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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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
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

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5 5 9 11 15 20

26

VI

The Ciz i/i:i11g Prneess

Sociogenesis of the Concept of Ciz.iliwtion in France I Introduction II Sociogenesis of Physiocrarism and the French Reform Movement 31 31 35

Co11tt11ts IX
Changes in Attitudes rowards the Relations between Men and \XIomen On Changes in Aggressiveness Scenes from rhe Life of a Knight

Vll

x
XI

1-1.:2 161
!72

PART TWO CIVILIZATION AS A SPECIFIC TRANSFORMATION OF HUMAN BEHAVIOUR 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
47

VOLUME Il: STATE FORMATION AND CIVILIZATION

PART THREE FEUDALIZATION AND STATE FORMATION 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 2 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

183

II III IV

52 60
72 72 72 80

185 187 187 191 195 195 197

208 21-i
220

85 85 87 89 92 97 99 103 l07 109 109

114

257 257 261

268
277

VI

VII

121 121 126 129 129

132

VIII

136
136

289
303

138

Vil!

The Cizi/i::;ing Pr11c.:ss

VII 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

VIII

PART FOUR SYNOPSIS: TO\VARDS A THEORY OF CIVILIZING PROCESSES

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

Preface

II III IV V VI VII VIII

421
436

POSTSCRIPT ( 1968) APPENDICES

Foreign Language Originals of the Exemplary Extracts and Verses Places from Das i\Iicct!alcerliche Hausbuch

485 487 511

517 555

II

NOTES INDEX

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

The Cil'ilizi11g Pmcw

XI

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 <rnd whac is incorrecc in such theories. That is why ic is noc possible here, \vhen knowledge of chis documemary macerial cannot be presupposed, ro give a brief preliminary skecch of che scrucmre and cemral ideas of che whole book. They chemselves cake on a firmer form only gradually, in a continuous observacion of hisrorical faces and a consram checking and revision of whac has betn seen previously chrough whac emered later inro che field of observacion. And elms che individual pans of chis smdy, ics scrucrure and mechod, will probably be complecely intelligible only when chey are perceived in cheir emirecy. Ic muse suffice here ro facilirnce the reader's underscanding by picking om a few problems. Pare Two comains a number of stries of txamples. They strve ro show developmem in an acceleraced fashion . In a few pages we see how in che course of centuries the scandard of human behaviour on che same occasion very gradually shifrs in a specific direccion. \i(!e see people ac cable, we see chem going ro bed or in hoscile clashes . In chese and ocher elememary accivicies che manner in which individuals behave and feel slowly changes. This change is in che direccion of a gradual "civilizacion", bm only hisrorical experience makes clearer whac chis word acmally means. Ic shows, for example, che decisive role played in chis civilizing process by a very specific change in che feelings of shame and delicacy. The srnndarcl of what is socially demanded and prohibited changes; in conjunccion wich chis, che chreshold of socially inscilled displeasure and fear

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 of this kind refer w rht structure of whole social groups in die lift of

\\/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<lergo is a function of rhe social civilizing process Therefore. the srrucrure of a child's affecrs and consciousness no <loubr bears a certain resemblance rn that of "uncivilized' peoples, anJ rhe same applies rn rhe psychological stratum in grown-ups which. with the advance of civilization is subjecrtd rn more or less heavy censorship and consequendy finds an oudet in dreams, for example. But since in our society every human being is exposed from the first moment of life to rhe influence and rhe moulding inrervenrion of civilized grown-ups. rhey muse indeed pass through a civilizing process in order 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'

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.

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.

XIV

Tht: Cfrilizing Process

xv 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

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

Acknowledgements to the English Translation*

Editors' Note on the Revised 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 \1hom I 0\1e 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

Yolumt: of Tht

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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,

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.

VOLUME I
CHANGES IN THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE SECULAR UPPER CLASSES IN THE WEST

Eric D1111ning Johan Go11dsb!om Stephen Mw11e!! Amsterdam, Leicester and Dublin, July 1999

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.

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 dtscribesthe 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

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

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. 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

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.

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

Chd11ges ill the Beh,ll'io1ir of the Semlar Upper Classer ill the

l l

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.'

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<lS left was a small-town bourgeoisie with narrow horizons, living essentially by supplying
local needs There was not much money available for luxuries such as literature and arc In rhe courts, wherever there was enough money to do so, people inadequately imitated the conduct of the court of Louis XIV and spoke French. German, the language of the lower and middle classes, was unwieldy and awkward. Leibniz, Germany's only courtly philosopher, the only great German of this rime whose name won acclaim in wider courtly circles, wrote and spoke French or Larin, seldom German . And the language problem, the problem of what could be clone with chis awkward German language, occupied him as it occupied many or hers. French spread from the courts to the upper layer of the bourgeoisie. All ho1metes gew (decent people), all people of "consequence" spoke ir. To speak French was the status symbol of all the upper classes. In 1730, Gottschecl's bride wrore ro her betrothed: "Nothing is more plebeian than to write lerrers in German."j If one spoke German, it was considered good form w introduce as many French words as possible. In 17.:\0, E de Mauvillon wrore in his Let/ri:s Fnmruises d G1:r111a11iq11es: "It is only a few years since one did nor say four words of German without two of French." That was ft be! 11.f{Jge (good usage). 1' And he had more ro say abour the barbaric quality of the German language. Its nature, he said, was

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

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
To cominu: yourself of the Lick of rnsre ,,-hich has reigned in Germany until our day,

Changes in the Bcha1io111" of tht Sem!ar UPJ1er Classes in the \Vest

15

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 Dijmms 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

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

Th1: Cizi/i;:;il!g Proo:ss

Changer in the Behmio11r

o/ the Semlar U/1/1er Classes in the \Fe.rt

17

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:
\\1irs now arri,eJ to <l n1ore high degree; Our nari\'e language more refined and free, Our ladies and our men now speak more wir In conversarion. rhan rhose poers wrir

out the qualities of che heart withom any preference for the nobles and the 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
12

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 Kinghave 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<rns, I know well that it would have a better result than thus making them acquaimed with Corneille or Racine. ln the first place, the people would take far more delight in him than in them ... Lessing wrote this in his Letttrs Co11c1:mi11g the Most Recwt Literat11n (part I, letter 17). and he demanded and wrote bourgeois dramas, appropriace w the newly awakening self-consciousness of the bourgeois classes, because courtly people did not have che exclusive privilege ro be great. "This hateful distinction which men have made between themselves", ht says. "is not known to nature. She parcels

18

Tht Cirilizi11g Procw

Changts in the Bthc11iour of the Semfm Upptr Classes i11 tht \Fest

19

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 presening 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

20

The Cil'ilhing Process

Clxll!gts i11 th1: Behario11r o/ tht Stmlar U/Jjitr C!t1sses in the \Fest

21

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.

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

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: 1To see how rhe wne. rhe modish spirit of rhe court suppresses rhe noblest movemems of a hearr of admirable narure. w see how moiding 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 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

"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
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

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 merrurne<l.

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<lW in rheir father only rhe despor The caricarures among rhe courrly people seemed ro me now ridiculous. now pitiable. The reverence thar rhey were able, on rhe appearance of rheir lord. ro summon insranrly from rheir hearrs ro rheir hands and feet. rhe gracious or angry glance rhar passed rhrough rbeir bodies like an elecrric shock rhe immediate compliance of rheir opinions ro rhe mosr recent urrerance from the princely lips. all rhis I found incomprehensible. I seemed ro be W<Hching a pupper rhearre.

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

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

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

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

The Cizi!izing Process

Cha11gr:s in tht Br:hctl'iom of thr: Si:L!!lctr Uj1pr:r Classes in thr: \Fest

27

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<ts dispersed over rhe entire country, In France conversarion was one of the mosr imporrant means of communicarion and, in addirion, had been for centuries an arr; in Germany rhe mosr imporrant means of communication was rhe book, and it was a unified wrirren language, rarher than a unified spoken one. rhar this German imellecrual class deYeloped, In France even young people lived in a milieu of rich and stimularing imellecrualiry; the young member of rhe German middle class had ro work his way up in relarive solitude and isolation, The mechanisms of social advancemem were differem in borh counrries . And finally, rhis sraremem of Goerhe's also shows wry clearly whar a middle-class imelligentsia wirhour a social himerland really meant. Earlier a passage was quored in which he arrribured litde culrure ro the courriers. Here he said rhe same of rhe common people, K1!lt11r and Bild1111g are the warchwords and characrerisrics of a rhin intermediare srrarum rhat had risen our of rhe people. Nor only the small courdy class abo\e it, bur even the broader strara below still showed relatiYely lirde undersranding for the endeavours of their own dire. However, precisely this underdevelopment of the broader, professional middle srrara was one of the reasons why the struggle of the middle-class vanguard, the bourgeois imtlligemsia, <tgainsr rhe courd y upper class \vas waged almost emirely ourside rhe polirical sphere, and why rhe arrack was direcred predominantly againsr the conducr of rhe upper class, againsr general human characrerisrics like "superficialiry", "omward politeness", "insinceriry" and so on Even the few quorarions rhar have been used here show rhese connections exrremely clearly, Admirredly, ir is only rarely and wirhour great emphasis rhat the arrack focused on specific conceprs amirherical ro those which served as self-legitimizarion for the German imellecrnal class, concepts such as Bild1mg and K!!ltm One of the few specific coumer-concepts was "civilized-ness" in the Kamian sense.

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 decomertr: 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 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

VI
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

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-

28

Tix Cil'ilizi11g Pmccss

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<lY to their emorions, recur quite frequently, with rhe same specifically social meaning as in Goethe, in rhe court literature of France, for example As a reAecrion, these thoughts were rhe individual property of Goethe. But related social situations. life in the 111omle, led everywhere in Europe to related precepts and modes of behaviour. Similarly, the behaviour which Eckermann described as his own is-as compared ro the outward serenity and amiability concealing opposed feelings rbar was first developed in this phase in rhe courtly-arisrocraric world--clearly recognizable as originating from rhe small-rown. middle-class sphere of the rime. And ir was cerrainly nor only in Germany rhar it was found in this sphere. Bur in Germany. owing to the particularly pure representation of the middle-class outlook by the intelligentsia. these and related attitudes became visible in lirerawre to an exceptional degree. And they recurred in rhis relatively pure form produced by the sharper, more rigorous division between courtly and middleclass circles, above all in the national behaviour of the Germans. The social units rhar we call nations differ widely in rhe affect-economies of their members, in the schemata through which the emotional life of individuals is moulded under the pressure of institutionalized rradirion and of rhe present siruarion. \Vhar was typical in the behaviour described by Eckermann was a specific form of "affect-modelling", rhar open submission of individual inclinarion which Goerhe considers unsociable and contrary ro the affect formation necessary for "Society" For Nietzsche, many decades later. rhis arritude had long been rhe typical national attitude of the Germans . Certainly. it had undergone modifications in the course of hisrnry, and no longer had the same social meaning as at Eckermann's time. Nietzsche ridiculed ir: "The German", he says in Buyo11d Good mid Eril (Aphorism 2-i-i), "loves 'sincerity' and uprighrness' How comfortiDg it is to be sincere and upright. Ir is roday perhaps the most dangerous and deceptive of all rhe disguises iD which rhe German is expert, this confidential, obliging, German honesty rhar always shows its cards. The German lets himself go, looking the while with trustful blue empty German eyes-and foreigners immediately mistake him for his nighrshirt ... Leaving aside the one-sided value judgement, this is one of rhe many illusrrarions of how, wirh the slow rise of the

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. \'<le are accustomed ro rake rhis for granted. \'Ve speak of the peasant or the courtier, of the Englishman or the German, of rhe medieval man or rhe man of the twentieth century, and we mean that rhe people of rhe social units indicated by such concepts behave uniformly in a specific manner which transcends all individual differences when measured against rbe individuals of a contrasring group: for example, rbe peasant behaves in many respects differently from the courtier, rbe Englishman or Frenchman from rbe German. and rhe medieval man from rbt man of rhe rwentierh century, no matter how much else rhey may have in common as human beings. Different modes of behaviour in rbis sense are apparent in rbe conversarion jusr quored between EC'kermann and Goerhe. Goethe was certainly a man who was individualized to a particularly high degree. As a result of his social desriny, modes of beh,niom with different social origins merged in him into a specific unity He, his opinions, and his behaviour were cerrainly never entirely typical of any of the social groups and situations rhrough which be had passed. Bur in this quotation he spoke quire explicitly as a man of the world, as a courtier, from experiences which were necessarily foreign ro Eckermann. He perceived the compulsion ro hold back one's own feelings, to suppress antipathies and sympathies, which was inherent in court life, and which was ofren interpreted by people of a different social situation, and rherefore with a different affect structure, as dishonesty or insincerity And with the consciousness that distinguished him as a relative oursider from all social groups. he emphasized rhe beneficial, human

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

Sociogenesis of the Concept of Civilisation zn France

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.

I
Introduction
1 Ir would be incomprehensible that, in the German antithesis of genuine Bild11ng and K1dt111 on the one hand and mere outward Zizilisatio11 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

Ch,!llges i11 the Behariom of tht Scmlar Upper C!t1sses in the \Vest

33

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 comentions, 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 nItional 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 comersarion 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 snlisric 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

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

Process
in dit work of die elder Mirabeau in rht

_',5

according ro prtsem-day 1-:6os.

.. 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 cizilitc' 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

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

i11 th, Bdh11io11r 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 <llld deep inro middle-class circles Plwsiocrarism was one of rhe theoretical expressions of these interfacrional le was by no means confined ro economics, being a large-scale system of political and social reform. Ir contained, in a pointed, abstract and dogmaticallv hardened form, ideas which-expressed less theoretically, dogmatically and i . e., as pracrical demands for reform-characterized the whole movement of which Turgor, who was for a rime in charge of finance, was an exponent If rhis tendency (which had neither a name nor a unified organization) is ro be "iven a name, ir might be called rhe reformist bureaucracy. But these reformist :dministrarors doubtless also had sections of the intelligentsia and of the commercial bourgeoisie behind rhem Among those desiring and demanding reform, moreover, there were considerable differences of opinion concerning the kind of reform that was needed. Some were wholly in favour of a reform of rhe raxarion system and rhe srare machinery, rec were, for example, far more prorecrionisr than rhe Physiocrars. Forbonnais one of rhe leading representatives of this tendency. and it is ro misundersrand him and like-minded people ro include them, on account of their more strongly protectionist attitude, indiscriminarely among the "'mercantilisrs" The debate between Forbonnais and rhe Physiocrars was an early expression of a divergence within modern industrial society which was ro lead ro ever-recurring conflicts between the exponents of free trade and proreccionism. Both sides were parr of rhe middle-class reform movement. - On rhe other hand, it was by no means the case rhar rhe uiw!e bourgeoisie desired reform while rhe arisrocracy exclusively opposed ir. There were a number of cle<1rly definable middle-class groups which resisted to rhe utmost any serious ,1rrempr at reform, and whose existence was indeed bound up with the conservation of the c111ci1:11 in irs unrc:formtd St<ltt These groups included rhe majority of the higher administrators, the 110Mwc de robe, whose offices were family possessions in rhe same sense that a facrory or business roday is herediranproperry They also included the craft guilds and a good proporrion of rhe financiers And if reform failed in Frnnce, if the disproportions of society finally burst the institutional structure of the c111cit11 violently asunder, rhe opposition of these middle-class groups ro reform bore a large measure of responsibility. This whole survey shows very clearly one thing which is important in rhis context: whereas the middle classes already played a political role in France at this rime, in Germany they did nor. In Germany rhe intellectual stratum was confined to rhe sphere of the mind and ideas: in France, along with all the other human questions, social, economic, administrative and political issues came within rhe range of interests of rhe courtly/middle-class intelligentsia The German systems of rhoughr, by contrast, were to <l far greater extent purely

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

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 Enlisi1 . 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<d interference of rulers anJ force. Therefore an enlighteneJ, racional adminiscracion must be creartd which gon:rns in accordance wich die "narnral laws" of social processes, and chus inaccordance wich reason. 6 . The cerm <'i1ili.1mi"11 was, ac che momem of ics formacion, a clear refltnion uf chtse reformisc iJtas. If in chis rtrm che idea of che h11111111c cif.i/is( led w a concepc designacing che manners and condicions of exiscing sociecy as a whole, ic was firsc and foremosc an expression of insights derived from opposicion, from social cricicism. To this was added the realizacion chac governmems cannot issue decrees ac will, bl!( are al!(omacically resisted by anonymous social forces if cheir ordinances are nm guided by an exact knowledge of d1est forces ,me! laws: che realizacion chac t\en che most absolute governmem is helpless in che face of the dynamisms of social clevtlopment, and thac disascer and chaos, miserr and disuess, are unleashed by arbi uary, "unnatural", ' irracional" As already scared, this realizacion found expression in che Physiocracic idea char 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 <'izi!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

Tht Ci1'i!i::,i11g Process

-il
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 o uovernmem ' our laws,, our educanon, our msnruconrn u b 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-<iflirmarion and half-negation of rhe existing order. Society, from this poinr of view, had reached a particular stage on rhe road to civilization. But it was insufficient Societv could nor stand still there The process was continuing and OLwhr ro be pushe.d further: "rhe civilization of peoples is nor yet complete". ideas were fused in rhe concept of civilization. On the one hand. it constituted a general counrerconcept to another stage of socierv. barbarism This feel;ng had pervaded court society. Ir had found its courtly-aristocratic
2

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 xvs 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 Englands 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 Turgors 1ppointmenL oAlembert 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 Holbachs 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

_ 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

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,niour 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. <lnd therefore a kind of upper class rn large sections of che non-Eurnpean world. as a justification of their rule, to the same degree char earlier rhe ancestors of the concepc of civilization. politusc and "iz'i!it(. had served the courtly-aristocratic upper class as a justification of cheirs Indeed, an essential phase of the civilizing process was concluded at exactly rhe time when the cr111.rcio11.r11ess of civilization. the consciousness of the superiority of their own behmiour and its embodimenrs in science, technology or arr began rn spread over whole nacions of the \vtst This earlier phase of rhe civilizing process. the phase in which the consciousness of the process scarcely existed and the concept of civilizacion did nor exisr at all. \\ill be discussed in Part Two

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

PART TWO Civilization as a Specific Transformation of Human Behaviour

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: Cizi/i:;i11g P/'IJ<HJ

Change.I in th, Blh11io1tr of the Sumlm Uppi:r Clc1ssts in th, \Fest iin"s chat have in [ht meantime become unspeakable, and of many others [hat [l 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

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 cizi!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 Zizi!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

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 Erasmuss 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 ones 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 canr 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" <Fools who value civiliry more rhan healrh repress narnral sounds) Do nm be afraid of vomi[ing if you musr; .. for ir is no[ vomiting bm holding the vomit in vour rhroa[ rha[ is fou1 S. \Virh grea[ care Erasmus marks our in his [rea[ise [ht whole range of human conduc[, rhe chief sirnarions of social and convivial life. He speaks wirh rhe same ma[[er-of-facrness of [he mosr elemel1[ary as of [he subdesr ques[ions of human imercourse In die firs[ chap[er he uta[S .. rhe seemly and unseemly condirion of rhe whole body .. , in rhe second "bodily culrure .. , in rhe rhird "manners a[ holy places". in die founh banquers, in die fifrh meerings, in rhe sixrh amusement and in the sevemh rhe bedchamber. This is die range of questions in die discussion of which Erasmus gave new impetus to the concepr of ciz'ilitas. Our consciousness is nor always able rn recall [his orlier srnge of our own hisrnry wirhou[ hesirnrion The unconcerned frankness wi[h which Erasmus and his rime could discuss all areas of human conduc[ is los[ rn us . Much of whar he says overS[tps our rhreshold of repugnance. Bm precisely this is one of rhe problems to be considered here . In rracing the mmsformarion of [he conctp[S by which differem socieries have [ried rn express [htmselves, in following back rhe concepr of civilizarion w ics ancesrnr ciz'i!itt!. one finds oneself suddenly on die [rack of die civilizing process i[stlf, of rhe acwal changes in behaviour [ha[ rnok place in rhe \Vesc Thar ir is embarrassing for us w speak or even hear of much rhar Erasmus discusses is one of rhe symptoms of [his process. The grea[er or lesser discomforr we feel rnwards people who discuss or mention their bodily funcrions more openly, who conceal and resuain [hese funcrions less dian we do, is one of rht dominant feelings expressed in die judgemem .. barbaric .. or "uncivilized" Such, dien, is [he nature of 'barbarism and i[S discoments .. or, in more precise and less evaluarive rerms, [he discomem wirh [he different suucture of affecrs, the clifferem srnndard of repugnance which is srill ro be found roday in many socie[ies which we rerm 'uncivilized", [he srnndard of repugnance which preceded our own and is i[s precondition. The question arises as rn how and why \\ies[ern socie[y actually moved from one srandard to die orlier, how ir became "civilized". In considering this process of civilizarion, we cannm avoid arousing feelings of discomfon and embarrassment . Ir is valuable w be aware of rhem fr is necessary. a[ leas[ while considering [his

5.:2

Thi Ci1'i/i::;i11g Pmn:ss

53
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 n1t1itiam111, 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

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 discmery. 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

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 Tannhiiusers 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<rn it was, likewise in different versions. hiinschcit or hiibr:scheit and also :;11ht. All these concepts referred quire directly (and far more oYertly than later ones with rhe same function) ro a particular place in society They say: That is how people behave at court. By these terms certain leading groups in the secular upper
SEf'1 [Lln1 '

55
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<rnners referred ro--what is called here a particular "srnndard'"-is especially impressive \vhat was this standard like' \Vhat emerges as typical behaviour, as the 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<ffiour encountered throughout rhe Middle Ages under the name of Caro. Or in another place:
\\ihen your companions angtc you. my son, set char niu art nor so hoc-rtmptred char
you regret ir afterwards.q

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 Tannhiiusers 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

56

Th, Ciz'ilizing Pm1us

Ch,111g.:s i11 the Bclh1611111 11/ ihc S,mfar Uj1/1t1 Classes i11 the \Vi:st

57

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:
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 ;rinn 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<lpt your throat "irh your bare hand while earing: bur it you have ro. do ir polirtly with your coat. 1''

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

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

58

The Ciz'i!i:::i11g Prr1ct.rs

i11 th, Bcl.urifllll' rr/ the Stm!ar Upper C!t1ssts i11 the \Vi:st

59

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

.n" else was needed . To ear in chis fashion was raken for granred. Ir suired 11 b nor1 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'<Ss

ii! the Bd1,11i1Ji!r of the Semlar Uj>/1tr C!c1sses in the West

61

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.

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 1t clear!\ contains the beginnings of something new. In it a concept was 1 '"'' sarne tjm., ._,
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, <lt lease in France, in the sevemetmh cenrun. This is a sign of a behavioural change of considerable proportions. Ir did not rake place, of course, in such a way that one ideal of good behaviour W<lS suddenly_ opposed by anocher radically differem from ir.. The De cil'i!itafr 111o;i1111 /Jiitri!i111il ot Erasmus-ro confine che discussion ro chis work for che time being-stood in roam rtspecrs. as we have said, entirely within medieval tradicion. Almost all the of coi!rtois sociecy reappeared in ir. Mtac was still eaten wich the hand, even if Erasmus scressed that ir should be picked up \vi ch d1fte fingers, nor the whole hand. The precept nor ro fall upon the meal like a glutton was also repeated. as were the direcrion to wash one's hands before dining and cht strictures on spitting. blowing che nose, the use of the knife, and many ochers . Ir may be char Erasmus knew one or another of the rhymed Ti.rch:::i!chtw or the clerical wricings in which such questions were treated. Many of these writings were no doubt in circulation: it is unlikely that chey escaped Erasmus. More precisely demonstrable is his relation to the herirage of antiquity. In rht case of this ueacise, it was pardy shown by che commentaries of his contemporaries. Its place in rhe rich humanist discussion of these problems of education and propriety remains ro be examined in more derail co' Bm whatever rht licerary interconnections may be. of primary inrtresc in chis context art rht sociogenetic ones . Erasmus certainly did nor merely compile this treatise from other books; like anyone who reflects on such quescions, he had a particular social code, a particular standard of manners direcdv before his eves. This ueatise on manners is a collection of observations from r,he life of hi; society. Ir is, as someone said later, "a little the work of evervone". And if noching else. its success. its rapid dissemination. and ics use as an educational manual for boys show how much ir mer a social need. and how it recorded rhe models of behaviour for which the time was ripe, which society-or, more exactly, the upper class first of all-demanded. 2 Sociecy was 'in cransirion". So, roo, were works on manners. Even in the tone. the m;mner of seeing, we feel char despite all their atrachment ro the 1fiddle Ages someching new was on the way "Simplicity" as we experience ir, the simple opposition of 'good" and "bad", "pious" and "wicked", had been lose. People saw chings with more differemiarion. i.e., with a scronger restraint of their emocions.

rule;

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

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Th, Ci1iii::i11g Pmce_r_r

,111 cl r lle

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<lShts his clothes and hangs the soaking articles on rhe srove. Another washes his hands. Bur the bowl is so clean. says the speaker. rhar one needs a second one ro cleanse oneself of the \\arer. Gari ic smells and other bad odours rise. Peoplt spit everywhere. Someone is cleaning his boots on the table. Then the meal is brought in. Everyone clips their bread inro the general dish. bites the bread and dips it in again . The place is dirty, the wine bad And if one asks for a better wine the innkeeper replies: I have put up enough nobles and counts. If it does nor suit you. look for other quarters The stranger ro the country has a particularly difficult rime. The ochers stare at him fixedly as if he were a fabulous animal from /1.frica . .i\foremer. these people acknowledge as human beings only the nobles of their own country The room is overheated; everyone is swearing and steaming and wiping rhemsehes. There are doubtless many among them who bane some hidden disease: "Probably'. says the speaker. "most of them have the Spanish disease. and are thus no less ro be feared than lepers .... "Brave people". says the other. "they jest and care nothing for ir. .. "But this bravery has already cost many lives ... "\Vhat are they to do' They are used to ir. and a srout-heanecl man does not break with his habits ... 3. It can be seen char Erasmus, like others who wrote before or after him about conduct. was in the first place a collector of good and bad manners that he found present in social life itself Ir is primarily this that explains both the agreement

. 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 . .

. . cl(Jsch uiws them rheir special siu:nihcance as a source of ao'l1ere - . to social realit\". . u . . ._ iuformarion on social processes But che observations of Erasmus on this subject are nevertheless to be od 1lon" with a few b\- other authors from the same phase. among che num ber c ' ' 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 es of <l transformation of societ\". of what is n ex1)rtssion (!!11 '1 . a s\mptom 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 rhemsehes 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 <lt a rime of social restructuring. Ir is rhe expression of rhe fruitful transitional period after the loosening of the medieval social hierarchy and before the stabilizing of the modern one. Ir belonged ro the phase in which rhe old nobility of feudal knights \\as still in decline, while che new aristocracy of d1e absolutist courcs was still in rhe process of formariC1n This situation gave, among or hers. the representatives of a small. secular-bourgeois intellectual class. rhe humanists. and thus Erasmus. not only <in opportunity to rise in social station. to gain renown and authority. but also a possibility of candour anJ detachment that was not present to the same degree ei rher before or afterwards . This chance of distancing themselves, which permitted individual representatives of rhe intellectual class ro totally and unconditionally \\irh none of the social groups of their world-though. of course. they ahn1ys stood closer w one of them. that of rhe princes and the courts, rhan ro rhe ochers-also finds Erasmus in no way overlooked or expression in De ciri!itaff JiM"ilill conceiled social differences. He saw very exactly that che real nurseries of what was regarded as good manners in his rime were the princely courts He says. for example, to the young prince ro whom he dedicated his treatise: "I shall address your youth on rhe manners firring ro a boy nor because you are so greatly in need of these precepts: from childhood you have been educated among courtly people

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Th, Ciz'i!i::ing Process

re lariv\,.. .

Changer in tlx Bchm'io!!r of tht Stmlc1r Upj1tr C!m-se.r i11 the YVtst

65

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<lS the language. rhe typical self-image of the intellectual in chis phase of social development. The sociogtnetic and psychogeneric kinship of such ideas with chose of the German intellectual class of rhe eighteenth century, who legitimized themselws by means of concepts such as Kdt11r and Bi/Jiiiig. is immediately visible. But in the period immediately afrer Erasmuss rime, few people would have had the assurance or even the social opportunity ro express such rhoughrs openly in a dedication ro a noble . \'Vith the increasing srnbilizarion of rhe social hierarchy, such an utterance would have been increasingly seen as an error of tact. perhaps even as an arrack . The most exact observance of differences of rank in behaviour became from now on rhe essence of courtesy. the basic requirement of cici!iti, at least in France. The arisrocracy and rhe bourgeois intelligemsia mixed socially, but ir was an imperative of tact ro observe social differences and ro give them unambiguous expression in soci<1l conduct. In Germany, by contrast, there was always, from rhe rime of rhe humanises onwards, a bourgeois intelligentsia whose members, with few exceptions. li\ed more or less in isolation from arisrocraric court socien-. an intellectual class of specificalhmiddle-class characrer. 4. The development of German writings on manners and the way these writings differed from rhe French give numerous clear illusrrations of this . Ir \\ould lead wo far ro pursue this here in derail. bm one need only think of a work like Dedekinds G1obim!!!s;" and its widely disseminated ,ind influential German translation by Kaspar Scheidt to be aware of rhe difference. The whole German g1ohia11isch (boorish) literature in which, spiced with mockery and scorn. a very serious need for a "softening of manners" finds expression, shows unambiguously and more purely than any of the corresponding traditions of other nationalities the specifically miclclle-class character of its writers. who included Protestant clergymen and teachers. And the case is similar wirh most of what was written in the ensuing period about manners and etiquette in Germany.. Certainly. manners here wo were scamped primarily at rhe courts: but since the social walls between the bourgeoisie and the court nobility are

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 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

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Th, Cii'ifi:;i11g Prr1c<.1J

the gre'

i11 the Behm io111 of th1: Swdar UjJJ11:r Classes in th1: \\'est

67

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 comiene 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 hiJm1mt1b!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

. 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 <rnd observation of people. The rradiriom1l precepts. mirrors of ever-recurring customs. awaken in his observations from a kind of pttrifaccion. 1\n old rule ran: "Do nor fall greedily 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 .. ;;

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The Cizilizing Process

0t

Cha11glS in the Bthario11r of the Swt!e1r UPJM C/{/SStS i11 the \Pest

69

\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 behmiour 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

. 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 erHive 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 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 cizi!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

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, 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 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

?\knnvs acres can in no plyre abnle The\" .be changeable andt ofre meuide Thi;1gis somryme alo,,ecl is now repn:uid :\.nd :tfrer this shal rhingts up aryst Thar men sec now bm ar lyryl pr\"Se.

This sounds, indeed, like a motto for rhe whole movemem char is now coming: "T'Iin"is somrvme alowed is now repreuid ... The sixreemh cemury was still l' transirion Ernsmus and his contt:mporaries were still permim:cl . 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. <me! whose_ public . re or mention were IJroscribecl in socitff \Vith rhe same s1mplic1rv and cxposu . _ clarit\" with which he and Della Casa discussed quest10ns ot the greartsr tact and prop;iery. Erasmus also says: Do nor move back and forth on _your chaic \Vhoever does char "speciem haber subinde venrris flatum em1rrenr1s anr em1rrere coninris ( 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;sric of medieval people. bur enriched by observation, by consideration of "what others 111ighr think" Comments of chis kind occur frequenrly. . . Consideration of rhe behaviour of people in rhe sixreenrh century. ,rncl ot their code of behaviour, casts rhe observer back and forth berwetn rhe impressions Thar's srill utterly mediernl" and "Thar's exactly rhe way we feel wclay" And nreciselv chis apparent contradicrion clearly corresponds to reality. The people of ;his 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 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 shows manifold fluctuarions, following sm<1ller and larger curves Ir clearly does nor suffice ro consider in isolation each single sragt to which this or that sratemenr on customs and manners bears witness \Ve must <Htempr to see rhe movement itself, or ar least a large segment of it, as a whole, as if speeded up. Images must be placed rogerher in a series to give an overnll view, from one 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.

make rhe Duke a parting gifr

The Bishop has never in his life seen a

w 10 '

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 Tht precept nor to smack rhe lips while earing is also found frequently in 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 now arrachecl to "good behaviour" Ir shows, abow all, how the pressure people now exerred on one another in this direction had increased Ir is immediarely apparent that this polite, extremely gentle and comparariYely considerate way of correcting was. panicularly when exercised by a social superior, much more compelling as a means of social conrroL much more effective in inculrnring lasting habirs. than insulrs, mockery or any threat of omwarcl physical violence. 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 lasring habits only to a limited extent in people rhemselves . Now, with rhe srrucrural rransformarion of society. with the new pattern of human relationships. a change slowly came about: the compulsion to check one's own behaviour 111creasts In conjunction with chis rhe standard of behaviour was set 111 morion Caxrons Br1oh of probably of rhe !are tifctenth century. already gives unambiguous expression ro chis feeling char habits, customs, and rules of conduct are in flux:'"
Thingis whilom used ben now leycl a syde And newe feeris. day!\ ben cornreuide

72

Tix Ciri!i::.ing Procw

25

ch,mges in the Behrffio11r of the Swtfar Upj>er C!mses in the \Vest

\\/hen you ear do noc forger rhe poor. G o d w1 kindly.* 33

73

always on the same ftamre of social life-which extends relatively unbroken, even if at rather forruirous interv1ls, 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.

u reward

,_ou if you rrear chem

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 Those who fall upon rhe dishes like swint while earing, snorting disgustingly and smacking rheir lips

41
-!

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): '

.) l) You should nor Jrink from rht dish. bur with a spoon as is proper

315 Those who srand fitrmyard beasts

319

ur

and snorr disgustingly

C)\'tf

rht dishes like swine belong with orhtr

To snort like a salmon. gobble like a badger. and complain while earing-these three things
art quire improper

IV
On Behaviour at Table
Examples
(a) Examples represermng upper-class behaviour in a fairly pure form:

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

201 And suppt nor low<le of thy Potta,gt no ryme in all thy lyfe

Thirteenth century
This is Tannhiiuser's poem of courtly good manners: n
I consider a well-bred man co be ont who always recognizes good manners and is never ill-mannered
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

from Quhq11is

in !!NllSd (For those at table):+;

to

2 There are many forms of good manners. and rhey servt many good purposes The man who adopts chem will ne,er err

A morstl that has been casted should not be rtturntcl

the dish.

Th, Cirili:::i11g Pmccss

5 3 Those who iih musrnrJ anJ salt shoulJ rake care to avoid rht filthy habit of putting their fingers into tbt:m

Ch1111ge.r in the Bthal'irwr of the Sem!ar UJ1f7u- Cla.rsc.r in tin \\'est

109 Do nor scrape your rhrnar wirh your bare hand while earing: but if you ban: to,
do it politely with your coar

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
65 A man "ho wanes co talk and eat ar the same time. and talks in his sleep. will ne,er rest peacefulh-.'

J l.3 And it is more firring to scratch wirh rhar than to soil your hand: onlookers notice people who behave like rhis l l""' You should nor poke your teeth with your knife. as some do: it is a bad babi r. ;;:
l :

69 Do nor bt noiS\' at rable. as some ptoplt are Remember. my friends. rhar nothing
is so ill-mannen:J 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 **

125 Jf anyone is accustomed

not a true courtier

to loosening his belt at table. rake it from me rhat he is

129 If a man wipes his nose on his hand at table because he knows no better. then he is a fool. believe me
l-ll J hear rhar some eat unwashed (if it is true. it is a bad sign) :\fay their fingers be palsied!'''

85 You should not blcm imo your drink. as some are fond of doing: this is an illmannered 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 . , l 05 lr is bad manntrs to lean against tht table while earing, as it is co kttp your helmet on \1hen sen-ing rhe ladies."

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 _

Fifteenth century?
From seilSJ!il'ei!t le.r
Never laut!h ur talk wirh a foll mourh
Learn these mies
[O/J/uitll!CtS

de la tahle (These are good table manners): ;CJ

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

\\'/Se

Ill
\\!ash your hands when you get up and before every meal

! 11 i\r: blow rrnr on r-b;. drynke nt: mere.

:-<ether for co!Jc.

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;'

l l Never pick up food with unwashed hands ::: On v. 15-:, cf QuiJ"t.jlliJ

tJ

From L1

Con!tnir ,;

(Guide co behaYiour ar r.iblt) '

h1

11hn.,..i:

Do nor :->lobber whi!t: you drink. for rhis

a sfrnmeful habit

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
to

p:ive an impression of how different cenruries of rhe

l'.:or on rht.: borde lenynpt: be yet nar sent:

similar in tone and conte.nr wen: the rules in different traditions an<l ;\fiJdlc A!!ts Ori!'inals may be founJ in ,-\ppendix I

76

The Ciz'ilizing Proass

Xll
Do nor be rhe tirsr rn rake from rhe dish

Changes in the BelMrio11r

u/ the Semlar Uj1jJt1 Classes i11 the \Fest

77

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

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 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

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:
\\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 senierres 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

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

1530
From De cirilitc1tt mr1r11111 p11u-11,.1,1 (On dam, ch. 4:

c
c1\i1 1 r\ . in

E
boys ), br Erasmus of Rocter-

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 senierre 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

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:ne 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 so thar rlie boy grows

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 manmr of

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/

idi

ff;

t.I! SO/I/I infr; [{

hi.L

)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

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 <rnd rht: French mort roundlv. findi 1;g che Indian way coo dtlicact and precious . And so each narion has somtrhing of its own. differtnr from rhe ochers So char cht child "ill proceed in accordance wirh tht cusroms of rht place: where he is Furrher. rhe Germans ust spoons when soup and t\erything liquid. <md che Italians lircle forks. The french use eirhtr. as rhey chink fir and as is mosc conn:nienr The Iralians generally prefer to have a knife for each person. Bm rhe Germans place special importance on chis. to rhe excenr rhac chey are greacly displeased if ont asks for or rakes rhe knit(: in from of chem. The French way is quiet differtnr: a whole cable full of people will use nvo or rhree knives. wirhour makini: difficulries in 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

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 Civiliry requires you ro be police. buc ir does not txptcr you ro be homicidal rnward rourstlf Ir is very impolire rn much anyching grtasy. a sauct or syrup. ere. wirh your fingers. aparc from rhe face chac ir obliges you rn commie two or rluee more imiroper aces. One is co wipe your hand frtquenrly on your strvierce and co soil ic likt a kicchc:n cloch. so char thost who see you wipe your rnol![h wirh ic fttl nauseactd. Anothtr is ro wipe rnur fingers on rnur bread. which again is wn- improper Tht rhird is rn lick them, which is rhe heighr of improprien 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 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 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)

F
Between 1640 and 1680
From a song by rhe J\Iarguis de Coulanges: s 1

0;1

disgusting

In rimts pasr. ptoplt art from rhe common dish and clipped their brtad and fingers in rhe sauce

1717
From Fran<;ois de Callieres, De c1!/lcl11ite dt !ti ziu. pp. 97, 101:
!ti

S(ience d11 11101/{lt

i!f

des con11oissa11ces itti!ts Ci la

Today tvtryone tars with spoon and fork from his own plat<:. and a valtr washes rht cuclery from rime w cime ac che butter.

