisring forms of civilization, the same transformation of social
sci II smaller circle: rhe interpenetration of the srandards of conduce of rhe nobilitv
countries outside Europe. This is the picture which emerges if we arcempr w survey the course followed up to now by the \Vesrern civilizing movement Ill
and rhe bourgeoisie In accordance with the balance of power. che product
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interpenecration was dominarecl firsc by models derived from the situation of the class, rhen by the parrern of conduct of che lower, rising classes, until hnally an amalgam emerged, a new style of unique character, Here, too. the same sitllation of che upper class being torn two wavs is visible rhac can be observed today in the vanguard of "civilization" The
"ciri!it{', was gradually compelled to exercise a srricr
nobi!itv. che vanguard of of rhe
and
an exact moulding of conduce through ics increasing integration in a network of interdependencies, and which was given expression in chis case by rhe pincer
funccions and rhus of conduct and rhe whole ptrsonaliry, began to rake place in
social space as a whole.
IV The Courtization of the Warriors The courr sociecv of rhe seventeenth and eighreenth centuries. and above all the court nobility France chm formed ics centre, occupied a specific posicion
388
wirhin rhis whole movement of interpenerrarion of rhe parrerns of conduct ever-wider circles. As noted abovt, the courrrers did not orwrnare or inv 0 . _ __ . ent rhe murrng ot aHecrs and rht more even regular10n of conduct-. They, like else in this movement, were bending to rhe constraints of interdependence were nor planned by any individual person or group of persons. Bur it is in court society that the basic srock of models of conducr was formed which fused wirh others and modified in accordance with the position of rhe
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c0 rces of rhese jJrocesses. The "rear royal court stands for a period ar the
than any other \\/esrern group affected by this movemem, specialists in the elaboration and moulding of social conduct.. For' unlike all succeedin" · o o"roupsin no
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of rhe social nerworks wluch ser and keep rhe c1vil1zing of conduct rn -enrre _ In rncin" rhe socio"enesis of rhe court. we hnd ourselves at rhe centre ' · JUOt!Dn. ' o _ .b . . . . . , . ·ivilizin" rranslorma[lon char is both par[lcularl} pronounced and ,in ot a c o _ . ·· ns'ible precondition tor all subsequent spurts and counter-spurrs rn the ind1spe ' . . . . .. ·t·· ·n". process \'Vt see how step bv srep a warnor nobil!tv 1s replaced by a Cf\tl lZl C " ' " ' . . _ . . . 1 eel nobilirv wirh more murecl aftecrs, a court nob1liry. Nor only w1rhm rne
earn
carrying_ r'.1em, spread, with rhe compulsion ro exercise foresight, ro ever-wider circles ot funcrions. Their special sirnarion made rht people of courr , ,, more:
rhe position of an established upper class, they had a social function occupation.
389
Suh Formation ,md Cirili:dtion
Tht Ciz'ilizing Process
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\'(fcsrern civilizing process, bur
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Nor only in the \\/esrern civilizing process, bur in others such as that of eastern Asia, rhe moulding which behaviour receives at rhe great courts, the
centuries. . How it came ro pass has already been described in derail: first, rhe wide
administrative centres of the key monopolies of raxarion and physical force, is of
landscape wirh irs many casdes and estates; rhe degree of integrarion was slight; ,l evervdav dependence and thus rhe horizon of the bulk of rhe warriors, like , 1e . . diat of rhe peasants, was restricted ro rheir immediate districc:
equal importance. Ir is first here, ar rhe sear of rhe monopoly ruler, that all the threads of a major network of interdependencies run rogerher: here, at this particular social nexus. more
Loalism was writ largt across rht Europe of rhe tarly Middle Ages, rhe localism m first of dit rribt and rht esrare. larer shaping itself inro rhose feudal
central org
Then, from rhe profusion of castles and estates in every region, arose
eriquette give this situation clear expression. So much presses directly and indirectly on rhe central ruler and his close entourage from the whole dom.inion.
individual houses whose rulers had attained, in many battles and through rhe growth of rheir landed possessions and military power, a posirion of predom-
each of his steps. each of his gestures may be of such momemous and far-reaching
inance owr rhe orher warriors in a more exrendecl area. Their residences became,
importance. precisely because rhe monopolies srill have a suongly privare and
as a result of rhe greater confluence of goods arriving at them, the homes of a
personal characcer, that wirhour rhis exact timing, rhese complex forms of reserve
larger number of people, "courrs" in a new sense of the word . The people who_
and distance. rhe tense balance of sociery on which rhe peaceful operarion of the
came rogerher here in search of opporrunities, always including a number ot
monopoly adminisrrarion rests would rapidly lapse into disorder. And, if not
poorer \;arriors, were no longer as independent as rhe free warriors ensconced in
always direcdy, rhen ar least rhrough rhe persons of the central ruler and his ministers, every movement or upheaval of any significance in the whole dominion
rheir more or less self-sufficient esrares; rhey were all placed in a kind of monopolisrically controlled competition And even here, in a circle of people thar
reacts on the bulk of rhe courtiers, on rhe whole narrower and wider entourage of che prince Direcdy or indirecdy, the intertwining of all acriviries with which
was still small compared ro rhe absolutist courts, rhe co-existence of a number of people whose actions consranrly intertwined, compelled even rhe warriors who
everyone at court is inevitably confronted, compels him ro observe constant
found themselves rims in closer interdependence ro observe some degree of
vigilance, and ro subject everything he says and does ro minute scrutiny.
considerarion and foresight, a more srricr control of conduce and-above all
The formation of monopolies of tax and physical force, and of great courts
cowards rhe mistress of rhe house on whom rhey depended-a greater restraint
around rhese monopolies, is certainly no more rhan one of several interdependent processes which provide the momentum of this gradual process of "civilization".
of rheir affects, a transformation of their drive economy.. The co11rtois code of conduct gives us an idea of rbe regulation of manners, and rhe i\lin11esa11g9 _an
Bur rheir formarion provides one of rhe keys by which we can gain access ro rhe
impression of rhe drive-control, that became necessary and normal ar these maior
_::;90 and minor rerrirnrial courrs Thty bear wirntss rn a firsr spurr in the \\·hich finally ltd ro rht complete transfcirmatiun of rht nobilir)· inro and an enduring "'civilizing of rheir conduce. Bm rhe wtb of inw \vhich rht warrior enctrtd was nor ytr vtry extensive or closed. If he adopr a certain rtsrrainr ar courr. rhert were srill counrless people and in rtsptcr of which ht nttcled ro obsen·e no special rtsrrainr Ht might rht lord and rhe lady of one courr in rhe hope of finding lodgings ar another. coum!T road was full of sought and unsoughr tncoumtrs which required no verv grear conrrol of impulses Ar courr, cowards the: mistn:ss. he might deny " violtnr acrs and afftcrivt ourbursrs: bm tven rht cw1rrr1is knighr was first and foremosr still a warrior, and his lift an almosr uninctrrupred chain of wars, and violtnce. The more peaceful consrrainrs of social imtrweaving which rend to impost a profound rransformarion of drives. were nor yer bearing consrantly and evenly on his lift: rhey inrrucled only inrermirrenrly, and were constantly breached by military compulsions which neither wlerared nor required anv resrrainr of rht: Corrt:spundingly the self-rt:srraim which the cr,11rtoi; knights obstrn:d ar court was only slighrly consolidated imo half-unconscious habits, into rhe almost automatic pattern characteristic of a later stage. Tht co11rtois precepts-as nored above-were mostly addressee!. in rht heyday of knighrly courr society. to adults and children alike: conformity ro rhem by adults was never rakt:n so much for granted rhar one might cease ro speak about them. The contlicring impulses ne\·er disappeared from consciousness. The structure of st:lf-consrraims. especially rhe "super-ego", was nor 1·er wry strongly or devtlopecL In adclirion, one of the main motive forces which later, in rhe absolmisr-court sociery, played an imporranr part in consolidating polite manners in the individual and in conrinuously refining them. was as yet still lacking. The upward pressure of urban-bourgt:ois srrara against rht nobility was srill relatively slight. as correspondingly was rht competitive tension between rhe rwo estates. To bt sure. ar rhe rerrirorial courrs themselves, warriors and town-dwellers sometimes compert:d fi:ir rhe same opporwniries. There were bourgeois as well as noble , and in this respect mo rhe co111"/r1is court shm\·ed ro some extent the same srrucwral rtgulariric:s which later appeared, fully developed, in rhe absolutist courr: ir brought people of bourgeois and noble origin into constant conracr. Bur Luer, in rhe era of fully developed monopolies of rhe means of ruling. tht foncrional integration of nobility and bourgeoisie, and thus the possibility of consranr comacrs as well as permanenr tensions. was already quire high! y clevtloped even outside rhe court Comacrs between bourgeois and warriors such as occurred ar rhe co111lois courts. were still rtlatin:ly rare. In general, rhe inrertwining of dependencies berween bourgeoisie and nobility was still slight compared to the later period. The towns and rhe feudal lords in their immediate or wider neighbourhood srill stood opposed as alien polirical and
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disrricr 11 ' This is rht soCial srrucrnre \\h1ch-01 ancl rO\\•ns- ·in rhe ·s·ime ( . · __ r·isr-we must kttl' in mind in order ro undtrsrand rhe clirrerenr •tl\' or CUil [ ' . . . . . , (Pel \\ ' soci·1) !)fOCeSSeS through which there gr.idually emerct rucrure. t )ie cj"i fferenc • • ' · · ' l sr increas1nL': . .. Cl\ · ·T· in which individuals steer r 1tmse 1ves. l I iz,·uion·· of rhe w·n'. y
an cl
as in every sociery with a barr_er economy. exchange and thus mmu'.1
. ·incl inte"ntion bet\\·een different classes was srdl slight .is comp.ired penc1ence ' c ' ·f
ue l , following phases. Society's wholt mode of life was rherdore less urn orm co r it ' I · · remelv closeh· The power of arms, military potential and property were t ien_ ext . : _ H. . d dirtcrlv rtlarecl. Thus rhe unarmed peasant lived man ab1ecr condmon e Jn . . l1e ·m'"l"CV of the armed lord w a cle!!ret rhar no person was expostcl to w,1, .ir r , . . r- r · the evef\"d·ir life of later phases. when public or scare monopo 1es o I or iers l!1 • ' · I 1 . .. · ·· · I Tht lord ·rncl master on rhe or her hanc , r 1t \\ .irnor, \\.is force l1acl cleve lopec ' _' . . . . . cl·· , !, · lli· ..
TIJL Cfrili:::ing ProccSs conrinuous upward mon:mem_ of the lower ones, and all the other changes one can observe ID an)· Clvd1z1Dg spurt encompassing broader strata . To begin with-at rht Starting-point of this movement as it warriors lived their own lives and the burghers and f'easants theirs. E · ·ven in spatial proximity rhe gulf between rhe esrares was dttp; customs. clothes or amusements differed, even if mutual influences were not lacking_ On all sides social contrast-or, as people in a more uniform world to call It. the variety of life-was greater. The upper class, the nobilir" d'd . . h 1 nor yet feel any appreciable social pressure from below: even the bourueoisie . . . . . . b scarcely conrested rhe1r function and presngt. Thev. did nor .ver need ro hold tli emse.ves . 1 . constantly Ill check and on rhe alerr in order ro maintain their fJOSition . h . . as re upper class. They had rheH land and rheir swords: rhe primary dangf"r for each warnor was orher wamors. And so the murual control rhe nobles imp osea.' on . rhe1r conduct as a means of class disrincrion was corres1Jondin"lv less·, so rllat in · . b. rh1s respect too rhe individual knight was subjected to a lower cle"ree of ·le t::i se 1conrroL Ht occupied his social position far more securely and as a matrer of course than rhe courtly noble. He did not need to banish coarseness and vulgaritv from his life There was norhing disturbing for him in rhinking about the classes; rhey were nor permanenrly associated wirh anxiety, and thus there was no social taboo on anything recalling rhe lower classes in upper-class life, as happened later . No repugnance or embarrassment was aroused by the sighr of the lower classes and their behaviour, but a feeling of co11tm1/1t, which was expressed openly, unrroubled by any reserve, uninhibited and unsublimatecL The "Scenes from the Life of a Knighr" discussed earlier in rhis book 11 give a certain impression of rhis attirude, although rhe documenrarion was taken from a later courtly period of knighrly existence. ' How rhe warriors were drawn step by step into rhe vortex of increasingly stronger trnd closer interdependencies wirh orher classes and groups, how an increasing part of rhem fell into functional and finally insrirurional dependence on others. has already been described in derail from various aspects. These are processes acting in rhe same direcrion over centuries: loss of military and economic self-sufficiency by all warriors, and the conversion of a part ot: them into courtiers One can detecr rhe operation of these forces of integrarion as early as the eleventh and rwelfrh centuries, when rerrirorial dominions consolidated themselves and a number of people, particularly less favoured knights, were forced ro go ro the greater and lesser courrs to seek service. Then, slowly, rhe few grear courts of princelv feudalitv rose above all the ochers; only members of rhe royal house now had rhe cha;ce to compere freely with one another, And above all the richest, most brilliant courr of rhis period of competing feudal princes, the Burgundian courr, gives an impression of how this transformation of warriors into courtiers gradually advanced.
Stt1h Frm11atio11 t111d Cil'ifizatio11
393
finally. in rhe fifteenth and ':bove all rhe s_ix_teenth rhe whole ·1inraininn this rranstormar10n, the d1fterent1at1on of tunct10ns. the m 1 tlln ' b 0 rnen r!1 ·n'' interdependence and integration of ever-larger areas and classes, increast v '. . . _ . cl This is seen parricularlv clearlv rn rhe Clrculanon ot money, a soCial ·. : . . ent [ he use of and ch an bnes ID which md1care most accurate!\-• the degree ·nstrurn 1 'di"vision of functions, and rhe extent and narnre of social interdependence. The m . of monev <•rew more c1uickl v, and ar a correspond111g . rare the pure lrns111g . voIurne . b . . . . power or value of mo_ney fell. This trend rowards the deva_luat10n of mrnred t..n _ li"ke rhe transtormauon ot warr10rs 111ro courners, early 111 the .M1cldle A):,eS. tJLgan, . What is new ar the transirion from medieval to modern times is nor moneranza. \"I.th rhe decrease in rhe 1x1rchasin" power of minted metal as such, bur the non,' o _ . nd exrent of this movement. Here as so often, what first appears as merely pace ,1 • .' . . . . . a quantitative change, is on closer 111spe_cuon an expression of qualirat1ve in rhe structure of human relauonsh1ps, of c1a ' _ soCiety. I n "es , tnnsformations Certainly, this accelerating devaluarion of money is nor by itself rhe cause of the social changes that emerge more and more clearly at rhis rime: it is parr ot a larger process, a lever in a more complex sys rem of intertwining trends. Under rhc pressure of competitive struggles of a particular stage and srrucmre, rhe demand for money increased at this time; ro satisfy it new ways and means were sounhr and found. Bur. as was pointed our earlier, le this rrend had a very meaning for different secrors of sociery; rhis is precisely what shows how great the functional interdependence of different strata had become. favoured bv this rrend were all those groups whose functions permirred rhem to for rhe falling purchasing power of money by acquiring more money, especially bourgeois groups, and the kings as controllers of rhe tax monopoly; disadvantaged were groups of warriors or nobles who had an income which norninallr remained the same bur constantly diminished in purchasing power with rhe .accelerating devaluation of money. Ir was rhe pull of this rrend rhat in the sixreenth and seventeenth centuries drew more and more warriors to rhe courr and thus inro direct dependence on the king, while conversely rhe kings' rnx revenues grew ro such an exrent rhat they could maintain an ever-larger number of people at rheir court. If one contemplates rhe past as a kind of aesthetic picmre book, if one's gaze is directed above all at changes of··sryles"', one may easily have rhe impression that from rime to time the rasres or minds of people changed abruptly rhrough a kind of inner mutation: now we have "Gothic people'" before us, now "Renaissance people"', and now "Baroque people'" If we try ro gain an idea of the srrucrure of the whole nenvork of relationships in which all the individual people of a certain epoch were enmeshed, if we try ro follow rhe changes in the institutions under which thev lived, or in the functions on which their social existence was based. our impres;ion that ar some moment the same murarion suddenly and inexplicably rook place in many minds independent of each other, is increasingly
Th:,- Ciz'ili::iil/_;:
St:11t F1m11ati1111 ,md Cil'ifi::,t1ti1111
Prr1(1_.\.f
dispelled All these changes take place quite slowly over a considerable . small steps and ro a lart:e extent noiselessfr for ears ca1,able ofi)ercei\·i·n l in .... .. ·.. . gonythe gre,u e\ ems heard tar and wide . The explos10ns rn which rhe ex 1·-t · · ' ence attitudes of indi,·idual people art changed abruptly and therefore perceptibly, are nothing but particular events within thtse slow and often al • . "bl e soCia . I s I1itts. ·. w I1ose ettects ·· impercepti are grasped onh· bv comi)arin" d·fir.mo,t . . . . . . ._ _ _ b 1 ierent genenmons. by placrnl.( side b,· side the soCial destrnies ot buh'"rs s ons and grandsons. Such 1s the case with the transtormat10n of the warriors inro co · . . Urt1ers the ch_a11ge 111 the cours_e ot which an upper_ class of free krnghts was replaced one ot courners. Even 111 rhe lase_ phases ot chis process. many individuals std! have seen _the ot their existence, ot their wishes, affects and talents, ll1 the lite of a tree knight. But all these rnlenrs and affects now becoming increasingly impossible ro put inro practice because of the transformation of human relations: rhe funcrions chat c-"ave them scope were . . . _ disappearrng from the fabric of society.. And rhe case is no different, finally, with the absolutist courr itself It coo was not suddenly concei,·ed or created at some moment bv individuals. but was formed gradually on the basis of a specific transformation of social power-relationships. All individuals art driven by a parncular dependence on orhers inro this specific form of relarionship. Through their inttrdependenct they hold each othtr fast within it. and the court was only generartd bv chis interweaving of dependencies. but created itself over and again as a form of human rt!arionships outlasting individuals. as a firmlv established institution. as long as this particular kind of mutual dependence continuously renewed on the basis of a particular structure of society at large. Just as, tor example. the social institution of a factory is incomprehensible unless we cry ro explain why the entire social field continuously generates factories, why peoplt in them are obliged ro perform services as employees or workers for an employer: and why tht tmp!oytr is in turn dependent on such services, so the social institution of the absolutist court is just as incomprehensible unless we know the formula of needs, rhe nature and degree of mutual dependence, bv which people of different kinds were bound rogerher in this wa\" Onh· thus do;s the court appear before our eyes as it really was: only thus does.it the aspen of a fortuirously or arbitrarily created grouping. about which it is neither possible nor necessary to ask the reason for its existence. and onlv thus does ir take on meaning as a network of human relationships which,. for a period, continuously reproduced icst!f in this wa\", because it offered manv individual in their people opportunities of sarisfying certain r;eeds generated over and society •
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The constellation of needs out of which rhe "'court· consrantly reproduced itself as an institution over generations has been shown above: the nobilitv. or at rhe least parts of it. needed the king because. with advancing function of free warrior was disappearing from society: and because. with
monetary integration. che produce from their estates-measured che scandards of the rising bourgeoisie-no longer allowed chem more mediocre livint: and frequendv not even thar, and certainly not a social rhana . ce rhat could maintain rhe nobil1n· s presnge as the upper class agamst e,x1scen _ . .· . . . . strennrh or rhe bourt:eo1sie. Under tl11s pressure a part ot the_ rhe gro \\.1·n" co _ ._, , ilirv-whoever could hope to hnd a place there-entered the court and thus noo . l . d .. l I : d"rect dei)endence on the kin". Onh· lire at court openec ro m 1v1c ua 1nW 1 '=' . . .. ,. bles within this social field access to economic and prestige opporrunmes rhar aO . I l" . . ·n -11w \\'"l\" S'itisfv their claims ro an existence of upper-c ass c 1suncr1on (OU Id 1 ' • '· • . . . . Had che nobles been concerned solely or even pnmanly w1t!1 eco1:om1c oppor. ·es . thev. would not have needed to bvo ro the court: manv of chem could tun!tl have acquired wealth more successfully through a commercial acriviry-such as a · l n1arr1.'1"e But to b"ain wealth rhroud1 commercial acrivirv. the\·. would have nc1 't:::i , .__, . . had co renounce their noble rank; they would have degraded ll1 their own eyes and those of other nobles. Ir was this very distance trom . the bourgeoisie, their character as nobles. their membership of the upper class ot the rhar gave their lives meaning and direcrion. The desire ro i:reserve their w "'disrin••uish'" themselves. motivated their actions far more than s· }rc·"sti<•t c1,,1.) . b ' c 1 the desire w accumulate money. They therefore not only remained at courr because chey were dependent on the king. but they remained dependem on the king because only life amid counh· society could maintain the distance from and rhe prestige on which depenclecl their salvation. their existence as members of rht upper class. rhe esrablishmtnr or the '"Society'" of the country No doubt. at least a part of the courrly nobility could nor have lived at court had rhev nor been offered many kinds of economic opportuniries there. But what sought \Vere nor economic possibilities as such-they were. as noted above. rn l;e hacl elstwhere-but possibilities of exisrence that were compatible with the maintenance of their discinguishini:: prestige. their charaner as a nobility. And this double bond through the necessity for both money and prestige is to rnrying degrees characteristic of all upper classes, nor only the btarers of "'civilirt'" but of '"civilization· The compulsion chat membership of an upper class and rhe desire w retain it exert on the individual is no less strong and formative than char arising from che simple necessity of economic subsistence. Motives of both kinds are wound as a double and invisible chain about the individual members of such classes: and the first bond. rhe cra,·ing for prestige and fear of its loss, the struggle at:ainsr the obliteration of social disrincrion. is no more robe explained bv the second. as a masked desire for more money and economic than it is ever ro be found lastingly in classes or familits chat live under l;eavv external pressure on rl1t borderline of hunger and destitution. A compulsive. desire for social prestige is ro be found as the primary motive of anion onh- amont: members of classes whose income under normal circumstances is ancl perhaps even growing. and at any rare is appreciably over rhe L
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hunger threshold . In such classes the impulse ro engage in economic '!Ctr',,· . .ity is no longer the s1m1)le necessin· ot sansfnng hunger, but a desire ro j)resef\•e..a. cert · · high, socially expected standard of living and prestige. This explains whv in ain elernted classes, affecc-ccmtrol and self-constraim are generally more highlv SUch oped than in the lower classes: fear of loss or reduccion of social [)resti<>e 1: . . b the most powerful motive forces in the transformation of constraints bv. orb ers self-restraints Here, roo. as in manv other insrances the upper-class characr · . . .. . .. . · . ' ' tnstics of good society wer.e parncularly highly devdoped in the courtly aristocracy of che sevemee.nth and eighteenth cencunes •. prensely because, thin its framework, money was mdrspensable and wealth desirable as a means of living, bur nor, as in the world, the basis of prestige as well. chose belonging to H, membership ot courtly society meant more than wealth; for just this reason they were entirely and inescapably bound to the court; for just this reason the pressure of courtly life shaping their conduct was so strong. There was no othtr place where they could live without loss of status: and this is why they were 50 dependent on the king .
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The king for his part was dependent on the aristocracy for a large number of reasons. For his own conviviality he needed a society whose manners he shared· the fact that the people who served him at cable, on going ro bed or hunting belonged to che highest nobility of the land. served his need to be distinguished from all the ocher groups in the country. Bur above all he needed the nobility as a counterweight co the bourgeoisie, just as he needed the bourgeoisie to counterbalance the nobility, if his scope to manipulare rhe key monopolies were not w be reduced It is rhe inherent regularities of rhe "rovat mechanism .. that placed the absolutist ruler in dependence on the nobility..To maintain the nobility as a distinguishing class, and thus to presef\'e the balance and tension between nobility and bourgeoisie. to allow neither estate to grow coo strong or too weak: these were the fondamemals of royal policy The nobiliry-and che bourgeoisie, roo-were not only dependent on the king: the king depended on the existence of the nobilin· Bm wichom doubt the dependence of the individual noble on the king was grearer than that of the king on any individual noble: chis is verv clear/\' manifested in the relation between king and nobility at court. . The king was not only the nobility's oppressor, as pan of the courtly nobility felt; nor was he onlv their preserver as large seccions of the bour"eoisie believed· he was both. And- the court, the;efore, likewise both: an° institution fo; taming and preserving the nobility. "If a noble ... La Bruyere says in a passage on the court, "lives at home in the provinces. he is free. but without support; if he lives at Court, he is protected, bm a slave ... In many respects this relationship resembles chat between a small independent businessman and a high employee in a powerful family concern . At court a pan of the nobility found che possibility of Ii,·ing in accordance with their Status: but the individual nobles were not now,
kni"hts were earlier. in free military competition with each ocher: they b . . .. ·n mono1Jolv-bound competmon tor the opporrnnmes the monopoly ruler were r · _ • to'·illocue ' . And chev . not on! .v lived under the j)ressure of this central lord; . vere not on]y subjecred to the competitive pressure which they. together rhey ' · _ . · h .1 reserve armv of country ansrocracv. exerted on each other; they were above wrt ' · · · . . . aIJ under pressure from rising bourgeois strata. \\/ith the latter s sacral power the noblemen at court had co_nscantly to contend;. they lived trom the ,itJ[!eS and caxes chat came pnmanly from the third estate The interdependence interweaving of different social functions, above all between nobility and bourgeoisie, was very much tighter than in preceding phases. All the more_ omnipresent, therefore, were the tensions between chem . And as the structure of human relationships was changed in this way, as the individual was now embedded in the human network quite differently from before and moulded by rhe web of his dependencies, so wo did the structure of individual consciousness and affects change. the structure of the interplay between drives and drivecontrols, between conscious and unconscious levels of the personality. The closer interdependence on every side, the heavy and continuous pressure from all directions, demanded and instilled a more even self-control, a more stable superand new forms of conduct between people: warriors became courtiers " \\!herever we encounter civilizing processes of any scope, we also find strucwral similarities within the wider socio-historical context in which these changes in mentality occur . They may cake place more or less quickly, they may advance. as here. in a single sweep or in several spurts with strong counterspurts: but as far as we can see today, a more or less decisive courtizacion of warriors, whether permanent or transitory, is one of the most elementary social preconditions of every major movement of civilization. And however little importance che social formation of the court ma\' at first sight have for our present life, a certain undersrnncling of the structure of tht court is indispensable in comprehending civilizing processes. Some of its structural characteristics may also throw light on the life at centres of power in general JS t I1e
v The Muting of Drives: Psychologization and Rationalization '"Life at court", La Bruyere writes, 1.; "is a serious, melancholy game, which requires of us that we arrange our pieces and our batteries, have a plan, follow it, foil chat of our adversary, sometimes rake risks and play on impulse. And after all our measures and meditations we are in check, sometimes checkmate." Ac the court, above all at the great absolmist court, there was formed for the
The tirsr rime a kind of sucier\· and human relarionships ha\·ing srrucrural """"l[t-r.. isrics which from nmY on. o\·er a long srrerch of \Vesrern hisrory and many variarions. again and again play a decisin: parr In rhe midst of a popuLm:d .irta which by and large is free of physical Yiolenct. a '"good formed Bur even if rhe use of physical \·iolenct now recedes from human course. if ewn duellinr.: is now forbidden. people nm\· extrr pressure and force ' on each other in a wide varitry of differenr ways . Lite in rhis circle is in no way Very many people are conrinuously dependenr on each orhtL Competition for presrige and royal fa\"Ciur is inrtnst ··Atfaires··. dispmts over rank and favour, do nor cease. If tht sword no longer plays so great a role as the means of decision, it is replaced lw inrrigue. conflicrs in which careers and social success are contesred wirh \\·ords. They demand and product other qualities rhan did rhe armed strug .. glts that had rn be foughr om wirh weapons in one's hand Conrinuous reflection foresighr. and calcularion, self-conrroL precise and arriculart regulation of one'; own affects. knowledge of rht whole terrain, human and non-human. in which one acts. btcumt more and more indispensable prtcondirions of social success, Every individual belongs to a "clique··. a social circle which supports him \\·hen necessary: bm rht groupings change Ht enters alliances. if possible with [•toplt ranking high at court . Bm rank at courr can change very quickly; ht has rirnls: ht has open and concealed enemies. And the tactics of his srruggles, as of his alliances. demand c1reful consideration. The degn:e of aloofness or familiarity with tn:rnmt must be carefully measured: each grttring. each conn:rsation a significance on:r and abon: what is actually said or clone. They indicate the standing of a person: and they contribute ro the formation of court opinion on his standing:
h;s
Ld a fovuurice pa) dost hted to himself: for if ht dots noc keep me \lairing as long as in his anrechan1h::r: if his is n1ore open. if he frowns iess. if he listens co me more willing!) and accumpanics me a lircle furcher when showing me our. I shall think rlur he is. beginning co foll. and I shall bt right : '
The court is a kind of stock txchange: as in every ··good socitry ·. an estimate of the ··value· of each indi\·idual is continuously being fi:irmed . Bm hert his value has its real foundation not in rhe wealth or ewn rht achievemems or ability of rhe individual. bm in rht favour ht enjoys with the king. the influenct ht has with other mighty ones, his importance in rhe play of courtly cliques, All this, fa\·our, influence. importance. this whole complex and dangerous game in which physical force and direct affecti\·e ombursrs are prohibited and a threat w txisrence. demands of each participant a constant foresight and an exact kncl\\·ledge of e\·try orher. of his posirion and rnlut in the network of courtly opinion: ir exacts precise attuntmtnt of his own behaviour ro this value. Every mistake. ewry careless srep depresses the value of its ptrperrator in courtly opinion: ir may rhreattn his whole posirion at court
;\. rmrn who knows rhc courc is master of his gcscures. of his tyes and his expression: ht is deep. impenetrable. Ht: dissimulacts chc bad turns he docs. smiles ac his enemies.
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disguises his passions, disaYows his heart. acts at:ainsr his
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The transformarion of rht nobility in the direction of "civilized" behaviour is unmistakable Here, it is not \·et in all rtspecrs so profound and all-embracing as larer in bourgeois society: for iris only rowards their peers that rhe courtier and the courr lady need to subiecr thtmseh·es to such consuainr. and far less so ro\vards rheir social inferiors, Quite apart from the facr rhat the pattern of drive- and affectcontrol is differenr in courtly from that in bourgeois society, the awareness that rhis control is exercised for social reasons is more alive, Opposing inclinations do nor vet wholly vanish from waking consciousness: self-constraint has not yer so completely an apparatus of habits operating almosr auromatically and including all human relationships. Bm iris already quite clear how human beings are becoming more complex. and internally split in a quire specific W•lY Each man, as it were. confronts himself He ··conceals his passions". "'disavo\\"S his heart", "aces against his feelings·· The pleasure or inclination of the moment is restrained in anricipation of the disagreeable consequences of its indulgence: and ir is, indeed, the same mechanism as that by which adulrs-wherhtr parents or other persons-increasingly instil a stable ··super-ego" in children . The momentary dri\·e and affect impulses art, as ir were. held back and masrtred by the foreknowledge of the later displeasure. by rhe fear of a future pain. until this fear finally opposes the forbidden behaviour and inclinations by force of habit. even if no other person is directly present. and the energy of such inclinations is channelled into a harmless direcrion nor threatened by any displeasure. In keeping with rhe rransformarion of society. of interpersonal relationships. rhe affecr-economy of the individual is also rcconstrucrecl: as rhe series of actions and rhe number of people on whom the individual and his anions constantly depend are increased, the habit of foresight m·er longer chains grows stronger. And as the behaviour and personality srrucrurt of the individual change. so does his manner of considering others. His image of them becomes richer in nuances. freer of spontaneous emotions: ir is ··psychologized·· \Vhere the structure of social funcrions allows the individual greater scope for actions under the influence of momentary impulses than is the case at courr, it is neither necessary nor possible to consider very deeply rhe nature of another person ·s consciousness and affects. or what hidden motives may underlie his behaviour If at court calculation meshes with calculation, in simpler societies affect directly engages affecr . This strength of the immediate affects, however. binds the individual t0 a smaller number of behavioural options: someone is friend or fi:)e, good or evil: and depending on how one perceives another in terms of these black and white affecti\·e patttrns, so one behaves, Everyrhing seems
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The Cil'ilizing PmC1:ss
State For11h!fi()Jl cllld Ciri/i:atir111
direcdy relaced co fte!ing. Thar che sun shines, or lighrning flashes, that laughs or knirs his brow, all chis appeals more direcd\· co the . V _ c , . .. A ! . . . . a recr, or th percener. nc as ic exc1ces him here and now in a friendlv or unf · !l · e !· . . _. . . nenc v way h C
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. _ ecomes .trreccn: } more nemral m the _course or che civilizing process. The ''world p1crnre gradually becomes less d1recdy decermined by human wishes and fears and more scrongly onenrnted to what we call "ex1)erience" or "che emi)ir· I" ' . . . . . sequence_s w1ch che1r own immanent regularicies Jusc as coday, in a further spurt che_course or history and sociecy is gradually emerging from the md11s mises of persona! aHects and involvement · from the lnze of coll··cri·\ ..·e long1ngs · I ' c anc fears, and beginning ro appear as a relacively autonomous nexus of ;0 roo with nacure and-within smaller confines-wich human beinns le • . l l . c- . \\as part1cu ar Y m the circles of courc lift char whac we would codar call "psychological., human self-image developed, a more precise obser;acion ochers and oneself in cerms of longer series of morives and causal conneccions. because It was chere char vigilam self-control and perpecual obsen-acion of wen:. among die elemenrnry prerequisices for che preservacion of one's social posmon. Bm chis is only one example of how whac we call che "oriemarion r . .. 0 expenence : che observacion of evems wichin a lengchening and broadening slowly began ro develop ac exaccly che poim \Vhere the nexus ot or sociecy icself compelled che individual co restrain his momentary ,itfeccs ,rnd uanstorm his l1b1d111al energies ro a higher degree. _ Saint-Simon in one place obsen-es someone with whom Lhe is on an uncertain footing. He describes his own behaviour in this sirnacion as follows: I soon noriced rhar he was 'i_:rowin" - I ucc - roward s me -o colder·· I close!\·. t-ollo\\"ecl }i's 1 con( ro_ avoid 'rny confusion between whar mighr be accidenrnl in a man burdened wirh pnckly afiairs. ancl \\·har I suspecred. My suspicions were confirmed. me ro wnhdraw from him emirely wirhom in rhe slighresr appearing ro do so ;r, ' "Problems of fnvnlvc:menr and Dtrnchmenr [.·\!!thflr'.I 1Jr1h /11 !ht !rdJJY!a:ilill]
This courdy arc of human observacion-unlike whac we usually call "psychology" wday-is never concerned with the individual in isolation, as if che essential fuicures of his behaviour were independent of his relations ro others. and as if he related to others. so to speak. only retrospeccively. The approach chert was far closer ro realicy, in thac che individual was always seen in his social comexc, as Cl ht!Jlic/I/ i11 his reftlfi()llJ tr1 others, c1s till i11di1·idi!c1! i11 ti social sit11c1tio11. le was pointed om above 1- chat che precepts on behaviour of che sixceenth cenrury differ from chose of che preceding centuries less in cerms of cl1eir contem rhun in cheir tone. their changed affective acmosphere: psychological insighcs, personal observacions. begin to play a larger pare A comparison becween che precepcs of Erasmus or Della Casa and the corresponding medieval rules shows rhis clearly.. Invescigation of che social changes of chis time, the cransformation of human relacionships chat rook place, provides an explanacion. This "psychologizarion" of rules of conduct. or, more precisely, cheir grearer permeacion by obserYacion and experience, is an expression of the acceleraced courcizacion of che upper class and of the closer integracion of all pares of society in chis period. Signs of a change in chis direccion are certainly not ro be found only in writings recording che standard of "good behaviour" of che rime: we find chem equally in works devored to che emerrninmem of chis class . The observacion of people thac lite in the courdy circle demanded finds ics licerary expression in an arc of human porcrai cure. The increased demand for books wichin a sociecy is itself a sure sign of a pronounced spurc in the civilizing process: for che transformation and regulacion of drives char is demanded both to write and read books is always considerable. Bm in courc society the book did nor yer play quire the same pare as in bourgeois sociery. In the former, being in company. che marker in which prestige was ernluaced. formed che centre of exiscence for each indi\·idual: books. coo. were imendecl less for reading in che swdy or in solirnry leisure hours wrung from one's profession, than for social conviviality: chey were a pare and continuation of com·ersacion and social games, or, like the majoricy of courc memoirs, they were subsciwte conversacions, dialogues in which for some reason or other che parmer was lacking . The high arc of human porcraiture in courc memoirs, lecrers or aphorisms elms gives a good impression of the complex human observation inscilled by courdy life. And here, as in many ocher respects, bourgeois sociecy in France developed che courdy herirnge with a singular continuicy. The persiscenct of a Parisian "good sociecy", as beneficiary and further developer long beyond che Revolucion and up co che present day of che inscrumems of prestige developed in courc society, may have comribmed to this. Ac any rate, we can say thac from the portraits by Saint-Simon and his comemporaries of courc people to the porcrayal of the "high sociecy" of the nineceemh century by Proust-by way of Balzac. Flaubert, Maupassant and many others-and finally to the depiccion of
-i0.2 the lifr. of broader classes b\·· \Hi ters such as ·Jules Romains or Andre , raux and in a !awe number of French films. there is a direct line of tra'u1tion 1· · ' , characrerized by pre_cist!y this lucidity of human observation. this capacity to people rn their em1rt soC!al comtxt and w understand chem through it. Th individual figure is never artificially isolated from the fabric of his or her existence. simple dependence on others. This is why che atmosphere and plasticity ot real experience is ne\·er lost in the descriptions. And much the same chat can be said of this ··psychologization·· applies also to the .. rationalization·· which slowly becomes increasingly perceptible from the sixceemh cemury onwards in the most rnried aspects of society. This, roo, is nor an isolated face; it is only 1111< expression of the change in the 1/'holc personality chat emerges at this time. and of the growing foresight that is from now 00 required and instilled by an ever-increasing division of social functions. Here, as in many other instances, understanding socio-historical developments requires a suspension of the habits of thinking with which we have grown up. This ofren-noted historical rationalization is not something that arose from the fact that numerous unconnected individual people simulrnneously de\·eloped from "within", as if on the basis of some pre-esrnblished harmom·. a new or(!an or substance. an "understanding" or ··reason" which had not ex.isted hithe;to. \Vhat changes is the way in which people are bonded ro each ocher. This is whv their behaviour changes, and why their consciousness and their drin:-tconom;, and. in fact. their personality strucrnre as a whole, change. The which change are not something which comes upon men from .. outside'': they are the relationships bttween people chemselve:s The human person is an extraordinarily malleable and variable bting. The changes in human disposition being discusstd here art examples of this malleability. It is by no means confined to what we gentrally distinguish as the .. psychological .. from the: .. physiological .. The: ··physis·". wo. indissolubly linked w what we call the ··psyche'', is rnriously moulcltd in the course of hiswry in accordance \Vith the network of dependencies that extend throughout a human life. Ont might think. for example. of the moulding of tht facial musclts and thus of facial exprtssion during a person ·s lifetime. or of the formation of reading or writing cemres in the brain. The same: applies w what we refer rn by the reifying terms "reason .. , .. ratio .. or .. understanding·· None of that exisrs-though our use of words suggests ocherwise:-relatively unrnuched by socio-historical change. in the way rhat. for example. the heart or srnmach exists. Rather. these terms express a particular moulding of the whole psychic economy: they are as peers of a moulding which cakes place very gradually. repeatedly advancing and slipping back, and which emerges more strongly the more cltarly and rnrally the spomaneous impulses of the individual chrtaten rn bring about-through the strucrnre of human dependencies-loss of pleasure. decline and inferiority in relation rn mhers. or even the ruin of one's social existence . Thev are aspects of
-i03 diJt moulding by which the libidinal cemre and the ego-cemre are more and J1lore sharply differemiated. umil finally a comprehensive, stable <1!1d highly difierenciated agency of self-conscraim is formed. Thtre is not acrnally a ratio (reason), there is at most .. rationalization·· Our habits of thinking incline: us w look for ··beginnings··; bm there is nowhere in the: developmem of human beings a "point .. before which one could sav chat hitherrn there was no ratio and now it has ··arisen .. : that hitherrn there no self-conscraims and no ''super-ego" and now, in this or chat cemury, they are suddenly there. There is no zero-poim rn any of these darn . Bm it does no J1]ore justict w tht facrs rn say: everything was always thtrt as it is now . The habics of self-constrnim, the organization of consciousness and affects of .. civilized .. people. clearly difftr in th1:ir trittdit) from those of so-called .. primitives··; bm both are, in their structure. differem yet clearly explainable mouldings of largely cht same narnral functions Traditional habits of chinking cominually confrom us with static alternatives; they ,ue schooled, in a sense, on Eleacic models: we can imagine: only numerous individual points. separate abrupt c!Mnges, or no change at all. And it is clearly still very difficult w set ourselves as located in a gradual. cominuous change with a particular scrucrnre and regularity, a change which is lost rn our gaze in the darkness of the more disrnm past, and as pare of a movemem which, as far as is possible, should be seen as a whole, like the flight of an arrow or cht flow of a river, not as the recurrence of always the same thing at differem poims or as something that jumps from poim w poim. \Vhat changes in the course of the process which we call hisrnry are, w reiterate, the reciprocal relationships, the figurations, of people and the moulding the individual undergoes within them. Bm at the very momem when chis fundamemal hiswricicy of human beings is clearly seen, wt also perceive the re:gularity, the scrucrnral characteristics which remain consrnm Each single aspect of human social lift is comprehensible only if see:n in the comexc of chis perpe:rnal movemem: no particular dtrnil can be isolated from it It is formed within chis moving comexc-which may stem slow, as in the case of many primitive peoples, or rapid, as in our own-and must be grasped within it. as a pan of a ]Xlfticular srnge or wave. Thus social driveconuols and restrictions are nO\\·here absem among people, nor is a cerrnin foresight; bm these qualities have a form and degree among simple herdsmen or in a warrior class different from chose found among courtiers, state officials or members of a mechanized army. They grow more powerful and more complete the greater is the division of functions. and drns the greater the number of people w whom the individual has to acrnne his or her actions. Likewise. the narnre of "undtrsrnnding .. or ··chinking·· w which an individual is accusrnmed resembles or differs from that of ocher people in his society rn the same excem as his own social si rnacion and function and chose of his pa rems or the most importam influe:ncts moulding him rtsemblt or differ from chose of others. The foresight
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Surt Fom111tio11 and Ciri!i::dtion
Thu Cil'ili:::i11g Pmccrs
of _ the primer_or the finer is different from _ that of the book-keeper' the en"i·n o eers, trom that ot the sales director. che hnance minister"s from that of the commander. even though all these different surface mouldings are ro an extent equalized by the interdependence of functions. Ar a deeper level, the moulding of rnr_i_onaliq: and affects in someone who has grown up in a working-class family is different trom that m someone who grew up m secure, well-to-do surroundings. And finally. the patterns of rationality and affects, the self-images and drive economy of the Germans. the English, the French and Italians differ in keepin, with their different hiscories of interdependence, and the social moulding people in the \vest as a whole differs from that of Orientals. But all these differences are comprehensible precisely because the same human and social regularities underlie them. The individual differences zcithi11 all these groups, such as those of "intelligence", are merelv. nuances within a framework of verv, specific hiscorical forms, differentiations for which a society offers greater or lesser scope depending on i rs structure. Thus, for example. the hazardous business of highly individualized independent thought. the stance by which a person proves himself to be a "creative intelligence", does nor have only a very special individual "natural talent" as a pre-condition Ir is only possible at all within a particular structure of power balances; its precondition is a quire specific socicd stn1L°t11re. And it depends further on the access which the individual has, within a society so structured, ro the kind of schooling. and to the nor very numerous social functions. which alone permit his capacity for independent individual thought to develop. Thus the foresight or "thought" of the knight is different from that of the courtier. A scene described by Ranke 18 gives a good impression of how the typical personality structure of knights was doomed by the growing monopolization of force. More ge'lerally, it provides an example of the way in which a change in the structure of social functions enforces a change of conducL The Due de Montmorency. the son of a man who had played a major part in the victory of Henry IV. had rebelled. He was a knightly, princely man, generous and brilliant, brave and ambitious. And he served the king; bur that power and the right ro rule should be confined ro the L!tter or, more precisely, ro Richelieu, he neither undersrood nor approved So, with his followers. he began ro fight against the king, as in old rimes knights, feudal lords, had often fought against each other.. There was a confrontation . The king's general, Schomberg, was ma tactically weak position. This, however, Ranke tells us:
:r
was an advanrage ro which J\fonrmorency paid bm linle arrenrion: seeing rhe enemy army. he suggesred co his friends char rhev should anack ,,·irhour delay for he undersrood war primarily as a brave cavalry charge. An experienced companion. Count Rieux. begged him w wair unril a few guns char were being drawn up had shaken the enemy's posirion. Bur ,\fonrmorency ,,·as already gripped by a belligerenr frenzy. There was no more rime co lose. he said. and his advisor. rhough foreseein!' disasrer. did nor
405
dare co oppose rhe clear will of rhe knighrly leader. "Lord'. he cried. "!shall die ar your
feer. ,\lonrmorency was recognizable by a scallion splendidly adorned "·irh reel. blue and dun btrhers Ir was only a small group of foilowers who leapr wirh him owr rhe dirch They rnr down everyone who was in rheir way. barding forward unril rhey finally ,1 rrived in fronr of rhe enemy's acrual posirion. There rhey were mer by close and rapid musker fire: horses and men were wounded and killed. Counr Rieux and mosr of rhe ochers fell: rhe Due de ,\fonrmorency. wounded. fell from his srricken horse and was caken prisoner
Richelieu had him cried, certain of the outcome, and soon afterwards the last Montmorency was beheaded in the courtyard of the town hall of Toulouse. To give way directly ro impulses and nor to rake thought of the further consequences was, in the preceding phases when warriors could compete more freely with each other, a mode of behaviour which-even if it led to the downfall of the individual-was adequate ro the social structure as a whole and therefore ro "reality". Martial fervour was a necessary precondition of success and prestige for a man of rhe nobility \virh advancing monopolization and centralization all that changed. The different structure of society now punished affective ourbursrs and actions lacking the appropriate forethought with certain ruin. And anyone who did nor agree with the existing stare of affairs, with rhe omnipotence of the king, had ro change his ways. Let us listen to Saint-Simon. He, roo, scarcely more than a generation after Montmorency, was and remained throughout his life a duke in opposition. Bur all he could do was form a kind of faction at court; if he were skilful he could hope to win over the king's successor, rhe Dauphin. ro his ideas. Bur this was a dangerous game at the court of Louis XIV, demanding utmost camion. The prince must first be very carefully sounded our and then gradually guided in the desired direction . Saint-Simon describes his tactics in a conversation with the Dauphin as follows: ,\fy principal inrenrion was w sound his opinion on everyching char concerned our digniry.. I rhus rnok care genrly w break off all discussion char led away from chis goal. co draw the conwrsarion back and conduce ir rhrough all rhe differenr chaprers rhe Dauphin. eagerly arrenrive. appreciared all my argumenrs became hearecl and groaned ar rhe ignorance and lack of reflection of rhe King. I did little more chan mention all chese differenr subjeccs in presenring chem successively ro che Dauphin. and then followed afrer him. leaving him rhe pleasme of miking, showing me chat he was educared. I lee him persuade himself, work himself up, grow angry, while I was able w see his feelings. his way of thinking, and co gain impressions from which I I sought less co press my argumenrs and parentheses chan gendy could profit and firmly co imbue him with my feelings and views on each of rhese I" subjeccs.
This brief sketch of the attitude of these two men. the dukes of Montmorency
-i06
Th,
P;·r1(r.:JS
and Saim-Simon. when giving expression to their opposition ro the omnipotence. helps rn complete our picrnre. The former. one of the last seeks rn. reach his goal Lw physical combar: the larrer: rhe courtier, b, conversanon . 1 ht former acrs trom impulse wirh lirrle rhoughr of others; Lurer ptrptruallv adiusrs his btlun-iour co his interlocutor. Borh. nor Monrmorency bur Saim-Simon roo. in a highly dangerous situation. The Dauph111 can always break rhe rules of courrlv, conwrsatiorr. he cm . .. . ' . 1·rr I1t. so wishes, break oft rhe conversation and rht relationship for am· reason he chooses and lose very lirrle; if Saint-Simon is nor verv cartful. he rnn di\·ine the cl k ·: . . . · u es sedmous rhoughrs and inform the king 1 ,__ Montmorencv. hardh·- renisters c tne danger; he is wholly bound by die straigluforward behaviour his passion dictates· he seeks to overcome clanger precisely by the fury of his passion. perceives the exact compass of the clanger; ht thus goes to work with utmost se!fconuol and forethought. He seeks to attain nothing by force; he works with a longer view. He holds back, in order to "imbue·· the other imperceptiblv but enduringly with his frtlings \\That we have in rhis autobiographical anecdote is a very re\·ealing piece of rhar m11!l-ratio11t!lit) which-though this is not generally appreci,1rtd-played a no less important part, and ar first an e\·en more important one. rhan rhe urbancommtrcial rationality and foresight insrilltd by functions in the trade network, in rht development of whar wt call rht "Enlightenment" But. certainlv, rhese two fr>rms of foresighr-rht rarionalizarion and psychologizarion of the ,courtly group of the nobility and rhar of rhe leading middle-class groups-however different in rheir pattern, dewloped in close conjuncrion wirh each other, They indicate an increasing internvining of nobilirr• and bour<'eoisie· <-'-b . rhe\· . SJ)rin<> b firom a rransformarion of human relationships throughout rhe \vhole of socitn·: rhev art connected in rhe closest possible \Yay ro rhe change by \Yhich rht loosely-knit esrares of medieval socien· gradually become subordinate formations in a more centralized socierv. an absolute start. The historical process of rarionalizarion is a prime example of a kind of process which hirhtrro has· been scarcely grasped or only vaguely grasped by scientific thought. Ir belongs-if we adhere ro rhe rraclirional pattern of academic disciplines-to a science rhar does nor yer exisr. hisrorical psychology In rhe present srrucrure of scholarly research a sharp dividing line is generally drawn berween rhe work of the historian and of rhe psychologist.. Onh- \Vesrern people living ar present appear in nttcl of or accessible to psychological invesrigarion, or ar mosr also so-called primitive peoples li\·ing roclay Tht path leading, in \Vesrern hisrnry itself, from tht simpler. more primitive psychological srrucrure ro rht more clifftrentiared one of our clay remains in rhe dark . Precisely because rhe psychologist thinks unhistorically, because he approaches rht psychological strucrures of present-clay ptoplt as if rhty were something without development or change. rht results of his im·esrigarions are in general of little use to rht
hiswrian And bemuse rhe hisrorian. preoccupied by what he calls facts, avoids psychological problems, he on his side has lirrle ro say ro rhe psychologist The siruarion is lirrle better wirh sociologi·. As far as it is concerned at all wirh hiswric1l problems. it accepts enrireh· rhe dividing line drawn by the hisrorian between tht seemingly immurable psychological srrucrure of humans and its different manifrsrarions in the form of arts, ideas or whatt\·tr. Thar an historical social psychology. a srndy ar once psychogentric and sociogeneric. is needed to drcrn' rhe connections between all rhtst different manifesrarions of social human beings. remains unrecognized. Those concerned with the history of society, like chose concerned wirh intellecrual history, percei\·e "sociery" on rhe one hand and the world of "ideas" on the orhtr as rwo different formations char can be meaningfully separated. Borh seem to believe rhar rhert is eirher a socierv outside ideas and thoughts, or ideas outside socitry. And rhey merely which of rht two realms is more "important": some say thar it is society-iess ideas which set society in motion, and rht orhtrs rhar ir is an idea-less society that moves ideas· The civilizing process and, within ir. such rrtncls as psychologizarion and rationalization. do nor fir into chis kind of scheme. Even in thought they simply cannot be separated from rht historical change in the srrucrure of interpersonal relationships. Ir is quire pointless to ask whether the gradual transition from less w more rational modes of rhoughr and conduct changes society; for chis process of rarionalizarion, like rhe more all-embracing process of ci\·ilizarion, is irstlf borh psychologirnl and social. But ir is equally meaningless to explain rht civilizing process as a "supersrrucrure" or ''ideology", i.e. solely from irs function as a weapon in rhe struggle between particular social groups and inttresrs. The gradual rationalization and. further. rht whole civilizing process, undoubtedly rakts place in constant conjuncrion wirh rhe clashes berwttn different social srrara and orher groupings. The rornliry of European society, rhe subsrrarum of \\·bar is hirherro rhe lasr and scrongesr ci,·ilizing spurt, is cerrainly nor rhe peaceful uniry it somtrimes appears in harmonisric patterns of rhoughr. Ic is nor an originally harmonious whole into which-as if by rhe ill-will or incomprehension of particular ptople-contlicrs are accidentally inrroclucecl Rather. tensions and struggles-as much as the mutual of ptopleare an integral parr of irs srrucrnre; they decisively afftcr rhe direction in which it changes U ncloubteclly, a civilizing spurt can rake on considerable importance as a weapon in these struggles. For habirnarion ro a higher degree of foresight and greater restraint of momentary affects-to recall only rhest rwo facers--can give one group a significant advantage over another. But a higher degree of rarionaliry and drive inhibition can also, in certain sirnarions. have a debilitating and adverse effect. "Ci\·ilizarion .. can be a vtn- rwo-ecl ''tel weapon. And whareveLr its effect may be in particular cases, ar rare spurts in the civilizing process take place by and large incleptnclenrly of whether rhey are pleasant or
ci08
Th, Ciz'ili:i11g Prr;ctSs
useful co the groups involved They arise from powerful dynamics of interweaving group acrivicies the on:rall direction of which anv• single "roup on its · 0 .__ '._, own is hardly able to change. They are nor open to conscious or half-conscious manipulation or ddiberace co1wersion inro weapons in the social struggle, far so indeed than, for instance, ideas. Just like the whole psychic habitus characteristic of a particular srage of social development, so specific traits of civilized are at one and the same time a product of and a lever in rhe workings ot the larger social process within which individual classes and interests form and transform themselves. Civilization. and therefore rationalization for example, is nor a process within a separate sphere of .. ideas· or "thought .. Ir does nor involve solely changes in "knowledge·". transformations of .. ideologies··-in shore alterations of the cr111t211t of consciousness-but scruccural changes in the entire habitus of people, within which ideas and habits of thought are only a single sector. We are here concerned with changes in the form of the whole psychic economy throughout all irs zones, from self steering at the level of the ego--rhe more tlexible level of consciousness and retlection-ro that at the more auromatic and rigid level of drives and affects that have become completely unconscious. And ro grasp changes of this kind, the panern of thought summoned ro mind by rhe concepts of .. super-structure .. or ··ideology .. is nor enough The idea chat the human .. psyche .. consists of different zones functioning independendy of each ocher and capable of being considered independently, has become deeply rooted in human consciousness over a long period Ir is common, in thinking about rhe more differentiated personality srrucrure, ro separate one of irs functional levels from rhe ochers as if this were really rhe "essential" factor in rhe way people steer chemselws in their encounters with their human fellows and with non-human nature. Thus rhe humanities and the sociology of knowledge stress above all the aspect of knowledge and thought. Thoughrs and ideas appear in thest srudits, so ro speak, as rhe most important anJ porent aspect of the way people sreer themselves. And rhe unconscious impulses, rhe whole field of drive and· affecr structures, remain more or less in rhe dark Bur any invesrigarion rhar considers only people·s consciousness, their "reason" or "ideas .. , while disregarding the structure of drives, rhe direction and form of human affects and passions. can from the ourstr be of only limited value. Much that is indispensable for an understanding of human beings escapes this approach . The rationalization of people·s intellectual activity itself, and beyond rhar all the structural changes in rhe ego and super-ego functions, all these interdependent levels of people·s personalities-as has been shown above and will be shown in more derail later-are only very imperfectly accessible ro thought as long as enquiries are confined ro changes in rhe intellectual aspects of people, to changes of ideas, and pay little regard to the changing balance and the changing pattern of rhe relationships between drives and affects on rhe one hand and driveand affect-control on rhe orher.. A real understanding, even of the changes in
Stt1te Furme1tio11 mu! Ci1·ilize1tio11 ideas and forms of cognition, can be gained only if one also rakes into account rhe changes of human interdependencies in conjunction with rhe structure of conduct and, in fact, rhe framework of the psychic economy as a whole at a given srage of social development. The inverse accentuation, with a corresponding limirarion, is quire often co be found in psycho-analytical research roday. Ir frequently rends, in considering hum
of [his process, rn pm I[ brittfr and all rno simply. "consciousness" becomes , l)ermeable bv• drives. and dri\·es become less [Jtrmeable bv. '"consciousnes•·" ., • 111 simpler socie[ies tltmenrary impulses, however uansformed, have easier access to people's retlenions. In rhe course of a civilizing process rhe companmemalization of [hese self-s[ttrinl.' fim([ions. [hough in no war· absolme. becomes mo re pronounced In accordance wi[h [ht sociogene[ic ground rule (set p. xi above) one can observe processes in [ht same direnion in every child rnday. One can see [hat in [he course of human hisrory, and again and again in [bar of tach individual civilizing process, self-sreering [hrough ego and super-ego funnions on the one hand and self-steering through drives on [he o[her become more and more firmly d{f/1:1wtiatcd. Hence i[ is only wi[h [ht forma[ion of conscious funnions le;s accessible rn drives [ha[ the drive auroma[isms rake on more and more [hat spedfic charaner which rnday is commonly diagnosed as '"ahisrnric", as a human characteris[ic [hroughom [ht ages which is purely namral, and independem of [he developmtnral condi[ion of human socie[ies. Howner, [he human charaneris[ic discovered by Freud in people of our own [ime and conceprnalized by him as a suin division be[ween unconscious and conscious menrnl funnions, far from being pan of humans· unchanged namre is a resulr of a long civilizing process in [he course of which the wall of forge[fulness separa[ing libidinal drives and "consciousness" or "retle([ion" has become higher and more impermeable* In [ht course of the same uansforma[ion. [he conscious memal functions [hemselves develop in [ht direction of wha[ is called increasing "ra[ionaliza[ion": only wid1 [ht sharper and firmer differemia[ion of the personali[y do the ounvard-direc[ed psychological funnions rnke on [ht charac[tr of a more
'': To undtrsrand this face is rn1t on!: of thton:ticd bur also of pr.Ktica! sit-:nifiuncc Diffcfl:ncts in the txn:nt rn which thinking i:i chargt:J with affects make themseln:s ftlr again and .:gain in the
rdarionships l1erwten st.ires at difftrenr stages of social devtlopmenr. As a rule. hm\TVL"f. the li:ading sr..nt:smtn of highly Jiffon:rniartJ societits dt:vist their srrartgies on the assumption dur the level of n:.:srrainc. the code of c;rn
somewhat Lmrea!isric Hmn:ver, rn work out fcm:ign policy based on the kml\dtdge of these differentials in afft.-r..-riviry is far from easy. Ir will netd a good deal of experimtnting-an
Thus . in the political
strategies of China, for instance. onct can discover a level of stlf-n:straint at k-asr on a par with that of rht most highly developed industrial nations Although in terms of its own economic Jen:lopment China sri!l lags behind. its stac formation proet:ss in terms
-111
5tdfi: Foni1c1tir111 and Cil'i!i::atirm
410
or duration and continuit:
of most other existinf; start: societies of our time [..-\urhr;rY no!t fo the 1r.nul.11io11]
surpasses that
ra.£1·on·illv ' . funnioning ,_ consciousness less direcdv. coloured bv . drive impulses and ifec[ive famasies Thus the form and strucmre of [he more conscious and more unconscious psychological self-s[eering funnions can never be grasped it [hey are . a"intd as something in am· sense existinl.' or functioning in isola[ion from one 0[!1er. Both are ec1ualh· . fundamemal ro [he exis[ence of a human being; bo[h roi.:ether form a single grta[ funnional cominuum. Nor can dleir suucrure and be undersrnod if obserrn[ion is confined w individual human beings Thev can only be comprehended in connection wi[h dle scrucrure of rela[ionships people, and wid1 [ht long-[erm changes in [ha[ strucmre. Therefore in order ro undersrnnd and explain civilizing processes one needs ro inves[iga[e-as has been anemp[td here-the uansforma[ion of bo[h [ht personali[y suucmre and [he emire social S[rucwre This rnsk demands, :vi[hin a sm<1ller radius, psychogwttic inves[igarions aimed a[ grasping [he whole held of individual psychological energies, dle suucwre and form of dle more driveimpulsive no less [han of che more conscious self-s[eering funnions. The explora[ion of civilizing processes demands soci11genttic inves[iga[ions of [he overall structure, wid1in a long-[trm perspenive, not only of a single srn[e socie[y bm of [ht social field formed by a specific group of imerdependem societies, and of [ht sequemial order in which i[ changes. Bm for an adequa[e enquiry imo such social processes a similar corre([ion of uadi[ional habi[S of [hinking is needed ro [he one [ha[ proved necessary earlier w obtain an adequa[t basis for psychogene[ic enquiry.. To undersrnnd social srrucmres and processes, i[ is never enough rn swdy a single funnional suatum wid1in a social field. To be really undersrnod, dlese S[ructures and processes demand a study of [ht r1!ationshijis betu'tf:il tht clij]ere11t jimctirma! stre1tc1 which are bound rnged1er within a social field. and which, wi[h [he slower or more rapid shifr of power-relationships arising from [ht specific suucrure of [his field. are for a time reproduced over and over again. J US[ as in every psychogene[ic enquiry i[ is necessary ro rake accoum no[ only of [ht '"unconscious .. or [ht "conscious .. funnions alone. bm of [ht cominuous circula[ion of impulses from the one rn [ht other, it is equally imponam in every sociogene[ic srudy ro consider from [ht firs[ the whole jiglfmtio11 of a social field which is more or less differemia[ed and charged with [tnsions . fr is only possible rn do [his because the social fabric and i[s hisrorical change are no[ chao[ic bur possess, even in phases of grea[tSt unres[ and disorder, a clear panern and S[ructure. To inves[iga[e the rnrnli[y of a social field does no[ mean w study each individual process wi[hin ic fr means firs[ of all rn discover [he basic suucmres which give all [he individual processes wi[hin [his field their direnion and dleir specific sramp. fr means asking oneself in wha[ way die axes of [tnsion, [ht chains of func[ions and [he instirurions of a society in [ht fifteenth century differed from [hose in [he six[eemh or sevemeemh cemuries, and why [ht former changed in [ht direnion of [he laner. To answer these ;::i
,_
•
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Tht Ciz'j/j::;jng Prr;(fSJ
Srafr For111atifJ11 and Cfrj/j:atjfJ/J
questions knowledge of a \vealrh of particular faces 1s of course necessary. Bu beyond a certain poinr in the accumulation of manorial facts, historio"r" ht
p 1y
b ..
the phase when ir ought no longer co be satisfied with rht collection of rurrhtr particulars and with the description of chose already <1ssembled, should bt concerned with chose problems which facili race penetration of the underlying regularities by which people in a certain society are bound over and over again w particular patterns of conduce and co very specific funccional chains. for example as knights and bondsmen, kings and state officials, bourgeois and nobles. and by which these relationships and mstitutions change in a very specific direction. In short. beyond a certain point of factual knowledge. a mor<: solid fram<:work, a structural nexus can be perceived in che multirnde of particular hisrorical faces. And all further faces rhat can be discovered serve-apart from the enrichment of the hisrorical panorama they may offer us--eirher co revise rhe insight already gained inro these structures, or co extend and deepen it. The statement that every sociogeneric srndy should be aimed at the totc1!ity of a social field does not mean that ir should be directed ar the sum of all particulars, bur ar ics srrucrnre within the entirety of its interdependencies. In the last resort rhe boundaries of such a study are determined by rhe boundaries of the interdependencies, or at lease by rhe immanent arricularion of rhe interdependencies.