In Gtrmany and rhe Norchern Kingdoms ic is civil and cltcem for a princt rn drink

80

Tht Cirilizi11g Pmcm

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

Changes

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"

it

I
ari anonymous Cizilite frm1caise (liege, 17 14'), p. 48: ' , From
l) olirt ro drink \_our soup from rht bowl unless you <lrt in your own family. Ir is nor . cl onlv rhen if you have drunk rht most parr with your spoon. .
,in

is :1111t;11g 11s

[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,"

It we soup

- , ,

s 1 n ., con1munil dish rake some wirh 1our spoon 111 your wrn, w!(hour " ' '

(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 <lgainst rouching tht meat on one's own plate with the hands . And rhe "bad manners" tliar are mentioned have largely disappeared from rhe upper class. The Ci6/ite of 1 (Example lJ is a little book of forry-eight pagts in bad ciz'ilite type, primed in Caen bm undattd. The British Museum carnlogut has a qutstion mark after the date. In any cast, chis book is an example of the multirude of cheap books or pamphltts on ciz'i!iti that were disseminated throughout France in rhe eightetmh century. This one, ro judge from ics general attitude, was cltarly intended for provincial rown-dwelltrs, In no other eighteenrh-cenrury work on ciri!ite quoted here are bodily functions discussed so openly The standard the book poinrs to recalls in many respects d1t one that Erasmus's De cirilitc1/i: had marked for rht upper class. Ir is still a matter of course to rake food in the hands. This example seemed useful htre ro compltmenr tht ocher quoracions, and particularly ro remind the reader chat tht movement ought ro be seen in its full multilayered polyphony, not as a line bur as a kind of fugut wich a succession of related movemem-motifs on different levels. Example M from 1786 shows the dissemination from above to below vtry direcdy Ir is particularly revtaling because it contains a largt number of cusroms that have substquendy been adopctd by "civilized society" as a wholt, bur are here clearly visible as specific cusroms of the courtly upper class which still stem relatively alitn to rhe bourgtoisie. Many customs have bten arrested, as "civilized cusroms", in txactly che form rhey havt htrt as courtly manntrs The quotation from 1859 (Example N) is meant to rtmind rhe rtader that in the ninetetnrh century, as roday, the whole movtmem had alrtady been tntirt!y

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_ _ msrincts 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 iou have cm off do nor, rheretore, rake rht meat WJ(h 1our hand vour p 1 a 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
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.<ul at T:1b/,
Ar wblt vou should use a servierre, a place, a knife, a spoon and a fork. Ir would be emirelv ro propriery ro be wirhom any of chest rhings while Ir is- for the person of highest rank in rhe company to unfold his serv1erre firsr. and rhe ochers should wair umil he has done so before unfolding theirs \vhe_n rhe_ people are approximately equal, all should unfold ir rngerher wirhom [N.B \V'irh rhe "democrarizarion" of sociery and rhe family, chis becomes rhe rule The socwl srrucwre, cl l - most elemenrarv human here srill of rhe hierarch1Cal-ansrncrm1c type, is m1rrore 111 r le , relarionships.] _ Ir is improper w use rhe servierre ro wipe your t:ace; ir is f.ar more so ro your reerh with ir, and ir would be one of rhe grossest ottences aga111sr CJnliry ro use ir ro

1729

82

TIJt

P1r1cess

CAmges i11 the Behal'iom rj" the Sem/,1r UPJ!tl' Classes i11 thr: \Vt.rt

83

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<J 11M /h:rmi: the 1{ grulS) 11 irh th, [Amhor's emphasis]. neither sauces nor syrups: and if ari)-one did so. he could not escape subsequently commiting seYeral further incivilities. such as frequently wiping his lingers on his serviette, which ,,ould make it Yery dirty. or on his bread. which would be ,ery impolite. or licking his lingers. which is not permitted to well-born. relined people

_. 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

1zati.on" caught on-La Salle's Ciz'i!iti!, which had previously "nv1 1, passed through 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 -

ror re o

"n of social changes that were occurring the pressure l \\n as an ounvard si b . . t- rn1 urew stronuer and in which among other thrngs, the idea of
o
b ' ' ._

K
From La Salle, Les Ri:g!es tie la hieJ1si1111ce et tie lei ,-iz:i!ite chritien11e (177 4 edn),

1774

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 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 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 the first place only ro greasy foods, especially those in sauces, since this gives rise ro actions that are "'distasteful" ro behold. In La Salle this is nor entirelr

84

The Cfrili:::ing Pmeess

Ch,mge.r in the Beht1riu1/I' of the Sem!m Uj1j1er Clmses in the West

85

"\Yell, you cerrninly did nor drink it like anyone else Ereryone drinks coffee from rhe cup. never from rhe saucer

1780?
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.

N
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

1859

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

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." "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 Bur rel! me how

"Like everyone. ro be sure Ir was boiling hot. sol poured ir lirrle by lirrle from my cup inro my saucer.

86
t!l't!J!1l!t

Th, Cfri!i::i11g P111c.:ss

ht!S tht

f'oints

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

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 ur;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{.,

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

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

89

'affabilicy' " So we read in a conversacion with che title 011 Goud {ll/d Bad Usaae i11 L\jmssi11g 011uelj.: 011 Bof!l;t;.:uis Mmmers of Sp<aki11g, bv F. de Callieres ( 1694 pp. l lOffJ . , 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."

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 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 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. 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. 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 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

If one realizes chat "city" ac this rime referred more or less ro "bourgeois good
society" as against che narrower court society, one readily perceives rhe copical importance of rhe quescion raised here

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.
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

90

Tht Cil'ilizi11g Pmass

\\' l1ar

i11 zLn Bth111'io!!r of the S,mfar UjJ/>tr C!as.w:s i11 th, Wi:st

91

movement and ch<mge in [htse spheres which was relarivt!y fas[ during rhe srage of rhe absolure cour[s. has slowed down once again. Even rhe shape of ta[ing mtnsils-plmes, dishes, kni,es. forks and spoonshas from now on become no more [ban varia[ions on [hemes of [ht dix-hiliti:me and preceding cenwries. Cerrainly rhere are srill very many changes of derniL Ont example is rhe differentiarion of mensils. On many occasions. nor only are rhe places changed afrer each course bm rhe earing mensils. mo. Ir is nor enough rn ear simply wirh knife. fork and spoon ins[ead of wirh one's hands . In rhe upper class more and more, a special implement is used for each kind of food . Soupspoons, fish kni,es, and mear knives are on one side of rhe place. Forks for rhe hors d'oeuvre, fish and meat on che O[her. Above the plare are fork, spoon or knife-according rn the cusrnm of [he country-for sweer foods. And for rhe desserr and fruir yer another implement is brought in. All rhese mensils are differently shaped and equipped . They are now larger, now smaller, now more round. now more pointed. Bur on closer consideration they do nor represent anything acwally new. They. too, are variations on rhe same theme, differentiations within rhe same standard. And only on a few poinrs-abon: all, in rhe use of rhe knife--clo slow movemems begin to show rhemselws rhat lead beyond rhe srnndard already arrained. Later rhere will be more rn say on this 5. In a sense. somerhing similar was rrue of rhe period up to rhe fifreemh cemury. Up to rhen-for very different reasons-rhe standard earing technique, rhe basic srnck of whar was socially prohibited and permirred. like rhe behaviour of people towards one another and cowards rhemselvts (of which these prohibirions and commands are expressions), remained fairly consranr in irs essemial fearnres, even if here roo fashions, flucwarions, regional and social variations and a slow movement in a parricular direcrion were by no means entirely absem. Nor can rhe cransicions from one phase ro anorher be ascerrained wirh complere precision . The more rapid movemem begins lacer here. earlier there. and everywhere one finds slighr preparatory shifrs. Neverrheless, rhe overall shape of rhe cuf\"e v,ras everywhere broadly rhe same: firsr rhe medieval phase, wirh a cerrain climax in rhe flowering of knighrly-courrly sociery, marked by earing with rhe hands. Then l phase of relariwly rapid movemenr and change. embracing roughly rhe six[eenrh, seventeenth and eiglHeenrh centuries, in which rhe compulsions ro elabornre earing behaviour pressed consrantly in one direcrion, towards a new standard of cable manners. From rhen on, one again observes a phase which remained wi[hin rhe framework of rhe standud already reached, rhough wirh a \'try slow movement in a parricular direcrion. The elaboration of everyday condu([ ne\'tr emirely lost. in this period eirher, irs imporrance as an insrrumem of social dis[incrion Bur from now on, ir no longer played the same role as in the preceding phase More exclusively rhan before. money has become rhe basis of social differences. And

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<inced. The prohibitions of mediernl society, even ar rhe feudal couns did nor . nipose anr verr grear resrraint on rhe plav of emorions. Compared wirh lacer \'t"L 1 . s. soci1l larer ones, were relaxed era. ' comrol was mild. Manners. measured ai::ains[ ._ in all senses of rhe word. One oughr nor ro snore or smack one's lips while ea[ing One oughr nor ro spic across rhe cable or blow one's nose on rhe rablecloth (for this was used for wiping greasy fingers) or into th<: fingers (wirh which one held [he common dish) Earing from rhe same dish or plare as ochers \V<lS taken for "ranted. One had only ro refrain from falling on rhe dish like a pig. and from dipping binen friod inro rhe communal sauce. j\fony of rhese cusroms are still memioned in Erasmus's rrearise and in its adapration by Calviac. More clearly rhan by inspecting panicular accounts of conremporary manners, by sur\'eying rhe whole movement one sees how i[ advanced Tablt mensils were srill limired; on rhe lefr the bread. on rhe righr rhe glass and knife. Thar was all. The fork was already memioned, alrhough with a limi[ed funcrion as an insrrumem for lifting food from [ht common dish . And. like che handkerchief. rhe napkin had also appeared already. borh S[ill-a symbol of [ransicion-as oprional rarher rhan necessary implements: if you have a handkerchief. the preceprs say. use it rarher rhan your fingers If a napkin is pro\'ided. lay ir over your lefr shoulder One hundred and fifry years lacer borh napkin and handkerchief had. like rbe fork. become more or less indispensable mensils in the courdy class. The curve followed by O[ber habirs and cusroms was similar. Firsr [ht soup was ofren drunk. whether from rhe common dish or from ladles used by several people In rhe cr111rtois writings rhe use of rhe spoon was prescribed. Ir, roo, would firsr of all have sern:d several rogerher. A fur[her seep is shown by rhe quorarion from Calviac of 1560 He memions that i[ was cusromary among Germans ro allow each guesr his own spoon. The next step is shown by Courrin's rex[ from [ht vear 167..2. Now one no longer are the soup direcdy from rhe common dish, bur .poured some imo one's own plate. first of all using one's own spoon; bm [here were even people. we read here. who were so dtficate diar [hey did nor wish w ear from a dish inro which others had dipped an already used spoon. Ir was [herefore necessary ro wipe one's spoon wirh rhe servierre before: dipping ir into [he dish. And some people were no[ sarisfied even with this. For chem, one was no[ allowed ro dip a used spoon back into rhe common dish ar all; insread, one had to ask for a clean one for chis purpose. Srnrements like rhese show nor only how rhe whole rinial of living toged1er was in flux, bur also how people [hemselves were aware of chis change. Here. seep by srep. rhe now <lccepred way of raking soup was being established: evervone had rheir own pla[e and own spoon. and rhe soup was
L

Thr: Cirilizinr, Proc<:Ss

Chmgc.r in the Bthtnio11r of tl.n Swdar

Upper

Clmsts in the \Vest

93

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. bery 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.

"You know", we read in a lirde work which in irs rime was much read, 1\lots rc1t br ,;1 Callieres, in the edirion of 1693 (p. -i6J, "rhar rhe bourgeois speak ! 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

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

P;-r;(r:SS

95
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<l"e as rhe court 111 France. Bue these rwo socialh Gern11111 Clil(Llre ''=' <:: , [ r ,lte'l tntiries Chancellery and universitv. influenced sptech less dian 1 c!OS<'. ] c , . . , , - rht\' not through conversar10n bm wnnng, . formed tht German wrintn language ... uments lercers and books And if Nietzsche obserYts th<H tYtn the Cloc 1 1 t l1roug ' , . . . clrinkin" song is erudite. or if he contrasted che elimination or specialise c , Germ,1 11 . ..,. . Lw tht courtly Voltaire rn the pracrice of rhe Germans, ht saw very clearly tef,JIS . rhe reoults of these different bistonc,1l developments to. If m France the g"i' cf, /.1 u1111' s,ud This is spoktn \\ell and rh1s b,1dly,

courdy ptople. and Yict Ytrsa. Tht influence from below on those abon: was certainly ,-ery much we<tktr in the St\"tnteenth century in France than in the eighteenth. But it was not tntirel> 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 mmement 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. 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<rnctllery for a time played a similar role. eYen if they did not have remotely the same influence as the French court. As late as 16-L'i. someone claimed his language rn

bt exe n11)l '1 .

.._

;i

question is raised that opens up a wide fit!cl for reflection ,rnd which must be at !t<1 sr touched on here in passing: "By what srnndards were rhty acmally d"in" was b "oocl and bad in \\/hat were their criteria tor JU c- t:- wlnt ''c...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
il!:lil!',tis 11sagc.

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.

96

The Cirili:ing PmceJs

Chm1gu in tht Bt!Jt!l'iom of the Stml{/r Uf'l1tr Classes in the West

97

Low words used by the common people must be carefully avoided. for those who used chem showed char the\ had had <l "low education .... And it is of these words. rhar is. low words", said d1t courtly speaker, .. that we are speaking in this connecrion-he meant in the contraposirion of courtly and bourgeois language. The reason given for the expurgation of "bad .. words from language w<1s the refinement of feeling that has played no small role in the whole civilizing process. Bur this refinement was the possession of a relatively small group Either one had this sensitivity or one had nor-that. roughly. was the speaker's atrirnde. The people who possessed this delicacy. a small circle. determined by their consensus what was held ro be good or bad. In ocher words. of all rhe rational grounds char might be put forward for the selection of expressions, the social argument. char something was better because it was the usage of the upper class, or even of only an elite within the upper class, was by far the most prominent. "Antiquated words". words rhar had gone our of fashion, were used by rhe older generation or by those \vho were not permanently involved direcdy in court lift, rhe declasse ... Too new words" were used by the clique of young people who had yet ro be accepted. who spoke their special .. slang'', a part of which would perhaps be romorrows fashion 'Learned words" were used. as in Germany, by those educated ar rhe universities, especially lawyers and rhe higher admir::.;rrarors, i . e., in France, the nr1hhsSt de roht .. Low expressions .. were all chose words used by tbt bourgeoisie clown ro rht common people. Tht linguistic polemic corresponded ro a quire specific, very characrerisric social formation. Ir showed and delimited rht group which ar <l given moment exerted control over language: in a broader sense they were the gws de la CUl!I', bur in a narrower sense they were a smaller, especially arisrocraric circle of people who at the rime had influence at court, and who carefully distinguished themselves from the social climbtrs, tht courtitrs with a bourgeois upbringing, the "antiquated .. and the "young people .. , and from the .. snobbish" competitors of the rising genernrion, and last but nor )east, from the specialized officials who came from the university. This circle was the primary model-making centre for rht language at this time. How the members of these narrower and broader court circles spoke was "how one must speak ... ro speak c1J11m1t ii Here rhe models of speech were formed chat subsequently spread our in longer or shorter waves . The manner in which the language developed and was stamped corresponded to a specific social srrucrnre . Accordingly. from the mid-eighteenth cenmry onwards, bourgeois influences on the French language slowly gained in strength. Bur chis long passage through a stage dominated by the court aristocracy remains perceptible in the French language roclay, as does the passage of German through a stage of dominance by a learned miclclle-class intelligentsia . And wherever elites or pseudo-elites have formed within French bourgeois society, they have

attached rhemseln:s to these older. distinguishing tendencies in their Ian-

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 from rhe wa, rhev establish such claims ano [ller, 1re ' . disrin"uishable 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<l all rhe other ri rnals of their own standard explained on "hygienic grounds" For chat is the way in which rhey themselves in general explain these customs. Bur as late as rhe second half of the eighteenth century, hardly anything of this kind is found as a motivation for rhe greater restraint that people impose upon themselves. Ar any rare, the so-called "rational explanations" are very far in the background compared to ochers. In rhe earliest srages the need for restraint was usually explained by saying: Do rhis and not char, for it is nor co11rtois, not "courtly"; a 'noble" man does nor do such things. Ar most, rhe reason given is consideration for the embarrassment of ochers, as in Tannhausers Hofzmht, where it says, in effect, .. Do nor scratch vourself with your hand, with which you also hold rhe common dish; your rnble might notice ir, so use your coat to scratch yourself (Example A, v. 109ff). And clearly here the threshold of repugnance differed from that of rhe following period. Later on, a similar rationale was used above all: Do nor do char, for it is not 'ciz'i/" or "hiwsea11t". Or such an argument was used to esrnblish the respect due ro those of higher social rank As in rhe moulding of speech, so roo in the moulding of other aspects of behaviour in society, social motivations, adaprarions of behaviour to the models of influential circles, were by far the most important. Even the expressions used in motivating "good behaviour" at cable were very frequently exactly d1e same as those used in motivating 'good speech". In Callieres's D11 hon et d11 111m1mis 11se1ge daw !es 111a11ieres de s'e.\j1rimer, reference is made, for example, ro chis or char expression "which civility bas introduced among people who speak well" (p . 22). Exactly rhe same concept of cii'i!itrf is also used again and again by Courrin or La Salle to express what was good and bad in manners. And just as Callieres here

98
spoke simply of rht people
jiarlulf /;ju/', so Courrin (ar rhe end of Example
G) said, in efftcc "Formerly ont was allowed

in th, B1:hdzjo11r of the Sem!ar UJ>jier Classes i11 the \Vi:st

99

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

,, cl Lw clear undtrsranding But "r,uional understanding" is not the mowr of nrlTlt _ -b l " .1 1 1nu" ot eating or of other wavs of e iavlllg he en 12 "' . . 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 soci1l 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 of socitt\' in morion will be b rh,1t set these behavioural changes ._, t 't1e intt"rarion discussed in greater derail later.

w ta[ing habirs . On wh<H chis delicacy was based. and why it demanded chat rhis
bt done and nor chat, was no[ said and nor ,1skecL \Vhar can be observed is simply char "delicacy"-or, rather, rhe threshold of repugnance-was advancing. Jn conjunction with a quite specific social situation, the structure of feelings and affects was firsr transformed in the upper class, and the structure of society as a whole permi[[tcl this changed afftct-srandard w spread slowly There is norhing which suggesrs char rhe srructure of affects. the degree of sensitivity. changed for reasons chat wt would describe as "clearly rarional". i . t. from a demonstrable undtrsranding of specific causal connections . Courtin did not say, as would bt said lacer. thar some people felr it to bt "unhygienic" or "derrimenral rn healrh"

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 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 The affecr-srrucrure. the sensirivity, and [ht behaviour of people change, dtspi[t all sorts of fluctuations, 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-

Gro11ji 2.
On the Eating of Meat
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<m beha\'iour, emboclimenrs of social and mtnral life. This is true of speech, which is nothing other than human relations mrned inro sound; it is [rut of art. science, economics and politics; it is true both of phenomena which rank high on our scale of values and of others which seem trivial or

100

The Cil'ilizing PmctJJ

101
ces pl1ved ' 5p 1 a ma1or.. ve"erables a relarivelv minor role . Orher informa,. h. ' 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 srved 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 de1d 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 01 .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 imporc s for a well-bred man to be buood at carnng meat. D1scenda a pnm1s rant 1 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.

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

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
C,)dlf,(,C.\ Ill ii. 1r; I

.1 _

5,J; , 1iol!r rf tht 5,mf,11

'"' - -

serving.

DU[

only rake for d1emsclves in their turn." says the anonymous Ci1iliti

ofl 7 l5. In the sevtmeemh cemurv [ht G1n-ing of mta[ at t<ible gradually ceased, in the French upper class. w be an indispensable accomplishmem of [ht man of the world. such <ls hunting, fencing. and dancing. The passage quo[ed from Courtin poims rn [his .'.\. That the serving of large parts of the animal rn be carved a[ rnblt gradually wem out of use was connected with many fr,crors. Ont of [ht most important may be the gradual reduction in the size of the household'" as pan of the mmemem from larger to smaller family uni[s; then comes d1t removal of produetion and processing activities like weaving, spinning and slaugh[tring from the household. and [heir gradual transference to specialis[S, craftsmen, merchams and manufacturers, who practice them professionally while the household becomes essentially a consumption uniL Hert, rno, the psychological tendency marches rhe overall social process: today
J[

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<lt from a pht<lsam still adorned with its

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 <ire therefore considered "abnormal". Nt\errhtless. it cannot be ignored char it was advances of chis kind (if rhey coincided with rhe direction of social devtlopmem in general) char led in rhe past w changes of srnnclards, and chat chis particular advance in rht threshold of repugnance is proceeding in the same direction rha[ has been followed drns
fi1r.

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<lS[ as nor at all unpltasam. die devtlopmtm !tads w anod1tr srandarcl by which reminders char the meat dish has something to do \\irh rhe killing of an animal art anJidcd
to

rht utmost. In many of our meat dishes rht animal form

is so concealed <lflcl changed by the an of irs preparation and carving char, while earing. one is scarcely reminded of irs origin. 1r remains rn be shown how ptople, in rhe course of rhe ci\ilizing process, have sought rn suppress in rhemsehes everyrhing char rhey feel w be of an "animalic character" They hme likewise suppressed such ck1racrerisrics in rheir food In chis area. mo, rht development has cerrninly nor been uniform everywhere. In England. for tx<1mple. where in many aspects of life older forms are more

. on rhe continent, rht serving of large_ portions of ryrominendy. presened. vhich falls w rbe master of rhe house. ot u1rvll1g and ' - r (and with ir rht ras , \ . l .. - - r" w 1 ure1rer extent rhan in rht rne:i - irvives in rhe lorm ot r lt JOll1 ' " ' c. - dnr .i1srribur1ng 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 ben he..: ot reacnons ' c l 110 r n1e1r chert 1 l<lS e ' -. , I' ri!i<t at rhe cables o1 gooc or ' Tl . cl 1 non ot rurrm c ' -. rbreshold of repugn,rnct l1\ a acted in chis direction. "Our. cb1et about rhe m1clcllt ..o r ie ' E 1 l .book on manners. The Hahit.1 r1 Goud _,v . . . , n1 sa vs an _, n g is 1 . . d1<1nks w die new s1src: - . - . . __ c_ ,, bar unwielch barbarism-the JOll1t _9) .. due tor 1rs osrr,1c1s!l10 r 1 1 Socit!) (l8) ... . . . look tlegam. while it hides rbe mas_rer ot ne iouse .. Nothing can m<1ke d 101m . ' f .. ,- " The rrurh is. 1bc1t m1lc.u r1111 ' I" him imo rhe misery o can lflo tu id cone emns ' it.1 'itli) ir JI . I - It 11 '///!(h !iltclf JI ,, rll't l'ti) kw1. t )t s1:,) ' ' . - l l -cl ro disgust rhe epicure H . l. l " "oinr tS!JeClally is c,1 cu are , .-11 ! ,_ -11t1rdJ. anc ,1 1Llot I - l r1ble ll'hn th11 u' it tue111 ' l _ l l l be \)\aced on rl1e sic e- , , -' . are eaten at rill. t lt) s iou c 101nrs _ ni!I of <p _'> 1-JJ l . ro remove rbe disr<1sreful from rht sight ot - . - \\- suong renc encv l The wcreas1ng . ' . , . in" of cbe who 1t arnm<l \' with few tXCtpt!OflS. tO ( 1 l t can b 1-t- societY clearly app ies. c erlv a direct part ol sooal l t rn _ \ .. les show was ,orm . . This c<1rvmg, as r ie exam 1 J , . \r- nd mort rn be cl1srasrdu 1. r1 I t S\Jecocle was te c mor- a 1 rhe upper class ien n ' - - l . m1l must. of course. be cur w ien . - d'd cl s- 1 ne1r since r le arn ' . . .C1rYin" irsell l nor I 'p,.. ' 11( t6 rcel!tS of sr1ocd 1 !ft. " <::1 fu\ W'lS rt:Jl/Ol'U ( I-' idJ/1. .1 l beinl'. earen. Bur rhe c israsre ' I k' tchen Ir will be seen <1gain and ' k f r in rht shop or r it 1 - l Specialists ra e cart o i . l .. . dnt we call civilizrH10n is t 11s - . ot rhe who e process ' al'.ain how cbaracrensnc . . "b I . cl he scenes of what has become ' w . n dus h1dmg e llfl r - l movemem of segrec-'HJO . \ _of 1 hrue IJ<lrt ot rbt an1ma or <r from t 1e caf\'1ng o _ disrasrefuL The curve runnrn" l I 1- adnnct in [ht threshold ol . . I at cable. c1roug1 c1e ' -1--ct even rht who le ,1n1ma l -- l of can-im; ro speu izc i "hr of dead animals. to r ie rem CJ\ a ' -, . l repugnance at r lt s b . I . --1 .. - n-curn:. - l I . nts is a np1ca cn l izcitlO - 1 enclaves bthrnc r ie see . . - 1 r nrocesses underlie s1m1 ar _ b - ,. i ued bow tar s1m1 a r Ir remarns ro e lfl\estg, -_- -.. ofChina above all.die _ - I rhe older cl\ i1iz.irwn ' phenomena Jl1 ocher soCJetltS. n -- . T red much earlier ,mcl more . . ,. ' behind rhe scenes \\as er ec l concealmem ol can mg . .. , b- raken so lar rh<lt r ie . :<1 Tl rhe process came w e _ radicalh- rhan rn rhe \ c:sr. 1ere 1 rnd rhe knife is banished - . ir\'td -rnd cur up emirely bel11nd r 1e scenes. ' n1eat is G ' alrngerher from use at cable.
L

Use of rhe Knife ar Table

. I use, . re . tlecrs cli-rn "ts in rhe human soCia , b 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 e1tin'' 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

t- .rs

104

The Ci1,i/i;:,i11g ProtcsJ

Chtmgf.i in the Behe1rir111r r;( the Swtft1r Upper C!t1sses i11 the \\'!ist

105

presenr-day \i(/esrern sociery: rhe innumerable prohibirions and raboos surround1ng 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 <llld deeply in rhe personaliry and which gives rhem their raboo character 5 In rhe Middle Ages. wirh their upper class of warriors and rhe consranr readiness of people ro fight, and in keeping wirh rhe stage of affecr conrrol and the relariwly low degree of binding or regularion imposed on drives, die prohibitions concerning knives were correspondingly few. "Do nor clean your reerh with your knife" was a frequenr demand. This was rhe chief prohibirion, bur ir does indicare rhe direction of furure resrricrions on rhe implement. Moreover. rhe knife was by far rhe most imporranr earing urensil. Thar ir would be lifted ro rhe mouth was raken for granrecl. Bur there are indirnrions in rhe late Middle Ages, even more clirecr ones rhan in any larer period, thar rhe camion required in using a knife resulrs nor only from rhe rarional consideration rhar one mighr cur or harm oneself, bur above all from rhe emorion aroused by rhe sighr or rhe idea of a knife poinrecl ar one's own face. Bere nor your knyf ro warde your ,isage for rherein is parelle and mykyl drede we read in Caxron's Bod? of C11rteJ)e (v .28) Here, as e\erywhere larer, an element of rationally calculable danger \vas indeed presenr, and rhe warning refers ro this. Bur ir is rhe general memory of and association wirh clearh and danger, ir is rhe s;111b()/ic meaning of rhe insrrumenr rhar leads, with rhe advancing inrernal

.h of socierv ro rhe preponderance of feelings of displeasure <lt the sight paCI canon ., . . . . . . . cl ro rhe limirarion and hnal exclusion of irs use rn soC!ery. The mere at 1c. ,rn . .

. 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 erninu 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 <lsronishing abundance of varying severity. The imperarivt never ro pur a knife ro one's mourh is one of rhe gravest and besr known. Thar ir gready exaggerares rht <KrnaL probable danger ;carcelv needs robe said; for social groups accusromed to using knives and earing with t.hem hardlv ever injure their mourhs wirh chem The prohibition has social distincrion In rhe uneasy feeling rhar comes over us ar become a means cbe mere sighr of someone purring a knife inro rhe mourh, all this is presenr once: the general fear rhar the dangerous symbol arouses, and the more specihc fear of social degradation which parenrs and eclucarors have from early on awakened in us in relation ro rhis practice with their admonirions rhar "it is nor done" Bur rhere are orher prohibitions surrounding rhe knife that have little or norhing ro do with a direct clanger to rhe body, and which seem ro poinr .ro svmbolic values of rhe knife other than the associacion with war. The fairly srr1ct on earing fish wirh a knife-circumvenrecl and modified roclay by rhe inrroducrion of a special fish knife-seems ar firsr sighr rather obscure in irs

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 grl\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/ 51id). 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<ty that the "civilization" of die \Vest will acrualh continue in this direction. Ir is a beginning, a possibility like many others char .exist in eYerv society All the same. it is nor inconceivable that rhe preparation of food in kitchen will dtYelop_ in a direction char restricts rhe use of the knife at cable still further. displacing it eYen more than hitherto to specialized enclaYtS behind rhe scenes. Strong regressiYe moYemenrs are certainly nor inconceivable either. Ir is sufficiently well known rhm. for example, rhe conditions of life in \Vorlcl \Var I auromarically enforced a breakdown of some of the taboos of peacetime civilization In the trenches, officers and soldiers again art when necessan- with knives and hands. The threshold of repugnance shrank rather rapidly und;r the pressure of the mescapable si rnarion. Apart from such breaches. which are al ways possible and can also lead to new consolidations. rhe line of development in rhe use of the knife is quire clear.w The regulation and binding of the emotional economy haYe been sharpened. The

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 <lS possible _ . . . . . . s:rn or a\ciiJ comiYirin" rhe direction of rb1s cJ\1lizmg-cune with rhe ' "' . .. . One cann II'' practised in China There. as has been said, rhe kmte disappeared I cusrorn _ . ies auo from use at cable. Accordmg ro rhe teelmgs ot many Cl1111ese. rnany centur b . .. . . . .. .. . The Europeans ,ire which EuroiJeans ear 1s unonlized . .. . rhe manner 111 . . fJtOfJle sa\" rhere now and again. "they t<lt w1rh swords One ma} , . .'_ . . . . .. b,.lfl,lDS . I . r chis custom is connected with the fact that for a long ume m Chma surrn1se t 1'l . . _ . i1- ,, Ll!'l'er class was nor <l warnor class bur a class ot scholad} rbe mo cl e l - n1' "111 b officials pacified to a particularly high degree.

"'

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 HJir 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 <lt cable is "ciYilizecl" or "uncivilized" is our feeling of disrasre The fork is nothing ocher than the embodiment of a specific standard of emotions and a specific leYel of reYulsion. Behind the change in earing techniques between the .Middle Ages and modern appears the same process char emerged in rhe analysis of ocher incarnations ot this kind: a change in rhe economy of dri,es and emotions

108

T!!l Cil'ilizing Pro(l:SJ

w1r 1

109
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 (Oucl1 somerhinl': srickv, wer or !.(reasv with their finuers rhev were role!, "You
L L' , L L ,

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!proj1 r, 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 mer fairlv literally Courrin's precept rhar "Bie11s6u11Cc 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.

musr nor do rhar, people do nor do things like rhar" And the displeasure rowards -'i conducr 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

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;}roduced 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

v
Changes in Attitudes Towards the Natural Functions
Examples
Fifteenth century?
A
From S w.wizu1t !e.r 1011te11m1c1:s de /,; table:

110

Cirili::ing

l ll
Pr(Jo.:s.1

VIII Btfore ,-ou sir down. make sure 1our star has nor been fouled

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. ,
rhcn1 here.
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

B
From [ii/
_:;2l) De, nor much yourself unckr your clorhts wirh your bare hands

-oLwhness the exuaordinan seriousness, and rhe complete freedom

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 11elcome 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 pronrb. !tr a cou!'h hide rhc sound ;..[oremer. 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

shows pc1rr1cu ar >

. l l cleirlv 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 '

D
. 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 ,,-isliin,, \\"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"". 11hen ir would be berrer ro s.iy. ""Because ir srinks do not smtll ir"

1558

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

1589
From rhe Brunswick Court Regulations of 1589:";
\ be. l1cfc>r". , ,1r. c>r afrer meals. tarh. or !are. foul rhe Ler no one. whotvtr lie n1 .,1.

112

Thu Ciz'ilizing PmC1:ss

11.1
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

srnircases. corridors or closers wirh urine or other tilth bur "O to suinble .. t d 1 places for such relief c ' ' JXe>cn "

c.

1619

G
11

1 Richard The Bljoke 01 Dw1em11Jr m1c.I tm C,rtt1i11e i\Iisd1:1mt1ll!11s i11 C1J111jJt111ie: 6'

'ii11zcanc, d11c; Di.wllouc111ct' of

J
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 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
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

1731

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 so ir be done wirh secresie !er rhar nor rhee perplex

1694

From rhe correspondence of rhe Duchess of Orleans (October 9, 169-:J: dare also gnen as Augusr 25. 1718):
fhe smell of rhe mire is horrible Paris is a dreadful place. The srreers smell so badlv rhar .1ou cannor c "0 our The exrr"me hnr [arge quanttt1es of n1eat and rish . c -, is causing 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. ,

1774
Fron1 La Salle, Les Ri6les dt: ft1 biensit!lllf: ti cir: la cizilitc! chrffjel!Jh' ( 1774 edn). p"

1729

I
,,t
1 c ;1tr! nn!tiw11e J. ,,t !a on (Rauen, l 729),

From La Salle. Les Ri:,,),s d, !" bit11.r,:c111,,. , pp. -15ff:

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 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 (e1en for children) ro sarisfy rhem only 11here 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

Ir is a P<:rr of decency and modesty to co1er 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.

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 1ou to look ir In 10 --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 iou cannor be seen
/,

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

It is re;y i111J;ofitr.., /r1

d'cJJ

r:ll!it

wi11d /rum

}f1l!r
*

hr1dr u l.h::ll in mm/Jt.JJJ_).

hlou-,

i.1

dr11h ll'i!ho/!l JHli.ff

[This rule. Ill 1 I me wn l more recent custom, is rhe

I){1!'1..-'

in the Bchazi//!!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!(/111i1c:t! /;) (jj}c The peas wtre earen rill nor one was ldi:
L -

o/ th<: Swtlar Uf'f't1

C!m.rts

i11

tlx \Fest

115

- o nlv ,vhat is . seeming\', rational, i.e., founded primarily on the disgust and shame 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 1int:'> " b,ca1 } 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 t h IS and chis lack of inhibicion rhere was no contradiction. He spoke 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 alwavs serve as insrrnmtnts ro compel rescraint and renunciarion of rhe gratificarion. 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

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

116

The Cirilizi11g Pl'f!c2ss

i11 rhe Bi:IJt1l'io111 o/ tht Semlm Uj>/m Classc.,- i11 th1: \Vi:st

117

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

equa Is Incl ' become rhe upper., ruling . . _, class, that rhe familv "' became rhe _ only-or, _ xacrlv rhe primarv and dominant-institution with rhe tuncrion of e e mor . . 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 Jiscoveries. On rhe contrary, fr would nm be very difficult demonstrate rhe . . ,sis 111cl 1)s\cho!!enes1s ot these 1mennons 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 . crwrdin-1f\' This appararns senecl both the constant reproduc(lon wan ex ' ' . de,ree. c of the standard and irs dissemination. lt is nor uninteresting ro observe rhar today [in che 19.">0s, the rranslaror}. of conduct has been so heavih consolicbted that it is taken 11.s snnd1rd wl1en r 1 ' ' . red 1 cert11 is strring tor (rnu1 , ' n relaxation . .__, in. l'arricularlv . in companson to the "' tll cenrur\ 1r le1sr wich reuard ro wlk about the natllral functions. The n1ntretn .' ' ' b . .I c! hck of inhibition with which people sav 111 rreec orn ' ' 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<mdard which is emerging in our phase of rht civilizing process is characrerized by a profound disrance berwten rhe behaviour of so-called "adults .. and children The children have in rhe space of a few years w attain rhe advanced level of shame and revulsion rhar has de\'eloped over many cenmries. Their dri\es musr be rapidly subjected to the strict conrrol and specific moulding that gives our socitries their srnmp, and which developed very slowly owr centuries. In this the parents ,ue only rhe (ofren inadequate) instruments, the primary agents of the conclirionins: through rhtm and thousands of orhtr instruments it is always socien as a whole, rht entire figuration of human beings. rhar exerts irs pressure on new generation, forming rhem more or less perfectly In rhe J\Iiddle Ages, roo. ir was the society as a whole which exerted this formative pressure, t\'en if-ir remains ro show this more exactly-the mechanisms and organs of conditioning. particularly in rhe upper class, wert in large part different from rhose of rnday.. Bur above all, rhe control and restraint to which the drive life of adults was subjected was considerably less than in the following phase of civilization, as consequently was tht difftrence in behaviour between adults and children. The individual inclinations and tendencies which medieval writings on eriquerre were concerned to control were ofren the samt as can be frequently obser,.ed in chilJrtn today However, they are now dealt with so early rhar certain kinds of "bad habit" which were quire commonplace in rhe medieval world scarcelv manifest themsehes in present-day social life Children r.oday ,1re admonished nor ro snatch whatever they want from the

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..<"! 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 sener 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 <lppararns was developed which solved fairly satisfactorily rhe problem of eliminating chese funccions from social lift and displacing rhem behind che scenes. The sirnarion was nor unlike rhat regarding cable manners. The process of social change, rhe advance in rhe frontiers of shame and rhe threshold of repugnance, cannot be explained by any ont thing. and certainly nor by che development of technology or by scientific

120

The Ciz'i!izing Pmass

Chm1gcj i11 ihe Buh,11io111 of the Scm!t1r Upper C!mses in the \Vest

121

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

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 pos1tne 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,

122
no Je'sofi11 con le clie: Con Ii Jrapi da pey se monda vosrra correxia ;:

The Ciri/i::;i11g Pr1J<cSS

in rhc Beh:11io11r of thl Sw!lar U/1/nr Classes iii the \'Vi:sr

[From dH: scholia on this passage:] Berween snot and spit there is litrle difference. except that the former fluid is inrerpn:red
<lS

12.'\

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
Fifteenth century?
From Ei11 spmch du :::c tische kl:rt.:
le is unseemly w blow your nose inrn rhe rableclorh

F
Frnm GtdC1teo. by Della Cas,1, quoted from the five-language edition <Geneva,

1558

1609), pp. 72, 44, 618:

You should not offer your handkerchief w anyone unless it has been freshly washed Nor is ir seemly. ,1fo:r wiping your nose.
to

c
From sw.wizwt
!es (f;l/fci/{l//!H

de

!Cl

tc1hle:
XXXIIl

spread om your handkerchief and peer

Do not blow your nose wirh rhe same han<l that you use rn hol<l the me<n.''"''