Ir is in chis light char what was said above about rationalization is to be undersrood. The gradual transition co more "'rational .. behaviour and thought, like the transition co a more differentiated, a more comprehensive type of selfcomrol. is usually associated roday only with bourgeois fi.mcrions . \Xie often find
social field and bi:tzm:n rhe competing people within chem Under rhe pressure of rensions of chis kind which permeate the whole fabric of society. the latter·s whole srrucrnre changes, during a particular phase, in rhe direction of an increasing centralization of particular dominions and a greater specialization, a righter integration of rhe individual people within chem" And with chis cransformarion of the whole social field, the structure of social and psychological fonnions is also changed-first in small, then in larger and larger sectors-in the direction of rationalization The slow defunctionalization of the first esrate and the corresponding diminurion of its power potential. the pacification of rhe second esrare. and the gradual rise of die third estate-none of these can be undersrood independently of the ochers any more rhan, for example. rhe development of trade in chis period is comprehensible independently of rhe formation of powerful monopolies of physical force and the rise of mighty courts. All these are levers in rhe comprehensive process of increasing differentiation and extension of all chains of action. which has played such a decisive role in rhe whole course of \Vestern history. In this process-as has been shown from various angles-the functions of the nobility were transformed, and wirh them bourgeois functions and the form of the central organs . And hand in hand with this gradual change in the rornliry of social functions and institutions, went a transformation of individual self-sreering-firsr in the leading groups of both rhe nobility and the bourgeoisie-in rhe direction of greater foresight and a stricter regulation of
contrast, cerrain rationalization processes in the arisrocratic camp have been
libidinal impulses Leafing through the traditional accounts of rhe intellectual development of the \Vest, one often has rhe impression of a vague conception in rhe minds of their authors char the rationalization of consciousness, the change from magicalrraditional ro rational forms of chinking in the hisrory of the \Xiesr, had irs cause
described. But one should not deduce from this that the court arisrocracy was the social "originaror .. of chis spurt of rationalization. J use as the court arisrocracy or
in rhe emergence of a number of geniuses and outstanding individuals. These enlightened individuals, such accounts appear ro suggest, caught \Xfesrern man
the bourgeoisie in the age of manufacturing did not have originarors in any other social class, so this rationalization equally lacked an originaror. The very transformation of the whole social strucrnre, in rhe course of which these figurations of bourgeois and nobles come into being, is itself. considered from a cerrain aspect, a rationalization . \X!hat becomes more rational is nor just the individual products of men, nor, above all, merely the systems of thought set
how ro use his innate reason properly" Here, a different picture emerges. \X!har rhe great thinkers of the \Vest have achieved is certainly considerable. They gave comprehensive and exemplary expression ro what their contemporaries experienced in their daily actions without being able co grasp it clearly in thought They tried ro articulate the more reality-oriented or, in their own language, more rational forms of chinking which had gradually developed along with the overall changes in the srrucrnre of social interdependencies, and with rheir help tried ro the problems of human existence. They gave ocher people a clearer view of their world and themselves. And so they also acted as levers within the larger workings of society.
firmly lodged in the minds of our contemporaries rhe idea chat the bourgeoisie was rhe "'originaror .. or "inventor .. of more rational thought Here, for rhe sake of
00
00
down in books. \X!hat is rationalized is, primarily, the modes of conduct of certain groups of people. '"Rationalization"' is nothing other-chink, for example, of the courrization of warriors-dun an expression of rhe direction in which the moulding of people in specific social figurations is changed during this period. Changes of this kind, however, do not "'originate·· in one class or another, but arise in conjunction with the tensions bet1m:11 different functional groups in a
They were ro a greater or lesser degree, depending on their ralent and personal situation, interpreters and spokesmen of a social chorus. But chey \Vere nor on
-i I-!
i 15
their own the originarnrs of the rypt of thoughr prernlc-nc rn rheir socitty. did nor crtate what we mil .. rarional thought .. ':' This txpression itself is. as can be seen, somewhat coo scatic and difftrtntiated for \1·hat it is inttnded w express. Too srntic, because of psvchological funcr1ons changes as slowlv or as ra·1Jiclh· as that of 50c1a · l tunccions . Insufficiently cliffrrenciated because the pattern of rationalization, the strL1crure of more rational habits of thinking, was and is very different in · ditttrent social classes-for instance. in the court nobiliff. or rhe lead ' 1fltt bourgeois srrnrn-in accordance wid1 rheir different social functions and overall historical siwarion. And finalh-. . the same is true of rarionalizatiou ,as 1..,..as said abow of changes of consciousness in general: ir represents only 011c sick of a more comprehensin: change in the wholt social personality. Ir goes hand in hand with a corresponding transformation of drive srrucrures Ir is, in brief, manifestation of civilization among others -
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L
L
•
•
VI Shame and Repugnance No less characteristic of a civilizing process than .. rationalization .. is the peculiar moulding of the drive economy that we call "shame .. and ·repugnance" or "embarrassment.. Both these. the strong spun of rationalization and rhe (for a time) no less strong advance of the threshold of shame and repugnance that became more and more perceptible in the habitus of \Vestern peoplt broadly speaking from the sixteenth century onwards. are different sides of the transformation of the social personality structure" The feeling of shame is a specitic excitation. a kind of anxien- which is w.rning sypri:macy of rhe Church, chc changinf! balanct: pricscs and
\\urdC'l, che
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1:1)1,'
OI.
power berwctn
Ltniur of rhc larci::r opcn::d rht: w,1y ofl chc secu!ariz.:cion
(if
and stcu!ar to
tor w.b, in other
wirhour which at! that
one srieak:-; uf r.itionaliz.nion' could nor h:t\'t: come !nm its own. The
ll(Jt
(lfll'
means if
(111h of one but
uf a \\ho!:: ,:...;rnup of tighcl1 or,L:anizcd and com per lar,t.:c territoriJl state::-, ruled h:. 't:cubr princes which is one of the major ch.1r.1cterisrics ot· rht: de\ elopmt:nr or· Eurnpe ,,·as or1t: facw:.in ir: che growch of large urban markt:cs and long-disrnnce cr.ide and che ,L::rnwch of capirnl indispt:nsabk for ic was anot:H:r. t\ whole comt""ltx
cl social lc\'crs-levcrs ot" '"r.iti(lnalization"-
worked in rht direction o( a strengthening of less affecrin.-. less E111c,1sy-oritntat:.:d
of rhoughr
and t:Xptrienct. The grt:ac inrt:llecrual pioneer:>. abm·e all thl' philoso1""hical pioneers of r
which g
bur they themselves Wl'fe also acci\·l· le\'ers wirhin this movement. nor mere!y its f"'
to
take into consiJerntion the whok concourse of basic proct:ssts form
tht: cort: of rht
ovt:rall devt:lopmenc of socit:ry-basic processes such as tht' long-ttrm proc6s of state furmarion. of u1pital formation. of difftrt:ntiarion and integration. of oril'.ntarion. of ci\·ilizati
.1
fr,
:r.n: !.air,;;}
. ticalh· re1Jroduced in the individual on certain occasions lw force of habit. . 11ron1a . . suptrticiallv. it is fear of soci,11 degraclatwn. or. mort generally'. or .,CJjJle·s ••esrnres of SUjJeriorin· But it is a form of displeasure or tear which · "' · . . . 0 rber pc " -li·ir·i,.teri·sricil 11· on those occasions \\-hcn a jJerson who fears la1 s111g into ans es c , ' '"" '., .. . . inferiority can avert this danger neJthtr lw direct physical means. nor_ b) an)_ .,r form of attack. This detenctlessness a."arnst the suptr10nry of orhe1s. th1' or 11 c . . l .. 1 . a threat from the p 1) sirn ror,1 l e.'Xj1 osure w them does not arise directly from . q;-eriority of othtrs acrnally present. although it doubtless has irs origins in 1·
1
p'.irem:
compulsion. in the bodily child/n h1ce"·ot. ns or teachers. In adults. however. this derencelessness. results. riom the Lier that the eople whose superiorit\· one fears are in accord with ones own super-ego. wlth agency of self-constraint implanttd in the indi\·idual by others on whom he was dependent, who possessed power and superiority over him. In keepmg with rhis, rhe anxiety that we call "shame .. is heavily veiled to the sight of others: however strong it may be. it is never directly expressed in noisy gestures Shame rakes on irs particular coloration from the facr that the person feeling ir has done or is about to do something through which he comes into contradiction with people to whom he is bound in one form or another. and with himsdf, \\-ith the sector of his consciousness by which he controls himself. The conflict in shame-fear is nor merely a conflict of the individual with prev,1lent social opinion: the individual's behaviour has brought him into conflict wid1 the part of himself that represents this social opinion. Ir is a confl1cr wid1m his own personality: ht himself recognizes himself as inferior.. He fears the loss of the lovt ;>r respect of others. to which he attaches or has attached value. Their attitudt has precipitated an attitude within him that he auromarirnlh· . towards himself This is what makes him so defenceless against gestures of supenonty by others which somehow trigger off this automatism within him This also explains why rhe fear of mrnsgression uf soci,il prohibitions cakes on more cltarh· the character of shame the more completely external constraints han: been into self-resrraims by rht structurt of society. and tht more comprehensin: and differentiated the ring of self-restraints has become within which a person·s conduet is enclosed. The inner tension. the excitement that is aroused whenever a person fetls compelled rn break out of this enclosure in any place. or when he has done so. varies in strength according to the gnn·iry of the social prohibition and the degree of self-constraint In ordinary life we rnll this excitement shame only in certain comtxts and above all when it has a certain de«ree of but in terms of its structure it is. despite its many nuances and the same e\·enr. Like self-constraints, it is ro bt found in a less m;blt, less and less all-embracing form even at simpler levels of social development. Like these constraints. tensions and fears of this kind emerge more clear!\- with even- spurt of the civilizing process. and finally predominate over mer rhe physical fear of others. They predominate the more.
-!16
The
che larger rhe areas char are pacified. and rhe more ptople art srnmptd With mort even consrrainrs char come- rn che fore in socitn· when rht of rht monopoly of physical violence normally only exercise rhtir comro] as were srnnding in rhe wings-rbt furrher. in short. rht civilization of adwncts . Jusr as we can only speak of .. reason .. in conjuncrion wirh advances rarionalizarion and rht formarion of funcrions demanding fortsighc and we Gtn only speak of shame in conjunccion wich irs sociogtntsis. wich spurts in which rht sbame-cbresl:old _advances or ar ltasc moves. and in which the srrucmrc: and parrtrn ot sdt-consrr,1incs are changed in a particular direction. reproducing rhemselvts rhenctforth in rhe samt form over a grearer or · period. Boch rarionalizarion and che advance of che shame and rtl)U<'n" o· ...,nee rhresholds are expressions of a reducrion in rhe direcr phvsical ftar of other beings. and of a consolidarion of rhe aucomaric inner anxieries. rhe constraints which rhe individual now exerts on himself. The greartr. more differentiated foresighr and long-rerm view which become necessary in order char larger and groups of people mav preserve rheir social exisrence in an increasing d1Heremiaced sociecy. are equally txpressecl in borh processes. Ir is noc difficult to explain how chese seemingly so differem psychological changes art conntcted. Both-rhe imensificarion of shame like the increased rarionalizarion-are clifferenr asptcrs of che gro\\·ing split in rht individual personaliry rhac occurs with the increasing division of funcrions: rhey art differem aspens of cht growing differemiarion becween drinos and drive-comrols. berween "id' and ·'ego" or .. superego .. funcrions The furrher chis clifferenriacion of indi\·idual self-sreering adrnnces, cht more clearly thar sector of rhe comrolling funcrions which in a broader sense is called che "ego ... and in a narrower rhe "super-ego ... rakes on a rwofold foncrion . On rhe one hand chis secror forms che cenue from which a person sreers his or her relarions wirh ocher rhings and beings. and on rhe other it forms che cemre from which a person. pardy consciously and 1x1rrh quirt automatically and unconsciously. sreers and regulares his or her .. inner lift ... his or her own aHecrs and impulses . The layer of psychological funcrions which. in rhe course of rhe social rransformarion char has been described. is gradually difftrenriared from rhe drives. rhe ego or super-ego funcrions. has. in ocher words. a rwofold task wirhin che ptrsonaliry· co1u/i1(! at th, .,-t1111t time a J111m.rtic f't1/ic1 t1i1cl ,r po/i1y-which. moreowr. are nor always in harmony and quire ofren are comradicrory. This explains rhe facr char in rhe same socio-hisrorical period in which rarionalizarion made perceprible adrnnces, an advance in rhe shame and repugnance threshold is also ro be observed. Ir also explains rhe face char here, as always-in accordance wirh rhe sociogeneric ground rule-a corresponding process is rn be observed even rnday in rhe life of each individual child: rhe racionalizarion of conduce is an expression of rhe foreign policy of rhe same super-ego formarion whose domesric poliC\· is expressed in an advance of rhe shame rhreshold
Stc1tr Formation 1111d Cirili:.atio11
417
rrains of rhought lead off in differem direcrions. It o Fro m 11ere mam·. larue · 11 s w be shown how chis increased differenriarion wirhin rhe personalin· is remiu _ _ . . . . , _ ·t-e
'f
This parricular problem. imporranc as ir is, mu::;r be lefr aside for the rime being Its elucidarion
demands a dtScription and an l'xacr analysis of the drnngts which rhe suucrure of the family and the
,vhok relarionship of the sexes han: undergone in the course of \\?c:srern hisrnry Ir demands. funhermon:, a gent::ral study of changes in the upbringing of children and the development of adolescents. The material which has bttn collecct
;lf
and rhe structure of psychological functions is cerrainly connected in thtst: classes. too. with a of rhe uh1,Jc \\!tstern social fabric, nevertheless-as already pointed specific hisrnrical out on a number of occasions-the non-courdy middle-class line of civilization follows a Jifferenc pauern to the courdy one. Above all. the creatment of sexuality in the fr)rmer is nor rhe samt: as in rhe latrt:r-partly because of a Jifferenr family structure anJ pardy because of a difftrenr kind of foresight which mi
-i 18 shame; it can evtn bt rnktn, as Della Casa States, as a sign of benevolence the inferior. Exposure by someone of lower rank before a superior, on the h''.ncL or ewn before pe_ople of equal rank. is bani_s_hed more and more from social !1te as a sign ot lack ot respecc; branded as an oHence. it becomes invested With fear And only when the walls between estates fall awav, when the functional dependence of all on all increases and all members of society become several degrees more equal. does such exposure. except in certain narrower become an offence in die presence of '111) other person. Only then is such behaviour so profoundly associated with fear in the indi\·idual from an early age, that the social character of the prohibition vanishes entirely from his rrn·1
-i 19
Stt1h Fon11'!tio11 <111d Cfri/i::11tirr11
Un ed l)tople grow to minute ges[L!res and forms, and rhe more complex becomes their experience of themselves and their world ar levels __wh1ch were reviously hidden from consciousness through rhe veil of srrong aftects. P To clarify this by an obvious example. "primirivt" ptople experience human J narural tvents within rhe relatively narrow circle which is \'irally important 30 ro chem-narrow. becaust rheir chains of dependence are relatively short-in a manner which is in some respects far more differemiarecl than that of "civilized" people. The clifferemiation varies, depending on whether wt are concerned wirh tarmers or hunters or herdsmen. for example. Bm however this may be, it can be scared generally that, insofar as it is of viral importance to a group. tht ability of primitive people to distinguish things in forest and field, whether ir _be a parricular rree from another, or sounds, scents or movements, is more highly developed rhan in "civilized" peoplt. Bm among mort primitive people rhe narural sphere is still far more a clanger zone; i r is full of fears which more ,
ci\'ilized people no longer know. This is decisive for what is or is nor distinguished. The manner in which "nature· is experienced is fundamenrally affecred, slowly at rhe encl of the Middle Ages and rhen more quickly from the sixreenrh century onwards, by rhe pacification of larger and larger populated areas. Only now do forests, meadows and mountains gradually cease to be clanger zones of the first order, from which anxiery and fear consrandy intrude into individual life . And now, as the network of roads becomes, like social interdependence in general, more dense: as robber-knights and beasts of prey slowly disappear: as forest and field cease to be rhe scent of unbridled passions. of the savage pursuit of man and beast, of wild joy and wild fear, and as rhey are moulded by intertwining peaceful activities, rhe production of goods, uaclt and uansporr: now, to pacified people a correspondingly pacified narure becomes visible. and in a new way. It becomes-in keeping wirh the mounting significance which rhe eye attains as rhe mediator of pleasure \Vi th the growing moderation of rhe affects-to a high degret an object of \·isual pleasure. In addition. people-more precisely rhe townpeople for \vhom foresr and field are no iongtr their everyday background but a place of relaxation-grow more sensitive and begin to ste rhe open country in a more differentiated way, ar a level which was previously screened off by clanger and rhe play of more unmoderated passionso They take pleasure in the harmony of colour and lines, become open to whar is called the beauty of narure; rheir feelings are aroused by the changing shades and shapes of the clouds and tht play of light on the leaves of a tree. In the wake of rhis pacification, rhe sensitivity of people to social conducr is also changed. Now, inner fears-rhe fears of one sector of the personality for another-grow in proportion to rhe decrease of outer ones. As a result of these inner tensions, people begin to experience each ocher in a more differemiared way which was precluded as long as rhey constantly faced serious and inescapable
-120
The Ciz'ilizing Profrss
rhrears from ourside . Now a major part of rhe tensions which were . ear1ter . l d d. . . d 1sc 1argt irecrly rn contlICts between people. musr be resolved as an tension in rhe srrnggle of rhe individual wirh himself. Social life ceases to b clanger zont in which feasting, dancing and nois\· j)leasurt frequent! e . · 'Y and suddenly give_ way ro ragt, blows murcltr. and _becomes a differenr kind of clanger zone 1t mdincluals cannot sufficienrlv resrram themselves 1·f- rl1e,. . . . . • • j touch sensmve spots, rhe1r own shame-frontier or rhe embarrassment-rhresboid of or hers. In '.1. sense, rhe clanger zone now passes through rhe self of every rnd1ndual. Ihus people become, rn this res1Jecr roo sensitive ro distr'n · · . . · ct1ons which prev10usly scarcely entered consciousness. Just as nature now becomes, far more rhan earlier. a source of pleasure mecliarecl bv rhe eve. jJeople roo be · · come a source or visual pleasure or, conversely, of visuallv aroused displeasur•· different degrees of repugnance. The direct fear inspired in people by ptopl;·b: diminished, and rhe inner fear mediated through rhe eye and through rhe superego is rising proporrionarely \Vhen the use of weapons in combat is an everyday occurrence, the small gesture of offering someone a knife ar rable (ro recall one of rhe examples mentioned earlier) has no great importance . As rhe use of weapons is rtstricted more and more, as external and internal pressures make rhe expression of anger by physical arrack incrtasingly difficult, ptople gradually become more sensitive ro anything reminiscent of an arrack. The very gesture of arrack touches the danger zone: it becomes disuessing ro see a person passing someone else a knife 1 wirh rhe point towards him." And from the most highly sensitized small circles of high court society, for whom this sensitivity also represents a prestige value, a means of disrincrion rnlrivared for rhar very reason, this prohibition gradually spreads throughout the whole of civilized society. Thus aggressive associations. infused no doubt with others from the layer of elementary urges. combine srarus tensions in arousing anxiety How the use of a knife is rhen gradually restricted and surrounded, as a clanger zone, by a w[11! of prohibitions, has been shown through a number of examples. Ir is an open question hO\v far, in the courr arisrocracy, the renunciation of physical violence remains an external constraint, and how far it has already been converted into an inner constraint. Despite all resrricrions. the use of the table knife, like rhar of rhe dagger, is still quire extensive. Jusr as the hunting and killing of animals is still a permitted and commonplace amusement for the lords of the earth, the carving of dead animals ar table remains within rhe zone of the permitted and is as yer nor felt as repugnant. Then, with rhe slow rise of bourgeois classes, in whom pacification and the generation of inner constraints bv rhe very nature of rheir social functions is far more complete and binding, curring up of dead animals is pushed back further behind rhe scenes of social life (even if in particular countries, particularly England as so often, some of the older customs survive incorporated in the new) and rhe use of rhe knife. indeed
Stah forll!alion a11d Cirili::atio11
-i2 l
rhe mere: holding of ir. is avoided wherever it is not entirely indispensable in this direction grows . This is one example among many of particular aspects of rhe structural or societ\'· rhar wt denote bv· the "civilization" rrans r·-0 rnnrion ' _ _ catchword _ , ,1 -,re in human socierv is there a zero-point or tear or external powers. and 1 NOW c . nowhere a zero-point of auromaric inner anxieties . Although they may bt experienced as very different. they are finally inseparable._ \Vhar rakes place 111 the course of a civilizing process is nor rhe disappearance or one and the emergence of rhe other \\!hat changes is merely the proportion between rht external and -;olf-,·icrivarin" rie c fears · and their whole structure. People's foars of external 1 ,, powers diminish without ever disappearing: the never-abs_ent, latent acrual anxieties arising from rhe rensron between dnvts and dnvt-control tuncnons becomt relatively stronger. more comprehensive and continuous. The documenrnrion for rhe advance of rhe shame and embarrassment fronritrs presented in Parr Two of rhis srucly. consists in facr of nothing bur particularly clear and simple examplts of rhe direction and srrucrure of a change in the human personality which could be demonstrated from many other aspects too . A_ very simibr structure is exhibited. for example. bv rhe transition from the medievalCarholic ro rhe Proresrant super-ego formation. This, roo, shows a pronounced shifr rowards rhe internalization of fears. And one rhing certainly should nor bt overlooked in all this: the fact rhar roday. as formerly. all forms of adult inner anxieties are bound up with the child's fears of others. of external powtrs.
VII Increasing Constraints on the Upper Class: Increasing Pressure from Below le was pointed our earlier that in certain picmres 22 arrribmed ro the knighrlycourrly upper class of the !are J\ficlclle Ages, rhe depiction of lower-class people and dieir gesrures was nor n:r folr as particularly repugnant. whereas rhe stricter corresponding .to the srrucrure of repugnance of rhe absolurisr-courtly upper class permitted rhe expression only of large, calm. refined gestures in arr, while everything reminiscent of lower classes, everything vulgar, was kept at a
distance. This repulsion of the vulgar, rhis increasing sensiriviry to anything correspondin<' to the lesser sensibilirv or classes, permeates all spheres of 2 social in rhe courtly u;)per class. Ir has been shown in more clerail ; how this is expressed, for example. in the courtly moulding of speech. One does not say, a court lady explains, "un mien ami" or "le pauvre deffuncr": all rhar "smells of rhe bourgeois .. And if the bourgeois protests, if he replies that after all a large
-12:;
-122
number of peoplt in good socie[y use [htst tX])ressions d1emselves, he is told: "It 1s qu1[t possible [h
[() bl![ a
ft\Y
Indeed. rhe courtization of the nobilin· rakes place only in conjunction •·: l ·w increased upward rhrusr bv bourgeois srrara. Tht exisrence of a high W!C 1 ' , " . . . degree cif inrerde1Jendence and rension_ between. nobles and bourgeois _ ._ ..rs a basic ·ruenr of rhe courth· characrer of rhe leadrng groups of rhi:: nob1lHy. conscr , \Ve should nor be deceived by rhe tact rhar rr rook cenrnrres for rhrs ·nuous CLJU of war berween noble and bourgeois groups to be decided in conn "' c c farnur of some of rhe laner. Nor should we be misled by rhe tact chat rhe class · rhe functional inrerdej)tndence and larenr rens10n . r·ii· consr ' nrs on rhe UJJ]Jer _ berween differenr srrara in the absolurisr society ot rhe sevemeenth, and eichreenrh cenruries. were less rhan in rhe various narional societies or rhe and [Wemierh centuries. As compared with rhe functional consrraims on rhe free mediernl warrior nobility. those on rhe courr arisrocracy were already verv grear. Social rensions. particularly between rhe nobility and bourgeoisie. a differenr character wirh increasing pacification As long as conrrol of rhe insrrumems of physical violence-weapons and uoops-is nor very highly cemralized. social rensions lead again and again w warlike actions. Particular social groups. artisan sertlemenrs and rheir feudal lords. rowns and knighrs. confronr each orher as uni rs of power which-as onh· srntts do larer-musr always be ready w settle their differences of imeresr Lw force of arms. The fears aroused in this srrucrnre of social tensions can still be discharged easily and frequently in miliran· action and clirecr physical force Wirh rhe gradual consolidation of power monopolies and rhe growing functional imerdependence of nobili ry ,111d bourgeoisie. rhis changes. The tensions become more even. They can be resolved by physical violence only at infrequenr climaxts or rurning poinrs . And rhey thtrefore express themselves in a continuous pressure char each individual member of rhe nobility muse absorb within him or herself. With rhis rransformarion of social relationships. social fears slowly ce.ise rn resemble tlames chat flart rapidly, burn intensely and art quickly txringuished, onlv to be rekindled jusr as quickly. becoming insread like a permanenrly fire whose flame is hidden and seldom breaks our clirecdy. From chis poim of view as well. rhe court arisrocracy represenrs a rype of upper class different from rhe free warriors of the Middle Ages, It is rhe first of rhe more consrrained upper classes. which is followed in modern times by e\·en more heavily fettered ones. Ir is threatened more direcdy and strongly than the free warriors by bourgeois classes in the whole basis of irs social exisrence, its privileges. As early as rhe sixteenth and seventeenth cenruries there is in France. ·>mon" cernin leadin" bour''tois "roups. particularh· the hid1 judicial and courts.: srron: rn establish place of. or ar lease alongside. die nobilirv of rht sword as rhe upper class of rhe country The policv of ;hese bour»eois is largelv aimed ar increasing their own privileges ar expense of old nobility. though rhey are arc rhe same rime-and rhis c"i\·es rheir relarionshij) its 1)eculiarlv' ambi,·alem character-bound to rhe c
c
This is ca[egorical. like d1t demands of d1is sensirivi[y d1emselves. The who stlecr in this way are ncid1tr able. nor do d1ty antmpr. to justify further why in a particular case this form of a word is pleasing and rha[ displeasing. panicular sensitivity is \·try closely bound up with the heightened regulation and rransforma[ion of libidinal impulses imposed on thtm by thtir specific social sirnation. The cerrirnde with which they art able: rn say: "This combination words sounds well: those colours are ill-chosen·', the sureness of their taste, in shorr. derives rather from a more or less unconsciously operating psychological self-steering agency than from conscious retlecrion. Bur ir is clear, here roo, how it is firsr of all small circles of court society who listen with growing sensitivity to nuances of rhythm. tone and significance. rn rhe spoken and written word, and how this sensiti\·itv. rhis "good raste , also represents a presrige Yalue for such circles. Annhing char muches rheir embarrassment-rhreshold smells bourgeois, is socially inferior: and inversely. annhing bourgeois muches their embarrassmentrhreshold Ir is rhe necessity rn disringuish rhemselves from anyrhing bourgeois char sharpens chis sensirivity: and rht parricular srrucrnre of court life-under which ir is nor professional comperence or even die possession of money, but polished social conduct. that is rhe main instrumtnr in rhe comperirion for presrigt and faniur-pro,·ides the opporrnniry for rht sharpening of taste. In rhe course of chis srndy ir was indicated by means of a number of examples how from rht sixreenrh century onwards rhe standard of social conduct was caughr up in a quicker movement. hcl\\· ir remained in morion during rhe se\·tnteemh and eighreenth cenrnries and then. during rht eighteenth and nintrc:e:nch cc:nrnries. sprtad-rransformed in some respc:ccs-rhroughour the whole uf western socien· This adrnnce of rtsrricrions and libidinal rransformarions sec irl with rhe conversion of rhe knighrh- inro a court nobility. Ir is very closely bound up'wirh rhe change already discussed in rhe relationship of rhe upper class ro orher funcrional gruups. The ··C11iirr11is · \Varrior sociery is nor remorely under rhe same pressure. dots nor live in annhing like rhe same interdependence with bourgeois strata. as rhe court aristocracy. This courr upper class is a formation \\·irhin a much denser nerwork of interdependencies, Ir is held in a pincer comprising rht cemral lord of rhe court on \Vhose favour it depends on rhe one hand. and rhe leading bourgeois groups wirh their economic adnrnrages on rhe ocher. groups which are forcing rheir way upwards and coruesring rhe aristocracy's position. Tensions btrween court aristocraric and bourgeois circles do nor increase only ar rhe encl of the eighreenrh or rhe beginning of rhe ninereenrh cenrnry: from rhe first rhe exisrence of the courr arrsrocracy is srrongly and constantly threatened b\· rht aspiring bourgeois
"
"
•
•
c
,
•
-i2-i
Th, Cirili::i11g Pmc"tss
old nobility on a number of common social fronts. For just this reason the that. such continuous tens10ns bring with them express themselves, in leadmg bourgeois strata. only in a concealed form controlled by strong impulses. And this applies all the more to the cuenuine nobi!it\·. . ilO\V rhemseh:es on the defensive. and in whom rhe shock of the defeat and loss han: suffered with pacification and courtizarion, long shows its afrer-effocrs. court ariscocrars coo must more or less contain within themselves rhe ar_oused by rhe constant mg of war wirh bourgeois groups . \Virh rhis srrucru . l d . l . l . re o t inrerc enc1es. r 1e sona rens10n produces a strong i1111er tension in the members of rhe threatened upper class. These fears sink down in part, never entirely. into rhe unconscious zones of rhe personality and re-emerge rhem only in changed form, as specific automatisms of self-control. Th;,. themselves, for example, in the special sensitivity of the court aristoc;acy to anything that remotely touches the hereditary privileges on which their cxisrenr" is based. They manifest themselves in rhe affecr-laden gestures of revulsion from anything that "smells bourgeois" They are partly responsible for the fact that the court aristocracy is so much more sensitive ro lower-class gestures rhan were the warrior nobility of the Middle Ages. rhar they strictly and emphatically exclude everything "vulgar" from their sphere of life. Finally. this permanently smouldering social fear also consrirmes one of rhe most powerful driving forces of the social control char even· member of this court upper class exerts over himself and other people in his circle. It is expressed in the intense \·igilance wirh which members of court arisrocraric society observe and polish everyching rhar distinguishes rhem from people of lower rank: nor only the external signs of status, but also their speech. rheir gestures, their social amusements and manners. The constant pressure from below and the fear ir induces above are. in short, one of the strongest clri\·ing forces-though nor rhe only one-of char specifically ci\·ilized refinement which distinguishes rhe people of rhis upper class from others and finally becomes second narnre ro rhem . For it is· precisely rhe chief function of rhe court aristocracy-their function for the mighty cehtral ruler-to distinguish themselves. to maintain themselves as a distinct formation. a social counterweight to rhe bourgeoisie. They are completely free ro spend their rime elaborating the distinguishing social conduct of good manners and good rasre . The rising bourgeois strata are less free ro elaborate their conduct and taste; they have professions . Nevertheless, ir is at first their ideal. too, ro live like the aristocracy exclusively on annuities and to gain admittance ro rhe court circle; rhis circle is srill rhe model for a large part of rhe ambitious bourgeoisie. They become "Bourgeois Gentilhommes" They ape the nobility and irs manners. Bm precisely rhis makes modes of conduct developed in courr circles continually become useless as means of distinction. and rhe noble groups are forced to elaborate their conduct still fi.1rther. Over and again customs that were once "refined" become "vulgar" Manners are polished and polished and
Stafr Por111ario11 cmd Ciz'i/i:;,1tio11
425
he embarrassment-threshold constantly advances. until finally, with rhe downof absolmisr-court society in the French Revolution. this spiral movement to an end or at least loses its force. The motor which, in the courtly phase. forward the civilizing transformation of the with it rhe shame and repugnance threshold, as rhe in fuse showed--:1s propelled both by the increased competition for rhe favour of rhe _most powerful '.· hi·n rhe courtlv· srrarum itself.· and bv· the constant pressure from below . In wit chis phase rhe ci1ml(1tio11 of 111odt!s proceeds. as a result of rhe greater interde_1:endence and therefore closer contact and more constant tension between difterem classes, far more quickly than in rhe Middle Ages. The "good societies" rhar come afrer rhe courtly one are all interwoven directly or indirectly, into rhe nerwork of professional occupations, and even though "courtly" orientations are never entirely lacking in rhem, these no longer have remotely rhe same influence; from now on profession and money are rhe primary sources of prestige, and the arr, rhe refinement of social conduct ceases ro have rhe decisive imporrance for the reputation and success of rhe individual rhar ir had in court society In every social stratum rhar area of conduct which is functionally of most viral importance ro irs members is the most carefully and intensively moulded. The exactitude with which, in court society, each movement of rhe hands while earing, each piece of eriquerce and even the manner of speech is fashioned, corresponds ro rhe imporrance which all these functions have for court people both as means of disrincrion from below. and as instruments in rhe comperirion for royal favour . The tasteful arrangement of house or park, che ostentatious or imimare--clepending on the fashion-ornamentation of rooms, rhe witty conduct of a conversation or even a love affair, all these are in the courtly phase nor only rhe private pleasures of individuals, bur viral demands of their social position. They are pre-conditions for the respect of others. for the social success which here plays rhe same role as proftssional success in bourgeois society. In rhe ninereenrh century, with rhe gradual ascendancy of economiccommercial and industrial bourgeois-strata and their increasing pressure for access to the highest power positions in rhe stare. all these skills cease to hold rhe central place in rhe social existence of people; they cease ro be of primary significance for success or failure in their status and power struggles. Other skills rake their place as primary skills on which success or failure in life dependscapaciries such as occupational skills, adepmess in the competitive struggle for economic chances, in the acquisition or control of capiral wealrh. or rhe highly specialized skill needed for political advancement in the fierce though regulated parry struggles characrerisric of an age of increasing functional democratization. \Vhile rhe arisrocraric courtiers· personality srrucrure is ro a large extent determined by rhe need ro compete for scams and power chances within one of the ruling court establishments of their age, rhe social personality structure of rhe rising bourgeois srrara is determined by the competition for a greater share
-i26
The Cirifr::ing Pmccs.r
of che growing capical weal ch. or else for jobs or for posicions which endow occupants wich trreacer policical or adminiscracive chances of power Tlr. . . . · '"<= and rtlactd compec1nve scruggles now become che mam taccors ot constraint le,m: cheir imprint upon che pt:rsonalirv of in
char form into the professional bourgeois one and is propagated further by it. \Ve
find rhis impregnation of broader strata by behavioural forms and drive-controls 'cri·n,itin" in court socien·. parricularh-. in regions \vhere che couns were great Oflt" 'b and wealthy ant1g11it have penetrated industrial society at large even where the courts were less rich, powerful and intluential. That the conduct of che rnling \Vesrern groups. che degree and kind of their affecr-concroL show a high degree of despict all national variations, is certainly, in general terms, a result of rhe closely knic and long-ranging chains of interdependence linking the various national societies of the \Vesc. Bur wichin this general framework che phase of che semi-private power monopolies and of court-arisrocraric society. wirh its high interdependence all over Europe. plays a special part in che moulding of \X:7esttrn civilized conduct. This court society exercised for tht firsc time:, and in a parcicularly pure form, a funcrion which was afterwards transmitted in differing degrees and with various modifications to broader and broader scrata of \Vesrern sociecy, che function of a "good society". an upper class under pressure from many sides, from the organized monopolies of rnxation and physical force on the one hand. and from the rising middle and lower classes on the orher. Court society was indeed the firsc representacive of che particular form of upper class which emerged more clearly che more closely. with che a
L
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..\.29
The Ciz'i!i::i11g Proc,_r.1
of competition within the upper class itself and in the necessirv ofi _ . . . . . Jreservrn<> , 0 higher l1v111g standard and j)festige l'ir-cl-l'ir lower srnra-in rl1e- st Its rengrh of parncular kmd of social control, 111 sensmv1ry to the behaviour of other of one's own class, in individual self-control and in the strength of the '·super-ego". In this way modes of conduct of a courr-arisrocraric Lmj)et I . . . ' c ass were amalgamated with those of vanous bourgeois srrarn as these rose ro rhe of upper classes; ciz·ilit( was incorporated and perpetuated-with cerr · .. . . . . _. a1n mod .. 1hcar1ons dependrng on the s1ruar10n of its new host-in what was now "civilization·· or, more preciselv. "civilized conduct" So from rhe n· . . . . · _ . · rnereenth century onwards, these c1nl1zed forms of conduct spread across the rising classes of \Vestern socien- and over the various classes in rhe colonies . . . . . · _ ,am:i.ga1 marmg with mcligenous patterns ot conduct. Each time this hajJjJens UJJP l _ . . ·, er-c ass conduct and that of the nsmg groups interpenerrate. The srandard of conduct of the nsmg class, its pattern of commands and prohibitions reflects in its st . .. . _ . · rucrure the hrsrory ot the nse of class. So it comes about that the typical "drive- and •
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ot the different industrial nation srnres, their "national character : . still represents the nature of the earlier power-relationships between nobrlrty_ and bourgeoisie and rhe course of the centurv-lonu bet \veen , . c stru"''les cc them, from which a specific type of middle-class groups in the end emerged for
a time as the establishment. Thus, to give one out of many examples, the nar10nal code of conduct and affect-control in the United Stares has ro a greater extent middle-class characteristics than-in spire of many similaritiesrhe corresponding Eni;lish code. In the making of this English code features of arisrocraric descent fused with those of middle-class descent-understandablr for in the development of English society one can observe a assimilating process in the course of which upper-class models (especiallr a code of good manners) were adopted in a modified form by middle-class people, while middlt-class features (as for instance elements of a code of moralsJ were adopted by upper-class people. Hence. when. in the course of the nineteenth cennuy, most of the: aristocratic privileges were abolished, and England with rhe rise the industrial working classes became a nation stare. the English national code of conduct and affect-control showed very clearly the gradualness of the resolution of conflicts between upper and middle classes in the form. ro put ic briet-lv, of a peculiar blend between a code of good manners and a code of morals. Analogous processes were shown in Parr One above by the example of the differences between the German and French national characters. And it would not be difficult ro add further illustrations relating ro the national characters of rhe other European nations.
In each case, the wayes of expansion of the standards of civilized conduct ro a new class went hand in hand with an increase in the social power of that class, and a raising of its standard of living ro that of the class abm·e it. or at least in that direction. Classes living permanenrly in danger of starving ro death or of
. inu killed by enemies can hardly develop or maintain chose stable restraints !lt ' r· -ric of rhe more civilized tvpts of conduct To instil and maintain a ch:rracte 1> • . _ _ . • . . -ible SUj)er-e"O auency, a relative\\- high standard ot lrv111g and a tardy 0
more
c-
·
·
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;jilt( · h deuree of securi t\". are necessan·. c . . . '
l l . cl' . l l first sight appear. the basic connections art clear enough. Al_ t 1e 111 inc ua _ crends rnenrionecl so far, for example the slow nse 111 the lrvrng of· broad sections of population. the greater functional dependence ot the upper
t!H
snbilin· of the central monopolies. all these are parts and . or che incre·1sing class. ' L
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ot· ·1' di\·ision of functions advancing now more raprdlv. now more conse. qLi·-nces c ._ _ . · . -Iowlv. \Vith this di\·ision of functions the productivity ot work mcreased: this_ 'gre,Jtc .. ;_r xoducrivin-. is the !Jrecondirion for the rise of the living standards ot 1 ;ver-wider scram: with this division of functions the functional dependence of the_ upper srrarn increases; and only at a very advanced point_ in the division ot functions. finally. is the formation ot more stable monopolies ot physical force ·1x·1rion with hi,,hlv an J t... ' o . srJecialized administrations possible-that is. the forrnarion of stares in the \Vesrern sense of the word. through which the life rhe individual gradually gains greater ··security" But this rise in the division of funcrions also brings more and more people, larger and larger populated areas, into dependence on one another: it requires and instils greater restraint in the individual. more exact control of his or her affects and conduct. it demands a stricter regulation of drives and-from a particular stage on-more ezu1 selfrestraint This is the price. if we may call it so. which we pay for our greater sernrirv and related advantages. this is of decisive importance for the standard of civilization in our dm·-the restraint and st!f-control characrerisric of all phases of the process up ro now. result nor mert!y from the necessity for each incli\·iclual ro co-operate constantly with many others: they are no less determined by rhe split of society inro upper and lower classes. The kind of restraint and drive patterning produced in people of the upper classes rakes its special scamp primarily from the tensions running through society.. The ego and superego formation of these people reflects both the competition within their own class and rhe constant pressures from below. produced in ever-changing forms by the advancing division of functions. The strength of, and the many contradictions within, rhe social constraints ro which the behaviour of each individual member of the upper class. the establishment, is subject and which are represented by his own ''super-ego". are nor determined solely by _rhe fact that thtv are constraints exerted by comperirors, some of them even in free compenbut above all by che fact that rhe competing members of the established groups at rhe same rime have ro make common cause in their endeavour_ to preserve their distinguishing prestige and their higher srntus over those pressmg
PnKr.:SS
from btlcm·-srill mure or ltss as Oll[sidtrs. Quire ofrtn. undc:r chest uin'"''"·-prtstrrnrion of rhe higher scams and rhe disrini.;uishini.; personalitv ui:m:c •... isrics requires a form of foresight. self-resrraimc and p:ucknce by anxi-
If rhe oudine of these processes is followed over cenrurits. we see a rendency for standards of liYing and conduct rn be equalized and corit " , levelled Oll[. In each of the wan:s ot expansion which occur when rhe mode of conduce of a small circle spreads rn broader rising srrarn, rwo phasts can be clear!: d1suugu1shed: a phase ot colonizarion or assimilation in which the and larger oursidtr srrawm is srill clearly inferior and go\·erned by rhe of rhe esrablished upper group \\·hich. inrencionally or uninrenrionally, ptrmeares it wirh irs own pa[(ern of conduct: and a second phase of repulsion. emiarion or tmancipation, in which rhe risint; grou11 ci.;ains 11erce1)ribl\·, 1-·n .... · i c c power and self-confidence, and in which rht upper group is forced inco resrraint and isolation, and rht conrrasrs and rensions in sociery are increased. Here, as always. borh rendencies. equalizarion and disrinction. anracrion and repulsion. are cerrainly present in borh of these phases: chest relarionships rno are fundamentally ambivaltnr. Bur in rhe first phase. which is usually rhar in which people rist indiYidually from rhe lower ro rht upptr class. rhe rendtncy for the upper class to colonize rht lm\·er and for rht lower w copy rhe upper is more pronounced. In rhe second phase. when rhe social power of rht lower group is increasing while rhar of rhe upper group is declining. rhe self-consciousness of borh groups incrt:ases wirh rheir riYalry. wirh a rendenc1· ro emphasize differences and-as far as rhe upper class is concernecl-rn consolidare chem. Conrrasrs berween the classes increase, rhe walls grow higher
In phases of d1t tirsr kind, phases of assimilarion. many individuals in the risin,t; Oll[Sider class art. howe1·er relucranth·, wry depencltnt on rhe: upper class, nor only in rheir social exisrenct bur also in rheir conducr. rheir ideas and ideals. The1· are frequenrly. rhough nor always. still unformed in many areas in which members of rht upper class are highly deYelopecL and rhey are so impressed, in rheir social inferioriry, by rht affecr-conrrol and code of conduce of rhe upper class, char rhey cry ro conuol rheir own affects according w rhe samt parrtrn. Hert we come upon one of rht most remarkable characrerisrics of chis ciYilizing process: rht people of rhe rising class cle\·t!op wirhin rhemseh·es a '"super-ego" modelled on rhe superior. colonizing upper class. Bur on closer insptcrion this super-ego is in many respects very different from irs model. Ir is ltss balanced and rherefore ofren much more severe. Ir always rtYeals rhe immense effort which individual social aclvanctmtnr requires: and ir shows equally rhe consrant direar from below as from above, rhe crossfire from all sides ro which indiYidu,1ls are exposed in rheir social rise. Tora! assimilation ro a higher esrablishecl group succeeds only \·try exceprionally in one generarion . In most people from rhe aspiring oursider groups rhe etforr ro rise inevirabh· leads w specific deforma-
· n·> tl consciousness and arriwde . These art known in the Orienr and colonies .
[!0
ns ··Levanrinism : and in rht perry-bourgeois circles of \'hsrern socieries rhey art
ofren enough rn be found in rhe form of ·'half-edurnrion"", rhe pretension ro be what one is nor. insecuriry of rasre and conduct. "'vulgariry" nor only of furniture and clothing bur also of rht mind: all chis expresses a social situation which giws rise wan urge ro imirart models of a higher social group . The antmpr clots nor succeed. Ir remains clearly an imirarion of alien models The education. srandards of [i\·ing c111d fears of rht rising groups and die upper class art in rhis phase still , difftrenr char the arrempr w achien: the poise of che upper class !<:ads in mosc 0 w a peculiar falseness and incongruiry of behaviour which ntverrhtless conceals a genuine disrrtss, a desire w escape rhe pressure from abon: and rhe
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The
5tdfi.: Fur111atio11 <111cl Ciz'i!i:::atio11
small pa[[ in \Ves[trn expansion. Bm i[ is nm only [he land [ha[ is needed die people: [htse muse be imegrared. whedier as workers or consumers. web of die hegemoniaL upper-class coumry. wirh its highly dewloped c:miarion of functions. This in wrn requires both a ct:nain raising of srandards and [ht culciva[ion of self-comrol or super-ego funcrions in rhe sub'ec it a "civilizarion" of the colonized. peoples on rhe \Vestern as H was no[ possible rn [he \Vest 1tselt, from a certain sraue of interdei)en l _ c uence onwards, ro rule jJeoiJlt solelv bv torce and i)hvsical rhreats so i[ ·ilso b · · · ' ecame necessary. in mainrnining an empire [hat went beyond mere planta[ion-land and planra[!on-labour, ro rnle people in pa[[ [hrough diemselves. through thP moulding of their super-egos. In esrablished-omsiders rela[ionships of chis t"p: . one can o bser-vt hgurarional characteristics akin ro. though of course Jnotidentical with, those to be observed in _established-omsiders between social classes at a comparable stage ot development. One can observe, for mstance, characteristics of an early form of social ascent, not yet of the outsider tfroups as a whole bm of some of i[s indi,·idual members. The:; absorb [he code of the established groups and [bus undergo a process of assimila[ion In dieir own affecr-comroL their own conduct. rhey obey the rules of die esrnblishecl groups. Partially they idemify themselves wi[h them, and even though [ht identification may show strong ambirnlences, still their own conscience. [heir whole super-ego apparatus, more or less follows the pattern of [he established groups. People in tha[ siruarion attempt ro reconcile and fuse that pattern. the pattern of occic!emally civilized socie[its, wi[h die habi[S and [radi[ions of [heir own society with a grea[er or lesser degree of success*
Jus:
Bm ro observe such processes we do no[ need to go far afield. A \"try similar phase is to be found in the rise of [ht \Vesrern bourgeoisie itself: [ht courtly phase:. Here roo it was initially the bights[ aspira[ion of mam· individuals from Thev inwardly leading bourgeois groups to behave and live like acknowledged [he superiority of courdy-aristocrnric conduct: diey. sought mould and tomrol themselves according to that model. The conversa[ion on
[i.:mprarion
to
my rh:: oriµ-lnal text in accordance with
tilt.:
I rtpt:dCtd!;. haJ co resist the !"resent start: ol. m\ knowltdL::e. The
tt:mprarion was parricularly strung when we came to the problems of soc.ial units discussed in these pag::s and of die intlutnct" which social asct..·nc or. alrernari,·eh. social hL·!_!emon\·. has on rhtir social code. especially on rhe rtstrainrs inherent in such a code Tht: .probll'm" abov.: now form part of an established-outsiders theory. Nor all forms of social or'pn:ssion cl ont ,:..;roup hy anorher have rhe form of class rtlarions. Ar prtsenr ont: ofrtn rrit:s ro use rht concc:rrual apparatus
433
rorrec t speech of a bourgeois in a court circle, quoted earlier, is one example - of · And in the hisrory of the German language, [his courtly phase ot the thJS. · . . bourgeoisie is clearly marked by the well-known tendency ot or wr![ers ·nsert ·1' French word after every• three or four German ones, - it the\·• did not to 1 • preier o.imply to use French, the cour[. lang_uage ot Europe. N.obles even bourgeois members of courtly Circles quirt often made tun at di1s [tmt ot other to act in a "refined" or courdy manner. bOllrbveois unsuccessfully. trying As rhe social power of the bourgtoisie grows, this mockery disappears. Sooner or lacer all the characteristics of the second phase of social ascem move into [ht Bourueois more and more their specifically o b"rOUjJS em1Jhasize · t-oreuround 0 aeois self-imaue· ther asse[[ their own codes and manners more and more lr bOL c b ' • confidently in opposition ro the courrly-arisrocra[ic ones. Depending on dieir particular sirnarion, they contrast work to aristocra[ic ··namre·· to etiquette, the cul[ivarion of knowledge and morals to [hat ot good manners and conversa[ion, nor to memion the special bourgeois demands for control of the central key monopolies, for a new structure for the administration of taxation and the army. Above all they coumerpose '"virtue" ro "courdy frivoli[y". The regulation of sexual relations. [he fences surrounding the sexual sphere of libidinal lift. are far S[[onger in middle and rising bourgeois classes, in keeping with their professional posi[ion. than in tht courtly-aristocratic upper class; and later it is repeatedly stronger here than in high bourgeois groups which have alreaclv reached the social summit and taken on an upper-class character. But sharp [his opposition may be during [ht phase of social struggle. however great the emancipa[ion of the bourgeoisie from the models and predominance of the nobilirv, die code of conduct which the leading bourgeois groups develop when [hey rake over [ht function of [he upper class is. because of the preceding phase of assimilation. the product of an amalgamation of [he codes of the old and new upper classes The main line of this civilizing movement, the successive ascent of broader and broader S[rata. is the same in all \Vesrern countries, and incipiently so in increasingly large areas elsewhere. And similar, too. is the strucmral regularity underlying i[, the increasing division of functions under [he pressure of competition. the [endency to more equal dependence of all on all. which in the long run allO\vs no group greater social power than others and nullifies hereditary privileges. Processes of free competi[ion also follow a similar course: they veer rnward the formation of monopolies controlled by a few and may finally lead w the passing of control into die hands of broader scram. All this emerges very clearh·. at this stage in the srruggle of the bourgeoisie against noble privileges, in monopolies of rnxarion and force previously administered in the interests of very small circles "becoming public": all this takes the same course, sooner or la[er, by one parh or another, in all the interdependem countries of the \Vest. But within [his common framework of basic similarities each country develops c
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Prr;tes.r
Stdio Formario11 c1nd Ciz"ili::.atioil
structural characteristics of its own: and corres1)ondin<> rn the different . .. .. c social srrucrures are die speohc patterns of affecr ret;ularion, rhe srrucwres of the d · c . economv which finalh·. become evident in rhe \.·anons · . . and the super-ec:o, , nar10ns. Thus in England, whert the courr-absolurisr phase was relati\·ely short, and where conracrs and alliances between urban-bourgeois circles and the landed nobility rnme abom early on, the amalgamation of upper and middle-class behaviour patterns rook place gradually over a long period Germany, on the other hand-which, through its lack of centralization and the Thirty Years' \'
;f
enduring there, and access by bourgeois groups ro the cell[ral monopolies difficult In rhe Middle Ages urban-bourgeois groups had for a rime been politically and economically more powerful. more independell[ and self-confidfnt than in any other country in Europe. The shock of their political and economic decline was rhere!Cire particularly keenly ftlr. If specifically bourgeois traditions had earlier denoloped in a particularly pure form in many German regions because rhe urban formations were so rich and independent, rhty no\1· ptrsisred as specifically bourgeois traditions btcause their bearers were particularly poor and socially impotent And accordingly, it was only nory late char bourgeois and noble circles ill[trpenerrared and their modes of conduct were amalgamarecL For a long period the codes of both classes persisted disconntctedlr side bv side: and because rhroughom this period the Kt\· positions of rhe rnx and rhe polict and army administration were monopolies of rht nobility, habirnarion ro a strong exremal start authority became deeply ingrained in the bourgeoisie. \vhereas in England"O\ving to its island sirnarion, 2 ' for a long period neither rhe army nor a centralized polict force played any major role in moulding rhe population, though the navy did rn some extent, in Prussia. Germam·. with its strata, long, vulnerable land frontiers, the army ltd by rhe nobility, by was, likt the powerfi.il police force, of rht utmost significance in scamping rhe social habirns of its people, This srrucrure of rhe monopoly of physical force did nor, however, compel individual people to adopt the same kind of self-control as in England Ir did nor force individuals w become integrated in relations of ··ream work" based on a high degree of in di vi dual self-control and selfarrunement to ochers: instead, ir habituated rhe individual from childhood onwards to a very much higher extent to a strict order of superiority and inferiority, an order of obedience and command on many levels. Understandably,
cbis rype of stare control and rhe use made within it of rhe monopoly of phys_ical force was less conducive ro a transformation of external consrrain:s, or consrraims by ocher people, inro self-constraints. Also lacking in Germany tor a long penod a particular function which in some other countries, especially England, enlmnced in both noble and bourgeois classes a common fore:ighr.' and a similar . ern of firmh-, differentiated self-control: rhe central funcnon 111 a very p,ltt . . exrensive network of interdependencies, as rhe upper class of a colo111al empire. -1 dependent l 1Ll.5 in Germanv . rhe drive-conrrol of rhe individual remained highly _ , on srrong external srnre power. The emotional balance, rhe self-control of the individual. was endangered if this external power was lacking. From generanon to c:enerarion a super-ego was reproduced in rhe bourgeois masses which was dis;osed w relinquish ro a separate, higher-ranking social circle rhe specific kind of foresight demanded by the ruling and organization of society ar large, Ir was_ shown at rhe beginning of this srndy how chis situation led, ar an early phase ot dit rise of rhe bourgeoisie. ro a \·tn- specific kind of bourgeois self-image. a wrning away 2 ' from everything ro do with rhe adminisrrarion of rhe power monopolies, and to a culrivarion of inwardness, and the elevation of spiritual and cultural achievements ro a special place in rht table of \·alues Ir was also shown how the corresponding movement rook a different course in France. Here, more continuously than in any other country in Europe and from rht earh· Middle Ages on, courtly circles were formed, first by a111rtois groups and rhen bv. larger and larger courts, until finally the competition between the many lords c.ulminarecl in rhe formation of a single powerful and wealthy royal court rn which flowed rhe raxes from rhe entire rerrirory. Accordingly, a centrally conrrolled prorecrionisr economic policy was adopted ar an early srnge, Although chis primarily served rhe inreresrs of the monopoly ruler and his desire ro_ maximize his fiscal income. nevertheless ir also promoted rhe development ot rrade and rhe emergence of wealthy bourgeois classes. Thus there were early conracts between rising bourgeois and court aristocrats with their constant need of money Unlike rhe many relatively small and poorly endowed absolutist dominions in Germany, rhe rich, centralized, absolutist regime in France furthered both a comprehensive transformation of external consuaims into selfconsrraints and rhe amalgamation of courrly-arismcraric and bourgeois patterns of conduct. And when at the encl of chis stage, the ascent from below was completed, and with it rhe levelling and equalization of social srnndards characteristic of chis whole phase of rhe civilizing process: when rhe nobility had losr its hereditary rights and irs status as a separate upper class and bourgeois groups rook over rhe upper-class function, they conrinuecl-as a result of the_ Ion" precedinu imerpenerrarion-rhe models, rhe drive patterns and rhe forms of of rh: courtly phase more undeviatingly than any other bourgeois class in Europe.