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
From A. Cabanes. 1\foe111J intimes di! tm1ps pass!! (Paris, 1910), lsc series, p . 101:
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 monuments Among the knights. the plourans. at the grave of Philip rhe Bold at Dijon. one is seen blowing his nose into his coat, another inro his fingers.

G
from Cabanes, 1\foum inti111ts, pp" 103, l68, 102:
[From J\farrial cl Aun:rgne. "Lon: decrees'] in order that she might remember him.

he decided to have one of rhe mosr beauriful and sumptuous handkerchiefs made for her. in which his name was in leners enrwinecl in the prettiest fashion, for it was joined

co a fine golden hearr bordered with tiny hearr's eases,,..,...

[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 how many handkerchiefs;" asked the king "Have I nor eight?" "For the momenr rhere are only fi,e. he said

E
Sixteenth century
From De civi!itate iil1Jri1111 /J11erili11111, by Erasmus, ch . l:
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, immecliarely be rroclclen awa\'
meaning of passage (b) is not entirely clear \\1har is apparent is that it
to
\Vas

In 1599. afrer her death, the imemory 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,

i/ Ji/or, hono111'ahfc /v1plc ar,

pr<Swt

If anyrhing foils rn rhe ground when blowing the nose ,,ith rwo fingers. ir should

hku thr:ir
//_Ii: J/u..Fc'

n11sr::s

As
r1ih

ad<lrtssed especially

h;1s tcudth,

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

t/((tj1hcf jn'd(fi(c.. ft1 !!St

to

.Lt)

that

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 sit at the s;:1me table as the kni_shts; or, if this was ptrmitttd, thty had
,i,urfois
to

sit on a lower chair The\,

Late seventeenth century

The Peak of Refinement First Highpoint of Consolidation and Rescrictions
This cloth was intended
to

pages of a kind and at any rate social inferiors. were told: The thirty-first counts\ is 'Jonzel who wishes to blow his nose should beautify himself with a cloth. \\;hen he is

or string 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

dish with the

be hung from the lady's girdle. with her keys Like the fork. night-

nose with tht fingers of the left hand if one are and rook meat from rht

commode. etc, tht handktrchitf is first an expensiYt luxury arriclt

"'

12-i

The Cil'ilizi11g Process

Ch1111gc.r i11 the B2hario11r of t!Jt S1:wlar Upper Clmse_r in the \\'!i:st

125

1672
From Courrin,
1'\r111rcd11

how improper ic is rn see such uncleanliness on clothes. which should always be very

traite de (i1i!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,

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 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

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

shl/11 s 11 /,u'k (Jf rc.1;1ccr

where vou are ro use it quickly in such a

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 ]

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
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

1774

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.

'{ou should obserw, in blowing your nose. all the rules of propriety and cleanliness

1714
From an anonymous Ciri!ite jim1fc1ise <Liege, 171-i), p. 141:
Take good care not to blow your nose with your fingers or on your sleeve lik, childr,n; use your handkerchief and do not look Into it afterwards.

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

1729
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:
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

1797
From La Mesangere, Lt zoyt1ge11r de Pcll'is (1797), vol. 2, p 95. This is probably Sten, to a greater excenr chan the preceding eightetmb-cenrury examples, from
the point of view of the younger members of "good sociecy"; Somt years ago people made an art of blowing the nose Ont imitated tht sound of the
*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<ltr about tht resptct Jue rn social superiors

126

Thr.

IT
P111(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;nf//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 hme 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 behmiour.. Bm rhe use of rhe hands had by no means disappeared Sten from abme, 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 <Examples H, J, K, L). Once the handkerchief began to come into use, there consrnmh recurred a prohibition on a new form of "bad habit" thar emerged ar the sam; rime as rht ne\\' pracrice-d1t prohibirion on looking into one's handkerchief when one had

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 r most Ill rht unconscious. Ill dreams, Ill the sphere or secrtc\, or roday ap1x'1 '1 . .. . . . . . . . . ... 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 lir-r edition ot La Salle, as 111 orher cases, rhe major part ot rhe \et} in tie ' c . . , 1 ! . recei1rs from die e<ulier one were omirred The use ot the hanclkerch1d aenu l ec 11 had become more general and self-evident It was no longer necessary to be so 1 . llforeover chert was less ,rnd less inclination rn speak abom these derails exp11c1L 1 , . . . . . . , L S lle ori "inalh discussed \\'Hhout rnh1bmon and at length \\ irl10ut rnar ,1 '1 "' , . -mb, rrassmenr More srress, on rht ocher hand, \\'<lS laid on children s bad habit 1 ".'n" rbe finuers in rht nose. And, as with other childish habits, the health ot putci c c _ . . . " 110 w 11)1)t"ued alongside or in jJlace ot rhe social one as <lll lllStrumenr ot svarn1nt:" ' - ' ,__ conditioning, in rhe rettrence w the harm char could be done by doing "such a_ thine:" roo often This was an expression of ,1 change in rhe manner ot conditioning that has already been considered from ocher aspects. Up rn d1is rime, habits were almost always judged expressly in rhtir relation w orher people, and chey ,1re forbidden, ar lease in rht secular upper class, because ..they might be troublesome or embarrassing ro ochers. or because they betrayed a lack of respect". Now habits were condemned more and more as such. nor 111 reg<ud ro ochers. In chis way, socially undesirable impulses or inclinations become more radicalh- suppressed. Thev become associated with embarrassmem. fear, shame or guilr. when one is alone 11uch of what we call "morality" or "monil" ;easons has rht same function <lS "hygiene" or "hygienic" reasons: ro condition children rn a certain social standard ;\foulding by such means aims ar making socialh desirable bth,1viour aurnm<1tic a matter of self-conrroL causing it to appea; in rht consciousness of indi\iduals as the result of their own frte will, rnd in rhe inreresrs of rheir own health or human dignity. And it was only with rht advem of rhis wa\ of consolidating habits, or conditioning. which gained predominance wid; rhe rise of the middle classes, char conflict berwttn rhe socially inadmissible impulses ,rnd rendtncies, on the one hand, and the pattern of social demands anchored in individuals, on rhe od1er, wok on rht sharply defined form cemral ro rhe psychological theories of modern rimes-above alL ro psychoanalysis. Ir may be "char rllere have always been .. "neuroses" But the "neuroses" we see about us today art a specific hisrorical form of psychic conflict which needs psychogenetic and sociogeneric illumination. _:;. An indication of rhe mechanisms of suppression may already be comained in rht rwo verses qumecl from Bonvicino da Rirn (Example Al. The difference between wh<H was expected of knights and lords. on rhe one hand, and of the

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

0

Ch:lilges

i11

tbe Behal'irwr of thu Sew!m UjJf7er Classes in the \Vist

129

phenomenon. The masters found the sight of the bodilv functions of theu 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
I)

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
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

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 sene 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

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:11iom

rf tht

Sul!!dr Upper Clc1ssc.r i11 tht \Fest

Ul

c
, 1

In rht old days you could yawn. provided you did nor speak while doing so: today. 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

H
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 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

U.' Afrcr mtte when chou shall w;bshe.

spin nor in basyn, ne wacer thou dasshe.

1714

D
From Zarncke, D,r dr11tscht Ct1to. p. 137:
>-()

Do not spit across the table in the manner of hunters

1530
From Dt cil'ilitatc
ll/fJl'l!i11

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 n1useue ' ' 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

1729
from La Salle, Les Rig/es cit la bic11si:111cr
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 uc!/-/;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 <H it. and put it into your pocktr. You should rake grear care ntwr ro spit on your clothes. If you notice saliva on the ground. you should immediately put or those of others your foot adroitly on it. If you notice any on someones coat. it is not polite to make it known: you should insttuct a senam ro remO\e it. If no sern1nt is present. you should remove it yourself without being noticed. For good breeding consists m nor bringing to people's anention anything that might offend or confuse them.
d

cit lc1 cil'iliti chri!tic1111c (Routn, 17 29).

F
1558
From Gdc1tt 11. bv Della Casa . C]Lloced t-ron1 clle c uve- j anguage ecl icion (Geneva, 1609), p. 570:
lt is also unseemly tor someone sittin 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
Fr1nt!lr!).
to
c..'Xtlll!f'lc

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:

it u dS flr:n:itfrd !o

s/1it Ml

the: gro!!nd
is :n1

/JJ1! 1J11t" s .r)IJ/ r111 tl.h .1J1lftlm1

Tod;1) 1h:11

' ) 1 _,_

Tht Ciz'ilizing Process

. 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 . . ihvws marked rhe rransit10nal siruar10n. And here agarn the use o <1 here <IS ' ' . . . doth was mentioned as a possible, nor a necessary, way of controllmg d11s habit. which was slowly becoming more disrasreful The next srep is shown clearly by Courtin's comment of 1672: it was permirred to spir on rhe ground before_ people of rank, ..md was sufhcient ne's foor on rhe spurum . Todav [ O . rhar 1s an mdecency. . . Similarly, we find in the Cizi!iti of 1714, intended for a wider audience: ''Conceal ir as much ,1s possible. and avoid soiling eirher persons _or .. rhelf . Ar rhe houses of rhe grear, one s1)its into one's handkerchief cIor l1es. . ' .. In 17 29, La Salle exrended rhe same precept ro all places "rhar are kept clean And he added rhar in church, too. people oughr ro ger used to using rheir handkerchiefs and nor rhe floor. Bv 1774 rhe whole pracrice. and even speaking abour it. had become cons.iderably more disrasrefuL By 1859 "spirring is ar all rimes a disgusring habir" All rhe same, ar least wirhin rhe house. rhe spittoon, as a technical implement for controlling this habir in keeping with rhe advancing of delicacv, srill had considerable imporrnnce in rhe ninereenth century. Cabanes, m 1910. reminds us rhar, like orher implements (cf. Example L), ir had slowly
0

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"<IJ bml fir the hMlth

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

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 <lispensable In largt secrions of \Vesrern socierv eve.n the need to spir from rime to rime seems to have disappeared A srandard of delicacy and restraint similar to rhar which Della Casa knew onlv from his reading of ancient writers, where "whole peoples . lived so moderarely and so honorably rhar rhey found spirring guHe unnecessary (Example FJ. had been attained once more _ 3. Taboos and resrrictions of various kinds surrounded rhe ejection ot saliva, other namral functions, in very many societies, borh ''primirive'" ;md "civilized" \Vhar disringuishes such prohibitions is rhe facr rbar in rhe former rhev were alwavs maintained bv fear of orher beings, even if only imaginary onesis, bv exre.rnal in the larrer rhey were rransformed more into internal consrrainrs. The prohibired rendencies (e.g., the or less rendency ro spir) partly dis<1ppeared from consciousness under rbe pressure of this internal resrrainr or. as ir may also be called. rhe pressure from rhe "superego" and rhe '"habir of foresight" And whar remained in the consciousness as

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

. .. 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-n1rion 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 . chants in rhe war II1 rhe srrucrnre of den111 1-t"r-from d. L c . ]JeO]Jle l!\e together. ._
1

,L The modification of the manner of spitting. and hnally the more or less -n1ination of the netd for it, is a '-good exam1Jlt of rhe malleabilin cornp let ,, . _ el 1 of econom1 of humc1ns. le may be: rhar rhis need has been compensated h r e " . . 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.

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 connrsely. 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-

Thl Cizili:::illg Pmo.:_i-.r

Ch(/i!gt.r in thr Buhariom of the Swt!crr UjJjJer Clt1sses in the \Fest

137

VIII
On Behaviour in the Bedroom
Examples

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
From Des honnes 1i1ot1trs tt hon nest es contenm1c<J. by Pierre Broe (Lyons, 15 5 5 ):

1555

A Fifteenth centurv
Stam />!!er i11 m:mam, an English book of table

l-!63-83 (A Boole ol - PrccudwC<.. London , 1869. p. 63):

215 And if chac ic forren so bv nyghc or Any cyme Thar you scha!l lye wirh Anv man char is beuer than vou . Spyre hym whar syde .of rhe bedd char most besc will ples hvm. :\nd lye you on chi rnrher si:de, for rhar is rhi prow;

manners from rhe period

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

1729
From La Salle, Lu Rl:gkr de la hiemliance et de la ciri!ite dm!tie1111e (Rauen, 1729),

p. 55:
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 <Hwone of che ocher sex le is srill less permissible for people of opposite sexes rn sleep in rhe same bed, unless chey are very young children If you are forced by unavoidable necessirr co share a bed wirh another person of che same sex on a journey, ir is nor proper rn lie so near him char you disrurb or ewn couch him: and ir is srill less decenc rn pm your legs berween chose of che ocher. Ir is also wry improper and impolite co amuse yourself wirh ralk and chacrer. \\?hen you gee up you should nor leave rhe bed uncovered. nor pm 1our nightcap on a chair or anywhere else where ir can be seen

Ne go you nor rn bede before boc rhi becrer cause rhe, For rhac is no currasy, rhus seys docrour paler

223 A.nc1 when you arte in rhi bed.

chis is curcasy, Srryghr downe rhar vou he wirh fore and bond. , . \vhen ze hme 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 imires you: char is nor courteous, savs Dr Paler. Then lie down srra1 ghr and bid him goodnight.

177-4
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:

1530

Jr is a srrange abuse w make rwo people of differenc sex sleep in rhe same room. And
if necessicy demands ic, you should make sme rhac rhe beds are aparr. and char modesty
dues not suffer in any way from this commingling" Only exrren1e indigence can exct;se

From De . Ft t ! w1 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

. The philolo,trica!ly accurare

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 1igilanc 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

Th:: Cfri!i:i11g Prr;c.:.iS

Classt.i i11 the \\'i-.11

139

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 imisible 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

ound rhelf behmds. runnmg from rheir houses through the long decorous 1Y 'll t midd<l\' ro rhe barbs How many compltrely naked boys of ren. rwelve. .. -srre e(s 'l - on 'lfld sixreen run beside rhem.. . tourteL ' . . I This lack of inhibition disappt:cutd slowlv 1n the s1xreenrl: and more rapic ly . l evenreenrh c:ighrtenrh and ninereenrh cenruries, hrsr m rhe higher J[1 [ it ' ' . nd much more slowlv in rht lower. Up ro rhen, the whole mode of lite. classes ,1 . . l "reuer closeness of individuals. made rhe sight of rhe naked body, at Wl( 1 IL5 u '. n rlie 1)ro11er IJlace incom1xuablv more commonplace rhan m rhe hrsr lpasr i " f. rlie n1odern 1"e "\Ve reach the sur1Jrising conclusion", it has been said stages o '- c . '- _ wirh reference ro Germany. "char rhe sight of roral nakedness was rhe everyday rule up ro rhe sixreemh cenrury.. Everyone und_ressecl complerely each bet.ore u "01.n" ro bed and likewise no clorhmg was \vorn m rhe evening u ,_ irlis .. -, And rhis cerninlv a1J11lied nor onlv ro Germanv. People had a less sream b ' ' inhibited-one mighr say a more childish-arrirude rowards rhe body, and ro manv of irs funcrions. Sleeping cusroms show rhis no less rhan barbing habirs. . _',_'A special nighrdress slowly came inro use at roughly rht same rime as rht fork and rhe handkerchief Like rhe or her "rools of civilizarion". it made irs way rhrough Europe quire gradually And like rhem ir is a symbol of rhe decisive chang"e raking place at rhis rime in human beings. Sensiriviry rowards everyrhing rhar came imo comacr wirh rhe body increased . Shame became arrachc:d ro behaviour rhar had previously been free of such feelings. Thar psychological rhar rhey were process which is already described in rhe Bible: "and rhey naked and were ashamed"-rhar is. an advance of rhe shame trom1er. a rhrusr wwards grearer resrrainr-was repeared here. as so often in rhe course of hisron The lack of inhibirion in showing oneself naked disappeared. as did rhar in performing bodily funcrions before orhtrs. And as this sight became less commonplace in social life, rhe depiction of rhe naked body in arr rook on a new significance. J\Iort than hirherro ir became a dream image. an emblem of wishfL;llilmenr. To use Schiller's terms. it became "semimenral". as againsr the
L

"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

1-i l

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 . "'

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, . was still [Jreclommanc l l cl l l,. or htrs, - The comrasr to t 1e ater _ per10 1s parncu ar . 't. '"e remember that these prece1JtS, even those ot Dr Paler (Example A), cl ea1 ' " 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

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

l-i..?

1-i)
iris an exuemel1 dtlicact and difficulc rask to tnligh'.e_n growing girls and boys Cll emsehes 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 ' " "' .. . . .. . . ]-- x:rcti\'td if rl1e behaviour or people: 111 a d1Herenr srage IS observed 1 he 1s on.' 1 .-_ good exarn11le. race 0 ic Er1sn1us's rc:nowned Colloc111ir:s is a .__,
boITT
L L .. L

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 penerraring rhe family circle wirh appropriart educarional advice and cions. In rht long precc:ding period. rhe more severe arrirude prnailed char moraliry and respecr for raboos should be presenr in children from rht firsr. This arrirucle cerrainlr cannor be: said ro han: disappeared roday The examples on behaviour in rht bedroom gin:, for a limirtd segmenr, a cerrain imprtssion of how !are ir really was rhar rhe rendency ro adopr such arcirudts reached irs full developmcm in secular tducacion. The lint of rhis deye]opmtnr scarcely nec:ds furrl1er tlucidarion. Hert. wo. in 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 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.

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 . . llrr1 u ic fdwi!icnillll co//oq11ir1u1111 ff,rmul:.u l!f1ll !1.n1t11111 dd
"'
l'r.,)'i!lll

. ttic1111 de! l iti:!IJJ instil11ei!dc1111

He worked on chis rtxc. augmeming and improving ir. umil shorrly before his <leach Ir became whac ht had desired. nor only a book from which boys could 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 read works of cheir rime:. As his crearise Du (il'i/itatr: 111om111 pmri/i;1111 did lacer. diev wenr rhrough numerous edirions and rranslacions. And like ir. chc:y became a s:l10olbook. a srandard work from which boys were c:ducared. Hardly anyrhing
b

"ives a more immediare impression of rhe change: in \Vesrc:rn sociery in rhe

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
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' <The knackl: "It you would pltase both rhe worldly and godly alike. painr chem the joys of rhe flesh. but painr rhtm che devil as \\ell. .. Erasmus here paints t!eshh lust in the basest wa\ and then adds something which is supposed ro edify Such a bm;k is n:commended the Doctor Theologiae to an eighr-year-olcl bm-. rhar he might be imprmed by readini; it

IX
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 panicularly clearly in the difficulry experienced by adulrs in rhe more: recenr srages of civilizarion in miking abour these relarions ro children. Bur rod:n chis 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

b;-

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",
rbe man who was neither an orrhodox Proresram nor an orrhodox Cacholic. The 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.

144

Thi: Cil'ilizi11g Proas.r

. 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 lirl"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 soc1et}, . been seen from so many other aspens lI1 chis _ 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 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 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" of antiquity will have ro be sought. Erasmus on ct gavt Yery trenchant expression co this process prtcisel y in 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

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 <ldvance of civilizacion have been increasingly concealed from the eyes of children, <rnd which in the nineteenth century would under no circumstances ha\e been 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 nineceenthcentury 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. And there is even a conversation between a young man and a prostitme. 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 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 in the direction of the kind of restraint of drive impulses which the nineteenth 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 htr \vhen she resists, he cells her char she has drawn his soul half out of his body. He cells her char ir is permissible and right to conceive children . He asks her
to

co!!oq 11ium111 char he appended to the Co!l{Jt/lties (165 5 tdn, p. 668) For this reason_
these writings may be correcdy regarded as representing the standard ot behaviour of secular society. no matter how much their particular demands for a restraint of drives and moderation of behaviour may have transcended this 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 puellae" mentioned above: "I wish chat all suitors were like the one I depict and conversed in no ocher way when entering marriage." \Vhat appears to rht ninereench-ctncury obsen-er as che "basest depiction of lusr". what even by rht prtsenr swndard of shame must be veiled in silence particularly before children, appeared co Erasmus and his contemporaries who 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<IS accrn1lly going on around them.'' -i The ocher dialogues mentioned bv Von Raumer in his polemic present similar cases. The who about her husband is instructed that 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 her disreputable mode of life.. One muse hear chis conversation oneself ro understand what Erasmus wishes to set up as an example for boys. The girl. Lucrecia, has not seen rhe youth. Sophronius, for a long rime. And she clearly invirts him to do what he has come to rhe house to do. But he asks whether she is sure char they cannot bt seen. whether she has nor a darker room. And when she leads him co a darker room he again has scruples. Is she really sure rhat no

imagine how fine it will be when he as king and she as gueen rule o\er their children and sen-ams. !This idea shows n:ry clearly how rhe lesstr psychological distance betwetn adults and children very often wenr hand in hand with a greater 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 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 his soul half our of his body. so that he is almost dead. she is afraid char with a 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 Church. even in his own lifetime. with the "indecent character" of the Co/loq11ies. Bur. one should not be misled by chis inro drawing false conclusions about the acrnal srandard. particularly oi secular society. A rrearise directed against Erasmus's Colloq!!i.:s from a consciously Catholic position, about which more will 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

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 rnentierh 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 <Bast!. 1549) They art !iktwise wrinen as a schoolbook for boys, sinct. as the author Morisorns says, one is often
Tht:
tt:Xt

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 revohe 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'

of this cxctrpt from the dialuc;ue is as follows:

?\ondum hie locus ml hi \'idetur saris
tl

:-.t iP111u 1:--.;ti :--:

secretus

uuzrTL\: 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.:

mt

Circumspice rimas omnts.

uT

?\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
Sl'l"

fl

so b.1shful all
ntar

Jt

oncL"?
:-0P1r.:

\Vt!L comt w my privart dressing room Ir s so dark wt shall scarctl}

each orher there

Examint tn:ry chink uc : 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

Is rhert nobody

rn

us:

UT.:

you hesirnring? Can we escape thl e;.c ofGud here? :--c1Pil.: And the anp:ds:

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

The Cil'ilizi11g Proc.:s.r

Chc111gcs i11 the Bdh1l'io11r of the Semlar Uj1pu Clc1ssc.r in the \Vest

1-!9

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 <lCknowledge rht existence of such institutions in a schoolbook. They certainly exist as enclaves even in rhe society of rhe nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Bur the fear and shame wirh which rhe sexual area of rhe life of drives, like many ochers, is surrounded from the earliest years, rhe .. conspiracy of silence .. observed on such matters in social relations, are as good as complete . The mere mention of such opinions and insrimtions in social life is forbidden, and references to them in rhe presence of children are a crime, a soiling of the childish mind, or at least a conditioning error of the gra\est kind. In Erasmus's time it was rnken equally for granted chat children knew of rhe existence of these instimrions. No one concealed them. Ar most thev were warned about them. Erasmus did just thaL If we read only the pedagogicai books of rhe rime, rhe mt>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

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

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.

..

sq

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<tn town and complained abour another house in which the profession ro which their house had the sole public rights was practised. The mayor gave them permission ro enter chis house; they smashed everything and bear the landlady. On another occasion rhey dragged a competitor from her house and forced her to live in theirs In a word, their social position was similar ro that of the execurioner, lowly and despised, bur entirely public and nor surrounded with secrecy. This form of extramarital relationship between man and woman had nor yet been removed "behind the scenes" . 7 To a cerrnin extent, this also applied ro sexual relations in general, even marital ones. \'Vedding customs alone give us an idea of this. The procession inro the bridal chamber was led by the best men. The bride was undressed by the bridesmaids; she had ro rake off all finery. The bridal bed had ro be mounted in rhe presence of witnesses if rhe marriage w<ls ro be rnlid They were "laid

150

The. Cizi!i2ing Prf;(crs

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 onel L, , . ti o c) 11 Jv two men who had l!iven htr a kiss."' Nobodv rook chis joke amiss ,vere 1c '- 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 sprt< over rhe wholt of socierv. And onlv whtn rhe disrnnct berween adulrs and children grew did "sex educarion.. become an "acutt problem" Above. rht criricism ofErasmuss 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<lamenrnlly perverse in my \itw, thar daughters should be given insight inro all family circumstances. tvtn inro rhe rtlarions of rhe sexes. and iniriartd into things thar will fall to their lor in rhe en:nt rhar rhey should marry. following rhe example of Rousseau. rhis view degenerated ro rhe coarsest and n1osc repulsiYt caricacure in che philanrhropi:;r uf Ochl'.r n1ucht:rs exaggerate in rhe opposite direction by telling girls things which. as soon as rhe\ grow older. musr reveal themselves as totally false. As in all other cases, this is reprehensible Thc.r, .rhol!!d 11r1r /;:, !ffi!(htd !!/Jon a! :di in thr: J1rts,nc, 1f d1ildrtll. kast of all in a secretive -:vay which is liable tu arouse curiosiry Children should be lefr for as long as is ar all possible in rhe belief rhar an angel brings rhe morher her lirrle children. This legend. cusron1ary in son1e regions. is for btrcer rhan tht srory of the stork con-1n1on elsewhere Children. if rhey realh grow up under their mothers eyes. will seldom ask forward questions on chis poinr nor even if rhe mother is pre,enrtd by a childbirth from hming them about her If i:irls should larer ask how lirrlc: childn:n really come inro the world. rhey should be rolcl rhar rhe good Lord gives the mother her child, who h<Ls a guardian angel in heaven who cerrninly played an invisible pan in bringing us this great jo\ "You do nor need ro know nor could you understand how God gives children .. Girls musr be satisfied with such answers in a hundred rnses, and ir is rhe morhers rask rn occupy her daughters' rhoughts so incessantly with the good and beautiful rhat rhe1 are lefr no rime rn brood on such marrers A mother ought only once ro say s;riously: "Jr would nor be good for you rn know such a thing, and you

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

152

Th, Cil'i!i:.i11g Procc.;s

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

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. .

"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

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:

The Cizi!i:i11g P1r1c1:s.1

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 considerably in che course of \Xiescern history. The Church certainly fought ear!v for monogamous marriage. Bur marriage rook on this strict form as a soci;I inscicucion binding on boch sexes only ac a lace stage, when drives and impulses came under firmer and stricter control For only chen were excramariral relationships for men really ostracized socially, or ac lease subjected co absolute secreC\. In earlier phases, depending on che balance of social power between che excramarical relationships for men and sometimes also for women were caken more or less for granted by secular society. Up ro che sixteenth cenrurv we bear ofren enough chat in che families of the mosc honourable citizens che l.egicimate and illegicimace children of che husband were brought up rogecher; nor was anv secret made of cht difference before che children themselves. The man was no.t yec forced socially ro feel ashamed of his excramarical relationships. Despite all 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 father should provide for their future and, in che case of daughters, ;1rrange an honourable wedding. Bm no doubt chis led more than once co serious "misunclerscanding .. % b.ecween che married couples. The sirnacion of che illegicimace child was noc alwars and even-where cht same throughom the Middle Ages . For a long cime, nev.erchtless, was no 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 impulses, and ro che stronger pressure of social prohibitions Here, coo, the 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 children in a family differed from of che legicimace children onlv in che or at former did noc inherit che srarns of che father nor in general his

155
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 rlc:s derived its special character from che face chac. through . . rhese societies. che dominance of che husband over che wife was for che - cime . The social !}OWer of che wife was almost equal to chat ot the husband. nrst 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 was for che civilizing process, for the advance of cht frontier of shame and embarrassment and for the strengthening of social control over individuals . Along wich chis power-gain. che social ascent of ocher social groups necessiraced new forms of drive control for all ac a lewl midway between chose previously 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 in the restrictions on their drives for women and an increase in che rescriccions on cheir drives for men. Ac che same cime, ic forced both men and women to adopt a new and a stricter self-discipline in their relations with one another. In che famous novel La P1i11ecss1: dt Cli:zu, by Madame de la Fayecce. che Princess's husband, who knew his wife ro be in love wich che Due cit Nemours, savs: "I shall cruse only in you; ic is che path my heart counsels me ro cake. and my reason. \Vich a temperament like yours. hy lmzi11g y1J11 )1Ji!r !ilmty I sd
111n-rr;zct:r
)IJ!t

!iwirs than I could enforce .... "'

This is an example of che characceriscic pressure coward self-di sci pl int imposed on cht sexes by chis situation. The husband knows chat he cannot hold 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 of chis . He restrains himself Bm in doing so ht expects from her che same selfdiscipline 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 wift chis freedom. Ir is founded in che structure of society itself Bur ic also demands a new kind of behaviour. Ir produces very specific conflicts. And chere are ctrcainly enough women in chis society who make use of chis freedom" There is plentiful evidence chat in chis cour( aristocracy che rescriccion of sexual relationships ro marriage was very often regarded as bourgeois and as noc in keeping with cheir escace. Never(heless, all chis gives an idea of how directly a

lease noc che same pare of ic as che legitimate children Thac people in the upper

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The C il'i!i:i11g Proo:_;_;

Cht111g.:s in tin: Bth,nio11r of tin Sw1!t1r

Upper Classes in tht \Fest

15 7

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

. 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 ,e can be decermined ' as has been done here . On a smaller scale lhere are the cI1ang 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

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The

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 donor ..Tein ' He' ro'1rd ' which records dav bv dav and almost hour b\ hour the
, 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 conceilment of drives and impulses that is . demanded conrro l . r"stnint c ._ ' ' . . c1 iclLi'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 onin< ot. cone1r 1 1 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

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 <lCtion rn their own impulses. The shame

160

Tlk Cfrilizi11g PrrJCeS.l

Changes

Jil

1 toe

B,.'1, 1110111 1.1J t'v 1 1. . ,

5,.,ufar

Upt1tr
/

Clc1ssr:s in the \\!i:st

16l

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 <rnd public behaviour. And rhis splir is raken so much for gramed, becomes so compulsive a habir, rhar ir is hardly perceived in consciousness. In conjuncrion wirh rhis growing division of behaviour inro whar is and what is nor publicly permirred, rhe psychic srrucrure of people is also rransformed. The prohibirions supporred by social sancrions are reproduced in individuals as self-comrols. The pressure ro resrrain impulses and rhe sociogeneric shame surrounding rhem-rhese are rurned so complerely imo habirs rhar we cannot resist rhem even when alone. in rhe intimare sphere. Pleasure-promising drives and pleasure-denying taboos and prohibirions, socially generated feelings of shame and repugnance, come ro barrle wirhin rhe self. This, as has been memioned, is clearly rhe srare of affairs which Freud rried ro express by concepts such as rhe "superego" and rhe "unconscious" or, as ir is nor unfruitfully called in everyday speech, rhe "subconscious". Bur however ir is expressed, rhe social code of conduct so imprims irself in one form or anorher on human beings rhat ir becomes a consriruenc elemenr of rheir individual selves . And this element. rhe superego, like rhe personaliry srrucrure as a whole of individual people, necessarily changes constandy with rhe social code of behaviour and rhe srrucrure of sociery. The pronounced division in rhe "ego" or consciousness characrerisric of people in our phase of civilizarion, which finds expression in such rerms as "superego" and "unconscious", corresponds ro rhe specific splir in rhe behaviour which civilized sociery demands of its members. Ir marches rhe degree of regularion and restraint imposed on rhe expression of drives and impulses. Tendencies in this direction may develop in any form of human sociery, even in rhose which we call "primirive". Bur rhe srrengrh attained in socieries such as ours by rhis differentiarion and rhe form in which ir appears are reflecrions of a particular hisrorical developmem, rhe results of a civilizing process . This is whar is meant when we refor here ro rhe conrinuous correspondence between rhe social srrucrure and rhe srrucrure of rhe personaliry, of rhe individual self

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, u r 1I1 Jr . . . , 1 p l . micb 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 mav be exrremtlv fnurful an rnsrrucove. orr r11ese 1 11 1 . _ . 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 .. Accordi'ngl" aggressiveness which will be rhe subject of rh1s chaprer,. is tora I1ry. 1, 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 1inus Suel1 r1 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 1 Q\\ 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, larin" 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 ;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
02

164

Th, Cil'i!i:i11g Process

Chilnges in the B1:htll'iol!r of the Swdt1r Uf'i'er C!t1sses in the \Vest

165

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

enice: "\Var is a 1ovous 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 with their bodies rorn open' 10 < Now the pleasure lav in the closeness rhem ly1nu b " . _ 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:
f(H

was

Ol1t

of the funclamenrnl themes which recurred in these ver.

. ro nke d'Escouchy He was There 1,' ont example-the fate . of .Mathieu ._ _a and one of the numerous men ot the hfteenth century who wrote a 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:

il we tr; to I ' en1erges

. r nc'

our something
I Li
c

of his life from the documents. a totally ditterent

If you fear clearh mu will live in misery

Or in anmher plact, expressed \1ich panicular clarity and beamy 11" \\/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

, c1Escouc!11 as a councillor. juror and mayor \farrntu . . be"ins "' .. his . carter <LS mac;isrrart . c . . ,. I of rhe rn\1n of Pernnne benvten l+iO and \ ..150. From the bt!'innmg we nnc.
him 111 ,1 , . ,c d El. )- fou"hr out in lawsuirs. Firsr ir is dk l'rocur<Hor who accuses cl Escouct1y or reu 1,n 1 c . .

. kine! of fr.ucl with the famil1 of rht procurarnr of the ro,1n. Jean Fromenr. a

. . ' n1Lird e r. or of .. txcts et Hrem11raz .. The manir tor his pan rhreau:ns rhe "urrycn ' . ,. l -with inYesriwnion for n1anical The won1an obrains a W! O\\ or lb c e _ <:-' c: _ . . . . ccli1111 -llin" in rht hands ot rhe mJli date -c :::- 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 ,iisc,i Each rin1e there is a st:rious crin1irul case. and n1orc chan once 1 er 0 ( W'li' once a:-... <.1 1 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 Fromenrs son wounds dTscoucln Both engage curthroats rn rake each orhers lives \\'hen rhis len!'rhy feud ... our view ' ir is re11lacecl Lw is wounded p;1:'15L'S ntw arracks. This time the manir _. 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 <tn admission ot his !'Llilt by rnrrure and deni_ed prumuri1111. condemntcl. rthabilirarecl. condemned once again. until the rract or his existeno: vanishes from the documenrs This is one of innumerable examples. The well-known miniatures from the -'book of hours .. of rhe Due de Berry! i.' are another. .. People long belie\ecl. .. says its editor... and some are still convinced today. that the miniatures of the fifteenth cenrun- are the work of earnest monks or pious nuns working in the peace of their .monasteries. Thar is possible in certain cases. Bur. generally speaking, the situation was quire differe-nr 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

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 function. an attribme of their class, a source of pride. Not pan of their social
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 upward 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

dt Berry. who needed rhe murderer, had to request an amnesty. a lettrc cle 1{111issirlil

168

The Ciz'ilizi11g P1ocess

Ch(lllges in the Beh:ll"iOill of the Swt!ar Upper (/,mes i11 the W'tst

169

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 <lS much ro merchams or crafrsmen. As in all other counmes wirh relared social forms-for example, Ethiopia or Afghanistan roday-che noble had bands of followers who were ready for anyching. ".. During che day he is consramly accompanied by serrnms and arms bearers pursuic of his feuds' . The rr1t1trien, rhe cicizens, cannoc afford chis luxury, but chey have cheir relacives and friends' who come ro cheir help, ofren in great numbers, equipped wich every kind of awesome weapon rhac rhe local che civic ordinances, prohibit in vain . And chese burghers, roo, when chey have ro avenge themselves, are cit g1mn, in a srace of feud . 11 1 The civic aurhoriries sought in vain ro pacify rhese family feuds. The magistrates call people before rhem, order a cessacion of strife, issue commands and decrees. For a time, ,i[l is well; then a new feud breaks our, an old one is rekindled. Two c1ssocii.1 fall our over business; they quarrel, the conflicc grows ,iolem; one day they meet in a public place and one of them strikes the other dead. 11 ' An innkeeper accuses another of stealing his clients; they become mortal enemies . Someone says a frw malicious words about another: a family war develops . Nor only among rhe nobility were there family vengeance, private feuds, vendecras The fifreenth-cemury rowns were no less rife with wars between families and cliques The little people, roo-rhe hatters. rhe cailors, rhe shepherds-were <lll quick ro draw their knives. 'Ir is well known how violenr manners were in rhe fifteenth cenrury, with what brutality passions were assuaged, despite die fear of hell, despite the restraints of class distinctions and rhe chirnlrous semirnenr of honour. tht bo11ho111i, ,mJ 1/ soda!
n:/dfjrJlJS .. 11r1

_ . 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 r1 1e 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 grelf 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.
' 11-

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, <l moment ago chey were joking, now they mock each other, one word leads ro another. and suddenly from rhe midst of laughter rhev find themselves in rhe fiercest feud. Much of what appears ro intensity of their piety, the violence of their fear of hell, their guilt rheir penitence, che immense outbursts of joy and gaiety, the sudden flaring and rhe uncontrollable force of their barred and belligerence-all rhese, like rhe rapid changes of mood, are in reality symptoms of one and rhe same structuring of the emotional life. The drives, the emotions were vented more freely, more directly, more openly than later. Ir is only to us, in whom everything is more subdued, moderate <rnd calculated, and in whom social raboos are built much more deeply inro the fabric of our drive-economy as self-resrraims, that rhe unveiled intensity

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 aggressneness. 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 b uJu 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. 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 one 0 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.