436
Tht Cil'iliziilg Process
VIII Conclusion If we survey these past movements in their entirety, it is a change in a guire definite direction chat we see . The deeper we penetrate che weal ch of particular facrs co discover che structure and regularities of che pasc, che more clearly emerges a firm framework of processes into which che scattered facts can be fitted. Juse as in past times people observing nacure, after following many blind alleys in thought, gradually saw a more coherent vision of nature rake shape before chem, so in om time che fragments of che human past gathered in our minds and books by che work of many generations are beginning slowly to fall into place, in a cohesive piccure of history and of the human universe in general. The contribution made here co this picture will be briefly summarized by presenting ic from a particular point of ,·iew, chac of our own day For che profile of past changes in che social fabric becomes most sharply visible when seen against che events of one's own rime. Here, coo, as so often, present evenrs illuminate che understanding of the past, and immersion in che past illuminates che present. Many of che interweaving processes co be observed in our own day, with their numerous ups and clowns, represent a continuation in the same direction of the moves and counrermoves of former changes in the scruccure of Occidental societies Ac che point of utmost feudal disintegration in che \Vest. as was shown above, 21' certain dynamics of social interweaving came into play which tended ro integrate larger and larger units. Out of che competition of small dominions, the territories, themselves formed through the struggles of even smaller survival units. a few and finally a single unit slowly emerged victorious. The vicror formed the centre abom which a new larger dominion was incegwced; he formed che monopoly centre of a scare organization within the framework of which many of che previoi.1sly freely competing regions and groups gradually grew together into a more or less 'unified, bercer and worse balanced human web of a higher order of magnitude. Today these states in turn form analogous power balances of freely competing survival uni cs. These states coo, under che pressure of che tensions of competition char keep our whole society in a perpetual ferment of conflicts and crises, are now in their rnrn gradually being forced more and more clearly inro mutual opposition. Again, many rival dominions are so closely intertwined chat any rhac stands still, that does nor grow stronger, runs che risk of growing weaker and becoming dependent on other states. As in every system of balances with growrng compent10n and wichour a central monopoly, the powerful states forming the primary axes of tensions in the system force each other in an incessant spiral co extend and strengthen their power. The struggle for suprem-
St:!fr Frmi1c1tir111 t111d Cil'i!i::atiffll
acv and thus, knowingly or otherwise, for the formation of monopolies over still la;ger areas, is already in full swing. And if ac present it is supremacy over continents that is at issue, there are already clear signs, concomitant with the interdependence of larger and larger areas, of struggles for supremacy over a system embracing the entire inhabited earrlL · In che present no less than in the past, the dynamics of interdependencies which have been so often mentioned in chese enguiries, keep people moving and nrcss cowards changes in their institutions and indeed in the overall strucmre of r their figurations. The experiences of our day, roo, refute the notion which has now dominated people's thinking for more than a cenmry, che idea that a balanced system of freely competing units-states, businesses, craftsmen or wh<1tever else-can be maintained indefinitely in this stare of precarious equilibrium. Now, as of old, this stare of monopoly-free competition finds itself driven rowards monopoly formation. \Vhy this equilibrium is so exceedingly unstable, and rhe probability of its breakdown so high, has been shown in the analysis of rhe dynamics of competi rion and monopolization given earlier. 2 And no more roday than formerly is it "economic" goals and pressures rzlu11t, or political motives alom, which are the primary driving forces of these changes Neither is the acquisition of "more" money or "more" economic power che actual goal of stare rivalry and the extension of scare rule, nor the acguisition of greater political and military power merely a mask, a means ro an economic end. Monopolies of physical violence and of the economic means of consumption and production, whether co-ordinated or nor, are inseparably connected, without one ever being the real base and the other merely a "superstructure" Both rogether produce specific tensions at particular points in che development of che social structure, tensions pressing rowards a transformation of this structure Both th2 lock joining the chr1i11 hy uhich />eo/,/c c1re 11111tl!Ci!ly ho1111d. And in both spheres of human bonding, the political and che economic. the same mechanisms, in permanent interdependence, are at work. Jusr as the tendency of rhe big merchant co enlarge his enterprise springs finally from tension within the 1l'ho!1: human network of which he is a part, and above all from the danger of diminished control and loss of independence if rival concerns grow larger than his, likewise competing stares drive each other further and further up the competitive spiral under the pressure of tensions immanent in the entire structure which they constitute. Many individual people may wish ro put a srop ro this spiral movement, the breakdown of equilibrium between "free" comperirors, and to the struggles and changes this breakdown brings with it. In the course ofhiscory so far the constraints of human bonding have always proved stronger in the long run than such wishes . And so today international relationships, nor yet regulated by an encompassing monopoly of force, are again driven cowards such monopolies and thus ro the formation of dominions of a new order of magnicudeo Precursors of such hegemonial units such as united states. empires or leagues
Thu
P;·rJL-t:S.\
of narions, cerrninly already txisr. They art all scill relacively unsrnble . As II1 che centuries of stru!..'.l!!t: berween cerrirorial don11.ni(i11s 1·c 1·s ·is\'•-. . . 'c . . . ' ' • c l unresolved II1 che suuggle ot sraces rnda1·. and impossible rn resolve whi:cre che c ,·.. . _ ,. . · . . . . · entres and uunner, 01 dJt: L1r[!er ht1-:tmun1al unHs ot che turnre will lie As 1· . . . ': c . . • ·· • ear ier, It is impossible rn predict how !on[! 1c will rake tor chis scru""lt with · '. l::'c . Jts n1anv spurts and counttr-spurcs. to be hnalh· decided. And like che memb, t- ' . . ers o the smaller unHs whose srrugdes slowlv ]Jroducecl the sr·ues \\·•· cocJ ]1·1 . . cc . ' • • ' ' \ e scarce! ' more than a rngue idea ot the srrucmrt. organization and inscitutions of urn rs towards which tht actions of wday rend. whether the actors know or nor. Only one_ d1111g. is cerra111: the direction in which the integrarion of the modern world is veenng. The competitive tension between snres , · . .. ' ' 8lven C1e 1 pressures which our social structure brinus with ir can be resoh·ed (Jn] .. c _ . . . ei • } d1rer a long senes ot v10lenr or non-violent rrials of srrenurh lnve esnblished m . . __ . . _ "' ' ' onopoot force, and cenrral orgarnzar10ns tor larger dominions. within which manv ot the smaller ones. ··srares'". can grow together in a more balanced unirv. the compelling forces of social inrerweaving have led che ot \\iesrern society in one and the same direction from rhe rime of mmost feudal disintegration to the present And the case is very similar with many orher moYements of the "present". They are all seen in a new light when \"iewed as moments in rhar srream that we '"''.nously call ··rhe past .. or "'history" Even 1cithii! the different hegemonial units ot today we see a number of monopoly-free compeririw struggles. Bur this free competition is in many places nearing its final phase. Everywhere in these struggles fought with economic weapons, prirnre monopoly organizations are already forming. And as earlier, in the formation of monopolies of rnxarion and physical force in the hands of single dynasties. compelling forces were alreadv discernible that final!:· led to a broadening of control, whether b:· the monopoly executive w an elected public legislator or by any other form of ··nationalization". in our clay we already see the immanent figuracional clvnamics at work cumiiling the possibility of private control of the recent ··ec:rnomic" monopolies and bri·nging their srrucrure closer w the older ones. so that eventually they are likely to veer towards an integration of boch The same can be said of the other tensions towards chan1-:es within the different hegemonial units. the censions between rl1ose people di;ecrh- controlling certain instruments of monopoly as a hereditary possession. ;ind those excluded from such control and who engage in unfree competition. all being on opportunities disrribmed by the monopoly rulers. Here too hnd ourselves in the midst of a historical spurt which, like a great wave of an adrnncing ride, rakes up the smaller ones preceding it and car;ies them further in the same direction. In the analysis of the monopoly mechanism, it was shown in more general terms·"' how and why. in the tension between monopoly rulers and monopoly servams at a certain degree of overall pressure. the tension balance
439 rends to be slowh or suddenly O\'trturned. Ir was shown that spurts in chis direction already rook place in an early period of \Vestern society \Ve find them. for example. in rhe process of feudalizarion even though this invoh·ed only a shift within the upper class itself: morton:r. this change in favour of the many at the espense of che few led. as a rtsulr of the low degree of division of funccions. to the disintegration of comrol o\·er monopoliztd opportunities and the decay of the monopoly centres As rhe division of functions advances. and with it rhe mutual interdependence of ,1[1 functions. this kind of change in the balance of power is no longer espressed by a tendency to disperse monopolized opportunities among many incliYiduals. bur by a tendency to control the monopoly centres and the opportunities they allocate in a ditforent way. The first great transitional phase of this kind. the struggle of bourgeois classts for control of rhe old monopoly cenrres. controlled by the kings and, partly, by the aristocrncr. as a hereditary possession-the first complete monopolies of modern rimes-shows this clearly enough i=or many reasons. the pattern of rising classes in our day is more compltx. One reason is that it is now necessary to struggle nor only for rhe old monopoly centres of taxation and physical violence. or only for the recent economic monopolies still in rhe process of formation. bur for control of both ac once. But the elementary pacrern of forces at work here is very simple even in this case: every monopoly opportunity restricted b\· heredity to particular familits leads to specific tensions and disproportions in the socitt\' concerned Tensions of this kind rend towards a change of relationships and elms of institutions in all socit:cies, though when difftrentiarion is low and, particularly. when the upper class consists of warriors, they often remain unresolved . Societies with a highly developed division of functions are far more sensiriw ro the disproportions and malfunctions caused lw such tensions. the effects of which are permanently felt throughout rht whole socitry. And though in such societies rhere may bt mart than one way in which such tensions might be resolved and removed, tht dirc(fi(Jll in which they rend towards transcending themselves is predetermined bY the nature of their origins. by their genesis. The tensions, disproportions and malfunctions resulting from monopoly control of opportunities in the interests of a ft\\' can only be resoln:d by breaking this control. \Vhar cannot be decided in advance, however. is how long the ensuing srruggle will rake. And something very similar. finally, is happening in our rime to the conduct of people and to the whole suucmre of their psychological functions. In the course of this study it has been attempted to show in derail both that and how rhe structure of psychological funcrions. the particular standard of behavioural controls at a given period. is connected ro rht structure of social functions and to changes in relationships between people. To trace these connections in derail in our own nme is a rnsk yet to be undertaken . The most general points can be quickly made . The structural forces working so ptrcepribly roday rowarcls a more
-i-i ()
or less rapid changt of instirnrions and of interpersonal relationships, are ltadinir no less cltarlv• to corn:spondinf.: chanf.:eS in the personalin-• structure. Here r too '"0 wt only gain a cltar picrnre of what is happening by comparing it. as a spun a particular direccion. wirh rhe past mm·emems of which ir is a conrinuarion. In the birth pains of other social uphta\·als rht dominant standard of conduct of the upper classts was finally loostned to a greater or lesser extenr A period of unctrtaimy preceded the consolidation of a new standard. Beha,·iour patterns wtrt transmitted nor only from abo,-e to below but. in line with the shift in the social centre of grm·iry, from below to above. Thus, in the courst of the rise of the bourgeoisie, for example, rhe courdy-arisrncratic code of conduct losr some of its hold. Social forms became mort relaxed and in some ways coarser. The stricter taboos placed in middle-class circles on certain spheres, abcn·e all those of monev and sexuality. pervaded broader circles in varying degrees umil finally, as rhi.s specific balance of tensions disappeared. in alternating wa,·es of relaxation and renewed severity. elemems of the behaviour patterns of both classes were fused imo a new. more stable code of conduct. The uphearnls in rhe midst of which we line are differem in structure from all those preceding rhem. however much they may cominue these earlier movements and be based upon them . Nen:rrheless. certain structural similarities wirh the changes just described are encountered in our own rime. Here too wt find a relaxation of traditional patterns of behaviour. the rise of certain modes of conduct from bt!ow. and increased imerpenetration of rht standards of different classes: wt see an increased St\·erity in some spheres and a certain coarsening in others Periods like this, periods of transition, give a particular opportunity for reflection: the older standards hm·e been called into question but solid new ones are not yet arnilable. People become more uncertain in their conduct. The social situation itself makes "conducr" an acute problem. In such phases-and perhaps only in such phases-much is open ro scrutiny in conduct that previous generations rook for gramed. The sons begin ro think further where their fathers brought their reflection to a hair: they begin ro ask for reasons where their fathers saw no reason ro ask: why must "one" behave in this way here and that way there' \Vhy is this permitted and that forbidden' \Vhat is rht point of this precept on manners and rhar on morals' Conventions that have long gone unrested from generation ro generation, become problems. In addition. as a result of increased mobility and more frequent meetings with people shaped in different ways, people are learning ro see themselves from a greater distance: why is rhe code of conduct different in Germany from that in England. different in England from that in America. and why is the conducr of all these countries differem from that of rhe Oriem or of more primitive societies' The preceding investigations attempt ro bring some of these questions closer to resolution. They really raise only problems that are "in the air· They rry, as
L "
State Formation mid Ciz'i!i2t1tio11
441
far as one person's knowledge permits, to clarify the questions and ro prepare a \\'
4-i)
Th1: Ciz'i!i::i11g Pmcess which a sociery imposts on irs members, ir is nor enough rn know rht goals rhar can be adduced w explain irs commands and prohibirions· \"c· . . . . . . ' ., n1usr trace w rhe1r source rhe _tears which mduce rhe members ot chis society, and above all rht custodians ot ns precepts. w control conduce 111 rhis wav. \Ve fore only gain a bt[[er understanding of rht changes of conduct and ;entiment i ''. civilizing direcrion if we are aware of rhe changes in die strucrnre of tears w which rhey are connecred. The direction of rhis change was sketched 1 earlier:' rhe direct fear of one person for others diminishes: indirect or imernalized fears increase proporrionately; and barb kinds become more even· the waves of anxiery no longer rise so frequently or stttply, only w fall awav ' as sharply; wirh some oscillarion, slighr by comparison wirh the tarlitr rhty normally remain at a middle leveL \'Vhtn this is rhe cast. as has been conduce rakes on-by degrees and srngts-a more .. civilized .. character. everywhere, the structure of fears and anxieties is nothing other than rhe psychological counterpart of the consuainrs which people exert on one another through rhe inrtrtwining of their activities. Fears form one of rhe channels-and one of rhe most importanr-tl1rough which rhe srrucrure of society is rransmi[[ed to individual psychological functions. The driving force underlying rhe change in drive economy, in the structure of fears and anxieties. is a very specific change in rhe social constraints acting on rhe individual. a specific transformation of rhe whole web of relationships. above all tht organization of force. Quire often it seems to people as if rhe codes regulating rheir conducr towards one anorhtr. and dms also the tears moving them, are somerhing from outside tht human sphere . The more deeply we immerse ourselves in the historical processes in rhe course of which prohibitions, like fears and anxieties, are formed and transformed. tht srronger grows an insight which is nor withom importance for our actions as well as for our understanding of ourseh·es: za ru/i::;e the fr; zchich thr-, illltl t1il.\·,:1.!i1.:s thtJt Jlil1l't jhJ1jJ!l di'r.: hi111hn1-111(.ulr:. 'To bt the possibility of feeling fear, just like that of feeling joy, is an unalterable part of human nature. But tht strength, kind and structure of rhe fears and anxieties that smoulder or flare in The individual never depend solely on his or her own "narure" nor, ar lease in more complex societies. on rhe "nature .. in the midst of which he or she lives . They art always determined. finally. by rhe history and rhe actual structure of his or her relations w other people, by the srructurt of society; and rhey change wirh ir. Here, indeed, is one of the indispensable keys ro all rhe problems posed by the steering of human conduct and rhe social codes of commandments and "raboos". The child and adolescent would never learn ro control rheir behaviour without rhe fears instilled by other people. \'Virhour tbt lever of these human-made fears the young human animal would never become an adult deserving the name of ,1 human being. any more rhan someone's humanity marures fully if life denies him or her sufficient joy and pleasure. The fears \vhich grown-ups consciously or
unconsciously induce in rhe child are precipitated in him or her and henceforrh_ reproduce rhtmse_lves more or l_ess auromarically. The malleable personality ot rhe child is so fashioned by tears rhar 1t learns ro act in accord w1rh the revailing standard of behaviour. whether these fears are produced by direct Physiecil force or by deprirnrion. by the restriction of food or pleasure. And fears and anxieties from within or without finally hold even rht adult in their power. Shame, tear of war and fear of God, guilt. fear of punishment or of loss of social prestige, man's fear of himself, of being overcome his own aftecrive impulses, all these art directly or inclirecdy induced in a by other people. Their strength, their form and rhe role they play in :he individual's ptrsonaliry depend on rhe srrucrure of his society and his or her tare
bv
within it. No society can survive without a channelling of individual drives and atfocrs. wirhour a very specific control of individual behaviour . No such control is possible unless people exert constraints on one another, and all constraint is converted in rhe person on whom it is imposed inro tear of one kind or another \Xie should not deceive ourselves: rhe constant production and reproduction of human tears by people is inevitable and indispensable wherever people live wgether, wherever the desires and actions of a number of people interact, whether at work. in leisure or in love-making. Bm one should nor believe or attempt to be persuaded that rhe commands and fears which today set their srnmp on human conduct have as rheir .. purpose" simply and fundamenrally rhe basic necessities of human co-existence. or that they are restricted in our world w rhose consrrainrs and fears necessary to a srable equilibrium between rhe desires of many and for rhe maintenance of social collaboration. Our codes of conduct are as riddled wirh contradictions and as full of disproportions as are rhe forms of our social life. as is rhe structure of our society. The consuaints w which rht indi\·idual is subjected rnday. and the fears corresponding to them, are in their character, their strength and suucture decisively determined by rhe particular forces engendered by the srrucrurt of our society just discussed: by irs power and other diHerentials and rhe immense tensions created by them Ir is clear in whar turmoils and clangers we livt. and rht interweaving forces determining their direcrion have been discussed. It is these forces, far more rhan rhe simple constraint of working together, it is tensions and enranglements of this kind which at present constantly expose the individual ro fear and anxiety. The tensions berween starts arising from the compelling dynamics of their contests for supremacy over larger and larger dominions find expression for individual people in specific frustrations and resrrainrs; rhey impose upon these individuals a mounting work-pressure and also a profound insecurity which never ceases. All this. rht frustrations, the restlessness, the pressure of work, no less rhan rhe never-ending threat ro life, inherent in these inter-srare rensions, produces anxieties and fears. The same holds rrue of rhe tensions ll'ithin each of
4-14
The Ci1'ili:::i11g Pmcess
rhe difrerem state socieries. The uncomrollable, monopoh'-free corn , , pet1t1 011 . , between people or the same srratum on the one hand, and the tensions difforem strata and groups on the ocher, likewise give rise, for the individual cominuous anxiery and particular prohibirions or restricrions, They roo en·>endto rheir own specific fears: the tears of dismissal, of unpredictable exposure er in power, of falling below the subsistence level, which prevail in the lower and the fears o_f social degradation, of the reduction of possessions or independen_ce, of loss ot prestige and status, which play so great a part in the lifo of the middle and upper Slrarn. And ir is preciselv fears and anxieries of chis kind fi _ _ · , ears ot the loss ot disringuishing hereditary presrige, as was poimed om earlier,>:: that have had to chis day a decisive pan in shaping rhe prevailing code of conduct Precisely rhese tears, ir was also seen, are particularly disposed to incernalizarion: rhey, far more rhan rhe tear of poverty, hunger or direct physical danger, becom; rooted in rhe individual members of such strata, through their upbringing, inner anxieties which bind chem to a learned code almosr amomarically, under rhe pressure of a suong super-ego, even independently of any control by others, The continuous concern of parents whether their child will artain the standard of conduct of their own or even a higher srratum, wherher ir will maintain or increase the presrige of the family, whether it will hold its own in the competition within their own stratum, fears of this kind surround the child from its earliest years, and rhey do so in rhe middle srrata, in chose ambirious to rise far more rhan in rhe upper suarum . Fears of chis kind play a considerable par; in rhe control ro which rhe child is subjecc from rhe beginning, in the prohibitions placed on him or her. Perhaps only pardy conscious in the parents, and partly already automatic, they are transmirred to the child as much by gestures as by words. They continuously add fuel to the fiery circle of inner anxieties, which holds the behaviour and feelings of the growing child permanemly within definite limits, binding him or her to a cerrain srnnclard of shame and embarrassment, to a specific accem, to particular manners, whether he or she wishes or nor. Even the rules imposed on sexual life, and the automatic anxieties now surrounding ir- to such a high degree, stem not only from the elementary necessiry of controlling and balancing the desires of many who live together. They also have their origins to a considerable extent in the pressures and tensions in which the upper and particularly the middle strara of our society live, They too are very closely related to the fear of losing opportunities or possessions and prestige, of social degradation, of reduced chances in the harsh struggle of life, induced from early on in the child by the behaviour of parents and educators. And even though these paremal constraints and anxieties may sometimes bring about precisely what they are supposed to prevent, even though the child might be made incapable, by such blindly instilled automatic anxieties, of succeeding in the struggle of life and attaining social prestige-whatever the omcome, it is always the tensions of their society that are projected by the paremal gestures,
Std'' fom1t1tion t1nd Cil'i!i:t1tiol! rohibitions and tears on to the child. The htreclirnry characrer of monopolized (), ' l and of social prestige finds clirecr expression in the parents' att1rnc e ro their child; and so the child is made to feel the dangers threatening these chances and this presrige, w fc:tl the entire: tensions of his society, e\·en bdore he or she knows anything about them . . This connection between rhe external tears of the parems directly conditioned bv rheir social position, and the inner, auromatic anxieties of the growing child, certainly a fact of far more general significance than can be shown here. \Ve shall only gain a fuller understanding of the ptrsonaliry srrucrure of lhe inclividuaL and of the historical changes in its moulding over successive uenerations. when we are berrer able to obserw and analyse long chains of than is possible today. Bm one thing has become clear enough e\·en here: how deeply the stratificarion, the pressures and tensions of our own time penerrate the srructure of the individual personality. _ . \Ve cannor expecr of people who live in the midst of such tens10ns, who are rhus driven guiltle:ssly to incur guilt upon guilt against each other, rhat rhey should behave rn each other in a manner representing-as seems so ofren co be belie\·ed roclav-an ultimate pinnacle of "civilized" conducr. The continuous inrerweaving of human acriviries again and again acts as a lever which m·er rhe cenrnries produces changes in human conducr in the direcrion of our scandard The same pressures quirt clearly operate \\'irhin our own society towards changes mrnscending present standards of conducr and sentiment in the same direcrion -although, roday as in rhe past, these rrends can go at any time inro reverse gear. No more rhan our kind of social srrucrnre, is our kind of conduct, our lenol of constraints, prohibitions and anxieties, somerhing definitivt, still less a pinnaclt. To begin with, there is rhe consume dangtr of war, \Var, to repeat the point in difftrtm words, is nm the upposirt of ptact. Through a ntcessity the reasons of which ha\·t become cltar, wars berween smalltr units haw been, in the course of history up to now. ine\·itable stages and insrrumems in the pacification of larger ones. Certainly, rhe vulnerability of the social structure, and so the risks and upheavals brought on all concerntd by the explosive \·iolence of wars, increase the further the division of funcrions aclrnnces, rhe greater the mutual dependence of the rivals. \Ve therefore feel in our own time a growing disposition to resolve future imersrare conflicrs by less dangerous means Bm ir is quite clear that, in our clay, just as earlier, the dynamics of increasing interdependence are impelling rhe figurarion of state societies cowards such conflicts, co the formation of monopolies of physical force over larger areas of the earth and thus, through all rhe terrors and struggles, towards rheir pacification. And as mentioned abm·e, beyond the tensions between continents and partly involved in them, rhe tensions of the next stage are already emerging One can see rhe first oudines of a worldwide sysrem of tensions composed by alliances and supra-stare units of
i;
-·!-!
-i-16 various kinds. rht 1m:ludt of scru"des tmbracin" rhe whole v "lobt \\•[11·c1 are '--'-.__ · ' 1 precondirion for a worldwide monopoly of physical force. for a single polirical insrirurion and rhus for rht pacificarion of rht eai-rh. The case is no difterem wirh ecunomic srrugglts. Frte economic rno. as wt ha\·e setn. is nor jusr rhe opposire of a monopolistic order. It cons randy vtering beyond irself rowards chis opposirt. From rhis aspect mo our epoch is annhing bur a final poim or pinnaclt. no marrtr how many partial downfalls. as in srrucruralh· similar rransirional ptriods. ir mar contain In L· · · · turs: rtspecr mo ir is full of unresohecl rensions. of unconcluded processes imegrarion rht durarion and exacr course of which are nor predictable and direcrion alont is clear: rht rendtncy of free comperirion or. which means the same rhing. rhe unorganized ownership of monopolies, ro be reduced and abolished: rhe change in human relarionships by which comrol of opportunities graclualh· ceases ro be the htredirnry and privatt preserve of an tsrablishecl upper srrarum and becomes a funcrion under social and public conrrol. And here. btnearh rhe n:il of rht prtstnr rensions. rhost of rhe nexr sragt are visible. the rensions berwten rht upper and middle funcrionaries of the monopolv adminisrrnrion. benvee:n rht "bureaucracy" on rhe one: hand and the resr of socitry on rhe ocher Onh- when chest rensions berwten and wirhin scares havt bten rnasrered can we expect ro become mort rruly civiliztd. Ar presenr many of rhe rules of conducr and sentimenr implanred in us as an inregral pan of our conscience, of rht incli\·iclual super-ego. are remnanrs of rhe power and srnrns aspirations of esrnblished groups, and have: no orlitr funcrion rhan char of rtinforcing their power chances and rhtir srarus superioriry. They htlp members of rhese groups w such clisrincrion nor simply rhrough rheir own achitvemtm-whicb in modtration is jusrified-bur rhrough rht monopolistic approrriarion of power chances the acctss w which is blocked fcJr orher inrtrclependenr groups . Only when rhe rtnsions berwten and wirl1in scares ha\·t been masrerecl is rhtrc a chanct rhat rhe regularion of ptople·s aftecrs and conduce in rheir relations with each orher can be confintd ro chose insrrucrions and prohibirions which are necessary in order ro keep up rhe high level of funcrional clifforenriation and inrerdtpendence wirhout which eve:n rht presem levels of civilized conduct in people's co-exisrence with e:ach ocher could nor bt mainrained. !tr alone surpassed. Only rhen is rhere a chanct. mo, rhar rhe common panern of selfcomrol expected of people: can be confined ro rhose resrraims which art necessary in order that thty can liw wirh each orher and with rhemseln:s with a high chance of enjoymtnr and a low chance of fear-be ir of orhtrs. be it of themselves Only wirh rhe rensions and contticrs berween people can chose u.Zthi11 people become mildtr and less damaging ro rhtir chances of enjoyment. Then it need no longer be rht exceprion. rhtn ir may ewn be rhe rult. rhat an individual person can arrain che oprimal balance bttwetn his or her imperarive drives
sarisfacrion and fulfilmenc and rht consrraims imposc:d upon rhem (and . . ·liich humans would remain brmish animals and a danger as much to •1d10Ll [ \\ .. l t . "' Ives as w orhers)-rhar condirion rn which one so ohen rerers w1r 1 11g rhemse such '15 "happ1nes'.:> . .. 4-lI1Ll ..,-iTt't'Llon1 ......... i, . . 1.1. /.:!:·• ... : /;.'!J u 111 1J1r., •• ..... 1 1 11 11• .J l:.ru 1,,ul th1... rit i.:r:.df d:..J11 ,n!(11 pi.:.r1jJ!:. '1 \11hlhL r111 :hl 01h h: 1!C lh1:tfl dihl indin:1tir1;zs (jjJ thl othf:r If rhe structure ot hur11an . . · ns of j)tCJjJlt's inrerdtpendencits, has rhese characrtrisrics. if rhe coflt>UfJOO ' . . . . . l ". _, _ of [Jeoi1 le wirh each orhtr. which atrer all is rhe rnndmon of r lL i:xrstcnce . . ·l - .. - LI --xisrence of nch of rhtm tuncnons in such a way r 1a1 1c 1s lposs1 J el . ·c1 U.1. l c. ·n d1\·1 all rhost bonded ro each orher in rhis m,rnner ro anarn rh1s balance. r.1tn.anc some JUSC!Ct .rhar rhe) die U\ onh then can humans say of rhemselves , · ·1 hen rhe\· are ar besr in the process or btcommg unl1zed Uncil rhen rhe) Uno arc r.L1 e-r s·i\:. rl1 ,__c. ci,·ilizin" [Jroctss is under w•l\'. or, wich the old Holbach: "la may ' • . b .
;or
civilisarion
l
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n'tsr pas encore rerminee"
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.
Postscript (1968)
I Nowadays, in thinking and theorizing abour the structure of human affects and how they are controlled, we are usually content ro use as evidence observations from the more developed societies of the present day_ \'{le thus proceed from the tacit assumption that it is possible ro construct theories about the affect structures of human beings in general on the basis of studies of people in a specific society that can be observed here and now--our own. However, numerous relatively accessible observations point ro the fact that the standard and panern of affect controls in societies at different stages of deYelopment, and even in different strata of the same society, can differ. \'\fhether we are concerned with the development of European countries over centuries, or with the so-called "developing countries" in other parts of the world, we are constantly confronted by observations which give rise ro the problem of how and why, in the course of rhe overall long-term transformations of society in a particular direction-for which the term "development" has gained currency-the affecrivity of human behaviour and experience, the control of individual affects by external and selfconstraints, and in this sense the structure of all forms of human expression is altered in a particular direcrion. Changes of this kind are indicated in everyday speech by such sratements as that the people of our own society are more
-ISO
Th, Ciri!i::i11g P111ct.u
"civilized" than tht\.· were earlitr. or that those ot ••
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unCJnl1zed
· societies are (or tn:n more "barbaric") than those of our own T' L
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Judgements inherent .in. such statements are obvious: the facts ro which relate_ are less so. Thrs is because empirical inn:stigations of rranstormations of personality srrucrnrts, and especially of affect controls nse at the prtstnt stage of sociological research ro verv considerable d·r;::.' . · ullculnes . . . . . . At the toretront ot soc10log1cal mreresr at present are rtlativelv sl · . . . 1ort-term processes. and usually only problems relarmg rn a given state of socittv term transformations of 0>ocial strucrnres. and therefore of personalitv •· as \H:ll. have by and large been lost from view. . This book is concerned wirh rhese long-rerm processes. Cndersranclin · .l l l b. .. . . . g it mav t arc ec )y a nef 111d1car10n ot the various kinds of such processes. To ' with. two main directions in the structural changes of societies mav be distinguished: those rending toward increased differenfr1tion ·111d 1•11 t . '· egrat1on and those tendmg toward decreased differentiation and integnrion In add' · ' < • < Jt!On, there is a rh_rrd type ot social process. in rhe course of which the structure soCJety or of irs particular aspects is changed. bm wirhom a rtndency towards e1d1er an increase or a decrease in tht level of c!iffore11tia[ion and i11tegrarion. F111ally. rhert are coumless changes in a socit[y which do nor involve a change in I[S This accoum dots nor do justice w [ht ti.ill complexi[y of such changes. tor [here are numerous hybrid forms. and ofren several rypes of change, twn 111 opposJte cl1rtct1ons. can be obstrYed simultaneously in tl1e same societ '. Bm for rht prese11t. [his brief ourline of the difttrt11t [ypes of change suffices :0 inc!ica[e the problems with which [his srndy is concerned
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-i 51
Postscript
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r·k•WlSt
l·ic1.inu Ir was [herefore necessaf\'· to devote a part of this book to the ' h. :::::- · . .
and elucida[ion of factual conntc[ions in this area. The . strLrcmnl clnn<'t of socret\' as a whole, tendmg cowards a higher lt\Cl whet l1tr '1 ' ' b . f differentiation and integration, can be demonsm1ttd wr[h [ht aid reliable 0 ·,· . l evidence This has 1)roven possible. The process of srare rormanon. emp1,ica . . . _ · 11 P·1rt Three is an exam1)le of [h1s kmd ot structural change discuss eel l ' · · . . . . . . Finally, in Part Four, in a provisional skt[ch of a theory of c1viliz111g processes. rht 1)ossible conntcrions between [he long-term a rno d e·[ 1· 5 worked out showin" b _ . . .._ ve in human personality srrucrnres cowards a consol1datron and ditferl cianb . · · l · l · · n at· ·1"·t·ecr controls , ·111d the lon"-term change 111 the hgurauons w 11c 1 enrw.oo (- 1 ' o '_ . _': . . L
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•
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•
people form with one another cowards. a_ higher. level ot d1ttere11t1ar1011,. and integration-for example, towards a d1fttre11t1'.mo11 and or the chains of interdependence and a consolida[ion ot .. sratt controls
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Parts Ont and Two of this srndy address above all the question of whether rhe based on SGl[[tred observations, [ha[ rhert are long-term changes in attect and comrol S[fL!Cturts of people in particular societies-changes which follow one and the same direction over a large number of gentra[ions-can be confirmed by reliable evidence and proved to be factually corren. It therefore conrains a11 ·accou11t of sociological investigations and findings. [ht bes[-known cou11terparr of which in [he physical sciences is the exptrime11t and i[S resulrs. It is concerned wi[h [ht discovery and elucidarion of what actually rakes place in the as yet unexplored field of inquiry rn which our questions relate: the discovery and description of factual connections. The demonscration of a change in human affect and comrol S[rucrnres raking place o\·er a large number of generations in [ht same direc[ion-ro state i[ brieflv, the increased tightening and differemiarion of co11trols-gives rise ro a question. Is it possible ro relate this long-[erm change in personaliff strucmres with long-term S[fllCtural changes in society as a whole, which [tile! in a particular direction, roward a higher level of social differe11tiario11 and imegrarioni The second volume of this study is concerned wi[h [htst problems. For these long-term strucrnral changes of soc1e[y. empirical evidence is
II Ir can readily be seen [hat in adop[ing an approach direcrtd at factual connections and rhtir explanation (that is. an empirical and thtore[ical approach concerned wirh long-rerm srrucrnral changes of a specific kind. or .. ). we rnke leave of [he mernphysical ideas which conntcr the concep[ of devtloprnem either to d1t notion of a mechanical necessity or ro that of a [eltological purpose The concept of civilization. as Parr One shows. has often been used in a semi-mtrnphysical sense and has remained highly nebulous unnl today rhe attempt is made ro isolate the factual core to which rhe current pr_e-scientihc notion of rhe civilizing process refers. This core consists primarily or [ht structural change in ptople toward an increased consolidation and differentia_[ion their affect controls, and therefore of borh their experience (e.g . in the form of an advance in rhe [hreshold of shame and revulsion) and of their behaviour (e . g · in the differentiation of the implements used a[ cable). The next rnsk posed by rhe clemonsrrarion of such a change in a specific direction over many generations is w provide an explanation A sketch of one is to be found, as already
mentionec!. in Parr Four of this work. \virh rhe aid of such an investigation we likewise rake leave of the theories of social change predominant roday, which in the course of rime have taken the place in sociolo"ical inquiry• of an earlier one cenued on the old. stmi-meraphys1cal b notion of development. As far as can be setn. these current theories scarcely ever dis[inguish in an unambiguous way between the differe11t types of social change brieflv mentioned earlier. In particular, there is still a lack of [heories based on evidence ro explain rhe type of long-term social changes which rake rhe form of a process and. above all, of a development \vhen I was working on Tht Ciri!i:ing Proct.rs it seemed quire clear ro mt [bar
452
Postscript
The Cii'ilizi11g PmCi:ss
I was laying rhe foundarion of an undogmaric, empiricallv-based rheory of social processes in general and of social developn;enr in p .'JL".Ul01>ir,, articular, I . . . . . . . believed ir qrnre obvwus rhar rhe mves(!gar10n, and rhe model of rhe
IV
0
process of srare formarion ro be found in Parr Three of The Ciz•ilizinr could serve equally as a model of rhe long-rerm dvnamic of soc· ''. _ . . . . . . . . 1enes in a pamcular d1rect1on, ro wh1Ch rhe concepr of social developmenr refers. I did no believe ar rhat time rhar ir was necessary ro poinr our explicirlv rl1 ·1r rh· r . · , ' IS Stud, was neither of an "evolmion'" in rhe ninereenrh-centurv sense of .Y _ . autornanc progress, nor of an unspecific "social change'" in the rwenrierh-cenrurv sen, • . se. , 1 t . . rI1at time rh1s seemed so obvious rhar I omirred ro menrion rhese r11 . . . . . . . . . . • eoret1cal implica(!ons explic1rly. fh1s posrscnpr gives me rhe opporruniry to make good this omission.
III The comprehensive social developmenr srudied and presenred here rhrou ,h .. l gone o f ns cenrra manifesrarions-a wave of advancing inreurarion O"er "e 1 b • , vera, cenruries, a process of srare formarion wirh rhe complemenrary process of advancing differenriation-is a figurarional change which, in rhe ro and fro of conrrary movemenrs, mainrains, when surveyed over an exrended rime span, rhe same direcrion rhrough many generarions This srrucrural change in a specific direcrion can be demonstrared as a facr, regardless of how ir is evaluated. The facrual evidence is whar marrers here. The concepr of social change by itself does not suffice, as an insrrumenr of research, ro rake accounr of such facts. A mere change can be of the kind observable in clouds or smoke rings: now they look like rhis, now like rhac. A concepr of social change rhat does nor disringuish clearly berween changes thar relate to rhe srrucrure of a sociery and rhose rhat do not-and, furrher, between strucrural changes without a specific direcrion and rhose which follow a particular direccion over many generations, e.g., rowards greater or lesser complexity-is a very inadequate rool of sociological inquiry. The situation is similar with a number of other problems dealt with here. Afrer several prepararory srudies which enabled me ro work my way through the documenrary evidence and ro explore the gradually unfolding theoretical problems, the way ro a possible solution became clearer. I became aware rhat this study brings somewhat nearer ro resolution the inrricate problem of the connection berween individual psychological structures (so-called personaliry srructures) and figurarions formed by large numbers of inrerdependenr individuals (social structures). It does so because it approaches borh types of structure not as fixed, as usually happens, but as changing, and as inrerdependenr aspects of the same long-term developmenr
453
If the nirious academic disciplines whose s_ubject-marrer is touched by this " (including. above all, rhe discipline of soc10logy) had already reached rht ! srua: f· nri·fi':c. m'irurirv 'lt [Jresenr en ·oved bv manv of rhe narural sciences. it 1. rurre o sc1t1 ' • '· · _
5
'-:ht have been expected rhat a carefully documented srucly of long-term SLICh 'lS civilizinu or srare formarion processes, with rhe rheoretical processes, ' b . . . . . _ . .1 ls developed from it. would-either in its enr1rery or in some of its . . · · ·r · f · II Propos, . ·ifrer rhorough resting and d1scuss10n, after cntical s1 ting o ,1 aspens, ' , c1· .. · 1· ,· · . ble or disiJroved content-have made some unsu1r,1 . mark on rlur c1sc1p mes . ·k of emjJirical and rheorerical knowledge. Smee rhe advance 01 scholar,roc f- · 1· . ship depends in large measure on inrerchange and cross- ern 1zat1on among numerous colleagues and on the conrinuous developmenr of rhe common stock of knowledge, ir might have been expected rhat rhirry later rh1s srudy would either haw become a pan of rht srandard k'.10wltdge of rht d1sc1plme or have 'oetn more or less ·su1Jerstded bv· the work of others and Luc! to resr · Insread, ] find rhat a generarion Llter rhis book still has rhe character of a · erinu work in ·1 1xoblemaric field which rodav is hardh· less in need rhan ir p1one b · ' . ·. . · · · d was thirty years ago. of rhe simulrnneous 1m·est1gar1on rhe empmcal _an rheorerical plane rhat is ro be found here. Recognirion of the urgency of the_ problems discussed here has grown. Everywhere in rhe chrection these problems are observable. There 1s no lack o.f attempts. ro solve roblems to whose solution rhe empirical documenranon m The CI1"d1zli!g ProcdS ro contribme, I do nor belie\·e these larer arrempts to have been J11lo . .
successful. To this, it must be enough ro discuss the way which the man who ar present is \videly regarded as rhe leading theoretician of soc10logy. Talcort Parsons, arrempts ro pose and solve some of rhe problems dealt w1rh here .. Ir is characrerisric of Parsons·s theoretical approach ro arrempt ro dissect analyr1cally inro rheir elemenrary compontnrs, as he once expressed ir, i the differenr types of society in his field of observation. He called ont particular type of elementary ··pattern variables .. These parrern variables include rhe dichotomy of ..affecrivin, .. and ··affective neutrality .. His conception can besr be understood by sociery to a game of cards: every type of society, in Parsons's view, represents a different "'hand" Bm the cards themselves are alway: the same; and their number is small, however diverse their faces may be. One of rhe wirh which rhe game is played is the polarity berween affecrivity and aftecnve nemralirv Parsons originally conceived rhis idea, he rells us, through social typology of Gw1eimch,1ft (community) and .(s_ooery). · .. p ·,11·i1Je·,1rs to bel1.eve, is characterized by aftecnv1ty and .. Community , arsons soc1ery .. b\· affective neutrality. Bur in determining the differences berween
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Pl)J/J<'i ipr
diftertnr r\"pts of and bc:r\veen difftrtnr tl"!Jc:S of relarionsl1 1·1,, ,.,. h. . . ' l t in and rht samt socien·. he arrribmcs rn rhis .. parrern n1riable .. in rhe card rn rhe mhers. a wholly general meaning . In rht same conrtxt, Parsons
or
hinbclf [() rhe problem or rhc:. relarion social srrucrnre [() ptrsonality. l:-ie 1nd1cares char while ht had pre\·lCiush sten rhtm mtreh· as closelv connec d . . .. . .. · · . · te and rnn:rac(lng human ac(lon sysrtms . ht can now scare \\·1rh cerrainty that in rhtorerical sense rhey are difforell[ phases or as peers of one and rhe rundamenral anion sysrem He illusrrarts chis by an example, explaining tha: \\·har may be considered on rhe sociological plant as an insrirmionalizatlon atfocri\"c: ncurralir1 is esstll[ially rhc: same as whar may be regarded on the personaliry as .. rhe imposirion of rtnunciarion of immediare grarificarion in the l!Heresrs ot disciplined organizarion and rhe longer-run goals of rhe ptrsonalitv" r!1is .._arer . Ir is perhaps useful for an undersranding '- of chis srnch·- rn com11are arrempr w sol\"e such problems wirh rht earlier one rtprill[ed in unchanged form here [in rhe 1969 German edirion] The decisi\"e cliffertnce in sciemific approach. and in rht conceprion of rhe objecrin:s of sociological rheory. is tvident e\"en rhis shorr example of Parsons·s uearmem of similar problems. \Vhar in this book is shown wirh rhe "id of exrensin: tmpirical clocumell[arion rn be a process, Parsons. by rhe srnric namre of his conceprs. reduces rerrosptcri\"ely. and ir seems w me quire unnecessarily. rn scares. Insreacl of a relari\·eh· complex process whtrtb\· rhe affl:nive lite of peoplt is gradual!)· mo\"ed rnwards an increased and more e\·en comrol of affecrs-bm certainly nor ro\rnrd a scare of rnrnl affective nemraliry-Parsons presenrs a simple opposirion berween rwo scares. affectivirv and arfocri\"e neuualiry. which are supposed rn be prestm ro cliffertm degrees different rypes of socieq·, like different quantiries of chemical subsrnnces. Bv rtclucing rn rwo differenr srnres whar was shown empirically in Thu . Pmcc.r.r rn be a process and inrerprertcl rheorerically as such. Parsons deprives himself of rhc: pussibilif\ of disco\"ering how rhe di,ringuishing peculiariries of difforenr socieries rn which he refors are acrnall)· rn be explained . So far as is apparenr. he 'clots nor even raise rhe quesrion of explanarion The differenr scares clenorecl by rhe anrithtses of rhe .. parrern rnriables .. are. ir seems. simply given. The subrh· arricuhued srrucmral change rnwarcl incrc:ased and more e\"en affect conrrol char may be obstrn·d in reality disappears in rhis kind of rheorizing. Social phenomena in realin- can onh· be obsern:d as de\"elopinu and ha\"ifl" of pairs of conceprs resrrict cle\·eloped: rheir clissecrion. by analysis rn rwo amirherical scares represems an unnecessary impoverishment of sociological perceprion on borh rhe empirical and rhe rheorerical levels. Cerrninly. iris rhe cask of every sociological rheory ro clarify rhe characreristics char all possible human socierits have in common . The concepr of social process, like many others used in chis srndy, has precisely chis funcrion. Bur rhe basic caregorits selecred by Parsons seem ro me arbitrary ro a high degree. Underlying chem is rhe racir. umesred and seemingly self-t\"idell[ norion char rhe objecri\"e
-155
of every sciemific rhtorv is ro reduce t\"eryrhing \"ariable w somerhing invanable. and w all compltx phenomena by d1ssenrng rhtm rnrn rhe1r rnd!\ 1du,1l cornponell[s. . . . _ The example of Parsons's rheory demonsrran:s. however. char rheonzrng 111 rhc field of sociology is complicarecl rarher rhan simplified by a systemaric reclucnon ,- --ocial !Jrocesses rn social scares, and or complex. hererogeneous srrucrnres w or ' . . . l . l · j s·,eminJC;h· homoueneous componell[S. This krnd or rec UC(lOn anc s1rnp er. c . c . . . ,. . absmicrion could be jusrified as a merhod or rheonzrng only_ tr ir led unro a clearer and deeper undersrancling b\" people or rhemselves as
v One example of chis. which will be discussed more fully lartr. is Parsons's arrempr rn develop a theorerical model of rhe relarionship btrwten personality srrucrnres and social srrucrnres In chis undertaking rwo nor very compauble iJc:as are frequently rhoroughh- confused: rhe nmion char individual and sociery-.. ego .. and "social sysrem .. -are rwo tmiries exisring independently of each other. wirh rhe individual regarded as rht acrnal realiry and sociery rrtared as an epiphenomenon: and rht norion char rhe rwo are differem bm inseparable planes of rht universe formed by men Furthermore. like "ego .. and ..social svsrem .. and all those related rn chem. which refer rn human bemgs as and as socieries. are applied by Parsons-excepr when he is using psychoanalyrical caregories-as if rht normal condirion of borh could be considered as an unalrerable srnre. Tht presell[ srndy cannor be properly uncltrsrnod if rhe view of whar is acrnally obserrnble in human beings is blocked by such norions Ir cannor be undersrnod if we forger char conceprs such as "individual .. and .. socicn··· do nor relare w rwo objecrs exisring separarely bm rn differtm yer inseparable. aspens of rhe same human beings. and rhar borh a_specrs (and human beings in general) are normally in\"Ol\"ecl in srrucrural rransrormarion. Boch have the characrer of processes. and chert is nor rhe slighresr necessiry. in forming rheories abom human beings. rn absrracr from chis proctss-character. Indeed. ir is indispensable chat the concepr of process be included in sociological and mher rheories relaring ro human beings . As is shown in rhis book. the relarion berwetn individual and social srrucrnres can only be clarified if bmh art investigared as changing, developing tll[iries" Only rhtn is it possible rn clewlop of rheir rela;ionship. as is clone here. which art in some agreemem wirh rhe clemonsrrablt fans . Ir can be scared \\·irh grtar cerramry char rhe relarion
-i56
Th1: Cil'i!izi11g Pn1ces.1
bttWttn what is rtferrtd ro concepruallv as rht "individLnl" ·111d as " · . . . · ' ' society" V/ll 1 rtma111 111comprehens1blt so long ,15 rhtse conceprs are used as if rhev rwo separare bodies, and (above all) bodies normallv ar resr whi;h l . . - . . . on v com 111ro comacr w1rl1 one anorher atrerwards as ir wtre. \\'irhour ever ·.. e , .. ., . . . . . . say tng 50 clear!: and opcnlJ, P.ir,ons and all ot the same j)trsuas 1'0 d . . ' n un oub _ eclly envisage rhose rh111gs ro which rhe concepts "individual" ·rnd ··so · _., t . . .. . . ' c1ety refer ,1s ex1snng separately Thus-ro give only one example-Parsons adopts th nonon alreadv devtlor)ed bv Durkheim rhat rhe rehtion b•'[\\'etn ... d' ·cl e .. . .. · . ... . . . ' in iv1 ual" and society is an 1merpenerranon ' of rhe individual and rhe social svste Howe\·er such an "imerpenetrarion" is conceived, what else can rhis ' m. . . .. _ metaphor me,111 than that we are concerned with two ditterem entities which fi . . . separacelr and rhen subseguentlr "111terpenerrate'')' This makes clear. rhe difference berween rhe two sociolouic1l ·1pr)ro·i I . . . _ . . b ' , , c 1n rh1s srucly rhe poss1b1lm· of discernrng more precisely the connection b . . . · . etween rnd1v1clual strunure_s and social srructures results from a refusal ro abstracr from tht proc:ss ot their clevelopmem_ as trom something incidemal or "merely hisroncal . For rhe strucrnres ot personalirv· and of socitt\'. evol\·e · · . . · m an imerrelarionship. It can ne\·er be said with certaimy rhat rhe people Bur on the basis of S\'Stemaric invesri b' "'Hions re"'e · ot a society• 11/'t c1vil1zecl . . . 1 rrmg ro evidence, 1t can be said wirh a high degree of certainty that _groufs of people have btcr1111e mo_re civilized, wirhour necessarily implying chat it 1s Detter or worse, has a pos1rl\'e or negar1ve value. ro become more ci_\:i_lized Such a change in personality srrucrures can, howen:r, be shown without ditficulry ro be a specific aspect of rhe development of social structures. This is attempted in what follows. It is not particularly surprising ro encounter in Parsons. and in manv other contemporary sociological theoreticians. a tendency to reduce processes stares even when these \Hirers are explicitly concerned wirh the problem of social change . In keeping with the predominam trend in sociology, Parsons rakes as his Starting-point the hypothesis rhat every society normally exists in a srate of unchanging equilibrium which is homeosrarically preserved. Ir changes, he supposes,' when this normal stare of social equilibrium is clisrnrbecl bv for example, a violation of the social norms, a breach of conformity Social thus appears as a phenomenon resulting from the accidental, externa!lv acti\·ated malfunction of a. normally well-balanced social system, J\foreover, society thus d1srurbed srnves, in Parsons's view, ro regain irs state of rest. Sooner or larer, as he sees ir, a different "system" with a different equilibrium is esrablished. which once again maintains itself more or less auromarically, despite oscillations: in the given stare. In a word, the concept of social change refers here ro a state between rwo normal states of changelessness, brought about by maltuncrion. Here, roo, rhe difference between rhe theoretical approaches represented by rhis study and by Parsons and his school emerges vef\' distincdr.
Postsffij1t the present study upholds rhe idea, based on abundant documentary material, rh
VI In writing a postscript to a book rhar on both rhe rheorerical and the empirical side is squarely opposed to widespread tendencies in contemporary
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The Cirili::i11g Pro«,ss
sociology. one has a cerrnin obligation rn tell rhe reader clearh· and how and why the problems posed here. and rhe steps taken solve them from those of rhe predominant type of sociology. and particularly from ' rheorerical sociolou\. To do rhis. one cannot tntireh evade rhe ,_ . . · . _ . .. · i 1ow It is rn be explarned that soc10logv. for whose leadrnu nineteenth-century rei . _ . . "' . . )resenrar 1ves rhe problems ot long-term social processes were of primordial should in rhe rwentierh century have become a sociolou\· of sre·1d\· sr·ires . . .· _ c. ' . ' to such an exrenr rhar rhe rnvesngar1on ot long-term social processes has as much as disappeared trom 1rs research acciviq·. \\iirhin the scope of this postscript cannot presum('. ro discuss rh1s d1splac('.mtnt ot rhe centre of interest sociolo!..'.ical research. and rhe radical chanue in rhe entire sociolou1·c·il m"n . . c ' " ner ot rhrnking connected wirh it. with rht rhoroLwhness rhev deserve Btit h 0 · · t e is importam for an understanding of rhe present book, and beyond rhar tor rhe further _devtlop:nem of s?ciology, rn be passed over in complere silence. I shall therefore conhne myself ro picking out a few elements from the of conditions responsible for this regression in rhe imtllecrual apparatus ot sociology and rhe concomitant narrowing of irs field of inquiry..
;o
L-
,
The mosr obvious why awareness of rhe significance of problems oflongrtrm soual change. ot rhe sociogtnesis and den:lopmem of social formations of all kinds has been largely lost rn sociologists. and why rhe concept of development has fallen inro disrtpure among rhcm, is ro be found in rhe reaction of manv sociologisrs-abo\·e all. rhe ltading rheorericians of rhe rn·entierh certain aspects of rhe most prominent sociological rheorits of rhe cenrury. Ir has been shown rhar rhe theoretical models of long-rtrm social development elaborated in the nineteenth cenrury by men like Comte, Spencer, Marx, Hobhouse and many others rested in part on hypotheses determined primarilv by the political and philosophical ideals of these mtn and onlv secondarilv by their relation ro facts. Lm:r generations had a much larger and of the consrnnrly increasing supply of facts at their disposal. classical ninereenrh-cenrury theories of de\·tlopment in light of rhe more comprehensive findings of subsequent generations made many aspects of the earlier process-models appear questionable or at any rate in need of revision. Mani· of rhe sociological pioneers· articles of faith were no longer acceprtd by rwentierh-cemurv sociologists. These included. above all. rht belief rhat the de\·elopment of society is necessarily a development for rht berrer. a movemem in rhe direction of progress This belief was empharicalh· rejected bv manv later more sociologists in accordance with their own social experien.ce They cl('.arly in retrospect rhar rhe earlier models of development comprised a mixture of relarively fact-based and of ideological notions. In a marure discipline one might. first of all. have ser about rhe rnsk of revisin.g and correcting rhe earlier models of developmem. One might have uied, in this siruarion. to ascerrain which aspects of rhe old theories could be used as
b
of Jead doctrines
_ . . Instead. an extremely sharp reaction against the rype ot soc10log1cal theory concerned wirh long-term social processes ser in. The srudy of tht long-term_ development of society was almost uni\·ersally decried, and rhe ce_ntre ot
460
Th, Cfrilizing Process
scientific character of their research against tht interference of political philosophical ideas in the theory of their subject Exponents of com. and .. . . . . . emporarv souolog1cal theones of steady scares art themselves otren inclined to ' interpretation. On closer examination, however, it is found robe inadequate. reaction against the sociology of development ixedominant in tl1e ni'n eteenrh century was not d1recred s1m1)lv against the 1;nmacv of ideals the domi'na : . · . ' nee of . . . preconceived social. docmnes, m rhe name ot scientihc obi'ecrivitv.. It "' . . n·as not simply rhe express10n ot a concern ro pull aside the veil of short-lived notions of whar society ought ro be, in order ro ]Jtrceive the real dvnamics and flrnct 1· · . _. . : '." . . . · . onmg ot souerv irselt. In rhe last analvs1s It was a reacr10n a"amsr pri'macy or" . . . . . . • . o ' jh1rt1mla_r ideals m soc10log1cal theory, in rhe name ot orhers partly opposed to rhem. It in rhe nineteenth century specific conceptions of what ought ro be or of what was desired-specific ideological conceptions-led ro a central interest in rhe development of society, in the twentieth century other conceptions of what ought rn be or is desirable--other ideological conceptions-led ro rhe pronounced interest among leading sociological theorists in the state of society as it is, to their neglect of problems of rhe dynamics of social formations. and to their lack of interest in problems of long-term processes and in all the opportunities of explanation that the investigation of such problems provides. This sharp change in the characrer of social ideals, encountered here in the cle\·elopment of sociology, is not an isolated event. Ir is sympromaric of a more comprehensive change in rhe ideals predominant in rhe countries in which rhe main work of sociology is concentrated This change points, in turn, ro a specific transformation that has been raking place in rhe nineteenth and nventieth centuries in the internal and external relations of the older, more developed industrial stares. Ir must suffice here-as a sketch of a more extensive inguiryto indicate briefly rhe main outlines of this transformation. This will facilitate understanding of sociological studies which, like the present one, give a central place ro the investigation of long-term processes. The purpose is not to arrack other ideals in rhe name of one's own, but ro seek a better understanding of the structure of such processes themselves and ro emancipate the theoretical framework of sociological research from rhe primacy of social ideals and doctrines. For we rnn only elicit sociological knowledge which is sufficiently adequate ro be of use in solving the acure problems of socierv if in posing and solvin" sociolo<>ical problems, w: cease giving precedence ;reconcei;ed notions : f what'° the solurions ought ro be over rhe investigation of what is. •
•
L.
•
•
VII In the industrializing countries of rhe nineteenth century in which rhe first great pioneering works of sociology were written, the voices expressing the social beliefs, ideals, hopes and long-rerm goals of rhe rising industrial classes gradually
PostsaijJt
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ullined the advantage over those seeking to preserve rhe ex_isting soc_ial order in ". · rerests of the esnblished courrh·-dvnasric. arisrocranc or parr1crnn power rne in ' . . . . . . . elites. It was the former who, in keeping with their s1tuat10n as rhe nsmg classes, !Juel high expectations of a better future And as their ideal lay not m rht. present but in rhe future. they were particularly mrerested m rhe dynamics,_ the development. of society. In conjunction wirh one or of. these ns111g industrial classes, the sociologists of_ rhe rime sough;_ confirmat10n that the development of mankind would move 111 the direcoon or their wishes hopes. They did so by exploring rhe direction and the driving forces_ or soCial development hirherro. In rhis acrivity they undoubtedly brough: ro light a very considerable amount of adequate knowledge on the problems or sooal developmenc Bm it is often very difficult in rerrospect ro distinguish between speofic hereronomous doctrines filled with short-lived, rime-bound ideals and those conceptual models which have a significance independent of these ideals, and reliant solely on verifiable facts. . On the other side in the nineteenth century were to be heard rhe voices of chose who, for one reason or anorher, opposed the transformation of society_ through indusrrializarion, whose social fai rh was oriented ro\vard conservation of rhe e:isting heriwge. and who held up, against what they took ro be rhe deteriorating present, rheir ideal of a berrer pasr. They represented not only rhe pre-industrial elires of rhe dynastic srares but also working groupsabove all, those engaged in agriculture and handicrafts, whose rraclmonal liYelihoods were being eroded by advancing inclusrrializarion. They were rhe opponents of all those who spoke from the sranclpoint of rhe two rising industrial classes-the commercial class and rhe working class-and who, !I1 keeprng w1rh rhe rising siruarion of rhese classes, drew their inspiration from a belief in a better future. the progress of mankind. Thus, in rhe nineteenth cenrury, rhe chorus of voices was split berween those exwlling a better past and those celebrating a better future Among rhe sociologists whose image of society was oriented roward progress and a better future are ro be found. as we know, spokesmen of the two industrial classes Thev include men like Marx and Engels, who identified rhemsel\'es wirh rhe indusrri.al working class; and rhey include bourgeois sociologists like Comte at the beginning of the nineteenth cenrury or Hobhouse
BLIE rn undersrand Ehis shifr iE is nor enough. as has been considtr only class i1gurarions. rht social relarionships within industrial classes widiin rhe industrializing starts of Europe: in rht cc:nrnry went hand in hand with rhc: continuing rise: these nations In rhar ctnrnry rhtst narions drove each orhtr b1· consrant rivalrv w
or
. . · . . · . · a greater 111crtase ol rhc:1r predom111anct o\·tr less de1·eloped nar1ons than ever before. only che classes wirhin rhtm bur also rhtse srart-socieries in rheir roc·il·1 , . . . . . . ' t} were ris111g. txpand111g social tormar1ons
Om: mighr be rempred ro anribL1Ee rht belief in progress in European in rht centuries preceding rhe rwentiech I)[imarih-. ro rhe i)ro«ress i11 sc 1·,"1...nce 'c rechnologv. Bur rhar is ctn insufficient explanation. How lirde rhc: experience: scientific and technological progress alone gi1·es rist roan idealizacion of proi•rr-ss 0 ro a confident L1idi in rhe continuous improvement of rht hunnn ccJtia'i'Ei· ' · ' ' on, 1s shown clearly enough by cht rwenritdi century. The acrnal degree and tempo of progress in science and cechnology in rhis century exceed rhar in rht centuries very considerably. Likewise, rht srandard of living of rhe masses in Ebe countries of rhe lirsr wa1·e of inclusrrializaEion has been higher in rhe Ewemieth century Ehan in preceding centuries The start of htalrh has improved; life txptcrancy has increased. Bur in rl1t wrnl chorus of Ehe rime. che HJices of rhose \Vhu affirm progress as sumtrhint: valuable. who see in cht impro\·tmenr of the rnndirion of men die ctmrtpitce of a social ideal. and who believe conlidenrlv in rhe btrrtr future of mankind, ha\·e become appreciably fewer chan in preceding centuries. On rl1t orher side of rhe choir. the \·oices of dwse \\hu casr doubE 011 all rlitst dt\·tlopmenrs, who stt no great promise of a btrter future for mankind or even tlJr rhtir own nacion, and whose central social fairh conctnrrarts instead on dit present as the highesr \·alut. on rhe constf\'ation of Ehtir own naEion, on die idealization of irs existing social form or ewn of irs pasr. irs heritage: and irs tradiriona! order. art increasing in rhe rwenrierh cemury and gradualh· becoming t\·tr louder. In rht precec1ing centuries. in which acrual progress \ms ,;lrtadv palpable 1·er still slow and rt!aEively limiEed, rhe idea of future had die charautr ofan ideal rowards which irs adherents wtrt stri\·ing and which possessed high value precisely as an ideal. In rlit nvenrierli centurv. when. in die older industrial nations. actual progress in science. ttchnolo;\. healrh, d1e standard of li\·ing and noE least in rht reduction of inequaliry berwten people exceeds by far rht progress in all previous cenruries, progress has ceased for manv ptoplt to bt an ideal. Tht 1·oices of d1ose who doubE all rhis acrnal progress gro\v1ng mort nun1erous.