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 , stronlv 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 sirr.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<JS caught and burned as we_,ll This was nor lw anv means re<1lly a worse spectacle rhan the burnrng of heretics. or rht ,rnd public extcurions of ewry kind. Ir only appears worse because rhe joy in torturing living crearnres is rnealed so nakedly and purposelessly. wirhout <lllY excuse before re,1son . The revulsion aroused in us b1: Eht mere repon of rhe institution. a reaction which musE be taken as "normal for the present-day standard of aHecr control, demonstrates once again rhe longterm chan<'t of rhe affecr-economv Ar rhe same time. ir enables us
to

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 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

;f

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<u please them wirh their hands. This urge muse be correcred, and they musE be raughr see only with their eyes."
to

see one

much all rhey

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. <lre embodimems of a social sEandard of <lttecrs wirhin of which all incliYidual panerns of affect regulation. however varied rhe\ rnav be, are contained; anyone who steps outside the bounds

_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

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

. To com1)lemenr chis, and at the same rime to provide a link with the clas::,, 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 "W lUC . Oj)tned to individuals of noble birth, and wirhin which it .- .. 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 l acnia l If-,, 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

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 ' 10 l . ' : 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 L ' "" L

.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
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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

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 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" disappeared from courdy languagt, so ir rnnishtd also from rht picrures and drawings inttndtd for rht courdy upptr class. In rht drawings of rht Ho11.rt-Br,r1h. which gi\t an idta of rhe fttling-srructure 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'. Thty art nor emphasized in a spirir of proresr. in rhe manner of lacer rimes, but shown as somerhing n:ry marrtr-of-fi1cr, pan of ont"s dailv surroundings, like rhe swrks nesr or rht church rower. One is no more painfui in life rhan' rht ocher. 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 rhar rhere also exisrtd peasams and crafrsmen working for chem, and bei.:i.:ars and cripples wirh optn hands. There was no rhrtar w rht noble in chis. n:i; did he identify in any way wirh rhtm: tht sptcracle evoked no painful fetling. And ofrtn enough rht yokel and peasant wert rhe objecrs of pleasantries ' 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 comes a series of pages showing how a knighr spends his life, his ocrnparions and his pleasures Measured by lacer rimes. rhey all bear wirntss w rhe same srnndard of repugnance and the same social arrirndes Ar rhe beginning, for example, we see people born uncltr Sarurn . In rhe foreground a poor fellow is disembowelling a dead horse or perhaps curring off rhe usable mear His rrousers have slipped down somewhar as ht bends: pare of ,. ' 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

" rnroudlr btside him: ar his ocher stdt a monk ll1 his_ cowl holds out a mare I11n,,. . . th-x w him Behind him ridt rhe kmghr and rwo ot his men. On rhe l( forge crt . , . '. ,. . . , 11 1 11 snnds rht "" nallows wnh a boclv hanL:rng rrom 1r, and rht \vhetl rop o1c 1 j1c , , . , - , , ' . 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

( l1t , 'rticks II1 . - rhe ocher in feErers ,-\ farm workc:r is roiling ar a waEercourse .. 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 . ri"s is beinu ltd rn rhe ...._, L:allows. an armtd man wirh a teacher in his cap a rrn1n in tei . . .

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, "ll ' Jn 1 ttw builclinns wine .11 c- , Tht farmer is seen 11loughinL: ._ '- a held: he looks round ar die deer. which are jusr running across his field . High up ro ont side is rht casde: on rhe ocher, smaller hill opposire. wheel and gallows wirh a body. and birds circling The gallows. rhe symbol of rht knighr's judicial power. is pan of rhe background of his lift Ir may nm be \ery imporranr, but ar any rare, ir is nor a parricularly painful sighr. Sentence. txecurion, dearh-all chest art immediarely 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 fields for us if vou were all lords-_ asks Berrhold von Regensburg in one of his sermons in rhe -d1irreenth centun-. 121 And elsewhere he dividini.: even more clearly: I shall cell vou Chrisrian folk how Almighry God has ordered Chrisrc:ndom. inw rtn kinds of people. "and whar kinds of services Ehe lower owe the hiL:l1er as rheir rulers. The firsr d1fet are rhe highesr and mosE exalred whom 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 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 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 all ptoplt are equal. Bur perhaps for char very reason rhe sighr of rhe labourers has abom ir nmhing shameful or embarrassing. A picrnre of rhe shows rht pleasures of rhe lords. A young lady of rhe nobiliry crowns her young friend with a wrearh; he draws her w him. Another pair go walking in a close embrace. The old senant woman pulls an angry face w1mes of rhe vounu jJeOjJle Nearb\ at rhe lo\e o'. . rhe servants are \\orking. One of

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 <ll1ocher sphere. Ir is nor the events themselves, which in part are no clifferem coclay. but above all rhe fact and the manner of their portrayal that underline the changed tmorional strucwre. The upper classes of later phases did nor have such chings drawn . Such drawings did noc appeal co cheir feelings. They were noc .. beautiful .. They did noc form pare of "'art"' In later periods it is at mosc among the Durch (who depicc middle-class. specifically uncourtly strata) tliac we find. for example, in che work of Breughel a standard of repugnance char permics him to bring cripples. peasams, gallows or people relieving chemselves inco his picrnres. Bm che standard chere is linked with very differem social feelings chan in these pictures of the late medieval upper class. Here. it is a marcer of course thac the labouring classes exisc. Thty art even indispensable figures in che landscape of knightly exiscence. The lord Ji\es in their midsc. Ic does nm shock him to see che serYant working beside him Nor does ic shock him-if the latter amuses himself in his own way. On the contrary, it is an imegrnl part of his self-esceem ro have chese other people moving about him who are noc like him. whose master he is, This feeling is expressed ;1gain and again in che drawings. There is scarcely one of them in which c1111rtfJis occupacions and gestures are noc contrasted co the vulgar ones of che lower classes . \\!hecher he rides, hums, loves or dances, whatever the lord does is noble and Clil!rtois, whatever che servants and peasants do coarse and uncouch. The feelings of the medieval upper class did nm yec demand chat everyching vulgar should be suppressed from life and therefore from pictures . Ic was gratifying for the nobles co know chemselves different from ochers. The sight of contmsts heightt11ed jliJ in lfri11g: and we should remember thac. in a milder form, something of che pJe,1sure taken in such conm1scs is sci!! co be found, for example. in Shakespeare.

ii! the Bdv1io11r 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 strengt I1 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
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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 <lrms and banne,rs. among them che imperial banner. At the centre. surrounded by his knights we see the kin" or even the emjJeror himself. A messenger on horseback (_, ' b is just brinc,in" him a messa<'e Bue at che gate of che camp, beggar women sit with their their hands. a man in armour on horseback brings in a fettered. Furcher back we see a peasant ploughing his field Omsicle the rampart, bones lie abom, animal skelecons. a dead horse with a crow and a wild clog earing ic. Close ro a wagon a crouching serrnnt relieves himself Or we se; knighcs actacking a village under che sign of Mars. In the

178

in the Bchdl'ifJ!ll"

o/ the
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Sw1!ar Uf'Jicr C!cJS.res i11 the Wi:st

179

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 . 0 l a sir peacefullv . war . n t 1e root the srorks _ 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 farmers 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.
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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

. l ot slow dance . Behrnd stand three bovs makrng music; there is a table k !11C l]{" . 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 eaerlv mto the bath \nth mtke<l.. \"ho o o .. at a naked girl who JS JUSt cl1mbmg <.... .,: As ibove an old female servant who is bringing fruits and drinks surYeys Ium. w1me of rhe . voung tl1e lo\'e c' '-' jJeo1Jle with an angrv ._, - face. And as the masters arouse _ diernselves in the foreground, so do the servants in the background . One of them falls upon a maid who lies on the ground with her skirts already pulled up He looks round once more ro see whether there is anyone nearby. On the other side, around, flinging their arms rw 0 \ oLH1" o fellows of the common !Jeople are dancing <and legs like .Morisco dancers; a third plays for them.. Or we set, likewise in the open country, a small srone bathhouse with a small yard in front of it surrounded by a stone wall. \Ve can see a little beyond it. A is indicated, bushes, a row of trees leading inro the distance. In r'.1e yard young couples are sirring and walking about; one of them admires the tashionfountains, others converse, one of the young men with a falcon on his hand Dogs, a little monkey. Potted plants \Vt can see inro the bathhouse through a large, open, arched window. Two young men and a girl sit naked in the water, side by side, and talk. A second girl, undressed, is just opening the door ro climb inro the water with them. In large open rnulr of the bathhouse a boy sirs playing something t0 the bathers on his guitar.. Under the arch is a tap from which tht water runs . In front of che little house, drinks are placed ro cool in a small tub of water. On a table next rn it are fruits and a gobler; at the table is a young man, a wreach in his hair and his head supported elegantly on his hands. Above, from the second floor of the bathhouse. a maid and a servant watch the masters enjoying themselves In this picture, as one can see, the erotic relation between men and women is much mort open than in the later phase, where it is hinted at in social life, as in pictures, in a way rhac is comprehensible to all bur nevertheless half-concealed. Nakedness is noc yet associated with shame ro the extent that, ro circumvent internal and external social controls, it can only appear in picrurts sentimentally, as rht costume, so to speak, of the Greeks and Romans. Bm neither is rhe naked body depicted here in the way it sometimes appeared in lacer rimes, in "private drawings" passed secretly from hand ro hand. These love scenes are anything but "obscene" Love is presented here like anything else in the life of the knight, rournamenrs, hums, campaigns or plunderings. The scenes are nor particularly stressed: one does nor feel in their representation anything of the violence, the tendency ro excite or gratify a wish-fulfilment denied in life that is characteristic of everything "obscene" This picture does nor come from a repressed mind: it does nor reveal something "secret" by violating
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. irher in his har others have garlands in their hair. Perhaps we are looking large ttC< '

,y

1 :1.

'

(._,

<....

180

The Cil'i!izing Proccrs

i11 the Beha1io11r of the Semien- UP/Jf:r Classes i11 the \Vut

181

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

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 iined tr unres , ahsol!!t1: sense. In this respect rhere is no zero point. The person without restrictions is a phantom Admittedly, the narure, suengrh, and elaboration of rhe prohibitions, controls and depend-_ enc1e- cliin<'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 go111r.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 ones 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

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

Tbt Cil'ili::;ing Proc,.rs

Sta!t Forl/latio11 m1cl Cil'ilizr1tio11

189

Medici rhe patricians and senate in Florence, or how rhe Tudors did rhe same to rhe nobilinir is the individual a"en and parliamenr in Em;land. Evernvhere ,.,,, 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<iviour, it emerged quire clearly how closely this change was linked to the formation of rhe hierarchical social .order with the absolute ruler and, more broadly, his court at its head. 3 For the court, roo, rhe residence of the ruler, rook on a new aspect and a new significance in \'Vestern society, in a movement rhar flowed slowly across Europe, ro ebb away again, earlier here and later there, at about the rime we call rhe 'Renaissance" In the movements of chis period the courts gradually became the acmal model and style-setting centres . In the preceding phase they had had ro share or even wholly relinquish this function ro other centres, according to the prevailing balance of power, now ro the Church, now ro the towns, now to the courts of the great vassals and knights scattered across the country. From this time on, in German and particularly in Protestant regions, the courts of the central

. 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 1 arrer _ . _
._1

s still shared their function with the universities turning out the ,,urhon tl e . . . . .

500

of

. 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. 1 rninsio 0 , , _, "' . _ . .. 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
ai

190

191

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 deree-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
<.. '-

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 .. tle "r1clual formation of this absolmist-counh- socien was accom1xrnied 111at 1 "' ' .111 st.ormation of rhe drive-econonw and conduct of rhe upper class in the bra tr , . . : of "ci,ilizarion .. has been shown bv a senes ot examples. Ir has also d1rcctJO 11 ' . _ ndic ted how closelv this increased restraint and regulation ot elemental'\' heen 1 '1 " . 1 . bound Uj) wid1 increased social conscrnint, the \.;rowing dependence: or urge:> ::i
1

<...-

....._,

nobilirv tie on rhe cemral lord, rht king or prince. 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 <l region, rhe greater rhe increase in prices. All classes whose revenue did not increase at the same rate, all those on a fixed income, were rhus placed ar a disadrnnrage, above all the feudal lords \\ho received fixed rems from their estates

192

Tht C il'i!i:ing

Prf/Ct.i.'

Stall For111atio11 t111d Cil'i/i::;,/fion

19.'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'ar1rL1s 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 . . d.rnan- degr . increased to . an ' exrraor cl1t growrng circulacion of monev ' ee 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 < cs: 1 more or less automatic and constant increase in the ir1c 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

ti

talents of individuals, and ofren chance. The growrh of rhe financial and power chances dmt gradually arrached rhemselves to rhe monarchy was
..IonPn<Jn'
. l

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<rnces of the central funcrwn was therefore the for che pacification of a given cerritory, greater or smaller as rhe " 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

. - 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 v1sal . 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<rnenr . . '. . u ony . ie formanon rnsnnmons Even \Villiam ' . onqueror wenr to En<'! cl . l . . C . "'an \vrr l an army cons1strng onlv parrh of v1ss1l tne l rest bemu piid k l B . ' ' ' s, tie . . ' mg 1ts. etween char rime and rhe esrablishment of srandin rhe central lords. centuries intervened. A prerequisite for such armie: aparr rom rhe b urowmu rt\.. ' . "' enue from raxes. was surplus manpower-rhe c ! 1screpancv the b t. b . . ' num er o peop1e and rhe number and profirabilitv of JO s Iar sociery . available . . rn a parr1cu which we know roday as AGre,is sufterrng. from surpluses of this kind. e.g. Switzerland and I.Jares f ermanv to anyone who could afford them . Much later. o Fre . . . : SUj)jJ1ie cl

It fo s been calculmed chat a fortune of 22,000 francs in rhe year 1200 was
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 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
1
1

! dtnck rhe Greats recrurnng racrics showed rhe solurions open co a prince \\ ien rhe manpower anulable in his rerriron- was nor sufficienr for 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 5 t 00 was to l l 1e a cl vantage of rhe central o o l1orse T ack . Th 1 aurhorirv. 1 1e krng, who rn rhe France of the early Caperian period, for ex.ample. was nor muc1 1 .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
to

no blle lamdv . . Iar cases ro wrn . the crown and elms gain access managed m pMcJCu t 1ese power chances depended on a wide range of facrors including rhe

19-i

thereby changed from relatively free warriors or knights into paid officers in the senice 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 sunival <me! functioning. They roo were bound ro rhe social regularity with which rhey had to live. This regularity and the social strucrure corresponding ro it emerged soontr or later with numerous modifications in almost ewry- country of the \\'lest Bm it rakes on clear delineation only if observed in rhe process of emergence rhrough a concrete example . The development in France. rhe country in which this process, from a panicular moment on. rook place in rhe mosr direct form. will serve here as an example.

Dynamics of Feudalization

Introduction
. 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<HS parncu ar y srrong es1c e r 1e "'_ . so beside the German emperor. This consrellarwn \V<lS the: ourcomc or ,1 \try lone
L" _, __ "

If we compare France, England and rhe German. Empire at rhe middle of

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 prons-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

State F1,m1c1ti1;11 and Cil'ilizt1tio11

197

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 <l stronger Frankish influence, above all those t0 the north of the Loire, wgether with Poiwu, Berry, Burgundy, Sainwnge and Franche-Comte.; Moreover, the eastern frontiers esrablished by the Treaty of Verdun (843) and then by the Treaty of J\feerssen (870) for the western Frankish empire. \vere very different from the borders between what gradually emerged as "France" and "Germany" or "Iraly". The Treaty of Verdun fixed as the frontier of the western Frankish empire a line leading from the present Gulf of Lions in the south, and approaching the western side of the Rhone, in an approximately northerly direction as far as Flanders. Lorraine and Burgundy--except for the duchy west of the Saone-and therefore also Aries, Lyons, Trier and Metz thus lay outside the borders of the western Frankish empire, while t0 rhe south the county of Barcelona was still within its frontiers.' The Treaty or Meerssen made the Rhone the direct frontier in the south between the western and the eastern Frankish empires; then the frontier followed the Isere and, further north, the Moselle. Trier and Metz thus became frontier wwns, as, t0 the north, did Meerssen, the place from which the treaty rook its name. And the frontier finally ended north of the Rhine estuary in the region of southern Friesland.

:o;t they were states,_ peoples, nations in the making. The most

-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
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 1 O screngt 1 . . . . \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

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 \\'<!S thrtattntd by no stronger external fot. At rbe first opportunity therefore. as soon as the cemral power showed the slid1rest sign of weakness th_, e local ruler or bis descendants soughr to demonstrate their righr and abiliry ro rule the disrricr entrusred ro chem. and rhtir independence of rht central aurhorirv. Over many cenrurits rht samt parrtrns and rrends show rhemseln:s over again in chis appararus for ruling. The rulers over parts of che central lord's ttrriwry. rhe local dukts or chieftains, are at all rimes a dangtr ro d1t cemral powtr. Conquering princts and kings. being strong as army leaders and procecrors against external fots. srrive. successfully ar first. ro confront this danger within the arta rhty conrrol. \Vhtre possible: they rtplace rhe existing local rulers \\"ith rhtir own friends. relations or servants. \Vichin a short rime ofren within a gtneracion. rht samt thing happens again The erscwhil; rtprtsenrariws of che cenrral ruler do their best ro cake over rht arta encrusted ro chtm. as if ic were rht hertdicary properey of rhtir family J\iow ic is the (1;111e.r }'t1!C!!ii. once the ovtrseers of che royal palace. who want to btcome the indtpendent rulers of a rtgion: now it is che margraves, dukes, counts. barons or oHicials of cht king. In repeated waves che kings. screngchened b\ conquesrs. send their crusted friends. relations and servants inro che councrv as their tnvoys. while the pre\iuus envoys or dJt:ir descendants iighc just rtgularh ro esrablish rht heredirary narure and rht facrual independence of cheir region. which was originally a kind of fief. On rhe ont hand rhe kings wtrt forced to delegate power over part of their rerrirnry co ocher individuals. Tht scare of milirary. economic and transporc arrangements ar char rime lefr rhtm no choice. Socien- offered chtm no sources of monty rnxts sufficienr for chem co keep a paid army or paid official delegates in remote regions. To pay or reward chtm chey could only allocate chem land-in amounts largt enough ro ensure char rhty were actually stronger than all che ocher warriors or landowners in che area. On the ocher hand che vassals represtnting the central po1wr were restrained by no oach of alltgianct or loyalty from asserting rht independence of cheir area as soon as che relative power positions of che ctnrral ruler and his dtltgates shifrtd in favour of che lacctr. These terrirorial lords or local princes in tfftct own che land once comrolled by che king Exctpt when chreartned from omsidt, chey
L '-"

l99
longer
, 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

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 1bundmce cbounh che\ hmt 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 Ta1 an rn . _ . . "bl <inh b\" tht milirnrv subi"ugation ot che most powerful cernconal lords: poss1 e , . . - . and the unexpectedly quick collapse: of opposition ro Irnly [in 19_;_6] is txplamecl nor ]east by che face that in chis feudal and predominand y agraf!an region. che tll"" ] cencltncies of che incli\idual cerrirnries were multipl1td as soon as rhc: cenrn c'1 central ruler failed ro fulfil his mosc important cask. char of resisting che external enenw. chus showing himself weak" In .European history uacts of chis mechanism art ro be found as early as rht Merovin12:ian epoch. Here. already. art prtstnr ct1t beginnings of a dt\elopmtnt which che higher imptrial offices into htredirary forms of rule'' E\en ro this period che principle applies char: "The grtacer tht actual economic and social power of chese officials became. the less could che monarchy conremp_lace transferring the offict outside the family on cht death of its incumbtnr In other words. large pares of cht cerrirory passed from the conrrol of the cenrral lord co char of the local rultrs Sequences of chis kind emerge: more clearly in cht Carolingian period. Charlemagne. much like rht tmpc:ror of Abyssinia. replaced che old local dukes wherever he could bv his own .. officials. cht counts. \Vhen. within Ch,1rlema12:ne's Iifecime. counrs showed their self-will and their effecrive control the terriroff encrusted ro chem. he dtspatchecl a new wavt of people from his enrouragt as" row! emo\s. missi cl1Ji11i11ici. ro supervise chem lincler Louis che Pious che of was already beginning ro becomt hereditary. Charlemagne's successors were no longer able 'ro a\"oid facrual recognition of the claim co hertdicariness_s And che royal envoys themselves lose cheir funccion. Louis che Pious was forced co withdraw che missi tl11mi11ici, Under this king who lacked the milirnrv renown of Charlemagne, che cemrifugal tendencies within the imperial and org<mizacion emtrged very clearly.. They reachtd a first peak under Charles III, who in 88'7 could no longer protect Paris from his external enemies. che Danish Normans, by che power of che sword, and scarcely by che powtr of money le is characcerisric of chis tendency char with che end of the dirtcr lint of che Carolingians. che crown went first ro Arnulf of Carimhia.

over <i,gain, assuming che

200

Tht Ciz'i/i::;i11g Pmccu

State For111atio11 and Cil'ifi::;ation

20 l

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

were esrablished with rheir fromier roughly in rhe region of Pressburg sli\i] slowlv [.,ran ' ' To the easr, in rhe central Danube area, the Hunuarians o . be.1;an to serde permanendy Ortos milirary successes were marched by his power inside rhe empire.
n

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

it:
r

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

ke

;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.

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

Tlk Cirilizing Pmcu.1

L

20.'i

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<ll1S of kttping mtn in his senice rhan bv handing om territory to rhem with concessions of immunity, rhar is. them to him by making chem more and more independent. and continuing w reign by abdicating more and more." 1 ; Thus the funcrion of rhe monarchv irremediably downhill. and whateYer its occupants did to impron: their in the end wrnecl against them 7 The former rerrirory of the western Frankish Carolingians. rhe embrro of what was to become France, had at rhar rime disintegrar;d into a number of separately ruled areas. After a prolonged struggle between various territorial rulers of roughly equal strength. a kind of equilibrium had been established. \'Vhen rhe dirtcr line of the Carolingians became extinct. rhe chieftains and territorial lords elecrtd rhe one of their number whose houst had outdone rhe others in rhe ficd1t b against rhe hostile Normans, and had rhus long been rhe strongest rim! of rhe weakening monarchy In a similar way in rhe easrem Frankish regions. \\irh rhe end of the Carolingians. rhe local princes who had successful!;- defended rhe

. , ,,. 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 1rorracred 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!rt1d\ 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 - "' AqL11r1in,, 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 . . . . . . "re1rer either Ir was onh from rhe tam1h possess10ns and rernror1 rh<tr was n0 c ( he drew regular income From orher territories he drew. ar rhe most. ecclesiastical dues. \VhaL he received beyond char in his rnpaciry as king"' was minimal. Moreover, rhe factor which in rhe German rerriwries constantly restored rhe preponclcrance of rhe cenrralizing royal funcrion over rhe. ctntrifug,11 rendtncies of rhe rerrirorial rulers, their funcrion as military leaders m rhe struggle agamsr external enemies and in rhe conquest of new land. ceased at a relatively early smut w be of importance in rhe western Frankish area. And this is one of rhe reasons why rhe disintegrnrion of rhe royal domain into inclependenr territories occurred earlier here and, ar firsr, in a more radical form. The eastern Frankish region was exposed for far longer ro arrack and rhrear by foreign tribes Hence rhe 'kings nor only consrnnrh rt-emerged as leaders in WMS foughr in common b\ a number of tribes w protect their lands. bur rhey also had the opporrunir;. of invading ;md conquering new lands. which they then clisrribured. So rhey were ar first able to keep a relatively large number of retainers and \'assals 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

5111te

Fr1m1atio11 and Ci1i!i:atio11

205

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 .ts 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

forn1 a srrong er unit ' and bv _ which social processes were formed the central . rhe laruer units of rule that we designate bv the concept of crans ot 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 l1ll rhe "A"e of Absolunsm contrasts shar1Jlv with rhe msrabd1n ot phase " ' . 0 . .. _ , .. ' the central aurhonry m the feudal_ phase . . . \Vh<it was ir in rhe structure ot soc1ery rhar favoured centralizar10n m the later , . bLir srren"thened the forces opposing centralization in rhe earlier one' o _ 1 This question rakes us ro the centre of rhe dynamics ot social processes. of rhc han"es in human interweaving and interdependence in conjunction wirh which and drive srrucrure were al re reel in rhe direction of "civilization". 9. \Xlhar constantly gave the decentralizing forces in medieval, particularly early medieval. society their preponderance over rhe centraliz'.ng tendencies is not difficult ro see. and has been emphasized by hisrorians ot rhar epoch m a variety of ways Hampe, for example, in his account of rhe European High

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

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 . " . . ,. . . . . . rer11ost themsehes as f'uncnonanes or j)rocessmg and d1srnbunon m the 1 1. 5,()\1') l 11 " .. . 0 ( rhe uoods from rhe 1)fimar\' ixoducer to the hnal consumer. How and, passage 1 o . . . . . . , . , .., 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 .... . <T(lW lonuer when work and disrriburion art ditteremiarccl. and which cl .. ii c ' , _ rrtin circumsrances rends ro reinforce rhis differenriarion. If rht rerms l!i1(lt r Ct ' "barter economy" and "money tconomy' art used. it can easily appear as if an absolute antithesis exists between these rwo economic forms, and such an has unleashed man\' "tned 1ntirhtsis ' a dis11ure In rhe actual social process rhe 'chains between production and consumprion change and differenriart \try ,,raduallr. nor ro mention rhe facr char in some secrors of \Vesrern sociery 0 .. economic communication o\er long distances and rims rhe use ot money ne\'er enrirelv ctased Thus, ,ery gradually. rhe money secror of rhe economy increases again ... as do the differentiation of social funcrions, rht inrerdepc:ndence of different regions. and the dependence of large popularions on one another: all rhese are differtnr aspecrs of rhe same social process. And so too rht change in the form and appararus fCir ruling rhar has been discussed is nothing other than a further aspecr of rhis process. The structure of the cenrral organs corresponds to rhe srructure of rhe division and interweaving of functions. The suengrh of rhe wirhin societies based centrifugal rendencic:s cowards local f'olitical predominant!\' on a barter economy corresponds to rht degree of local <c11no11;1c
L L

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

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 consening 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

Std!t For111atio11 c111cl Ciz'i/i::;ation

209

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 \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"
1

. 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

.
1

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
L , , _ L.

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
21

one, it results direcrly from is part of a long ernlution the 'nawral occurrences" or quasi-mechanical forces and

Elsewhere in his study La .rociJt( ffr1r!C1!e be says:

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

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

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"inac1n" 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

21 () 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

211 rhe Grman tribes overran a large part of the Celts' rerriron-, which in . II. 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 . , nclsrill 1r ro a sr.1 ' 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 encl
L , L _

If in rhe year 800 a political propher ha<l possessed a map of Europe as we can now reconscrucr ic. ht might well have been misled imo pre<licring char rhe whole eastern half of rhe Cominem from the Danish peninsula rn che Peloponnese was destined rn become a Sla,onic Empire nr ar lease a po,verful group of Sla\'Cinic coumries. From rhe Elbe esrnary co rhe Ionian sea ran an unbroken line of Slarnnic peoples chis seems ro mark rhe fromier of Germanic cerrirnry. c;
Their movement came to a srandsrill somewhat later chan that of the Arabs. Then rhe struggle long remained undecided. The frontier between Germanic and Slarnnic tribes now moved somewhat forward, now back again. By and large the Slavonic wave was held at the Elbe from about 800 onwards \Vhar may be called the "originally seeded territory" of the west had thus. under rhe rule and leadership of Germanic tribes, preserved its frontier against the migrating tribes. Representatives of earlier waves defended it against chose following, rhe last waves of migration that passed across Europe. These, prevented from advancing forrhtr. slowly settled outside the borders of the Frankish empire. And so a fringe of populated regions formed about rhe latter in large areas in rhe interior of Europe. Previously nomadic tribes rook possession of rhe land. The great migrations slowly came to rest, and the renewed intrusions of migrating peoples char occurred from rime to rime, by the Hungarians and tinaily rhe Turks, foundered sooner or later on the superior defensive techniques and the strength of chose already in possession 13.. A new situation had been created. There were no longer any empty spaces in Europe. There was virtually no usable land-usable in terms of the agricultural techniques then available-that had noc been pre-empted. By and large Europe, and above all its large interior regions, was now more completely populated than ever before, even if incomparably less densely than in the centuries thac followed. And there is every indication char population increased to the same extent as the upheavals accompanying the great migrations abated. This changed the whole svsrem of tensions between and within the various peoples . . In late antiquity rhe popular ion of the "old cultural regions .. declined more or

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

2l2

Thr: Cizi/i::;ing Prncess

State Formc1tio11 and Cfri/i::;c1tio11

213

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

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 ' ._ Ivem 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: amona had to an end, one after another all the bb b the different 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 L

5tdfr Fom1t1ti11n and Cizi!i::atio;1

but by and large rhe\ coo. from die ninth centunchrear ro rhe survival of rhis empire To rhe east of France lay rhe German "Imperium" which under che ,,- be emperors had again 1o;rown 11owtrfuL \virh minor exce1)[ions rhe fronr 1 quarter of rhe rhirteenrh cenrury .

215

ncer ,. . . . '11<' ot rhe elevend1 ctntunNorman kn11o;hrs were 1o;o111g ro southern 111 n 1 r}1e bCi! t;
L
L.

n"l colonizarion wenr rhe exrernal conquesr of new rerrirory elsewhere. By

L-

<

r;J hire rhemselves our as warriors to individual princes,

In 1029 one of

. . . . u rween 1r and rhe wescern Frankish emp1rt scarcely moved trom rhe renth ro the

r hem

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

\yis ' enfeoffed for his services wirh a small piece of land on rhe norrhern .

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. . 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 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. 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 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 was rhe gre:ar age of cleforesrarion. of rhe inrernal conquesr of ntw land, in 2 France. ' Abour 1300 rhis movemem slowed clown again

:ere rhey ro be sustained ro a firring srnndard on rheir farhers land' Eighr of 1 rherefore went to southern Irn!v. . and rhere obrained in rime whar was 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 Guiscards 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 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 or small bands crossed rhe mounrains: rhen, rhey gradually became armies, The Arabs, splir internally, offered slighr. sporadic resisrance . In l 085 Toledo was taken. and in 109-i Valencia under rhe leadership of El Cid, onh ro be losr shordy afrerwards. The struggle was waged back and forth. In 1095 a French mum was invesred wirh rhe reconquered rerrirory of Portugal. Bm ir was only 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 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

IV
Some Observations on the Sociogenesis of the Crusades
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

216

The Cil'ili:::ing Pmcess

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 surJ 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 cl1at i's rulers ortecinu labourers 1m1xoved cond1t10ns. JJosp1tes ' b . . . Be char as it may, what is above all characrerisnc of the operarmg t liir nor only was a "reserve army" of bondsmen or serfs .formrng m rh1s here 1s ' ' . . but also a "reserve arnw" sooety, of rhe 11pptl' c/,1ss, of .k111ghcs . w1rhour property, l10 Lit enouuh ro maintain their standards . Only or w1c b . lil this way can the narnre 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

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<n'le r, the Christian faith. bb or
Le

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

218

The Cil'iIi:;i11g Pmc,.c_r

Std!, F11m1t1!i1Jn

,//Id Ciz'i!i::c1tio11

219

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 51mpe . _ . _ . . d es1re for .i means of subs1srence appropnate to one's class was hi"her llj} a l . . ' 'c( c rive tor enlarged domrn1011, fur "more" land and so more social !}0\Vtr as well Th' 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 anclmarket 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
_ IS

!J1Jwert-ul n11r 1 1 a ril\ . . w1.th the lar.!!eSt retinue: he was at once armv . leadtr and
l

. because tstate owners were in a certain sense opposed ro one another, Pre ciselv

as states are roday, the acquisition of new land by one neighbour represenred

1!JW'

---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

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 - e1c]1 beinu <uard agarnst ex1x1ns1on bv others. and consramlv 0 constanth. on e> 0 ne=>1 h k n" to enlarue seeic c his own jJossessions. \\!hen a societv . has once betn . put in such
<..--

allies and j}Otenrial entm1es ot one another. fh1s. therefore. 1s l . .5 jJOtential .

'

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

5t.1h FormC1ti1111

<111cl

Cil'ilizc1tirJ11

221

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

chem a modicum of freedom; bur mostly rhey expecred and demanded the services and rribures as from rheir own bondsmen and tenants. Bur the <ame lirion of such )eO!Jle cham;ed the power re lar10ns . li1p . b erween rlie lorcl an d ' nained srrennrh through numbers and gradually le low.er cliss r1y' newcomers co n cl new rinhrs in blooclv and often protracted struggles. These struggles obra1ne b . . .., . . , ke our earliest in Italy, somewhat later 111 Flanders: 111 HbO 111 Cremona, 111 in Milan, in 1069 ar Le Mans, in 1077 ar Cambrai. in 1080 ar Saintin 1099 in Beamais, in 1108-9 in in 1112 i_n Laon,_in 11.27 Saint-Omer These dares, togerher wirh those ot the knights_ expans10n, give il immession of rhe internal tensions which kept soc1err 111 mor10n 111 rh1s a rrener, t . These were rhe first srrugg'.es for liberation by working rown-dwellers. That rhey were able, afrer some detears, 111 rhe1r struggles wJth rhe_ warnor class in rhe most diverse areas of Europe, to secure rights of their own, hrsr a limned and rhen a substantial degree of freedom, shows how great was opporm111ry that social development placed in their hands . And this fact, slow tlo\ver workinn urban srrara ro ]JOlirical auronomv and hnallv-hrsr m nse o ' b' the form of rhe professional middle classes-ro political leadership, provides the ker ro almost all rhe srrucrural peculiarities distinguishing \Vesrern societies rhose of rhe Orient, and giving rhem their specific stamp. Ar rhe beginning of rhe eleventh century there were, essentially, only rwo dasses of free people, rhe warriors or nobles and rhe clergy; below them existed only bondsmen and serfs . There were "those who pray, those who fight, those who work".' 0 Bv about 1200. rhar is to say, in rhe course of rwo centuries or even only om: and .a half-for like forest clearance and colonial expansion rhis movement roo accelerated after l 050-a large number of artisan settlements or communes had secured rights and jurisdiction, privileges and auronomy. A third class of free men joined rhe orher rwo. Society expanded, under che pressure of land shortage and population increase. nor only extensively bur intensively as well; ir became differentiated, generated new cells, formed new organs, rhe rowns. 20 . Bur with rhe increasing differentiation of work, with the new, larger markers rhar now formed. with rhe slow process of exchange over longer distances, grew rhe need for mobile and unified means of exchange \\!hen rhe bondsman or small tenant brought his rribure direct ro his lord, when rhe chain between producer and consumer was short and without intermediaries, society needed no unit of calculation, no means of exchange to which all orher exchanged objects could be related as ro a common measure. Bur now with rhe 0 vradual severance of craftsmen from rhe economic unit of rhe wirh rhe formation of an economically independent arrisanry and rhe exchange of products through several hands and down longer rhe network of exchange-acrs became more complicated. A unified object of exchange was needed. \\!hen rhe differenriarion of labour and exchange grows more complex

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

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-_ r 1-c understood bv itself. bm univ from rhe srandpoinr or . rht: srrucmre or _ _ . cannot 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

PmLess

225
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!; ver1an ' . . . . 0 . 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.

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 <mcient world, the Mediterranean, was closed, primarily through Arab expansion, to a large number of peoples. Overland transport and internal conneccions rook on an entirely new significance. This generated a pressure for land rransporr to be developed to promote interdependence and exchange. And if subsequently. as in antiquity. sea connections such as those between Venice and Byzantium. che

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:
' , ....