The reasons for diis change are manifold Nor all nttd bt considtrtd htre . The recurrent \1·ars. rhe incessant danger of war, and rlit thrtac of nuclear and orher ne1v scientific weapons certainly contribure ro rhis coincidence of acceltraring progress. particularly in d1e scientific and rechnical fields. wirh diminishing conficlenct in rht value of rhis progress and of progress in general
But rhe conrtmpE htaped in rht rwenriedi cenrurv on rht preceding ctnruries'_ ·«halllJ\V .. btlitf in progress or their notion of a progressive ot , soci··-r\" rht obstructions blockinu sociologisrs' vie\\. of problems ot long11 ha!11
-i6-i
The Cii'ili::i11g Pm({;ss
exceprions) ar firsr remained large: for a rimt ir evtn incrtased. Bur the idea formed and established itself in the al(e of the unchallenl2'.ecl ascend·incv ,. h . . ,_ ' f or t e European nanons, as among._ all powerful and rulml(,_ ,l(rou1Js in the world , ti1at t hp, __ power rhe1·. wert
Postscrij1t
465
specific changes in rhe realm of ideas and in rhe modes of thought of intellectuals. rhe eighretnth and nineteenth centuries. philosophers and sociologists who spoke of "society" wtre usually thinking of "bourgeois society"-thar is, aspects of social life chat seemed to lie beyond rhe dynastic and military aspects of rhe sratt. In ketping with their situation and their ideals as spokesmen for groups which were by and large excluded from access to the central positions of state power. these men, whtn talking of society, usually had in mind a human society trnnscending all stare frontiers. \\/irh rhe extensive assumption of state power by representatives of the two industrial classes, and with rhe corresponding development of national idtals in these two classes and particularly in rheir represenrativt ruling e!itts, chis conception of society was changed in sociology as well. In society at large, rht various class ideals of rhe industrial classes are increasingly mingling and inttrpeneuating with national ideals. Certainly, conservative and liberal national ideals show a differtnt nuance of nationalism than do socialist or communist ones. But such nuances influenced only marginally, if at all, the broad outline of the change char rook place in the arrirude toward stare and nation of the established industrial classes, including their political and intellectual spokesmen, when these classes, ctasing to be groups excluded from central state power, btcame groups truly consrimring the nation, whose leaders themselves represented and exercised statt power It corresponds with chis development char many twtntitrh-cenrury sociologists, when speaking of "society'', no longer have in mind (as did their predectssors) a "bourgeois society" or a "human society" beyond rhe state, but increasingly the somtwhat diluted ideal image of a nationswre \\/ithin their general conception of society as something abstracted from the reality of tht narion-srate, tht abovt-mentioned political and ideological nuances are again co be found. Among rhe leading sociological theorists of rhe twentieth century. conservative and liberal as well as socialist and communist, shades are to be found in the image of society they portray Since, in rhe twenritrh century, American sociology assumed for a timt the leading role in rhe development of theoretical sociology, rht dominant type of sociological theory of this period reflected rhe specific character of tht predominant American national ideal. within which constrvarive and liberal ftamres are nor so sharply divided, or felt to be so antithtrical, as in some European narion-srates, particularly Germany.<' In sociological discussions, and in philosophical debates as well, the rejection of certain aspects of the sociological theories of tht nineteenth century-above all, their orientation toward social development and the concept of progress-is often presenttd as based solely on tht facma! inadtquacy of thtst rhtories. The short survey char has been given here of one of rhe main structural tendencies of the development of relations wi chin and between rhe older industrial nations throws inro sharper relief certain ideological aspects of chis rejection. In
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Postscript
accordance wirh rhe concepr of ideolot;v cleveloptd wirhin rhe Marxian tr"d. · '· · " 1t1on one milihr seek ro tXj)lain rhe ic!tological asi)tCfs of rht nedecr <)'i" ::i.Octai • . '. development, and rht preoccuparion wirh sready-srare social sysrems, in recenr sociological rheorits. solely by reftrc-nce ro rhc- ideals of classes L
._
.._,
hopes. wishes and ideals are relared nor ro rhe future bm ro the conservation of rhe exisring order. Bm rhis class-explanarion of rhe social beliefs and implicit in sociological theory is no longer sufficient in rhe rwenrierh century, In rhis ptriod wt musr also rake accounr of rhe dtvelopmenr of narional · rhar rranscend social classes in order ro uncltrsrand rhe ideological aspects of sociological rhtories. The inregrarion of rhe nvo indusrrial classes inro a state srrucrure previously ruled by numerically very small pre-industrial minoritie<>· rhe rise of borh classes ro a posirion in which rheir represenrarives play a or less dominanr role in rhe scare, and in which even rhe weaker secrors of the indusrrial workers can no longer be ruled wirhour rheir consenr; and the resulring srronger identification of borh classes wirh rhe narion-all rhese factors gin: special imperus. in rhe social attirudts of rhis rimt. ro the belief in one's own narion as one of rhe highesr values in human life. The lengthening and mulriplicarion of chains of inrercleptndence berween stares. and rhe hei«htening of specific rensions and conrlicrs berween states resulring from rhis. rht rous narional wars and rhe ever-presenr danger of war-all rhese facrors conrribure ro rhe growrh of nation-cenrrecl parrerns of rhoughc Ir is rhe convergence of rhese inrrnsrare and inrersrare lines of development in the older industrial narions rhar has weakened the ideal of progress, rhe orienrarion of faith and desire roward a berrer fmure and rherefore also roward an image of the pasr considered as development. Combined, rhe rwo lines of development cause rhis type of ideal ro be replaced by orhers clirecred ar consen-ing and defending rhe existing ordtr. They relart ro somtrhing rhar is felt ro be: immurnble and rt,dized in rhe prtstnr-rhe c-rtrnal nation The voices proclaiming btlief in a berrer fornre and rhe progress of m,mkind as rheir ideal make way. as i:ht clominanr secrion in the mixed social chorus of rht rime. for the voices of rhose who give precedence ro rhe rnlut of whar exisrs and. above all, to rhe rime less value of rheir own narions. for which. in the succession of grear and small wars. many people have losr rheir lives. This is-skerched in its main ourline-rhe overall strucrural den:lopmenr which is rerlecred in rht development of rheories of society.. Theories which rerlecr rhe ideals of rising classes in expanding indusrrial societies have been replaced by rheories dominated by che ideals of more or less established classes in highly developed societies whose growrh has reached or passed i rs peak.. As an example of rhis type of sociological rheory. ir may suftict ro cire one of irs representarive conceprs. rhar of rht "social systtm ... as used by Parsons. bm ctrrainly not by him alone . Ir expresses very clearly rhe way in which a "society" is now conctived A "social sysrem 1s a soc1erv "in equilibrium Small
467
oscillations of rhis equilibrium do occur, bm normally sociery exisrs in a srate of resr. All irs parrs. in this conceprion. are normally harmoniously arrnned ro one ,l!1orher. All individuals belonging ro ir are normally arruned by rhe same kind of socializarion ro rhe same norms. All art normally well-inregrattcl. respecr rhe same values in rheir acrions, fultil their prescribed roles wirhour difficulry Conrlicrs berween rhem do nor normally occur; rhest, like changes in rhe system, J.rt manifesrarions of malfunction . In shorr, rhe image of sociery represented rbeorerically by rhis concept of rhe social sysrem reveals irself on closer inspecrion ro be the ideal image of a narion: all the people belonging ro ir obey the same norms on rhe basis of rhe same sociaiizarion, uphold rhe same values, and rims live normally in well-inrtgrated harmony wirh one anorher. In rhe conceprion of rhe .. social sys rem .. rhat we have before us, in orher words. rhe image of rhe narion as community can be discerned . Ir is racirly assumed rhar wirhin such a "sysrtm" there is a relarively high degree of equality between people, for inregrarion resrs on the same socialization of people, on rhe uniformiry of rheir values and norms rhroughout rhe enrire sysrem. Such a .. sysrem" is therefore a consrrucrion absrracted from a democrarically conceived m1tion-srare From whare,·er side rhis consrruction is considered, rhe disrinction berween whar rhe narion is and whar the narion oughr robe is blurred. Just as in rhe ninereenrh-cenrury sociological models of development rhe desired social process was presenred (mingled wirh realisric observarions) as a facr, so in rhe rwenrieth-cenrnry sociological models of a normally unchanging "social sysrem" the desired ideal of a harmonious inregrarion of all parrs of rhe narion is also presenred (mingled with realistic observarions) as somerhing rhar exists, a facr. Bur in rhe former case it is the furnre, in rhe latter the presenr, rhe nation-srare exisring here and now. rhar is idealized. A mixrure of "is" and "oughr". of facrual analvses and normative posrnlares, rtlacing primarily ro a socitry of a very dttinitt type. a narion-srate conceived in broadly egalirarian fashion, rhus presenrs itself as rhe cenrrepiece of a rheory which claims ro be capable of serving as a model for rhe scientific invesrigation of socieries in all rimes and places One need only raise rhe quesrion of whether and how far such sociological rheories--clerived primarily from presenr-day, more or less democraric nation-stare socieries which presuppose a high degree of inregrarion of people inro rbe "social sys rem .. as somerhing borh self-evidenr and desirable, and which rherefore, imply a relarively advanced srage of social democrarization-are applicable ro societies ar different srages of developmenr, and which are less cenrralized and democrarized, in order ro perceive rhe weakness of a general rheory of sociery from the church-sreeple perspecrive of rhe present srart of our own sociery. If such models of a "social sys rem .. are res red for their suirabiliry as rheorerical rools for rhe scienritic invesrigarion of a sociery wirh a high percenrage of slaves or unfree subjecrs. or of feudal or hierarchical srares-rhar is. socieries in which nor e\·en rhe same laws. !er alone rhe same
468
The Cirilizi11g Pmces.•
norms and values, apply w_ all people-it is quickly seen how present-centred these sociological models ot systems conceived as srares acrual!y are. \Vhat has been illustrated here by the "social system·· example could be without
VIII To understand rhe obstruction which the predominant modes of thinking and feeling post ro the investigation of long-term changes of social structure and personality structure-and thus ro an understanding of this book-it is not enough ro trace rhe development of the image of people as societies. rhe image
Postscript
469
cierv• Ir is also necessarv• to keep in mind the development of rhe. image of . ·1s 1'ndividuals rht ima"e of rhe j)ersonalin-. le peop , · "' _.. As .has been mtnt10ned. one of rhe peculiarities of the traditional human selt-1mage is that people often speak "nd think of individuals and societies as if these were rwo phenomena existing separately-of which. moreover, one is often considered "real" and the other "unreal"-instead of cwo different aspects of the same human being. Neither can chis curious aberration of thinking be understood without a oiance at its implicit ideological content. The splitting of the image of humanity an image of man as individual and an image of men as societies has widely ramifying roots . One branch is a very characteriscic split in the values and ideals encountered, on close inspection, in all rhe more developed nation-states. and perhaps most pronounced in nations with a strong liberal In rht development of the value systems of all such nation-stares, one frnds, on the one hand, a strand which sees society as a whole, rht nation, as the highest value; and. on rht other. a strand which posits the wholly self-sufficient, free individual, the "closed personality", as the highest value. Ir is nor always easy to harmonize rhese rwo "highest \·alues" with ont another. There are siruations in which the rwo ideals art plainly irreconcilable. Bur usually this problem is nor squarely faced. People ralk wirh great warmth of rhe freedom and independence of che individual, and wirh equal warmth of the freedom and independence of their own nation. The first ideal arouses che expectation rhar rhe individual member of a nation-stace, despite his community and interdependence with others, can reach his decisions in an entirely self-sufficient way, without regard to others; the second arouses the expectation-fulfilled particularly in war bm often enough in peacetime, too-that rht individual should and must subordinate everything belonging to him, even his life, to the survival of rhe "social whole". This split in rhe ideals. chis contradiction in the ethos by which people art brought up. is reflected in the theories of sociology. Some of these theories rake as their starring point the independent, self-sufficient individual as the "true" reality, and therefore as the true object of social science; others start with tbt independent social totality. Some theories attempt to harmonize rht rwo conceptions, usually without indicating how iris possible ro reconcile rhe idea of an absolutely independent and free individual with that of an equally independent and free "social toralirv'', and often wirhom clearly perceiving rhe problem. The reflection of rhis inner division between the two ideals is seen above all in rhe theories of sociologists whose national ideal has a conservariveliberal tinge. Max \Veber's theoretical work-if nor his empirical work-and the theories of his successor Talcott Parsons are examples of this . It mav suffice as illustration to return once more to what has already been said about Parsons's conception of rhe relation of individual and society, of the "individual acror" and the "social system .... One description of their relation is contained in the metaphor of "interpenetration". which shows clearly the c
01 SO
Pr)Jfstri/1/
importam role.
by die idea of the separate existence of the two
fhe re1hcac10n ot che ided therefore finds expression edifice not only in the notion of cht social s\·scem as a Sj)ecific _ . _ . _ . . . . · n,lt10n. bm also 111 chat ot the rndl\·1dual actor · che "e,,o·· _ c- · ·1s ·1 11
in chis i l·· l · c ea tmage l · 1·c1·-· e"1 1n1a1,-p 0 tree individual existing indepenc!emly of all ochers. In both cases the ..,·.'""'··' ideal image. is changed · I· , . unawares under his hands into ·'1 ficc ' . »Omer 1ing th actually exists. For with regard w the imaue of the individLi·1l re I . at . _ . , c'· • >o. w lat 1n rh l
'
mmd ot the rheonst ought ro be. rhe imaue of rhe ·•bsolL ·l · f e . I l . 1· . I . ' "" ,. . I te ) re:e ancl me e:penc ent me !\'IC uaL 1s rreared as if it were rhe image of what rhe actual! y is. Now this is certainly nor the place to fathom the reasons for this disseminated split in thinking ·· , about human beinus c- · Bttt tllt- cuucern of the present study cannot properly be understood so lonu as rhe nrobl · . . . . c,. ems o,r the c1VJ!iz1ng process are approached with the notions of rhe individLial ti h . . .1at ave JUSt bten mtnt10ned. In rht course of this process the srrucrnres of rht human being are changed in a particular direction. This is \Vhar rhe
r
cpt or . c1n 1zanon . 1n r le taccua sense in which it is used here. actually means. The
.. . ·1·
.
.. .
l
.
l
current today of the indi\·idual as an absolutely independent and selfsuthcient being is_ difficult to reconcile with rhe facts ·1dduced here · [rob structs . '
berween narura l t\·tnrs· .. r 11•c cc1L1rs•-c ot· rlir-, stars. min and sun . thunder and lightning. ,is nurnresr,inons of a blind. impersonal. purely and r;guLu sequence of c,1us,1l connections Bur rhe "closed personal1ry· .ot h0Ji1r1 apparently perceiws this mechanical and regular causal cham as an
adult simply by opening his eyes. wirhom needing to learn anything abour ir from others. and quire independently of rhe stage of knowledge reached by society. The procus-rhe incliYiclual human being as a process in growing up. · ni·iti beinus to"tditr as a 1xocess in the develO]Jmenr of mankind-is rtcliic,d JlLI
in r
,
c
"'
trr i! .1!<1!1:.
The individual opens his eyes as an adult and not only
ec(wnizes auronomoush· here and now. without learning from others, what all o
.
these objects art rhar he perceives; he nor only knows immediately what he is to classify as animate and inanimate. as mineral, n:gernble or animal; but he also knows directly here and now rhar they are linked causally in accordance with narurnl laws. The question for philosophers is merely whether he gains this knowledge of causal connections here and now on the basis of his experiencewherher. in other words. these connections are a property of the observable facts "outside .. him-or rhe connections are something rooted in the nature of human reason and superadcled from .. inside" the human being to whar flows into him from .. omside" d1rough rhe senst organs. If we srarr from this image of man.
l ..
from rht homo philos11j1hims who was never a child and seemingly came into the
m ·!\'I ua and social planes. Parsons uses on occasion. to illusrrare his imaQe of the personality, the old metaphor of the personality of rhe human actorwas a
steers helplessly back and forth between the Scylla of positivism and the
undersrandrng ot the long-term processes which people undergo on bot!
• d' 'd
l
L
l tk
0
world an adult. rhere is no way our of the epistemological impasse Thought
"black box ... i.e. a closed container "inside .. which certain individual processes
Chaffbdis of apriorism. Ir does so precist!y because what is actually obsen·able as
rake place. The metaphor is rnken from the toolbox of psychology It basicallv means that all that can be observed scientificallv in a human bein<• is I··
a pr;cess, a development of rht social macrocosm within which the dtvelopmtnr
1thaviour \ve can observe what rhe "black box .. does. Bur what goes on inside the box. what is also cermtd the "soul" or "mind .. -rhe .. ghost in rhe machine··
stare. an act of perception raking place here and now. \vt have here an example of how closely rhe inabiliry to conceiw long-term social processes !i e .. structured
[
·
o
l!S
of the individual microcosm can also be observed, is reduced in thought to a
as an .English philosopher called ir' -is nor an object of scientific investigation: In this context. one cannot avoid exploring in more derail an image of the
clnnues in rhe fiuurarions formed b\· htrgt numbers of inrerdtpendem human
individual which plays a considerable role in the human sciences rochl\·' and rhus
to
also contributes to rhe neglect of long-term changes in human course of social development as a subject of research.
sec:ms self-evident rhar their own self (or their ego. or whatever else it may be
1
in the
The image of the individual as an entirely free, independent being. a "closed personality" who is '·inwardly .. quire self-sufficient and separate all other people. has behind it a long tradition in rhe development of European societies. In classical philosophy this figure comes onto the scene as rhe epistemological subject In this role. as homo jJhiksoj>hims. rhe individual gains knowledge of the world .. ourside" him in a complertly autonomous wa\·. He does nor need to learn. to
rake this knowledge from others. The fact that
came into rhe world as a
child, the whole process of his development to aclulrhoocl and as an adult, is neglected as immaterial by this image of man. In rhe development of mankind it rook many thousands of ytars for people to learn
to
understand rhe rt!arions
be:n;s) or to
rhe human
forming such figurations is connected
a certain rype of human self-image and st!f-ptrceprion People to whom it
called) exists. as it were, ··inside .. rhem. isolated from all rhe other people and rhin;:;s .. omside". have difficult\' assigning significance to all rhose fans which rhar indi\·icluals live rhe first in interdependence with others. They have difficulty conceiving people as relatively bur nor absolmely autonomous and interdependent indi\·icluals forming changeable figurations with one another. Since rhe former self-perception seems self-evident to those subscribing to it. rhe\' cannot easily rake account of facts which show that this kind of perception is limited particular societies, rhar it comes into being in conjunction with certain kinds of interdependencies. of social bonds benveen people-in short. rhar it is a structural ptculiariry of a specific srage in rhe civilizing process, corresponding to a specific stage of the differentiation and individualization of
Postscrijit
473
human groups ff one grows up in rhe midsr of such a group, one cannot imagine rhar there could be people who do nor experience themselves in this as entirely self-sufficient individuals CLIC off from all ocher beings and This kind of self-perception appears as obvious, a symptom of an eternal scare, simply rhe normal, narnral and universal self-perceprion of all human beings. The concepr1on of rhe rnd1v1dual as ho1110 dc111s11s, a lnde world in who ulrimarely exisrs quire independently of rhe grear world outside, determines the image of human beings in generaL Every other human being is likewise seen as a homo dc111s11s; his core, his being, his rrue self appears likewise as somethinr divided within him by an invisible wall from everything outside, including other human being. '
, -orerical approaches which present rhe individual as rhe rruly exisrent beyond . l. l · \' che crulv "real" (socierv being seen as an absrracnon, somer irng nor rru y . 5oc1er , ·- ·n· a) and ocher rheorerical approaches which posir socierv as a "sysrem", a D ' ' . . . · l i'C. 1cr f'li o"eiieris" ' a realirv• of a peculiar rvpe bevond ind1v1cluals Ar .mosr one •Isoc1a . 1 _ ·s occasionallv done in an apparent solution ot rhe problem-Juxtapose can--,as l rhe cwo conceptions unconnectedly, char of the individual as honw dc1m11s, as ego, l!S individual beyond society, and char of society as a sysrem ours1cle and beyond individuals Bur rhe incomparibiliry of these rwo conceptions is nor rhereby disposed of. In order ro pass beyond this dead encl of sociology rhe soClal sciences in general, ir is necessary ro make clear rhe inadequacy of borh concep· ns , rliar of rhe individual oursicle socierv· and, equallv, .no - char of a socierv· oursicle
Bur rhe narnre of this wall itself is hardly ever considered and never properlv explained. Is the body the vessel which holds the true self locked within it? the skin the frontier benveen "inside" and "outside"" \Vhar in rhe human individual is the container, and what the contained" The experience of "inside" and "outside .. seems so self-evident that such questions are scarcely ever posed; they seem ro require no further examination. People are satisfied with the spatial metaphor of "inside" and "outside", bur make no serious anempr ro locate the ··inner" in space: and although this omission to investigate one·s own presuppositions is hardly appropriate to scientific procedure, this preconcein:d image of hr11110 c/,ms11s commands the stage nor only in society at large bur ,tlso in the human sciences. Its deri\·,1rives include nor only rhe rradirional h1m10 w1.uoJWJ111c;1s. rhe image of man of classical episremology, but also ho11;r, odom1111jcm, homo ho1110 historims, and nor lease h1Jm11 s1Jci1J!1Jgims in his present-day wrsion. The images of rhe individual of Descarres, of .i\fax \\/eber, and of Parsons and many ocher sociologists are of rhe same provenance. As philosophers did before chem, many sociological rheorisrs rnday accept rhis self-perception, and the image of the individual corresponding ro ir. as rhe umesred basis of their rheories. They do nor detach themselves from ir in order ro confrom ir and call irs aptness irito quesrion. Consequenrly, chis kind of self-perceprion and image of rhe individual oft'en co-exisr unchanged with arremprs w avoid reducing processes to stares . In Parsons, for example, the sraric image of rhe ego, rhe indi\·idual actor. the adult absrracred from rhe process of growing up, co-exisrs unmediarecl wirh rhe psychoanalyrical ideas char he has taken over in his theory-ideas which relate nor to rhe stare of adulrhoocl bur to rhe process of becoming aclulr, to the individual as an open process in indissoluble imerclependence wirh ocher individuals. As a resulr, rhe ideas of social rheorists constantly find themselves in blind alleys from which chert seems no way our. The inclividual--or, more precisely, whar rhe present concept of rhe individual refers ro--appears
individuals. This is diffirnlr as long as the sense of rhe encapsularion of rhe self wirhin irself serves as rhe unrested basis of rhe image of the individual, and as long as, in conjuncrion wirh chis, the concepts "individual" and "sociery" are under-
tfiC
+
/
stood as if rhey related ro unchanging stares. The conceprnal crap in which one is continually being caughr by these static notions of "individual" and "sociery·· can only be prized open if, as is clone here, these notions are developed further, in conjunction wirh empirical invesrigarions, in such a way rhar rhe rwo concepts are made to refer ro processes Bur this is iniriallv blocked by rhe exrraorclinarily persuasive self-perceprion in European since roughly the Renaissance, of human beings in rerms of rheir own isolation, che severance of their own "inside" from everyrhing "omside" In Descartes che perception of rhe isolation of the individual, who finds himself confronrecl as a chinking ego wirhin his own head by rhe enrire external world, is somewhat weakened bv rhe idea of Goel. In conremporary sociology the same basic experience finds expression in rhe acring ego, which finds irself confronred wirh people "omsicle" as "ochers". Aparr from Leibnizian monadology, rhere is in this philosophico-sociological rraclirion scarcely a single approach ro the problem char sets out from the basis of a multipliciry of inrerdepenclem human beings. Leibniz, who did jusr char, only managed ro do so by bringing his version of ho1110 damm, rhe .. windowless monads .. , in relarion co one anorher by a metaphysical consrrucrion All rhe same, monadology represenrs an early advance in rhe direcrion of precisely rhe kind of model char is urgendy in need of further development in sociology roday. The decisive step Leibniz rook was an ace of self-clistamiarion, which enabled him to entertain rhe idea char one mighr experience oneself nor as an "ego" confroming all ocher people and rhings, bur as a being among ochers. It was characterisric of rhe prevalent kind of experience in char whole period char rhe geocentric world-picrnre of the preceding age was superseded only in rhe area of inanimate nature by a worlcl-picmre demanding_ from rhe subjecr of experience a higher degree of self-detachment, a removal of oneself from rhe centre. In men's reflection on rhemselves rhe geocentric worldpicture was to a large exrem preserved in rhe egocemric one rhar replaced it. Ar
Th, Cil'ilizi11g Prric,_u rhe centre of che human universe, or so ic appeared. srood each single being as an individual compleceh· independent of all ochers. Nothing is more characteriscic of che unquestioning way iri which even in thinking about human beings, the separate individual is taken as the scartingpoint than the fact that one does nor speak of homims or oecon0111;caP when talking of the image of man in the social sciences, bur always of the • of the single human being, the homo or olC0110111icm From this conceptual starting-point, society presents itself finally as a colleetion of individuals completely independent of each other. whose true essence is locked within them and who therefore communicate only exrernally and from the surface. One must call on the help of a metaphysical solution, as Leibniz did, if. scarring from windowless. closed. human and extrahuman monads. one is ro justify the notion that interdependence and communication between them, or rhe perception bv human beings of interdependence and communication, are possible. \Vhether are dealing \vich human beings in their role as "subjecc" confronting the "object", or in cheir role as "individual" confronting "sociecy". in boch the problem is presented as if an adult human being. complecely isolated and selfsufficient-that is. in a form reflecting the prevalent self-perctprion of people in the modern age. crystallized in an objectifying concept-constituces the frame of reference. \\1 hat is discussed is his relation to something "outside" himself conceived
IX Lee us try to make clear whac che problem actually is char is being discussed here. \Ve are nor concerned with calling into doubc che authenticity of cbe selfperception char finds expression in che human self-image as homo d111m1s and its many Yariati.ons. The question is whecher chis self-perceprion, and che human self-image in which it is usually crystallized quite spontaneously and without reflection, can serve as a reliable starting-point for an arcempt to gain adequate understanding of human beings-and therefore also of oneself--regardless of whether this anempc is philosophical or sociological Is it justified-char is the question-co place at the foundacion of philosophical theories of percepcion and knowledge, and of sociological and ocher cheories in the human sciences, as a self-evident assumprion incapable of furcher explanacion, the sharp dividing line between whac is "inside" the individual and che "excernal world", a division which ofren appears directly given in self-awareness, and furthermore has put down deep roats in European intellectual and linguistic cradirions, without a crirical and systematic examinacion of its validicy; This concepcion has had. for a certain period of human dt\·tlopment. an
-!75 exw1ordinar)· persiscence It is found in the writings of all groups whose powers of reflecrion and whose self-awareness have reached the stage ac which people are in ;1 posicion nor only to chink but also to be conscious of themselves, and to retlecr on rhemselves. as thinking beings. Ir is already found in Plarnnic philosophy and in a number of other schools of philosophy in antiquicy. The idea of che "self in a case". as already mentioned. is one of che recurrent lcit111otij.r of modern philosophy, from the chinking subjecc of Descartes, Leibniz's windowless monads. and che Kantian subjt([ of knowledge (who from his aprioriscic shell can never quire break chrough rn the "ching in icself') t0 the more recent exrension of the same basic idea of the entirely self-sufficient individual: beyond die perspective of thought and perception as reified into "understanding" (\imta11cl! and "reason" (h:nu!!!ftl. ro the whole "being" of man, his "exiscence" in the various versions of existentialist philosophy; or t0 his accion as the startingpoint of l\fax \Veber's cheory of society, for example, who-entirely in keeping wirh che above-mentioned splic-made che nor wholly successful attempc to distinguish becween "social anion" and "non-social accion", i.e., presumably "purely individual action . " But one would gain only a very inadequace idea of rhe nature of chis selfperceprion and this human self-image if chey were undersrood merely as ideas sec forrh in scholarly writings . The windowlessness of che monads, the problems surrounding homo clcws11.r, which a man like Leibniz tries t0 make ac lease more bearable by a speculative solution showing the possibilicy of relationships berween monads, is rnday accepted as self-evident nor only by scholars. Expressions of chis self-percepcion are found in a less reflected form in imaginative literature-for example, in Virginia \Voolfs lament over the incommunicability of experience as che cause of human solitude. Its expression is found in the concept of ··aliemuion", used more and more frequendy within and outside lirerature in che most diverse variations in rectnc decades. It would bt not uninterescing ro ascercain more syscemacically whecher and how far gradacions and variations of chis type of self-perceprion extend rn the various elice groups and the broader strata of more developed sociecies. Bm che examples cited suffice to indicace how persisrent and how much taken for granted in the societies of modern Europe is che feeling of people char their own "self', their ··rrue idemicy", is something locked away "inside" them, severed from all other people and chings "outside"-alchough, as has been mentioned, no one finds it parcicularly simple to show clearly where and what the rangible walls or barriers are which enclose chis inner self as a vessel encloses ics contents, and separate it from whac is "outside" Are we here concerned, as ic often appears, with an erernal, fundamemal experience of all human beings accessible to no further explanation. or with a type of self-perception which is charaeteriscic of a certain stage in che development of rhe figurations formed by people, and of rhe people forming chest figuracions'
476
Thu Cil'ilizing Procus
In rhe comexr of rhis book che discussion of rhis complex of problems h cwofold significance. On rhe one hand. rhe civilizing process cannor be undaser-a srood so long as one clmgs ro rh1s rype of selt-percepnon and regards rhe of rhe human being as h1J1111J da11s11s as self-evidem nor open ro discuss 1· ._ on as a source ot problems. On rhe orher hand, rhe rheory ot civilization develo ed . · stu dy o f--ters a k·ev for · solvmg · rn r I11s rhese problems. The discussion of rhis 1p1 uman seH-1mage serves m rhe tirsc place ro improve understanding of rhe ensuing stud of che civilizing yrocess. Ir is possible, however, rhar one mighr gain a understanding ot rhis discussion from rhe vantage poim of the end of the book from a more comprehensive picture of the civilizing process. It will suffice her; ro indicate briefly the connection between the problems arising from the concept of homo dc111s11s and the civilizing process · One can gain a clear idea of chis connection relarivelv· simplv• bv• first J00 •. · K 1ng back at the change in people's self-perception char was influenced by the abandonment of the geocentric world-picture. Often chis transition is presented simply as a revision and extension of knowledge abour the movements of the stars. Bur it is obvious chat this changed conception of the figurations of the scars would nor have been possible had nor the prevailing image of man been seriously shaken on irs own accoum, had nor people become capable of perceiving rhemselves in a differem lighc than before. Of primary importance for human bemgs everywhere is a mode of experience by which they place themselves at the centre of che universe, nor jusc as individuals bur as groups. The geocemric world-picture is the expression of chis spontaneous and unrefleccing human selfcenrredness, ·which is still encountered unequivocally roday in the ideas of people outside the realm of nature, e.g., in nariocenrric sociological modes of thought or those centred on the isolated individual. The geocentric experience is still accessible ro everyone as a plane of perception even today. It simply does nor consrituce the dominant plane of perception in public thought. \\/hen we say, and indeed "see", chat the sun rises in the east and secs in the west, we spontaneously experience ourselves and the earth on which we live as the centre of the cosmos, as the frame of reference for the movements of the scars. Ir was not simply new discoveries, a cumulative increase in knowledge about the objects of human reflection, chat were needed to make possible the transition from a geocentric to a heliocentric world-picture. \\/hat was needed above all was an increased human capacity for self-detachment in thinking. Scientific modes of chinking cannot be developed and become generally accepted unless people renounce their primary, unreflecring and spontaneous attempt to understand all their experience in terms of irs purpose and meaning for themselves. The development chat led co more adequate knowledge and increasing control of nature was therefore, considered from one aspect, also a development toward greater human self-control. It is not possible to go into more derail here abom the connections between, on •
..
•
" .
•
L
-
L
•
•
.
rhe one hand, the deYelopmem of the scientific manner of acquiring knowledge of objeccs, and on the other hand_ tht cleYelopment of new attitudes of people wwards rhemselws. new personaliry srrucrnres and especially shifts in the Jirecrion of grtater afftcr control and self-dernchment. Perhaps it will contribmt to
therelw co gin: it a meM1ing and a 11uri)ose. Bue at this sca"e tJ 1 •. \. , _. . . /:o • ' . are not able rn detach thtmstln:s suthc1cnch·• from d1emst:lves rn nn'-•· -I e· . •• . . • ' h.c l 1 ·u: own derachmtnc. cheir own artecc-rescraim-in shore che cunditicins or · own . . . • · ' cl1e1r as chc sub1ecc ot che scicmihc understanding of nature-the objecc of ,.,.,u"i'"'''" and sciemific enquiry Herein lies one of the kevs w the quescion of wh\· tht: problem of . . . · . . · scientific knowledge took on che form ot classical European tpiscemology. The uecac:hroFr" of.the d1ou"ht . d h . . chinking. subjecc. from his objeccs _ in cht act of cogniti\·e ,_ b,anre attect1n: restraint chat H demanded. did noc appear to chose rhinkin" al)c · . . . . b ' )llt It at chis stage as an act ot d1stancmt; buc as a disrance actualh· 11rtsenc ·1s ·in . . . _ ,__ . · · ' • eternaI cond1non of spacial separacion between a mental appararns apparendv "inside" the mdividual, an "understanding" or ··reason". and the "outside and d1v1ded tram it by an invisible wall
If wt saw earlitr how idtals can turn unawares in choughc into something actually existing, how .. ought .. btcomts is . we are here confronttd with rtificacion of a difftrem kind. The act of conceptual distancing from rht objects of thought chat any mort emocionalh· comrolled rtflecrion i1woln:s-whicb scitnrific observations and chought demand in parcicular. and \Vhich at the same time makes them possible-appears co self-perception at this stage as a distance actually existing becwetn the thinking subject and rhe objeccs of his rhou<>ht b . And the grtater resrraim of affect-charged impulses in the face of che objects of chought and obserrnrion. which accompanies tvery seep toward incrtasec! conctptual distancing, appears here in ptople·s self-perception as an acrnally existing cage which separates and excludes che "stlf,. or "reason .. or .. exisrenct .. , depending on the point of view, from the world "oursidt .. the indi\·idual The fact that. and in pare the reason why. from the late i\Iiddlt Ages and the tarh· Renaissance on, chc:re was a parcicularly scrong shifr in indi\·idual selfconuol-abm·t: all. in self-control accing inclependenth· of txcernal ac;enrs as a st:lf-acrirncing automatism, re\·ealingly said today c.o be .. imernaliztd ..-is prtstmed in· more derail from other perspectives in rht present study. The transformacion of imerpersonal external compulsion into indi\·iclual internal compulsion, which now increasingh· rakes place, leads to a situation in which mam· affocriw impulses cannoc bt lived out as sponrnneoush as before. The autonomous individual self-comrols produced in this wa\· in social life, such as .. rational thought .. or the "moral conscience .. , now rhemseh-es more seemly chan ever before between spontaneous and emotional impulses, on the one hand. and che skeletal muscles, on the other, preventing the fCJrmtr wich greater severity from dirtctly determining rht Lurer (i.e .. action) withour rht permission of chese control mechanisms 0
Thar is the core: of the structLiral change and the srructLiral peculiaririts of the individual which are reflected in self-perception. from abour the Rtnaissance onward. in the notion of che indi\·iclual ego in ics locked case. rht .. self
,. ··ded bv an invisible wall from what happens .. omside .. It is chese civilizarional . . elf-controls. functioning in pare automatically, that are now expenenced in 5 diYidual self-percepcion as a walL either between .. subject .. and .. object .. or 1n · berween ont·s own .. self and orhcr peuplt ( .. sociery··J. . 1 he shift in the dirtction of greater inch·idualizarion that took place dunng is well enouuh known. Tht !Jresent stuck. '-r..cives a somtwhat more rhe Ren·1issance , o derailed picture of this developmem in terms of personalicy suucture. At rhe rime, it points ro connections rhac h
-180
Th, Ciz'i!i::ing Pl'IJCess
insrincr comrols ro insrincrive impulses, ro mtmion only one examplt, is n sparial rt!arionship. The former do nor have rhe form of a n:ssel Oth . . , '-'- Iug t e larter wirhm rhem. There are schools ot rhoughr rhar consider rhe c ontrol mechanisms, conscience or reason, as more imporranr. and rhtre are others arrach greater imporrance ro insrincrnal or emorional impulses. Bur if we are n w the investigation disposed ro ':rgue abom values, if we resrri_cr our whar 1s, we hnd rhat there is no strucrnral ttamre or human beings that justifies our calling one thing the human core and another the shtll. Scrictly speaking rhe whole complex of tensions, such as feeling and thought, or behm·iour and comrolled behaviour, consists of human acriviries. If insread usual subsrance-conceprs like "feeling" and "reason" we use acriviry-concepts, it is easier w understand diar while rhe image of "omside" and "inside", of the shell of a receptacle conraining something inside ir. is applicable ro the physical aspects of a human being mentioned above, it cannor apply to rhe structure of the personaliry, to the living human being as a whole. On this level there is nothing char resembles a comainer-norhing rhat could jusrify mtraphors likt rhar of the "inside .. of a human being. The inrnirion of a wall. of somerhing "inside" a human being separared from rhe "omside" world, howe\·er genuine ir may be as an imuirion, corresponds rn norhing in a human being having rhe character of a real wall. One recalls that Goerhe once expressed rhe idea char namre has neither core nor shell and rhar in her there is neirher inside nor omsidt This is true of human beings as well •
•
•
L
On the one hand, therefore, the theory of civilization which chis srudy has anempred rn develop helps us rn see rhe misleading image of humankind in what we call rhe modern age as less self-e\·ident, and rn derach ourselves from it, so rhar work can begin on an image of human beings orienrared less by one·s own feelings and the rnlue judgements attached rn chem than by people as rhe actual objects of thought and obserrnrion. On the orhtr hand. a critique of rhe modern image of man is needed for an understanding of rhe civilizing process. For in rhe course of rhis process rhe srrucwre of individual human beings changes; they become ··more civihzed" And as long as we see rhe individual human being as by nature a closed container with an omer shell and a core concealed within it, we cannot comprehend rhe possibility of a civilizing process embracing many generarions, in rhe course of which rhe personaliry srrucmre of the individual human being changes wirhom the nawre of human beings changing. This musr suffice here as an introducrion rn rhe reorienrnrion of individual selfconsciousness and w rhe resulring developmem of rhe human self-image, wirhour which any abilirr rn conceive a civilizing process or a long-term process involving social and personaliry suucwres is largely blocked. As long as rhe concepr of rhe individual is linked wirh rhe self-perceprion of rhc "ego" in a closed case. we can hardlr conceive "society" as anything orher than a collecrion of windowless monads . Concepts like ··social srrucrnre", "social process", or
Postscript
-181
. · l developmenr" then appear ar besr as artificial producrs of sociologists, as "soc1a ·'jdeal-cypical" consrructions needed by scientisrs rn imroduce some order, ar Jeasr in rhoughr. imo what a?pears in reality w be a complerely disordered and crucwreless accumularion or absolmely 111dependem individual agents. . _ 5 As can be seen, rhe acrual start of affairs is the exact converse. The nor10n of individuals deciding, acting and "exisring" in independence of one another is an arrificial producr which is characrerisric or a parncular m the development of human self-perceprion. Ir resrs partly on a confusion of ideals and rhe _ f-ac·c" and pardv. on a reificarion of individual self-control mechanisms--of severance of individual affective impulses from the mornr apparams, tram rhe direct contrnl of bodily movements and acrions. This self-perceprion in terms of one·s own isolation, of rhe invisible wall dividing one's own "inner" self from all rhe people and things "omside", rakes on for a large number of people in rhe course of rhe modern age rhe same immediate force of conviction thar the movement of rhe sun around an eanh simated ar rhe centre of rhe cosmos possessed in rhe Middlt Ages. Like the geocentric picrnre of rhe physical universe earlier, rht egocentric image of the social universe is cerrainly capable of being superseded by a more realisric, if emotionally less appealing picrnre . The emorion may or may nor remain: ir is an open question how far rhe feeling of isolation and alienarion is arrriburable rn ineprimde and ignorance in rhe development of individual self-controls, and how far rn characteristics of advanced societies. Juse as rhe public predominance of emotionally less appealing images of a physical universe nor cemred on rhe earth did nor enrirely efface rhe more private self-centred experience of the sun as circling around rhe earrh, rhe ascendancy of a more objective image of human beings in public thinking may nor necessarily efface rhe more privare egocenrrecl experience of an invisible wall dividing one's own "inner world" from rhe world "omside" Bm ir is cerrainly not impossible rn dislodge rhis experience, and rhe image of man corresponding rn ir, from irs self-evidem acceptance in research in rhe human sciences. Here and in this book one can see at leasE Ehe beginnings of an image of human beings rhar agrees better wirh unhindered observarion, and rherefore facilirares access rn problems which, like those of the civilizing process or rhe process of stare formarion, remain more or less inaccessible from the srandpoint of rhe old human self-image, or which, like rhe problem of rhe relarion of individuals rn sociery, continually give rise from char standpoint w unnecessarily complicated and never entirely convincing solutions. The image of rhe human being as a "closed personality" is here replaced by the image of rhe human being as an "open personality" who possesses a grearer or lesser degree of relarive (bur never absolme and wral) auwnomy vis-a-vis other people and who is, in facr, fundamentally orienrated wwards and dependent on orher people rhrnughour his or her life. The nerwork of interdependencies among
48.2 human beings is wha[ binds [hem rngcrher. Such inrerdependencies ar •h . . ,. . . e ' e nexti;5 ot wh,1r 1s here called rhe ngur,1r1on. a scrucrure oi muruallv. ori·e mate d ' depenclenr people. Since people are more or less dependenr oi1 each other narure and [hen social learning, rhrough edurn[ion
haiacrer of c,1usal explana[JOns For a ch,rnge
111
a figur,mon is explained partly
(he endogenous dyn,1m1cs of rhe
·
irself. rhe immanenr. rcndtncy of , ri·on of freeh· com1Jetll1" umrs ro torm monopolies. fhe 111ves[1gar1on
6gUf,l
.
b
.
.
rhe;efore shows how in rhe course of centuries original hgurar10n changes ·nco anorher, in which such grear opporrumnes ot monopoly Fower are lmked 1 - l , s · 11 ule soci·1l posirion-kinushi1J-rha[ no occupant of any orher social 1 <::> >rtf r1 a ' b 1 " · · \\'I. rhin rhe nenvork of inrerde1Jendencies can compt[e wirh rhe monarch
pOSJ[!O 11
.
.
.
.
.
.
•
.
•.
,
<\£ (he same nme, 1t mdICares how the personal1r! srrucrures ot human bc:rnt,s '1 clnn«e ;_i so ( b in con1·unc[ion wirh such figurational changes, <- • • Man\" quesrions rhar deserve considerarion in a postscnpr have had w be lelr usi
change, sometimes even in a specific direcrion rn' rhis posrscripr I have endeavoured w discuss some fundamental which, had they nor been discussed, would have srood in rhe way ot an undersranding of rhis book The ideas expressed arc nor all simple, bur I have anempred w present rhem as simply as I could I hope rhe_y may facilirnte and deepen rhe understanding, and perhaps also rhe pleasure, afforded by rh1s book Leicesrtr July 1968
APPENDICES
Appendix I Foreign Language Originals of the Exen2plary Extracts and Verses
On Medieval Manners (po ··ol'm \TUITH.:n solru Jem boestn wis t.·rbolgt:n ·5\\·tnne Jin gesindt dich c:rzlirne. litbtr sun. stJ sich daz dir wtrdt: ihr sc) daz Jich gtriuwt dar nfrch
··t-:.ein eddt:r man st:lbandtr sol mir tintm ltftd suftn nihr:
cbr zimet hlibschen liuet.:n woL den Jicke unedellich t:eschihc --sumliche bizt:nt
;.1b
dt:r ;;niren
unJ sroztnrs in dit schlizzel wider
nach geburiscben siren: slilh unzuhr legent diu hlibschcn nider '"Edichtr ist also gemuoc. swenn er Jaz bein t:enagtn h
daz habet gar fi..ir missernr
5:Z)
-ms
Tht Cil'i!izi11g Proa.rs
Appendix I
"Der riuspt:t, swenne er ezzen soL
On Behaviour at Table (p. 72)
und in Jaz rischlach sniuztt sich.
diu beide zimenr nihr gar woL als ich Jes kan ,·ersehtn mich. · 1 •
A. .. Swer ob
fhirceench century
Jer isr ein gouch. versihe ich mich.
DJZ
Jem ist niht besser zuht bekanm · 1 •
.
.
.
· d"s c·rnhausers genhr und isr guor hotzuhr 1st " ' " ' Er di.inker mich ein zUhtic man. der alle zuht erkennen kan,
''Swer snudet ab ein wazztrdahs.
der keine unzuhr nit gewan
so er izztt, als trlicher phliget,
und im der zilhte nit zeran.
und smarzet als tin Beiersahs. 1'
wie der sich dtr zuhr verwiger
Der zcihte der ist also vi! un
··ir slilr Jie kel ouch jucken niht,
nu wizzenr, dtr in volgtn wil.
so ir ezzr, rnir blozer hanr:
daz er vil selren misseruor
ob ez aber also geschiht, so nemtr hovelich Jaz gewanr
11 '
25
Swtnne ir ezzt, so sir gemanr,
daz ir vtrgezzr Jer armtn nihr: so werr ir gore vil wol erkanr.
"In diu oren grifen nihr enzimr und ougen, als erlicher ruor.
isr daz den wol von iu gtschihr
swer dtn untbr von der nasen nimr,
so er izzec. diu driu sine nihr guor
'i-
33
Keio eJeler man selbancier sol rnit einem lefftl suftn niht;
"ich hoere von sUmlichen sagen (ist Jaz war, ciaz zimet i.ibe!J,
ciaz zimer hcibschen liuren wol. den Jicke unecitllich geschiht
Jaz si ezzen ungerwagen; Jen selben m(ieztn erlamen Jie kni.ibel
!-.fir schUzztln sufr:n niemen zimr.
·to
swie des unfuor Joch maneger lobe. '·man sol ouch ezzen alle frisr
Jer si frevtllichen nimt
mir der hanr Jiu engegtn isr:
unJ in sich giuzer, als tr robe.
sirzr
-ii
Und der sich i.iber Jie shlizzel habet,
man sol sich gen:n wendtn
so tr izzer. als tin swin.
daz man ezz mir bti
und gar unsuberliche snaber. und smarztt mir dtm mundt sin
'·schaffi: \'Or swaz dir sl nOr .j)
daz du ihr sirzest schamtr6r ·''
SUmliche bizent ab cier sniten und srozenrs in die schilzztl wider
The Problem of the Change
Behaviour during the Renaissance (p. 60)
nach gtburischen siren;
10
scilh unzuht legenr die hi.ibschen nicier -\')
"Ne mangut mie jt re commande.
daz erz wider in die schUzzel ruor:
avant qut on serve de viandt.
daz haber gar filr misserar
car il sembleroit que tu feusses rrop glour. ou que rrop fain elisses."
Edicher isr also gcmuor, swenn er
53
Die senf und salstn ezzenr gern. Jie sulen Jes vii flizic sin,
Vuidditr et tSSt\'tr memoirt
daz si Jen unftat wrbern
a its ta bouche. quanr veulz boirt
unJ srozen nihr
489
Thu Cii'ili::iJJg Prr1cds Dt:r riusrcr.
swi..:nrk
er
t:ZZt:Il
-i91
soL
Swtr ob dtm risch dt:s wencr sich,
und in daz cischL1ch sniuzec :-iich. diu bcide zimcnr nihr gar wol.
so wartent sicherliche ut' mlch.
als ich Jes kan n:rsi::htn mich
er isr nihr \·isch biz an clt:n grar
Der bl'idt rtdt:n und c:aen wiL diu
Z\Vt:i
Jaz er dit: glirrel \\·ircr Ltr.
!29
und in dem slaf wil reden vii.
der i:-;r t'in gouch. versiht ich mich.
dt:r kan vi! selrcn wo! gt:ruon
t.k·m isr nihr bezzer zuhr bekanr
Ob Jem rischt Jar daz bn:htt:n sin.
!·ll
chtz si t:zzen ungcrwa.t::t:n:
dar an gedenkenr. fnundc: min.
dt:n st.:!htn mliezen erlamen die knlibc:l'.
daz nit kein sirt: so Libtlt sruont
In diu oren grit'en nihr tnzimr
Ez di.inker mich groz missernr.
und ougen. als edicher ruor,
an sweme ich die um:uhr siht.
swtr den unflat von der nastn nimr.
Jer daz czzt:n in dem munJe hat
so
und die wilt: trinket als ein \·ihe
85
kh hm:n: von slimlicht:n sagen (isr Jaz war, daz zimcr LibtlJ,
so ir ezztt. ddz slimlicht ruonr.
81
Swer ob dcm rische sniuzer sich.
ob er tz ribtt an dit hanr.
were mir einander ruon,
t:r
izzer. diu driu sint niht c:uot
Ir slilr nihr blastn in den crane. des spu!gt:nt slimdicht: gern:
On v 25. cf.:
daz isr tin ungewizzcn danc.
From d11..·
Lkr unzuhr solre man L·nbern
La primiera
E Jaz ir rrinkr, so wisclu Jen munr.
diu hon:zuht wol zimt allt srunc Onvv
from Ein Jjn·ud; dd·
lll'i
e quesra:
cht quando tu l: mcnsa.
daz ir ht:smdzl'.t niln den tranc:
und isr t:in hovdich gtdanc
of Borfficino Ja Riva:
htrl:
l'nd die sich uf den risch lc.crcnr. :-io :-ii eZt:t:iH.
d.iz t.:!btct niht woL
.Mir dt:r schlizzd man nihr sLi!.en :,ol.
wit: seictn diL· die ht.:!mt: wegenr.
mir eint:m lefeL daz sdr wol
da man frouwt:n dicnen sol 31 'i 10')
le slilc die kt! ouch juckcn nihr. so ir
t:ZZL
mit bloztr hanr:
ob ez abt:r also t!t:schihr.
Swtr sich Uber dit: schlizzd habr. unJ unsl1berl!chen snabt mir dem munch:. als ein swin. dcr :-;ol bi anderm viht sin
so ncmtt hove!ich daz gewant
11 0
Und jucker da mir. Jc1z zimr baz. Jenn iu Jiu hant unsuber wire die zuokaphtr mtrktnc daz,
swtr sniubc:r als tin bhs. unJe smarztt als cin dahs. und rlisst( st1 er ezzen sol. diu Jriu dine zimtnt niemor wol
swer slilht unzuhc nihc vt:rbirc
Ir slilr die zen
La sedexena aprcsso con verirat:
mir mezztrn, als erlicher ruor.
No sorbilar dra bocha quando tu mangi con cugial:
und ;ds rnir nunt:gtm noch geschihr:
Qutllo fa sicom besria. chi con cugial sorbilia
S\\
er
Lks
phlifet. daz ist nihr guot
Chi doncha
:t quesra
uscmza. ben fa s d st dispolia
-492
The Ciri!izing Process
Af'jlwdix I
or
201
Non tangas aures nudis digitis ntqut narts
AnJ suppe noc low
B. .:;-!()
Fifceench cencury From (rm1c1:.m(d dt l..1 uhk·
Swer Jiu bein benagen hJr.
un
Enfant qui vtulr esrre courroys Er
!lh1!.U:
a routes
gens agrtable.
a rablt.
Er principaltment
in
GarJe cts riglts tn
II On v 65, cf.: Stam /JJ1er :./{! t1kmam
Enfant soit de copper soigneux
numquam riJebis nee faberis ore repltto
On v 8-L cf. also from: Q11isq11is
l5
d
Ill Enfant cl honneur. lave tts nuins
or i-i9
Car se I' ur
in l!hlJJd
qui vulr pornre Jeber prius os vacuare
from Th,
Ses ongles, et osrer !'ordure.
A ton ltvtr,
a rnn
disner.
Er puis au supper sans finer:
Bl)r1k And wirht fulle mourht drynke in no wyse
Ce sont rrois foys
a
[()US
le moins
XII Enfant. se tu es bien sc;avant. Nt mts pas ca main le premier 111
Ne blow nor on rhy drinke ne mere. Nerher for coldt. nerhtr for htrt.
Au plar. mais laisst y roucher Le maisrre de l'hosrd avanc
XIII Enfanr. t!ardez c..iue le morseau l 55
Que tu auras mis en ta bouche whannt ye shalle drynkt.
Par unt fois, jamais n'arouche,
your mourhe clence withe A. clothe
or from L;
dt
Jc
(r;nhnir :.i
ne boy pas la boucht baveuse. car la cousrume en est honrtuse
Ne soir remise en ton vaisseau
XIV Enfanr. ayes en roy remors De t·en gardtr, se y as failly. Er ne presences
a nulluy
Le morseau que cu auras mors.
xv 1-!6
Nor on the borde lt:nynge be yee nat sene
Enfanr, garde [()\' de maschier En ta bouche pain ou \·iande.
On v. 11 '"'7. cf: 51,ms /mr:r
11101St1m
Oulrre que ran cuer ne dtmandt, Er puis apres le rtcrascher
_C\(I
XVII
culrello. dentts mundare cn·trn Enfanr, garde qu en la saliert
On v 1-! l, cf.: S1,1m /mer ad 11Jcn.um
Tu ne merces point res morseaulx Pour Jes saler. ou rn deffaulx,
11
Illoris manibus escas nt sumpseris unquam
Car c'est deshonneste m
493
-i95
PrrJCt:JJ
XXIV Enfanc
die ,d[c be\·de b.1cken aufrl-ilasi:n t.:h:ich als ob sic in die Trommt:te blit:sen oder t:in fewer
•l-11 ! ,sen wolrtn, dit. nichr essen sundern fr:sstn und die kosr cinschlingtn. die ihn: H;tnde b::y nahe
wu.:;jour.s r·-!.i:-ihh:.
Doulx. courwl:-.. bcn:nt: .•1miahk. Enrre u:ub: qui sicrronr
:t
1- •••J . Elbo(•tn beschmurzen und demnach die servit:tt:n also zu ricluen. d.is:; un!Lirige klichen bis .tn l'. 11 ::wisch!ump:.:n vid reint:r stin mlkhten Dcnnoch sich diese untbrt:r nit mir solcht:n besuddtL·n stf\·ieren ohn unttrlass den
Eablc
EE El' gardes d btrt: 110y:;ihles
XXVI
schwciss abzuwischen (dcr dann von wegt:n ihrs ei!t:nden und
.frtsst:ns \'Un
Enfonr. sc tu faiz t:n wn \'t:rn:
i.ibt.:r dit: srirn und das
)'l
Souprcs (_k· \·in aucunemt:nr.
offr es inen gclieh::t darin zu schneutztn
herunter trlipfkt)
auch
\V{d
die :\ase so
et
la mtnra sur
Bo;. wur le \·in t:ntit:n:mcnr. ou autremt:nt !c gcctt: J. t::rrc
E.
XXXI Ern:mr.
>t:
!560
tu \'::uh: ::n rn pt:ncc
from
Trnp excessin:mcru bouter Tu St:f,b constraint
Er pcrdn.: toLJtt: corul·n,tnct:
son br,1s ou espaule gauche, puis il mttrra son p . 1in de costt: gaucht, le cousreau Ju cosrt droir.
Enfant. µ.1rdt: toy de frontr
le verre ,1ussi. s ii le veut laisser sur la table-. et qu ii air la commoJirL: dt I\ tcnir sans offenser !1(: S\.lUr.tit t::nir k \'t'f[l· OU du costC drnit
Ens<1mblc tts mains. ne tt::-> bras :1
b n<.tppt.·. n::
personnc C.1r il rourr.1 cEh·cnir qu'on
t.!raps
cmp.:scht'.r par ce moyen qut:lqu un Il fault que i·enfanr la discrl:rion dt: cognoistrc !es circnnsrances Ju lieu ol1 il scra
A table un nt: se Joit gr.Her
En manc:eanr
c
ii doir prcndre le premier qui luy \·iendr,1 en main de son tranchoir
Que s il ya Jts S
I 530 from [), ,·:: ili:.::c
b;. C C,dviac:
Cj{ i/j:r
Ltnfonr esranr assis. s ii haunt st:rviene d::vanr luy sur son assicrce. il la pn:ndra
XXXIV
?'\t:
a ruptt:r
trt:mptr honnesrt:merH et sans rournt:r de I aurrc t..usu:
Jprt:s qu ii I aur.1 trt'.mptr de l un Jl est bien ntcessairt: a [ enLmt qu ii apprtnr1t: Jts s,1 jeunt:sse
b;. Erasmus (if Rorrerdam:
. despl:ctr un
c:1got.
. unt pt:rdrix,
.\Ianrik si lbtur. aur humt:ro )inistro aut bracchio bt:vu imponirn Cum honorc1riorihus accubirurus. ctpire 1ie:m. pikum rt:linquirn .r\ l.Jcxrris sit f'OCulum er cuJrd!us t:SC,trius rite purgarus. ad lat\'<.lnl panis
daiL'.neruit nunger, si Ct: ll t:St J SOil St:f\·itcur. 1 n't:st non plus honnestt: de rirer par la bouche qutlque chost qu on aura
Quidam ubi vix btnl· constdtrint. mox manus in tpubs conjiciunr Id !uporum est
sur \t tr,rnchoir: si ce nest qu'il adviennt que qutlquefoys ii succe Lt motlle Jc quclque pt:tit
Primus cibum appositum nt atringiro. non rnnrum ub id quml arguit avidum. std quod
commt par
cum periculo conjunctum esc dum qui fervidum inexplor.1rum n.:cipir in os aut expuerL· s1 dcp!utiar. adurtre gulam. urroqut: ridiculus atque ac
i.
aut
A!iqu.mtiSf't:f mor.rndum. Lit ruer :FiSUeS(
ww digat
Lill
lapin et choses semblablt:s. .. C tst une chose par trop ords que t cnfanr prCsentL' unt chose aprb l a\'oir ml\L'.l:c. ou cc!k· qu 11 rk
qu()d sol::nr ligurirnrL·s. sed <..JUoJ r'orre anrt: ipsum jacer. sumar.
sur son ,1ssiette. comme aussi Its os des cerises
t:t
er la mtnre (JS,
L1voir :;uccl: i! le doir mt:nre
Jes prunes et semblabks, rour cc qu il n'esr point
bon dt: !es a\·:der !l\ de !es j::crer J terr::. L't:nfant ne Joir .plJint rongtr indl:et:!Ht:r11elH In
U>.
comme foru lo chit:Ib
Quant I ::nfi1nE voudr.i Ju sci. ii en r•rendra aYtc la 1io!ncre de .son cousteau ct non point avcc lt:s trois doigs: Il four que
QuuJ Jigiris ::xcipi non pmest. quadra txcipitndum t:St
Je pa.sse temps en arrtndanr la desserre. car
Fi
J
cnfant couppe sa chair tn menus morceaux sur son rr.rnclwir
er ne faur point qu.il
Si quis t: placenrn anorcrea porn:xir aliquiJ. coch!eari aur quadr.1 t:xci1ie. aur cochltare porrr:crum accire. er inn:rso in quadr. 1m ciho. cochleare rt·Jdiro
la bouche rantost tl'unt main, tanrnsr de I autrt:. commc !es pttit'.'l qui commencenr J manger: mais que rnusjours ii le face. a\·ec la main droicrc. t:n prenant honntstemenr le pain ou la
Si liquidius l·sr quod d;nur. t:usrnndum sumiro t.:r cochltarL· reddiro. seJ ad manti!t exrersum.
chair a\'eC troys doigs seulement. Quant la m<.rniere de m5.chtr. elle est diverse st:!on Jes lieux ou pays ol1 on est Car !es A.llemans
Digirns uncros \·cl ore prat:lingen::. \'cl ad runicam txrergert. parin:r inci\·ile t:sr: iJ mappa porius aut mantili focitndum.
pone la viandt
m;ichent b bouche close. er rrouvent laid de faire autremenc. Les
au contrnirt ouvrenr ;1
<.kmv hi bouche. er rrouvent la proctJure dts Al!t:mans reu ord. Lt:s Icaliens y prod:Jent fort
D,
mullement. tt Jes f'rans·ois plus rondi:menr et en sorrt qu'ils rrou\·tnr la procl:durt des ltalitns rrop
1558 from h;. Gio\·anni Jdla Casa. Archbishop of Benevento. quottd from rht il\·t-Lmguage tdirion
puurra proctJer sdon !es litux er cousrumes J iceux ol1 il sera. Da\·anras:;t Its Allemans usenr de culil-rt:s en mangt
et
Its Jrnliens,_Jes fourcherres. Er Jes frans-oys de l un tr dt I autre, st:lon que bon leur stmbk er qu ilz
li,t.:en und ihr
en onr la commodirt. Les Iralitns st plaisent aucuntmenr J. avoir chacun son cousre;1u. ;\fais Jes
\·iel wenigtr die h;inde nimmermehr \on dtr sp::ist
A1lemans ont ceht tn sinµulit:re rt:commandarion. tt re!lemenr qu on leur fair grdnd desplaisir de le
denen gc:->agr hahtn. tie wir bisw::iltn sehen wie dit gbichr nit L·inmal auftlleben unJ ihrc
mit dtm rlisst:l in Jer
496
497
Appendix I
The Cfrili::ing Process ou rrois
prendre Jevanr tux ou
indecencts, lune est d'essuyer frequemmenr vos mains
,-ornme un rorchon de cuisine: en sorte qu tlle fair nu! au coeur
a vosrre
serviette. et cit la salir
ceux qui la voyenr porter
a la
bouche. pour \'OLIS essuyer Laurre est de !es essuyer J. vosrre pain. Ct qui est encore rres-malpropre: er la rroisitme de \·ous ltcher !es doigrs. ct qui est It comble de I improprttt
bailler aprt-s 1 avoir nenoyt'. J sa serviette. en tenant la poincce en sa main er prCstnrant le celuy qui le deman
P. 273
commt ii yen a beaucoup (sc usages) qui ont Jt:ja changt. je ne doute pas qu'il n yen
air plusieurs de ct!lts-cy. C..Jlli changeront tout de meme
F.