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 <ll1\" form of concentrared acriviry: and more especially it drives free bbourtrs out of rhe in which the slaves are engaged Just as, by Gresham"s law. bad coins drive om good. so it has been found by experience that. in any given occuparion or range of occupations. slave-labour drives out free: so rhm it is even diitirnlr ro find recruits for the higher branches of an occupation if it is necessary for them w acquire skili by sening an apprenticeship side-by-side wirh slaws in the lower This leads rn grave consequences: for the men driven our of these occupations are nor themselves rich enough rn Jin: on the labour of slan:s They then:fore rend to form an intermediate class of idlers "-ho pick up a living as best they can-the class known to modern economists as '"poor whites or '"white trash" and ro students of Roman history as "clienres- or faex Romuli - Such a class rends to emphasize both the social unresr cind the military and aggressive character of a slave-srnre A slave society is rherefore a society di,ided sharplv into rhree classes: masters. porn whires and slmes: and rhe middle class is an idle class, liYing on the communir) or on warfare. or on the upper Bm there is srill another result. The general sentiment againsr producrin: \\ork leads to a stare of affairs in which rhe slaYtS rend rn be rhe only producers and the occupations in \\"hich they engage the only industries of the country In other words. the communiry "ill rely for irs wealth upon occupations which rhemsehes admit of no change or adaprnrion ro circumsrnnces, and which. unless they supply deficiencies ot labour by breeding. are in perpernal need of capital. But this capital cannot be found elsewhere in the community Jr musr rherefore be sought abroad: and a slave community will rend. either w engage in c1ggressive warfare, or to become indebted for rnpirnl rn neighbours with a free-labour system -: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-uorking 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 feucl1l ' 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 <Incl middle srrata and the more rhe larrer g<1in in social power. The rise of bourgeois scrata ro rhe upper strata is an expression of chis parrern. fo exacdy rhe opposite way ro rhar in which, in the ancient slave sociery, urban freemen were driven away from labour, in \'Vesrern sociery, as a result of the work of freemen, rhe growing interdependence of all finally drew even members of the previously non-working upper strata more and more within rhe division of labour. And even the technical development of rhe \'Vesr, rhe evolucion of money ro rhar specific form of "capital" which is characcerisric of rhe \'Vest, presupposes the absence of slave labour and rhe development of free work 23. The above is a brief skerch of one example of che specifically \'Vestern developments rhar run chrough rhe Middle Ages ro modern rimes Hardly less significant was che fact rhat serclemenr in the Middle Ages did not rake place around a sea . The earlier waves of migrating peoples had, as already mentioned, given rise ro concentrated trade networks and ro rhe integration of large areas in Europe, only along riverbanks and above all in coastal regions of the i\Ieclirerranean. This applies ro Greece and above all ro Rome. The Roman dominion slowly spread out around rhe Mediterranean basin and finally enclosed iron all sides. "Its ourermosr fromiers on rhe Rhine, che Danube, rhe Euphrates, and the Sahara formed an enormous defensive circle securing rhe coastal perimeter. Undoubreclly che sea was for the Roman Empire the basis both of its polirical and its economic unity" 1 ' The German cribes roo first drove from all sides rowarcls rhe Mediterranean, and founded their first empires chroughour rhe areas of che Roman Empire surrounding che sea, which rhe Romans had called "mare noscrum" .,; The Franks did nor get so far; rhey found all the coastal regions already occupied. They cried

5utc Formation dlld Ciii!i::.t1tiu11

229

ro break rhrough by force All these changes and struggles may well have begun_
osen rhe commurncanons encircling rhe Medirerrane<rn Bur ol ro upset an cl lo 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 so11 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 <tneries bad a decisive effect on rhe direction taken by rhe development of western and cenrral European society. In rhe Carolingian period a powerful rerrirory was grouped for rhe first rime around a centre siruared far inland. Society was confronted by rhe cask of developing inland communications more fully \'Vhen, in rhe course of cencuries. it succeeded in doing so, rhe herirage of antiquiry was in chis respect also ser under new conditions The foundation was [aid for formations unknown in antiquity. Ir is from this aspecr rhar certain differences between rhe units of integration in anriquiry and those which slowly formed in rhe \'Vest are ro be undersrood. Scares, nations, or wharever we rnll these entities, were now ro a large extent collections of people grouped around inland centres or capitals and connected bv inland arteries If, rhese \Xlesrern centres nor only colonized rhe coast or riverbanks, bur also large inland regions. if indeed large screeches of rhe eanh were occupied md serried by \'Vescern nations, che preconditions for rhis lay in the ernlurion of inland forms of communication, which were nor tied ro slave labour, within rhe mother countries themselves The beginnings of this course of development, roo, are ro be found in che Middle Ages. And if, finally, e,en the inland agrarian secror of society is roday imegrarecl into rhe complex division of labour and rhe extensive exchange networks as never before rhe oriuins of chis development are likewise ro be sough[ chere. No one can roclay \'Vesrern society, once St[ on chis course, had ro continue on ir.. A whole consrellacion of levers rhar can nor yer be clearly disentangled. contributed ro mainrnining and srabilizing it on chis course. Bur ir

2)1
is imponanr to reco"nize d1ac chis sociecy encered ac chis venearhsn"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 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 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 __ oncli-n" ro cht clitfrring magnicude of land ownership emerged more and
L -

corre> p cc arlv And che v1rious rides char earlier bad des1gm1rtd posmons w1d1rn more cle:- . . , - - L -

to che ruler. much as CI\"ll sernce grades do wday. wok on a ne\\ and

contained highly dynamic phases and senors moving in precisely rhe direction which rhe modern age cominued. srnges o( expansion. of adrnncing division of 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 alcernacion has increased sharply since rhe Middle: Ages.

j;

dukedoms were descended from rht royal servants once sem rn _represent che mg wn- rhev ndu-ilhbecame more or less rnclependent liege lords over chis jn a rtrn ., . b ' ' . _ . ,_ _ __ _ . , 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 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<isrle and land around ic had become che heredirary possession of his family in wrn. Everyone held on w whaE rhey had . They relinquished nmhing rn those above them And chert was no room for amont from below The land was allocated A sociecy expanding imernally :ind excerm1lly. in which social benermenr. 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, ' -

"l ression of che size or its esrncts and chus or ics m1lirnn- power The an e 1 k.
A

increa:,1

--n,,lv fixed mt1ninu: d1ev were linked rn che name of a panicular house :is
c . ' c _ . _ . . .

VII
On the Sociogenesis of Feudalism
2-i
Processes of social expansion have cheir limics Sooner or lacer they come co a hale. So. mo. rht movement of expansion char btg<in abom che eleventh cemurv gradually reached a sranclsrilL Ir became increasingly difficult for rhe F rnnkish knights w open up ne\v land by forest clearance. Land omside cheir 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 twelfth century and was more or le;s established in chirreenth. is. nothing 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 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 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 differences becween warriors were hardened. A within che r;obiliry

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 expansion ro chose offering diminished sacisfacrion ro these needs, in which che relariveh- depri\ed are sealed off and rims more suongly uni red wich those in che 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 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. <lC lease among che deprived, by a hardening of social forms. by anempcs w break chem from below and. as already memioned, by rhe stronger cohesion of those 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 incomprehensible w rhe lacer observer in che process of feuclalizacion. is the fact char neicher kinus nor dukes nor <111\' of the ranks below them were able w prevem cheir becoming owners of che fief BU( precisely rhe uniYersalirY of rhis face shows rhe screngch of che social regubricy at work. \Vt have alreaciy skecched che pressures which broughr aboll( the slow decline of che

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 ail extreme of the pvramid: he controlled no land and merely performed 0 ner ces or-what comes ro the same rhing-1Jaid dues All the degrees between servt . . . . had land and prorecnon w distribute. below it first had a double face. Tht\' 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

sociery, was a funcrion and symbol of rhe social strucwre or-whar com_ same thm!;!-rhe balance of social power..,,, es to

235
. _ 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

In feudal societv this was less conceded 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 iccordn 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 in . . 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 . . . . 1 . . .. , t 1e ec1s1\e actor is quire naked!. soc1d 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 m<l .. t.lt:1r sum ot indi\idual strength. But and skilt' .,, , i ' :-iomt: Londiuuns lk an important ck-ment in social >m\ 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,tthcr 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:rn11.11111r 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 lxclunt:c: That hi .. -',1] . . w <::- ... ,Hit, d mg acrualh conrrnlkd ,dso.., !lkinr thi; . 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 tfdll t:llcc.. on rollowers 01 \',irnn{' (ri 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 pmvLr was rnluced: when rht nte<l and ' <.. ) .ml amon" the pr()p"rtd s tl I incri -d Tl . l !::" .__ c. :-.. 1t: SOCI<t. power ut those lanJ was . . le SOl!;.l. power ot an indi\ idua! or group can be com1'l"tl1 1ro1"\ort Tl l ... '" txprc:s.sed onl.v in ! . lOil.'l it a )O\'e 1s a simple i.:xamp!t. L ,

To l!l\'tsrig..irt what constitutes "social powtr in mort det1il j .. , l- . . .. . . understanding social proctssts in rhc past and prtsenr sur. l'. .in imronance 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 bel11\'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

!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<l \ sed T() t\o!v1: mor - .. , j I . I .. I . r. :. .. t: t:X,tlt met Wt s ur domg so fLmains ont of the man\. .souo opica t;isr.::s or rfk tuturt:

:,,,:';l

236

Tht Cil'i/izi11g P/'!Jass

Stair Formatiu11 and Ci1ifi::;atio11

/' 7 _ ) ,

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<rnge for services alwavs starred off at a disadvantage ro those who received it. The .. liege lord" had tlie .. right .. w the invested land. to be sure. but the rnssal acmallv controlled it Tl1e only thing making the vassal dependent on the liege lord. once he had the land was the larrers prorecrion in the widest sense of rhe word . But protection was no; always needed . Just as rhe kings of feudal societv srron" t!1e1r were alwavs 1o rnssals needed their protection and leadership when threatened by external foes. and above all when rhey had freshly conquered lands to disrribLite. bLit were weak when their vassals were nor threatened and no new terrirory was expected, so roo the liege lords of lesser magnimde were weak when rhose ro whom rhey had entrusted hmd did not happen to need their protecrion The liege lord at any given levtl could compel one or other of his \assals to fulfil his obligations, and drive him by force from his hmd. But he could not do this to all. or even ro many For. as there could be no thought of arming bondsmen. he Deeded the services of one warrior ro expel another. or he needed new land ro reward new services. BLit for his conquests he needed new services. In this way the western Frankish terrirory disimegrnted in the tenth and tle\enth centuries imo a multitude of smaller and smaller dominions. Every baron. every viscount. every seigneur controlled his estate or estates from his castle or castles, like a ruler over his state. The power of the nominal liene lords the more cemral auchorities. was slight. The compelling mechanisms of supp!; and demand, which m<1de the vassal acmally comrolling rhe land generallv less dependent on rhe protecrion of his liege lord than the Lurer on his service;. had done rheir work. The disimegrarion of properry. rhe passing of land from the control of the king ro rhe various gradations of the warrior societv as a wholeand rhis and nothing else is .. feudalization ..-had reached irs limir. Bur the system of socia-l rensions rhar was established with rhis mighty disimegration. contained at the same time the driving forces of a coumerrhrusr. a new centralization

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 fiefs. che chances of ruling. and righcs are splic up mo.re and more trom rnp w hcoud ouc che whole hierarchv. all auchonn 1s h1adrng cowards dis1 o . , borcoo1 . (
inregrarion
\\'l 10 ''-

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 senes 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 <l long rime; and this growth in trade conrinued to and money circularion benefited the few rich lords very much more than the many smail ones. These cominued by and large rn live on rheir estates as rhey had .done up rn now. They co!lsumed directly what their estates produced, and rheir involvement in the network of trade and exchange-relationships was

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

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 rhemsehes 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 senicts, 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 imohemtnc 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
-oi)ert\, P' . . 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

twentieth-century obsener, 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<l\anrnge of the economically weaker and in favour of the economically stronger group. Anyone with small or medium-sized property. leaving aside a few growth areas. finds it increasingly difficult ro attain major wealth . The direct or indirect dependence of the small and middlt-sized on the great is growing, and while the opportunities of the former diminish. . those of the latter almost automatically increase.. 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

Sta!t Fomh1tion 11ncl Ciri/i:;11tion

241

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,

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 peoples 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

--L

) 7

Th, Cin"li::i11g

PmCl:i.r

Stc1h Forwatio11 ,md Ciri!i:t1!io11

243

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 prmince 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 <li1d this organized brigandage. The lighe of education. a kind of good caste which was the distant reflection of a gallant coure. and perhaps a prestmimem of a close and terrible awakening of rhe ptople. penttrarecl rhe castles and eYen the semi-rustic manors of rhe clown-at-heel gentry

\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. senility 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
111

physical \\ork. :r

11ur.ku d .<lir! 1,( i111c!!unul which jolts him om of his apathetic babies. in a ,,ore! of menral efforc: and w him this is rhe most painful and clisrnrbing rhing of all

Here we still find enclaws of a predominantly barter economy within a large

, bflc woven of trade relations and the division of labour. En:n here, no one ra Id qL11.te resist beinl! drawn into the current of circulating money. Primarilv (Oll C -es. bur also the nted ro buv rax certain things ,__ one could not produce oneself, forced people in this direction, But the pernliarly opaque nature of the control ''ht ' the restraint of inclination bevond what is rec1uired bv necessary 1.111 d. r'-oi""sr '- b . . . 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 , '_

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
1

245
. ,itin and enrerrainmem so rhar rbe rnne of poeuv was also refined. The 1' . 'd J1ar "rhe hi<,her rbe lord and !adv, rhe higher and berrer the bard" was i ea r "' __ , entl\' urcered ar rhe rime.)) Ir \Vas taken for gramed. Frequemlv, nm one , trequ , ,,en! sin"ers lived ar rhe grt<lr feudd courrs "The higher rhe personal b bU( SC, ' qualicies and rank of a rbe more brilliant her courr, rhe more poers she d in her strv!Ce '<' Marchmv rbe power srruggle berween rbe great feudal ['JC l1e re c lords was a consrnnt srruggle for presrige. The poer, like rbe l:isrorian, was one of irs insrrumems Thus a 1\Ii1111esd11gtrs change of service from one lord ro anorher could ofren mean a complere change in rhe polirical conviccions he expressed 1- Ir has been rightly said of rhe i\Ii1111cS:111g: "In meaning and purpose ir w<lS a polirical panegyric in rhe form of a personal :q Rerrospecrively, i\Ii1111w111g can easily appear an expression of knighdy so;iery in general. This imerprernrion bas been reinforced by rbe facr rhar, wirb rhe decline of knightly funcrions and the growing subservience of rbe noble upper class with rbe rise of absolutism, rbe image of free, unfercerecl knightly socien rnok on a nosralgic aura. Bur ir is difficulr rn conceive rbar 1\Ii111mcmg, especi.ally in irs more delicate mnes-and ir was nm always delicate-sprang from rhe same life as rhe coarse and unbridled behaviour rbar \V<lS proper ro rhe buik of knighrs. Ir has already been srressecl rhar /lli11msm1g was actually "very conrradicrnry w rhe knigbdy memaliry".;" The whole landscape, wirh irs incipient differemiarion, musr be kept in view if rhis conuaclicrion is ro be resolved and rhe human arcirucle expressed in rroubadour poeuy unclerL. 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<ts mainly, rhough nor exclusively, from rhis last group rhar rhe knightly, noble 1'Ii1111esl:i11ger came. Singing and composing in rhe service of a grear lord and a noble lady was one of rhe ways open w those driven from rhe land, wherher from rhe upper class or from rhe urban-rural lower class. Former members of borh groups were ro be found as rroubadours ar rhe grear feudal courts And even though a grear feudal lord may occasionally have involved himself in singing and composing, neverrheless poetry and service were scamped by rhe dependem srnms of their pracririoners within a rich social life rhar was slowly raking on more definire forms. The human relarionships and compulsions esrablished here were nor as srricr and continuous, nor as inescapable, as rhey later became ar rhe larger absolmisr courrs which were far more thoroughly formed by money relarionships. Bur rhey already <!creel in rhe clirecrion of stricrer drive-comroL \'V'irhin rhe resrricred courr circle, and encouraged above all by rhe presence of rhe lady,

246

The
!lf0 Ul1d

more peaceful forms of conducr became obligarnry.. Cerrainly, chis should nor be exaggeracecl; pacificacion WlS noc nearly so far adYanced as Luer when absolure monarch could even prohibit duelling The sword scill hull'' loose!" andC h
L

her.'>i Bm often enough \\e hear of che ocher side. of a warrior, whether a
c

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 mntlling pla)tr by bting raktn into rht stnice 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 as
<.l

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
_._ '--' '-L

on rhe nose so hard char he draws four drops of blood. And rhe lady says: 'l\fosr humble d1<mks \Vhtn it shall please you, you may do ic again . .. 12 one could quote ocher scenes of the same kind", says Luchaire . ' "Always che blow on rht nose with che fisL .. l\Ioreuvc:r a knighr
W!S

often censured for raking

advice from his wife. "Lady, go into rhe shade." che knighr says for example, '"<me! ear and drink wirh your retinue in your paimed and guilded chambers, busy yourself hanging silk: that is your job. Mine is to scrike with cht sword of sreeL" The conclusion mighr be drawn [w quore Luchain: again] char e\en in rht epoch of Philip i\u.::usrus tht courd:, courttous attitude- towards \\'Of11en was only exceptionally found in feudal circles. In the great majoriry of domains rhe okL less respecrfuL brurnl re!ldenq sril! prevailed. rransmirred ctnd. perhaps. exagt:trared in rhe majority of rhe 'chansons de gesre" One should nor bt misled b\ rhe low rhtories of rhe Troubadours and a ft,,. Troud:res .. from Flanders and rhe Champagne: rhe fed in gs rhey tXl'ressed were. we believe, chose of an el ire. a Ytry small minority The differenti<Hion between che bulk of smaller and medium knighdy courts and the few large ones more closely attached ro rhe slowly developing network of crade and money, brought with it, as can be seen, a differentiation of behaviour wo. No doubt chis behaviour was nor in such stark contrast as ic may firsc appear from these reconsrruccions. Here, roo, chert nuy baYe been cransirional forms and murual influences. Bm by and large it can be said char a more peaceable social lift formed about che lady of rhe court only in chest ftw large courts Only here did che singers have a chance of finding senice of any length, and only he:re was established char peculiar attitude of che sening man cowards rhe lady of rhe coun rhar finds irs expression in 1\Ii1111ts{n1g . The difference becween rhe attitude and feelings expressed in i\Ii1111tst111g and rhe more brutal ones prernlenr in che chcm1011s c/, gtsi<:, for which hisrory provides ample documenracion, derives, in ocher words, from cwo different kinds of relation benveen man and woman, corresponding ro rwo different classes in ftudal society.. These rwo modes of conduct cherefore <lfOSt wich che shift in the crnrre of gravity of society already discussed. In a society of landed nobility dispersed fairly loosely across the counuy in their castles and esraces, the likelihood of a preponderance of che man over rhe woman and rhus of a more or less unconcealed male dominance, is very great.. And wherever a warrior class or a class of landed gentry has scrongly influenced rhe overall behaviour of sociecy, rraces of male dominance, forms of purely male social life with its specific

srecial honour ._

rht:. Jrc:ss ntcdc-J t()r court

32

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<lll ruled. And relations between the sexes were as 111 every warrior society with more or less pronounced male rule. b; force. and often open or veiled struggles, due e,1ch waged \vich his own

\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

2-48

The Cirilizi11g Process

.

Sta!/: For111atio11 mu/

2-49

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

I absolutist courts For the master of the courc, his function as knight and

. . . ie1der was snll rhe pnman- one: l11s educar10n too was that of a warnor f!Jl 1 tt: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
r women of high class \vho were first liberated tor mrellecrual develop' 1 m ... 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, . . . . .. . . . . Ies of pe-iceful mrellecrnal acr1v1rv c1rc ' - were established. In anstocranc. CJrcles m 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

250

The Cil'ili:i11g Prr1ass

5t:1fr For//!atio11 ,md Ciz-ili::.atio11

251

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" evohed as a social and nor mertlv . We call "lyric . . . as an individLnl , evenr-* as _a soci<il e\em-:-rhar of pleasure. char shade teelrng, rhar subl1mar10n and refinement ot rhe affects rhar we Gll! "love ca . b" rnro . insrirurionalized form , con . emg. Nor as exceptions bur in . a sociallv man and woman arose which made ir impossible even for rhe srrong berneen . . man s_irnp 1 : ro rake the woman when he ple<1ses: which made rhe woman unarramable or only wirh difficulry: and perhaps. because she was higher placed and d1tficulr ro arrain, particularly desirable. This was rhe siruarion rh1s rhe emorional _setting of i\Ii11mst111g, in which henceforrh down rhe lovers have recogrnzed something of rheir own feelings. No. doubr a large n_u_mber of songs by troubadours and 111immtinger are essenr1ally ot feudal courdy conventions, ornaments of social life and a mere parr ot rhe social_ game . There may have been many rroubadours whose rnner relat1onsh1p ro rhe1r lady was nor quirt so consuming. and who indemnify rhemselves w1d1 ocher, more attainable women. Bur neirher rhis convenrion 1rs expression could have arisen had genuine experiences and feelings of rhis kind been absent. They have a core of authentic feeling and real experience Such rones cannot be simply rhoughr our or invented. Some loved. and some had the strength and greatness ro express their love in words; ir is nor even difficult to say in which poems feelini; and experience are genuine and in which rhev are more or less conventional. Some must firsr have found words and rones for .their in order rhar orhers might play wirh chem and give rise co a convenrion. The good poets. undoubtedly, haw mixed their own truth into even rhese poems of infaruarion From the fullness of rheir lives flowed rhe substance of thtir songs.

The lirerary sources and precursors of ,\!i111mc111g ha\'e often been . . ,-ti'''irecl. Irs relationship with religious poetry addressed ro rhe Virgin and 10'"' Litin lyric of rhe \Vandering Scholars has, probably correctly, been
-(l

oinrecl our . . . p t'ic en1tr"ence and essence ot [jUt t o , Glnnor be understood onh" .... Il1 f literary anrecedenrs These earlier forms conrained many cl1Herenr . . . b1 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 <md rypical conrtnr. unless one is aware of rhe actual situation and relationship of rhe people who expressed rhemstlves in ir, and the genesis of rhis situarion. This special question demands more space than is avaih1blt here. where rht main inreresr concerns movements and connecrions on a larger srnlt If <l more precise line of enquiry for analysing a specific insrirurion such as !\Ii1111dc!ilg within chis conrexr h<1s now been indicated, and some of rht main outlines of irs socio- and psychogeneric conclirions sketched, rhat is all char is necessary for rhe purposes of rhis scudy. 35. Great historical changes have a srricr regularity of their own It often appears from present-clay srndies as if particular social form<Hions whose hisrory consriruces hiscory as such, follow each ocher at random like the cloud-shapes in rhe mind of Peer Gynr: now they look like a horse. now like a bear, now society
0

=:=

the German ttxt I am speaking here of social and indi\iJu,d unJerrnrn:s.

it

:\c rht cimt: of writing

dl!S book nw awartness 1,f the ambiguities inherent in the term "'phenomenon , tspeci,dl) of its 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.

tor rht intlutnct which phenomtnalisric rypts of philosophy have had nor univ on has become. rhe

hibhly

academic bur also on non-academic linguistic us.i..g.ts char rhe term phenomenon

:nost common unspecific expression for darn or events of <-di sorts. Ont ma\ nor bt aware of it that It is by the solipsistic <loubt as to \\"htther such darn rt.:dly exist. events occur. One
easily overlook that tht ttrm "phenomenon refers may or_ only

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,

carries with it the notion thm rht Jm,: to which it

conjured up by tht constitution of the human subject Bur whether

one ts conscious ot the philosophical heriragt rtprtstntt<l by rhis concept. its continutd use

reinforces again an<l at,..:a'.:1 rhe app;.1ritionist tendencies of our ;.1ge It is betttr ro look for exprtssions less woolly and less aftecred by this philosophical tradition. I felt that I owe m\ readers an explanation for the innocent use of this ttrm in rht German and irs omission En,t.dish edition [A!!!hfJrs n11h
/I/

from rhe

rh!

/r;1;u/dtifJ1;]

252

Tht Ciz'ili2i11g Proass

Stafr f!Jmhltion and Cil'i!i:atio11

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[ dopendence 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 ter di.vision of labour' where more 1ieOjJle live continuouslv in close proximirv <r[CJ . '." more denselr structured s\stem. And. consequently, rhe control and restraint 1n a the individual's drives and affects here was less srricr, continuous and on I f0 rn1. N',,verrheless ' it was alreadv t!Lll . considerablv . b"reater at the lar(.'.er teuc al courts rhan at the smaller or in rhe warrior society at large, where the interdependence of people was much less extensive and complex, rhe network of individuals much more loosely woven, and where rhe strongest functional dependence between ptoplt was still that of war and violence. Compared with die behaviour and affective life to be found here, co111l!Jisic already represented a refinement, a mark of distincrion. And the polemics contained in fairly unchangn" form in the manv medieval nrecepts on manners-"avoid this" and "refrain I " . . from thar"-refer more or less directly ro rhe behaviour practised by the bulk ot the knights, which changed as slowly and slightly between the ninth or tenth cenrnries and rhe sixteenth as did their conditions of life. 31 At rhe present stage of development we still lack linguistic instruments which do justice to the narure and direction of all these intertwining processes. It is an imprecise and provisional aid to understanding to say that rhe restraints imposed upon men and rheir drives became 'greater", integration "closer", or interdependence stronger", just as it does nor quire do justice to socio-historical realit\" ro sav rhar one thing belongs to a "barter economy"". and another ro a "mo;ev or, ro repeat the form of expression chosen here, that "rhe of. the economy grew". By how much did it "'grow"". degree by In what way did rhe restraints become greater", integration ""closer", inrtrclependence more pronounced'"' Our concepts are roo coarse; they adhere roo much ro rhe image of material substances . In all this we are not concerned mereh with ''radarions with more" or '"less" Each "increase" in restraints and is an' expression of rhe fact rhar the ties between people, rhe way they depend on one another, are changing, and changing qualirntively. This is what is meant br differences in social structure. And with rhe dynamic network of into which a human life is woven, rhe drives and behaviour of people take on a di/F1,11t form. This is what is meant by differences in personality structure and in social standards of conduct The fact that such qualitative changes are sometimes. despite all rhe fluctuations within rhe movement. changes in one and the same direction over long periods. rhat is.
L

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 <lid 111 this society as a whole. Again. there was the great feudal lords n.eed of prestige and <lisplav in -h l . ' e more or I ess _v10 ent struggles between them; there was their desire ro distinguish themselves from lesser krnl'.hts. And as an eXj)ression of 1ll rhis j)Oets 1n<l s1ngers \\ho the lords and ladies, pumng into words the interests and political ot the lord and d1e. raste and beauty of rhe lady, became a more or less hrmly established social rnsnrur10n.
{_) 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

_)!

,-

The Ciz

255
rmlt rhe crt<ltion of an apparatus for ruling sufficiently swblt ro rec Pe . . '. . . , . rnd hold togerher rhe empire by relatively peaceful means mer long , 11111111 ,rrace , c . . .l ;ia, of peacetimt, Ir remains rn be shown what social processes made poss1 Jlt . or' Sltcli 1 more snb!t: overnmtnt and \nth It a quirt cl1tterenr he torm<1t1on , ' '=' r of individuals, nrh rnd renrh cenruries when at least in rhe wesrern Frankish regions. In r l1e 111 ' ' . . . . . . l rl1re1r w1s small-and when economic 111regrar10n was slight-tlk rhe exrcrn,1 ' ' . . . ' .. .. , . . , ... regrarion of rhe rultr-tuncuon reached txrraord111ary heights. Each snull dJS!D ' . lf ll kn Ic ht ltS ., under irs own rule. a sratt " 111 irse . e\tr} snu "stare \\ ,1s . . . :ndepenclenr lord and masreLThe social achaoc1c . nnl rnd economic urnrs Each ot chem \\,lS essenr1,1lh .iurark1c \\_ch of goYernme ' ' , . . . . . ' ' d ndenct on ochers. wirh rhe exception ot a few enclaves-tore1gn Im 1 e epe . . 1. traders. for example. or monasrenes and abbtys-wh1ch somenmts had l111"s bevond rhe local le\el. In rht secular ruling sua..rum inrtgrarion through ' . ss ,,e or cltftnsive conflict was rht fundamental torm There was not much Hr-are. 1 ""'"' b c I l. crr,1rum rn control cheir afrecrs in any w consuain mem ers 01 r 11s ru 111g o . . s ww This w1s 1 "societv .. in rht broader senst ot rhe word wbICh connnuou '. ' ' . .. . ... refers to even- possiblt form of human inregrnrion It was nm a .soc1tty . lll er sense of 1 more continuous rel<lriveh dost and u111torm mregwr10n tI 1e narr ()\\ ' - . of people with a greater consrraint on violence, at lease within ics conhnts The earlr form of such a .. socierr .. in rhe narrower sense slO\dy _emerged ar. the grear feucial courts Hert, where rhtrt was a larger confluence ot goods. owing tO rht amounts produced and rhe arrnchment of chest courts to rhe rrndt ntrwork. and where more people congregated in search of service, a sizeable number oi pcople was obliged to m<1inrain a consrandy peaceful intercourse This demanded. particularly towards \vomen of higher rank. a cerrain control and restraint or behaviour. a more precise moulding of affects and manners . :HL This rtsrrnint may nut always bane bten <lS great as it was in the relation ot sin<,er rn lach in rht 1'\Ji11110,n1g convtnrion. Tht (111trtrtis precepts on manners give a accu;art picture of rht standard of belMviour demanded in everyday lift. Ther also occasionallv rhrow light on rhe conduct of knights towards women that. is nor confined ;o rht reLirion of the minstrel to che lady oi the courc \\le read in a "motto for men", for example: .. Abono all. rake cart ro behave well wwards women, . If a lady asks you to sir beside her. do nor sir on her dress. or too near her. and if you wish to speak sofrly to her, ne\tr clurch her with rnur arms, whatever you ha\e to say .. -c . Judging by rhe habitual sran cl arcs l o t. r l1t ltsser 1rn1g '- lHS, rl1is amount of d ble efforr. Bur the l l consideration for women may l1a\"t cl emanc ec cons1 era restraint was slight, like rhar in orhtr (Uitrhis precepts, in con_11xuison ro became cusromary among courtiers at rht court of Louis XIV, tor example, fh1s gives an idea of the different levels of inttrdependtnce and imtgrauon rhar shaped rht individual's habirs in rhe rwo phases Bur it also shows rhar courtoisi1:

conrinuous. din:cted processes rather than a nmdom sequence, permits indeed leads us rn speak in comp<irarivt terms when discussing difftrtnr That is not to say rllilt tbt direction in which these processes mme is impro\emenr. "progress". or to\\arcls the opposite, "retrogression" Nor is it t0 sav. is sci ore. however. that rher inYolve mtreh - c1uanrirarivt cl1an<'tS c 1-:!rc .__ ( Ltn in history. wt art concerned with structural changes that art mosr easily, visibly, perhaps most superficially grasped in rhtir quanrirnrive asptet \Vt stt rht fiillowing movement: first one castle stands against another, then rernrnry agarnsr terr1ron-. rhe:n scare against srate. and appearing on the historical horizon today art the first signs of struggles for an inrtgration of regions and masses ot people on a still larger scale . \Vt may surmise that with continuing 111regrar10n tvtn larger u111rs will gradually be assembled under a srable government and internally pacified, <md that rhty in their rnrn will rnrn cheir ourwards against human aggregates of rhe same size until. with a turrher integwrion, a still gre<Her reduction of distances, rhey too gradually grow tot-:tther and world sociecy is pacified This ma\" rake cemuries or millennia howe\tr rhar may be, the growrh of uni rs of inreg.rarion and rule is always at th; same rime an expression of srrucmral changes in sociery. that is ro say. in human relationships, \\lhentnor rht ctmrt of graviry of society moves towards units of i.ntegration ofa nt\\. order of magnituclt-and in rhe shifr that first favoured large feudal lords ar the txptnst of small and middle-sized ones, then kings againsr the great feudal or rerrirorial lords. a mo\emtm in chis dirtcrion is expressed\\henewr such cli<rnges occur rhtv do so in conjunction with social funcrions chat haw grown more difftrtmiared, and with chains of organized social action. wherhtr military or economic, char have lengrhentcl, Each rime. che network dependencies imerseccing in rhe individual has grown larger and changed in structure; and each rime. in exacr correspondence to this scructure, the moulding of behaviour and of the whole emotional lift. cht ptrsonaliry scrucrnrt. is changed The "ci\ilizing process. seen from rhe aspecrs of sranchircls of conduce and drive control. is rhe same trend which, \\hen seen from rht point of view of human relationships. appears as rht process of advancing integration. increased differentiation of social functions and imerdtpendenct. and the formation of ever-L1rger units of integnirion on whose fortunes and movements the individual depends, whether ht knows ir or nor. I hfft attempted here to complement rhe general account of rhe earliest and lease cornplicarecl phase of chis moYtmtnt with some illusrrarive facru,il t\idence; next, rhe further conrinuation of chis movemtnt and the mechanisms clrivin" ir will bt examined, It has been shown how and why. in rht early phase of history which had a predominantly barter economy. rht imegracion and rhe formarion of srnble go\ernments for Luge empires had lirrle chance. Conquering kings could, it is rrut, subjugate huge art<lS through battle and hold rhem roged1er for a rime by respecr for their sword Bm tht srrucrure of sociery did

of

.: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 feudil 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

On the Sociogenesis of the State

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

Prr1Ci.:J"J

Std!t' Fom1t1tioil

i1;1d

Ci1'i!i::<1tion

259

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 ranc1a-r 1e esrares and . casdes nor .\TL or onlv nanh. enfeoffed , i .e , h-IS 0\Vf! F . _ . r , family w1d11n rhe same area. ro subdue all possible rivals, everv warnor who mighc equal him in power. One rask assisted rhe orher: fron1 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 ro111 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

Paris and Orleans. In l O15 the Capecian king Roberr had given chis land of his senHHS 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 '1fe1 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

' Shordr before his deach he said house.

J._

rhe

i\{ o l

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 ' -" -- n \- Eim'- incl on iccounc of \Yhich I have ne\er en1mtd last1ng peace or trut nr brrorc 1 . 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<lllfort on the other. each time a conflict arose Paris was cm ott. on one 1a <.. _ _ (, and communicaEion ben,een Paris cmd Orleans was impossible excepc by armed torce
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

260

Thu Cil'ili::i11g Procuss

Sttih For///C1tio11 C111cl Ci1ilizatio11

261

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 j)l!rcLas . adorned themselves. Then ' rhroLJ<d1 o marriage -.. . u e or conquests, one ot these houses accumulated more and more land and drns gained preponderance over 1rs neighbours . The fact rhar ir was rhe old royal house tha succeeded in doing so in Francia may have been bound up-apart from the neve: possessions that made its new start possible-with rhe personal qualities ot its reptesenratives, the support of the church, and a certain traditional prestige. But rhe same differenriarion of property among warriors was taking place at the same rime, as has been mentioned, in other rerrirories too. It was rhe same shifr in the centre of gravity of warrior society, favouring the few large knightly families at the expense of the many small and medium ones, that \WS discussed earlier.. In each terrirory sooner or later one family succeeded, bv accumulating land, in attaining a kind of hegemony. That rhe crown, that Louis the Far, should undertake the same thing looks like an abrogation of the roval function. Bur given this distribution of social power he had no choice. In rhis social srrucrnre, family property and control of rhe narrower hereditary area consrirnred the most important military and financial basis of even the king's power. By concentrating his forces on the small area of Francia. by creating a hegemony in the resrricred space of rerrirory, Louis VI laid the foundation for the subsequent expansion of his house He created a potential centre for the crystallization of rhe greater area of France, even though we may cerrainly not assume that he had any prophetic vision of this future. He acted under rhe direct compulsions of his actual situation. He had to win Montlhery if he were nor to forfeit communication between parts of his own rerrirory. He had to subdue the most powerful family in the Orleans region if his power there were not to dwindle. Had the Capetians nor succeeded in gaining preponderance in Francia, ir would sooner or lacer-like rhe other provinces of France-have fallen to another house. The mechanism leading ro hegemony is always rhe same. In a similar wayrhrough the accumulation of property-a small number of economic enterprises in more recent rimes have slowly oursrripped their rivals and competed with each other, until finally one or rwo of them control and dominate a particular branch of the economy as a monopoly. In a similar way-by accumulating land and thus enlarging their military and financial potential-stares in recent times have struggled for preponderance in a particular part of the world. But whereas in modern society, with its higher division of functions, rhis process rakes place in a relatively complex way, with a differentiation of the economic and rhe military and political aspects of hegemony, in the society of Louis VI, with its predominantly barter economy, these aspects remained undivided. The house that ruled a rerrirory politically was at the same rime by far the richest house in
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 rl1e rask confront in" the descendants of Louis VI, the next generations

Tlns

,v,1

'

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 Ci1i!i:i11g Pmcu.'

It

co Schleswig in rht north and rn Verona and Iscria in rbe south: in addition. 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 <lrta. one family of territorial rulers after anorher tried in vain ro attain, with the imperial crown. a really scable hegemony over the whole empire. One house after ;1norher used up in rhis fruidess struggle whac despite all else continued ro be che central source of its income and power-rheir hereditary or domanial possessions. And after each unsuccessful bid by a new house, decentralization and the consolidation of centrifugal tendencies went a step further. Shordy before the French monarchy gradually began ro regain its strength in the person of Louis VJ, the German-Roman Emperor Henry IV collapsed under che combined assaulcs of che great German cerrirorial lords. the Church, the upper Italian cities and his elder son, char is ro S<ly. in face of the most diverse cc:nrrifugal forces" This proYides a point of comparison with the early period of the French monarchy Later. when the French King Francis I had his whole kingdom so complecely in hand that he no longer needed to call assemblies of che estates and could raise rnxes without asking the taxpayers, the Emperor Charles V and his <tdminisrracion had ro negotiate e\"en wichin his own hereditary lands with a whole mulcirude of local assemblies. befrJre he could muster the duties needed to pay for the court, the army and the adminiscration of the empire. And all rhis. includin::: income from rhe on:rseas colonies, was not nearly enough to meet the cosc of running the empire \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 lile 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 "

cussed.

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 w1s 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 rhemsehes in the same prec ic1menr . l argerl. : lre1ch" been shown in some derail how. in chis sociery. rhe "inttrna 1 ' Ir M> . ' . " 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 1 1is 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 ccmsidern_) e num e_r. ." " d . , l dominions ro remain in contention Then, atter m<lllY \ icrones ,m temrona . l f \'tr while I t" ats some grew scronger through accumulat!ng c 1e o jlO\ l l c.e e ' ' l f . touuht on anc r 1e f . cl of rhe scru'"'lt" T 1e ncconous t\\ ::: others were orce our "'"' " " . l _ cl" . n lar between onl\' c'on \\'as rtj'Jeated until hnalh t 1e eC!S!O . , . l' " " 1 proce's o f e imm, i f l - . " l l m. nions swollen through che defeat and ass1milat10n o or 1e1s. two cernrona co i . . . . '"de or remained neurralAll rhe rest-whecher they were imolved in che scruoo " cl , k Ii es of ,econd or chir ran , I " cl b-en reduced by the growth of these rwo ro gur .1,1 e re.ra'ined a cert",1in social imj)orcance . The other rwo, howe_ ver, rhou uh they scill o . l 11osirion: the\. had outscripped rhe others: the issue were approaching a monopo Y .
L L "

. l l'rocess raking pt.ice hctuu:ll cl1e different . "1 _ schematic out 1lilt. r 1e .
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<lrt from rime ro time in deciding ll'hid1 terrirory rriumphs, rises and grows. The social process itself, however. the fact that a society with numerous power and property units of relativtly equal size, ttnds under strong competitive pressures rowards an enlargement of a few units <111d finally rowards monopoly, is largely independent of such accidents. They can have an accelerating or retarding effect on rhe process. Bur no matter who the monopolist is, thar a monopoly will sooner or later be formed has a high degree of probability. at least in the social structures rhar have c:xisced so far. In rhe language of exact science observation would perhaps be called a "law" Strictly speaking, wh,1r we have is a relatively precise formulation of a quire simple social mechanism which, once set in morion, proceeds like clockwork A human figuration in which a relarivelv large number of units, by virtue of rhe power at their disposal, are competition, rends ro deviate from this srare of equilibrium (many balanced bv many; relatively free competition) and to approach a different srnre in which fewer and fewer units are able ro compete; in other words ir <lpproaches a situation in which 011c social unit attains through accumulation a monopoly of the contended power chances. -i Tht gtntral characrer of the monopoly mechanism will be discussed in more derail later Ir seems necessary to point our at this stage, however, chat a mechanism of chis kind is ar work in the formation of stares roo, just as it was earlier involved in the formation of the smaller units. the territories, or will be bter in rhe formation of yet larger ones. Only if wt have this mechanism in mind can we understand which factors in the hisrory of different countries modify or even impede it. Only in this way can we see with some clarity why the rask facing a potential central ruler of rhe Germano-Roman Empire was incomparably more difficult rhan char which faced a potential ruler of rhe western Frankish region In chis empire too, through elimination struggles and rhe constant accumulation of territory in rhe hands of rhe victors. one territorial dominion would ha\'e had to emerge strong enough to absorb or eliminate all orhers. Only in chis way could this disparate empire have been centralized. And there was no Lick of srruggles rending in chis direction. nor only chose between rhe Guelfs and rhe Hohensraufens bur also berween Emperor and Pope, wirh their special complications. Bur rhey all missed rheir mark. In an area as large and varied as chis, rhe probability of a clearly dominant power emerging was very much less [ban in smaller areas, especially as ar chis stage economic inregrarion was lower and effective distances were many rimes greater rhan later. In any Gtse, elimination struggles wirhin so large an area would need far longer rhan in the smaller neighbouring ones How, nevertheless, stares finally managed to be formed in rht GermanoRoman Empire is well known. Among rhe German rerrirorial dominions-to disregard rhe analogous process in Irnly-a house emerged which. above all

Stc1tc Formation d11tl Cirdi::dtio11

265

l tiifotlg . . . l1 r l1e , older H1bsburs: the Hohenzo erns. . 1 . mi)eritton wit ' o

. . 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 p1rrs 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. 1 undersn111 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
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-' p01nt E\en wirh . . soon as rerrirorv had been unired b eyon cl a cerrarn t"lln ,\S ' j l acr a"'' d .. 1rer1r1'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 ouirrers 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 rhe same . l1 rer rror\' l ,v.Eng 1 1s 1 . controlled b\ . rhe Norman dukes.. Ir was roughly 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 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 . . .. , rernron to"tther with the nuren,1l ,rnc F . nk1sh area. r le pO\\ er 01c siich . '1 .. , "' 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"'"' rhe

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 gmernment 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 nry much less, and the srruggle for supremacy between two rivals simpler, rhan berween rhe many factions in the empire. The English 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 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. In the British Empire too. however. centrifugal forces immediately began to

u' colonial area

.

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"' ureuer and arren cl am centntuga l t orce s \,ere "' ' .tlnn ' l fh 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 ! esrnres anc, a bo\t ill , ' of wHnors ' . . . 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 permir clisimenra[lon "' ... bur enough rn make a direcr alliance of the estates rhroughour rhe country d1fhculr, srrengrhened 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 its size, were nor unfavourn .. ' central ruler and the 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 established in rhis territory

268

5rdlt:

fr;rmc1tio11 cmd Ciz'ili:ati1J11

269

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\ mer 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 mer 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

cemurv for ex<imple. which, given rhe srnte monopoly of physical ' oineteem 1 1 . . . tiie _ e was waged solely by economic means . . . . . v1of.t:OC '. cl f rhe comperirive srrugdes and rhe monopolizanon rakmg place_ 0 ' !\ rem1n er I c1 ot ' I . ''\es is nor wirhour value for . an unc ersran mg unc er our O\\ n ' . . . . mechanisms in earlier srages of sociery. In acldmon, cons1cleninon ot 1 JJJonopo.} . cr1'on w1'rh rhe new hel1Js us ro set rhis social clevelopmem as a Id m coniun . . f rhe o . The larer pan of rhe movemem presupposes the and cenrre rhe accumularion of rhe mosr imporrant means or proclucoon of rhe ome,_ vorh is I . . . . t. , r me! fewer hands--earlier rhe accumulanon ot e1sr conrro over H, 111 t\\ e , or ar l ' . d larer rhar of money. . . cl s1 Ir ]anT;ie mechanism of monopoly '.ormarion has already been bnefly d1scusse .
th, ,111cil!t1 \OCwl m11t1 uhll'h. th11Jlfgh of rnl!ghl) cq11al Joua! /1011,r and art ''Cf/' . f' j- the ll/il/1S fO l /I t ' ' 1 /,/ 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 c1crtm 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)robibilirv 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 ced 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 _

b roughly summarized as follows: ii social 1!11it," lcll'ge 1111111htr J 1r 1111'r11dcnce (iJl!Jtitl!fc tht /cll'ger IJl/t. 1

''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 rcJci 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]\- individually 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

\tr its mechanism and trend are unmistakable Tht che p roeess . . . - 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 . controlled by the monopolist depenc cht more srroni.dv , . does this whole held . . . . 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\vl ed"e <=:: ( . l ruler of so mi o "hff cenrr,1 . 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. 1ower clnnces will sooner or later lapse into disorder and make its o1 1 ' . 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 rultrs 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

Sutt For111ati1111 and Ci1ili::t1tion

"ht of these manv intertwined actions and interests so great Iv l1e re ls rhe wei b .

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 smereignty 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 inchiduals 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.

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. . ,_, . . -lo .,r0 uns frequentlv starting wirh the former government funcr10nanes, the -ocia r- ' ". ser\anrs of rhe mono1)olisrs of feudalizarion is one example ot nrsr ' The process _ . Ir was shown earlier how, in the courst ot this process, control over r I11>.
L.

on-,

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

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:

fiJmutio11 a11d Ciri!i:::atiiJ11

ns

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 incre1sin<' numb f ' o ers o people. and on rhe ocher a progressive cenrralizarion of rhe conrrol of resources. rhis cenrralizarion. such resourcts are !Jlaced omside rhe d'irecr . . B, _ 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 merwhelming 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.
. . LL L

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 . ' rrnces 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" nlwsical violence was the basis of their own social existence; ir was the cxer b r . _ 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

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

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

276

Th1: Ciz'ilizing Process

Sut1: Fom1c1tio11 and Ciri!i:atio11

277

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

_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
v"

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 dtscrndi . . 'nts of the Capeuans or of anorhtr house were to become rht mono1xilisrs or . . rulers of rht emerging state.
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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. \'</irhin this small area the firsr elimination conrests were fought. and in chem the balance firsr moved in favour of a few and finallv of a single comesrnm . One house-for a house or family is always the social char asserts itself. not an individual-won so much land char rhe mhers could no longer march its military and economic srrength. As long as there was a possibiliry of competing wirh it. rhe relarionship of liege lord w vassal was more or less nominal. \\/irh chis shifr in social power it wok on a new realin-.. A new dependence of many houses on one was esrablished, even rhough, in absence of a highly developed ctmral apparaws, it lacked both the cominuirv and strength that it later had in the framework of the absolutist regime. . It is characteristic of the rigom with which this monopoly mechanism operated that analogous processes were taking place at approximately the same rime in practically all the terrirories of the western Frankish region. Louis VI. Duke of Francia and in name the King of rhe whole region. was. as we have pointed out. only one rtprtsentarin: of this stage of monopoly formation. 2 . If we look at a map of France in the period about 10_).2. we have a clear impression of the political fragmentation of the region into a multitude of greater and lesser ttrriwries"' \Vhar we have in from of us is certain!\" not \"tt the we know This emerging France. the former western region, was bordered w the south-east by the Rhone; Aries and l\ons la\" outsid; ir in the kingdom of Bmgundy; also outside it ro the north lay. the of present-day Toul, Bar le Due and Verdun, which belonged, like the areas around Aachen, Antwerp and, further north, Holland. w the kingdom of Lorraine. The traditional eastern and northern frontier of rhe former western Frankish region runs deep within present-day France . But neither this frontier of the nominal Capetian empire nor the borders of the smaller political units within it had at that rime quire the same function or fixity as present-day scare frontiers. Geographical divisions. river rnllevs and mountain ranues t0"tther with lin"uis.. b ' b b tic differences and local traditions. gave rhe frontiers a certain stability. Bur as

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<! were: considerable:. Going from south w north we first see. north of the county of Barcelona, chat is, north of the Pyrenees, rhe duchy of Gascony extending ro the region of Bordeaux and rhe county of Toulouse. Then. to mention only the larger units. come che duchy of Guyenne. i.e. Aquitaine, the county of Anjou, the seat of the second Franco-English royal house, rhe counties of Maine and Blois, rhe duchy of Normandy. sear of the first Franco-English royal house. the counties of Troyes. Vermandois and Flanders, and finally, between rhe Norman dominions-the coumies of Blois, Troyes and ochers-the small domain of the Capetians. the duchy of Francia Ir has already been emphasized char this small Caperian dominion did nor constitute, any more than other terriwries, a complete unity in the geopolitical or military sense of rhe word . It was made up of two or three fairlr large adjoining regions. the Isle de France, Berry and rhe Orleans regions. as well as scattered smaller possessions in Poitou. in rhe south, and in rhe most diverse pares of France, rhar had come inw the possession of rhe Caperians in one way or anorhers' _) In most of rhtse terriwries at rhe rime of Louis VI. rherefort, a particular house had gained predominance over the ochers by accumulating land. Conflicts berween these princely houses and rhe smaller nobility within rhe dominion were consrnndy flaring up. and tensions between chem long remained perceptible Bm rhe chances of successful resistance by the smaller feudal houses were no longer great. Their dependence on the liege lord or territorial ruler of the rime slowly became more evident in the course of the eleventh century. The monopoly position of the princeh- houses within their terriwrits was now only seldom shaken. And what from then on characterized society more crnd more was the struggle berween these princely houses for predominance in a larger area. People were driven into these conflicts by rhe same compulsions as in rhe previous srnge: when one neighbour grew larger and thus stronger, the other was threatened with being overpowered by him and made dtptndenc; he had w conquer in order nor to be subjugated. And though w begin with crusades and wars of expansion to some exrem reduced tht internal pressure. this grew all rhe more intense once the chances of outward expansion had diminished. The mechanism of free competition operated from now on within a more confined circle, namely between those warrior families which had become the central houses of rerrirories. -i The Norman Duke's conquest of England was, as wt have memioned, one of the expansionist campaigns characteristic of this time, one among many. Ir too bore witness to the general hunger for land char afflicted the growing population. particular!\' rhe warriors, whether rich or poor.

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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.
L. _

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

, 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 m1rriane 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 C11)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. 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

,,eneml hunger for land, one house constantly drove another to unire with enough in these formations. or to seek "more land ' manifests itself clearly 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

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Plantagene[ was an old man, [he Caperian younger; he was Louis VHs 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 bick 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;

. 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 to his po\\ er. . controlled a nor rnconsiderable 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 the tern reaI cl om111i ' nor rhis France ' \\/hat he aimed at above all was . . 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

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'[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 rwehe 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:<l of the perpetual. open or concealt:cl S[[uggle 111 wh1d1 the rnnous pr111cel: a enuiued md in which one of these houses atrer another. conquered houses \\,,,re c c .. c . ' . bv one more powerful. disappeared . \Vherher or_ nor one rully _ real1.zes rhe of rhese names. they g1\'t an 1mpress10n ot rhe S[[engrh or the impulse 1!1' /::' . . l l . l . n,, from the social sirnarion or the Capet1a11 house. an 1mpu se w 11c 1 ernanan "' . . -- . . . . in the same direction rhrough such w1deh cl1Henng 111d1\'1duals At rht death of Charles IV. che lasr Capetian who came rn the throne in direcr .- .10 n rht "rtat French Ca1x:tian dominions-i e the complex grouped success . v _ _ _ direcdy around rhe duchy of Francia-exrended trom Normandy 111 the wesc ro \!1t in rhe east and rn the river Canche in the north; the Arro1s reg10n. _ Cl1an11)'t:adjoining chis to the north. had been given away as an apanage ro a member the family. Somewhar furrher somh-separated by rhe apanaged region or Anjou-rhe counry of Poiriers was pan of rhe area direcrh- comrolled by the Paris princes: still funher somh che coumy of Toulouse belonged to them. as did parts of the former duchy of Aquiraint All this already consrirmed a mighty of lands: bm it was nm ytr a cohesi\'e region. Ir srill had rht typical held appearance of a territorial family domain. rhe individual parts to<editr less by their reciprocal dependence. or through any d1v1s10n or tuncuon, b\ rht person of rhe owner. through "personal union". and the common aclmini.s[[ative cenrre. The separate iclenrity of each region, the special inrerescs and character of e1ch terrirory. were still very srrongly felr.. Howe\er. their union under one and the same house and partly under the same administration, did remo\'t a whole series of obstacles in rhe wa\' of fuller inregration. Ir corresnoncltd w the tendencv towards an extension of rradt relations. the intensificclocal lewl. which was already discernible in small parts rion of links bevond of rhe urban even though rhis tendtnc\ did not play remotely rhe same role as a clri\'ing force in rhe union or expansion of princely houses as it Dla,ed later, in rhe nineteemh cenrury. for example. at an enrirely differenr sragt in dtvelopmtnr of urban bourgeois S[[ara Here. in the tltvemh, twtlfrh and rhirceemh centuries. rhe srrugglt for land. the rivalry between an ever-smaller number of warrior families. was the primary impulse behind the formarion of territories. The initiative lay with the few rising warrior families, the prtncely houses; under their protecrion the rowns and rracle f-lourished. Both profited from rhe concentration of power: no doubt they also comribmed to it, as will be discussed larer. And quire certainly urban strata, once larger regions were uni red under one rule. played an imporranr part in tht consolidation of a rerrirorial union even ar this rime. \Virhom the help of the human and financial resources flowing rn the princes from urban strata and growing commercializa-

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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 Captcirn 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 finour of one of the great lords, and rhus cbrough dependence on him.

r- .

che Capecians and their succession, che kings of France, and the The confroncarion between chem muse decide 1nra(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 e 1 0 anv n ' ' . Lil1cion of land The laruer accurn ' o the area became char was gracluallv . . . umced and rbe Caperians the more strongly did a countervailing movement cenrra ll.zed bv 1 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

h:

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

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Ih, Ciri/i:;i11g Pmcu.1

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 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 '' -rnber of the familr. rounger sons miLdu receive a small esrare here and roe . The . <-<--re or rher mighr marninro a small proptrrv; bur we also hear of one or other rht' ' . .... . 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
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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 cJ11m .. . 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 . . . , 'It1 1 th0 r iar d common leual cod \ _ . tor large areas To provide for children was a sociil 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
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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 claughrers down- or 1e ead c rrec[or of a subs1d1ary. wi[hom owing his em Jlorees [he -. s son as rn rht same W<l\" die l . . . ,. l l . slrghresr explanation. .. Jr111ces or r rnr earlier phase disposed of vll .,_ tsrnres and [ernwries of [heir re1lm A l l . l . J ,1c-ts, towns, . ' nc r ie rmpu se caus111" [ht . fI propenres w provide for his sons 111d d I . "' 0\\ ner o arge I Q . ' aug Hers rs more or less [ht s-ime II r iese cases. LIHt aparr from a ruler's possible preference fo - fl 111 a children, w endow diem 111 . , h- . r one o 11s younger <I [[Ing manner was n . . f l . and public disphr of [h. l . or [ 1t prtservanon - . ,. t socra srnrns of a house: and-ar leasr 1) . -. I .. leasr 111 a shon-[trm riew-ir . - . , I l - I . - - 'I p.ircnt}. ,1, 111u tdsec t 1e 1ouse s clnn . . permanence Tl1'lr [hrs s Jl. ' ces or ga111111g power and ' I r[[111 u LI!' ot fJOSsess I t b - -fi f I . "' . rons anc uncnons of rule fo t' ene r o re arIOf]S very ot[tn precise!; endan "tr -d I , r ne [ht house is 1 her \\l11c-I1 fI . l "' t r ie PO\\ er and permanence of ' ' requenr \- on r e cl l _ . . afrer long and painful txperience ot 1:rinces draw [ht full and ulrimare conclLrsron tI " . \V.lS rea y [ht frrst to rom sue 1 ex1 e \V. I severin he kep[ ill faml. . ) rrence.. I[ 1 implacable 1 . ' ' r ) re anons-even [ht heir [O th 1 f . was possible a[ all-far from ill . _ . t [ 1rone, as ar as this 1 power. , ru 111g tu11cr10ns and indepenclenr positions of
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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 ab1red. Tl . ous . _[hreat from neighbouring feudal ' . 11s curse each tamrly rn hold i[s people wgedier as

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

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raV we

State Formation c111d Ciri!i:atio11

293

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" "cqu. 0 .__ ..r 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 ro rhe Arlesian or Burgundian realm char ,1rose callow ges. 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._, ,

. 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 .
A 0 '

th;

:r

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 cl 1e wester n . known as rhe "Hundred Ye<us' \Var" To the Planwgenets, rhe islan con 11 ICrs . l " . ll furrher expansion on rhe mamland was blocked; even r 1e1r existmg rulers, ,1 . cl . cl . l 1 possessions were under consranr threar unnl rhey had esrro1 e . . l rLile md prevented rhe formarion ot anorher leadmg power on r 1e Capenan , . . .. d E mllv furrher expansion bv rhe Pansian rulers was very restncre Connnenr. g ' . ' . . . b posirion permanenrlv rhreatened unnl rhe island-dwellers were su and nelf l . . . f clued or ,u leasr expelled from rhe mainland. It was .rhe srr1ct compu.ls10n o comperirion which drove rhese houses and rheir dependenrs agamsr one genume . . . . and which-since for a long rime ne1rher of rbe amagornsrs can anot 1 1er, decisively defear rhe other-made rhe srruggle so r To begin wirh, however, rhe Paris kings were for a vanery or reasons ar a - d . ca<'e Jolin che Good was capmred bv rhe English heir. rhe Prmce of van ' 0 , . d Wales. in the Barde of Poiriers in 1356 and senr ro England Immediately rhe s larenr in his rerrirorv now ruled as regem b\ rhe Dauphrn Charles, who (ens1on .' ._. was nor ver rwenry years old, broke our: revolurion in Paris, peasanr revolrs, and knivhts ;Jlundering rhe counrryside. The English rroops, in alliance w1rh anorher of the Capetian house, rhe owner of previously apanaged reg10ns, rhe King of Navarre, occupied large areas of wesrern France; they even reached rhe vicinirr of Paris John che Good, to free himself. concluded a rreaty with rhe and their allies handing over to rhem the m<1inland .irea rhar Richard the Lion Hearr had lasr conrrolled at rht end ot rhe rwelfrh cenrury. But the Srares General of rhe French dominions, summoned in 1356 by rhe Dauphrn, declared rhar this rreary should be neither approved nor carried om and thar rhe onlv firring answer was a well-foughr war. And rhis was wirhout doubt a clear exi;ression of how strong interdependence had becorr:e. wirhin the grear dommion of rhe Caperian heirs, of the amonomy and selt-mteresr of rhe ruled rhat would slowly deprive rhe monarchy of its privare monopoly characrer. At rhis stage, however, rhe developmenr was only beginning. The war was anew and the Trearv of Bretigny, by which ir was provisionally concluded m l J )9, was favourable ro rhe Valois than the firsr concluded by John himself somewhar in England. Nevertheless roughly a quarrer of what Philip rhe Fair had possessed had ro be relinquished ro rhe Planrageners, above all Poirou, Samronge, Aurns, Limousin, Perigord. Quercy, and Bigorre south of the Loire, rogether w1rh a few other disrricts making up, wirh rhe older English possession Guyenne, the
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295 29-!
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 h1,. !10.use musr_ now all rbe more osrenrmiously demonstrate its glory. The sen., At any rare. under John a specific tendency of large family possessions w1s 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 dcirion 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 ' . . m<H1. bur shrewd and experienced from rhe trials ot his yourh. ,1ssumed under rhe name of Ch,1rles V. He was head of all the possessions left to the , 1:) rhe Trearv of Breri<>n\'. 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 . gs soYerei ,,nn the centrifugal tendencies had gained renewed strength re in "' . . h k . . .,. in a number of territorial formations were emerg111g wlth1n the nee 1 1 ' 0 Caperian dominion rhar aspired more or les_s obYiouslyro amonomy. and benYeen 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
L

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

se

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 'Iis 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 1 11s (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 L ' L

prenous 1Y he had. married J\fargarer. the daughrer and sole heir of rhe Count ot Flanders: bm he died w1thom leaving children Ir w1s 1 hr<'t re"i.on b l. '''co tat tounc \V1thour -a ruler on the 1oun" D ll l . 1rselt cJ . unexpected death of rhe c ,e,. It
<..

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 ' (

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 himselfw1s rhe son-in-law of John rhe Good. To him belonged. besides rhe Pyrenem rerriwry of Navarre. a number

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

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 Kings 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

of Philip III. ,1 nephevv of Philip rhe fair <md of Charles of

296

The Cil'i/i::,ing PrrKcJS

51'1tt Fum1t1tion dlld Cil'ili:atio11

297

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 nort'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 An1ou Burgundy and Berrv ne 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.
' '- \Y

d",;1 15t0n
.

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 r13ntran} . -- l 01 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

"

LI

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

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\\ . . . . d" . of how far the structure of human relauons had changed 111 tlus 011 m ic,1u . . .

cierv-rhrearen rhe existence of a monopoly of power and possessrons warn or so .ons rendinn rn d1s1meurare . cl t- t. "' l pro1)ertv .r 1 ar<re r egl , o o an rein orce cenrn uc,1 a\e "' had be<,un their work anew . Once again there occurred one of those c . . . rendencres, ' meunrion such as had led centunes earlier ro the_ drsso 1ucron -hifrs wwarcls clrs 1 c ' _ _ _

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 ) ot rhe heir co rhe throne . s1111 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 Ci1ili::.ati11n

.299

. _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 rnin 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 ilre1dr 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
<....
L

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

This was rhe si rnarion and atti rnde of the closest relarions of rhe weik 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<l through of rhe rnosr diverse ralenrs, down to rhe rime when, with Henry of Narnrre. a relatively small terrirorial ruler for rhe lasr rime bee K' _ ame . mg of France; and as we have said. traces of rhese tendencies are to be found nght up to the time of Louis XIV The scron.!.!esr conresranr arnom' ' -',. .. /,:." \\"lS ., C' rl1i/CJ de .' , . Pl ] 1 [ Jp (h e
L

of a number of other Iralian terrirories The Burgundian expanded in rhe direction of Holland. Orltans inro Iraly. \Vithin rhe former wesrern Frankish ---irorv 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 cune. can be rrnced fairly precisely And thus rhe Hundred Years' \\1ar is ro be considered nor only as rhe war-games of a

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.

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 Procs.1

St.ire Formation

dlld

Cil'i!i::.atirm

301

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 gmernmental 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

1:i.rger . .. cill m the consc10usness ot those tormmg as we ' them. were scarceh more present _ .,... than Europe" as a political unit is tor us ne,.. l
L
L

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

J-{ow tht individual tensions between rival groups and houses were resolved,

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

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 1 ou"l1t back the weak king first to Rheims for his coronation and then as vicror or 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

ence on whether rhe main strug!:'lt was cltcicled in fayour of rl1r- p

Lon J on .u ltr;, ... 1. ' ans Out they could nor Jirtcth , f COmjY"tlt . . r . 1 cause any of rht cJ ti l t rn k e hrst place. ors
Now. with d1edeparrurt uf the English, rht: compc:ririon berween the marnlancl rernrnnal abon: all tht rivaln. l1es C rulers. between differtr1t b r,rnc .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 and wirhin which fronriers the inrtgrarion of the m:1inl;rncl ttr:i:r .. . !ts rhe tormtr wesrtrn f rankish regions was w be accomplished In thi 1 r 1crt ore. t 1e struggles continued . In tht last years of Charles VII there were. besides rhe Paris 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 AnJou Al enson. __urgundy, Bntrany. Dreux and foix. Each of rhese houses was irself alrtaon,

VI
0

The Last Stages of the Free Competitive Struggle and Establishment of the Final Monopoly of the Victor
t2\Vhat here ga\e tht monopolizing process its special characrtr-ancl whac 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 sepan][td in rtctnr times were still more or less undifferenriatecl in chat earlier

l " t.

c lftCtJQh

"'

ph, e. Ir has alrtady been stressed char rht social role of rht great feudal lord. or
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 being rhe owner of military power and jurisdiction Functions roclay rtprtstnrtd
15

rt presented by sewral branches: rht mi::- uhtiesr dy l ,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

bv different peuplt

<!l1ll

groups of people conntcrtd through rht chision of

\\it
to

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

ternrorrts from \\"ts . 11 \ . ro emerge. B which. with the . lam::r s vicrorr ' "fnnce, ' ' t.rn.i ur ro begin with, the houses ot Bourbon and Britrnm wtrt ilso power c. ' of major importance ' - enrres . wirh the txctprion of the larrer, rht ducal house of Brirrany. rht members of

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 over large areas, \\hertas in rht preceding stage ir only slowly developed through cenwries of struggle, first of all in rht form of a private, family monopoly. \Ve are accusromecl to distinguish rwo spheres, "economics" and "politics". 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 <rnd production Bur we also cake ir for gnmrecl, in chinking of "economics", char che production and, "1bovt all, rl1e acquisition of chest means normally rakes place wirhour threat or use of physical or military \ioltnce I\othing is less self-evident For all warrior sociecies with a barter economy-and nor only for rhem-cht sword is a frequent and indispensable instrument for acquiring mtans of production, and tht threat of violence
<lf1

,1U rht houses named were clesctnclanrs and relations of people apana!.(ed bv the C1pet1an house. and therefore its offshoots. Seigneurial. post-Carolin .:ant-. d l it\ . . . d.. . . . . eu .a has .. conrr.rctt <ls. one wrrrtr has !)LI[ ir . . l \ , ga C apenan ro . ,1 .. prince

from rhe conflicts of rht many great and small warric;r houses of rhe \\tSctrn reg10n. <!single house had tmtr<,ed victor1.011s 'fl1 . . I1ad b Frankish "' c: reg10n
now ecomt. by and large. rhe monopoh- of clescend1nrs of the C . . Bur in rht ccJLirse of ,, _ , . . '. aperwns. . "'eneranons tht tamrl) and irs accumulated territorial possess10ns had again becomt clis1)ersecl rncl n 0\\, t l1e , c1tt . b ranches of the . ' 1 erenr family were dots . l . struggling . . for supremaC\ Monopolv fornntion ' n o t l1appen m quite sue 1 ,1 srr,ught lrne as appears at first si<,hr \Vlnr \\'t 111\e b t. 1 . _ "' ' ' e ort us 1erern followini.; rhe Hundred Yeirs' "-'i. . the . , penod . . . _ , "ar-rs nor yet a complete or cenrwl1zar10n ot power in one place and in one pair of hands ur a srage on rhe way ro absolme monopok A srnre of highly resrricttd comperirion ' bten tsrablished for all rhose

. - .

indispensable means of production. Only when the division of

functions is Yery far adrnncecL only when, as rhe result of long scruggles, a specialized monopoly aclminisrrnrion has formed chat exercises tht functions of rule as irs social property; only when a centralized and public monopoly of force exisrs oYer large areas, can comptticion for means of consumption and producrion rake its course largely wichouc rhe inrerYention of physical violence; and only then do the kind of economy ;me! rhe kind of srruggle exist that we are

drcl nor belong ro a parncular family, the chance of acquiring and owning 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. .

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

305

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. moremer. 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

. 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 soci1l 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 . cl co the processes \\ 11c 1 h 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 , . ! . owirds 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 b1r1'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 . . . mbuked on a movement . n arises Once a soc1en 1 BS 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 . , uhdv urnrs ar e kni o . families, economic tnttrpnses, terr

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 c1 1em, '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 presenar10n o ' . \\/hoever does nor rise. falls back. . . l consnnt enlarnemenc. compennon, t 11s ' 1: l I her this is imencled or note n che first p act-\\' 1et . 1 Viccory, rheretore, means ! l . reduction ro a position ol . . . , closest nvals anc t 1e1r . dommance O\ er ones . . l hers 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 1 1er 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

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

306

Tix C

ProtesJ

Ste!!<

Formation a11cl Ciz-i!izatiffll

307

absorpcion, subjugarion. humiliarion or desrrucrion of rht ocher. The power relarionshi ps. rhe tsrablishmtm of dominuion 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 a or c1uickl\ . rl1rc)LIJ.!n 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 nb 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 resistance .of the great feudal lords ' and final! . v of Cip or roo. . And the . ' 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 rhemsehes. 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 1 1osstssions ' 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 1 11r;//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<ry the stmgglus lxtuui! wulienrl 101rrim 1 ,;I 11 It""/,; '11 / .. 1 homc.r ,111d l<1ter tlii re;"''. 11 /:11 tr1ui:;ras 1 (.., c. "' tr' t11 tf/ It ;;1 cJJ . .11Jr1u' d guu:Jt.I I JiJl/J!! / J!fJJJ
111o11oj1r,/y Joril/atirl/I. The only difference is rh<1r, chert, rhe process rook pbce in a sphere: ll1 whICh land owntrship and rnle formed an inseparable unirr. whereas bttr-wirh rht increasing use of money-it has caktn on rhe form of

. rnx,es and of conrrol of all rhe instrumenrs chat serve physical r""Jizarion Of b'ugarion. . $ll w<is in an intermediate period berwetn chest rwo that, in rht - half of the fifrttnrh cemury. following rht dearh ot Charles VII, the .. irr berwe:en rhe French branch of the Valois. rhe Burgundian branch wgerher rrva' remainder of Caperian teud;1liry, and rhe lasr reprtsenrnrive of rhe. great . "in feudalin-. rhe Duke of Brinany, came ro :1 head. Once :1gam the re- Capen, .. . .. p f l t'orces "arhered themselves for a common :1ss:mlr on rhe Pans1an centn ug'1 0 . . , , Louis XL whose wealrh and power were now p;1rncularly d,mgerous w Va,01s. 1 . . . I.I l K.. f l followin" the elimination ot his cl11et opponent 11t 1erro, r 1e mg o l rhen1 a As rhe centre " . of nravirr inclintd ever more: rhrearenmgly towards rhe l d. " Fr:nch ruling complex, rhe Burgundian Valois, Charlts rhe once. scared leirl\ what most of rht Kin n's comperirors must have felr and desired !l1 qtnre c ' . . . "' . .. . " " , .. rhe face of rhis rhrtar to their soCial e:x1stence: Instead of one king I wish \\e had

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 ., sili.rir as rhe ocher nrear Caperian feudal lords who wert working tor rhe sam\.... '" o . ncenrition of rht French rerriwrial complex: and he lived for a rime ar rhe d151 b 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 farhers 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

Stc1tt F(Jr//lation and Ciz'i/i:::atir111

309

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 kings 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.

. ru Ier As with the Burgundian inheritance, the rival e \V1d1 the P ans c l I-I b b ' . 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 mirri1"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- Hcl b s b uro, " rh " Holr Roman Emperor anc - or l <on of Louis " , I "I incl l11cl 1<"1in become free through the death of tie d w 1ose 1< ' ''='' cl cl Burgun . . r1e l c,1se .. "llllclY el dn )-, helfess As rn o f Buro ' the Habsburg agarn succee _ )3urgun ia A nne o f- Brirnnv 'lC least provisionally. But arrer muc 1 . ' the younu , ., , l . . 0 11 1 . marryrng - decided . . s -finallv by t l1e oprn1on o f r he Breron Estates-the. 1e1ress . .
! nhenranc l

concenr10n f , Clnrles of France. The Habsburgs proresrecl, there \\as war hand \vem l a rer a ls to . ,. he Franche-Comre, which lay ... md '_ hnallr a compromise. 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, H1bsburus in exchange i ax1m1 f lands was . o ' I cl.ian cl comp ex o ' . . . . fB . . . And when Charles VII iel. - cl Charles VIII s acqu1smon o nttan}. , recogmze . successor L01us . " XII ' 'a Valois from the Orleans branch, prompt } .ldl his ' chi ! ess, . .' ll cl b. the Pooe } and married the twenty-one. .srin" marnage an nu e had 11s ex1 o - . l . . cler to ]Jreserve her inherirance, Bntrany, lei :<iiclO\v of l11s prec ecessor, in or . cl cl
L

ll

year-o . l1 llcl . cl no\\ become uce , 1 - \ wn estates w l11c - his . \Vhen this marnage pro . torl ne Lro . . cl l . eldest who would receive Bnttany hrers the kmu marne 11s , .. as d on y aug 1 . , ther to o t l1e l1e1r-.1ppare . . . . nr to the rhrone, the nearest 1 iVJng . heiresscl.to mo familv, _ '. . _. of An"ouleme. The danger that this f the Count F ranus o . descen ant o n- mwhr . . ta - II mro . 1ncls of 1 t l1e I1, ' rinL ' above all a Habsburg, rernro . o f. And so under the pressure of the imporranr I sime 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 l l cl omv t 1ro1w 1ou 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

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

the Paris kings or-like Flanders and_ of may still some of their rulers, such as the lord of Albrer olr . cl 1ons 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 rFl 1e1r posinon

clearly the

of an absolute

.'.\10

Th, Cizili::iilg

P111(tJ-'

Stdh Form:1rifJ11

(!ild

Cil'ili::dfi(Jll

311

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, abme 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.

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 1e . . l' cl be Ie-s conctrned with rhe acrnal dilemmas and He 1s rnc me to ' . . " Iv our of which groups and persons actecI former . , less . 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 - . .. els chem marks according to whether their actions cl1d or 1 nor eac actors, a\\ ,1r 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 . .. "l rlie elemental'\' formati\'e regu annes an . the .I'<:al 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 dticl1\ of Fnncii as rhe ctnrre ot cnsrnll1zat1on, 1llusuare he)\\ 1'" reg10ns arouncI t 1 c ' ' . _ 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 1! "L-,nquesnona bl } .. Henri Hmser once sa1d ,' .. r I1trt is ' 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 11are "'" Is. .. on!\ 1 c n .1 word , we havt rhe full precariousness of their in1n1ec i. 1 struggles and rhe1r social existence b t fore o ur eyts, can we understand how
L

312

T ht Cfrilizi11g PmctsJ

Stat<: Formation ,md Ciz'ilizatio11

_ 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

probable was the formation of a monoi)olv within rhis 1re1 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 <lidn t want all rhe land h wanted the land next ro his." 1 "" ' e This simple and precise formulation expresses verv well how f . . .. " . . . . . . ' rom the mtenvea\ mg ot coundess md1v1dual interests and intentions-wherhe . d' 1 . . . . . . r ten 10 m r 1e same directwn or m divergent and hosnle directions-somed g b . <-: 11ng rnro c:mg that was planned and Intended bv none of these inclividLr l ,1 s, yet emerged nevertheless from their intentions and actions And reillv rl l 1 . . . . . . ' . 11s is the \\ 10 e secret of SOCJal hgurarwns, their compellinu dvnamics their st . . . . o . rue.rural regu 1 ar1t1es, their process character and their development this is the . . . ' secret of socwgenesis and of relatwnal dynamics. The representatives of rhe French monarchy no doubt jJOssessed b\ . 1 . . . . virtue of r 1e1r more central. pos1t1on m. rhe later phases of rhe movement, rather larger intentwns and radu ot acnon w1rhm rhe process ot integration rhan rhe individual Amencan pioneers. But they, roo, saw distinctly only the next few steps and the next piece of land that thev had ro obtain ro prevent it b uoin<> 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

c r '

'

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

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 . co-orcl111at1ng e supren1 . 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

Std!t Fon1Mtir111

t11Jd

Ciz-i!i:ation

317

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

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 . . _ "<dH rhoroughlr paradoxical rhac the central ruler m this earl} phase ot ar fir:-it Ste , (.., . . . fi rmarion should attam such enormous social power. For. from the end of Ages onwards. with che rapid advance of the division of functions. monarchy became more and more perceptibly dependent on the other ns preciselr this rime the chains of action based on division of . .. . s cook on ever wider sco1Je arearer durabilin: The autonomr . ot funcnon and ever "' I Processes ' the central authoricvs socia character _ as a funcnonary, which . graduallr received clearer institutional expression alter the French Revolut10n, were bv rl1 is rime far more prominent than in the Middle Ages. The depend_ence the ' ! lords on rhe revenues from their dominions was a clear mcl1Cat1on ot chis. centra Bevond doubt, Louis XIV was incomparably more rightly bound ro this vase and non1ous network of chains of actions ' than, for example, Charlemagne. How, auto . therefore, did rhe central ruler in this phase have, to begin with, such scope for decision and such social power that we are accusromed ro call him an "absolute"
L _ _

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

,;l[

316

The Cil'i!i:::i11g P1r1(tJS

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 sihr. o . o .
t

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 <lS rhe elememary regulariries of figurarional dynamics are disregarded as a means of orientation and as a guide ro both rhoughr and observarion. This "centralizarion" or stareformarion has been shown in rhe preceding secrions from rhe point of view of rhe power-srruggle berween various princely houses and dominions, i.e. from rhe point of view of whar we would today call rhe "foreign affairs" of such dominions . Now rhe complementary problem poses itself; we face the rnsk of tracing rhe figurarional processes zl'ithi11 one of rhe unirs which give rhe cemral aurhoriry-as compared with rhe preceding phase-a special power and durabiliry, and rims endow rhe whole society wirh rhe form of an "absolmisr srare, In hisrorical realiry rhese rwo processes-shifrs in power berween classes zcithin a unir and clisplacemems in rhe sysrem of rensions betll'ew different unitsconsranrly interrwine. In rhe course of the srruggle berween different rerrirorial dominions one princely house-as we have shown-slowly omgrew all rhe ochers. It thus assumed rhe funcrion of supreme regularor for a larger unir: but ir did nor create

: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 <l seeded region, rhere need be in rheir relations wirh rhe seeders no trace of murnal funcrional dependence. Between these groups exisrs pure enmity ro rhe clearh. Far grearer, roo, in such socieries, is rhe chance of a relarionship of clear and uncomplicarecl muwal dependence, unmixed friendships, alliances, relarionships of love or service . In the peculiar black-ancl-whire colouring of many medieval books, which ofren know norhing bur good friends or villains. rhe grearer suscepribiliry of medieval

-' 19

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<lS)" changeovtr. from fi.rm fri rnrn \1olenr enmity also occur more frequendy A.s social funcrions and become increasingly complex and contradicrnn-. we find more ind .. . . . _ ' more guendy ll1 the behanour and tttlmgs of people a peculiar split. a positi\e. and ntgatiYe elemtnts. a mixture: of muted affecrion and muted lll varying proportions and nuances. The possibilities of pure, enmity grow fewer: and. more and more perceptibly. e\en- accion taken an opponent also threatens the social existence of its perpttrator: it disturbs \\'hole mechanism of chains of action of which tach is 11nrr . ( . ' . Ir woLil cl ta ke us tar ahtld to explore lll derail this funch1memal ,i111bir:!le1!c"1: 0/ consequences in political life or ps\-chological nnke-Uj) rnd its s.o" . ' ' uogenes1 reLmon to the advancing division of functions. But the little chat has " been said shows it rn be one of the most important structural characreristics more highh de,elope:d societies. and a chief factor moulding ci,ilized conduct. with_ the growing diYision of functions, are the Increasrngly relauons btrween d1tterent units or powtr Tht relations between rhe states m\n rime. . abo\e all offer a clear cxam11le ntegrat1oo . . _ in _ Europe. _ of this EYen if 1 and the d1ns10n ot tuncr10ns h1:nc,c11 them have not Yet 1chmced is t'a . . . . _ _ . . ' ' ' r as t he cl1Y1s1on ot tuncnons 111thin thtm. neYerthtltss e\en- military exchange threatens this differentiated network of nations as a whole. chat in tod tht Y1cror himself hnds himself in a seriously shaken position . Ht is no able--or wil!ing-ro depopulate and devastate the en em\ countnsufficientlv t. J 0 stttle a pa:r of his own population in it. He must, in the interests of vicrory. destroy as iar as possible the industrial power of rht entm\, and at tht same .. in tht inttresrs of his own ptace. rn- within limits rn ;,restrn or rtstore chic industrial apparatus. Ht can win colonial possessions. frontier rt\isions, expor; markets. economic or military adrnmages, in short, a general advance of his power: bm just because. in the struggles of highly complex societies. each rival and opponent is at the same time a partner at the production line of rhe same machinery. e\try sudden and radical change in one sector of chis network ine\irabh !tads to disruption and changes in another. "fo be sure. rht mtchanisrn of competition and monopoly does not for this reason ceast to optrate. Bur rhe mev1rnble conflicts grow increasingly risky for the whole precarious svstem of nations. However. through these very tensions and discharges the fi.guration and an moves slowly towards a more uneguiYocal form of integration. perhaps at first of a federative kind. of larger units around specific hegemonial cemres And the relationship between different social classes 1cithi11 a dominion becomes. with the advancing division of functions. more and more ambivalem in the same way Here. mo. within a far more rtsrricrecl space. groups whose social

tLiill\ de11enclent rhrmwh the diYision of functions. art struggling '" , C> , opporwniries. They mo are at once opponents and partner: Thtrt art 011 s in wl1ich the exisrinu ot a socitt\" so c- oruanizarion c tuncuons _ situat1

s n1u 1

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 social soc1a , :ur1vin : :- ' . . me! ' ::::. on a changed ._ 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 . 1 t' rl1, clnn<,es in the social i)ower ot the central tuncr1onanes !1 rhe d inc c > 'on functional classes giYes rise to no special difficulties, co-opeuitI of the 11owerful . .
L _ _

1..