Between 16-iO and 1680
Juin d,ms !:1
Autrtfiis un j111uz-oit murJu: l!:.1i11hn.tnt t1.. .frYi!it
m!t r.5/lt:.:r: ,ft,
;-\!ifn:i,is fill j111:1!'11it :ird·
s.1 /;1J11dJL
,_ulroitt111tlli:
!rcw/11.."r .01n
qu
11JJ
!:L
Sd!IJSc
/!i1:tt'l1i!
l'avenir 1..f ii .wj}is11i: p11flrl'll qur: /'1JJJ
1(1
d{J /!JJ
t/h"r1r1..
ti /, jttfrr .I hrr,, j1r1111-r11 q:h Ct!tt ·''
/1:1.r
grdnd, s,ddt'
tf m:1in1t1u11: .-, st1·1,j; tllh
JaJis le potage on mangeoir Dans le plat, sans ctrtmonie. Er sa cuillier on essuyoir Souvtm sur la poult bouillie
1717 from fr:111fois d,
Dans la fricassee aurrefois
Q,.
Id
Jciu1tr:
du mrmdt:
ti
d..s
com1oiss.mcif 11:ilu
i:l la
(01J:.illir::
de /,_; ri,:
On sauss<:.ir son pain er ses doigrs P. 9- En Alkmagne et (bns Its Ro: aumt:s du :\'or
a la sanrt
de celui
OU
c:t unt bicnsl-..rnn: pour un
Jt ceux qu ii traitt, er de leur fairt prtsenrer tnsuitt
It m2me vtrrt. ou le mC:mt gobeler. rtmpli J'or
Son poragt sur son assieue:
manque de politesse de boire dans le mtmt verre. mais une marque dt franchise et d amirit: les
II faur se servir polimenr
femmes boi\"t:nr aussi Its prtmierts, et
Er de cuillitr tt dt fourcherre,
Jont elles Ont bC! 8. la santt Je ceJui J. qui elles St SOflt adresstes ..UllJ
Er de temps en temps qu\m valet
(O!!il!lr:
f1.117!Ji
Cjlh
f1.l.\.ft / 10/tr lllh fli'dff
a Messicurs
Its Gens du Non-
Jlf/llS
Les aille bver au buffet P. 101 A lady responds: Jent si;aurois approuver-n·en deplaise
G.
cerre maniert
1672
malproprttt, qui me feroit souhaiter qu'ils rtmoignassenr leur franchise par
L P. 12- Si
prtnd au plat, il four bien se garder cl y mtttrt la main, que !cs plus qualifiez
ne I y aytnt mist Its premiers; n y dt prendre aillturs qu J l'tndroir Ju plat, qui
vis
t:S[
a vis de nous; a !irenJre.
171-i From an anonymous Cfri!ir::' fr.n:(.lis1.. (Lit-ge. 1-1-P):
moins encore Joie-on prtndre !es mcilleurs morceaux. quand mtme on seroit It dernier
Il est nectssaife aussi d observer qu ii four roUjours tssuyer vosrrt cuilltre quand. apres tsrre sttYy. voL1s nmlez prcn
d11 p11f,1g1..
lWIS
I :mrir:: miJ·c
I :.1n1fr
::!
si
\'OLIS
en
J1../ic;1ts
11e
/;fJui'h1..
plus s'en servir, mais en demander une aurre. Aussi strt on
a present
tn bien des lieux des cuilieres
q11:: pour pr1..11:lri..· d11 pr1::1g1.. d j,} /:1 s:ttf(1..
a chague
honntre d'humer Sa soupt quand on St serviroit cl ecuelle si
Ct
n'trnit que
Ne renez-pas roujours votre couteau
a vorre
rour sans \·ous precipiter
la main comme font les gens Je \"illage: ii sufhr de lt
prendrt lorsque \·ous voulez vuus en servir Quan
II ne four pas manger le potage au plat, mais en mettre proprement sur son assierre: et s'il estoit crop chaud. il tsr indtcem de souftler
II n·tst pas
Si le poragt est clans un plaE, pofEtz-y la cuilliere
Et mtme si on est J la table de gens bitn proprts. it ne suffir pas d·essuyer sa cuillere: ii ne four clans des plats, qui Jh St:ITr:Jl!
p
ce fm clans la famille apres en arnir pris la plus grande panit avec la cuillitre
cuilleree: ii faut arrendre qu ii soit refroidyo
votrt assierre de la main gauche en tenant \·orre fourcherre ou vorre coureau de la droite Il esr cnnrre la bienseance de donner
Que si par malheur on s'estoit brCdt. il fi1ut le souffrir si !'on peut patiemment et sans le faire
a flairer
!es vianclts er il four se clonner bien de garde de !es
remtnre Jans It plat aprf.-s !es avoir flairtes Si vous prtnez clans un plat commun nt choisissez pas
parolrre: mais si la brUlure esroit insupportable comme il arrive qutlquefois. il four promprement et
Jes meilleurs morceaux. Couptz avec le couteau aprts gue vous aurez arrttt la \·iandt qui est clans le
a\·ant que les autrts sen
plat avec la fourchtrte
prendre son assiette d une main, tt la porter contre sa
et se couvrant de Liutre main remtttre sur l'assiettt ce que !'on a clans la bouche, er It donner viSEtmem par derriere
a un
laguais. La civilirt veur gut !'on ait dt la politesse, mais tile ne pretend
pas qut I on snit homicide de soy-mf:mt. II est tres-indecenr de toucher quelque sauce.
a quelque syrop etc. avec
a quelque
chose de gras,
Jes Joigrs, ourre que ct!a en mf:me-ttmps vous
a
a deux
coupt. ne prenez Jone pas la viande avec la main II ne faut pas jeerer par rerre ni os ni coqut d'oeuf ni ptlure d'aucun fruit II en est de mtmt dts noyaux que l'on tire plus honntremtnt de la boucht avec Its
T ht
-198
-199
AJ!i'wdix I
Prr1(dS
J.
corps jusques sur Its genoux. en allanr au-Jt:isous du col et non la passan[ en cleJans du ml-me col cuillier. la fourchtne t.:t le couteau doi\·cn[ roujours Dtre placte l la droitt
1729 From La Salle. L.• IIZr/,,
cuillier bt dtstinte pour !es chosL·s liquides.
;!')):
la fourchtnc rour Its viandes de consisrnnct
t:[
Lorsque l'unt ou I aurrc tsr sale. on ptut Its m:[[oycr a\"eC sa stn·ierrt. s ii n tst pas possible de st d1'1.>c.' .l11lJ! r;;,· ./11:·1
,:r /r1r.iqu 11?J ,g
.'l
procun.:r un autrt serYice; ii four tvirt:"r dt Jes assuycr avec la nappe. c tS[ unt malproprttt
.I ]:;/;/, ( p 8-)
inipardonrublt: Qu
On Jolt si: st:rYir :1 Tab!t: d unt: strYiettt:. d unt assietn.:. Jun coute.1u, dune cuil!ier. er r(iurchettl·: ii serait tout J. foir conrn: !
ncrwyer avi:c Jes Joit:cs a\'tC la cuiller. la fourcherrt et It couteau
man,!.!:t:anr
c bt a la pt:rsonnt la plus qu
Li comp.1gnie :i dt.'.plier sa St:f\ it:nl· la prt:mitre, ('[Its doivenr attendre qu tl!e air dtplit la sit:nnt:, pour dtplit:r Li lt-ur. LorsquL· ks r'ef'.'lonnes sont 21 pt:u t.'.µalts. rous L1 dtplil·nt i:rbt:mh!t sans ctrt:monie 11 l'.St malhonrn.:ste de st: strvir de sa si:rviettt: pour s cssuier lt: visage: il I tst tncore bien plus
D.rns lts bonnes cables. lt:s domesriques attenrifs changcnt Jes assier[tS sans qu .on !es L"n averrissent Rit'.n n"r:st plus mal-propre qut dt se ltchtr Its doigts. de rouchi:r Jes Yiandt:s. tt
s t:n frurrer les dents er Ct: strait urn: foute des plus ,!.!:rnssieres contrl· la Civilirt de sen ser.,ir pour muucher
L usagl· qu on peur tr qu on duir faire dt: sa s:::n·il·cre !orsqu on esr
:1
Table, est de s'en
servir pour neno·1er sa bouche. :;es Jevrts er ses doigr:; quand ib sonc grns. pour dC:grnisser le coureau
qu ii taut tnsuitt Llisser sur I a:.sitnt t:t
<-i
aV<.l!l(
rnorce,rnx sur morceaux, de rtrirer memt: de la boucht ct qu ils y ont mis tr qui ts[ mctehe, de pousstr Jes morceaux aYt:C Its doigts Rien n 'est plus ma! honnere porter its Yiandes au ntz. Its tlairtr,
OU
Its
LIIlt autre impolittsse qui attaqut
a Sa Serviertt. afin de ne la p,1s
rt[irer sans !es montrer
de nt la !"''15 rendrt: malpropre
L
gras. ii esr rrts ma! honnere
Lursqut:" la cuillitr. L fourchtttt: ou le couteau sonc saks. ou qu'ils
dt Its lt:cht:r. et i! n'est nullemtnt stanr de Jes essLi"ier. ou qut:lqu·aurrt chust: qut:" ct: soir. an::c la
1780?
on duir dans ces ucc.1.sions. e[ autn:s stmblables. st: strvir deb sen icnc er pour cc qui tsr dt la nape, il
from an anonymous work. L.l Cit ilih' /;r1Jhh pr1ur !:..1
de b tcnir rnlijours fort proprt:", er de n y L.iisser wmbt·r. ni
four avoir
ni \'in. ni rien qui
A.pres. ii mtttra sa strYit:ttt sur lui. son pain
la puisse salir. Lorsque I assicnt: t:"S( sd.le. on doic bien st garder de la r.niss(:r a\t:C la cuiltit:r. ou la fourchttn:::, pour !a rtndrc ne[tt'.
(JU
de nttto1tr a\·cc ses doigts son assit..·ccc, ou le fond de: qudquc plat: cela esc trfs
inJCcenr, ii r-aur. ou n'y pas rm:chc:r. ou si on a la commoditt: Jen changer. se !a fairt: Jesen·ir. et s'tn faire aporttr unt: autre
11 nc fau[ pas lursqu on t:S[
Tablt: ttnir Wt.'ijours It: ((IUtt:au
a la
nuin, il suffit de It prendre
lorsqu on Ytut sen scn·ir la bouchc .1!a!l[ le coute,ll!
I! est aussi rrts inciYi! de pontr un morccau dt pain
a L1 main: ii
res[
pomml·S. dt:.s poires ou qudqur:s aurres fruits. Il est contre la Bitnstancc: de tc:nir la fourcherrc ou la cuillier j plaine main. commt si on renoit
a sa
bouchc des choses liquiJes
avoir ses mains sur son assiettt:
:(J:;J:r .zr:: !:.t )11i,(·:.1 .:· tj:hlcj:h
dJr1.1:
sa
,(TJ'. i't quclqut: sauct..·, ou
car ljlltlque
sirop: t[ si qudqu un It foisoit. il ne pouroit st dispenser dt commi:rrrt: t:nsuirt plusiturs Ulllft'S inCi\·i!i[ez: commt Stroic d tSSU!t.:r SOU\·tnr StS peut C:crt.: ptrmis
;1
lint:
J_ Sa Stf\'ie[Ct:. Ce qui Ja rtndrnir
(ore salt.:
l'[
fort
pain. ct qui seroi[ rrl-s inci\'il. ou dt lt-cher st.:s doigts. ce qui ne
malpropre, ou de Its t:SSLi"ier
personne bitn nee tt bit:n tlt\'tt
Lt: sage Enfant s ii est aYtC dt:s Supt'.rieurs
ffH:nra
It: dL:rnicr L.: m.1in au pbr
.. aprl=s, si c'esl de la \·iande. la coupera propremenr avec son cou[eau tt la mangtra avcc son p.tin ("est urn.: chost rustiqut et salt de tirer de sa bouche la \'iandt qu on a dtjJ.
er la mtnrl·
::;ur son assit[te. Aussi ne four-ii jam<.1is rtmtttre dans le plat ce qu on en a os[t
l>L
1786 i-.bzarin. me parla cl un din::r
L"
c1111r
a Versailles
)t parit. lui
voyons. je mt
a table?
-De ma sen·iette? Jt fis commt lour le mondt: jt la dtployai. je !'tttndis sur moi er L1trnchai ix1r un coin
K.
a ma
boutonnihe
-Eh bien mon chtr. vous tees le seul qui ayez fair cela: on n ·ernlt point sa sen·iettt. on la laisst
1774 from La Salle. L:Y Ri.gkr
Jroite. pour courer la
. il ne doit point non plus s accoudcr dessus. car ct:!a n appartien[
oi:1 i! s trnit rrouvt quelquts jours auparavant avec .ks
11 esr de 1 honrfrttlt'. de st sef\·ir toujours de la fourchertt: pour porttr de la \'iande j'JJ/::: ;u.r
i:1
;1 sa bouche, II nt doit point
qu·:1 Jes gens malades ou vieux
Dt.:rnit-rement. L1bbt Cos.son. professeur de btlles lcrtrts au
cuil!er qui t:"S[ destint'.t fmur prenJrt..• Ct:S SOrttS dt ciWSl'S
l.i Bi:n-_1::/1:::
baucht: et son court:au
From a conversation bttWten the potl Delille and Abbt Cos:;on:
mais on doit tol1jours !ts tenir enrre ses doig[s On flt: duir p:ts Sl' strvir de la fourchette pour porter
viande sans le rompre_ II se donnem aussi de garde de porctr son couteau
c:ncore plus d.., l y porter a\'eC ht poin[e du couttau II faut obsefYl·r la ml:mc chose en maI\t.:eant des
un
a tlairt:r t:St
le >faitrt de la table: et s il arriYt que 1·on trouYt quelque malproprere Jans les a!imt:nts, ii faut !es
propos de !es dt:graisser d\1hord avec un morc<;au de qut de !es essuier
la
Ia sucer On nl· doic jdn1ais pren
avant qw.: de couper du Pain. tr pour nerroh·r la cuilltr. et la fourchette aprl=s qu on s'en est scrvL Lor:que Its doits sont fort grns. ii est
:1
It: doigt. ou J y trt:mptr le pain avtc la fourchette pour
sur sts genoux. [[ commt:nt tlrts-vour pour manger \"Otrt soupe? f.,.
d
,/t /.; (iti!itt' d.1rt'ti:mh
(1---!
ednl p. -rSff:
-Comme rout le monde, je penst Jt pris ma cuiller J"tme main tl ma fourchtttt de I aurre -Vorre fourchttlt, bon Ditu! Personne nt prend de fourchtttt pour manger sa soupe
La sen·it[re qui c:st posCt sur l assitcre. trant de:;linte
a prt'.SL"f\'t:r
malpruprerCs inst'.f'
!t:s habics des caches ou aurres
soi qu clle couvrt.: ks devants du
{\.fais
500
The Cil'ilizing Process
-Eh. on romp[ son pain. on ne le coup pas Avanc;ons. Lt catt. commenr It prite-s-vous? -Eh. pour It coup. commt rnuc lt monde: il t:rnit brU!anr, je le versai par petites parries de rna tasst clans ma soucoupe -Eh bitn. vous fires commt nt tir slm:menr personne: tour le mon
501
Appwdix I guibus ptsriferam rettnri crepirus vim
rerunrur non du.xi
adscribendos
D.
1
1558
Changes m Attitude towards the Natural Functions (p. 109)
from Ga!aM. by GiO\·anni
Uber
c,111i/hur1mr1 cosrumart apparecchiarsi alle A. Fifteenth century From s·r:nwinnf
!t'S (tJ!Jh!Ulltt-S
d,
!:1
h1hle:
necessid naturali ), da13 tr sich zu nari.irlicher nocdurfr in andrer Leute gegenwertigkeir ri.isre un
beimlichen orren wiederkunffr flir ehrliche gest!lschafr die hande nichr waschen, nach
VIII Enfant, prens
ebtn umb derselbigtn ursach willen kein feint gewohnheit, wenn einem auf der Gassen etwas abscheuliches. wie es sich wol bisweilen zurrtigr. flirkommer. srarim a
Qui soir dtshonnesre ou vilaine
inquiunt: O
E. .'>29
Gr!f ouch nihr mir blazer ham
1570
Dir selben under din gewanr
From rhe \\/ernigero
c. 1530 From De cfri!i1t11t: !!iflrJ1m p11r:rilim11, by Erasmus of Rorrerchm:
Dass nichr manniglich also unverschamr und ohn' alle Scheu, den Bauern gleich, die nichr zu Hofe oder bei einigen ehrbaren, zi.ichrigen Leuten gewesen, n1r das Frauenzimmer, Hofstuben unJ andrer Gemach Thiiren oder Fensrer seine Norhdurfr ausrichre, sondern in jeder sich jederzeir und -orr verni.infriger, zUchtiger und threrbieriger \\?ort und Geber
Incivile est tum salurare. qui reddir urinam aur alvum exonerar quibus narura pudorem addidir reregere cirra necessirarem procu! abtsse debet ah ln
F.
1589 From rhe Brunswick Hofor
Lorium rtmorari valerU
Dergleichen Jail nieman
H.
1694 From rhe correspondence of rhe Duchess of Orleans:
L"odeur de la bout esr horrible Paris esr un tndroir affreux; !es ruts y Ont une si mauvaise odeur qu'on ne peur y rtnir; I exrr2ine chaleur y fair pourrir beaucoup de viande er de poisson t( ceci, joint
a la foule Jes gens qui supporter
Jans Jes rues. cause une odeur si
502
/\f'f!wdix I J.Urt
I.
1729 From La Salle. Lr.1
1
u;,Jr.i .le L hir;:s,:nh·c c: dt !.1ci:ilih'1:hr,.!itmh
L, /' 11! .lt d1.n1.'hr,
!i1.'t
Jl: 11::/, Les pois
.i
50 .'>
t,!t, ,JJ rip1·L'.k?Jt.1:ir1ll
f11!f.\ /.; Y1ir,·, d
Ji:
f'a)m,:r,lfi1,71
:011/
i·un:nt manfts s.ms qu ii en rtst5.r un stul
(I\ou::n. l-2.9). p -:5ff.:
II est
On Blowing One's Nose (p, 121)
tr
mains. On dolt t\·i[(:r avec soin. ct auwnr qu on It: peut. dt: porrt:r Lt main nut: sur tourts Its pardes du Corp:; qui nt sont pas urdin;1iremt:nt decouvtrtts: et si on ::st ubligt dt le::; rnucht:r. il faur que ;;oir an:c lx·aucoup de prCcarnion
II est
propos de s accourumer
a
.-;ouffrir plusit:urs pti:irc-:s
!ncommoJirez sans se rnurner. frorrer. ni garter
Thirreemh Cemury
It LSt bit·n plu-; conrre la Bienstance et I honntstt:n:. de toucher. ou dt \'Oir en une aurn: p.lrticulitrement si t:lle est dt: sexe diffCrtnc. ce que Dieu dtfenJ de rtl-!ardt:r en soi. Lorsqu'on besoin J\Iriner, il four rnujours Se retin:r en qutJque Jieu ecarrC:: et queJqw:s
Borwc:sin
on rn: puisst pas tstrt: apt:rcl1.
fo)
La dt:sett:na aprcsso si t: quando tu stranudt. Over ch ti tt: prl"ndt la rosse. fUarda con tu
.111om hruit. fr)rsq1/rJJJ u·: ,,n (r1m/1:1t,::nii: et
ii est hontt:ux
t:t
indecent de le fairt.: dune maniere qu'on
puisse esut entendu dt:s autres.
In olrra parre
tL'
volze.
td t corrtxia inpensa.
I! n·esr jamais stant dt: parltr dts parrits du Corps qui doin:nt estn: cachtfs. ni de certainr:s ntcessirtz du Corps ausqudles la Nature nous a assujetti, ni rnt:smt dt
It::; nommcr.
A.z(J cht dra
no
Zl"'.'iSe sor la rntnsa Pox la trenrena l- qutsra: zaschun corttst Jonzdlo
1731 From Johann Christian Barrh.
Che st.: \'ore
J:_.d.mtht F:.lhfr.1,
in wtlcher gezeiget wird. wit sich ein jungtr ?\knsch bt:y der galantt·n \X.dt sowoh! durch manierl!che \\lerke als complaisarue \\"orre recomm.rndiren so!L .A.lien Liebhabtrn der ht:LHigen Policesse zu son
lo naxo.
con Ii drapi sc: foza bello: Chi mant:ia. ovtr chi mcnesrra.
no de.:
con le die:
Con Ii dr.1pi da pt:) Se monda Gt-"het man bey eintr Person n>rbL"y. wc:lcht: sich erleichrcrr. so stdler m
\'OStra COrtt:xia
zu
B.
K. 1774 From La Salle. L.r
RZrJi_, J. !.1 hit11.'i:lli'(L L: .lt !.1
t"irifih' t"hrt'tiLlllh.
Swer in Jaz rischlach sniuzet sich.
p 2-l:
daz sr<'ir nihr woi. sicherlich
11 est de la bi.tnstance l"t dt: la pudeur de couvrir mutts k·s parries du corps. hors Lt rere er le:-
c
mains Pour !t:s b:.:soins narurds ii t:St de la hiensCance {aux enfonrs m0mt) dt: n y
qut: dans Jes
lieux ou on nt soir pas
11 n'cst jamais stanr dt parier dts r·arries du corps qui Joivenr rnujours t-rn:
ni dt: ctrraines
ntcessirts du corps auxqut:llts la nature nous a assujerris. ni mtme dt les nommer
XXX!Il Enfanr. se ron rn:z est morvc:ux. Nt It rorcht." dt la main nue. De quoy ta viande esr ttnut.
L
Le fair esr ,-iJain t:t honreux
1768 Lerrtr from f.ladame
D. Je voudrnis. chtrt grand maman. vous peindrc. ainsi qu'au grand-abbt. qudlt for ma surprise. quand hitr marin on m"apporra. sur mon lit. un grand sac dt vorrt parr. fourre la main, j y trouve Jes p::tits pois
er puis un vast
chambre l\fais J urn: bt-autt. dune m
Jt
From A. Cabants . .\frnJtr.1 imim1:s :!11 hmJi.1 f1:lss/ (Paris. 191 ()) p
l 01:
me hC!.rt: de 1·ou\Tir, j'y
je It tire bit:n \·ire: c t-"St un pot de rout d urk voix disenr qu"il
Au quinzitmc sitclc. on
SL'
mouchair encore dans le:; doiftS Lt les sculpteurs de l'tpoqut n'onr pas
craint de n:produire Ct: ,Ut:Stt. passablement rea!istt. clans Jeur monumtnts
Th1: Cil'ilizing Pmct.rs
50-i
Appendix I
E
P. 134 Se mouchtr avec son mouchoir U Jtcouvtrr tr sans se couvrir de sa serviette. en essuyer la
1530
sont des salerez U faire soulever le coeur ;1 rnut le monde.
sueur Ju visage
II fauc evictr dt bfriller. dt se moucher ec de cracher Si on y tst oblige tn des litux qut I on cienc
ciri!i1:1h monm1 p11u·i!i11m. by Er.i:;mus. ch l:
From
505
propremenc il four It faire dans son mouchoir, en se dtrournanr le visage tr se couvranr de sa main Pilt:o aut veste emungi. rusricanum, hracchio cubirnve. salsamencariorum. nee multo civilius id
er nt point regarder aprts clans son mouchoir
manu tieri. si mox pituiram vtsti illinas Strophiolis txciptre narium recn:mt:nta, dtcorum: idoue: 1 paulisper a\·erso corpore. si qui jdsilli hflllfJr:lfifJrd
L
Si quid in solum Jejecrum tst emuncto Juobus Jigiris naso, mox ptde pron:rt:ndum tst. (From cht scholia:J
169'1
Inter mucum er pituiram parum differentiae est, nisi quo
from i\ftnag:e, Oicti1J1mairt" :!1)111ologiq11t :Ir: /.; lang11t
a moucher:
magis sordt:s inrerpn:canrur Srrophium er srrophiolum. sudarium tr -;udario!um. linreum tt linreolurn
i\fouchoir
confundunr passim Lnini scriprores
Comme ce mor de moucher donne one vilaint im.1g:e. les dames de\TOient plutOS[ appeltr ce mouchoir, dt poche, comme on di[ mouchoir Je cou.
(jllt
mouchoir
a moucher
G.
1558 From
1714
by Giov,1nni Jdla Casa:
G:d.11t11.
From an anonymous Cfrilih' ji·anf:tist (Litge, 171-i): P -8: Du sole dein farztnttlein niemand Liberrtichen als ob es ntw gewaschen wen: ... (non
il suo moclchino
P. -! l: Gardez-vous bien de vous moucher avec les doigts ou sur la manche
P -t-!: Es gehCire[ sich auch nicht. wenn du die nase gewischtt hast, JaB du das schnuptuch
servez-vous de vorre mouchoir er ne regardez pas cledans aprts
WlUS
(tl!JJllh
ft.,
,11/ws,
mais
trrt moucht.
auseinan
K.
\\ias soll ich dann nun von dentn sagen
die ihr farzolet oder wiscluCkhltin irn
h11h11d
:l:t hm/1.r
From La Salle, Lt:S
!d
rfrilih. dJr:!ti,mh (Rauen, 1...,.29):
plus insuporcable de porcec ensuice clans la bouche ct qu'on a tire hors dts narines II est vilain de
a tln
c:t dr:
II est uts ma! honntsre de foi.iiller incessament clans !es narines avec le doigr. tt il est encore bien
(Paris. 1910):
(a)
P l 0.1:
:le: /:1
Dll nez ec de la manitre
G. From Cabants.
1729
St
moucher avec la main nut, en la passanr dessous le Nez, ou de st moucher sur
sa manche, ou sur ses habits. c·est one chose rrts conrraire
cL-\uvt:rgne, !es "J"\rrfts d amour
qu'elle I eut en mtmoirt. ii s«1
ol1 son nom esrnir en lt[trts enrrtlactes. le plus gentemenr Ju morn.It. car ii esrnir arrncht
a un
beau
cueur
doigts, er puis jerer l'ordure
ii
a rerre.
a la Bienstance, de st
moucher avec deux
er d'essuier ensuire ses doigrs avec ses habits: on
combien
mal stant de voir de ttllts mal-proprerts sur des habits. qui cloivenr roUjours 2tre trts propres. quelques pauvces qu'ils soitnc tS[
II y en a qutlques-uns qui metttnr on doig[ conrre le Nez, et qui ensuire en souftlan[ du Nez. lb)
P 168: 159-i Ht:nry IV
a son
valet de chambre combien il avai[ Je chemises et celui-ci
rtpon
poussent U terrt !'ordure qui est cledans; ceux qui en usenr ainsi sonr des gens qui ne sc;avenr ce que c'esr d'honnerert II faur rnt.ljours se servir de son mouchoir pour se moocher, er jamais d'autrc chose, er en le faisan[ se cou\-rir ordinairemenr le Visage de son chapeau On doit e\'ittc en St mouchanc de faire du bmic avec le Nez
.. Cinq mouchoirs d ouvragt d or. d'argenr et soye, prisez cent tscuz
Avant que de se mouchtc. ii est
in
a l'tgard des
personnes avec
qui on esc. de It deplier en differtnds endroics. pour voir
(c) .•t n:r11iche .rm1s richd. ils /J(1rfmt .fc mo:n/JL /us .:r::.: Iii
P 10.2: Au seizitme sitclt.
mr111dY1ir: :!:ms l.1
mdir.
J1r1th,
:I.ms la
un
1n11:1dJ11ir:
ii
d/
dliSJi. dirt
rt{li qu till St tjll llll
IJJr1:nih
h1111m:c d d, /.;
la m:mchc: f1r//llh
Q:uJJ!
1111 di!
'JI' ii
:mx lh
son mouchoir de sa poche, sans qu'il paroisse. er se moucher prompremenr. de manitr qu'on ne puisse presque pas esrre aperc;U des autres On doit bien se garder, aprts qu'on s'esr moucht, de regarder clans son mouchoir; mais ii est U prnpos dt le plier aussicoc. ec It remenrt clans sa poche,
1!1.l!ldJ,
H.
1672
L
1774
507
TIJ1: Ciz,ifi:ing Pmcess
506
Tout mouvcmtnt Yolonrnin.: du nt:z. soit avtc la main. soir auutmtnt. t:'St indCctnt et pnfrilr:; porttr Its Joigts dans Its narines est unt: qui revoltt:. et tn y touch.ant rrop souvt:nt, q:t'il .1) f1nlh do.J i111.W!ll!.'l1r.htt:r. df/JJf IJJJ .':. l";.\J:,;.'/ !l/JJgh11ijlS Les tnfonrs sont asstz dans l\1sa,t.:e dt rnmber dans ct dtfauc: !:..> /J..1r:.n:s
dr1iLl1!
1::3 r:l!
II four observt:r, en se mouchanr. routt:s !es regles de la bitnseanct l·t dl' la propren:,
E. ! 5:\0 From/), (iti!i!d!t
m11r;11i:
jlfh'ri!imn, by Er.tsmus:
.A.n:rsus expuiro, ne quern conspu:.1s aspergas\·t Si quid purult:ntius in terram rejectum t:ric pt:de. ut Jixi. proteratur. ne cui naust:.1m movedt. Id si non licl·t. lintt:olo sputum excipito Resorbere salivam. inurb.mum esr. qutmadmodum et illud quod quosdam viJemus non ex rl(:Ct::ssirnte, seJ ex
n:-.u. ad rertium quodqut n.:rbum e.xpw:n:
i\L 1797
F.
1558 by Giovanni dt:!b Casa:
from On faisair un arr c..k· moucht:r it ya quelques crnnC:es. Lun imirair le son dt la tromp::ttt, l'J.titre le jun:ment Ju chac: le point dt perfection consisrait a ne faire ni trop de bruit ni rrop ptu,
P. 5-0: Es stehtr auch Libel. daH sich einer. Ja tr am fisch sirzer. krauer: Ja an dem Orr unJ zu solchtr Ztir sol sich tiner so vie! ts mliglich auch Jef) auswerfens enthalten. und so nun es ja nichr
fr'rnz umbgthtn k<>nre. so sol man ts
On Spitting
dafJ sie des aussprlinzen Jurchaus nit bedi..irffet habr:n \'?it solcen dann wir uns auch nit tine geringt
(p. 129)
ztir <.kssdben entluitcn kfornen
G.
Middle Ages 1672
A.
from Antoine de Courrin,
Sr1li1Lill
:r.;ih dt 1.:i: ilih':
Cet usage Jont nous venons de p1.i.rler ne ptrmtt pas qut la pluspart de ces sorres de !oix soienr immuables. Et comme il yen a beaucoup qui ont dt:ja change, je ne doure pas qu il n y en air plusieurs de celles-cy. qui changeront mur de mt'.mt.: l avenir .:\:1!rtj;1i.1. p:.;r t.\"t'l!!/!ft if tSfr,i: /11.-n11is dr: ffd(hr:r ./ h:rr1.- dti.':lll! ..id f'd·.1,,m;d :it :.j!i.dih. d if r./1.- 11:1.-t:r1.-
nee ultra mensam sputris nee desuper unquam
nee carnem propriam verres digiro neque scalpts
/r: pi1.-d dr..1.•:1s: ::· /'rc!tll! ( t.•! .'\Jt!r1.-ji1is
Si sapis extra vas expue quando Livas
1Jl!
:./, 1pulih' s'1.-n
.'f!!r:
pom·r1i! h.ii!/1.-r
d
in:./1;,(1;,?JCc c't.r:oi: :us1.-:::
j11111rr11
q:1r:
I
01.1
th J1.n-!.1s! /us 1.-ll b.ii!!r.w:: .1 prr.Jt!lf lllh J11.-r_,,1l1lh
(hr1q11tr//il
B. From a
C1111!Uh'J!(,.;
d:.. h;h/r: Cil.h B:d:..cS Boo!:. \' ) p
):
171-i From an anonymous Cizili1t.'ji·.mf.1i.r1.- (Liege.
2<)
l'e craicht p
b rnble,
P 67 : Lt cracher frequent est desagn:able: quanJ ii est de ntcessitt on Joit It ren
Car c est chost dtSconvenablt
que I on pt.:ut et faire en sortt qu'on nt crache ni sur Its ptrsonnes. ni sur les habits dt qui que cc soit. ni mtme sur Jes tisons trnnt
51
sur le crachat
Ctllui qui courrnisit a chitr
Ne doir pas ou bacin crachier, Fors quanr sa boucht tr ses mains leve,
P -i l: II est Je mauvaise grace de cracher par la fenfrre dans la rue ou sur le feu
Ains ment hors. qu aucun nt gn=vt
Ne crachtz point si loin qu'il faille aller chr:rchtr le cr,1chat rour mtttrt It pitd dessus.
L
D. 1729
\Virff nit nauch plirschtm sin Die spaichti Liber Jen risch hin
P. 55: On
Jh
c/1;j;
fl.IS
y i.lhshnir de a..-dh,,., tt c est une chose rrts inJtctnte d avaltr Ct qu on doir
crachcr: ctla est capdbie dt faire ma! au cucur aux autres
508
II nt· faur pas ceptndanr s accoUtumt:r
de,• /hrsr1mh.' dt.-
q11.1hh'
509
/1/1jiwdix l
The Cil'i!izing Prncess
Si cum sodali lecrum habes communt:m, quietus jactro. rn:qut corporis jacrariont: vd re ir'sum
n::des. n:l soJali Jerracris palliis sis molesrus
et lorsqu on est dans des lieux qu on rienr propres, ii est de l'honnerere
c
crachtr Jans son n1ouchoir, t.:n se rournant un ptu Je cOrt 11 est mtme de la Bienstance que ch.1cun s'accolirume
a cracher d
son mouchoir. losqu'on t-'St
Jans les maison Jes Grands et dans routes les places qui sonr, ou cirtes. ou parquertes: mais i! est bi,._ plus necessairt
celui
:-i.e.
!555
from Der
e e que
if iY111l!dhJ ((JJJh!!.llhd
[111md
(Lyon. l 555) by Pierre Broe:
Et quand \'"iendra que tu seras au lit Aprl:s soupper pour prenJre It Jtlit J'humain repos aucques plaisan( some
Aprt:s avoir cracht Jans son mouchoir. il faur le plier aussirtJc. sans le regardtr, et le merrre d;;ms sa poche On Joit aYoir beaucoup d'egard de ne jamais cracher sur ses habits, ni sur ceux des autres QuanJ on apen;oit a rerrt quelque gros Crachar. il faur aossitOt mettre adroitement le pied dessus. Si on en remarque sur I habit de qutlqu un, ii nest pas bitn sfant de It faire connoistre: ma.is il faut averrir quelque domestique de alltr Oter: et s ii n y en a point, il four !'(Her soi-mCme, sans qu'on s'en apercoi\"t:: car ii est de I honnttert de ne rien faire paroirre a I egard de qui yue ce soit, qui lui puisse faire peine: ou Jui Jonner de la confusion
si .1uprt:s de mi est coucht quelque home Tien doucement tOUS rts mtmbres
a droyr
Alonµt: roy. er garde J. son endroyr de It fachtr alor aucuntment pour re mouvoyr ou rourner rudemenr p.1r toy ne soyent ces mtmbrts descouvtrs re remuant ou faisanr tours divers: Er si tu sens qu ii snit ja someillt Fay que par toy il ne soyt esueille
1774 u- d, !:.1 (fz ilih'
id
from La Salle. L . s
(l
D. P 20: Dans l Eglise, chez Jes Grands er Jans rous les endroirs oU regnenr la proprete, il faur cmcher
1729
Jans son mouchoir. C est une grossiC:rert impardonnable dans les enfanrs. que cellt qu'ils conrracrent en crachant au visage de leurs camarades: on ne saurair punir crop stvtrtmenr cts
on ne
peur pas plus excuser ceux qui crachenr par Its fenhrts. sur !es muraillts er sur les meub!es ...
P. SS: On doir :it suit
des personnes dt sexe difft'.renr. de coucher dans un mtme lie.
quand ct ne strait que des Enfanrs fore jeunes
1910 :\frn11n
moins qu on
ne pas st couchtr dtvant aucone ptrsonrn: d autn: sext
II bt encore bien moins permis
L From 1\ut::usrin Cabants.
ne st Jeshabilkr. ni couchtr devanr personne: !'on doit surrout.
Jans it
Lorsqut par une ntcessitt: indispensable. on est conrrainr Jans on voi"agt de couchcr avec quelque
imimt:r
autrt de mtsmt sfxe. ii n tst pas bien-stanr dt s'tn aprocher si fort. qu on puisse non st..·ulement s incommoder l un l auue. nrnis mesme st toucher: et ii 1·t:st encore moins dt mettrt:' sts jambes entrt:'
P. 2<15: .t\n:z-vous observt qut nous rcltg:uons aujourJ hui Jans qudqut coin Jiscrt:t Ct: qut nos ptrts n htsiraitnt pas
a tndtr
au tzrand jour?
Ainsi ctrrnin mtublt inrime occupait urn: place 1.Jhonneur .
on ne songtair pas
a le
cdles de la pt:rsonne avec qui on est couchf
II est aussi rrCs indecent t:t pl·u honnt:re. de s amuser dCrobtr au...x
rtgards
j
c.1user. ;:i badintr
Lorsqu'on sort du lit. ii nt.: four pas le laisser dtcoun:rr ni metrre son bonrn:t de nuit sur qudqut sit}!t. ou en quelqu'aurre tndroir d oU il puisse (·rre
II en trait de mtme d:_un autrt meuble, qui ne fair plus partie du mobilier modtrne et cloner par ce temps
E.
1774 From La
On Behaviour
the Bedroom (p. 135)
Li.s RZg},:< j, la
d dt /"' ti1 ifih' chrt':i,mh ( 1-- -i) p 51:
10
C'esr on ttrange abus dt faire couchtr des ptrsorn.:s de JiffC:rtnts sexes Jans une ml:mt chambre:
t:t
si la nfcessirt y oblige. il fout bitn faire ensorre que !es lits soient stparts. er qut la pudeur ne souffn: tn rien de ce mt'.lange. Une granJe indigence pt:ut seule excuser ctr usage
R
1530 From O, (fl'i!itah mur11m
(ch XII de cubiculo) by Erasmus:
Sive cum txuis re. sive cum surf!:is. memor verecundiae, cave nt quid nudes aliorum oculis quod mos tr rn1tura rectum esse voluit
Lorsqu'on st rrouve force de coucher avec une ptrsonnt de mt'.me stxe, ct qui arrive rartmenr. ii faur s y renir dans unt modestie stvert er vigilante Des que 1on est tveille. tr que I on a pris un remr's suftlsanr pour It repos. il faut sorrir du lit avtc la modtstit convenable. et nt jam<.tis y rester a ttnir des con\·ersations ou vaquer d aurrcs affaires rien n annonce plus stnsib!emcnr la partsse et la lfgt:rert: le lir t:St destinf du corps et non d rourt auue chose
'I he Ciz·j/j:;J;1g
510
Pro(c\S
On Changes in Aggressiveness (po 160) , Sint uns al!en
1st
gt:gt.:b:.:n
t:in harrc ungewissez lebt:n'
"\Vildu vcirhttn dtn r<>r. st; muosru k·bl'n mit rnit '.Man weiz wol daz
man weiz ab
zuokunfr nihc:
t.:r kumr gtslichen als ein ditp und scht:ider ltide unJt liep Duch habt du guort: zuon:-rsihr
vlirhrt dt.:n rDr ze s0rt nihr vi.irhrestu in zt sl:n: Ju gt.:winntst \Teude nie mL-re ...
Appendix II P fates froni Das Mittelalterliche Hausbuch
Af!Pi:i!dix II
513
Reproduced from Dm i\Iithialtc1lid1c H11mh!!ch (td Bossert and Storck. 191.:'l by kind permission of E A Seemann
5l
1
II
Rc:produc"I fr(lm [).;, _\J '!!J,;/:,ri!J, 1-1.r 1-"' 1,-h ted Bo"ert and Swrck_ l l) 121 by kind perrT1i:-,:-.i{1!1
(Ji.
E »\
5l5
Reproduced from D<1s ,\littJd!i<:rlich, !-!d11sb11d> !tel Bossert ,rncl Srnrck. 19 l 2 I by kind ptrmission of E. A Seemann
516
The Ci6h::i11g Process
Notes
Part One l Oswald Sptnt.der. Th., O.,di1h
1/
\LJ1 (London. 1926). p 21: "Each Culture has its own ntw
possibili[its of sdf-exprtssion which arise. ripen. Jecay. and never rtrurn
These culrun.:s.
sublimart
2 The whole question of the den::lupment of the concepts Kufl:Jr <.md Zici/iJ,lfio11 needs
fullt:r
examination than is possible hert, where tht problem can only be briefly introducc-
Thus, for example.
Friedrich Jodi. in his Oit K11!tm:(dChich1sdJrcih111!F
Reproduced from 0d.r ,\[j!!cf,i!ter/i(hc EL111sb11(h (ed Bossen and Srorck. 1912) by kind permission of EA Seemann
conctpt of f...."u/!11r also approached rht \\/esrtrn concept of ci\·ilizarion All rht samt. the 189- edition of
still stares: °'Civilizarion is the srnge
'i l8
5l9
rhmu,:.:h \\hich
,1
b;1rb.1ri<;.:
mu:-;r
j"'dS-.,
in order w
!\.:!::tr in industry.
.1tr
ar:.
10. Cf ;\rnold Bt:rney,
I-lowcvcr ncd.r
rl1L·
Gt:rm.rn conr..:t:pt
01· /.:...').'.':!"
::iomt:timts
secnb
((J
((JI11t:
ro the French and English
((incept of ci\ ilizarion in sutJ1 srntcmcnt:-.. the t'edint'. chat Zi:
C(Jmp.tric-.un
to
J\..:rh:1r l)t\cf t:I1tirdy disaprc:trs in Gt:rman1
t:\t:fl
is .1 st:cond-rart: value
in this ri:riod, It is an cxprtssion
German;. s sdt·-,tsscrtion ,1p1in..,r tht \\'cc->tl'.f!1 countries which
as rht:
hearcr' of ci\ ilization. ::nd of dit: tt:nsion ht:twten tht:m. Its srn:.:n,:..:-rh with the dc-grt:-t kind or· thi::i tension 1 he hisrnr;. or· th:: German concepts 7.i: i/i.,.lfi,1iJ ,rnd J\..n/11u is n:ry ,.\ft:
Ct:ftcl!n ro!iticd circumsranet.:::. which persist thruu,!_..'.!lOut m.my f''h,btS of in their C(J!1Cept::.-.tbmt: all, rho:-,t t:Xpressing their
J.r
\ l 8-0l, in which France is rtftrrtd ro as tht
The tt:rm ··material culture . current in Entrland and France. has Yirtual!y disapp·.:artd from
ordinar1 German usagt:. if nor quire from sclwlarly tc-rminology. The- concept of K!il!ur has merged complt:rd;. in ordinary spi:t:ch with what is he-re called The ideals of KH!t11r and Bil./m:'; wt:rl' dw,1ys c!osdy related, thi: rd'ertnce rn objecciYL· human accompli::,hmenrs .:..:r.tdu.1ll;. bt:camt" morl' prominent in rhe concept of l\.J1!I:tr _:, On rlit: problem or· tht.· inrt:lligerusia. St"e in particular K. ,\lannhcim, .nJ:! U1r,j;ic1: 1\n I wrr,./irr::ir·1.' ;'11 :h:. S1,:ff)!/j.'.!.) rf f.....;;r,u (London. l 0_)()) On rlk san11...· subjt"ct. Ste- als
.\ 1:h.') n:
J?,(11rJ}:nrai11n \London. l 0-101. and H
.·\.(·,
1
(Bonn. ·l.
1m:l
(Lt:ipzig and Hallt: Joh. H.
in rl:l' quotation arc the auchor's.) Cf. alscJ rhc- arric!t: on "Tht Courrit:r":
C-\11
A pt:rsun st:n in a t"l'Spt:Ctl'd position Jt rht court of a princt: Court liL· has always bten Lk ...;cribt:d (J!l d1t" ont: hand
to
the
Dni!.
Cr"
,d:-,(1
thl' ,trtick --c:uun
·If all suhjt"crs wt.'.fc <..kl·ply convinu:d rhar rhc;. hunoured cht:ir princes
on ,J.Ccounr or· d;eir inw,trd m::rirs, chere would be nu nn:d of oucward pomp: as it is. ho•xe\·er. tht .:.:r::,tt r.i.rt of rht:ir suhit"crs rennin attached w externals A prinet: remains the sank whether he wJ.lks ,d(Jnc or :tctt"Il<..kd b;. a
company: !1l'\ r.:rrhdcss. rl1t"rt: i:-,
lirrlt: or no arct"ntic,n when goin.t: alont:
f1(1
Lick o( l'X,m1pks whtre the prince
his subjc-cr:-;, but was rt"cei\·td quire
\\ hL·n ,icr:inp: in accorlbnce with his f"'Osition For this n.:ason it is rll'Ccssar;. rlMr che prince ha\ e sen·,uns nor on!;.
to
rule thl' land bur .ilso for outward ,1prear,mce .ind for his own strvice:·
Similar ideas werl' already t:Xpressed in the st:vt:ntttnth century. e.f... in rhe DiYt:ltr.1 c. d l·flij}lich.k2it {I 665 ): cf E. Cohn. lm:! c,_,L!!.1th.1/!.ff1J!l.'.ill .ld j (Berlin. 192 l ), p. 12. Tht: Gi::rman conrmposition of .. outward courtc-sy and ,.inw;.:rd merit is as old as Gtrman absolutism
and as the social weakrlt"ss of rhe German hourgeoisil' riJ-./-1,:s tht: courrly circlt:s of this ptrio
is to hl' unJersrnod not
in rtbrion rn rl1L· particular srrc-ngrh of the German
in rhe preceding ph51. (1
E. <..k ;\fau\ i!lun
Ibid S I hid
p ·!2-
pp.
-!()
l-2.
,;
8. I'' I. p 195 l·!. .\buvillon. L.!!rc l"'P· _l98f l '5 501 . . hit: dt: la Rocht:. G,.11.-hi:hh
,iili1//h_I
r
{London. I -!Ol. p -!50
From I-krders S.1:h!.lJ.1.
\Ol
1- Sophil· de !a Rocht.
:.k1
Fr,i;d,in z,,;;
( 1--1: Berlin: Ku no Ridderhoff. 190- l
_:,_ pp ()- -H
S:Jnh,,:11:. p 99.
18 Ibid .. p. 25 19. Ibid. p. 90 20 Carulinl' von \\'olzogtn, :\g;;u lf/?l .A. shon fragment is rtprinted in Dt11!sd1, quotation from p. 3-5 2 i Ibid . p _lh_l 1 ' Ibid. p _:;6-i
ipub in Schilltrs rfr,r(n, 1-90: pub
<1S book. l-98l (Bt:din and Srutrgatr). vol l _:;-.pr 2:
,,
--'· G. C.H. Lichtenberg, .·\ph1,r,:s11hiJ. \U! . .l. i--'5--9. Dt.·utschc Lict:r.tturdenkmale de.-; 18 und 1') Jahrhundcrrs. l'\r. 1.'>h. Btrlin ll)(I(,, p l)IJ
\Veil. D.;:.
ch ')
c:1:u,r.i.1/-L,xihr)1.· .I!/:.1'
Gr"-'-'''
Zedkr.
! . p. l {) It is undeniable that frL"nch dmmd is in irs innermost L·ssenct" rht: df.lm,1 of t:riquL·ttl· The prt:rug,:.ti\t: uf bt:inµ a rragic ht:ro is rinl to the court l'Eiqul'nt: 12 G E Lessing. Bric/ .l:t.1 ::11,i::.11 .\i.hrZ/hiJ (G(i:,dlt"Il, l-55J: quoted in 1\ronson. p l(,j
l(J
counrr;. or '"ciYilization . England as that of ··mart:rial culture , and Germany as char of "idea]
!3ii,hm.:.:
p -1
! :S j.d.n{m;J,n. \'ol
1 •
mcnr. crTiL·Q..:int: in the habitth of Germans ::-dt--lm,\L:c Ci·. abo Conrad Htrn1,rnn.
Grr,_1h (fi.ibingtn.
15 This and rhe fullowinf rcferel1Cl'S art from Ltmprcchr.
Fr,uKt,
intcrrd.ttt:d \\id1 chc hi,wr! uf relations het\\'ten CorbtitUL"I1tS
( Heilbronn. l ss_;). YO! 1(J
LJ. Reprinted in rhc
,tnd :lttitudes
18
2') Brunot. in his /-li.•fl)ir, Jc L
jj:.lll(.ri.1,. cites the ust of rht" word l'iz J!i.1.lt1:'111 b]
Bur
to iind it it dot:s not appear quire ceruin that Turgot himsdf ustd rhis w<1rd. Ir proYtd in a st:arch of his works with ont: excl;'ption: in rhe rnh!t: of conrenrs rn thl· t"dirions by Duront dt: Nemours by Schdle l3uL this r.1blt: was probably t"'rnduct"d nor by Turp}( bur by de :-;ufilcient m.trerla! >:cmours If. hmvl'\"l'f. one looks nor for rhe word but for the iJt.·a and is indeed rn lk found in Turgor in 1-51 _ And it is perhaps nor idle ro point rhi:, out ,1..; an
of how a Certain idea forms in the minds of j'tOpit: from Ct:rtain t:Xr'eric-IlCl'S. and rhtn gr,1duaJl;. a special word hecomts associated with rhis idea, this cc1nceptu;1J art:a. Jc is no accidl'nt that in his tdirion of Turgot. Dupont de Nemuur:-> gi\'ts :is the con ten rs of rht ::.cLtion mentioned: "'L.l .-J:di.1.1fi1,;;" ti/..; This :-iecri1111 cunc1in:-. rht: L"",trly iLk-a of ci\·iliz.uion w which tht W(Jrd was Later gradually an.tched An introductor;. ltttl'r to dw publisher uf the L:.!fr,.• cht: oprorruniry ro express his ideas on the rdation uf rht w die hf/11:11;-; p11/ic,: (fJu·n 1·,_, d, 'f:·1r,v!f, td. G Schtllt [Petris. 191.1]. vo! I. p. Tht: oughr rn consider. he· says. "'rhe reciprocal of the saYage and the h1Jv:·n:, j11i/ic:.' To prefer cht: is a ridiculous declamation Lt:r htr rtfure it. !er ht:r show rhar rht ,·1cc·s we rnkt: ro bt rhe product of are innc1te to the human hectrr
A ftw yi::ars lacer. ,\fir.ibtau was to use cht more comprd1tnsive and dynamic rtrm (fri!:'.i.z:ion in rhe same sense as Turgor htrt usts rht term J!li!i!cJS:.. with the opposite evaluation 26. On rhis and subsr.:qut:nt poinrs. see). }.fords. Cnprm1r 1md Entu id::lun:..· cid Zir.:li.utiu;1 Jn Fr.mhr1.frh ( ;-50-18301. in J-ldmhm;'(d St:!ili1.n ::u mu! l\.:d:Nr dJ f?11111drhn 1'))0l. rnl 6. p _38 Ibid .. p .">-
28 IbiJ ., p .16 29 Cf L.1,·isse. Hi.1t1Jirc ,/, Fr.n:c'1. (Paris. 1910). _10. Cf p. 50 _;I Baron d Holbach. S.1.r:;m, .10.-1:.;/l ff:! Yo! _). p 115: quortd in ;\foras. L·n;1rm1i..:. p 50
\"Ol.
9. pt 1, p. 2.1
d1. Iii
1.:
/_; plili!1:cj!h
J'\ott:s to jlag1:s -tl-.:f-9
520 :L? Baron d'Holbach,
521
p 162.
in A Franklin. L« ti,
') Reprinted in
J.1:11r,f1is: !t.r r,jus, (Paris. 1889). pp 16-i. 1<)6.
\vhich has numerous other quoracions on chis subject 6 Reprinrtd in Tht B.ihtd Br1 1L td frt:derick furnivall
Icili,rn. French. and German books of this
c
Part Two
J
;\ B1J//ht 1{ Pri(tdl'lh.t anJ others. Tht moulding of the
Furnivall (London. 1869).
young nobleman through service at cht house of one of rhe ··grt:at"
or his
country is expressed
clearly in rhest English books of conditioning. An Italian observtr of English custom:-;. l
S R \\?allach. D..-s .;/;,;;d/./w/i.1,·h1..
im .\Iithl.dhr
Rtn.1iss.mi1... eJ \\' Gotrz. vol 2'5-..29 Ht:re Larins refers to Larin Christianity. i.t. the \\lt:st in general Bri!r1l/.;1.. ::ur
l\.1t!:ur-,t:,1...>ChidJh dt-s
.\U:rJ.;fhrs 1111d
2 The Bihh":hr:d Er.:Jmi.ln.; (Ghent, 189_;) records 150 editions or.
would be obliged to ,tri\·t rhem the same food as they made use of for themselves ' (St:e the imroducrion to A
morL· prccistly. 131,
rhe text of l 526 which unfortunately was unavailable to me. so char I ,rn1 unaware how far it coincides wirh subsequent editions
Afrer the C11/!r1cjl!ic•. the .\foridt
tli(r1mim11.
rhe Ad.1git1. an
of Erasmus s own writings. (for a Clur.;chr and fnjlt1r:n:e rnble of numbers of editions of all works by Erasmus. cf J\Iangan. Er.umus 1f Rot/l./r.l.m: [London. vol. 2. pp. 396ff.) If accounc is taken of the long series of writings more or less closely related co Erasmus's civility-book. and so of the wide radius 0 its success. ics significance as compared to his other writings must
f
from scholarly language inrn popular languagts. There is as yet no comprthensin: analysis of this. r\ccor
!cS j,'/;111s
!..-
ji·.m,,;..:i.r:c (Paris, 19_.:'-il. p 181, rht most
surprising rhinp;-as far as franct is concerned-is "the preponderance of the books of inscrucrion or have scarcely any
piety over those of enttrrninmenr or S
writing about cht year I 500. remarks char the English probably adopted this practice because one is served becrer by strangers chan by ones own children ··If they had chtir own children ac home. they
Cr111rtd)-B11ok. ed R \\,? Chambers (London. 191-i]. p. 6) Nor is
it without interest char the Italian observer of about 1500 rdi:rs rn .. che English being great epicures For a number of further references. set 1\1. and C. H B Quennell. .r\ Hisro1) 1fEfr1).l•r) Edited by F
J
G,schichtc. ml. 6. pt 2 (speech. p 5:16: table disciplines. p _)28!: P. Merker and \V Stammler. f?t·.dlcxif//11 Jlr d,11JSdJc11 Li1cr.. nJ! ?i. encry on table disciplines (P, l\1erker): and H Teskt.:, TIF1m.isi11 t':lJJ ZtT1.:l.1trc (Heidelberg. 19_;.;). pp 12.2ff 8. For rhe Gerrrn.rn version used here. see Zarncke. Da d,utJCh, C.110 (Leipzig 1852) 9 Ibid. p. _;9, ,. 22.0 10 Tannhiiuser. Di, /-fof::11ch1, in D,r Didu"· 0mnh.1:1.<,r. ed.
w
l l Ibid . n
-i5 (
A. similar success analysis for German and Durch regions would probably yield somewhat
12. Ibid. n
-i
The success of che Larin edition of
cfrilit.1!t was certainly considtrnble. Kirchhoff (in f-L'ip::iger Sr1r!in1tntsh.i11J!t:r im 16 j:Ihrh1mdt-r!; quoce
of
1551, and 1558 no lbs than 65-i copies
were in stock. and that no other book by Erasmus was
in such numht:rs
Compare rhe notice on the wririnbs on civil icy by A., Bonneau in his :.:dirion u( th:.: Ciz i!i1:'j1/1ci·i/c (set n. 55 below).
-!. Despite
success in his own rime. chis work has received rtlarively litt!t: attention in rhe
Erasmus litt:rature of more recent rimt:s. In view of the books theme. chis is only too undersran
codes of conducr-however informative on rht: moulding of ptople
and their relations, is perhaps of only limice
der di111sdhn Lihr,1!11r his :.:m1
d1..1
.\Ii:-:da!tr:;s,
vol. 6. pt :>. p. _)30, is typical of a scholarly evaluation frequently encounrtrtd in this iield: "A book
Furnivall (set n. 6 abovt) For information on che German literature of this
genrt. wich reforences ro cht corresponding literature in other languages. cf G. Ehrismann.
Ir was the .r\dagd, rhc p,4ur.1tir111f1r Ot.1th and the Cizilit) in BiJ)J. that attracted
pbce in chis list
rr.mslarors and ch:J.t the public demanded
in
En,,l.wd (London. 1951). ml. l. p l-i-1
u
J
Sitberr
r
l '!h. n
Ibid . n
1-i Ibid, vv 129f 15 Ibid, vv.
19 Zarnckt. O,"'
C..1;'11. I" 1.:..h.
:>O Ibid .. p i_;-. vv. 28-f
:>! Ibid .. p. U6. n. 258f ·n Ibid .. vv. :>6_;f
2.3 H.rf:11di1. vv l.25f 2-i Glixtlli. Cr1JJhiU!J(d :/, u/;ft 25 Th, Bal".1 B11ril: and .r\ Br111hc I// (Stt n <11 26 Cf A. von Gleichen Russwurm. Di, ,v;1hi.rch, \LI: (Stuttgart. 1922!. pp _;2off See A. Cabants. i\fou1rs i11timi:s Ju td11/ s Jussi' (Paris. 1910). 1st series. p. 2--!8
of insrrucrion for youchs of noble birth. Not raised co the le\·tl of a teaching on virtue '
J-:-
In France. however. books of courtesy from a particular period-rlw <;;tverHtenrh ctntury-have rtcei\·ed increasing attention for some rime, stimulated no doubt by tht work ot- D Parodie ciced in
28 Ibid, p. 252 29 A Bi:"imtr. .r\muml um! Eti.ktth in dtn Th,11rien du· H11m.misfrn. in ,\·oil}ahrhiiht:rfiir das Klassischc
n. 98, and above all by rht comprehensive study by .0.1. l\Iagen
(Paris. 1925). !'cSj1ri1 /;r,11rt,·,11is in Fnmti (Paris. 192-), also rakes
literary products of a more or less average kind as a starting poinc in tracing a ctrrain line in the changes in people and the modification of che social standard (cf. e.g .. pp. -i5ff)
1
:\/1cr111111 l-i (Leipzig, 190-i)
.)(L Characteristic of the German burgher way of giving precepts on manners at the encl of che Ages and in rht Renaissance is the grri/;i:mih·h, Umkc/Jr:mg (boorish inversion). The writer ridicules "bad" conduct by appearing
to
recommend ic Humour and satire, which later gradually
The material used in Parr Two of chis study is a degree lower, if we may put it that way. rhan that
recede in the German cra
in the works jusc mentioned. But perhaps they, too, show the significance this ··slight litt:rarure has
burgher society notably dominant The satirical inversion of precepts can be [raced back as a specifically urban. burgher frlrm of
for an undtrsrnn
522 inscillinp m,rnncrs at lt«1sr
,1-; the r11.tttnch century. The r::curr1..:nt pn.:cerr not to fall
:i::-i
the fo-r-" Z:m;ckc. Der C.z:•z, I' l-i8J: .,_
Gt:Lh.:nk und mtrk ich dir s,1c w,:n m;m dir die kost her
Yet kt:t:p
too lonp: <.md runs all over mouth .tnd
come \V.ipt: rhe snot on both your sk:L:\"t:S that .ill who St..T may vomit wirh dist'.l!St ()lwiously. this account is inrendL:d as an insrruniYe deterrent. ln:icribcd on tht C!tic-pat:t:
und :-.cheuh in Jl·intn driat:l al::. t:roz kl.1mpt:n als ain saw
rht:
01·
Lisz \\ol disz buchlin otfr und \ii Lnd dw allztit das widerspil
Remember. when rht food is brou,1..du in b e th e first 1· I1: sruti"'I _ . t o ti l t (is rhro.1r Jib: a pit_..'..
mt:asure in all rhinµs. <.rnd when the rrickk
\\\)fllb edition of 1551 one reads:
so bis t.kr erst in Jtr schizzd:
The prt:cept not w sc,rn.:h about for \'trsion:
<.i
111..,s. tht timl· w 1.:iean :,our nose
c Iiun k dowu your
!ont.: rime in rht: common dish recur::; here in the
Read this booklt:t ofren. and
du du:
To t:!ucidate rht spt:citic.ill;.
charactL·r of
book. the dedication ot' tht: Helhach t:dition
of l 56- ma;. bt quorL"d: Dedicattd "by \\?L"ndt:!in Helluch. tht unworthy \·icar of EckhardtschausL"n. to the honour.1ble and
!:lei ;diem dcm daz ich dir lcr in der schizzc.·l hin und her
lt::trnL"d genrll'mc::n Adamus Lunict:rus. doctor o( mL"dicint: and city docror of Fr,rnk(urr am
nach dem aller besten stuck:
. The long tirlt of tht: Larin Grohi.m:f.I itstlf may giYt
daz dir daz sclb daz zuck. und let_..'. erz auf dein rdler drar; ache nichr wcr daz flir Libd har
th:.: concept of :i: .;li!.i.r. in Er<.1'mus s sense and r·rnbably in thl' wake of his book. hep ins to sprt:ad in d1L·
In Kasp,1r Scheidt'."\ Gerr11an rranslation of the Grr hi.n1:1J (\\'"orms, I '5'5 [: reprinted in Xi:mlrttck ),u:_1./tr ./,.i J{) m;./ 1 J.IIHh;mj,r:.1. nos _.;_j and _.;5 [Halle. p i-. vv 22.1f.). the 1
in'itrucrion rn wipe one's nose in
time appt:ars as follow:;:
ct:rrain basis for assessing rht rime ar which
Larin-writing Gtrman inrd!ectua! srr,1rum In rht rirlt: of rht 15-!lJ Grohi.m:1.r. this word dues nor
yc::r occur. Therl· we re,1d: ·Iron
\\,.har I tc.teh is. di,t:: for rhc bcsr piece in rhc dish: snatch the piece ;.
and
lords and t:ood friends
fohannes Cnipius Andronicus. citizen rhtreof. my
Chltv.1stts Srudiosac )Ln-enn1ti'
In the
t:dirion thl' same
r,issagL" contains cht \\Ord :"izj/ju.-: 'Iron episcoptt:S srudiosaL" iuventuri ciYi!itart:m oput
:\n.J so it
rt:mains until the edition of 158-! To a 1661 t:dirion cfrhc Griili.!Wf.1 an t:X[LlCt from Erasmu-;s :i: i!i!Jh mor:m:· f'ihri!i:m: is appended
Fin.ill;.. a r1t:w rr,rnsbtion of the GrrJ;f.nm_r of 1-08 is inscribL"d: "\Y.ritttn \\·ith ptH:ric j""'t:ll for the discourrt:ous .i\Ionsicur Blockhead. and prt:st:n[(:d for rht mcrrimenr of all judicious and (f:-jfi::c.! minds
In this translation much is said in a milder ront: and in a far mort: veiled mannt:r. \Vith
increasing '"ci\i]ization
the prtccprs cl a pasc phase. which for ;.di their satire wert: mtant n:-ry
Es isr dc·r hrauch in frt:mbden landtn
seriously. bL"come mtrdy a subjt:cr for laughter. which symbolizes both rht superiority of r:hc 11t:w
:\ls India, wo gu!t verhandtn
phase and a sli.f!ht violation of its rnboos _; 1 //;, R1Ls B,,,/, p . .i-i-i
Auch edd gsttin und perlin gUt D,1ss mans an d nastn henckcn thut
.;2 Glixdli.