'

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

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 L

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.; P1)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

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

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

Th, Ciriliz.ing

Pr11c"u-'

St"h Fr11wc1ti1111

<111J

Cil'i!i::ati1111

considtrablt part of 1r. stood W_l<et_her him. he \\ould bt powerless tvery individual is ]JO\\ trlc:ss !fl bet ot pressure lrom a \\ holt net"' 1 n0f,t( interdependent ptople fht un1qut posmon, the: abund,rnce of power a single ptrson as tht cenual ruler of a society is w bi= explained. as we by the fact that tht inttrests of ptople in this society art pardy alikt and oppostd. that their anions art both adjusted ro and contrary co each needs; it is explained by the fundamental ambirnlence of the social rtlationshi \Vi thin a complex society There art conditions in which the positive side ps relationships grows dominant or is at ltast noc smochered by the negative But on tht way towards dominance of the negative side chert art phases in which antagonisms and conflicts of interest grow so strong that the continuing interdependence of actions and intertsts is obscurtd ro tht consciousntss of tht participants without quite losing its importance. Tht constellation that thus comes into being has already betn described: different pares of hold tach ocher roughly in balance in terms of social sutngth; the tensions between them find expression in a chain of major or minor skirmishes; bur neither side can congutr or destroy tht ocher; they cannot settle their differences because any Strtngthening of one side will thrtaten the social existence of the 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 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

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 as everyone else ' . the samt degree 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

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 oran attain chat optimal power which usuallv rhe opp O . "' _ . . : Jinds expression in a strong auwcracy. The relatively wide scope for Jeus10n leh 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 the variously directed interests and ambitions counttrpoised in his dominion Of course, chis outline simplifies the acrnal state of affairs to a certain txttnt 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 commercialization, far mort than the conscious attacks of bourgeois-urban circles, which 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 network may be expressed in the plans and goals of individual ptople or groups, with chem grew the tension between the urban classes who art gaining strengrh 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, having won the struggle between initially freely competing units, had btcomt the central rulers of the whole-the kings, until finally, balanced between the bourueoisie and the nobilitv. thtv attained their optimal strength in the form of b ' " the absolute monarchy 19. \Ve asked earlier how it is possible at all for a central amhority with absolmt power to evolve and survive within a differentiated society, despite the

rhat gi

. .

mind most \ividly and simply by rhe image

of the tug-of-war Groups. social forces, that hold each other roughly in check, stretch a -rope. Ont side pits itself with all its might against the other; both 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 rope in opposite directions and yet bound together by chis rope. chert is a man who belongs tntirely to neither of the two contending groups. who has the 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 reduced or either of tht sides ro obtain a clear advantage, then ht is the one who 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, to move the whole. The reason why it is sufficient is clear. \Virhin chis balanced apparaws enormous forces are latent but bound: without someone to release

324

Th1:

Ci6!i:::ing Pm(,SJ

5tt1!, Forl/latio11 mid

325

facr rhar chis cenrral ruler is no less de]Jendenr o l k. . n r 1e wor 10g of h 1anism than the occupants of 0 l . . t ee mec 1 ! . . 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, '"1ve bour . . . commer. 1 b' ge01s groups 10creased . b apprecra ly pushed back rhe bulk of ti . I impetus; it . . 1e warnor c ass, the old nobilit. A d I f . . /. t the en of the social srruggles in which this . 0 em rrans.ormat1on of socie . c \ 1 expression. rhe interdependence berween pares of rhe nobilir\ and ry bourgeo1s1e had grown considerably Tl1 b1 . 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 ars . .. 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 . 1 . . ' -to e 1m10ate the nob i ity as a socia 1 1nst1tur10n 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 pl:1ce a.s Cal not \vabnt1to 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 10 gies. e 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

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-

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. 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
L

The official hierarchy of rht secular governmenrnl appararns was in 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 . .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
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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

ls

king. know, ir was in only one counrry during rhis period rhar bourgeois and ((roups rook such a srand successfully againsr rhe king-in England.

srruggle w1d1 rhe nobilin- wirhom cmring into rhtir own fl-c!1 .111 .. cl l l .. y ec1s1ve
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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 dued t heJr 1c!v-rnc- roo f:ar in
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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 rultrs 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 represenrarives. Bur rhty show no less clearly how strong were tht rivalries and confliccs of interesr berween rhese groups. which impeded a common pursuir of rhis objecrive. Each of rhem would have liktd ro limir rhe monarchy in irs own

) ow agamst rhe nobil1ry as an insrirmion would shake rhe whole: scare and social srrucmre and rhus knock down like: skirrles rhe social exisrence of rhis privileged All rhe classes were equally concerned nor w push the srruggle berwten_ roo far: rhey all feared norhing more rhan a profound upheaval and shih of weighr wirhin rht social srrucrure as a whole. 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 "ra; 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!;, 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 berneen rht leading groups, remained exrremelv srrained rl1row,hom the 0 whole of the m1ciw Ea l 1e,uec c. . I r lle or ller: eac l. b . . _ 'cl 1 o served rhe ocher's steps wir1 1 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

farnur. and each was jusr strong enough ro prevent ochers from doing so. They
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 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 were roo grear r.o make a decisive compromise berween rhem likely; and che 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
bb

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State For//latiui!

c111cl

Cil'i!i::;atio11

_129

uniting, incapable of fighting with all their scren<>th and winnirn.: leave to a cemral rultLr the decisions th<lt could not chemselves

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 <md orher clerics who. while certainly more militarily competent and even bellicose than lacer, at any rare did nor live on or for war. These feuds and wars often enough rook place ar their expense. And ove1: and again priests and abbeys rhroughom the country. mistreated, injured, depriwd of their rights, appealed ro che king as judge . The strong, only occasionally troubled, association between the first Caperian kings and rhe Church was in no way formirous; nor did its cause lie solely in the strong personal fairh of these first Capetians. Ir also expressed an consrellarion of interests. The dignity of the monarchy in this phase, whatever else ir may have been, was always an instrument of rhe priests in their conflict with rhe warrior class. The royal consecration, anoinrmenr and coronation were influenced more and more by Church investiture and ceremonr The monarchy rook on a kind of sacral character; it became in a certain an function . Thar this link, unlike what happened in orher societies, did not go beyond these mere beginnings of a merging of worldly and ecclesiastical central amhoriry. and was very soon broken off, resulted not lease from the strucrnre of
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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 . -rriic\ ,1mborirv trnnscendinu ,11! orbers. Sooner or later. ' , . 1 ' sup re 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 vanous 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 , discussed earlier. Thev derived support from che second srrongesr . ncnon. fu 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 . c1 l' 1 lords into b1stions 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 achanced . But even in this phase ir is apparem how the tensions between
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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<rro.<
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rhe hrsr real power srruggle berwetn rhtm. occurred only when more human and financial resources were be<,innin" rn flow rn rl1 ,, ki'ri acJUtlcfa.>;;:::.
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pardy consciously. pardy unwirringly, these rwo social posid eich other bm their relarions alwavs remained <lmbivalenr There: . . . . .. . elevare ' Irk of ,111imosiry ,111d conflict be:rween rhem nor. at hrsr. of occas10ns no ' L r l1e so\ereign .lin 111d boureoisie arrempred joindv to resrncr rhe no b i . , c . of the kings Throughour rhe enrire .l\liddle Ages. rhe krngs found repe<itedly in sirnarions where rhey had ro seek rhe approval of the represenrnrives of the esrares for certain measures; and rhe course
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 deree 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
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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 antaonisms 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 <lfld rwelfrh cemuries rhe ambl\'al.ent relar1onship between the warriors and the clergy. from rhen rhe anragornsm btrween warriors and rhe urban-bourgeois groups slowly sreadily moved mro_:he foreground as rhe central inrernal rension. \X'irh ir, and wid1 rhe whole difterentiarion of sociery rhar ir expressed. rhe central ruler gained new imporrance: rhe dependence of all parrs of sociery on a supreme coordinator grew. The kings who. in the course of the srruggles for predominance. detached themselws more and more from rhe resr of the \rnrrior class as thei; dominions expanded. also disranced rhemselYes from the other warriors rhrou h their posirion within the rension berween rhe Lurer and rhe urban classes. In tension they were nor by any means unequivocally on rhe side of rhe warriors. ro whom rhey belonged by origin. Rarher. rhe! applied their wtighr now to side of rhe scales. now ro rhc: orher. The rowns arrainment of communal riglus was rhe firsr milesrone on this road. The kings of rhis phase, abme all Louis VI and VIL like their representati\es and all die other feudal lords. regarded the growing communes with misrrusr and, w say the least. "partial hosril i ry .. , "'' parricularl y within rheir own domain. Only gradually did rhe kings grasp rhe uses of rhese unfamiliar formations. As always. <l cerrnin rime was needed for rhem rn perceive rhar the emergence of a third esrare within the fabric of societl' meant an immense enlargement of their own scope. Bm from then on they 1;romored the interests of rhis third esrnre with the mmosr consisrencr. as far as rhese accorded with their own. Above all they fosrered the financial. ;axable power of rhe bourgeoisie. But rhey emphatically opposed. whenever they had the power ro do so, rhe rowns' claims rn governmenral funcrions. claims which could nor fail rn arise with the growing economic and social power of the urban classes. The rise of rhe monarchy and rhar of the bourgeoisie were connecred in rhe closest functional

"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

5!ti!t

Fr1r11Mtio11

t11!il

Ciz-ili:wtio11

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

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.

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 r! cl I . '1 11 r estate treec men. had nsen somewhat earlier to inde1Jendent sinificance 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 .

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

They_ entered this apparatus by two main routes: 10; first through their share ot secular posrs. rhar is, posi rions previous!\ filled Lw nobles. . I . . . . . anc secondly r l1rough rhe1r share of eccles1asncal posts rhar is as clerks The rerm .1 .. b , . . . _ ' ueu egan l s HS meanmg from about the encl of rhe rwelfrh centLlr\ 0 ..L . 0\\ l} to. change . 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 gmernment 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 rhe rime. of _ Philij} AuuusrL1s on,,arcs I .ir r l1e Iaresr _ .. . c r )1e lawyers. rrue "knights of law <chr1'1f;.1:r d !rJis) appeared: they 1euJ aI were co rake on tlie tis'K c}f. an1a Igan1auni.:: wirh and Roman law to make u11 monarcl1ic 1-'1,,. A sma ll' arnw o 't. rl1mv . . canon sen bes 1n l ' . \ !6 lO-i or 105 in l ')-9 b l '" . . 1 . . . . a om s1xry rn )\) 1. rhesc chancellen- clerks garnecl nui:n.erous adrnnrages from consranrly swelling their ranks in rhe proximity of rhe king fhe broad mass was to become privileged noraries; the elirt (rhree under Philip the Fair. twelve_ before 1_188, sixreen in 1-106, eighr in 1-il)! would giw birch rod1e pnvy clerks or hnancial secretaries The furnre was rheirs linlikt the grand
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ofhcers ot a pdarinare. rhey had no ancesrnrs. bm were themselves co be

_o,_;5
various 1nnies ,,, J ,, , , Ir Ius '1]rea J )' L1ten 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 E l1t one hancL a conse' , , b\' : bourge01s L , circles , , IL \\,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 - -" " mont\' accelenEtcl , tprtuanon.. or -' cttnrh cenrury co an exrraordinan c:xrenr And rlie n;lbil' , 'l l_rn the incc n1 , f l , H\ w 10 ive<l > e rom Eie1r esrares, which che\ cot1 Id , _ ,, 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 o</';ll!Jnr:>nr. 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 1 1cv 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'oE' 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:
fron1 iniiom,ens , liecI F :fi1r ", . . rnnct. Eh is (civil) war has posirin:-11 tnri . so r.tr "' Jr has uncovered and placed in full " - , ,, , - , ,. chtd her, hidden under;,;round \''htt 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.Hr 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 cofrts and ne'rh- - , ni"'f"rdsl down to rhe priests. kept rheir coin
ir

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,

. .. . . I tr CDJO} e<.. n t ien1stlYeS nor lent it exec "1( at - r llt- pure-J iase , or morrwi;,;e ot- hn l l bross IJntcresr "nd w1rh excessJn: usun - . or b> d

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,nnt 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:

"

wood co keep himself \\"1rr-1 f

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

rhe

Cirilizi ng P rotc.i".1
S1'1tl For111afi(Jil a11d

Ciz-i!i:::atir!/l

.'137

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<<hesr rhe " _ c b _ ' c , great ar courr, as much as che top ot rhe bour"eoisie rhe l1arli-1ments woul 1 I . o ' ' c.. 1ave to resrncr rhe royal power in their own favour. Efforts. or at leasr ideas. These in rhis direction recur throughout the whole of rhe m1cii:I! groups wirh opposed interests and wishes were also divided in cheir at. d . . _ ' tttu e rhe monarchy. There was no lack ot occasions on which this became clear were even a number of temporary alliances between noble and urban-bot:rg . groups. above all the parliaments, against rhe representatives of rhe eOts; Bur if anything shows up rhe difficulrv of such direcr reconciliation d . . . . . . ,anrrhe srrengrh ot rhe rens10ns and nvalnes ex1sr111g between rhe parries, iris rhe fate such occas10nal alliances. Take, for example, rh_e Fronek. Louis XIV was still a minor. Mazarin was govern111g. Once more. tor rhe lase rime for a Ion" )Jtriocl rhe mosr d . . . 15 socral groups unrred to assail roral omnijJOtence re1Jresenttd bv rhe '1" . . n rni ster, Parliaments and broad nobility. urban and men of rhe high nobility, all rntd ro _txploir rhe monarchy s moment ot weakness. rht regency of the Quten exercised by rhe Cardinal.. Bur rhe picture prestnttd b\ rhis rising shov..>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 <lid one of rhe competing allits seem ro gain rhe slighresr advantage rhan all rhe others felt rhrtarened. deserred rhe alliance, made common cause wirh Mazarin against their erstwhile ally. and rhen pardy swirchtd back ro his side . Each of rhtse people and groups wanted to curtail royal power: bur tach wanted ro do ir to his own aclvanrage. Each feared rhar another's power might grow ar rht same time. Finally-nor least thanks ro rhe skill wirh which Mazarin rook advantage of this mechanism of rensions-rhe old equilibrium was re-established in finour of the txisring royal house Louis XIV ne\er forgot rhe lesson of rhese davs; far more consciously and carefully than all his predtcessors. he nurtured rhis and maintained the txisring social difftrences and tensions

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

. ncerarion and mono1Jolizarion, rbt kings shifted some of rbtir c. . . .. - l 1 . fhe\ now securtd rbe txisrenct ot r 1e 1e side of rhe nobrlrrv t . as a priviltged class against rhe and they drd so ro Jl!St Cessrrv ro prestrw rhe social dirterences btrween nobrlHy and de<rree ne ' . . . . t!'l1e " . of rensrons wrrhrn rhe realm. So, . or ,in cl rhus rbe e(iuilibrium ., cbev secured for rhe bulk of the nobiliry exemption from raxes, which ".t \\ould hwe liked ro see abolished or ar least reduced. bourgeois1 ' . . . Bur ...rhrs l, nor enouh to 0 "ive rbe economically weak landO\\ ncrs a sufhcient 0 ''15 cerwrn } . cl " l1 ro sarisfr their nee . ro on wl11c . their claim ro be rhe upptr class and . a clemonsrrarively affluent mode of lift. Despite rberr rax txempr10n. nobilirv the a11cit11 a thoroughly rhe mass ot. r I1e l1nded ' . rhrou<>hour c . . led . . cl l 'f Thev could hardly compete in marenal prospenry wrrh rhe upper resrnctc rt. . . . . . . l ". 0 f rhe boureoisie. \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 fbourems ong111 n a dd.rr.on 1 . rhe kin<>s c- , SUj)jJOrttd bv a stcrron o ansrocrarrc 0 . . 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, o renounce . .ar least for . rht . duration . .. _ acm - .rr; This rule ctrrainlv rht exrsrll1g drfterences rhrs . served . ro ma!l1ra!l1 . bl between bourgtoisie and nobility, which the k111gs no less rhan rhe no ts rhemsehes 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 cI,l -I po srs The nobilirv o, . would have bad nothing of rbe splendour an( . soCia - r1 o,.ed in rhe seventeenth and eighteenth cenrunes: they 1e\ srr"ll en 1 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 hun<lrtds and finally thousands ot nobles found relatively higl;ly paid posts. Royal favour, arrested by occasional gifts, was added for good measure: and proximity ro rbe king gave these posrs hrgh And so f;om tht broad mass of rht landed aristocracy rhtre arost a stratum of nobles, rhe courtly nobility, which could counterbalance the upper bourgeoisie in wealth and Jusr as earlier, when rhe bourgeoisit was weaktr rhan tht the royal acIm!l1rsrranon l1acl b een made arisrocracy. posrs ll1 ' . 'a bour<>eois o monoJolv 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

Prf)Cl.:.\.1

Stc1fi: Formation tJl/{I Cil'i!i:::t1tio11

to

339

_Under Henry IV. and still under Louis XIIL court positions. like the
ot military appointments and, still more. like adminisuative and judicial

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 rov1l 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 mir 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

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
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

St,i/1: Fomhlti1111 ,;nd Cil'ili::c1tio;;

3-ll

normally balanced each orher icitbin many stare offices formula of allocarion 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 ofi: . 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 ' 1g1 1mg ' 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" se1r 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 1 anded nobd1cy ro rhe wider honzons <Incl gre<1rer presn,ge of the c1 rcle ar courr. This smaller part of rhe nobilirv found ar courr and in and d p . new. . I . ,' , aroun ans a more 1omelancl. Up ro the rime of Henry IV anJ Louis XIII'. was nor cl1thculr tor a _noble belonging to the court circl.e ro spend rime at coumry sear or rhar of another noble. There was ro be . . . l b' . .. f' , sure, ,1 courr ,. no ilitv cl 1srmcc rom the broad cou " .. b ' ' . . . , mq oemr:. ur this society was still rtlacivel, Lows_ XIV, having learned his lesson early rhrough the Frond; exp o1rec the nobil1ry s dependence on him ro the full He "r . ' cl . , l . cl ' o unite 11s eyes all those who are possible leaders un er 1 of risinns 'lnd h ch1t11 lei serve as f'ocal pomrs . . rebellion c ' " ose .c u I.\ cou tor " 110

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 -nnanend)' ar courr. and if rht mhers camt only seldom, and rornl disgrace awairtd who showtd rhemsehes harclh or nor ar all If ont of chest had a rtqutsr, tht : _ .,ould "'" 1)roudh: .. ! do nor know him." And his juclt!tmtnt was irrevocablt. Ht f,::lflt; 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<l more ill(ense: he charged his tirsc ,alee and rhe governor of Versailles ro enrol a bodyguard These recti\'ed tht royal li\'try. were dependent only on rhose jusr mell(ionecl. and had rhe clandesrine cask of wandering the corridors by clay and nighr. secredy obser\'ing and following people. seeing \\here they went and when thty came back. overhearing rheir conversations and n:poning ewryrhing exacdy

h;:

Tclhe of Versailles corresponded perfecr.ly ro both rhe interrwined ren enc1es ot the monarch, ro p "cl ti cl 1. i 1.. , . . ' rov 1 e or an visw Y elevate pares of rhe nobility \\ 1 11 1e conrrollmv rncl nmn, I T.l k. 1 f: . o ' ' 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:
. - cd d an 11s

\\ert pn:stnt ar his courr. ht demanded ir also of rhe j)trn nobles Ar his '"

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

t!l!d

Cirili::.1tir1n

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 Ir was shown earlier how. in rhc: course of monopolizarion. rht circle of 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<f'i!tl!i'S, milirary commanders of provinces, and rheir forrresses. Slowly, wirh rhe consolidarion of monopoly rhese possible rivals of rhe kings rook on rhe characrer of funcrionaries in powerful governmenr appararns. Bur rhey rtsisred rhis change. Tht narura! brorher of Louis XIII, rht Duke of Vendome, Htnry !V's basrard son, rose againsr rht central authoriry ar rht htad of a facrion. He was gmernor of Brirranv and belitved he had an heredirary righr ro rhis province on grounds of marriag;, Thtn ir was rhe govtrnor of Provence from whom rhe rtsisranct came, rhen rhe go\trnor of Languedoc. rhe Duke of Mommortncy; and t\'tn rhe Huguenot 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 caprnins of srrongholcls srill had a high degree of indtpendtnce. The governors of provincts regarded rheir purchased and salaried positions as rhtir property. So 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, rose. like many royal brod1trs befort him, againsr rht king Ht formally renounctd friendship for rht Cardinal afrer raking over rht leadership of rhe facrion hosrile ro him, and wenr ro Orleans w begin his srrugglt against Richelitu <md rhe King from a strong milirary posirion. Richelitu finally won all rhtse banles, nor lease wirh rhe aid of rhe bourgeoisie 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 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

And rhe courrs role as a place of dtrenrion emerged parricularly 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

. , . 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>

court t- l k groundless For none 0 ( lt rng s_ says s,11nr-S1mon. was C]UICe 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

.. 11-\

'='

L-

. . -. 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' 1 l irs consumnnrt form Ir was prorecrtd b\ a fa1rlv tfhcitnr organ1zam 1ncua, ' . . . . rion of survtillanct. The land-owning king d1su1bur111g land or nrhes_ had becon1e . kin" disrriburinl! salants: rh1s_ gave ctnrral1zanon a '1 111 ontr-owninv . o o ._ ._ . 'f
iv

' ncrion berween his rtlations and other persons. no d is(I . .

power and solidity unarrnined hirherw The of rhe cemnfuga.l soC1al l ! been fimllv broken All 1)oss1ble rivals of rhe monopoh forces 1ac ' , _ rultr h.id . been .

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
coumrv ariswcracy and rising bourgtois tlemenrs. Tht courr was the orgamwrional .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 . relariwly privart monopoly rhtrt were alrtady unmisrnkablt elemenrs which 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" had. indeed. a measure of rrurh. wherher or nor ht hirnstlf urttred ir. Insriwrionallv. the monopolv organizarion srill had w a considerable cxrent rht 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. <lll txprtssion of lower social inrerdtpendtnce. had vanishtd Tht vasr human ntrwork char Louis XIV ruled has irs own mornenrnm and irs own cenrrt

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

34-i

The Ci!'i!i::.i11g Proccs.1

State Fomwtion and Cii-ili::.atio11

345

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 functionarys 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 social 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 proput) of onc its co11tro! r;f Ctillli11 lands a11d its dai111 to tither !ii' scnices 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 r11u'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

. 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

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 nt cOtl o . . tWO most imp?rtant towns in the kingdom, finally bought their exemption for fixed sum 11 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 kings 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

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 senices 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

348

Tin Ciz'i/i::;i11g Proa.u

Stt1!t Fom1atioJ1 and Ci1i!izatir111

and more deliberately constructed into an organization or insrimtion . In n coniunCLion with a 'gradual uansformarion of sociery and a shift of \. 1 wa.. po>
5

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

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
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

,.e-re rransformed into regular payments As rhe mone\' and uade sector of ons, \y

step by step into taxarion

from 1328 onwards. and more strongly from 1337, this transformation of rhe
aid inro regular duties accelerated . In 1328 a direct tax for rhe war raordinarr ext '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

runs a song of the rime about the allies All rhe same chis violent re to acnon 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 strLioh 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

Th1:
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 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

_)51
, dirion As long as Charles V was aliYe all this found no visible express10n "rew unseen. and with it discontent Bm it seemed that the king was to vrsr res , c . . . . _ 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 L give 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 e 1 ,,r ed equal!\' on rich and I)OOr. How appropriate this decree was to the w 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

-X}'ears

"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 supenisi?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 supenised 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 cune 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!!lrrc 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

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

Th, Cil'i/i;:;ing Pmcu.1

Std!c For111ation diid Cil'ili:atio11

353

1cant The dependence of tht groups and classes in this society on a . . . . . . . supreme orelmdtor who mamramed co-operanon between the v1rious -uciil 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 disrrib ut10n ot , . _ _ , a voice in rhe raising , ind '

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

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 <the vanous urban were nor always the same, even if--in their relation to the central apparatus the country-they were nor necessarily mutually hostile, In the smaller clfcle of the towns themselves matters were very different. Here the mreresrs of rhe different strara. despite all cheir interweaving and indeed precisely because of it, were often diametrically opposed The urban communities of this cime were already highly complex formations. There was in them a privilegtd upper stratum, rhe bourgc:oisie proper, whose position was expressed in its control of the civic offices and therefore of finances. There was a middle stratum, a kind of perry bourgeoisie, rhe less wealthy craftsmen and tradesmen; and finally there was a mass of journeymen and workers, rht 'people" And here, too, rhe raxes formed rhe nodal point both the interdependence and the antitheses emerged parricularlv cleark If clear demands were expressed at all, rhe middle and lower direct, progressive raxes which each paid according to his means, while rhe urban upper stratum preferred indirect or flat-rate taxes. As so often, rhe agitation of the people over raxes and the first wave of unrest were ro begin with unwelcome to the urban upper stratum . Ir favoured this movement as long as it reinforced !ts. own opposition ro the monarchy or even ro the local feudal lords. Bm very quickly the msurrecrion turned against rhe wealthy rown-dwellers themselves. Ir became in part a for urban 1d b etween ' StrU""le ob ' , mm1srrat1on t ]1e ru l"mg 1. oour"eo1s parriciare and che middle strata, who demanded their share in rhe offi;:s as

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

Pro(U.1

Sit1h

Formation

tlild

Cizili::.atirm

355

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 ,, 1 ,.e a cert'-ai . ,_ ' the\ nevertheless o 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 <ll1d stronger. The king now srnod before his people as a vicrnrious army leader, however little he may have been inclined to rhis role by personal predisposirion. In the war, all rhe financial and human resources of the coumry had been collecred in rhe hands of rhe cemral authority. The cemralizarion of the army, rhe monopoly comrol of raxation had advanced a good distance. The external foe had been driven om, bur rhe army, or at least a good part of it, was srill present. Ir gave rhe king such imernal preponderance rhar resisrnnce to his wishes by the estares was as good as hopeless. parricularlv as rhe exhausred popularion wanted one thing above all else: peace. In sirnation rhe king declared in l-i36 that the narion had approved rhe aides for an unlimited .period, that he had been asked nor to assemble the estares in future to decide on taxes; che costs of the journey to rhe estates' assemblies. he said, placed far coo heavy a burden on rhe people. This jusrificarion was, of course, wholly wirhour substance. The measure itself, rhe suppression of the estates assemblies, was simply an expression of rhe social power of the monarchy. This power had become so grear rhar rhe aides, which during the war had in practice become more or less cominuous, could now be openly declared a permanem insrimrion And this power was already so unquesrionable that the king no longer thought it necessan to auree the amount the esrares and kind of rnxes with those who paid them . As has been still repeatedly attempted rn resist . The suppression of rheir parliament and the dicrarnrial powers of rhe kings were nor consolidared wirhour a series of trials of strengrh. Bur each of these showed yer again, and more and more clearly, how
L

blv in rhis phase of rhe adv,mcing clitfrrentiarion and integration of _ . . . . . . the power of rhe central tuncnon \\"<lS grow mg. Ag am and agam 1t was irirv power concentrared in the hands of rhe central aurhoritv which the 011 r ' . . . . . . and increased his control of raxes. and 1r was rh1s concenrrared comrol ot ... ! ich made possible an ever-stronger monopolization of physical and 1 t.xes ,_ . . . n power. Srep bv step rhese rwo means drove each orher upwards until, ar . . . . . . . 1 n point rhe total supenonrv anamed bv rhe cemral funcnon 111 this 11 . . was revealed nakedly rn the eyes of its asronished and embinered nreniporarics Here again a voice from that rime is better rhan any description ro . 1 . nvevin" rn us how all rhis broke upon people as somerhmg new. Wit 1our lll co . "' their knowing how or why. When, under Charles VII, rhe cemral government began quire openly rn announce and collect rnxes permanently wirhour rhe esrares' agreemem. Juvenal des Ursines. the Archbishop of Rheims, wrote a lener co rhe king . It included. . l'j freely translate d , rI1e f'o ll owmg: qe,'{ora
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<ne so helped you that you ;eel such discussions to be beneath your dignity You nm\' impose the dickr and other duties. and suffer them to be leYiecl like duties from your domain. without the a"reemem of your three estates "Earlier . ;his kingdom could rightly bt called "Royaume France". for ir used robe free [jiw1d and had all liberties [jiw1cbiscs d /i/;ut(s] Today the people are no more than slaves: wilfully raxed [1aillcd1/cr ,) 11111/cn!o:] If we look at the population of the kin,t!dom we find only a tenth of those who were formerly there. I would not wish to diminish your power. bm rather to increase it to the best of my small ability There is no doubt that a prince. and partirnlarly Your Highness. may in certain cases cm off [lclif/,r} , 0 mething from your subjects and leYy the :1icld. particularly to defend the kingdom and the public cause [c/y,s, p11b!iq11,] But this he must agree in a reasonable m<inner His rnsk is not mine. It may be that you are so\ereign in matters of justice. and that this is your amhority Bm as far as clomanial reYtnues are concerned. you haYe your domain and each private person his [N.B. in other words the king should kindly support himself on his esrntes and domanial rewnues, and not usurp control of the re\tnuts of the whole country). And today the subjects do not merely have their wool sheared. but their skin. their flesh and blood down to the bones

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 Ci1i/i:;i11g Pmcd.1

vnr. n.n
, d thev

5tah Fom1t1tio11 t111cl Cil'ili:t1tio11

35 7

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

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<lt. a war breaks our or there rover rlie ex 1 ._ . ._ . nuse of expendirure so that the esnmares are no longer s ::DY or l1e r unex11ected ' . . .
1

tnoug 1. an

l . other t1x is levied or stipends are cur so that under all Circumstances the

',

i2r,

necessary sum 1s obrained

of rhe .rnxarion. Up w now a goo cl cl ea l [ms been S,11d . 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 . . orrmr 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 . e e rhe sums demanded from rhe individLwl members of soCJety mcom, 1 . 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
LL "

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

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
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 _. , . . . ' ' '. c 1Hro d uced l at,rtemenc ot rht ma1on ry ot rhe council"'_ 12ne dispassionate reiJorrs 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. In I ) - J) ' - rIle rc:porr of. rhe Venetian envors cone", 1 ns rl r- JI 1 to owing:
L " L

359
and cht various t:rades of che military. So char if someone enters your service ,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. ne1cr attain
tJlC

, rn. <Jr on onh

, .

011<:

occasion in cheir lives. some remain cwo. chree 1ears 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 gi1ing 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 desening: 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

Aparr from che face char che kint: is militarily ]'O\H:rful. he obrnins mone, peoples obedience. I say char his usually has an income of

have nod1int: more rn give away: bur in this way chey arc served by people ol more

cv'.

<l

rneric chan che heirs of some earlier recipient Your Serenity might retlecr. if France aces

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 . p,1n . 0 f lw . t say . .11s re8.ird rhac che secc1on of che populacioo which be1rs ' . rlic , ma1or is ,ery poor. so rhac any increase in che burden however small.. would be ,

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 desene 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

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. ""Clrl1,1r1r1es 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

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\foremer. chose who possess incomes and land are nor ordinary owners: for the king recains supreme rule by virwe of cht <lppeals. rnxes. garrisons and all che ocher new and extraordinary burdens The Crown becomes more and more wealthy and uni tied and attains immense presrit:e: and char secures ic from civil war. For as there are noching bm poor princes. they have neicher reason nor che possibility
to

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.. . I .I pprme 0 . 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 .. s reges Francorum'', today " l or 1ers, says: Earlier cheir kings - had called chemse/,-, ...

] .I.