So!ch hat dir J;1s nit hschcrt Drum hor w,1:-; zu dL"inr nast:n hon:
y::. Fr.:rn;ois de
Ein
kL"ngcl n:chtvr len.:.;
(Romanlal.
/.,.
\OJ
-!-.
p .'d. \'.·. 155ff
.1:1 m111:J, (:
!l3ru,;cL. 1-l-l, !' (;
.2i-! Arthur DtnL"CkL".
lkitr:igL· zur Enrwick!un.:.:sge:-.chichce cks gesellschafrlichen t\nsrands.:.;e-
Auss h:.:jckn lochern aussher heng.
ft..ih!s . in
\\'ie lan,t:: L"isz zapffen an dem lnuss.
p. 1-5. quotes the following prL:ceprs a:> ntw in [rasmu:;: '·If up w now wt: ha\·t acquaintt:d uursdvc.-s
D,i.s zicrt dein
n·,lSl.'.!1
uherausz
It is the custom in forc·ign countries where go!d. je\\els. and pearls art found w hant: thL·m on the flOSt: :\s we art: lt·ss fortun:itt:. hec1r what n)u should wt:ar on \our nose: a tilrll\ trickle hanging from both nostrils. like iciclts from .a house-that wouki admirably ado;n ;. nost:
Doch hair in allen dingen moss. D.iss nit der ken,!!t·l WL"rd zu gross: D..irumb hab dir ein solchts mess. \\ltnn L·r dir tleussr biss in das ,!!fress
Und dir auff bcidtn lcfftzen !cit. Dann ist die nass zu bursen ztit Auir· beide ermt'l wlisch dtn rorz. D.1sz wer
t::>
:>L"h \or unlust korz
ed C. I>.kyer, L\t:w Series. n1!. 2. no. 2 d3er!in. 18921. pre\·a!t:nr in the hightr circles of rill' common people. in Erasmus s
with the ideas on table famous book
\\'(:are giYt:n prt:Ct:pts for good behaviour in a princt:. The lessons :1rc nLw: Ir· you arL" givL"n a nJpkin ar r:ablt: you should lay it over r:he ll'fr shoulder or arm Er.1smus alsc1 say:;: You should sit barL"ht:,ided ar rnble. if the custom of the country does not forbid it. You should han: your goblet and knift on tht righr of JOUr plart:. the bread on the left Tht bctt:r should nor be hroken hur n1r. Ir i..; improptr and also unhealthy to bef:in tht: meal by Ir is loutish to dil' your tingtrs into tht broth Of a good pitcc offtrtd ro you. rnkt on!;. a part and pa:>s the rest to tht: pason offering ir. or tht: pt'rson next to you. Solid foods offtred rn ynu should bt: rnken wich rhret' fingers or on your plate: liquids offtred on a spoon should be raktn with the mCluth. bur rht spoon shnuld bc- wij't.:d h:.:forL" ic is rt:turned If food oflirtd rn you is nor wholesome, under no circumstances say, "I cannor t:ar [hat . bur txcuse yourself politely. Every man or" refint:ment must be adt:pr <.lt carving e\·t'ry kind of roast meat. You may nor rhrow bones and ltavings C1nrn the fluor To car mt:at and brt:ad rogt:cht:r is hL"alrh;.. . Some rtople pobbk while Ii.you are giving a mt:.d ;.ourstlf. :\ ;. <1urh should speak at rnb!t.: on!;. \\ ht:n nt:cessar;. ;;;rrni!l.'
525
1'\ot1:s to pages 77-117 c1polo,r;ize for irs
crnd, at all cosrs. do nor lisr rht prict:s of rhe \'arious
[\'i:ryrh!ng is offt:n:d with rht.: right hand.
·Jc may be Sten rhat, dt:spitt: tht: caution (ir" the educator of princes and dt:spitc: the rtfintmi:nt tht sami:
is
in rhest: prect:pts
Simibrly. Erasmus s
difr'ers primarily from rht.· orhtr social forms of conduct
on!: in rht· \\·ide scope of the prtceprs intended for rhe other circles. sincr: he is conctrrn.:d ar rhe ltasr to gi\'t an account txhausti\·t for d1at rime.
50 Cf 1\ Franklin. Le Rtj'.15. pp 19-!f 51 Ibid . p. -i2 52. Ibi
inform rhe lady char J\.[onsieur Thib.i.ulr rht younger w,1s askin,s rn ste her ·very \vt!L '>aid the lady
This quoration compltmt!lCS tht: earlier considerations rn somi: extent. Cnfurtunatt!y, Dern:::ke
'BL!l before admitting him I must rel! you \vho ;\f Thibault is. He is rhe son of a bourgeois friend
limits his comparison rn Gr:rman rnbli: disciplines. To confirm his finding::;, a ccimparison would bt-
of mine in P<.1ris, one of rhose rich peorlt: whost.: friendship is sometimes useful ro people of rank in
nr:tdi:d with books of courtesy in French and English. and abovt all wirh the earlier humanises
ofilce, but who needs to be: purged of rhe bad gract and langu.1ge of the bourgeoisie
of
.;5 Cf Lr ,·i: ilih' p11(ri/, fur Er.1mh d, Roi hr.lam, pr,"/dc' d:11h lf''fic, s11r !.1 !ihrd :/, ci:i/j:; dcp:iiJ Jr.1r 81imh.llf (Paris. 18--): 1
"Did Erasmus han: modt:!s? Ob\·iously. ht did not in\·tnt , .rP1ir-zfrrt, and long befort him the 1
gtneral rules had bt:en laid
Nonethtltss. Erasmus is tht first
to
havt ue.1ri:d rht subject in a
sptcial
A similar observation is made on Giovanni de Ila Casas G.,.f:.;ftri (first edition
wirh other
pieci:s by rhe author. 1558) in the introduction by I E. Spingarn (p xvi) ro an i:dirion entitled
G.ddhr,
fff ,\LnllhrJ :md BJi.:;riri/tr (London,
1r is perhaps of strvin: to further work
191-i)
to
dressed. at church. ar rnble. ere., almost as comprehtnsin::-ly as Erasmus s tre,uis::. Jr is not of rhese poems on manners
\\?hat is certain is rhat rht chtme of tducation for boys had a consiJtrable
of Erasmus s !irtlr: book. Quiet apart from. the versts D-- m11ribus in 11;,n.1.i Sff:·.mdis by Johannes Sulpicius, theri: appe. Hegen
Jisciplines.
r.w 159-1-1659 (Kiel, 1928). nil. l, p 26 n. l 56 Lton Sahkr. .\fonthc'/i,,.,../ .I !.,.hie .\It'm1Jird :lo /.; 5,.,:it'1t' j Emul.lti
11n
1111.I
cit .\f"n!htf.;,,.,-j (J\1ontbtliard.
l l)(i-J. ml 5-i. p l 56 5- Cf Andresen and Sttphan. vol 1. p. 12 58. Cf Plarina. Ot horh.r!.1 t'ol11j1f.1h d c.:liwdith (l·i-5J. bk 6, p 1-i The whole ··civilizational curve is clearly \·isible in a !errer to rhr: tditor wirh the ride ··obscurities of Ox-Roasting". publishi:d by
TL Tin.'tJ of
London on S i\fay 19.1-. short!: bcfort· tht coronation ceremonic:s. and
obviously suggested b: the mtmor) o( similar festivities in the pa.st: "I3i:ing anxious to know, as
matter at Smithfitl
59 Gree.I Frtudtnthal. Gut.d!u.mdj .l:,r
B,riklsfrhtigun,r. dd T_,1;1,11u.mdJ1
:MJ
1m:I j1rri/d.1ri.1d;u1 !-f,m.
fr:J:1 :m.I Enni!it zw1 1-60 hi.1 :11r
diss, Fr,rnkfurt am
Main (\V(irzburg. l
36. Larin rnbit.· discipline. Ql!i.1quis
d
in men.u, V. 18, in Glixelli. LLs
_;- Caxrnns f3r,r1k 1f Cl!rtr:J_h. Early English Text Society, Exrra Series. no. 5. c:d
p 29.
F
J.
60. See r\ndrtsr:n and Stephan. l3tirr:(r.:.,. nil. I. p. 10. which also contains the information rhar rht Furniv
(Lon
-tO In rht Amt.:rican bi-haviourisr literaturL· a number of terms have been precisely defined rhat. with some modifications. are useful and tven indispensable in invesri,s
use of the fork nnly began rn penerr.ite dit: uppt:r srr.tu of socitry in the norch at rhL- beginning of the St:Yt.:nteenth ci:nrury
58 Della Casa. G"1.i1c0. pt 1. chs. 1. 5 59 Caxton s /311:1k of C11rrc.l)'· p -i5. v. 6-t
"habit formation ,; 12)
:ur Gu:hichtt ,kr
Ludwig .r\ndresen and \Y'alttr Sttphan.
ga\'c inscrucrions for roctsring an ox whole, and a picrure in rhe same issue showed the ox on a spit of ropicalicv in
humanist circles in the yt-<.irS pn:ctding the appearance
Htydi:n s f11rm11fac. Ji1hri!i:m: co!/r,quir;r11111 ( 1528) Cf J\ferktr and Srnmmler.
55
many musr be ar such a rime as this. how best rn ro.isr an ox whole. I made inquiries about rhe
point our rhar thtrt o.drtad: existed in En,tdish littraturt
in rht tifr:tenth century longer poems (published by the Early Texr SocitryJ treating bcha,·iour in impossible thar Erasmus knew
them mone: The son is a yoLmg man who lus studied wich rhe inri:nrion of entering a public
(cf.. e.g
J
conditionin,1:!
C.:rc. of !11/nJJ .md Chi!J p. 112) anJ (c.J \'\?arson. Ps)r../111/1,,r.:,·_11j·1Jm :L S1.wdp111"11: 1:/ .r Bcl.urhri.•t, p.
B \'?arson,
-i l Tannhiiustr, pp l 95ff -i2 Zarncke, Der Dume/;, C1fo. pp l 38ff -L1 Cf. Th, Babcts 81,rih. p ""76 -H Glixtlli. Lc.r dr: 'Tab/::, p 28 -f5 Ste Tht B:dhd Br,11h. part IL p 52 -16 Ibi
61 C( Zarnckt. O,r .lc.'t!Si"h, C. ..-:ri, p 1.18 62. See Kurt Trl·usch nrn Burrlar. "Das rilgliche Leben an dt:n Jeurschen Fl.irsrenh(ifi:n des i 6 Jahrhundi:rts', in /;;;,. f..:11/no:c.u·t"hi.-h:t (\\-'timar. 189-l. vol -i. p. 1.1 n 65 Ibid 6-! Cf Th, B... htd Bl/ 1J. p 295 65 Quored in Cabanl:s, p 292 66 The best an. and. above all. rhe samt authors L; Ciz ifih. (Paris. l 908). vol. 2. whert a numbtr of inscructi'.·e quornrions are assembled in an appendix Somt
of what the writer says musr be read critically.
however. since he dots nor always distinguish fully bttwten what is typical of a particular time and what is regarded <.ts exceptional
6- J\.[arhurin Cordier, C11/l//ql!i11rm11 sdJ//!d.rticurmn /ihri q:utur1r (Paris. I )(i8J. bk 2. colloquium 5-i (L\"dl!jJlmn acl
p11t-rri.1
in sim/,ffrj 11:.1rr.,-1io11t
t:Xt:l'(tndriJ),
Ibid .. pr 2, p 32 -i8 Ibid.
1816) Ste. tCir example, n
-!') Ibid . pt 2. p 8
throughout this epoch [sen.·ntet.:nrh century] by rhe nit:hr commode allows us ro speak of it wirhour
-!-
68 Some nor easily accessible mari:rial is ro bi: found in De Laborde. "Is ir necessary
tu
P:z!.,-is ;\Ia:arin (Paris.
go into der,1ils! The almosr political role played
526
ST
Libl' -.,!J.1mr.:
.rnd w
rli,H
rr.:\1plc
\\"t:ft:
rnluccd
to
H:.:nri I\' s misrrl:'.'>:->t:S. ,\Ltt.Lulk dt: \'t.:rncuil. \\'ishu.l \'.(1uld he
.u-1
imr•ru1"'rit:t} in uur<.b;. bur
(hi:;, Utensil <.:nd rht.: Provcnc:al to h,i\T
time was no more rlu.n
dt
che various r'orm::i of
her charnh:.:r i'Ot in h:.:r .1
The- imr·orunr inform:uiun in rht:sc not1..:s .dso needs Cifcful scrurin;.
sli,duly nonchalant
it" one is
to
,::..;:1in a
oi. rhc -;randards or· rh:.: varrnu:, cL1sscs Ont: mean.-; of rr.icin,t.: d1bt: sundards wou!d bt a pn.:cise (1( liwc:ntorio or· te;.,wwr-; clu[(ds
cx;.1mpk
rlur Er'-i...,mus lt:fr bd1ind-so far
number rn· rh!rr;.-ninc
<-b
the L·xrr..1cr on nosr.:-bl(J\vinf.: we n1ay nort hen.:,_ for can bt.: asccnained wcb;.-rhc
bur only onr: t-:uldt:n and one -;iln:r fork: sr.:t.: 1
c;,!i\'.ilf.':1.1
P.1n:.1,;:1
On
(,l) Gl-Of,L: Br.m\.kS quotes this I"'.l.SS<-!,t::e or· dll' memoirs in his book \ 11h.tir, (l:h.·rlin. n d.J, voL I' rr, _;.;()(. and cornmuirs on it a.s follows: ··Ir did nor t:mbarr.iss her w be" setn rnktd by a strYanr: she did nor con.sider him a in rdarion co htr.sd( a.:-; a -u. /31,r1h. pt p 52.
-1
Ibid ..
) Ibid
T. \\:ri,du
-') Ocw 7Cickler.
(jtna. 188-), p. r;r'
O:lJ
O.r),
l.
p
Li/
p where the .scarcit} ofbt:d.s and the Ullljllt:.S[ionint: u.st of beds by :"lt:H·r,i) reurJC'
./-.r
-y Dr Hopwn and A. Bal!iol.
StrlJn,:.: men \\c.tf
i!(J
Ju!y 19.161:
and di:-.dain mcn who \\eJr such
thin,t::.s .t'> P> jama::-.. Thcodurt: R
in f,i.\our or· tht: night-shirr as aµainsr p;. jamas are :tth,rncu.l b: Dr D.ivls of we,trL·rs. The ciub has a branch in ;\fontreal anJ a
(lf.
in 0..t:\\ York Its aim is tu rt:-por•u!arise rht: night-shirr as
This spe.tks ck·ar!: for rht .sprt..\!d ot· rhe USt:
(lf
,1
siµn ot' real m,m!:ooJ."
P: j;1mas in thl· rtlacivt:!: :-.horr r::riud .sinct tht war.
Ir i:-- :"lti!! clt:art:r char the ust: \1f p: jamas b: womL·n has bttn rtct:din,i; rt-pL.ct:.s them is c!earl} a dt:rivarivc: of rhe long- t:Vtnint: drtss and an
tl1r :-.ome timt:. \\?bar of rht :::amt social
ctndt:ncies. includinµ a n:accion rhi: ""masculinizatiun of womt:n and tl"ndency coward sharr'c:r soci.il dift"crcnriacion, as wt:ll as the simplt nt:td for a certain harmony htrwtt:n evtning- and night ccisrumL·. For prtcistly rhis rt..-.1son, a comparison bcrwtt.:n rhis ntw nighr-dres.s ;rnd rbar of the pasc .shows r·anicuL1rl1 cltarly w!i.ir has hert: been called tht un1..ltn·!optd start of the incimatt: sphtrt:. This 81
of our days is far more like a drt:ss and far hL·tctr formtd than rht: carlit:r ont. ..\1. Ginsbert-:.
in inntr vt:nt:rarion the opinions ,rnd m<.11rner.s appro\cd .1nd acceptl·d ,ifound him c.mnor di.srt:gard rhtm without remurst or ob:it:f\"t: chem without
\"t:f}
birrh rhe habit uf carc.ssint: and c1rr;. ir\t:: about wirh her a ca\(, and continuing rn do so t:\"er afrer. w.t::> still carrying ir, by virtue of cusrnm. when the c:nimal was fully grown.
rhm
rt:morst: . and thus
In chis connection ir scarct:!} n<:eds
to
bt: sJid. but is pt:rhaps worrh tmphasizing explicit!). how
much this scu<.h owes w che di.sCO\"t:Tic.; of Freud and die.- psychoanalycical school. Tht connections are olwiou.s rn ,mynnt: acquaintl'd with psycho:urn!yrical writings, it did nor st:tm necessary to 11oinr
rhar adopted in this study bt:en srresstd explicitly. parricubrly as rhe rwo could perhaps afrcr sonw
is ,!s follows (from Th:. Pu1/'IL
Ort,1\\a, \\"h
The laws of conscit:nct: rh.n Wt: .S•l} art: horn of narurL· . .:.re burn of custom: anyone
1
.\l.n:ih)·;
!'} j,und.::-. Tlit:} \\e.:.r
in
chem our in parricul:.ir instances. esr ecial!y hcctust: chis could nor han.: bten J(Jnt wichouc !t:n.:.;.rhy qu,diflcarions. i\or have the nor inconsidc:rah!t difft:rences between rht who!t approach of Frl'tlll ,md
S(l There is ceruin!y nu lack of re,Krions ai-:ainst l''·jamas An r\mcrican expression of rhis. of
intt:rt..·sr p.irricubrl} r()r !t:--
rhar rebtt:d Phst:rv,trion::i are rt:uirdt:d v-.:r;.
[he r·sychic .srruccurt: rL·ferred [() ht:rt: on Freudian lines. if wich .1 slit:hrly dift"crent m<:aning. :is rht: ..;upert:go. is imprinrt:d on [ht: individual by d1t socier;. in \vhich ht· µrows up-in a word. rh:ir r11i:"1 supcret:o is sociof.:tneric
\Ul 21 On thl- rolt: of thl· bt:d in the housdwkl. St:l G. G. Cuulwn.
>.r
corres11ond rhe difft..·rt:nctS in ptrsonaliry srruuurt rhar can be ob.servt:d !n history
ParricuLlrl} consonant with rhe findings ot- rht prt:.st:nt scudy i:; the
:n;./ _\Ji1>:J•I:t11:
Br.:ui:: 1C,1mbrid,!.:c. in
ctrrain p!:J.i/f;."f;) ,rnd tht:ir
(fflJJJi;m.' Through custom as ofrt:n as chrou.s:h illness, sc1ys .c\ri.srnt!e. women pull our their hair. bite their nails. <:ar cu.ds ;.rnd tarrh. and as much by custom as by nature ma!t:.s C(lnson with nult:.s
p p _;01f
Cf RLl<..lt:ck. c;,_,(hi,·hh ·L
.1
s::conJ volumt:. to show due rht: molding of inscincrual lift:, inclw...lir\!.: its compulsive r·t:arurc.s, .: function o( :.oci:il inrerdt:pt·rKltncies that f't:rsisr rhroughouc These dc-pt:ndencit:.s of tht: individual Yary in srruccurc accordin,:.: ro rh1.: structure: (lf ·ro rhe variations in chis srruuur::
Ir be rt:callt:d .tr rh!:"\ >fonc.1ignt:. L>.'.i)-' 1bk !. ch 25l:
f-f;;.'hr!.1"u;,(h.1/ ./,' fr.l i!.'/!:. c:-d L. Sieber ( Ba..;t:l. i 8S9i. reprinct:d in 7,i: :hr,/: (\\:t:if11.lf. J (')(}-), YO] pp. -l.;·lff
;\ Wt:.1!ch or" intt.:fe:"ltin,L: intlirmarion i:-: conraintd ln Rabt.:bis s subjt:cr or· natural i·unctirnb t(ir t:x;implc. see bk I ch. 15
it:.thiusy The inborn tendencies. in .shore. have
. .soci<-!lly c<1nditioned mode of t:Xprc:-...,ion, repression or .subiimarion is. in Thl' prestrn study rist: ro Vt:f) simiLtr iJt.1:-.. Ir attt:mpts, above all in rhe conclusiun to tht:
(London. 195-!), p. l 18: "'\Y"hether inn:ue tendtncies are rt:prt:sstcL
sub!inur<:d or given full play dept:nds w a !art-:t t:Xtenr upon :hl
.tnd ;r.i:./,;;'i(JJJJ 1f !.:r,::,l1· Consider. for t:xamplc. tht: Jit"ticulr} of dt:rtrmininµ wht:cher the a\·t:rsion rn inet.:.scuou.s relationships ha.:-; ,rn inscincti\e b,1sis. or of rl1l· ,:..:ent:ric factor:- underlying f)j1t
discussion be made ro agree without undut difficulty Ir St:tmt:J more imporr<.rnt w build a particular inrdlecrual perspt:cti\·e as clearly as possible, withuuc dit:rc:.ssing inrn disr'utes at t·\·ery turn 82 Von ILwmt:r. 18')-J, pt l, p. 11 (l ;--;,-:; On ail che.se quescions. cf
hr.n111;1_1
((\cw York and London, l 92-! J. p. 200: ·\Vhar
[r.1.smu.s rt:all} dcmandtd of chc world <.l!ld mankind. how ht: pictured rn himself rhar pa.ssiona[ely dt:sirt:d. purified Christi
c,,//r,q/1,:.,S-1 · ;\fuseion
sa;. s the l 6(15 nlicion, is rhe word for a st:crt:r room
The bewildtrmenc of the lacer ob:::trvl·r is rn' less wht:n he finds himst:lf confronted by mor.ds standard of shame This applies particularly and customs of the t:arlitr phase which t:xprt:ss a rn medieval barbing manners. In rhe ninereemh century ir seems ar firsr compltrtly incompn:hensib!e chac mediev
XI\· 1wd .\'\
L)hn
(Vit:nna. l 892J. pp 68f. says on chis
\\le possess two inrertsting pictures of such a bachhouse I sh11u/j lilt pi(l!trt.f
.m.!
in
Iii) : id.l
:ht
/fl J•l)
jJriJi!ti'!i11n fir
in ;;:!:-.mfr !lur I ,.,111.1idtr
OJ./l'St
t.irlh) johu- h.ts
bitll
,1;.·,__·l/!!JliJfl./.i!tJ j1) :htll!
Tht: BresLtu miniacure shows us a row of barhcubs in each of which a man and a woman si[
5.28
529
facing each other 1\ bo.1rd laid across rhe ruh st.:rves as a r.1ble. and is covered hy a prttty doth which are fruit. drinks. ere Tht: mtn h;.:si: a htadcloth and wear adorned with coiffure. nt:ckbet:. ttc.. bur art otherwise
•l.
naktJ
loincloth. tht \\"Omen
00
The Leipzig miniature
simibr. exu:pt that the rubs are sep.ir,ne: over each of thtm thtre is a kind of awning. with curtains that can bl' drawn Behaviour in these bathhouses was nor unduly decorous, and decent women no doubt ktpt away from them Usually. hmvtn:r. the sexts wert cenainly Sl;'.gregatt
1r is sufficiently known char as late as the Se\·erHeenth century. ar rht French r(Jyal court. the kgitimatt and illegitimate children were bwught up together. Louis XIII, for example. half-sister E\·en as a child he says the following of his fulf-brorher:
his
I like my little sister better than
[him} btcause he has not been in mamas bell: with me. as she has D. Parodi<:, 'Lhonni:tt hommt et l ideal moral du XVI!c et du XVII!e sii:cle. Ru:h ( 192 l ), vol, -8. no 2. 9-iff
')8
99. Cf. e+:. Peters ... The InsritutionalistJ Sex-Taboo . in Knight. Peters and Blanchard.
T.1h11r)
:.mt!
G,1uj,:;, p 181 [r is not wlrhour inet:resr
to SlT
how the affective condition and the scan
own rime puc into che aud10r's rnouch the supro:>ition that · usuall>-
the sexes were: certainly
segreb'.att:d , evtn though tht historical t\·idence that he himst:!f products points rather to the'. opposite conclusion Compare difftrences
this the matttr of facr and simply descripti\'t: attitude toward rbe';e
to
of standard in P S. Allen.
86 Set A B(lmer, :\;1J d,11; f<,nn/{ C )/!11quid _/:1111ili.n-,J dt.1 Er.umm, in An.:hh: fiir f;:i!::ir,c:,,dJichh (Leipzig and Berlin. l')l l). ml. LJ. pt l. p 52 8- A. Bflmtr writes here: ·In rht last two hooks, intended for mature and old men ... But tht whole book is dedicated by ?\forisotus
to
his young son; tht whole book was conn·ivt·d as a
schoolbook. In it i\forisotus discussL·s rlw different stages of life He introducl° ..; _i!i0\\T1-up:-;
the child. men and women. young .m
bt: n:ad sold) by women or solely by old men is
considered unclean Sex differences,
6 Age di fftrencts -
intt:nded as rc:ading m.irrer for children H8 Ir is of importance for an undersc. mding of this whole question that tht: age of marriage in this
l l. Religion
societ\' was lower than that o( later rimes
has alwavs btc:n re!!:arded as a characteristic peculiarity of the society of that time ... See R. 1'.iibner. Dit' Eh:.u1j/:n·.rm1,\· . . ,kr :.,l:1sp!Jtw!,11
in 1\r1.:hiz fiir l\u!tm:r:,dd1ich1t, (Leipzig and
Berlin. 1911 ), vol. 9. no. 2. for copious information and documentation on child nurriagt:s, ste Early
J furnivall 1London. including Chil:lct,: There the pussiblt marriat:,t:ablt age is fi\t:O as four:ten for
Eng!i<>h Text Soi.:it:ty. Orig St:ries. no. 108. ed. f Di:11r,:u .n:./ boys anJ twelvt for girls (p. xix)
')0 Bauer. D.u 91
\\
U6
p.
Rudeck.
1
jd·
iJJ
(Jena. 189-:J, p. _;_;
'!2 Ibid. p. _;_; 9_1 K. Sch:ifcr. "\Vie man frlihtr heiratete . Ztil.i-chrZrf j/ir
95. Briennc . .\f/mr,ird. vol .2. p 11: quoted in Laborde. Ptd:.-ir ,\Lr:::_:rin. n. 522 von Btzold ... Ein Kcilnet Gcdenkbuch des Jahrhunderts . in Am ,\!it:ddtcr :m:! R,11c1in:mce
C\lunich anJ Berlin. 1918). p 9- \\!. Rudeck, p
ISL)
1-:1, Alltn. ,·\r,t r{Er.ls111m. p 205: A. Hyma.
cl ;\fichigan Press. 19_;()), pp
')(i( See also Regnaulr.
)f111th 1f[r.tsmm (University Lr (r1n./i!i 1111 )!iridiq:h du l:.l!.11-d .lll mrJ)t!l
!Pont A.uJemtt. 1922). whtre. howtwr. the legal rather than the actual position of the bastard is consi
hmp.> d, Phili/1jh-.-\:1,::.:1Yh (Paris. 1909). p.
Common law often rakes a not very benevolent arriruJe rnward the basrar
qw:stion that rem,1ins
tu
bt invtstip1tt:d whether common law thus expresses the actual social
opinion of different strata or only tht: opinion of a particular stratum
i-:
10-! J Huizinga, Herhs: 1\Ii11t!,dtffJ iiha Lt.hu1s 1111d G'-is1t_1f1rm du· ]-f :me! 15 }:1hrh111ukrts in Fr:mkr'-id; :md in den ;\-iult-rl:111:k11 (i\lunich, l 92-i). p 32 105. From 'Lt } 11:!Z'1.!Xc/" L:bd1.<,i;dJJi,:h,\ .lo J'-,n; d, Bltti!. eJ Kt:rvyn de Lettt:nhovt, in Chasttllian, Ot111 h.>, H>I. 8: quoted in Huizinga. Hu-h.11. p. 9-:! I 62 above.
l0 7 H. Dupin. L1 rourtoisi, !08 Ibid . p --
lO':J Zarncke.
o,,. clu·11sdk
l ll
\-Y
<111
111o_w1 ,Ir« IPatis. 1951). p '7')
C11,,, pp y,f.
n
16-f.. 1-sff
59Sff
Huizinga. H"·lw. pp 52ff
112 L 1Iiror. L,y d01:r:,r:mrm/. IL11r 11rigilh. l'-ur /1trlmh
'!-i \V Rudeck. p. 5 l ':J
r.
.1:1
105 Ibid . p. 278
l lO Ibid. p. -18.
ml 2.no. l.p _;I
l)(,
l 00 A. Luchaire. L:l .u,::i'-f'-' lOl Ibid .. p TS. 102 Ibid. p. 2-::2
l 06 Set p
im .\1i:hlJ.dh'r (Leipzig. 185"""'), Bt:irr.ig I. pp -!91T.
89 F Zarnckt,
All matters relating rn the double st<.rndar
8 All matters connected with marriage-, pregnancy, and childbirth 9 Allusions rn any part of the bod: c:xcept he1d and hands lO Politics
aud10r by his undersr.rndable perplexity in face of the idea that all this might once have- been
this ri!..iht was often exercised Yourbs marry betwten 15 and 19. girls bet\\'ten 15 and 15. This
and "immor.d
custom. often callc-d "wicked
5. Things uncanny. rhar "make your flesh creep·, and things suspicious -i. i\1any forms of animal life. which it is a ccimmonplace that girls will rear or which art:
put intci the mind of the
'In- this period. writes R. Kiibner of the late t.Iiddle Ages. man and woman ufren marry very
to
implications of uncleanliness
to
young The Church gives tht:m the right to marry as soon as thty have n:ached St:Xual maturity. and
made by the \\Titer in 1916 i - showed a raboo on thouL::ht and discussion
2 Things "'disgusting such as bodily functions, normal a.s well as rarhologicaL and all the
:Ind bad behaviour an: in this world. Tht: notion that cerrain p
or 150 girls
l. Things cmurar:
.·\,r:t rf Er.:smlu (Oxford. 19 l-! l, pp 20-iff 1
and see what
A study
among well-bn:d girls of the subjeus. which they characreris,e as .. indelicate . ··polluting" and ·things completely outside the knowledge of a lady
t/(
(Paris. 191.1): P. Champion, Fr,mf11i.1
Vil/011, SJ !'it· ct son !r:m/'s (Paris. 191.1) vol. 2, pp, 230ff. quoted in Huizinga. Hr:rbst, p. 32. 11_'.), P Durrieu. L.s u;s
l,ffd
hmrc.r de
S1Jth
O:m::: d11
11-! C. Petir-Duraillis. 011.:1mh11U JllJJll'c.ll/X Jilr P,1Js·8ds ,m .\T siZd, (Paris. 1908). p -i-
D11(}c:l!J
Id llhcltrS
di: B.:n:1 (Paris, 1)122), p 68
/NijJ,'/l:lirt-s
d
I[ droi: dt
l'c'llgc.llJCt
d.ms kr
115 Ibid . p. 162 l 16 Ibid .. p. S. I 1- Luchaire.
l"'' -'"";,·;,; /rt111r.1is,,
pp
2-sr
118. For furrhtr derails on this. see A 1:ranklin. Pari.r pp S08f l 19 H
d
lr:.r P:n·isicns .m fri:.it11h sitdr: (Paris. 1921).
T Bossert mentions in his introduction rn rht l-loluc-Br11Jf (p. 20) an engr.iving by tht
5 arcisr in \\'hich he and knit-:hrl} pracrlccs
120 Inrrnducrion pp
to
This r:uy point in chi::
/J.:.r
:-,,1mt
din:crion
ll.1i"1.d;/1(h. t:d H. T Bosst:rc c:nd \'C.
of arms
_:;-ff 121 Berthold von
ed Pil-iffr·r and Stroh! (\li,:nna. 1862-HO),
I. l-! p 122. Ibid . rnl 1. l -! 1. pp. :>1ff 125. ?\[ax Lehrs. [),r .\I,J.1hr ll:i:
only children who
and clt:.rn rhernsd\'es only undtr eXttrnal prtssurt: and din:ct compulsion for otht.:rs on whom rhey depend In aduhs. as we havr.: said, rhis belu\'iour is now t'.rddually becomin,:..: a seli--compulsion, a pt.:rsonal h<.1bir. Formt:rly. however, it was in :1du!rs . too. bv dirt.:ct external compulsion \\;e ht.:re meet a,uain with what was earlitr calleJ rht sociugt:netic trrounJ-rult: The history of ,1 scJCiery is mirrort.:d in the hisrnry of rht.: indi\"iJual within it The individual musr pass rhrouf!h anew, in abbreviated form. the ci\"ilizing process th.u society as a wh(l!t: has passnl through ovtr many ct:nturits: for ht does nor come "ci\"ilizeJ into the world W
iwm outside. our of
13.n:jrl/!!u: fDn:sdtn. lHH
12·1 .'1.mon,:..: tht: material on the civiliz,1rion of bd1aviour which w.1s not included in tht ttxt.
parrl;. for n:a:-oons of <>pace and pardy bt:Gtl!Sr: it did nor seem to contribute
long timt.: span, tht: samt.: rr.111st.ormariona! cunt: as has bttn examirn:d in tht: text from many orhe-r siJcs 1ht.: imrulst rnwarJs rt.:gular clt.:aning and consc.uH bodil: ckanlinc;::> Joes not . . ltrive in the flrst plact from ckarly
transformation o( human relationships mentiont.:d in tht text and rn be: considc:rc:d in more derail in P<1rts Thrtt: and Four. .r\t first It is rnken for granted that peopit.: should clt:,in themst:ln:s reguL1rl: onl: out of n:sptct for others, espr:cially social superior;;. it., for socitandard of social mannt.:rs applies ht:re. too: cleanliness was dicratt:d by the need of pleasing other:-., and nor becaust: an: !1:11.r dc-m . u1d of indi\ idu . d instinct All this has clunt.:t:d Ptrsonal clt.:.rnlint.:cls. becaLbe of irs complt:tt acet:prnnct: as an individual ntcessity has virtually ceased to touch rht: problem of sociai manners at any point Tht.: cur\"t: of change is expressed htrt all the more clearly bte
and wh: it emerµed from the other standard in the: course of hi:.;rory. Toda:. indt:ed, it is in ,r..:ent:ral
One funher poinr in this civilizing-cur\"t deserYes somt.' attention It appears, from tht accounts of number of ob:.;t:f\'er>;, a<: jf pt:opit: in tht: sixtct:nth and St:\·enteenrh Ct:nturie.s Wt:ft. if anything, kss "de
and b:uhs. I
!
This is said by a doctor. Guillaumt: Bunel. in IS l _l. among orht.:r pitces of advice a,i;ainst the plague d .t (h.r•.-:m reprinrc-d by Ch J. Richt:ler [Le .Mans, 1856}) \\le netd only obstrYe from our own standpoinr how in his advice right and fantasric.dly wrong ideas art min.slt:d w undersrnnd tht.: efftcts of a fear less limittd than our own And m rl1L· stventt:truh and eY:.:n the eighretnth century Wt.: still constantly find warnings ap1insr tht ust of water. since it is harmful to tht skin or one might catch a cold. among orhtr ··reasons" Ir looks in
533 somtrimes stems
tu
us unct."rtain enough ro
l-i Luchairt op cir. pp. 1-6-7 A skerch of rht disrriburion of rule ar rhe rime of Hugh Caper
rht indi\ idua! in mt.-ditval sociery The grtater control of sourcts of t"c-ar that is slowly tsr:ab1ishcd in
is gin:n by l\f .\Iignet. · Essai sur la formation tt:'rrirnria!e ec politique Je la France", S1Jlitd c: :\I,:11:1Jins hislffriqll,s rParis, 18---15). \'ol 2. pp I 5--if
rht transition co our social stn.:nurt is !n
l5
would crumble vtry rapidly iL through a cliangt: in society, the degree of insecurity that t·xisred earlier wert
to
break in upon us again, and if danger became as incalculable as it once was.
l-fo:h111i11d;/1"·· Propyl:icn \Vt!regtschichre, ml _; merlin. l 952).
_;06 i-: Kirn. 0.1s
However. ont spt:cific form of fear does ,srow with the incrc:ast of civilization: die half-unconscious "inner fear of
Pl!JJ
18. A. Dopsch. Oit
Some concludint! ideas on this subject are to be found at the end of this book in Part Processes"
C.:/h':i, 1;,
Luchaire. Hi.r1oir, :kc lw1i1:1tiom .\fo1:.ll':hiq:1._. :/, l.r fr.Jl:c,
t 6. Karl Hampe.
r
Corresponding foars would soon burst the limits set to them today.
--synopsis: Towards a Theory of
A
198"-1181!! (Paris, 188_1). vol 2. Kores er Appendices. p. _129
.t\11span.r. :lt'I" A111iL hi.r :um z,-1/dl d,,1 K:1rri/in/.:Jf,/;,n Rdthd. p 119, ick/:mg dcr P1nhhll:!ich in D,u:sdJ!aml (\V'timar,
1912), vol. 1. p. I 62; cf also [he gencr.il account of manor and village in Knight, Barnes anJ FlUgel.
Histol)
19. ?\fare Bloch. Lcr
Part Three l
1
James \Vescfall Thompson. Eco!l!Jl!Jic and Sm:j:d fhstr11:1 of E11rrljh in
L;frr :\fiddlt..-'
506-7 .
I 131!1J-l 530! New York and London, 19.1 l). pp.
2. This is txemplific:d by tht consequences resulting from the Carolingian estates or Ilse. These \\'tre perhaps not
The wiJe:;prea
Empire was held The division and dissipation of the fisc was a more imponant factor in the dissolution
of the Frankish Empire than the local political ambition of the propriet,1ry nobles ...
The historical fact that the hearr of the tisc was situaced in central Europt:' accounts for d1e partitions
of central Europe in tht ninth ctntury, and m<1dt these regions a battle-ground of kings
long before tht:'y became a battle-ground of
of these officials became. the less rbe monarchy could contemplare transferring rht office outside tht incumbent"s family on his dtach ·
21 Calmettt. L; Ibid. pp 1 \\
p. 3 Cf on chis prob!tm chc- conu.1st bl'.nn.:cn Europt:an '1nd Jap.rntSt:' fruJalism in
C l\lacltod, TfA Origin .ind Hist"') <,f Polilin (New York, ll)_)l), pp. [()Off Hert, aJmirredh-, rht
explanation of \\,-esrern feu
believe tha[ \Vesrern European
to
tt:udalism has its insrirurional origins in pre-Roman Teutonic institutions. Let us t:xplain m rhe :;cmltnc thac the fact is char .
Germ
of the late Roman Empire which
(p. 162) The vt:'ry fact rhar analogous feudal relationships and
insticucions art fi>rmed in the most different pans of tht world can onh· be full\' understood rhrout:h :: clear insight into rht compelling force of rhe actual relationships.
nations
the jynamics of a specific
Jra\\·n in che ninth
Figuration: and only analysis of them can explain why the ft:udalizarion pnKt:sses and feudal insrirutions in dift'trtnt societies differ from one another in certain ways.
James \X'esrfoll Thompson, Dww11ir '1liil S
to be found in 0. Hintze. l!lld do· l;1:ud.:di.r11ms. Sitzungsberichtt dtr Preussischen Akademit der \\?issenschafren. phil.hisr. Klasse (Berlin, l 929). pp. _121 ff The aurhor. intluenccd by rhe ideas of Max \Vebtr on rht
The di\'iding froncier benvetn future France and futurt Germany century bt:cause the g:reatt:st block of the fisc lay between them
Another comparison berween difttrenr feudal societies is
and London. 19.28). PP- .2-! 1-.2 (Berkdey, L'.niversity
Cf by tht s;.1me auchor: Th, DisJ1;flllifJn
1i lhc
C:1ndingi:m Fisc
of California Press, 1935)
?1. ,-\ Luchaire. Le.(
methodo!og) of hisrnricil anJ social n:search. attempts "to Jescribc: the
Cd/1,'ri,w (Paris. 1901), p. lHO
-! C. Petic-Duraillis, Ln 1111.;;,ndJit
\
concept
of feudalism
l)fh:
underlying rhe
Bur \\"hilt this scudy does begin to transform the older historiographical
(Paris. 195_,'.)J, p. 8 with
method into one more concerned with actual social structures and so gives rise to useful parcicular
following map For derails on rht t:astern frontitr of the western Frankish empire ;.rnJ its movements,
insights. ics comparison of different feudal socierits is one of rhe many examples of rhe clifticultles
cf Fritz Kern. Di, :·\nPing, ,kr
5 Paul Kirn. Das
rrm1
tn
,:
CTUbingen. 191 ()), p l 6 Awp.anp dcr Awikt his :um dd
Propvlcien-Welrgtschichre, vol _;merlin,
arising when a historian rakes over the mechodolog:ical guiding ideas of ?\fax \Vebtr and tries-in che
r?ci.-htJ,
p l l8
words of Octo Hintze-to consrruct ··\·isual abscractions. rvpes obsefYt:'r
of different people and sociecies arc nor idt:al
The similarities confrontint: the
thar have in a sense to be
6. Brunner. Ot11!.rcht Rtd_1t.rxdd1ii:hh, quoted by A. Dopsch. \\"'insch.zi:·!icht m;./ .1r1:,i.;/. . Grun:ll:rgt'!l de-r
constructt:'d by rht obsern:r. but a real. exiscing kinship berween the social structures themseh·es:
1924). pc 2. pp 100-1 -; A. Dopsch, \\"'/rtsth:zf!lid;, :md sr1::i:1/1.' Gr1111dlagc11 tkr . . 11rr)/1tiisi:ha1 f.:.u!111nJ1tuichl:mr, .ms tkr Zr:it um
this is lacking the historians whole concept of types miscarries. If we art
t/trr1/'/iisthcn K11il11rtl1lll id/Jmg (Vienna.
CJs,;r his
:111/ Karl
dtn Grossm (Vienna. 1918-2-!). pr. 2. p 115
ir
oppost:' another concept
ro rhar of rhe "ideal rype'. ir could be rht "real rype" The similariry berwten differem ftudct! socit[its is noc an anificial produce of thought bur. to rtirtrnte, the resulr of the fact that similar forms of social bonding ha\·e a strong compelling tendency to develop in a way which in fact. and
8 Kirn. op. cit., p. l 18
9 A. rnn Hofmann, Po!itisch, G
1.:::, Beaudoin. quoted by
to
J
not only '·in the idea". produces related patterns of relationships and insritucions ar different times and at different locations of global society. (The epistemological implications of this \"it\\" will nor be elaborated here: for some suggestions abour this aspect
of the problem, see N. Elias. T ht SucidJ rf
/11diiid11d!s (Oxford. 1991]) A number of examples for which I am inclebrecl
w Ralph Bonwir hcn·e shown how remarkablv
similar the fr>rcts of social inttrwtaving tbar ltd to feudal relations and insritucions in Japan are Calmette. Ll sr1cit.I/
(Paris. 19_:::,2). p 2-
tht scrunurts and forces which ha\"{: been established hert: in rdation to \\lestern feuJalism
A
535 -German;. bein,L: Jt..,..,:to •ltt ..Kk from ourside ,mJ po.ssessed of a firml·r texture within dian Fr,rnce. Germ.rn feLJ(,_Ldi:-;m did not bt:conw as hard anJ st:; a system as was French ft:uda!ism ·oJJ
comparative structural analysis or· this kind would prove a more Lbcful way or· pt:cu!iarities by which the i·ewld
01·
Jar•:n and their hisrnric.d ch;.ui_:.::: difrtr fron 1
Fr.1nce crumbled away in the ninth and tench cenrurits: old Gt:rman\·. anchored rn the ,mcient duchies, which inracr. rerainl·d it'.'> integrity (Thompson. op .. cit.. p -!-i.)l. But another
o( rhe \Vesr
Similar re:rn!rs have hi::tn produn.·d by
a
or"
the I-lome:ric 'sarriur
Tu txplain the production o( lart:e: e:plc cycles-tu mention only this f"c.lture:-in ancient
m
\\;cstern knip:hrly socit:t} and in orhcr societies with a similar srrucrure. we: do nor ni:::
feud.ll courts nr c
n1ilirnry campaigns and rr.1\·t:ls. Sinl-'.trs and minsrrtls with their \'t.:r:-.ifo.:d rc:porrs of the fat-=s and from mouth to mouth. han: in tht.: daily lift of such hl·roic dt:1.:
tribe !i\'int-: more clostly togerher. for \\le also gain access ro the srructur,d changt.:s in ancitnr warriur socie[its from a differenr angle bv
r;
1:x.1mining stylisric changc:s in rht \".lSts and vase r",1inrings or· t:arl: antiquity \Vhtn, for examplt. 1 \'.tSt: painrings originatint: in particular periods. "b.1roqL11.: tlemtn[S aprear. affc:nnl or-pmitivdv t.:xprtss-.:d-rttlned !..!t:Stures and carmenrs. we should [hink. ins[ead of assumin!l a biolo!.!ical ·'ar1eino-:.
of [he society
of pro:esst:s of dift"erentiarion. [ht t:mergt.:nce of wealthier ho'--LhtS
mass of w.irrinr socie[y :md
;1
,::.:reatt:r or lesser tmnsicion from warriors rn counier'.'J: or. (,_h:pc:nding on
circumscancts. wt should look for a colonizing influence from more powerful courts Insi,t.:ht inro the specific tensions and processe:> within a feudal society which the more abundant documentation from d1l· early Eurorem period makes rossiblt: can. in a word, in some reSj"'eCt'.'!
and focus our
obstrvacion of material from antiquity. Bur. of courst. suppositions of this kind should in l'i.Kh case
h:.· supported by a ri.sorous examination of material pertaining co the struccum! hi:-.t(1r;. of antiquity irstlf Comparati\'e studies of
or srruc[ural history of this kind h.n·e sc.trct.:!y begun.
lndispensahlt for thtir succe:;s is an
that has htt:n made especial!;. diftlcu!c by cht
decisive focrnr in the spet:d .rnd o( rl:ud.d JisirHtl_.:fotion in the westt.:rn Frankish and the r'ossihi!it;. of joint expan:-.ion across rhe frontier. Proporrion.tte!;. smaHer .1 srron,;..; monarch;.: rht '"roy,d cask was lacking: and so fl"udal disinteL;rarion rook p!:.1ct· more quick!: and cump!cttl;.-
O\'ersharp distinction b::rwten ac.1demic disciplines and tht Lick of colb.bur.1cion het\\'een them which
Lcipzi!'. 19:'.0J
hi.l\'e charactt:rized research hitherto. Essential for an undtrsrnnding of earlier feudal :;ocitrits and
5 l.
their structure, for example. is an exact comparative study of livint-: feudal socitrit:s before it is coo
Kurr Brcysi,c. f:.:1!::11;:,,_,d1ich!1 Jcr .\"1:c1i: iBerlin. l ')()I l. '""I. .:'.. pp 95-ff.. parric p
late. A rich knowltdge of dernils and srrucrura! conntcrions ntctssary for an under:;rnnding of any IC rhe ,tcrions of rhc rhrcc monarchies art comi,areJ in seckin" rhe rc,tsons for rheir var\"inc success. the ulcimatt cause \\'ill not b:: found in isol:ired en·nrs. T'--he 0-Jorman-En:.dish bt:nt.:flctd from a c!rcum-;rnnce that Lt: neither in ir:. ro\\·tr nor in uf :rn\ mc:rr,d bu.r
society, which the material from the past is roo to pro\·ide, will only become <-l\«1ilable r"or inrerrretation ii. tthno!o,::y bases its rbe;uch Its" exclusin.:l;. on -;imf"'!er s<1Cil·tic" "tribes·, and hisrnry concerns itsdr· lt:'.'JS \Virh p;bt socierie'.'J ,md arrtntion
to
anJ ir· borh di:..cipiine:-. rogcd1t:r rurr: their
those livint: societies which in thl·ir srructurt.: art: close to the
\\
socit:ty of the-
by which people in them are bound in very sptcific wa;. s. and che forces of intcrwea\"int-: which under certain circumstances bring
p
()2.
25 Henri Pirenne. LJ l'i!!d d11 11:1J)r11 ci/..:r (Brussels. 192-> 26 Paul Kirn, Pr1/iiiHhr. Gr.schid1h dtr :.L·ff.>chr.11 Grr.n:,n (Leipzig. l
01·
Engbnd s t:XEernal and incern
state W<.lS esrnhlished in England from the foundations
Bv Yirtue of
face
it was rossiblt:
.12 Pirennt. L,_, 1il!u ju m 1.h1I 1
:i\f
p 5_). The op1"'osin: view has been raktn mort rtctntl\' b\· D
PetruSeski. 'Strirrige Fraf.:tn der mictt.:!<.dcerlichen Verfassungs- und \Vinschafrsu:tsci11c!ltt: . _fir 5J:.u1.1u \"OJ 85 (T Ubin.s:en. l. pp -i68ff This ;\·ork is not
widrnut interest in rhar. through i[s onesidedrn:ss in the oprusire direction, ir puts into proper pp. l Sff For funhtr derails
on the differtnn.s in pact: and srrucrure bttWet:n German and trench feudalization. cf. J \\l. Thompson. '·German Feudalism . .:\11hri.-d11 !1iJf11ri.·.d Rd ii.u, \'ol 28, 192_;, pp +10ff '\\"lur the ninth ctntury JiJ for France in rransforminl-'. her into a ft:udal country was nor dont in Germany until cht civil wars of the rc:it:n of Henry IV Ibid .. p. -!-!-! Hert:. admittedly (and subsequently in. ti:Jr txample. \V 0 Au!t.
flt:\\"
to use of tht: exp::ricnces g
socittib. the functional
and Leipzig. 19321. pp. SOf 2-! J B. Bury, His1r11:; 1f !hr. L;s!t:r11 Ri/m.:m Empire (1912J. p .1-5. quottd by Ku!ischt:r. op. cit.i
founded in tht \\·hole srrunure
that in l ()()(1 a
\Vesr Both together should investigate the strucrure. in the srrictest sense of rhe word. of such
in
.\li./.l!t ,,\uru. 1952)
the decline nf rht western Frankish area is explained primarily in rt·rms of thl" prcarer external rhre•lt:
perspecti\·e certain obscuritits in the rr<.tditional hiswrical \'it:w and cerrnin inadtquacies of existin,i..: concepts So. for exam1.,k·. tht.· idecl that the cities of fiddlt Ages is countered by one no less imprecise Cf. the more balanced account b\' H. Pin:nnt f.( 11nr1mfr.md S1d.t! His!ri1:1 F..urojh (London. 19561. p. -tO: '"\Vhtn tht invasion hac.i bocrltd up die ports of tht: T;. rrht:nian Sl·a munici1.,al acti\ ity mpid!y died our. Savt in southern Italy •tnd in \"en ice. where it was mainuint.:d thanks rn B;. zcmrinc: crade, it disappeared t"\'trywhen::.
1'\otus to pagus 220-223
536
Tht: towns conrinut:d in txi.:lttnce. bur dity lost their population of anisans and merchants and wirh it all char had survin.·d of the municipal or£!anisarion of the Roman Empire To the srnric view whereby rht "bant:r economy and the 'money economy appt
is the antonianus more and morc:
its affiliation with a \·try rtmDtt: past
[p. 9J. \\/hat was new was the way in which it funcrinned
from the moment of the disappearance of commerce and the: towns. So lung as the formtr had bt:tll capable of transporting its products and tht LHttr of furnishing ir with a market. rht great tsrare had commanded and consequently profitc:d by a regular salt outside
but now it ce1sed ro do
this. hecmst.: thtrt wt rt no mClrt mtrchants and rownsmtn now thar evtryone li' td ofr" his own land, no-ont bothered to buy food from oursidt
. Thus, each c:start devoted itself
to
rht kind
of i:conomy which has been Jtscribt:d rather inexactl: as rhe "'closed tstate economy . and which
11111;::./(
dlltiqltt (P.i.ris. 192 1 ·As for
}.
p 63) \Vages for rhe army ti:nd 0(
a SYsrem :ire
fr))
elk
_,8, RostoHSe\", Th, .\r,e.d .m./ t.-01:11111it' Hi.1/111) r:( th .. P· 528 and many other places. Cf Index: Transportation
YJ. Richard Ldtlwre des Notttts. ! hi.lff/irc de I
1
civilisation is tht t:rtat estate. Jes origin is. of course. much mort ancient and it is easy to establish
Lor. Lijin dl!
be p.i.iJ in produce' (p.
int:lucrnble consequences
rc:adily perceived: they !tad to what is calltJ the t"euda! systt:m or to an analogous rep:imc:'
1
From rhe economic point of \'itw tht most srrikint: and characteristic institution m this
(f:
which allows serYices to be rewarded only by p . i.ymenr in kind. the distribution of land.
to
The investigations
..
R//JJU?J Em;1ir, (Oxford, I
L, di ..,:.;/
PP ()6-
.i/.;c.>. (r)JJ!niw:i 1,n
j( _,,//, ,;. :r.nd:'
.I
or Lefobvre des I\'oettt:S. on . l.CCULH1t both of their results and of their dircnion
of enquiry. havt ,rn importance which can scarcely be o\·ertstimared Beside tht value of rhest: resulcs. which no doubt ntt:d confirmation on p.irricular points. it is no grear matter rlur rhe aurhur SL.rnds tht: causal conntction on its head. Set:ing rht: <..kvelupmenr of hauhit:t rechnolo,r.;y as the cnise elimination of sLtvery
01 ·
the
Indications of the· necessar} corru:rions are rn be found in .
uf the buok by ?\fare Bloch. (Sept. l 952J. In particular. rwo aspects of Let"ebvre Jes Noettts work are partly accentuated and pardy rt:crified 1. The influence "ProblC:mes J histoin: dts tt:chniques .
j
i(l/J;'111ilicp1t
if
of China and Byzantium on rhe inn::ntions of the ?\fiddle Agts appears to require closer examination. 2 SLfftry had ctased to play an imr•orranr part in the srrucrurt of the earh medieval world Ion" before the rkw "] n rl lt: a l)Senct: or·· .rn;. c Itar tcmpur,1 I succession , . . ,l]']'e,·lr··cl.· .. how can one spe.ik,-
of a cause and effect relationship?
results of rhis
was rt:ally simply an economy wirhour marktrs
work by Lefebvre des Noettes in German is to be found in L. Lhwendrnl, 'Zuu:rier und Sk!averei /'ir S11::i.df11'J(hm1,'.:. 19.151. no _?
Finally PttruStvski opposts to the notion whtrtby "ft:udalism and .. barter economy ar'pear as two
-!O Ltftb\Te des i\oi:rtes, "La ·Nuir du moyen age et sun invenraire . .\Iu·:::rri :li 255. pp 5-_?ff
L
Jifft:rtnt spheres of exisrt:nce or stort:ys of socitry. the larttr as the infrastructure producing or causing
-l
rhe former as the superstructun.-. his own view rhat the two phenomena havt nothing to do with each orhtr:
notions wholly at variance with historical face such as that of the contingency of
feuddism on tht: barter econom;. or its incompatibility wirh a comprehensive stare organisation'· (p
-!88) It has been arrempted to show the real stare of affairs in the preceding text Tht specific form of
barter economy pn:vailing in the early .0.fiddlt Ages. the rdarin:!y undifferentiated and marker-less economies associartd wid1 the great courts. and the specific form of political and rnilicary organization
{ l 9.)2J, vol.
1 Von \Vc:rvtkt:. op cit.. p -t(lS
A Zimmern, 51//IJJJ .w.I Crr1u11.r 11:hu· Gr,J Zimmern. Tht GrtJ C1Jll.'!11f1JJU:.dth !Oxford. 1051 l
\Oxford. 19.?S), PI"' 11.1-1-L Cf. cdso ..\
For somt rime it has been emphasized-no doubt lJUite riEluly-thar in Romt: freemen;:..; well :ls slan.·s did manual work Above all the research of Rostovtsev (cf Tht Sr1Li.;/ .n:.I H i.1:1,r:
tht RriJl!.nI F:.m/1ird. and then specialized studies like that of R H Barrow, S!.ff,J) ju tht 1?1111;.m
which we c1ll feudalism. are nothing other than rwo different aspecrs of rhe same ti:Jrms of human
howtn.·r highly rhe share of tht:ir work in toed production ma\ b;: c-stimartd, in no wa\ contr.idicr...::
relarionshir's ·They can be conceptually :listh:«:,!!hh,:I ns rwo difttrenr asrtcrs of tht: s:1me human
what was illustrartd ear!itr by thL· quorntion from rhe work of·,-\. Zimmcrn-th:: (11..:t
relationships. but even conceprnally they cannot be sijhtr.:llul. like two substances which can exist
proctsst:s
independently T)1e political an
::l!aYes differ in a very sptciilc way from thost: within a society \Vhere all urb',_in work at least is
of lanJ and bondsmtn art (ully interdependent and indissolubly bound together And liktwise tht which gradually.'took rlact in dle situation of rhtsc: lords and in the whole structure of [his society cannot be explaintd
Jf/!t!)
in terms u( an auronomous movtmtnt of economic rdations and
the ::,ucial
within a socieq whcrt manual work is don<.· roan\ consillt:r,1hk L·xrent lw
txclusivdy by fri:emtn As a social tendency. the urgt of freemtn to discanct: rhemsd\'C:S from work rerformeJ by
wirh the resulting formation of a class of "id!t poor
in ancic·nt socierv. as in
modern ones with a large slave-labour sector. is always dettcrnblc It is not difficult to undi:rsrn:id rhat
functions, or SI/!,!) in rt'fm::l of changes of political and militar;. functions. but on!;. in terms of rhe
under the prt:SSUrt: o( pm·erry a number of freemen art: f1e\'t:rthdt:SS forctJ
intertwining human activities comprisint: both these two instparably connected are
as shn·es. But ir is no less clear that rhtir situation, like that u( manual labourers in u:entral in such a
and forms of rtlationship
society. is decisively influenced by tht existence of slave labour Thest freemen. or
53 Cf the Introduction by Louis Halphen in A Luchairt. L1.s tr1mmmhs Frdll(.tiJ·,.1 :l (d/1t'tit1JS Jirttts (Paris, l 911). p viii
!'tfll/Cjfh'
Jes
)-i Ibid, p. ix
55 Ibid, p i ?)6. Hans \'On \\'erveke. ··i\fonnaie. !ingots ou Lts instruments au Xlt tt XIIt sitcles . :lnn:d:..r d histoirt' ,f.w10miqut t! sr1,·i,;/c (Sept. 1932). no. i-:, p. -168 _17 Ibid The corresponding process in rhe opposite direction, tht recession of rht use of money and the ,1Jvancc: of payment in narur.d produce. sets in at an early stage of !are antiquity:· The further [ht third ctntury proceeds the faster rht decline btcomes Tht only money remaining in circulation
to
ptrform thl· S<.lnlt: work
:lt least a parr
0(
them, are forced to accept conditions similar ro those of slavts. Dtp(·nding on rhe numbtr of sbn:s available to such a socier;.· and on the degree of interdependence of rheir work wirh slavt labour. rht: freemen always fact a greater or lesser dtgrtt of competiti\·e prtssurt from slave labour This too is one of the structural rtgularirits of any society of slavemasttrs. (Cf also F Lor. L1 Jin du pp. ()')ff)
11111nd(
anliljlh.
-!3. According to A. Zimmern Greek society in its classical period was nor a slave societr in the cypical sense of the wor
slaves
perform irs most degrading tasks. while the main bo
apprentices haled in from outside to assist, rogtrher and almost on equal terms with rhtir masters,
in
thL" material b.:s1:-- oi· a civilis.ttiun in which thL":· WL"rc hcreafrt:r to shan: L\r,/rj;;
i'P· 161-2!. +l Pircnnt: .
.i\··, pp l fr.
z
·! 5
IhiJ .. pp
·H1
Ibid. p. 2-
\V.t: shuuld t w.irched ovt:r them for ct:nturics with t:>:tr.wrdinary sol!cirw.lt:. ir w.is because rht:y were tht: pal.1dium of rhtir libt:rty. bt:c.1ust: thty permitted d1t:m w rc\·ti!t in cases of viularion. bur it was not bt:c.1ust: thl·y cnclcbtd tl1L· whult: of their la\\" Tht:} wcrL. a::; it were no mort: than its skelt:rnn All around rht:ir stipuLnions pro!ift:r
I llrf
recoursL· to inland .m:.1s and its
1{1r
tht: devl'lopment of\Vtstern
society find coniirmat!on in rlH: fact th,it the cn>lurion of bnJ rr.lllSf"'Orr tcchno!(l,:.::y b:..:yond its !n antiquity hcp.m. as far as wt can see rnday ab(lut a ct:ntury l"
State
Tht: formt:r bt:f.:'111 hetWt:en about 1()')() and 1100. the latter clt:.trl} nm bt:fore l 20(l Cf Ldtbvrr.: :-..:ot:ttes.
L
J1J.n-j1:c .m!itj!h .:·
Cr· also E H Byrne pp. ')_ ·!-
:\.
!.i
11:.lril.\
Shi/ p.:n,':.. 1
L.1 r,'z
Luch.1irc L'1!ii.' \'/( Phihpj1c
!9. Law is. o( courst. rhrouf!h
11
(Parls. l
!1iiioi: .ll!
pp. l05ff.
Tu:.{/jh .111:! Thir/,:.11:h C:.1:t.'1ri,.-
\Ill (P.iris. ! '!Ill I.!' 011
de dit: in diem C(insut:tudin.trias lt:t.:t:S suas corri,!.!t:rent . rh;:r is. da;. rn their municip.d CL!::lWms
f1x"uion by an indcrL·ndtnt lc,:..:a! .1pr«.1r.1tLb .rnd thL" txisttncc of bod its of spl'.cialists with a n:Stl'.d inti:rcst in the or· the st.HLb quo. rtlatin·ly impl'.n·iou;; rn mm·tment and
i[S
Ltgal su.:urity itsd(. always dt:sin:d by a cunsidcrnblt: part of socittyr
(.lt:ptnds partly on tht: law's rcsistanct: to changt:. This immobility is indeed incrt..·"1sed by ir. The L1Q.:er rht: arc,tS ,md tht: nurTibtr of pt:oplt: which are intt:,!..'.rated and intt..·rdq't:n
. rhtrefori.:. thc
Ln\·
rkccssar;.. r(Jr
a
uniform
and its .1rT'.1ratus. which like currcnc;. b::comts ii:self
in turn ,lfl Of_!.:;.rn of irHcgrdtion ,ind t"'rm!uctr uf inrcrdcpL·ndtnct: oppPSt:S .rn: and thL· more serious
to tht facr rh,:t rhc· mere rhrt:at of t:nouph w makt indi\
h} tht:
5 I ;\. Luckire. L.1 ·"':i,.:( _ti·.n11;;i.,, .111 '12 C. H Haskin:;. '/ h. 5.; Ibid. p ')(1 5-! Ibid
or,:.:.ins of f"'O\\er !" for long periods relationships, The
./, Phif.:pp, "I:i,{/:h
of social power rdatiuns in physical strug_des rn which pl'ople in kss intt:r'-kpL·ndenr ::;oci('.tics an:
5 5. Eduard \Vt:chsslt:r O.n f\.,'d::n;·in):/,ii: S!o Ibid. p 1- 1 s- !bid .. !' I !.;· !bid. I' 11.;.
always inclint:d is repL1cnl by a lonp:-cndurin,:; readint:ss rn abidt by dH: t:Xisring !aw Only wht:n uphe<.is,ds and tensions within socitty havt lx·comt: excr.wrJinarily grl'.at. whL·n inti.:rtst in the
59. Brinkniann. l:ni.1hhm:gJ,(:..1(hfrhh h(J \Vcchsslcr. op. cit .. pp I-ill-!
prt::-erv.1tion or" the t:xisrin,:..: bw has ht:cumc unct:rrain in L1rgt: pans of socit:r)
(11
j"'U\\ l"f
intcrc.cs i(knriiltd with the prL·st:n ,ltion o( t:>:isting and prorl'.rty rcL1tiun:-.hif"'" ,trt: su and tht: \\t:i,:..:hr which L\\ rect:i\eS rhrnugh gnming intt:,L.:rarion i" S(J c!'-'ar!: r-t:lt. rh.u rill" con"ranr testing
e:::itabl1::;hed law corre:;ponds tu rhc
Luchairc. L.; h2 Ihid r
then. ofo:.-n after
lhid
soci.d ro\\·cr rdationships (i') (1(1
rht: social f'UWL·r maintaining tacb
lapsed. Evt:ry prnpt:rt} owner had rn ht: fL'"
(1,'-; (il).
human acti\·irits at a later srn,:;t on·r large area.s with rdarivd} good communications. hu\\'cver. a law has dtvtloped char largely disregards loc . d indi\'idua[ difrtrtnces. a so-callt:d gL·nera! law. i t a l:l\v applicablt: and \'cdid equally O\'t:r the whole art:a for all rht: pt:ople \\ ithin it Th{: different kind of social intcrwc.iving ;.mJ dependence txisring in ft:udal socit:t}. \\·irh its brgdy barter tconomy. tntrusred small groups and often singlt: individuals with functions that are rnJay txtrcistJ by ·states
Thus "law". rno. \\as incomparably more individu;.diz:..:d ,mJ local It was an
obligation anJ bonJ enttred inrn by this liege lord and [hat vassal. this group of tt:IiarHs and that landlorJ. this civic corporation and that lord. this abbty and that duke. And a study of these "legal µiH:s a very \'i\'id idea of what it means \Vht:n we say that in this phase social inttgrarion and interdtrendtnn: wen: ltss and r!it_· relation uf man
to
man corrtSI"'ondinp:ly difrt:rt:nt
-o. 1/
p i - .;
p .."1-··l
.;/1 hii.f!.<
p
!
h·.n::. (P.iri:-.. 19051. p l·t)
Brinkmann . or. cir., p _:,5 \\.t:chsslt:r. Of"' cit. p -1
(,-. Sch(inback. quoted 111 \\'echs:;lt:r. op cit. p.
claim by an indi\idual h<:1d m ht alwa:s foid;. dircctl: \isib!e. Ir' ic bcc,1mt: douhrfu!. thl:" claim
(Paris. l 90L)l. p 26'1 (Cambrid,'...'.c. l p. '1')
.. d--Ial!t:. l
6-! Plerrt: de \"aissitrL-.
\\.ht:n society h<1d a l'"'rt:domin.md: b:i.rtcr t:corwmy .rnd pL«1pll'. \\l'.rt: i:1r lo:-. i1Ht:rdt:re111...ltnr, and when, thert:furl'.. rife most real though not \'isuall: rt:prt:sl"rHablt: network cif societ) ;is .1 whult: did nor ;.er cunsrand: confront tht..( indi\'idual wirh its
pt:rmission rn aJd from day rn
Ht:rt: at:,:in we set how. on that ditforeru lcvcl of inrc,:.:ration. form;.1rions of ;1 diffcrt:nt order of magnitudt:. a W\\ n
.rnd \\·hole social prnurs com pl: \\ ith \\kit has once bl·en l"::lt.1hlished
the norm of law and prnp:.:rr: on tht basis of a rarricu!ar ::>tJ,f.!l·
tlH:
·I
Similarl; in .c\briannt: \\'tbt:r.
.'mJ
Dt: V.1issil:rt:. op cit. p i·l'l \\'echsslt:r. op cir, p 21-! Brinknunn. op cir .. pp. -1'1ff. (ll. 8hff. C( on rhis and what follows C S. Lewis, .1 S::!J) jn :\l:..l.:d.d (Oxforc.L lfJ_;()). p l l
The new thing itself. I do not prctt:nd w explain. Real changts in human st:nriment are vtry rare. bur [ bt:!it:ve rh,n the; occur
In Enpl.rnd the rnrrcsrondinp term is t(1Lrnd in later l'criods restricted. sometimes es·cn
540
Notes to f'dgt.r .?69-339
txplicidy. to strvJnts. An example of rhis is the way in which. in an Enf.!:lish account of what consrinm:s
,L:uoJ mt:aL tht:
in Bri!.!i;;
and company of them that syrri: at the supp:._.r , G G Coulrnn 191 'J>. i'· (,;Jo
f'
(LeipziF.
l.)(l. v -i and i"
15.2. \·. l-!lf For other
<.iSf't:Cts of this tlrsr main phase in rhe transition from warriors w courtiers (tht: tducarion and co
: .i .-:u:L.i fr) i!lwtrate A T Bylt:..;, ··;\ftdie\·al C(JUrn:sy-
or· knifhrly orders in different countries) cf E. ,ir;;/ (iz
ili::h:r
(London. l
buoks and tht: prose romances of chiv,dry {pp. .=;
l
Luchaire. L ..f j'riwid·_, C.:/h·:it1U. p 285; cf ;dso A. Luchairt:. IJ1:1i.1 \1 It Gro.i- (Paris. 1890).
Jn[rt)duuion - -! Luchai re. f-fi.,; 1ir, 1
n1!. 2. p 2'18.
-') Cf pp 1-ff.. panic pp _; 1-2 -(, Sut:t:r. \j, .Ir Lr1:1i1 !t Gro.'. t:d.
ji:.m3:1is,
-s -9
ch 8. as quoted by A. Lot_..'.non. L.1 f1m:.r!ir1JJ ,/c: !'11nit/
(Paris. 1922J. pp. 18-19
;\ Vuitry. [t!i:lu .i:tr Luch<1ire. L1,!fi1 \ ·1
/, i
or" clariq b: a m.athenurical formulation of the monopoly mechanism? This question can only lx· answt·red on the basis or- simple expt:rit'.llCl·,
hun6tie (Jf servantt:s is conrr.1sred to the "kynt:
'"curtt:St:
ji11.m:.:i1.T dt /.1
Fr:.n.':·t
. p 181
Tht: land from 0-:orchumberland rn the Channel was easit:r to uni6 rhan from FL.mdtrs ro the
P: n.:nn:s Pdir-Duraillis. L.1 71;r,n,;i·L·hit f'(Jj_,-!c. p _;- On rhe qut:srion of sizt: of rt:rrirnry. H. Lowie. Tht Orig)n S:.1h (New York. 192-). "Tht size of tht: state. pp 1-ff. \\' ;\f >Iaclt:od in Tht (Jrig/1: :llJJ /-! i.1/01) rf P/)h1fr.1 (New '{ork. l
:dso R.
w:lrnt is certain, however. is rhar for man: people tht formulation of gener.d laws is associated with a value which-at leasr as far .1s history and sociology art: conctrned-has nothing to do with rhtir cognitive value. This unrested ofrtn enough k-.1
8- Cf A Longnon. L.1 j;1rnu!i1JJJ jt /'unif,'/r.mr,)-1i.1t (Paris. 1922). p, 98 RS Luchaire. Lfllli.\ \Ir Phi!if'P! :\:1".!.JISi!IS. L11:1i.r \"/II. p. 2(H
l) points out how ::stonishing
89 C Petit-Dutaillis.
it reall: v:.t'., that givL·n tht'. simplicity or· tht:ir means of transrorc such brgL· d(Jminions as the Inca or Chinese tmpires should ha\'e prn\'ed so srnblc Ont: a dt:railed srruuural-hisrnricd ,uulysis of the interplay of centrifugal and centralizing tenJcncies and inten:srs in thtse empires could. indtcd. make rh'"" a_c:plumcmrion
or-
such \«.tst
or·
r:hcir cohesion comprehensible
to
us.
The Chin:::st.: form of comp.ired rn that de\dort'.d in Euror'l" i:-. ceruinly vtry peculiar. Htrt the· warrior class was eradicated relarivd: early and very radically by a strong ctntr,il aurhurity This eradicacion-howevtr it happened-is conneued with two main pt:culiarities of the Chinese soci,d scrucrurc: the passing of conrro! of tht: Lind into the hands of tht pt'.asanr::; (which we tncounr:er in rhe t'.arly \\/esrern period only in a very few places, for example. Swc:denl and the mannin,t.: or· the ,:-:ovt:rr1I11t.:!1rnl app
rccruitn.l in p.tn from the pe.:sants
thl"mst:lvt'.S and ,tr an: rntL· wholly pacifitd ;\[ediated by r:his hier,1rch:. coun!: forms or· pt'.nerr.m: dt:t:p inrn rhe. lower of the pt:oplc-: they rnke root. transformed in rrwn: w.iys. in the code of bch;n·iour M- the Yillagt .r\nd what has so often be-en called tht 'unwarlikt: characrer of rht Chinese ["t:ople is not the expression cl .somt' "natural disposition
90
unlike tht Jap:rntsc:-milir:ary activity and prowess hold no Yery high place. Diffen:nr as [ht Chinese
J, Lr1uis \111
.1:tr !au·, u- /, Jll/°
!1..
1:..;(-i!Jh
92. ;\ mort
t'Xi.l([
comr,ilarion of rhtse feudal houses i:i (() be found in Longnon, L:1 f1J'!Jj;Jfi11J.' dt
I unih. ji·.m(..-i.it. pp 22-tf
93 Vuirry. op. ciL, p.
-!
1-i
9·1 Cf cg Karl I\fannheim. '"Compt:ririon as a Cultural Phenomenon . in f\.noult.!gt- London. Roudtdge and Kegan Paul. 1952. pp 191-229
9'5. G. Duponr:-Fc:rrier. L..1 f1n1urir;n d! ! tf,a jl·.mr.zis d I 96 L .Miror. .\L.nu1t! Jt ,eiop·.1;1hi! l.r fran:t (Paris. maps relaring to tht foregoing discussion
rf
, R1..·n1c
Hi.11/jriqi1c
16 l. p 581
100 L \\.'. fowlc:s. Loomis 1nstiture. 101 Luchaire, L1..s 01im1:m1d ji·,mi,:.lisi.s ,:·
quoted in .:\du RcTidt. 1\u ..-15. p _-12 j1...'- C..-j1t'1i,w dirt,_·u. p 2-6
I 02. Documentation for r:htse and a number of other passages could nor be included for reasons of space. The aurhor hopes to appenJ this in a separate volume
10?1
P Lehugeur. Philip/it· /,. L11ng
1
1316-!
J
Lt
11h:·,mi.rn;t
.If!
(Paris. 19_:; l ).
I' 209
\\/tbtr. /:(ll!lf1ll1) Srdi.!) (New York, 1968) 8 l Cf pp. 2(1)--i above Ir has not been nectssary here rn follow the present-day custom anJ offer
l0-1 Dupont-Ferrier, op cit. p 9_;
;\[ax
105 Branr:fimt.
J
(filil/1/t'h.\,
par L Lalanne.\()!. -L pp .128ff
a mathematical expression for the regulariry of the monopoly mechanism. No doubt it \VOLild not he
106,
impossible rn !ind one, Once it has been found it will be possible to discuss also from this aspect a question v:hich generally speakint! is hardly raised today: tht question of r:he top1i:iz valut.'.' of
108 Cf. A. Stmzel. Di, [l!!U id:l11nr jc, ,ct!thrhn
mar:hematical formulation \Vhar. for txamplt. is gained in ttrms of possibilities of knowledge an
tht
-!
99. Henri Hauser. rc::vit:w of G. Duponr-ferrit:r. '"La formation de 1 trnt ( l 'J2'J). vu!
E.ss,J)S 'ill
(Paris. 195-iJ. p l SO :\-br 19 This :dso conrains
9-:- P. Imbtrr de la Tour. Le> r1rigi111.J dt /,, rt}i1mh
no a warrior class. a nobility, bur a pc-actfol and scholarly officialdom Ir is primarily thtir situation and r·unction which ls exr'rtssc:d in tht f.i.cr rhar in tht: traditional Chinest: scale of Yaluesway rn ctnr:ralizarion was ro thar in thl" \\/est in detail. thtrefore. tht foundation of the cohesion of largtr dominions in both e
A. Vuitry. Ei.r!.ltS
p 5-iS 'Jl Ibid,. p, _;-o
Ir results from the fact that the
class from which rht'. F"t.:ople drew man: of thtir modtls through consrnnr conr.tet. \\as t(Jr cen:urits
5-41
H Il!ariejol. H,11ri /\"ct Lolli.' .\I// (Paris. 1905). p 2
Ibid,. I'· 590
i'
(i()()
R.ichhri:m1.1
in dt.'1:.1d!n
(Stuttgctrt. 18- 2 l.
5-12 r·r.
lOLJ Richclil:u.
1. ch .--.:. . si:crion l
Part Four
l lU E L1vi:-.s:: L,1:1:.• .\'/\ \P.iri .., ll)ilh1. f'
l 1 l S.11nr-Simon,
tr.
112 Cr" L1Yisst:. op cir. I"
l
by Lodh.:i-;u1 \ o!. 1. !"·
1()- -
1. Tht:rt: is ttH..L) a\\ idcsprt:,1d rwrion th,1t rhr: !(1rrTh ()f ::.oci.d
!l S.iinr-S!mon. op. cit . vol. l. p. l (, 11-L S.1int-Simon. (nouv Cd. rar r\ d:: Boislislel \Paris, lLJlO) l th 11-
op cir. Pl'- 592fi. Ibid .. f1(1uvt:Hc sfrit:, \'O]
s::it.:neuri,d rie:hrs under
\()!
")l
p
11-1
J:1:/.h1,1·;m:. Rome t:"dit:.. vol i 9. p 622
115. Thom,_::; Aquinas, fh
1. p
1-!5
growing nt:t:d for muiwy. the lib:::rarion. for St1f rParis.
r.,1;.rnt.:nr. m i1ondsmen by rhe kin,L: and his administrfare Bloch. N. ,i' 1
1920J
Ii:-; Paul Viul!cr. lln:,,m
2.
r-
p. 195:
IHlU\"
:.Cr. nil 2. p. -11:-)
011
chis and whar follows the same author. f.lu./lr S!Ir
L,-
122 LCon ?\liroc Lu
i 2_1 Ibid .. p. 12-! Duroru-F::rrier.
La Chamhrt: ou Cour des :\idt.:s de Paris , p 202 Cf ai-,o Pt:t!r-Dur.1illis, C/1. 1 r!c.' \ '/ / L/}:1i.1 .\._/ i: .ililh-c' d, (./.urL1 \ '/// (Lavisst:, f-/jsf Fr:.m:t. IV. 2 J l Paris. 1902}. -12'5 Viollt:r. op cit. _)(Paris. l
./t Lr1:1i.' SI. cd Quichtrat rraris. 185)J. \"OI .I
on.:anizarion .ire in G J.tcquernn. D()::m:c;;:'-1
Lr
rPari'I. IH9l
r
l.
1. pp
i-off. Dl·L1!!.., (Ill financial Fr.n;,-, .!, Chdr!,s \.fl
panic no. XIX in que:-;rion-and-ans\\er rCirm "Le
des finance< 1..1\ for future finance officials of the time!) 12h. E Albt:ri. RJ1:,i1.ni .::\!i:!:.ut.";'.lf11n \ ·u:,:i .Ji l :-.t serin, \"ol
-! i Fion:nct:.
l 8
16-18 iRdazione di Francia di Zaccaria Conmrini. l--!92) 12- L nm ILtnkt. 7.:tl" z,iJr..:i.n1i>)hiJ Gt.ii"hid>h UC8f. !'· 59 and H Kretschmayr. icJJ.' iStuttp:,tn:, 19_;.j), Pl' ! 5Yff. or• cit. J-;t serit·'· \"OJ ! (flort!1Ct: ],S_,;<..Jl. pp.2_;_-:;_") Ic h1..1s h::::n frequently pointt:d out. no doubt with J c::rmin justitlc.nion. char th:.: l1rst ::.b:-;olutist princes In Fr,l!lcl: had le.trnt:d much from the prince:-; the lcall.m city sr,Hc:i. Fnr G. I-Ianmaux. L.: rouYoir roy,dt: S(1US Fr.mz;ois It:r . in {::r./,, Ir .\\ 'L ,; X\ 1L rr.n::.", ( P.lris. I 886L pp. ::..ff: ·The coun
or
1\aplc:s. Florence and fl'rrar,1 No doubt srruccuralh similar processes took place ill'rt. as so often. first in sm.dkr rt:t:ions then in lan.:er ont:s, and the of the large regions protittd up to a poinr from tht:ir knowlt:d,L:t of tht orean,izarion of tht: smalltr ont:s. But in this c.ist: as well. only a prccist..· examirurion in tt.:rms of sr;ucrural hisrnrY could determine how far tht centralization proctsses ;md the OQ..;,mlzation of L!O\'t:rnnll:'nr in tht: Italian city ->tate.-. resemble rhost: of early absulurisc Fr,mct:. and how for. sinet.· Jifttr::nces of size always bring with chem qualitative differenCl'S of structure. tht..·y also from them. 1\r arw rate rht account :..:ivl'n b\· che Venetian ambassador and its whok tone do::s not in
,rnd nu nrhu Bur rhis norion is;: fiction .rnd
Tht: conserH _ui\cn hy the indi\idu
One of rhc t:l:·J.:s still rt:mainin,:.: to lk donL· ;, to t.:X!'Ltin co!nincin;:ly cnrnrul<;i()n \\hvrcb:. ci'..."fuin r(1rni:-; of communal !ifl-.. r()r ex,:mpk our own. come into htin_i..;. are prl'sr:rved and Bur to :rn undt.:rsr.mdln_t.: cif their ,L'.tnr:sis ls blocked ir· we rhink of them JS come dbout in
Yol. 2 {P,1ris.
'rr.n:\·1,f.r
\',;.iy
a \cry ,l.!:(JOd instrument ot' rest·arch
orLlt:r He m,1y tr) w t:-,Clf'L. it as an adH·nture:--. J tr,m1p. ,rn artist or wrirt:r. ht: may 1inally !h:e to a lonely island-t:Yen as a rcl-U,L'.lT from this or(.kr ht: is its product To di:-:arpr(1Vt..· and flee it i:i nu lt..-ss
121 G. Dupont-Ferrier. "L: Ch;::mbrt ou Cour des Aide:;
Ch.n1c• \"/!
!HJ[
nl-ithcr ::ood nor ust:i.ul. ht: could nor simpl) \\ irhdr.1w hi:-; .hst·nt .11i...l jump uur uf rhc
1.20. Vuicr;.. op. cit.
.I
comm(ln dt:ci:-.ion rn li\l' rngl'ther in this
2-1.2
i,
,lS
;rnd j':lrriudar so<.:i,d
hy rh1.: purprht: tht:\ h.nt.: t·or rlL' r;_·1ir'!1.: whr1 .if;.- thu;: !1ound if rcop!c undcr'lr.indin,L: rill' lbt:fu!nc->s ot· tht:::it..· ln:-.titut!ons. once rook
individual has littk choice. Ht: i-; born inrn :in order \\ ith institutions of a ranicu!ar kind: hl· condi[inned m(Jre or sucl·l·sst"ully rn conform tu it r\nd tn:n if ht..· should ilnd this order and its
!J!Jf!:!lfinli)
l l CJ Ibid
l
,1
t(>r that red.son
For an(Jtht:r form of rhe moni:r.iriz:.nion of
pr::ssurL· of the kings
he e:-:p!ainl'd Thi .. ; ide,1 nukes it .tI'rt..·.tr
.tfi'..." W
the srt:ciiic 'power to
it
of the French king and rht: or,L'.,miz,ttion or" tin,rncu;
sumt:rhin,i..: long fomi!iar in Iraly
rht: scrn1t: \\"ay a.s th:: \\"(Jrk::, ,tnd lk-cds of indiYidu.d pt:ciplc: by rlk Sl'ttinF ot· !'-lrticu!ar ,!..'.:u,ds ur c\·t:n by r,1tion;d thou,dlt and pL.mn!nF. The ide.1 rh,n from rht: ::,1r!y .\fiddle \Y't:srern mt..·n \\.\irked in a common exertion and with
J
dc.1r gu,il and
rational pLrn. towards rht..: order of :..oci:il
and
rhe institutions in which \\"t: li\"e rnd,1y, scarcely anS\\crs rhc f,:crs. H(m rhis rl'ally hat'rencd can ht· k·,:rned only ,t :,rudy of tht..· historic . :! e\·olution of tht:se S(Jcial forms hy ;:ccuratdy drn. :umentt..·d L-mpiric.11 cnquirit:s Such a :-.rudy or· a pJrricuLr ..;cc:nKnr. tht:
ha'\ been .1rtemprtd
ab(J\"l'
cb1icct or" ::irntl' Bur rhis has ,dso fi\t:Tl rise to some in:-iight ot- hwaclt:r si,:.:nific,1:1ce, r·or
cxamplt..- a cerrnin understanding of the nc1turt: of socio-historical pruccsscs. \\'t: can St:t: how l!r;:k i\ really achit:\"ed h: c:xpL:ining instirutiuns such as rl1l- ··st,ltl· in tt:rms u( µoals. ThL·
plans Hnd i.tctions of indi\·idual pt:opll' constantly intertwine with those of
Bur
this intc-rrwininp uf rht..· actions and plans of m<.my people. which. moreover. on conrinunus!y from pent.:r.lrion W ,!.:l'llt.'Ltrion. is ic-;clf nur plannt..·d. Ir c1:rnot he undtr,wod in rerm-; of rht..· rLn.; pUfj'(lSt:t"ul irut.·ntion:.: of indi\ idu,1ls. nor in tt:rm:-. v.hich,
i1(1C ...lirei..:dy
purru:-.iYl', art: ITH1dt:ll::.._]
on modcs of rhinkin,L'. \\'l' arL- ht:re conu:rned \\·irh procl'SSes. compulsions and reguhlritit:s of a relatiYcly ;tutonornuus kind. Thus. for ex,1rnp!t:. a situation whert..· m;.my people set tht:msdn:.;o; tht s.1mt: goal. wantinF che samL· piece or· Lrnd. the samt marker or rh:: saml· socia1 j'(JSirion. giYes rist co somt..·thing rhat none of them inrt:nckd or plannL·cL a sptcif1cd!y S(lcial dar:um: a compctitiYl' relationship with its pt:ctdi,tr rc-gularitit:s as
thar
diYision of i"unccions comes into btint:. and
the same applies rn the intl'µration of lart:t:r and sociohisrorical proctssts J\.nd only an awareness o( the relative auronom}
areas in thl' 1(1rm of states. and rn many other 01·
tht inr::rrwininp of indiYidua[ pLm:-. and
actions. of rhe way rhe individual is bound by his social life wir:h orhers. ix·rmits a httter unJt:rsranding of the \·ery fact of indi\·idualiry irse!f. ThL· coexisrt..·ncc uf people, the inrerrwinintz of their intentions and plan:;. the bonds they place on each other. al! tht:st, L1r from indiYiduality. proYi
544
545
Notts to pagts 366-3 7.?
Nutts to pages 3 7.?-387
for fonht:r derail on this cf N Elias. \\"h.1: i.1 Socir,/{Jg);,. rrans Stt:pht:n ;\[t:nnl'll and Grace ?\Iorrissey and f ;:di: idu:d1 (Oxford. 1991 J 2. For a discussion of tht· problem of tht social proctss. cf S1,:i.;/ Pr//h!ur:.• :.w.! S1r:ia!
straightforward affects and its proneness to sudden changes of mood. is shown. for example, by the following dtscrip,ion or" wha' children like in films (Odil] T,f
Stltcrt
no' avtrse from [he sht
especially young children, like aggression
They favour action. action and more acrion They art
echo; villainy is bootd with a tine tnthusiasm. \\ihen scents of one alternate wirh scenes of tht other. ;:is in stquences of pursuit, the transition from the cheer ro rhe boo is [imed to a split second Also closely connected
to
the Jifferent force of [htir emotional utterances, their extreme reaction
in borh
f
1
S/1tcits. sening forth a rhc:ory of tYolurion of sptcies in rtrms
is the specific structure of taboos in simpler
;acietits It was pointed out abow (cf pp. 569ff, especially pp .F 5-i; also pp. 99ff) that in tht
natural selection. htn:Jiry anJ Yariation. created a deep impression on tht anthropologists and sociologists. The conception of eYolurion was so profound chat rht chant::es in socit:ty wtrc seen as
medieval \\lest not only rhe manifestations of drives and affects in the form of pltasure bur also the prohibitions. eht tendencits to stlf-rorment and asceticism were stronger, more inrtnst and therefore
a manifestation of evolurion and there
more rigorous rhan at lacer stages of the civilizing process Cf. also R. H. Lowit, '·Food Eriqueret , in Ah zrt cfrilistd.:, (London, 1929). p -!8: ··
an
terms of variation and selecrion Preliminary co the search for causes. howen:r.
The arricle concludes wirh the retltction:
Since rhe \\\lrld \\'ar sruJents of tht social scitncts wiehour aiming at tht
rht savage
rules of etiquette art not only strict, but formidable. Neverrhtless, to us their rnble manners are shocking" 5. Cf CH. Judd. Th, and 77ff 6, Introduction
to
o(Social lmtit11!iom (New York, 1926). pp 105ff Also pp. 32ff
rht Frtnch translation of Gratian·s .. Hand Oracle
Houssait. Paris. 168-L Oraot/11 ,\Lnwd/, published in
writrtn by Amelor de la
went through about rwenry different
editions during the seventeenth and eighteenth cenruries in france alone under the title CHrmmh Ir is in a stnse rhe lirsr handbook of courtly psychology. as .Machiavelli s book on the prince was tht lirsr classical han
(n11r
from the point of \·iew of rhe prince rhan does Gratian. He justifies more or less rht ·'reason of state of tmergenr absolutism. Grarian. tht Spanish Jtsuit. despises reason of srntt from rht borwrn of his heart. Ht elucidates tht rules of the grtar courtly gamt for himself and others as something with which one has rn comply because chert is no alternative
orderliness of
evolutionary schemes have renewed their starch for relatively stable rendtncies and regularities in history anJ socitry On the othtr hand, rht growing discrepancy berwtt:n idtals and the workings of history is guiding rhe sciences of society intCJ more and mort pragmatic channtls. If there is a social evolution. whart:vtr it may bt, ir is no longer accepted as a process to bt: contemplated but as :: nsk rn bt achit\Td by d::lib::ratt and conctrtcd human tfforr
It is nor withour significance. however. th<.J.r dtspiet this difference, tht conduct recommtndt
This srudy of rht civilizing process
from thtst pragmatic effons in rlur. susr'en
wishes and c..kman.
side of everyJay life certainly does not disappear in practice from rhe bourgeois world, but ir is banishtd far more than in the courtly class from what a wrirer or any person may ,·.\11rtJs, and even from consciousness itself In courtly-aristocratic circles ··rhou shalt is very ofrtn no more rhan an expression of txptditncy.
the inn:stigation of how
dicrnted by the practical necessitits of social lift Even adults in chtse circles always remain awart
things havt comt to be as rhey Jrt 3. Cf. E. C. Parsons. am! C1Jmu11ion.:di1) (New '{ork, London. 191-!J. The divergent view. e.g.
rhat these are rules that they must obey because they li\'t with othtr people. In middle-class strata
in\\/. G Sumner, fr,/ku·dys (Boston. 190/ ). p.-! 19: "It is never correct ro regard any ont of rhe taboos as an arbirrary in\·ention or burden laid on society by rradirion wirhout nectssiry they have been sifted for centuries by exptrience. and those which we have received and acctpted are such as
practical rules for the expedienr conduct of life. but as stmi-auwmatic promptings of conscience For rhis reason rhe "thou shalt and the "thou shalt not" of the super-ego is far more constantly and deeply involved in the observation and undersranding of reality. To give at least one example from
experience has proved to be expedient -i. Set rhe lint account by J. Huizinga. Th, \\";ming o/ th, :\liddf, ,-\g,.r (London. l 92-i). ch l.
the innumerable ones that might be quored here. Grarian says in his precept ··Know thoroughly tht character of those with whom you deal (No. 273): .. Expecr praetically nothing good of those who
\\lhac was said above also applies. for example. ro socitries with a related strucrure in tht present-
rht corresponding rules art ofrtn rooted far more detply in rht individual
have some natural bodily defecc: for they are accustomed to avenge themselves on Nature
· One
day Orient and. to various degrees dtpen
of the middle-class English books of manners of the seventeenrh century. that likewise had wi
fht exrtnt to which children in our society-howe\·tr imbued with characttristics of our rdativtly advanced civilizarion-srill show glimpses of the otht:r srand<.i.rd \\·irh ics simpler anJ more
obstrvation in the same case a different, moral rwist (No. 31 ): '·Scorne nor any for the infirmiryes of
Francis Hawkins ( 16-!6), gives pride of place to "'rhou shalt not
and so gives behaviour and
ruturc. which b;. no ;.1n c.rn L anH:nded. nllr du rhou ddiFlH rn pur it \a;. ofr procun:s enYyt: and pn,,motr.:S m,dicr.: e\Trl to reYr.:n,r..::c
in
1 ::
mirh. k
In a worLL Wt.- tind in Grntian, ;ind .1frer him in Li Rochtfoucauld :md L1
or- tht:rn. since
de Champ.1gnr.: s cycle
in rht form of
women 10 Haskins. Of-.. cir. p 9·!
De· ,-\more
tht: whole litt:r,1run.: or· rht medit:val controvt:rsy over
l 2-82 above.
,r..::ern.:r.d m;1xims . a!! tht: modb or- bd1aYiour which we: cncounct:r. for cxamp!t: in S:iinr-Simon, in the
11
pr,1criu.: CJ!° court liri: irsr.:!f. .\uain and a,uain we flnd injuncrluns on tht: nt:ct:,sir;. to hold back tht
12 Cf. pp. 18--'Jl abO\·c
Pp
<.llld
Or (No. 27)):
le La Brm·i:rc. C<1r,1a;r,s. ··nc la cour 11',tris. Hachette. !')221. IJ,11rn.c. ml 2. p. 2.;- 0:0 6-!; cf
'Tht.· m
also p 2-18. Ko 99: ··in a hundrt:d ytars tht: world will still t:xisr in its tntiret;. Ir will be the samt:
.ifrL"ct'.i (?\'o. 2N-:'l: 0:'t·VL"r act whi!t.: j"",Lssi(Jn lasts. Orl1L"rwist: ;.ou will sp(lil t:\t:r;.rhin_t.:
·ps;.chulup:ical .Htitude·. a pt:rmancnr
tbt:atrt with [he samt: decoration. bur nor rht: same actors All rhost who rejoicL" ar a fa\'our recr:ivr.:d
thoroughly the char.tcter nf chose \\·irh whom you ch:aI.··
or ;.1re c1sr inrn sorrow and despair by a rL"(usal. all will ha\·c vanished from the stage. :\!ready other
Or the re:-iulr cl such knowltd,ut.·. rht: obst:rYarion (l\'o 201 ): ·All chose who .1prear nHd arc mad, and
men art moving on rn tht: stage who will play rhe same parts in the samt: play. \'?hat a back-f:round for <1 comic pan!' How srror\t: the sense ot- immurabilir; still is ht:rt. and of the int!ucrabili[y of the t.:xisting ordt:r: how much stronger than in rhe Luer pha:'.lt wht:n rht: concept of, civilization begins
!1(lt rL"a:-.on.
in him.
\\"t: find thl· achict:
obsL"n,1rion of char,1crt:r (:\o 2-5 l: Jft: halt. of those who do nor
:-.<1
.. Know
mad
to
adopt
:i
The I1t:Ct:ssir: of sc!f-obscn·,Hion
··Know your
rb:· with rruth · Tht of the w!w!t- existence of a ptrson, rwt in his !"articular words il'\o 1-::; \: ._The substantial man. Ir is on!;. Trurh that c,m ,t.::ivt: a true: repurarion: and onl: the which c.lfl be rurnt:d ro prnrlr The r-or r-ar;;;iphttdntss (?\'o I '51 ): "Think today of rnmorr\)w. and of a Ion_!.! rime be;. ond ;\fodtrariun in all things (No. 82): ·The sage h,1s comprt:sst:d all wisdom inrn this pn.:u.:pr: ?\'othing ro Excess. The srecif1cdly counly,1ri.;;r{1cr.Hic form of rer(ecrion th'...· tempeLltt: of .l modl·r;ued and trJn..:.f(irmt:d aninn!ic n;:turt.· ;.di arnund. the ltviry. -.:harn. the ne\v ht:aur: of the animal-made m;:n (:\'o 12-l: "Lt: )E-:'.'."E< ir. \\'irhour it ,di beaut: is dead. al! _::r,1ct: is ,c:r,1cdess rhe mher r·t:rfccrions arc ornamt:nts of ?\arun.:. rhe is th.it of Ir is noriceablr.: e\l"fl in tht: mannt:r of rclS(1nint: Or. from a dirYercrH aspt:u. rhe· m,rn widwuc (No. [_::_:;J: Tht.· m;.m widwur The more pt:rfecrions rhere ;.ire rhe less rhere is afftcr,1tion The mosr eminent qu;.diri;::.; lose their price i( we disco\'t:r in tht:m. bt:c1use we attribute rht:m r.uht:r to an artificial constraint rhan co a rerson s rrut: c!rnraccec \\:ar btt\Yet:n man and man is ine\ ir.tb!t-: conduct it decent!;. {?\'u. l h) ): w.i.r. To conquL"r Yi!lainou:-.ly is not w conquL:r bur w ht: cunquereJ. that :-.mdls or- rreasun int'ects ont.··s ,c:uod rume OH·r and in chest: ri.:curs rht art:umeru b.tsed on for other people. on the nect:ssity to preserve a t:ood rtpurnrion. in a word. an argumeIH lused on sncial nccessitit:s. pLl;s a :;mall part in rht:m God appears and at the e·nd <-b sorrn:thing outside rhi:i human cirdt:. 1\ll good things, mo, cnmt only in tht: to a man from otbt:r people (;\'(J, 111 l: · friends To ha\e friends is ,1 second bt:ing all rht ,!.:'.uod rhing:-. wr: l.1.n·e in lir-e dept:nd on mht:rs dominant fault
Tht: nece:-.sir: for half-truths \No 2101: ··r.::.now how ro
insi,i.:hr rliat re,:l truth lit.·s in the rrurhfulness and
Ir is this jusritlc,1rion of ru!<:S and prr.:ccrrs nor b: an l·tr:rn,d mur,d !aw but h;. nr:ct:ssiti<:S. considL"r.1tion of othi.:r J't:oplt:. which above all c.1ust:s these maxims and thl" whok courtly codt: of conducr rn aj1pe,1r ·amciml or ar least ··r,,1infull;. n:alistic ro the bourgeois obsen t:r. Berr.1yai, t{ir
tht: bourgeois world feels. should b:.: forbidden not for pr,1ctic.d reason:,. concern for ont:'s
t:()od rL"puutiun with other r'eoplr:. bur by an inner \'Oicc. conscience.
in
,1 wurd. h; mornlity. The
to
displact that of civilire On this development cf also rht passage 'Dt.:s
.r\l! forei,i!ntr:i art not B
a!l our Compatriots civilizeJ l·i. La Bruyere. op cir, p. 2-1-. No '!·! l 5. Ibid .. p 21 l. No. 2; cf also p 211, No l (); ·The courr is likt an edifice of marble; I mean
it is composed of mtn who art very hard. bur vtry polished
Cf also n.
lh Saint-Simon. op. cit. p h.-1 i-
Pp. 60- 2. tsp 66-- above
18 Ranke. Fr.m:i1s}schc G,.1chichh. bk 10. ch 5 19
Sainr-Simon. op
cir, \·ol
p
20 and pp
22( ( l 11 J
\\1 ha[
is at
be shifted in favour of tht: latter The power of the "peers -chis is the goal of Saint-Simon and his friends-is to bt· restored. In particular the higher offices of start. thr: ministries. shall bt: trnnsforred from rill" bourgtois to the high nobility An attt:mpr in this direction is actually made direcdy afrer Louis XIV s death by the regent with the acrivt involvt:mtnt of Saint-Simon. It fails \Vhac rhe English nobility achitve by and large successfully. a stabilization of aristocratic rule whereby various groups and cliques of rhe nobility contest tht occupancy of the di:cisin: positions of political powt.:r whi!t- observing fairly srricr rules. rhe frtnch nobility foil
to
achieve The ttnsions and conflicts of
interest betwt:en dit leadin,::...: groups of tht· nobility and rhose of the
are
in france than in Engbnd Cnder rh:: cm·:..·r of :1bsoli__1rism tht:y are constand;. as in every strong autocracy the struggle bL"ing wageJ arnunJ tht: ruler. in tht:
5-5: "If I was put to define 0-fodesry. 1 would call it. The rdlt:ction of an ingenuous ?\find. either wht:n a ;\fan has committed an ,-\crion for \\·hich he censures himself. or fancies that ht is exposed rn
iOxforJ. l l)2l)J, l'P 'J2ff
be closer to the English in its charantr and lrnbitus than. for example. die Japanese,
l·arin,:.:: h:ihlrs. washint: and mht:r
9 Cf pp. 25(1ff. ahun.: :\p.1rr from the .\1imhlit.lir rhr:re is a wt·;.dth of matericd :-.unchmJ in some
e\Ul mon: l!t:arl:,
rht: small pro:ic pit:ce by Andrea:,
Bur circlt:s. rakes
pL.ict: behind locked doors. Saine-Simon is one of d1t chitf expontnLs of [his stcrt:t combat 20. Pp. l-;_,ffabove On the t.:t:neral problem of shame feelings cf. Sp,1:!.!t1Jr(l80-J. vol. 5. no.
in rht: structUfl' uf Climmands and prohibitions rh,1t \\as sten t:arlit.·r in tht study of functions. reappt:,lf:i hl·rc. Rules of conducr which in courd;. aristocratic circlt:s an: observed e\·en b: adults largtl;. from considr:r,1rion ,ind t'ear o( orhtr people. are imprinted on the indi\'idual in the bourgeois world rarher as a self-consrrninr. In they arc- no longtr rr.:produced and prr:sern:d b: dirc:cr fear of other ptoplt:. bur by an "inner· \'Oice, a fear auromaricall; n:proJuced tht:ir own super-ego. in :ihorr b;. a mor.d commanJmenr that needs no iusriflcation. Cf pp 92-h abon: 8 C. H. Haskins. The Sprt:au of Idi.:as in the Middle: Ages . in S1HJi,.1 in .\L.li.1d.;/ Cult:iT!/ samL"
in
crnwersarions is nmhing less than an anc:mpt ro win over the htir to the rhront to a different form of rule. in \vhich the balanct betwetn membtrs ot- the- !eadin,i! bour,r.;eois and noble groups at court is rn
thl· Censure of mhtrs and women 21
Pp
Sel" also tht: obst:rvarion rhac on tht difference of shame
bt.:rween men
l o.;ff above
22. Pp l - 2ff above
2.' Pp. 92ff above. 2-i ;\nemprs have often been made
to
explain the national characrtr of the English or particular
features of ir by the gc:ographical situation of their counrry. from its islanJ charncrer. But if this i:iland charactc-r were simply rtsponsiblt for the rurional drnracrer of its inhabitants as a natural to
show similar characteristics. and no people should
chis
Ir is nor tht island situ<1tion as such which secs its :;ramp on rhe nation.ti character of the
in i-.farit:
population. bur the :iigniiicancl" of this situation in tht: total scructure of rhe islanJ socit:ty. in the
Notes to pc1gts 434-437
548
549
total context of its hisrorv As a rtsulr of a particular historical developmtnt tht lack of land for example. has ltd in .England. unlike Japan. ro concrtrelv rn the fact that soldiers Jo nor
low t\·aluarion of military pro\vtss and more
very high social prestige
That the social prtssure in Jifftrtnr \V'tstern states varies in
In En;lan
early in ..,sharply rtsrricrin; the kings control of weapons and the army. and panicularly the
U$t
of
physical violence wid1in rht country itself And this srrucrure of the monopoly of physical made possible. rn be sure. only by tht country s island character. played no small part in the super-ego. or. in other words, rht English conscience, an: boun
in
rhe
Protestant states of Germanv. At anv rate, the fact that in England the pressure of foreign military power on the individual was.from an.early srnge much less heavy than in any other major Continental countrv. is exrrtmelv closelv connected ro the other fact that the constraint which the individual had co ext;t on himself.-parricu.larly in al! matters rebred to the lift of the srnre. grew stronger and more all-round than in rhe great conrinenral nations. In this way, as an element of social history. the island nature of rhe country luvt indeed, in a great variety of ways, txtrttd a
formarivt influenct on the national character
25 Ste above. pp 13ff. 6-fff. and p 513. nott 0(
_>{) On this question cf also A Loewe,
Th, Price
Lih,rt) (London. 19371. p 31: "The educated German of the classical and post-classical period is
,; dual being Jn public life ht srnnds in the place which aurhoriry has decreed for him. and fills it in the double capacity of superior .md subordinate with complete devotion mav be a critical inrellectual or an emotional romantic in
to
Jury. In private life he
This educational system has comt to grief
attempt to achieve a fusion of the bureaucratic and rhe humanist ideals It has in reality created
the intro\·erred specialist. unsurpasstd in absrracr specularion and in formal organization. but incapable of shaping a real world out of his theoretical ideas. The English educational ideal does nor know this cltavage between tht worlJ within and the world without
26. Pp. 236ff above 2-. Pp 264-5 and 26R-
above. Thar the strength of tensions berwetn clifft:renr htgemonial
units is indissolublv bound up with the strength of tensions and tht whole social order within them early
feudal society with its primarily barter economy The population pressure
which led in it .to various k'lnds of expansionist and competitive struggles, the Jtsire for a pitct of land in rhe poorer warriors and the desire for more land ar the expense of others in richer ones, counts. dukes and kings. chis population pressure is nor simply a result of the increase in population but of chis in connection with rhe rhtn existing property relations, the monopolization of the most important means of production by a stcrion of the warriors. From a certain rime on land was in fixed possession: access to it by families and individuals who did nor already "own
became
difficult; property relationships hardened more and more. In this social constellation a '.urthet increase of population in both rhe peasant and warrior classes and the constant sinking ot many people below their previous standard of existence. exerted a pressure which intensified tensions and competition within rht whole society from top ro bottom. within the individual rerrirories bdir,,11 them, and which kept the competitive mechanism in motion (see pp 214. 222 and 2.')0ft.). In exactlv the same wav in industrial society it is not the absolure le\·tl of population and still less simply
framework within \Vhich tht
So it happens that it is nor only internal pressure. rht
imminent or actual foll in the living standard of broad classts. which maintains and somerimts intensifies the ComrtritiVt tension bttWttn different ir.JustriaJ nation StattS, but this inter-state ttnsion in irs turn can sometimes contribute to a very considerable tXttnr roan increase in rhe social pressure within one or orhtr of the competing nation scares Up
to
a ctrrain point this no doubt also applies rn counrrits which primarily export agrarian
products or raw materials. Ir applies, incited, ro ail countries which have grown into a particular function within the division of labour between different nations, and whose living standard therefore
has alreadv been srr-essed on a number of occasions Ir was shown that connections of this kind existed even in
possess any \"try useful conceptual tools for analysing these pressure relationships. nor any pr..::isr:: comparison of difftrenr states. \\?hat is clear is that this "internal pressurt'. is most accessible ro
formation of tht specifically English national character. How closely certain features of the English
character and the
who control properq chances rhrough an unorganized monopoly ro those who do nor haYe such chances
increase in r;opularion which is responsible fr1r pressure within particular scares.
the
density of popularion in conjunction with rhe existing property relations, the relationship ot those
can be maintained only if enough scopt for the rdtvanr exports or impons of diffc.:rtnt counrrits
to
tlucruarions in international exchange.
to
Bur rhr: sensirivirv
defeats, ro slow or rapid decline
the competition of narion states. varies very widely Ir is clearly particularly high in nations with a relatively high standard of living in which tht balance between rhtir own industrial and agrarian production has tilted sharply
to
the disadvamagt of the latter and which are dependent
both
sectors on substantial imports of basic materials. p<.1rticularlv when the\· art nor able to offset such dtticirs by earnings from frJrtign in\·esrmenrs or from their- gold
and when. furthermore,
human exports. mo. for example in rht form of tmigrarion. become impossible. This, however. is a question in its own right which needs more derailed examination than is possible here Only by such an investigation could wt gain better understanding of why. for txamplt. the tensions in rhe figuration of European stares are so much greater than rhost between. for example. the South and Central American scares However that may bt, one often has the idea that it is onlv necessarv ro leave the economic compttirion between such highly industrialized states to rht fret
of
t()r all tht partners ro
prosper. Bur this free play of forces is in focr a hard compttitive struggle which is subjecr w the same regularities as such struggles in all other spheres The balance between rhe competing states is extremely unstable. Ir tends towards specific shifts tht direction of which. certaink can onlv be established through long-term observation
In the course of chis economic
highly industrialized nations preponderance gradually movts in fanmr of some and against tht
550
551
other-,. The r:Xp(lrr and import '-·T·1cicy
(li. th.:
weakening partit:s lx:c<1mt:s morl- re-;rricred To a state
_::,
T Parson:-.. :-:,r,;:.:i
-;aid. ir is unabk
·t
Tht idt:a rhat :-:ociai chan,:.:e should bi: underc;wod in tt:rms ul· a change ot" srrucnm.: rhrou.:..:h .:
.n.':./
PtrY>J:.dJ:_1 (G!t:ncoc. J LJ().::.) pp 82. 210{
thc::it lossl·s h;, in\·i:stmtnts or ,i..:uld fl·..,t.:ne-;-only rwo possibi!irie:- It mu::it cithcr forcc up t:>:pun:.,. for t:;
malfuncrion of ,t nurm,dl;. st ..iblt: st.ltt· of social tquilibrium is
cxrun price"" or rc::itricc imrorrs. Goth action:-, lt:ad Jin:crl: or indin·ul: w .1 loweri:1g of the '.'>LHHlm.b (1f. the members oi. rhi:-i .-.:uciL·ty. Thi::i (all is p.1;-,snl on by thost: conrro!ling the monopoly
T P.1rson.'i ,md 2-i-f Similarly. in Robtrr K . .\krrwi. .\ 11.'l.rl
in chis
rht:rc- renuin-ir·
cconomic (!prorrunitit:" ::iurroundcd b:
.1
to
_1,
we
rho::ic who do not control rht:m
Ul
The
LittL·r
douhk circle uf monuroly rule-rs: tho::it' within thtir
Parsons s work: cf. t(;r
\'. irhin d!frt:rt:nr
rht:
orders or· ch;.:n,:...:c
But the meruion oi· this
2S. Cf
Luµe numhi:r or· di(r-...rent stqut:ntial
order. how:.:ver fr.1.:..::mt:nrary. m;1y give an
in motion
n'
10-l . :'. above· A :-ununar}
0
Oi
present-day tht:uric:-. on tht: oriµin:; of Statt:S is
1:/ Pr1/i1ic'.I,
to
bt
pp. 1_;9ff
121:
f1,.,.;r
.m./ C."r11:z,1:finn.di!), p.
. and p -_;: 'Tahlt: m;mners an:. quort:s \\" Jamt:s. Prin!..'Jj)kr
Hc1bit is rhus rht t:nurmous tiywhccl o( socitt). !rs most
It .done· is what kci:ps us all within thL" bounds of ordinanci::. and saves tht: chi!drcn (i r"orcunc from the t:fl\ ious of thl· puor It alone f'rcverlts tht: hardt::-.t and most repulsiH· \\,dks or· life fro1T1 beinµ dt::-.:.:rtt:d b: those up rn rrt:ad rhcrt:in Tlk mort: quntion. w the: solution or· which the prescnr \\Ork sct:ks to make a cunrribution. ha:. also been rused r(Jr ;1 rime b) sociolotry Fur t:X:i.mplt:. Sumnt:r. /-r1/f:u..1)J. p. -ilS, '\\.hen. therefore. rhe t:dnot-:r.ipht:rs appl;. conJt:mn.itory or Lkprt:ci.1rnr} pt:oplt: whom tht:y :-.rudy. they bep thL· most important qutstion which we w.mr w
to tht thar
:.it.i.ndards. cod.:s. and ide.LS o( chastity. dt:cency. proprit:ty, modesry. e·tc and whtnce do The t:thno,L:r.1phicd focts contain the answt:r to chis qut:.srion. bur in ordt:r to re,tcl1 it Wt:
wcmt a colourk·ss rt:porr ot' the Let:-.
Ir scared} nt:t.:ds ro be s.1id chat this is trut: not only nf rht
or· z(Jrci,!..'.n .rnd simplt:r srn.. il·tic:-,. buc also of our m" n so:..·icry and ics hiswr) The prohlt:m to \\ hich the prtScnt wurk is addrt:sst:d has mort: rt:Ct:nd} been parricuL.i.rly clearly .\1,,-j_;f /;.'1::':«1:i1,11.1. en:n
if ht.: ancmpts a difft:renr :-.ulution to rht
f'roblcn1:-, dun i:-, or·t-t:red ht:re (p. 2-
kno\\ n w civili::.t:d men ,\ft: products
t.J:cn a nt:\\ dirccrion
oi
an c\·olution in whicl1 t:morions han:
Th.: insrrumt:rus .md m::.ms of this
arc the institutions. some
uf which lu\t: ht:cn de:-.crih::d in forc.L:oint-: chapters Each institution ,1s it h,1s bt:comt: csub!isht:d has de\ t:!oi'cd in .dl inJi\ idua!s w comt under its intluenc:.: a mudc u( bch;.1viour and t:rnutional attitude \\ h!ch conform ro rht: institution. ThL· nt:w modt nor ha\ t: bct:n
of beh1.1\'iour and tht: new t:morional arrirnJt could
until tht insricuriuri itself was created
The effort of indi\ idudls to ad arr
thcmsch cs w ins[ituriund demands results in whctt may bt pwperl: dtscribt:d as a whotl} new ot. plt:asurt:s.
'\Ltric
The tr.1dirion,d
limirinµ tht: inquiry rn ': p<1rticuL1r time st:,!.'.mtnr or one invoh·in,t: chc :-.n1d} of mort: cxct:ndtd proceSSl·S. Hert:. in contLtSt. ir is not dle
ur·
mt:thod or t:\'t:Il the sociolo,t:ica! selection
underlying tht: ust: uf tht: v.1riou:.i methods
of sociologically
short-term social conditions, this typt
an tnrirely kµitimart: and indisptnsablt: kind
r: pe
of socioloµical
inquiry. \Vhar is s;1id
of theorl'tical co:1Ccpti()n, Pfrtn hur h: rni
!11(:'1!1'
ntn·..;..;:iri!y
undt:rrake emt..,irical invi:stigalions
to
of social chan,L:ts, proct:SSL·'i
.rnd dt\ elopmt:nts of urn: kind or anmht:r ,1s a thc:ort:ric.d fr.rnlt: of rdl-renct:. The dcbatt: on the relation bet\\'t:en ·social st.tries and
social d: 1umics' suffers from insur"ticiently clt,ir
bt:t\\'t:t:n tht t:mpirical in\e:>ri,:..::arion of slwrr-tc:rm appropriatt: to rl1l·m. on rhc one hand. and
rill·
problems and the merlwds or· inquiry
rllt:ort:tical modt:ls by which-t·xp!icirl;. or not-one
is ,L:Uided in rosing tht problems and in f''rt:St:ntin_:..: tilt: rt:.'iUJr.'i of rl1L· inquir). Lbt: or· [ht: terms ··:;t,ttic insut"tlcicnt cap,u.:!t)'
to
and
·d} namic
in rht:
rdt:rrt:Ll
to
the orlll"r ,0.!t:rton
Oil
above sho\\
S
\·er) clearly this
d!ffe-rt:ntiatL'. ,1s when he sJ;. s th;1t within tht: fr;rn1t:\\·ork o( a sociolo,L:ica!
tht:ory of function the .L::ap bttWten statics and d) namics can bt: bridt-:t:d by the cons id tr.tr ion dut discrlTancitS. ttnsions and antitheses are dysfunctional rhtrefore
malfunction, bur ,ire '"instrumtnra!
5 Thl· tcndcncits o( rhc Europt:crn nations
((1
in terms of rht
·social SJSttm .
from rht: point of vit:w of chanpl·
,:.:rearer unification may cerr.iinly derivt:
;,1
,t:ucx.l
p.irt
o( rhtir driYin,r.: force from the con-;o] idarion .rnd cxtt:n,ion o( ch:: in-, of interdLT'tndt:ncit:s. abm·t all
in rht: c-.:onomic .md millur:- .:;rhen:s: bur it w,::-. tht: shock
to
thl· cLiJitiunal narion,tl :-.t:lr--imat:.::-, or·
dit: Europt:
of this
undt:rtaking lit:s prt:cistly in thl·
fact char. as a rt:sult of the nariocenrric sucializarion of children ,rnd adults. L'ach ot· these nations occupit:S the dominant tmorionaJ j"'"OSitiun among its form;.1tion which is cnilving pussesscs at first only :: for thtm
O\\"!l
pt:opk. i\"herL·dS tht: Jargt:r transnariona!
r.:tiona!
but hardly an cm(itionai siµnilicance
6. This difkrenct destrH:s a mon: tXtt:nsivL· cumparati\"e invt:stigarion th•m is possib!t: htre But in gi:rwrnl terms it can lx- c-xpbirn:d in
tl.-w words Ir is connecreJ with die kind ..rnd exrc-nt of rhe
valul' of r'rc-industri.d rmi.cr tlirt:s which p.1ss inw the valut:s o( the industrial strnt.i and rhtir reprtstntarivcs as rht:y come into power In countries likt Germany (bur also in utht:r countries on rht European conrintntJ a tH't of
Notes to the Postscript 0968)
bnurc:cois cnn<;tn·c1tism can be ohstn cd \'.hi ch is dttcrmineJ
f;;
.\r;;,:ti/(),:.:i.-.zi
\Glencoe:. 1LJ65 l. pp. _)5<-Jf
to <1
Veiy hitrh
b;. thl· values (i
rhe pre-industrial dynastic-agrarian-military rowtr Clitt:s These Yalucs include a \·try pronounced deprtciarion o(
"fokort Parsons. ") Ibid p y;:;
normal!;. frtL· of tt:nsion and immuwblt:
.1ssociared with t:mpirica! socioloµicd in\escigarions or· sre·ady sr.1tes Ir is quire cerG:in!y possible
preciou::- const:n·atl\·t:
l·motion:. \\·hich
social
traditional!:· discussl·d in term:; of thi: conct:prc->
here is direcred <\!..'.ainsc a certain
xiii: Con\t:rn:ioruli[} rest:-; upun an apprcht:nsi\'t: scart: of mind I \Uppo:-.c. one or· our most marked disrinuions P,lr-;ons
r(JrmuLlCed h:
;1
r(1r discus:-.ion ht:rl·. ;1s can c->et:n. is nor idcntic,tl v;irh tht: problem
ofren irn-oh·tS tht: que:>rion of which method !s prtt"cmhk in cxaminin,r.:: socid r'ht:nomena, ork
of prohlt:m
Cr l'P _>h9fr !' _;;)('i, l'l' ·!l'J-..'.l Cf PP PI' _;l)l-2, l'P '! 1-li"f: on chis qut:stion cf Parsons,
i.'i. whar
on
Tht: prohlem ht:it\i..: put
direcrcd against rht: possibility
29 G !'I' TO ff .1bove .. t:sp. Pl'· -!02ff .iU Cf. !'!'
(:\'t:w Yurk. 1,S{)l)J, p
txerr a pressure tO\Llrd
prnbk·ms as such which is under discu:-.:>inn. bur the conceTtions of socier:·. of hum<.in figur:ttions.
found in .\Lclt:od. Th, (Jri,;;·i;: .m:.l lli.r:1!l::
_'lj
1t))- J. pp
ideal social start:
impre:-.si()n oi· rill' p()wt:r of rht: uimrellin,!..'. r"or(tS which rnday keep tht: inrer-st.tte compttirion and monopo!}
1 Londnn.
(Glt:ncot.:. I 9591. p. I 22. ,rn
.\1,:i.zi
tcnsion.'I is counrtrposcd rn anothtr in which rht:sc soc:al phtnomt:ria. e\'aluarcd ;is ··dysfunctiunal .
and El10st: lx:t\\'t:t:ll rhi::n1 munully rcim(irce each othtr This spiral (Jt.
.n:)
n socitty ancl dwst
;.1s a wholt: inw a comr'critivt: stru,L:,!..'.lt: wirh otht:r sociL·tit:s, And rhus
mu\·l'ml·JH is. rn bl· :-.un:-ir must he emph,1sized-onl} one
bt found in numerOLb places !n
thus find rhemsth·ts
O\\
rcprc.-,cntinp: itlrt:i,un socil·tie::i The t'rcssure cm<-mat!J\!..'. from rhl'm conrribun:s rn imptllinp rheir own rt:prc.,cnuri\t::-. and rhcir
to
) Smd.st:r
rhat is rdl-rn::d rn as tht.· ··world ot" commt:rct: (i.e, traclc and indusrryJ and
an ur1tqui\·ocdl: hiphe·r \·,due artachtd rn the sr.tte \\"herc\t:f such values pla;.
th:::
social who!t
as
tht: individual.
a prominent p,1rr in the const:rvatism of industrial classes. rht:y
552
Notes to /Jttgl 465
Notes to /1C1ges 465-470
553
un
long as natioctn[ric \·alues and ideals dominate rhe theorizing of
arrached to tht high t:stimation of rhe individual ptrsonalir:y and of individual initiative and to the
such a degree. as long as they fail to realize rhat sociology can n._o more be
corn:sponJingly lower evaluation of the srnte" roraliry. in other words. to rht valu.es of a commercial
national point of view than physics. rheir preJominant influence represents a not inconsiderable
wor!J pleading for free competition.
danger for the world-wide development of sociology. As can be seen, "the end of iJ..-:ology is not yer in sight among sociologists
In counrrits when: members of rhe pre-induscrial agrarian tlire kept k·ss emphatically aloof in their pracrical life and in their values from commercial operations and from ,dl those earning their
American sociologists to from a primarily
Incidentally. something similar would probably have to be said about Russian sociologv if it had
livt!ihoo
a
was limin:J. as in England. or non-existent. as in t\merica. the rising bourgeois groups. in their
number ot empirical sociological investigations, there is as vet scarcely a theoretical sociolog\· This
gradual ascen[
become rhe dominant class. evolved a ryp..-: of conservarism which-apparently-
[0
was highh compatible with the ideals of non-intervention by rht state. of the freedom of the
dominant influence. Bur as far as I am aware, while rhcrt are in the
is understandable. for its place is taken in the Soviet Union .not so Engtls as by a Marxist inrellecmal edifice raised to the status of a creed
growing
bv rht svsrem of
and
the d.ominanr American
individual. and therefore with specifically liberal values More will be said in the rexr about some of
theory of society, the Russian theory is a nariocenrric mental construct. From this side. too, the end
[he specific
of ideology is quirt certainly nor in sight in sociological theorizing Bur char is no reason nor ro strive
simultaneous assertion of the "individual
ro the utmost to bring nearer the encl of chis continuous self-deception, this constant maskint:: of" short-term social ideals as eternally valid sociological theories. '--
and of rhe nation as the
value
The superseding of an ideology oriented rowards the future by one orienred townrds the present is sometimes concealed by an intellecrual sleig:hr of hand rhar can be recommended to any sociologist inrtresred in the study of ideologies as a prime example of the subtler kind of ideology formation. Tht orientation of the various naciocentric ideologies toward the existing order as rhe highest ideal sometimes produces rhe result char exponents of such values-particularly bur by no means exclusively exponents of their conservarive-lib..-:ral shades-posit their own mtirudes simply ideological
.:lS
of focr and restrict che concept of ideology ro those kine.ls of ideologies which
art direcrtd at changing rht existing order. parricularly wid1in the start. An example of this conceptual masking of ones own ideology in the dtvt:lopmenr of German society is the well-known ideology of Rt.1lj'lr1/i1i.k This argument srarts from tht iJea. conceived as a sratemt-nr of focr. that in international rolitics every nation actually exploits its potential power in irs own national interest in an en[irely ruthlt·ss and unrestricted way. This apparent sraremtnr of facr served ro jusrify a particular nariocenrric ide..11. a modern version of rhe :Machiavellian ideal. which states char national policy to be pursued in the international field wirhour consideration for others. solely in one's own national interest. This ideal of Rutf/11;/itik is in facr unrealistic because every nation is actually dependt.:nt on others A similar rmin of thoughr is found in more recent rimes-and. in keeping with American rradirion. in a somewhat more moderate form-in a book by an American sociologisc, Daniel Bell, bearinf2 rht revealin,i..: tide rhac the rower
End (I
berween
(New York. 1961 ). Bell, roo, srarrs from the assumption grours in rht pursuit of rhtir own
is
facr. He
concludes from this focr. much like the aJvocatt:s of German Rf,,.. df11Jfitih, that the politician. in rht powtr
of his own group. ought rn intervene wid10ur ethical commitment in the
power srruµ-gles of Jiffertnt groups. At the same time. Bell claims char this rrogram does not have tht character of a profession '(Jf political faith. of a preconceived value system. i e .. an ideology (ibi
;JS
a simple facr bur
as a value underpinned by emotions. as an ideal, as something that ought to be. He does not distinguish between a scienrific investigation of what is and an ideological defense of whar is (as [he emhndimenr of a highly valued idea]) It is quire obvious that Bells ideal is the srnre that he describes as a fact "'Democracy , writes
to
some exttnt. Bu[ this and other pronouncements by leading American sociologists
art examples of how little even rhe most inrelligenr representatives of American sociology are in a position to withstand the exrrnorJinarily srrong pressure towards intellectual conformity in rheir socieq.. and o( how much this si[UJtion impairs their critical faculties As long as this is the case, as
8. T Parsons,
Err,/ution:.n)' i:111d Comf1.;ri:11in
(Englewood Cliffs.
"This process occurs inside that 'black box.' the personality of the actor. 9 Gilbert Ryle, Th, (011c,p1 of i\lind (London. l 9-i9)
NJ, 1966). p 20:
Index
absolutism. xii. 1-. ms, 191-i. 205, 210,
2_:;9. 2-is. ,-, 51h.
_:;s-. 5h6. -!06.
-f ?1-j
y;() _
A.njou. 20). 2(16. 2-9, 281-5. 28-. 2S8. 2lJ!
12H. 156. 2-!8. 2-i9. 252. 256. 5 .1H.
589-
.or-
-i2 I. -i25.
-i2- . .!_)-!, -!55 ahsoluri:-;r monarchy. _::., 1. _12(1, _::.25. 3·1
affcccs. affecc-concrol. xi. 29. 60, -1.
<)
l, 98.
10-L )(16, 10-. 120. 128-l), 15-.
168- 2. 2-!l. 25_1. 255. 2-0. 2--!. 565. _)-1, _1-5-89. _:;9(), y)--il-i. ·l.26-.12. -!-i l. -!-!.). -H6. -!'50-1.
-!--
-il-i-16. ·!lH. -il:J. shan1e
209-.102 apriorism. -!-l. -l-5
.r\quiraine. 205. 2()(1. 2-9. 282. 285. 28--:--8. 2<.J ..1 Arabs. 211. 213. 215. 229
1
180
.1idc1. 5-!6-50, 55-!-6 Albtri. Eugenio. Y56-- , 558-9 Albigt:nsians. 28()
u . -iO
Alphonsi. Pt.:rrus. 5_)
- -l 8. _1 .Y1-- . ·-125--t Amptn:. Andre . 25
-!2l. -Hl-)
,;/\{,
Aquinas. Thomas. )-t'=i
.du1 drih:s Africa. 586
aggn:ssin:ntss. l(d-
55-:n
.rnxic:y. l l-L 121. l3·L l·!l. l 2. 5H5 . .
capical formation
accumulation.
2<)_), ,l0(1
Dukts of. 29<-i. 2<.r. )02. _15 I Anne of Brinany. :H)9. 55(1 anriquiry. :;2. 6L 2i2. 22'S-_1U,
l
Erhiopia
ambivalence,
52. _::,_:;, 56-8 ..125-6. _1.:'i_::..
_;_,-. _:;so. 561 animals. crutlty ro, 1-1-2
absolmisc courcs. 1-i. 15, _,l. G.o. 8-.
Alembert, Jean
.mi:i,a r<::)nh.
Ara,:.::on. 282 ariswcT.tcy.
.ia
armies. 192-L
nobility
51-
Arnulf of Carinchia. l
-UO
Aulc. \\,-arren 0. 55-ln Auscria 201
556
The Cil'ili:i11g Procrss
Auscrians. 12 autarky. 206-7, 2-iO. 2SS. 291.
37 9
Auvergnt. 28---i-5, 29-i axes of ctnsion,
316. _126. 3_10 ..1-1-!
B,ditr:-' 81,1,k. Tht, 5.1. 7-L 122 balance of power, 299. 33.1. 386, --l l--l. 439 balanct of ttnsions, 296. 343. ---i-W
Index
commercial. r. GS. lS6. 52-i-5, -161, -i63 French. 31-3. -i l. -i3. 86, 9_;-L 96 German. 9-i 3. l 5-21. 6-i-5. 92. 9-i-5.
31-3, -
''barbaric behaviour. ix. -i l. -!2. 48. 5 1, 5--l. 81. 107. 1!3. 210. -iSO
330-3.
c.wsation, -i82-_=1 Caxton. \\'illiam.
central authority. 268. 319. 320. 325, _)2-L
Bouvines. Barde boxing. 1-0-1
of. 28-i 200. 2(17
Barrow. R.H. S37n
BrtEigny. Treaty of. 29_1, 295
barcer economy. 205--:-. 210. 213. 22-i. 232,
Breughtl, Pitter Sr. l 76
2'-!-5. 292.
Brtysig. Kurr, 535n Brinkmann, Hennig. 2--!5
391. 536n
British Empire. 266
ctn:mony. 388
Brifrany, 285. 288. 296. 502, 509, 3-12 Broe. Pierre. l-iO
ch:.tins
Beatrice of Bourbon.
296
Bruges. 5_19n Brunner. Ofrn. 5 _;2n
Charlemagne,
BLrnel. Guillaume. s_; l n bureaucr3cy, .13. 36. 38.
28-i
Blirger. GotEfried r\ugusr. l 9
296
burgher class.
Duke of, 167.
Btrd10ld von Regensburg. 175
interdependence.
205, 239, 446
bourgeoisie
Burgundy. 196. 20_1, 206. 21-i.
262, 285, 294,
dukes of. 288. 29-!. 296. _102. 307-8, 359
168-9. 188. 191, 205. 206.
199. 202. 206. 31-
S30-2n spurts in. xii. 15--8. 2'5. _1":'9. _181. 382.
Charles IV. King of France. 286. 28-
389. 592. -iO l ..j(J7. -!_18
Charles \', Holy Roman Emperor. S9. 262. _1 l(I
cleanliness. 152. 5_;0-2n
Charles\', King of France. 29S, 296. 29'7,
cltrgy'clerics, 165. 201. 208. 327-55. _)62
3-i9, 350-1
of France. )02.
w- __109.
Bloch. Marc. 55-n
Byrne. Eugene H . 5?18n
Cl1arles Vlll. King of France. _309. 5S6. _3S8
body.
Byzantine Empire. 216. 225. 22-!, 229} 5_::,:n
Charles
Cabants, A. S9. 122. 12.o. 152, 153 Callieres. cle. 8 7 -8. 9_)-i,
Charles the Bold. Duke of Burgundy. 17
BogarJus. Emory S . 5-i-!n Burner, A .. 528nn Bonvicina da Riva. 53.
121-2. 1
Bonwir. Ralph, 553n books, demand for. importance of. -iOl Bossert. H.T, 529-30nn Boston Tea Parry, -iO
239-iO.
Calmerre. Joseph. 2119. 23 7 Calviac. C. 91. 105
of Valois. 295, 296
of. l 9S. 296. 302
28 7 , 3-i-i. 352. 360-2,
childhood. xi, S. 60, 63, 83. 108. l l-i. l--ll-L l-i'-53. 158-9, 169. 37--l, r1, -iP. -!3-L 1-5, 5-!-f-5n China. 103. 107. -ilO. S.37n. 5--lOn
capitalism. 210 Carolingian Empire. 19S. 19 7-9, 208, 212,
Church. 86-7. 15-L 187, 188. 190, 215. 216,
of
152, 166. 203
223. 267, 281. 328-30. -il-i England. S-i8n
Greek Orthodox.
of society, 230. 269. 2"7 --L 288. 28-:-, -i-j(i
Cohn. \\lilly. S_15n collectivisation .
3.
Christianity, -i7. 86fa ,;/_ro Church
21-L 222. 223-L 229. 286. 289, 297t 312. 5.15n Carolingian kings of west Franks, 195. 201-3
closure
Colbert, )tan-Baptiste. 36
Chareler, Marquise de. l l S
Caperians. 192. l9S, 20-i. 21 7 , 258-61, 267,
washing
Cohn. E. 518n
Charles rhe Far. King of the west Franks. 2011
Capellan us. Andreas. S-i6-'n 27'-302. _)06-7. 328-9
Bourditu. Pierre, xvii bourgeoisie. 80. 88, l 00, 116. 128-9. 192. 422-_15
9--8
capital formation. 366. -i 14
Bougie. Celestin. xv Bourbon. house
.:;s 1. _:;s.J-5. _:;ss
Charles the BaJ. King of Navarre. 295
bondsmen. 216-l - . 220. 2_)6
Slc
cliques. _15. 36. 398
Charles VI, King of France. 296. 298. 3S8
bishops. 20 l, 3 29
Boileau. Pierre Louis. 12
225-6.
2-il. 25-i. _16S-8-. -i30. -iSl-2. -i81.
Charles VII. King
"'natural fr!nccions ': nakedness
civilizing process
1)2. U-i-5. l-i2. 152. 153. 1
162-.3. 2-!-
Bury. J B . S 3-in Byles. _,\Jfred Thomas. '\-ion
Jc,
Ji"
civilizing proct:ss. ix-xv, 15, 18. 20. -i 1, -U. 51. 8'\. 88-92. 102. 11--l. 116. 128-9.
Charles lll, King of France. 199
506. _1')2
Bertran de Born, 162
Bild1111g, IS. 2·-i-6. 31. 6-i. Sl8n tdsr1 K11!:ur
,(.dh,
Sl'-l8n K;t/J:tr
Si1. d/Jtj
,ds1, Carolingian Empire
Burdach. Konrad. 2-16
Berry. 196.
l
Ci\·ilization, as a process. Sll
,:h.m.rr1m
Bell. Daniel. SS2n
235.
centralization
of iruerdepen
Brunelleschi. Filippo. 189
_195. -i28
"civilization . popular concepr of. 5-10, 15,
sa ";/so JectnrralizaEion
centripetal forces,
u-.
bedroom. beha\·iour in. x. 51. l
2S6. 586-
2-i. )0, 39. 4'. 51-2, - 1. 83. 86. 88.
306. 313 . .1-13. 5-i2n
238. 261-2. 266, 261, 2-:--!, 292, _113. _:;.-!_:;
297, 303, 313. 317. 5-i-i, 368. 379.
Bau
811. 82. 83. 86-9, 108, l 3_), 182. 189.
centrifugal forces. l er. 199. 2011-8, 219.
237, 239, 2--l0-5, 2S.o-L 260, 289.
5 _10-2n
0-1. 10-i
cenErnlization, xiii. 201. 205. 236. 261-2.
Branrome. Pierre
179. ST-8n,
7
.328 . .333. _)_16. _)49. 355 ..160 ..162, _; ":' 1. 388
Baroque. 189. 2S I. 39_;
Basin. Thomas. 5-L2n
circulation of mock·ls. cizilih'. xii. ?1-L -il. -!3. -!--52, 61. 6--1. 6-. -1.
Cavalli, Marino, ,3'58-9
professional. 426
Brandenburg. 12.
bathing, 119. 138-9,
ChrisEianiry cinema. i -o. -!26. 5-i Sn
office-holding. 325-
Barctlona. 196. 2-9, 282
Barth. John Christian. l l.1
-i2l
sii muLr Church
:dsr1 inEtliigenrsia
Balzac. Ho no rt de. -iO l
Roman Catholic. -i-. l-i3. l-i-i. l-i6--.
Casrigloni. Giovanni. 60. 69 Carbolic Church. Catholicism
SSln
meJieval urban. 5-t. 18'7. 289. 323, 3_16- . _1-16. -!34
Carttr!ieri. Alt:xan
557
colonization. 4.1.
"socieralizarion
-!'. 215. 230. 38-i-6. -!2'-8.
-L'.11-2 as a social metaphor. -i.30 commerce. 2-L 271. 32-i. 3.17. 551-2n commercialization. 23"'7. 2_:;9, 287-8, 32_)-i. _;59 communication, -!O. 2.18. 239. 28'7, 288. 323,
32-i competition. 2-!0. 274. 277 . .:n9. 288. 297. 30-i. 305. 306. 312, 313. 3-i). 353. 367. 371. 38S.
395. 397, 421, -i25.
-126. -J2s. -129. --l53. -i35, -i36. -1r.
--!38 Comte. Auguste. -i58. -i6l
I m!o:
558 Du1'in. H. 111'5
2')_...,, "15"1n C:(lnd,1rcL·r., .\brit: .k·.rn Antoint: concL'pr
2(lLJ,
DL:clar.:rion
.\brqui:-. de -f.2
-tH 12 l 2-0,
con,ci(1u-:nl·.;..;, ix. xi
_"1
-l
.;'!o . .;er. -102 ·lU_i. -iOS-11. -11-!.
(1f.
Duronr-Fcrrier. Cust
hdcp::ndcnc.e
Dcdd.:!nd Fricdri,:h dcfecarion n,nur.d i-L:nctions '.18. lllfl. 115.
dclirnC\
l+! -122
corisrr,1int:-i
.'"- .d.i modesr:: sn,tnit..: J. :cquc-s S·!-"1 Del Lt C,:.:;;.1 -. 11
1_::._1, l-!9. 15h--
16S-Sl. 2-tl.
i21.
-!-15.
-o. -
lli. li--18. l20-i. l2_i. uo. l·!_;. l·l-l 1-lii 11-. lSl. 18'). -!l- -llS. ·!21. ::i_;on
-1-s
dcmocr.tric
of busini:ss life. 15()
(1(), h8-
Cordier. 7'farhurin. -iS. l l (; C(lf!lL·illc. Pierre ! ()
Cossnn.
Dbe
S-!
-s
0-brquis de
dcrachmt:nr dt:\"dopin.:-: counrrit:c:. <..lcn:hipml'.nt, soci,d
Coult01L G.G. 5YJ--l0n
coun:. 22.l . .19-L ·!5) conduct. -!2 nobilir; nuhilir; . .1,,
Didcror Deni'.'>.
Y>.
2-L
-!-. h.l. 8h. !Oh.
258-9. 2+!-'5h. 5X--9-. -101, -!l-. -!20. -£22-J '5-.
2':Ji ..;61. _;-o,
·!2).
Cuurrin. r\nrninc Jt:.
-t)_
82. 8). tJ 1.
disrincrion (1'1
_;8_;-5. _195. -!2·!. -!_lP. -H6
·!2-1
xii. 10. 2_< 29.
2"1_; 2(1.
2hS.
.2S2 28-. 2l)-
;(lo. _;o.:,. _:; 15-20.
:;--8. 61-.:'. 6-1. ii8-'J.
,.,-_l).
l 1-L 165. 182. 252-_;, 255. 2)(), YJO.
L'JzJhtt'
Crusades.·-!-. 21 i-20. 2-;9.
f::.:rl:ffr
Dn.:ux. huLbc of. _.:.02 driYts. dri\"t.:-controls. driYe mouldinµ. xv, xviii. Sl). illi. lil-. 109. 117. 1-il.
2-!.2, _2 •.J) . ..".'.50 . .25,;, 2-0. 369. 371. _;-_l-S9. . _.:,q-_·!l·L .i16. -!21. Dryden. John.
D.1n\ in Charks. '1+rn
2-i(>.
-!- -52.
60-9. -1. -()--
811. 8'\. '!l. 101. 110-l l. 11-1-l ).
122-5. 126. 1_)0. 1.1-l. l_)()--. l-10-l. l-i_i-8. i)l. l'i_\. l'i'! .. ;(I[. 'i26n
- -i29. ·15"i. -i-!3. ·!-i6 1..fancin,:.'. 1 l t) .. -tS2
·!Oh
Erasmus. Dcsiclt:rius.
209
1-2 l-8. lHO. 22·!. 250. 235, 2-il.
5,15
5-!--i->n. 552n
2:A,
I+!. l '52-.i. l 'i'i. l '58-GO. 161. I
Crl:cy. Barde of. _l-i9
l'J6. 2l'). 22'5. 21;1-- . .:'Sl-501 . .'T. 5-!8. 586. ·!20. -l.26. -i.28. ·l.1·-!-'i, +!0.
::.hl. _;(1---0. _178.
J lJlJ. _2(Jh,
u; _:;q8
Dlimmlt·r. Ernsr. :;_.:..2n
5 .)"in
t"cud,diz.1rion. xii. 195-256. 2-_.:;, _::.1 .. i.
rdar!onshir's. _;;-.; l, _182 -!30-2. -!56 Erhiori.1. led. i
Europl'an
55ln
evolution. biological. 5+!n !:.:.
.-".
15.
.)(1h, _)h9. -!.,()
Fichre. Joh.urn Gottlieb. 19
.11--l-l h. _) l 8, .120. 565-
.du, t.ksdopm(:nr. srn..·i,d
txternal consrrainrs
-l
l I.
concept of. -181-5 FlachsLrnd. Caroline. 21 FLrndt:rs, 196. 20_:;, 20(1. 221. 225. 225. 2-9.
tlaruknce.. 5 I Flauhcrc. Gusr.n e,
.j(J
1
Florcnct:. l SH. I SlJ Funrnnt:. Theodor. _10 hlrhonnais. Fr.ms·ois
Du\t:rFt:r de
foreign 1"'\olicy. -! l 0 meuphor of. ·-! 1(1
psy
lS-. 18S. 11. l'!O. 192. 1'!-i. l')S.
-!lh. -!2- ·!.29. ·L;_;, ·l.;9. ·i-il. -i-f5
Donatdlo. l.SlJ Dopsch. Alfred
-10-L -!2_-)
ft:ucLd socierics. ix. xii.·!-. 16-l. 20'1. 2.;o. 2_;5, 255. 2.-19. 25 l. _;o.i-'1. ')_;_.:.-uL
foresi,dit. i.;_;, _:;-5. 5-8-8..".'.. 58·!-5.
En!'Lind. ! 2 2-i. 2'!. W. -iO. (10. l l). 1>'5. 102.
diYision of socl.d
·-r.
aft"i.:cts
En:pirL· sryle. 109 Eni'cls. Friedrich .. ;(11. '5) _)n
r'uncrions di\"ision of soci.d funcri(Jn:-i. 102. I - 2, 198. 20'1-- 21 o 22h 22;..;,
C..8(l, 50 l. llj l. _.:.92. ·!00, -!02.
g:.
.J", dtliGK}. shamt:. rcf"'Ugfl•H1Ct::
10'1. 128, U--\lf, 213.
diY!sion or' bhour.
1. 98. l()L),
li-i-l'!. lT. 1-iO. 1!2. l'il-.:'. 1'5'\. 160. 1-8. l Htl. 392. -il-1-..".'.2. -!_)I. +H
emoriuns
.
285. 2SS, 29(1. _; lO. _:;-!- 5-19. _15_.:; (i(J,
rhrcshold frornicr of. (10. -120. -122. -!25
').::, l)()
265-L 2-0.
.;11 ..1..:.1 _)+-i
2')
1.15 ..11-C _;60-l. 5-0-1. _;-:; 58--9-.
·'"' .d.>r1
diminarion conn:sc:-;
,!'1--6n, -i81
.;·!i. 5+!
"·'· )-!.
Elt:atic modes of rhoughr. -!O.l. -!"'59 .1/.111 proct:ss-reducrion
l·!l)
_1()(1, _;_;() _ _; .. !2
_;·!h. _;.!-._;·!CJ. _.:;52. _l)_). _)(-Ji, _;90.
11\>. I'-)-. 198. _::-_;, 2H2. _.:;12.
cmb,1rr.1ssmenL ')I. 52.
lOl-2. W8. ltl'J. ll'i. 12·!. l_iO-l.
112. ·tlH. ·l.2.;. lcourtb}:
culture
f):.1:,:,L.i C.i:1,1;:,
2°15. 216 lord'.'\, l 212. 2')8.
El Cid. 21 'i
.li
129. 1_;c;. l'\11-l. l'i'\. i)I, lS--')l.
counc-.-.,y. -''" cuurric-r:-i. l '5. 26. h-.
J L),
..-.:s.;.
·!H l
diffl'.rcnriar!(Jn. _;h- -l.;ll. !50-1
mtioru!iry. -!0-! srn:icty. 1-L l ), 1
.d.1'1
2-6
clt:mocr;.niz.1riun. functional. l _;·!-5. -L25 dcrendt:ncit:s. 2_;_;, 2_;-, 21.l. _16{), }: . ·!02 ·!il! I)
conrr.1srs. diminishint-:. 5S2--. -!.10
Eckermann. Juh,mn Pert:r. 25. 2'1, 28-..:.o educ,![ ion. 2.1. x-. _18-! Edward Ill. Kini' of Er\"land. 2')) Edward. rhc BLKk Prince. 295 cµo. lhO. _.:.--. -!05. !OS .. !l(i, ·!'=i'5
Dl·lilii·.
!15-21 ·1·!'5 ::xtcrn;.d, by utht.:r 1. X\, 6H. l (JlJ, l _:;5, l 'ih- ..lh5--lJ. 582-.l.
t"i.:ucLdism. 20l) feud:d courrs. L)l, 2·!5 2+L .:.;.1'1 . ..".'.-t8. 2)2 .
.l!1d drinkin.::.;. -'l" uhlc m'-'nncr:i urensils. r(>rks: kni\-c-s: sroons: ublt:
221. 22'5
-!15. -:lS. -!19. -1.20. -1.11. +!l
consen;.tti'.'-n1. 5"11 n. "152n
_-".)-!
559
consu,1inrs. exrcrnal
.;(l.i.
_;ss.
599.
-111-. -1_;11
Jt:furcsrnrion 58-60. -8. 82. 85. 88-9.2. 9-.
forcsr clearance i(nk
-!l),
10--lJ. l.:'S Fouqutr. 9-! Fowlt:s. L \Y'_, _; l .2
.>>. .ll-!.1 ...:;'5. _;-. 60. h2. 1>5. s--'!. 92-S. [()_\. 11-.
Fr.1nce x. 12. 15. ll)-2U. 2-·l.
1)0. 182. lS-. lS'). l'J2-l1. 20-l. 21·!. 2..".'.5 2-!..".'.. 2-13 . ..".'.-!8. 2hl- . 506-l·!. 525-62. 58(1, _;r;-.
101-2. -;_i'\ 6. l l. 15. l·!. '!-1. %. l90. -!.;_;
French
Franci;1, Dt1chy of. Dub:·>; of. 19(),
-!-.
]:(l.).
66. 95. 110,
258. 260. 262. 311. _;,12. 559 Francis I. of France. W'J-lO. _1'5S
193. 262.
Franklin ..-\lfn:d. '521 n. '5.2lnn. 529nn
fonrnsy. _;-5_() t"t.:ars. xi. xiii. 98. 10-i-5. 10-. 121. Ll-L _:;-5,
_1-<1 • _;s5 ,fl 1. --118. -i 1CJ. -i20. -121. -l2·L -!.11. +!l-·!. )_)l-2n
Franks. 2.?8
eastern Frankish area, 200.
2LL 5_;5n
wc:-;tcrn Frankish arL·a. 20.1, 2l_;-I S.
2 l ')-20 . .:'.111, 25'\. 25-. 21i2. 266.
The Cil'i!izing Prr1cess
560
20-. 208. 2 7 --302. 508-l l. .i28-9.
Index
Gracian, Balc.isar. 58-. 5-! 5-011 Greece. 228, .:; _:.; '"'."-8n
Hugh of Sc Vinor. 53 Huguenots. 342
Frederick II. tht Great. King of Prussia. 12-I-. 192. 2-i0
Greek OrthoJox Church. '" :m;/cr Church Gut!fa. 25 I. _;9_1
Huizinga. Johan. 1-i-i. 16-i. 16:-. 52'n Humbnldt, ,-\lexander rnn. 25
Frederick \Villiam. Grem Elecwr. !8-. 258
guilds. crnfc _;26
French Rernlution. 12. 2-. -i.O. 80. 89. 190. 2-i2. 3 JO. 31- . .126 . .162 . .j() l-2. -i25 Fr,m:/:,u'.i11gt., J,t. mzJ,__-r constraints
Hundred Years War. 278. 293. 2':!·!. 295. 299-302, 3-lS. _)50. _)51
Guisrnrd, Robert. 215
Freud. Sigmund. I 60.
habirm. xi. xiii. xvii. 11-. 1-i I. 2-u. _i66-9.
5,)n
·!
l ()
Freudenthal. Gred. 525n Fr1J11dt. • .136. _:;-to. ?i60
132
Fulk V. the Younger. 281 .b-
Jemocratizarion.
funcrional
functional dependence, 31.). 5 1- ..\18. 370. _i 5. -il8. -i29 1
funcrionalism. critique of. 5-i?i--!n. 55 ln
Furnivall.
FJ.
52ln
:!11 .>cl (salt raxl ..i-i9 G.d.i!:fl
Della Casa. Giovanni
Garland. Johannes rnn. 5 3 Gascony. 2-:'9. 559 Gedoyn. ,-\bbe. 88 GuJJt.imch:zf!. -!53 Gtoffn:y Plantagenet of .t\njou. 281 German language, 6. -. 11-1.i. 17 . 22, 66. 92. 95-6 ..j_;_; Gtrm<1n literature, 12-1"7. 2S. 6-! Germanic tribes. 211. 228 German-Roman Empin: (Holy Roman Empire). 195. 201. 20i. 229. 261-2. 26.1-7. 273. 286. _110 Germany. x. I l-.10 .. _i-i, r. 92. l 03. I 8-. 190. 192. 261--. _1_12. _139. -i.1-1, -i-io. -46-i
-!5:) gescurts. -!9
Ghiberti, Lorenzo. 189 Ginsberg. :\!orris. 526- 7 n Godefroi de Bouillon, 219 Goethe. Johann Wolfgang rnn. 13-I-i. l 5-19.
23. 25. 26. 28-30. 480
Habsburgs. 18 7 , 219. 262. 26'5, 299 ..108-IO :1/so German-Roman Empire 'half-edurnreJ'". -i3 l Halphen. Louis. 5 36
id. -i09. -i!6 ideal rypt. -i8 l illegitimacy. l 5-i-5
Hanoraux. G .:\.:\ . 5--i2n happiness. 5 _)()
Imberr de la Tour. Pierre. 5-i l n lnca empire. 5-iOn individualization. 63, 232. -i 7 9
incelligencsia, 9-32. 35-8. 42-3, 63-5, 96 interdependence. xii. 116-I-, 128-9, !7 7 ,
Haskins. C H , 2-i-i, 389
180, 196. 205-8. 222. 22-i-6 2.1-i. 235. 23-, 2-d, 2-LL 253--4, 269, 2:_;.
Hauser. Henri . .i 11 Hegel. Gustav Wilhelm Friedrich, 366
2"5-6, 300, 315. 51-. 319-20. 522.
-!32,
32-L _;2-. 350, 331, ?133, 5-U, _; ..u.
3-i9. 352, 368-70. 575. 379-8 l. 386-97, -iOO. -iO-i, -409. -ill-U. -419.
Henry I. Duke of Saxony. 200 Henn· I. King of England. 281 Htnry II, King of England. 28 I-i Henry 11. King of France. 31 l Henry III. King of France. 60, 535 Henry IV. German-Roman Emperor. 262 Henry IV. of France. 126., 182. 187 ?138-9. _;.12. -iO-i HtrJer. Johann GortfritJ. l _i. 1-. l '). 21 Hermann. Conrad. 518n Heroard. Jean, 159 Hinczt, Ono, 533n Hiccict empire, 212 Hobhouse. LT. -158. -!61 Hiijlichk,it courcesy Hohtnsrauten. house of, 26-i. 26Hohenzollern. house oL 258, 26'5 Holbach. Paul H. rl'. -i0-1. .j.j-
-i22-3, -iT. -i29. -i3!. -i.o5. -W. -i39,
Kirn, Paul. Ir. 199. 20G Klopsrock. frieJrich Gottlieb. Ii. 1knift. -i9. 50. 51. 58-9, 71). -s, 88-92. 10.1-:-. _175. -420-l Knigge. Adolph von. 23
incernalizacion. -!-i-i, -!77, 478 inctrweaving. 205. 207, 226, 238, 311-12.
316. 366 ..167. 3-5. 387 . .JOS. -i3G. -i-i !. -l-i3. -i-iS inrnlvemtnr. -iOO Ireland, 263 Icalian city scares, S42n
Iraly, 60. 65. 66.
is-.
1- 2-82. 195-i. 2 I-i-20. 2_i0. 2.i9-i2. 2-iS-55 ..31-i. 33!. _iii!. _FO, 392- . -iO-i-5, -112. -i2_; Kiibntr. R . 5 28n Kolb. G.F, Sl'n Kretschmayr, H .. 5-i2n Kulischt:r, Alex,mJt:r and Eu6cil. 5 _1-in K1d111r. x. 5-2-:-. 30, 31. 3_;, -L3. 6-i-5 and German idtnriry. 6-8 and Zfrilis;1hr1n. 6-11, 51'"'."-18n labour. division of.
division of social
funccions
Lt Bruyere. Jean de. 596. 39-. 598, 5-i6n Lafaytrre, Madame de. 155 La :\lesangi:rc. l 25-6 Lancaster, house of. 299
-i-i5- 7 , -i81-2 chains of. 370, 380
196. 198. 215. 22!.
299. 358
land-ownership, 2 l-i-20. 235-6 t/'11;.:, 196. 3-42 f,lllJ;lh d ,,jj_ I 96 La
due de. 5-i6n s-. I O(i.
La Salle, Jean-Baptiste, 80-3.
r.
108. 109. 112-13. 115. 12-i-5. 126151-2. 133-L u-. 1-il. ni Larin, 11, -i-. 5.i. 95, l-i3. I-i5. 332 Lavisse. Ernesre, 3-iO, 3-i 1 law. --!1, 13.1-5, 290, _1_12, _1-:-1, 5.1H-9n
laws. scitncific, xii, xviii. 13-L I_;5, 26--i. 5-Un Jacqueron. G . 5-i2n James, William. 550n Japan. 5-!0n, 5-i7-8n feudalism in. 533-in Jean de Buel, 16-i-5
Goldenweiser. :\lexandtr. 5-i-in ,_good sociecy", -!25-
Holy Roman Empire "" German-Roman Em pi rt Homeric sociecy. )_;-in
Gothic, 25 l. 593
homr1 d:ms11s. xvii, -:!"70-6. -i--:-9-81
Jerusalem. 215-l 6 Joan of :\re. i() 1 Jodl. Friedrich. 5 l 7n
Gofrschtd. Johann Christoph. 11
Houssait. :\melor de. 5 3Sn
John, Duke of Berry. 296
GouJsblom. Johan. -132 srncts, srnce-fiJrn11.1cion
Huberr II of Vienne. 292 Hugh Caper. 203-i. 25-
John,
govc-rnmtnc
Kern, fricz. 5 _12n
knighrs. knightly sociery. 6_i. 8-. 163-9.
integration. 450-1 inre!ligenct, -lO-l
Hampe. Karl, 205
Kanr. Immanuel. 9-10. 1.1. 1-. 18. 2-!. ."-3-i. -i-s
als1J marriage
industrial society, 42. 231
Hammtr. Heike. xvii
hegemony. 201. 260-2, 2-H. 31 5. 318.
Judd, Charles H Jun:nal des Ursines. _;55-6. 358
Hungarians. Hungary 200-1, 203. 211, .158 hygiene. 97-8. 107. 11-i. 127. 550-2n
3'8. 385. -Hl8. 41-i. 5-!7-Sn 1-!.:/?its 1f G11r1:! 85, 103. 106, HP,
Fulk IV of :\njou. 281 functional
guilr. IO-i, 152. !6-i. !68. -i-i.1.
561
of England. 28-l. 350
John [I. the Good, King of france, 292-6
Lefebvre des Noenes, Commandant. 55 1 n.
538n Lehugeur, P, 5--i 1n Leibniz. Gortfried. 11. -P3-i. -i 7 5 Lessing. Gorthold Ephraim. 15, 16-17 -B 1
Lenrncinism.
Levasseur. E , 5 3 5 n Lewis. CS, 539n libidinal impulses. _)/7, _o81, .JOO, -403, -i09,
u.
.j 10. -i -i22. -433 Lichtenberg. G.C H . T
The Ci l'ili ::i 11g Pr1Jn:ss
562
ll/{kx
Lipst:c Sl'.ymour
is-. 165. 1s11. i'!'J. 2s1. 252_ -' 5
L(H.·wc. . Adolf. xv, 5-i8n
589
London. 299 . .1Ul-2
monarch). 195. 19lJ.
.J\f1 h:.:droum. hcha\ iour in: fork: knife: · natur.d funcrions, nose-blowing;
Auguste. 28_-l. 5-! l n
Lorr.iinl'.. 196
Lotharingia. 21-i
,\Lnnheim. Karl. 5!8n. 5-!ln
Louis I. the Pimi:;, King of France. 199
;\fared. Etiennt:. 2l)')
Louis IV. King oi" fr,mce. 2()2
,\.[arie. LLlughccr ot" Charlt:s the Bold. 1- .1. ,\.farit.: de Champ.1grn:. 5-lh--n Jean H _155
Louis VI, the Far. King of Franct, 20-L
258-62. 2-8. 2-9. 280. 28 l. 28N. Louis VIL King of Fr
,\larx. Karl. -158 .. J(1l. -166. 55_;n
Loui; VIII. Kini' of France. 28(i. 2
:\Iasaccio. Tommaso di GioYanni. l .S9
Louis IX. Saine King of France. 286, 291.
_;os.
..-158
Louis XIL King of Franct. _.;09, 5'58 Louis XIII. King of Fr.mu.:. 159 ..1.18-!0. 5-!2 Louis XIV. King o( France. 11. 5<1. -!2. 85. 126. l 2S. 255. 290. 298. _; l - . ?i.'"i5. 5.16 ..-158 ..1-!0-L -!05. 5-i-n Louix XV. King of France. -Hl. 8.1. 189
Louis XVI. King uf [ranee. 189 Louis. Dukt: of Bourbon. 296. 29Louis. Dukt: of Orie.ms. 29-. 298
Louis of :\njou. 296-- . _15 l !oYe. 2ll)-)() Lowtm:hal. Lt.:o, 5.1-n tower scrarn. l··L 88. 216 ..152. ,180-_l. _-)8h.
.191, 596. -i.2- -ii. -HO
268-91 2-i. 2-.1 . .?''75. 2-:-- . .10.1-13.
3 I . 3-U, 355. 560. 365. _;69-70. s-2-.1 ..1-8-80..186. 388 ..191. -iO-L -il.1. -!16. -12-. -!29. -i.1.1, -i.15.
.1.1_1
or'. '10. ')?-;, t)O. <-)CJ-I 0.1.
582. -L20. 5.2.1-!n. '125n .\ftd ici. house cl. 180 .\k/i,1.1/ l/-,;1,,-f3,,,J. 1-_;-s2. _;')e. ·i2 I
2-_;. 2-s. 2--. 515 . .11-. _l-L1 ..1-i-!-62, 565. 5:9, _188 ..195.
··socit:ralization
I\lterscn, Trc
NormanJy. 206, 21-L 220. 2-9-85. 28-. 2H8
1\ormans. 199-200, 202. 2().). 215. 215, 219. 262. 285. 535n nose-blowint:. -!9. 56. -5. --. 121-9. 526n Ogburn. \Villiam F. 5+!n oliparchy. 2- .) Oritnt. _186. -!_; 1. -!-itl, 5-!-in Orleans. 259. 26!. T
mcrcantili:;m. _.:;-
.\fon[mortncy. Henri. Duke of. _1-!2. -!0-!-6
l\fenmt:t:. Prosper. 2)
>.fontmorency. house of. 258
Om1 L Holy Roman Emperor. 200-l. 2-i6 . 26!
_)_.).-!,
_;86
commcru:
l\fcrovingian i:poch. 199.
12
morali,y. 12-. l-iO. l-il. l-i-L I-iG. 15-
,\lcrrnn. Robcn K.. 5 5 In
x-xii.
Johannis. 1··!6--. I-i8
'12-hO.
(1]-.), ()<;.
68.
rnu[iLuion. 1(12--!
I62 •.Fl,
-!35
naktdne;s. l !8. l_i8-!0. l-9. --il -18 ,_,./u; modest:: shamt
bourt:t.:uisic
,\lilrnn. John. le .\fin1Jt.>.ill,(·tr. xii. 2.l6-5h.
"na[iou:nrrism . 551 n. 552-.1n
minstrels
,\Iajorca. King of. 291-2
l\fir.ibeau. Vietor. 3-t-6. Lton. _))(), _1:::, 1
,\lalraux. Andre. -i02
mi.ui df/11:inici.
manners:
mubility. social mocbn. '5!. 6-!
!08. 155. 189.
na[ional char.icctr.
.\li1mu.in,(·u·
-! l
52. 9-i. -i2--8. 5-i--8n
nationalism. ··!65-5. 55 l-2n "nawral funcrions . I O'J-2 l. l .'15. l .18. I 50. l 59. !60. !80 ..j()_)
h8. 2_1-
nm1rc. 155. l-i I. l '-i. _i6G. -i l 9-20. -i-i2.
l !11. I I_;, 1_;-. I-il. 1-i'',
I 52
-!
na\"y.
pain. endurance of. _;-:- 3
Papac). 529
s-.
I 10. 1- i. l S'J. l %.
261. 28-!-5. 28-. 295. 295. 299.
,\laclcod. \Villiam. 5-!(ln
;\faint·. 28-i-5. 291. 29.1
-150
O\"erpopulacion. 212
Paris. l 'J. 2S. _16.
!'\a1'lcs. 215 1'apolcon L -l_i
;\bgna Carca.
oucsidtrs, 582.
of. 112
pi.teification. -!2. -o. i05. 19U-i. 195. 2-16, 25-1. _;I I. _;89. -i U. -! l 9-20. -l2_l-6
-II. 8-. 100-L lO--S. l l'J. 150. !62.
3i9.1. -!21. -!2_1, -!2-!. ·!2'1. ·L1-i.
-l_).j
_101-.2. _)06. _)-iO, 5-l l. _:.;--!-. _;5_1. -L;parliaments. 195 ..151. _;_;6, 55 ..f Parsons. Elsie Clews. 5-i-in. 5 50n Parsons. Talcon. -!5_1- 7 pattern \"ariablts,
•..f66.
-!69-70. -i-:2
-i 5 5-i
ptasamry. 89. 100. i-_i-80. 21--18. 2-i2. .182. 589. _;91 Peru. )')I Pt[er;. B . 5 2'Jn
nttds. conscellation of. _19-l
Peri,-Durnillis. Ch,1rlcs. 89. !68. 5-lOn
Mohammed. 2 l l
i\it:czsche. r:rit:drich. 29. 52. 95
Pcrn1sev;ki. D ,\[. 5_1-i-6
I\folitre. Jean-Baptiste. l'
nighcclochts. 159-!0. 526n
·''c
52. 5-. 58. G0-5. -o-2. 8'J. '!I. 92. 95. !08. I U. l 28. l .\.'i.
1
nomadic tribes. 2!0-12
.\fonrnigne ..Michel dt. 52-n
.d.ui
,\fachiaYtlli. >Jiccofo. °5·!5n. '552n
1n Middle
.;/F, court socit:cy:
,\londhfry. house of. 258-60
merchancs. 11. 2-0. 52'1.
middle c!as:; ..
er.
of. 2.10-1
J, / 11r;l;/c1.1. ./c mh.: warrior class :/ 561 li ihlt.rsc dr: rdh. _;-, 96, 32-!-6. _;55, ?>61 J"
or rnxarion. 268.
-t2-;'. -i29. -U_l-1. ·!56-tr.msformacion of pri\"a[e inrn public.
migracion. lhl. lh.2. 210-l.2
68- -2. 80. 88. l)l.
-u-.
-Us. ·L19. ·-i-i 5-6 ofrult. 268. 2-i. 2--i. 2-s. 289. 290. 5-!2.
-'08-'J
2-iO. 2-t-. 25-..::..;..;. 285
cm.Its of. 5. 20 ..12 _l-! -il-5. -52-62. 6_1.
gradi:s
of physical forct \"ioltnce. xiii. 169. 19_1.
.Mazarin. Jules Cardinal. _15<1
Luchaire. Achille. l62-i. !6l). 2()_;_,_ 2_;11. Lucian 62
.160-2. ··U·!-5 t(:udal. warrior. 53. 65. 191. 19.1---!. 20(l. 2-!8. 2--!. _:;02, 10-!. ;21-i. .131-2. 5.15-6. 5-!9. 561. _189. -12-i
25-. 265. 26-!. 26-.
X\·,
2G8- -s. 2'!
MauYillon. E Jc. 1 l. le. I'J
.\1iddk
Luwit:. Robtrt H. 5-!0n. 5-!5n
German. l). l '5-20. 22. 2-. 29. _)_il)-iO.
mechanism.
l\laximilian. Holy Ruman Emperor. r-:_;,
meac.
.10_1, 51-i. .125. 32-!. ?13-i. _1_1-.
economic. _16. :Y-l8. 30(1. _:;-:-o. -Ll6--
,\laupassam. Guy de. -ill!
Louis X. King of France. 2L)5 Loui-; XI. King of Fr.met. _;o-.
French. 20, _ll-5. -!2. 86. 96. _;2-:-. .l.15-t3. -!_1'5
206-8. 212.
monopolits:
machematical formulations. )-i0-1 n
5-(). 586-9-. 599.
2-i8. -il-!. -!20.
218. 221-_l. 228. 2-!0. 255-i. 288.
money. mont:rnriza[ion. 192. 1
,\la,hieu dEscouchy. !6-
296
coun!). 5-L G_i. (i6. !28. ISO. IS6. !8
i5'J-GI. i-l. _i95. -US. -!-ill. 5-ien
marriage. 15-l-,. 2(10. 299 ..;.)-. ).2811
550. 5-15
nobility
monasct:rit:s, monascic lift. 1.18
sr·uon: spitting: tablt nl
Loe f'erdinand. 5_-16- -n
_;I . _12-i. _-12--9.
5.10. _;_;I. _;_:;.1. 5.16. 3-iO. 5-1--9 ..151. 352. 353. _;5,i, _;8-, _196
hU-- 2
lil
_;o-.
565
:dui dtlicaq: shame
_:.;-') 2. -! 5 _1-!
Indo:
Thu Ciz'ilizing Procm
564 Ptyrat. Jean du, 181-2 phenomenon, concept of. 2'50
Philip I, 1'.ing of France, 281 Philip ll Augustus. i:r. 2-17. 28-i-6. 29 L
_;_;o, 3_;2. 3-d
Prussia, 14, 15. 266. -!34 l'sychoanalysis, 106. 120. 12-. -iO') psychogenesis, xi. xiii, xv, 28, 109. 119. 127, 251. _j()7. -i 11 Sit-·
Philip Ill, King of France. 291, 295 Philip IV, the Fair. King of France, 292. 293.
:.dso sociogenesis
291-2 296-8. 351 Philip of Evreux, 295
plagues. 5 _1 l n Planragenr. house of. 281-L 293. 295 pleasure balance. pleasure economy, 378,
.j.j 1
de.'
53
11-1 R11Jt:,
social processes, .'\9. 65. '2. 101. 205. 20 7 -11. 252. 255. 26-i. 2-:;, _312. ,016 . .'>29 . .'>80. -!08, ·ll". -i-i9-51. -iS l. 5-i-in
Rousseau. Jean-Jacques ..o4. 35. 151
Ptolemy. 455 Puritanism, -! 17
social funnions 'rolts. 25 l . .315. 318 . .326. _;'52 . .36' ..109, _::;-s, ?1'9 ..;si. _188.
·!0-i, -i39
Rostovrsev. ;\lichael, 5 3 7 n royal mechanism . .320. 32--8, _;36, 596
social system. conctpr of. -!55--. -166-8 ··sccieralization. 272-.3, 3-i-L -!_1_1, 4·i6 sociogentsis. xi. xiii, xv, 28. _11-4.3, l 09, 119.
Ruckerr, Friedrich. 5_; Russell, John. 53, 5-J
12-. 152. 15.o. 158. 160. 191. 21-i. 2.-!_::;, 25 L 252. 256, 25-. 311. 318. _::;20, 3--!8, _15-L _175, 389. -!o-.
Ryle, Gilbert. 553n
Racine. Jean Baprisre, 12, 16 Ranke, Leopold van, 358. -iO-i-5 rarionaliry, rarionalizarion. 40-1. 92. 97, 99, 10-L 10"7, 152. 159, _165-7. 3T1 39 7 -i 16. 4-i 1. 5.'>0n, 55 ln
Physiocrars. 3 5, .'> "-9 Pirenne. Henri, 228-9. 535-6n
RNllt.111
Romi.lf1 Empire, 222. 22-!. 225, 228-9, 53-n Romantsqut, 231
Quesnay. 38 Quirzow, house of, 258
Philip rhe Bold. Duke of Burgundy, 286.
Roman Catholic Church ..kt 1mdr:r Church
.;/s11 German-Roman Empire
psychologizarion. 6'7. 39'-i 1-i psychology, xiv. lT, -iOl hisrorical. -i06-'7
295, 3.j'? Philip V, Duke of Orleans, 286. 298 Philip VI. Dukt: of Valois, King of France.
Romains. Jules, -!02
565
Sr Bonavenrure, 59
.j 10-11. -i 16
Sainr-Simon, Duke of, 3-iO-l, 3-i3, 400, 401. -i05-6
sociogenetic ground rule, xi, .:! 10, 5.11 n sociology. xiv, -i(F, -!55-7
Sand. George. 2-i2
:\merican. 550n. 552-3n
Saracens. 21 _1, 215
Socrates. 1·15
Poiriers. Barrie of. 29.3. 294
coun rarionality Raumer, Karl rnn. l-i3. l-i5-6, 151-.'>. -!14,
Poirnu. 192. 285. 350 polirtsse. 3-!
-i-il Rayna!, Guillaume Thomas
Schomberg, General Frederick Herman, .j(l.j
"polyphony of hisrnry". 2-i 1 Pope. Alexander. 12. 16
real rype, -iS 1 /(o,;/politik. 552n reason, Stt- rarionaliry, rationalisation
ropularion growth, 208-14 positivism. -t-:-1
Reformation. 339 relational dynamics.
science. 5. -i06 Scodand, 263. 266. 286
Spencer. Herbert. -i58
power: balances .frc power ratios chances. 193. 26-i, 269. 270,
relmive auronomy, 366. 5-Bn
·'second
Spingarn, IE . 5 .10n
relarivism, xii religion, 6, 8'7. 168-9. 31-i
secularization,
r
1, 425. 446
posirions, 198 ratios. 2-0, 282. 312---!-L 3-i 1. 3-46, -!?)6 relations. 69. 18-, 23-, 2-0 . .00-i, 506. 3·i9. -i 11, -i28
Stt' ,;/51,
Stt
..j()
figurarions
religious wars, 33-i, 3-12 Renaissance. 60-72. 126. 18H-9, 226. 393.
473 repugnance, frontier of repugnance. rhresholJ
social. 23-i struggles, 2-i 5, 316. 3 30_. 35 1 prestige, .'>3'. 395, 396, -i25. -i3L .j.\5
of repugnance. 51. : 1. 86. 97-99. 102-3. 106. 11-1-19, 121. 13-i-5,
priests. priestly class. 3.'>0, 332. 41-i "primitive societies. 5-l, 113, 1.35. 160. -W3.
1'78. 392. 4 l-i-21. -i25
1j06, 'i 19. -i40. 5-i-in
j11·im·,,
11'.r
jiCJll'S de /is, 296-99
process-reduction (rht conceptual rtduccion of processes ro srnric conditions). xii, 156. .\55. 55ln a!Jti concept form;.ition
"progress". 132. 226. 25-i. 365. -i52. -!62-3 prosrirurion, 148-9. 153 Proresrnnrism, l-i3. 188, '-117, :i21. 5-i8n
140-1. l-i6. 159-60. 162. 1'72. 176, repulsion, -BO Re\·olution. French, Ja' French Revolution Richard I. rhe Lian Heart. King of England,
28-i. 293 Richelieu. Cardinal. 338 ..'>-iO. 3-i2. 404-5 Rieux. Counr. 40-i-5
d, rrJ, Roberr. Count of Clermont, 296 Robert II. the Pious. King of France, 259 Roche, Sophie de la. 15. n-2
roht,
!lfJh!dSt: dt:, frt nfJh!t:Sfr
Saudi Arabia. 591
South America. 5..J9n
Scheidt. Kaspar. 64
Spain. 196. 215. 358 specialization Jic
Schiller. Friedrich.\.), 17
•
19. 22, 159, 189
.12. -! 1.1
Schubarr, Christian Friedrich D , 19
specutorship. l 70-2
Schulrz. Alwin. 5 2"-Sn
speech and usage. 92-". 189. 190 ..'>8'. --!.21-2. -!2-L -!25
habi(US
-i 1-!
S,fhs1::u·jng1.,
;m:kr constraints
self-consrrainc. self-rtsrrainr.
Stt
s,,
undi:r constraints
constraints. stlf-
sex education. l-!2-5-! sexuality, attitudes rnwards. l-i2-60, 180, 230, 2..J6, 2-i8. 2-i9. -117. -i26-'7, -i33. -i-i-i, 529n Shakespeare, William. 13-1-i, 15. 16, !76 shame. x. xiii. 60. 71. 86. 108. 109. 111. l l-i-19. 127. 13-i-5. 1382. l-i7-8,
150-5, 158-60. 162. 172, 179. 180, .'>65 ..'\85, 'll-i-21, -i25, 431, -i.\3, .J44 fronrier/rhresholJ of. 60, 118, l-i2. -il-i-21
spirring, -i9. 51. 57. 129-35 spoon. -i9-50, 58-9, 73.
. '8, 79. 82.
89-92 stare-formation. xiii. 191. 25-:'-562. -il-L -!52. -i81 stares. xii. 19-, 20-i. 2:-. 30-i. _; 10, .360. 262. .j 12, 429. -136. -L\8, .j.j() Srares-Gtntral. 293. _;31 srnricism,
.b'
process-reduction
Stephen of Blois. 281 Srnelztl. AJolf Dr:wg. 1.3-1-L i-
S111n11 m1t!
Sulpicius, Johannts, -iS. 140. 52-in Sumner. \\:rilliam Graham. 54-in, 550n super-tgo, xiii. L13, 153, 160. 2-!1 37··!-5, 1
s,, t1fso "natural functions": embarrassment:
repugnance; modts(y Sicily, 215 slaYery. 226-8, 5 .F-8nn Slavonic rribes, 203. 211
Proust. ;\larcel, -iO 1
Rochow. house of. 258
Smelser, NeilJ, 55ln
Prm·ence. 196. 286
Rococo. 189
social change. concept of, .j 5 2. 4 56-", 5 5 1n
.F'. 380, 381, 585. _;s:, 390, _397 . _;99, 403. 408-i 10, .j 15-16. -ilS. -i20. -!21. 426. 428-32, -B-L -!55. -!---!-!. -i-i6, 5 30n, 5-i6n surveillance. 3-i 1, 3·i3 surviv
566 Swt:dt:n. 5-!0n
VL:rdun. Tre.1ry or. l l)()
S\\"itzt.·rland. l LJ_2
Vi.:rsailh:s ..1-iO-!
r;_ihl:: m;.mners. x. -!9-Sl. 5.1. 56-9.
\·ienrLl.
\\:xin.
2-109. 5-21-2-tim ':• .;/10 fork: knife: spoun uho(J. 5-L .2. 10·!-h. i lh, l lS-1\>. 155. 15-!. 1-il. 1!2. 150. 15-. liiS. !SO ..iS.i. _192. -H0-2
5-. 19.2-.1. i 98. 25K 5.25. _1_15, 55-. 5-!-!-<1.2
J.
\ iolt:nce. 1) - . _; l -l
\'?urld War L 9. !Oil, i.i'J. lS-, .iOO
.J,r1 aggressi\'t:llbS: munopulit:s of sic.ii forct: \'iokncc: \V,:r: warriors Vi(Jllcr. Paul. .1·!--8. _)')')
·l.;3
Voft:h\t:ilk. \\'1.dtht'f \·on dt.:r. 2_;8
L.lxcs. taxation.
Frcderick
class. industrial. StJ. -16 l-_1
Visconti, Valt:nrina. 299
Tasso. 12 2(18.
Volt.tire Fr.rn<;·ois 1\L1ric. l-i. 1.::;. 19. 25.
10. i2. SN. 'Yi. 11nimiring. 51
S+ln
Vuirry. AJolpht:. 292. 29-L 5-tS. 5-!8
tt!eological modes of thinking. Thibault. "-!, 95. 'JS
Third Esrnre. l_l. 106. 52-L 52i. 52lJ, .150. Thir'y Years War. 11. 20, 6S, WO. -i.i-i
Thompson. Jami:s \Vt:.stfa!L 5_1.2nn. 5.1-!-Sn rime. riming ..
Ti.1d1:J1dihi!, 5?>. s-. 61. -2 T(innie.s. Fc.:rdinand. -! 5 5 rnrrun:, 162-_1. _1-1. _;-_;
Wales . .:'<1.i. 26<'>. 2N(1 \\'alter Habenichts. 21 'i \\.anderi n;.: Schobrs. 2 5 l war. l<12--o. 2-l..J. 21.J
162--0. i--. l'Jl-1.
Toulouse. county of. .::-'.:}. 282. 286-K. -10'5
2'56.
2(1-.
528-.12 .
towns. 188. 220-1. .28- -8 ..
20'5. 2P.
2-<) . .28S. 289 ..12--i,
.1-H-(1,
_1-0-1. _186-9--:-, ·iO?;.
"' 425. -!59 warrior :-.ocieties. 20-. 2)2. 2.1.1. 25-:. 2-i
_;-. 218. 2?18. 289. ·!l·!
tr.:dt. 15.
ir.
22h. 228. 250. 2_; 1. 2_:;5_ 2-!-, 2-i9.
Tuur.1irn:. 28·-l.
.du, commtru:
25.1. 2---89. 29-. 505. 3 l5. _1h8.
traffic. _168 rr.rnsporr. 22.1-5. 2K9 lri(klt:
up. trickit: d_own
t:l·t-t:Ct::. .
nubilir:-
1...ircularion
of mo
washin.L: hanJs. 50. ")(). 1-. 1-!l .d.1'1 Lurhing: clt:anliness
Jemocr.irizariun, funnional troub,1dours ..It:: :\iim:"-'.::in,'..;.::r
\\lashingrnn. George. 5-l5n
Tudor. house of. 188 Turgur. Annl' Robert Jacqut:-s. _;-, -!U. 'Sl9n
\\'cbi.:r. .\bx. xiii. -!69. -l-2. ;-.::; 'S.1.)n. S.16n.
\\'t:hcr.
Turks. 211
LinireJ States of America. -!-!O, -i2H
wedding cusrnms. l-i9-50 Weill. H. 518n eimar. 19. 25. 18'J
\\:er\"tke, Hans von. 556n
\Vesce. Richard. l l2
\\"illiam I. thc- Conqut:ror. Kin_t: of England.
Pierre de. 2-!8. 2-!9
of. 195. 296. 299-.)02.
\\.cchss!t:r. Edu,1rd. 2-!5. 2-ih. 2-18. 2'10
7 \\
urirution, "natural funnions· l'SSR. SS.On
Valois. house
5.19n 'i-!On
unintended consequences. _165-<1. S'S In l.:nittd 265
_=\()-
_)<)(J
w(lrk. 9. l 2H-9. 220-21
-i.2-
2(1.
_)-1.
\Vorld \\.ar IL ·!h·!
in court society. 2-l5-50 255
2tn. 28-i
\ irruc. 2.1.
de 1-Li.utevi!lt:. 215 Tannhiiuser. 55-8, -2-). 9-.
women. l-!2-()0,
192. 215. 219. 266. 26-. 219-85
vassals. l ')8-'). 232, 2.l5-h
Wincktlmann. Johann Joachim. 19
Vt:ndome. Duke of, 5-!2
\Vulff. Friedrich
Venict. 'ilJ. W. 22-1. _i'ih-
\\'olzogcn. Caroline
l lJ Y(Jll ..
22-.)
Zarnckc. Frinlrich. 150. I Zimmcrn. :\!fri.:d. 22-. 228
255. 52?-\n
7irkbria. Thomasin nm. '5_1, 58