8' '

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 chrough char man"s ruin "'
to

enrich himself

cJ H:y can d call rhemse!Yes "reges serYorum So rhei nor cJnli pay rht king whace1er 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 -15 mLic)1.'1s .. l1e \l'<lnts: Iie urn. res new possessions with cht Crown .. . _. .- . sums . ".' Esc,1rts "icl1om g1\"lng anych1mi in rerurn And 1 'fl1 cl " . . . . . ,, l 'd . . . _ 't oes gn t 41ny thing awa\, rh1s 1s '': 1 for the lifenme of rht giver or of rhe recipient. And if one or che or.her lives cc 0 lone. che whole gift is \\'!thdra\\n as someching due ro rhe Crown Ir is crue char some are afterwards .. . A ncI r l1e1r . pracc1ce . 1s . che same wich regard ro the m '1c!e l'trnunem

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

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Stc1te Formt1tio11 and CiZ"ilization

361

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 kinus favour ' on j}a" . . . . . ., r . b J ments 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 Venerians 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 senices 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

. 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, ' . . .. . c1 11a1 and as a functionary of soc1en. Tht courtly nobility had no nd 1 ,, 1 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 t0 the boutgto1s1e ll1 soc1ery . Ir was rhe counterweight , _ . 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 xisrtnce 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

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 wl11c;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 chnamics. 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

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"' . . . . . . . . <hordv. Bur cons1dtrar1on or these mecharnsms of mrtgrar1on 1s also .. -r in ,; more ut:ntral wav to an understanding of tl1t civilizing process 1 re.evan , .. . . . . Only if wt see rht compelling force with which a parrJCular sooal srrucrnre_ .. a . ilir form of social imerwtavinu 1s !Jushed rhrou!.(h 1rs ttns10ns to a speohc '1ft1Cl '-"' 'p inc! co to other forms of inrerrwining.c can we understand how those

change
rI

"

'- ,

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 .rrnial are idmtiul mith,r uith r,g11lt!ritits of the "illind". of imlil'ich;al uith

es irise in human mtnralirv. in rht 1)atrernmg ot rhe malleable psycho' '0 '" 1 ,p1r1tLIS which can bt observed over a11cl again in human history from 1r1ca ' 11 ) ' ' ' ' . 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

!0 0

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

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Th, Cil'ilizi11g Pn1cc1.1

Sute For111afi(Jil ai!d Cirili:ation

_169

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 nof 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

in.creasingly

.. . rion and stabilizing of social functions and the growing multiplicity d'fierentI<l ' 1 . of acriviries char conrinuouslv have co be arruned ro each ocher van er} ' . . The panern of self-consrraints, rhe template by which are. mm'.lded, . I. varies widelv according ro the runcr1on and posmon ot rhe rnd!\ 1clu<1l rerra1n Y . . -c l 'vi . . , . l network and chere are even roday rn d1Herent secrors 01 r 1t estern w1rnin r us ' . . - . l'. l variations of intensit\' and srnb1liry m rhe apparatus or se 1-consrramr t Mr j\'Qf Id . . cl f . l . eern at face value very large. Ar chis pomr a mulotu e o parocu ar guesc10ns ; cl and rhe socioueneric mer hod may give access to rhe1r answers. Bm nre raise , ' o ._ . . . ared ro the JJSycholouical make-up or people m less complex sooeoes, when comp . "' . . . d'fferences md cleurees within more complex sooer1es become less s1grhese I ' b . . . . . . . f .fi md the main line or which is the pnmary concern o !11 cane, ' . . . . . cl\' emer"es very clearly: as the social fabnc grows more 1mncare, the this Stll . o . . . c ai)pararus of individual self-control also becomes more d1fferent1ated, 50oogem ore all-round and more stable. . ro Bur rhe advancing differenriarion of social functions is only the hrsr, most - the social rnnsformations which we observe in enqwnng mro the genera I o r ' . . in psychological habiws known as "civilizati.on". Han_d in hand \':'Hh rl115 "dvancing division of functions goes a coral reorgarnzar10n of the social tabnc. Ir n detail e-1rlier how and why when rhe division of functions was low, ,. l was s 10\\ 1 ' ' . rhe cenual organs of societies of a certain size were relatively unsrable and ln1ble w disintegration, It has been shown how, through specific figurarional pressures, centrifugal cendencies, the mechanisms of feudalizarion, were slowly neum:ltzed and how, seep by step, a more srable cenrrnl organization and <l hrmer monopolization of physical force were established. The peculi;1r .stability or rhe apparatus of psychological self-resrraint which emerges as a dec1s1ve ml!t built inrn rhe habitus of every "civilized" human bemg, stands m rhe closest_ relationship co rhe monopolization of physical force and the growing s.rabiliry or the central organs of sociery. Only with the formation of chis kind ot relanvely as a r.esulr srnble monopoly insrirmions do societies acguire those of which rhe individuals forming them get acrnned, from infancy, to a 111gbly regularecl and differentiared parrern of self-rescraint; only in conjuncrion with these monopolies does this kind of self-restraint reguire a higher degree or auromaricirv. does ir become. as ir were. "second nature" of force is formed, pacified social spaces are created which \Xihen a are normally free from aces of violence. The pressures acring on individual people within are of a different kind than previously. Forms of non-physical violence chat alwavs existed, but hirherro had always been mingled or fused with physical force. are- now separared from the latter; they persist in a changed .form internally within the more pacified societies They are most VJs1ble so tar as the standard thinking of our time is concerned as cypes of economic violence, In reality, however, is a whole set of means whose monopolization _can enable people as groups or as individuals rn enforce their will upon ochers. fhe

.FO

The Ci6/i::;i11g Proa.rs

5()Cl

Stt1!i: For111c1tim1 and Cil'i/i:;ati1111

371

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<mge when rhe structure of human relationships is transformed in the manner described, is as follows: societies wirhour a stable mono1Jolr of forcp are always societies in which rhe division of functions is relatively slight and the chains of action binding individuals together are comparatirely short. Conrersely. societies with more srable monopolies of force, first embodied in a large princely or royal court, are societies in which the dirision of functions is more or less advanced, in which the chains of action binding individuals together are longer and the functional dependencies between people grearec Here the individual is largely protected from sudden attack, the irruption of physical violence into his or her life. Bur ar rhe same rime he is himself forced to suppress in himself or herself any passionate impulse urging him or her to attack another physically.. And the other forms of compulsion which now pre,ail in the pacified social spaces pattern the individual's conduct and affective impulses in rhe same direction. The denser the web of interdependence becomes in which rhe individual is enmeshed with the advancing division of fonctions. the larger the social spaces over which this network extends and which become integrated into functional or institutional units-the more rhrearenecl is the social existence of rhe incliridual who giws way to spontaneous impulses and emotions. the greater is the social advantage of those able ro moderate their affects, and the more strongly is each individual constrained from an early age to rake account of the effects of his or her own or other people's actions on a whole series of links in the social chain The moderation of spontaneous emotions. the tempering of affects, the excension of mental space beyond the moment into rhe past and future, the habit of connecting events in terms of ch<1ins of cause and effect-all these are different asi}ecrs of the same transformation of conduct which necessarily rakes place with the monopolization of physical violence, and the lengthening of the chains of social action and interdependence It is a "cirilizing" change of behaviour. The transformation of the nobility from a class of knights inro a class of courciers is an example of this. In the social spaces where violence is an unaroiclable and everyday event, and where individuals chains of dependence are relacively short, because they largely subsist directly from the produce of their own land. a scrong and continuous moderation of drives and affects is neither necessary, possible nor useful.. The life of the warriors themselves, bur also thac of all others !iring in a society with a warrior upper class, is threatened continually and directly by acts of physical violence: thus, measured against life in more pacified zones. ir oscillates between extremes Compared with this ocher

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 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

_')72

The Ciz'ilizi11g Prricess

Std!e For111atio11 and Cil'ili:ation

373

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-

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

St,1ft Formation t111d Ciri!Le1tio11

377

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 larrers 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 anybodys planning whether a person experiences rhe one or rhe ocher. In either

i!Se ir is rhe web of social relations in which individuals live during their mosr

:!11 ressionable phase, rh<u is during childhood and yomh, which imprints itself
dieir unfolding personality in rhe form of rhe relarionship between rheir ,:nno!ling agencies. super-ego and ego. and rheir libidinal impulses. The resulting balance berween controlling agencies and drives on a variety of levels determines how an individual person sreers him or herself in his or her relarions with ochers; it determines char which we call, according ro rasre, babies, complexes or personaliry srrucmre. However, there is no end to the intertwining, for alrhough rhe self-sreering of a person, malleable during early childhood, solidifies and hardens as he or she grows up. it never ceases entirely to be affected bv his or her changing relations with ochers rhroughour his or her life, The of self-conrrols. call them reason" or "conscience .. , "ego .. or "superego .. , and rhe consequent curbing of more animalic impulses and affecrs, in short rhe civilizing of rhe human young, is never a process entirely withour pain; ir always leaves scars. If rhe person is lucky-and since no one, no parent, no doctor, and no counsellor, is at presenr able to steer chis process in a child according to clear knowledge of whar is besr for irs furure, ir is still largely a question of luck-the wounds of rhe civilizing conflicrs incurred during childhood may heal; the scars left by chem may nor be roo deep. Bur in less favourable cases rhe conflicrs inherent in the civilizing of young humansconflicrs wirh ochers and conflicrs within rhemselves-remain unsolved, or, more precisely, though perhaps buried for a while, rhey may open up once again in siruarions reminiscent of chose of childhood In rhese cases, rhe suffering, transformed into an adult form, repeats irself again and again, and rhe unsoked conflicts of a persons childhood never cease to disrnrb his or her adulr relationships. In that way, rhe interpersonal conflicts of early yourh which have parterned rhe personaliry srrucrnre continue to perrurb or even desrroy rhe imerpersonal relationships of rhe grown-up. The resulring tensions may rake rhe form eirher of conrradicrions between different self-control automarisms, sunk-in memory traces of former dependencies and needs, or of recurrem srruggles between rhe controlling agencies and rhe libidinal impulses. In the more forrunare cases, on rhe ocher hand, rhe contradicrions between differenr sections and layers of the controlling agencies, especially of rhe super-ego srrucmre, are slowly reconciled; rhe mosr disruptive conflicrs berween char srrucmre and rhe libidinal impulses are slowly conrained. They do nor only disappear from waking consciousness, bur are so thoroughly assimilated char, without too heavy a cost in subjective satisfaction, rhey no longer intrude unintentionally in lacer imerpersonal relationships. In one case rhe conscious and unconscious self-control always remains diffuse in places and open to rhe breakthrough of socially unproductive forms of drive energy; in rhe other rhis self-control, which even roday in juvenile phases is often more like a confusion of overlapping ice-floes rhan a smooth and firm sheer of ice, slowly becomes more unified and srable in

378

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Stt1h Foni1atio11 and Cil'i/i:;;atioi1

379

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 rrve 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

5100

. 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

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

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

380

Th2 Ciz'ilizi11g Pmcus

Stt1h F()ri/!atioi! cmd Ci1ili::<1fi()J1

381

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,

. h sliort-term discl1,irges of affect. But their functions were not so constructed wn

rill

. , t within chemsehes 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 . nlv now u . to a com1x1rarivelv . small degree. And so such outbursts hardly ever had

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<iting functions, impose steadier ,incl stricter self-control not only because of rheir more central position and the large number of chains of action which cross in rhem: owing to the large number of actions which depend on their incumbents, they carry greater social power. \'Vhac gives \'Vestern development irs special character is the fact that in its course the dependence of all upon all becomes more evenly balanced To an increasing degree, the complex functioning of Western societies, with their high division of labour, depends on the lower agrarian and urban strata controlling their conduct increasingly through insight inrn its more long-term and more remote connections . These strata are ceasing to be merely "lower" social strata. The highly difttrentiaced social apparams becomes so complex, and in some respects so vulnerable, chat disturbances, at one point of the interdependency chains which pass through all social positions inevitably affect many ochers, thus threatening the whole social tissue. Established groups engaged in competitive struggles among themselves are at the same rime compelled to take into consideration the demands of the broad mass of outsiders. But as the social functions and power of rhe masses take on greater importance in chis way, these functions require and permit greater foresight in their execution. Usually under heavy social pressure, members of the lower strata grow more accustomed co restraining momentary affects, and disciplining their conduce from a wider understanding of che total society and their position within ir. Thereby their behaviour is forced increasingly in a direction originally confined ro the upper scram. Their social power in relation to the latter increases; but at rhe same rime they are increasingly trained to rake a long-term view, no matter br whom and on what models their training is conduccecL They, too, are increasin;,lv sub1'ecc to che kinds of external compulsions chat are transformed b, into individual self-restraints; in them, too, rhe horizontal tension between a self-control agency, a "super-ego", and libidinal energies that are now more or less successfully transformed, controlled or suppressed, increases. In chis way civilizing structures are constantly expanding within \'Vesrern society; both upper and lower strata are rending to become a kind of upper srrarum and the centre of a network of interdependencies spreading over wider and wider areas, borh populated and unpopulated, of rhe rest of the world. And only this vision of a comprehensive movement, of the spread, often in spurts and counter-spurts.

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;

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 <rarus, provides the meaning and jusrificarion of his life; and for him consranr , has made work such a hab;r rhat rhe balance of his mtnrnl economy is upser if he is no longer able to work. It is one of the peculiarities of \'?esrern societ: rhat. in rhe course of its devtlopment. this conrrasr between rhe siruarion and code of conduct of rhe upper and lower srrara has decreased considerabk lo\\er-class characrerisrics art spreading to all classes . The fact char \Vesrern sociery '15 a whole has gradually become a society where every able person is expected ro tarn his living rhrou!:'h , highly rtgulared rypt of work is a symptom of rhis: earlier. work was an 1 arrribute of rhe lo\\er classes. And ar tht same rime. whar used w bt disringuishing ftarnrts of rhe upper classes art likewise spreading to society ar farge. The conversion of "external .. social consrrainrs inro self-restraims, into a more or less habirnal and automatic indiYidual self-regulation of drives and aftecrs-possiblt only for people normally protected from exrernal. physirnl rhrear bv the sword or srarvarion-is raking place in rht \Vesr increasingly an1(lng the broad masses. too Seen ar close quarters. where only a small segmenr of this movement is Yisiblt. rhe differences in social ptrsonality srrucrnre bttween rhe upper and lower classts in the \Vesrern world today may srill seem considerable. But if rhe whole sweep of rhe movemenr over centuries is percein:d, one can see char rhe sharp conrrasrs between the behmiour of differenr social groups-like rhe conrrasrs and sudden switches wirhin rhe behaviour of individuals-art steadily diminishing. The moulding of drives and affecrs. rht forms of conclucr, rht whole habirns of rhe lower strata in rhe more civilized societies. is. wirh the growing imporrance of these strata in rhe emirt network of functions. increasingly approaching rhar of ocher groups. beginning with the middle cLcsses. This is rhe case even though a parr of the self-consuaims and raboos among rhe larrer. which arise from rhe urge rn '"disringuish rhemsehes ... rhe desire for enhanced presrige, may inirially be lacking in the former. and tYen rhough the type of social dependence of rhe former does nor yer ntcessirate or permit rhe same degree of affecr-conrrol and steadier foresight as in d1t upptr classes of rhe same period. This reduction in rhe conrrasrs within society as within individuals. this ptculiar commingling of patterns of conduct deriving from initially very differenr social levels. is highly characreriscic of \\iesrern society. Ir is one of the mosc imporrnnr peculiarities of rhe "'civilizing process"". But rhis movement of society and civilization cerrainly does nor follow a srraighr line . \\iirhin rhe O\"trall movemenr rhere are repeareclly greater or lesser counrer-mo\emems in which rhe conrrasrs in sociery and rhe fluctuations in rhe behaviour of individuals. rheir affectiw outbreaks, increase again \\1 bar is happening under our eyes. what we generalh call rhe "spread of

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 unsohed 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

384

The Cil'ili::ing Procc1..

5tdfr Fur111atio11 and Ciz'ilizati1111

n\'

385

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 11ze 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 nti.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<!nuinrr in . b b b such a way as co induce the same constant foresight and affect-control as in rhe West itself Here, too, the transformation of the whole of social existence is the basic condition of the civilization of conduce. For chis reason we find in rhe relation of the \Vest to ocher pares of rhe world rhe beginnings of rhe reduction in contrasts which is peculiar to every major wave of rhe civilizing movement. This recLJrrem fusion of patterns of conduce of rhe functionally L1pper classes with those of the rising classes, is nor withom significance regarding the curiously ambivalent artirude of the L1pper classes in chis process . The habituation to foresight, and the stricter comrol of behaviour and rhe affects co which the upper classes are inclined through their sirnarion and fi.mcrions, are impomrnt instruments of their dominance, as in the case of ELJropean colonialism, for example. The! serve as marks ofdistincrion and prestige. For jusr chis reason such a society regards offences against rhe prevailing pattern of drive and affecr control,

"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 of reciprocal supervision -ornrner . the degree , . ' , racrise on one another, by rhe severe stigmatization and penaloes they rhe} P upon chose members who breach rhe common d. l1ing co d e. r11e . 1sringu1s unpose _ _ . .. ar 1 from die situation of rhe whole ._ group, from their struggle to preserve sin" 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 rhemsehes 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

Th, Cil'i/i:;i11g Pmcc.rs

conduce in diffen:nr countries wichin che \Vesc 1rselt. 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 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{; zt1riair:r r.r , 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. amone 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 lned, the
rtJ.
L ....

(iri!i:u!

m1J(/Nct drc

i11cn:t1sed Ih1s 111c1p1enr cranstormarion of Oritncal or

..

.1

1111a11ce1

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 .
..L .. ""

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 "c: s of af.. rht srructllrt ot che history ot each countn-. . ven. diverse rnricc 1 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 landed noblemen and gentry and of merchants within a large rrade network. in France che airs of courriers and a bourgeoisie brought to power by revolmion: In 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 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 nor ac all. because strong monopolies of force and taxarion. a centralization of nacional power-pre-condicions for any lascing colonial expansion--c!eveloped lacer Ill ther;n than in their comperirnrs 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 sci II smaller circle: rhe interpenetration of the srandards of conduce of rhe nobilitv and rhe bourgeoisie In accordance with the balance of power. che product 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 nobi!itv. che vanguard of of rhe and

ariswcracy could not prevent-indeed, through their concacrs with nch bow. s rr'ici (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 cizilite-books chat appeared at rhat nme shows di1s Here too rhe force of rhe current of interweaving as a whole. and cens1ons leading wichin ir ro ever-grtarer complexity and tuncnonal_

differentiacion. to the individual's dependence on an ever-larger number

or

orhers, to rhe rise of broader and broader classes, proved srronger than rhe barricade which rhe nobility had been seeking to build around themselves. Ir is at small functional centres thar the foresighc, more complex selfdiscipline. more srablt suptr-ego formarion enforced by . growing i_nrerdeptndence, firsr became noticeable. Then more and more tuncr10nal Circles within rhe \Vest itself changed in the same direccion Fmally, rn co111uncnon with cheir pre-exisring forms of civilization, the same transformation of social funccions and rhus of conduct and rhe whole ptrsonaliry, began to rake place in 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 social space as a whole.

;f

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

"ciri!it{', was gradually compelled to exercise a srricr

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

388

Tht Ciz'ilizing Process

. .

Suh Formation ,md Cirili:dtion

389

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 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: than any other \\/esrern group affected by this movemem, specialists in the elaboration and moulding of social conduct.. For' unlike all succeedin" "roupsin o o rhe position of an established upper class, they had a social function occupation. no

c0 rces of rhese jJrocesses. The "rear royal court stands for a period ar the
.
b ' . .. . .

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

\'(fcsrern civilizing process, bur <lS tar as we can see w1rhrn every maior_ c1n izmg . one of the mosr decisive uansilions is that of u<rrriors to co111lnn . Bur 1r process, . . _ . . need scarcely be said rhar rhere are widely d1ftenng srages and d this n this inner pacification of a socierv In the \X!esr rhe rransformarron of rrans1r 10 , . _ . . irriors 1xoceeclecl verv tlC . gradually from the eleventh or rweltrh centunes l ,,, re,iched irs conclusion in the seventeenth and eighteenth unnt ir slow!\ , ,
L

. .

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 administrative centres of the key monopolies of raxarion and physical force, is of 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 <ind longer chains of action intersect than ar anv other point in the web. Even long-distance trade links, inro which commercial centres are interwoven here and there, never prove lasring and stable unless they are protected for a considerable period by strong central aurhoriries. Correspondingly, rhe long-term view. the strict control of conduct which this central org<rn demands of irs functionaries and of rhe prince himself or his representatives and servants, are greater than at any other point. Ceremony and 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. each of his steps. each of his gestures may be of such momemous and far-reaching importance. precisely because rhe monopolies srill have a suongly privare and personal characcer, that wirhour rhis exact timing, rhese complex forms of reserve and distance. rhe tense balance of sociery on which rhe peaceful operarion of the monopoly adminisrrarion rests would rapidly lapse into disorder. And, if not 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 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 everyone at court is inevitably confronted, compels him ro observe constant vigilance, and ro subject everything he says and does ro minute scrutiny. The formation of monopolies of tax and physical force, and of great courts around rhese monopolies, is certainly no more rhan one of several interdependent processes which provide the momentum of this gradual process of "civilization". Bur rheir formarion provides one of rhe keys by which we can gain access ro rhe

centuries. . How it came ro pass has already been described in derail: first, rhe wide 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: 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 <llld manorial unirs upon which meditval sociery rested Both politically and socially rbese unirs wert . nearly indtpendenr. and rbe exchange of producrs and ideas was reduced ro a
minin1uff1 '"'

Then, from rhe profusion of castles and estates in every region, arose individual houses whose rulers had attained, in many battles and through rhe growth of rheir landed possessions and military power, a posirion of predominance owr rhe orher warriors in a more exrendecl area. Their residences became, as a result of rhe greater confluence of goods arriving at them, the homes of a larger number of people, "courrs" in a new sense of the word . The people who_ came rogerher here in search of opporrunities, always including a number ot poorer \;arriors, were no longer as independent as rhe free warriors ensconced in 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 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 found themselves rims in closer interdependence ro observe some degree of considerarion and foresight, a more srricr control of conduce and-above all cowards rhe mistress of rhe house on whom rhey depended-a greater restraint 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 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 obsene 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 1er 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

_::;91
- H<iw lirrlt rhe division of funcrions was dtvelopecL and how great unit' . l. l elative independence of rhe difftrenr esrares still was, is clear } c tmonrhe r b\ rhe facr rhar rhe spreacl 01,- customs. . "d,. town ,rncI 1 c,1s between _ _ _ and to\\ n. rt court. monastery and monastery. Lt. relationships wnh1n rht: coll srrarun1. t\e . n over Ion" disnnces. was ohen ._t.;rearer than comacrs btn\cen o ' _ . . ._ L;
y

sime disrricr 11 ' This is rht soCial srrucrnre \\h1ch-01 ancl rO\\ns - in rhe ( . __ risr-we must kttl' in mind in order ro undtrsrand rhe clirrerenr tl\' or CUil [ ' . . . . . , (Pel \\ ' soci1) !)fOCeSSeS through which there gr.idually emerct rucrure. t )ie cj"i fferenc ' ' l sr increas1nL': . .. Cl\ T uion of rhe wnin which individuals steer r 1tmse 1 ves. l I iz, '.
an
cl

as in every sociery with a barr_er economy. exchange and thus mmu'.1

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\"dir 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 .. <J li"rrle cle 1 ,endent on his inrtnors (though or course such cpem tuncnona . ' l . .. l . ,1 . rhe p 1} sic,1 tncr \Yas ne\ er ennrt ) I,1ckn.,) 1 c ht w1s ' rhrough ,__, . overwhelmmg . ,
normally emanating from him. untrammelled m rtL'.uon to them .w ,m Pxttnt which surpassed by far rl1t relative power surplus or any :ipper d.iss. m rn lower classes ar rhe lacer srages of social development. Similarly with ,- ) 1 \.111 " rhen roo rhe comrasr between the highest and lo\\ot I srnnc.irc l. I 0 1 ut c . . . . , -1 . classes of this society was extremely great, particularly ll1 rhe phast_ \\ '1 decreasing number of especially mighty and wealthy lords was emergmg rrom rhe mass of rhe warriors. \Vt encounter similar contras rs wda1 111 areas \\here the srrucrurt: is ne,1rer . r o' 1 \Vesrtrn medit\al SOCitt\" than that or tht sooal ro r [1.1 , . _ , \\fest wdav. for example in Peru or Saudi Arabia . .l\Iembers of a small elm: h,n t an income of which a far larger part than is rhe case with high mcomes_ in rhe \Vest wday, is used for rhe personal consumption or HS owner, luxunes or his '"priv<lte life'", robes and jewellery. residence and srables. utensils and meals: feasrs and other pleasures. Tht members of rhe lowest class. rhe peasants._ b) conrrasr. live wretchedly under rhe consranr rhrear of bad hanesrsand even under normal circumstances rhe produce of their work JUSt sufhces to scan cl,1rcl o f )"i\1n" provide them with subs1srenct; r )1eir "" is considerablv . ,_ lower .. , [,1ss. i n ci.\'i.li"zed"' societies And onlv are rl1an r lrnr o f an1 . c . \vhen these . contrasts _ reduced. when .through rhe competitive pressure affecrin!! this soClety from wp ro botwm rhe division of functions and interdependence_ over large areas gradually increases, when tht funcrional dependence even of the uppt:_r classes grows while rhe social power and living standards of rhe lower class nse. only then do we find rhe consranr fi:iresighr and self-control in rhe upper classes. rhe

. incl inte"ntion bet\\een different classes was srdl slight .is comp.ired penc1 ence ' c ' f

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 ver need ro hold tli emse.ves . 1 . . did nor . 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 . : . . the degree ent [ he use of and ch an bnes ID which md1care most accurate!\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 ofsryles"', 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/_;:

Prr1(1_.\.f

St:11t F1m11ati1111 ,md Cil'ifi::,t1ti1111

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\in 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 mo,t impercepti are grasped onh bv comi)arin" dfir. . . . . . . ._ _ _ 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
L '
L ' -

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 _ . . . . . . n" strennrh or rhe bourt:eo1sie. Under tl11s pressure a part ot the_ rhe gro \\.1 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 vo ro the court: manv of chem could tun!tl . would not have needed to b 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 "'disrinuish'" themselves. motivated their actions far more than , s }rc"sti<t c1 ,1.) 1 . b ' c 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 ".. L

396
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
. . . . L L . '
, L

397
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 _ illocue v lived under the j)ressure of this central lord; to' ' . And chev . not on! . . 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

T?

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,

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:
;\. 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.

his

disguises his passions, disaYows his heart. acts at:ainsr his

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

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 thtmsehes 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 WlY 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 mer 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

-iOO

The Cil'ilizing PmC1:ss

State For11h!fi()Jl cllld Ciri/i:atir111

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 i11di1idi!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 comersacion 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

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<hts IC as it H were meanc chis \\'a\ tspeciallv for him Ic does noc e 11 , . " e l. . . . . cer nis c uc all chis. a tlash or lighrnmg char a!mosc scrikes him, a fac(:c chac offends h' are to be explained by remore conneccions char have noching direcdv d im, . l- p ro o With l1imse t. eople only develop a more long-si uhted view of nicure anc! orh. people co the extenc that the advancing division of functions and their er involvement m long human chains accustom them co such a view and , " . f l " . f. . . . . a .sreater restraint o c ie ,1 ftcts. Only then is the veil whICh the passions draw bJ , . . l l . l. f. I cl . e10re the I':} es s ow } I tee. an a new world comes into view-a world whos. . l . . . e course 15 f , !l nenc 1 or 1osn 1 e co the rnd1v1dual person wichom being intended c bl . r l o e so, a cum o e\ ents c uc need co be contemplaced dispassionacel 1 over lon" st . h. r l . "' re.re e< 1 c 1e1r connecnons are co be disclosed.*
L L "' '

. _ 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 collcri\ .. l I ' c e ong1ngs 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]

, ,-.- - . l .

Like conduce generally, che percepcion of rhinus and j)eOJJle ilso b 0

-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 1 ' , 'u1tion 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

-i04

Thu Cil'ili:::i11g Pmccrs

Surt Fom111tio11 and Ciri!i::dtion

405

of , _ the primer _or the finer is different from _ that of the book-keeper' the en"in 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 stn1Lt11re. 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:
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

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

:r

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 rules of courrlv rr I1t . so Dauph111 can always break rhe . .. . , conwrsatiorr. he cm ' . 1 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 imesrigarions 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

Stt1te Furme1tio11 mu! Ci1ilize1tio11

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<ll1 beings, co extract something "unconscious .. , conceived as an "id" without hiswry, as rhe most important element in rhe whole psychological structure. Although recently this image may have undergone corrections in therapeutic practice. rhese corrections have not yet led ro theoretical elaboration of rhe data supplied by practice into more adequate conceptual tools . On the rheorerical level it still usually appears as if the steering of rhe individual by unconscious libidinal impulses has a form and structure of irs own, independently of the figurarional desriny of the individual, rhe changing fortunes of his relationships with ochers throughout his life. and independently too of the pattern and structure of the other self-steering functions of his personality, conscious and unconscious. No distinction is made between the natural raw material of drives, which indeed perhaps changes little throughout rhe whole hisrory of humankind, and rhe increasingly more firmly wrought structures of control, and thus the paths into which the elementary energies are channelled in each person through his or her relations with orher people from birth onward. Bur nowhere, except perhaps in the case of madmen, do people in their encounter with each other find themselves face to face with psychological functions in their pristine scare, in a srnre of nature rhat is nor patterned by social learning, by a persons experience of other persons who satisfy or frustrate his or her needs in accordance with a specific social setting. The libidinal energies which one encounters in any living human being are always already socially processed; rhey are, in other words, sociogenerically transformed in rheir function and structure, and can in no way be separated from the corresponding ego and super-ego structures . The more animalic and aurornaric levels of peoples personality are neither more nor less significant for rhe understanding of human conduct rhan their controls . \V'har matters, what determines conduct, are the balances and conflicts between peoples malleable drives and rhe built-in drive-controls. \\/hat is decisive for a human being as he or she appears before us is neither the "id" alone, nor rhe "ego" or "super-ego" alone, bur always the re!cttionship between these various sets of psychological functions, partly contlicring and partly co-operating levels in self-steering Ir is these relationships ll'ithin individual people benveen the drives and affects rhar are conrrolled and the socially instilled agencies rhar control them, whose structure changes in the course of a civilizing process, in accordance with rhe changing srrucrure of the relationships bdiceeu individual human beings, in society at large. In rhe course

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 peoples 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 peoples intellectual activity itself, and beyond rhar all the structural changes in rhe ego and super-ego functions, all these interdependent levels of peoples 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

410 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

5tdfi: Foni1c1tir111 and Cil'i!i::atirm

-111

onillv ra.1 ' . 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 ,_
<...'-

'': 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<lucr. reprtstrutJ by the foreign policy of all counrrics is rht same. \\?irhour
an understanding of rht difftrenr stages of a civilizing process inrerstatt: policy must !lt"cessarily be

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<l of
wisdom-btfort an tffocrive political dialogue and co-operation between societies at different levels of development can be worktd out Tht samt applies to those c.1sts in which. under srress. the afftcrivity and the fanrnsy charncrer of the foreign policy of one of the more de\eloped countries increases again to a higher level than regarded at present as normal in the interstate relations of the leading industrial nation states. N"or are these levels in rhe degree of afftctiviry entirely dependent on the difti:n:ntials of the economic or industrial development of countries 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

or duration and continuit:

surpasses that

of most other existinf; start: societies of our time [..-\urhr;rY no!t fo the 1r.nul.11io11]

-! 12

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
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.

p 1y

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 latters 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 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 in rhe emergence of a number of geniuses and outstanding individuals. These enlightened individuals, such accounts appear ro suggest, caught \Xfesrern man 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. 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

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
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 contrast, cerrain rationalization processes in the arisrocratic camp have been 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 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
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

-i I-!
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 \1hat it is inttnded w express. Too srntic, because of psvchological funcr1ons changes as slowlv or as ra1Jiclh 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-. as 1.. . the same is true of rarionalizatiou , ,..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
L L

i 15
. 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 .,CJjJles esrnres of SUjJeriorin But it is a form of displeasure or tear which "' . . . 0 rber pc " -liiri,.terisricil 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 . 'Xj1 osure w them does not arise directly from a threat from the p 1) sirn ror,1 l e. . q;-eriority of othtrs acrnally present. although it doubtless has irs origins in
1

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
OI.

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 persons 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 gnniry 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 deree 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.

p'.irem:

power berwctn
to

and stcu!ar tor w.b, in other

(lfll'

Ltniur of rhc larci::r opcn::d rht: w,1y

ofl chc secu!ariz.:cion

\\urdC'l, che

;n;;,

1:1)1,'

(if

wirhour which at! that

ll(Jt

means if

one srieak:-; uf r.itionaliz.nion' could nor h:t\'t: come !nm its own. The

(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"of rhoughr

worked in rht direction o( a strengthening of less affecrin.-. less E111c,1sy-oritntat:.:d thought. chus worked from within a powerful pnicl'ss of social focr or1t' has
to

and t:Xptrienct. The grt:ac inrt:llecrual pioneer:>. abme all thl' philoso1""hical pioneers of r<lEional which g<ffe them din:crion, tht: cort: of rht

bur they themselves Wl'fe also acci\l le\'ers wirhin this movement. nor mere!y its f"'<issi\l- ohjecrs In
take into consiJerntion the whok concourse of basic proct:ssts form 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<in. and orhers.
[:\/ifh11r.1
.1

fr,

:r.n: !.air,;;}

-!16

The

Stc1tr Formation 1111d Cirili:.atio11

417

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

rrains of rhought lead off in differem direcrions. It 1ere mam . larue o Fro m 1 11 s w be shown how chis increased differenriarion wirhin rhe personalin is remiu _ _ . . . . , _ t-e<red in a trnnstormaEion ot parr1cular dnves . Above all, 1r remains ro be. m,,n1 hown bow ir leads w a mmsformacion of sexual impulses and an advance ot 5 in rhe relarions of men and women* Ir muse be enough here w s1an1 b . . 1 e feelinus indicare some of rhe main connecrions beEween rhe social processes descnbed .. bove and rhis advance of rhe fromier of shame and repugnance. " Even in rhe more recenr hisrory of rhe \Xlesr itself, shame feelings have nor in rhe same way. To mention only one I a\'S been built imo rhe !Jersonalindifference. rhe manner in which rhey are builr in is nor the same in a hierarchical sociery made up of esrntes as in rhe succeeding bourgeois indusrrial order . The examples quored earlier, above all chose showing differences in rhe developmem of shame on rhe exposure of cerrnin bodily pares;"' give an impression of such changes. In courdy society shame on exposing cerrnin pans is, in keeping wirh rhe srrucwre of chis sociecy, srill largely restricred wirhin esrnre or hierarchical limirs. Exposure in rhe presence of social interiors, for example by rhe king in from of a minisrer, is placed under no very srrict social prohibirion. anr more rhan rhe exposure of a man before rhe socially weaker and lowerwoman was in an earlier phase . Given his minimal funcrional dependence on chose of lower rank, exposure as yet arouses no feeling of inferioriry or
L

'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<l ro eluciJart rhis aspen of rht civilizing process. :mJ rhe analyses ir made possible ha\e proved rno extensive: they threatened to dislocan: the framework of this study and will find their place in a further volume Tht: same to tht: middle-class line of the civilizinf t'rocess. the change it produced in bourgeois-urban cbsses and the non-courdy lanJed arisrncracy. \\/hilt this rransformacion of con<lucr 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<ldle-cl.1ss prottssional funcrions demand. Something similar emerges if the transformation of\'?esrern rtligion is invtstigmed. The change in religious feeling to which sociology has paid most attention hitherto, the increased inwardness and rationalization expressed in rhe various Purirnn and Proresrnnt movements. is obviously closely connected wirh cerrnin changes in dle situation and suucture of the middle classes. The corresponding change in Catholicism, as shown for example in the fr)rmation of the power position of tht Jesuits, appears to rake place in clostr touch with the absoluEist central organs, in a manner favoured by the hierarchical and cenrmlisr strucmtt of rhe Catholic Chmch. These prnblems. too, will only be solved when we have a more exacr overall piccure of the intertwining of the non-courtly, middle-class and the courtly lints of civilization. leaving asick: for che time being the civilizing movement in worker and peasant srrara which became e\idenr more slowly and much lacer

;lf

-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 rrn1<r""ness, shame appearing as a command coming from within himself And rhe same is rrue of embarrassment. This is an inseparable counterpart of shame. Jusr as rhe laner arises when someone infringes rhe prohibitions of his own self and of society, rhe former occurs when something outside the individual impinges on his danger zone, on forms of behaviour. objects, inclinations which ha\e early on been invesred wirh ftar by his surroundings until this ftar-in the manner of a conditioned reflex-is reproduced automatically in him on similar occasions. Embarrassment is displeasure or anxitry which arises when another person rhrearens to breach, or breaches, society's prohibirions represemed by one's own super-ego. And rhese feelings too become more di\erse and comprehensive rhe more exrensiw and subtly differentiated the danger zone by which rhe conduct of the individw1l is regulated and moulded. rhe further the civilization of conduct advances. Ir was shown earlier by a series of examples how. from rhe sixteenth century onwards, the frontier of shame and embarrassment gradually began to advance more rapidly.. Htre, too, the chains of thought begin slO\vly to join up, This advance coincided with rht accelerated courrizarion of rhe upper class. Ir was the rime when the chains of dependence intersecting in the incli\idual grev: denser and longer, when more and more people are being bound more and mort closely rngerher and the constraim towards self-control was increasing Like mutual dependence. murnal obserrnrion of people increased; stnsibiliries, and correspondingly prohibitions, became more differentiared; and equally mort subde, equally mort manifold became the reasons for shame and for embarrassment aroused by rhe conduct of others. Ir was pointed om above thar wirh the advancing division of functions and the grearer integration of people, rhe major contrasts between differem classes and coumries diminish, while rhe nuances. rhe varieties of their moulding within the framework of civilizarion multiply. Here one encounters a corresponding trend in rhe developmem of indi\iclual conduct and semimem. The more the suong contrasts of individual conduct are tempered, the more the violem fluc[L!arions of pleasure or displeasure are contained, moderated and changed by self-conuol, the greater becomes the sensiti\iry to shades or nuances of conduct, rhe more finely

Stt1h Fon11'!tio11 <111d Cfri/i::11tirr11

-i 19

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

Stah forll!alion a11d Cirili::atio11

-i2 l

rhrears from ourside . Now a major part of rhe tensions which were . ear1 ter . 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 1f- 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

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 -0 rnnrion or societ\' "civilization" rrans r ' rhar wt denote bv the _ _ 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

-122

-12:;

number of peoplt in good socie[y use [htst tX])ressions d1emselves, he is told: "It 1s qu1[t possible [h<l[ d1ere arc a numbtr ot decem peoplt who do sufficiem feeling for die delicacy of our rnngue. This delicaC\ 15

[() bl![ a

ft\Y

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

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 . rii 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 boureois 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 " " , c

-i2-i

Th, Cirili::i11g Pmc"tss

Stafr Por111ario11 cmd Ciz'i/i:;,1tio11

425

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 c uenuine 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

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 '. hin 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

char form into the professional bourgeois one and is propagated further by it. \Ve

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<lividuals. Even choLwh . . . . . . . . b certain suaca ot cht nt:w economic and pol1ncal bourgto1s1e agarn and again form sociecies" of cheir own. and chus develop. or take over. some of che ski]]c m highly culcivaced in ariscocracic societies, che panern of social conscrnints" ore che _ members of bourgeois "good sociecies" is in one decisive respect d1Herent trom chat accmg upon ariscocracic courciers and bendemen TI1e soc1a l exiscence of che Lurer is nor only ck j;1c/() founded upon unearned income bnd or anorher. bm living on unearned income and thus wirhom any occupar10nal work. 111 chest Circles. has a very high value. Ir is an almost indispensable condition for those who wish to "belong". \Virh the rise of the economic and political bourgeoisie this aristocratic ethos changes. Its members, or at least its male members. are expected to work for a li\ing. even if they form "good Societies' of their own. Forms of sociability, the ornamentacion of one's house \isiring eriquene or the rirnal of earing. all are now relegaced to the sphere of private life. They preserve their viral function most suongly in char national society where. despite the rise of bourgeois elements, aristocracic social formacions remained longest and most vigorously alive: in England But even in the peculiar amalgam char developed here from the imerpenetrarion over centuries of aristocratic and bourgeois models of conduct. middle-class traits gradually move inrn the foreground. And generally in all \Vesttrn societies. \\irh the decline of the purer aristocracy. whenever and however this rakes place, the modes of conduct and affecrive forms which are developed are those necessary to the performance of money-earning funccions and the execmion of precisely regulated work.. This is whv professional bourgeois sociecv. in evernhing char concerns social conduct. rakes mer che rirnal of court sociecy wichuuc cle\tloping it with che same inrensicy, This is why che srandar<l of affect-control in chis sphere achance;, 011ly slowly with che rise of che professional bourgeoisie. In courr society. and partlY' in English society too. this division of human exiscence into professional and pri\ace spheres does nor exist. As the split becomes more general a new phase begins in che civilizing process: the panern of drino-control chat professional work necessitates is disrincc in mam respects from char imposed by che function of courtier and the game of court life. The exertion required by the maintenance of bourgeois social existence. the stability of rhe super-ego functions. che intensicy of drive-control and drive-transformation demanded by bourgeois professional and commercial functions, are in sum considerably greater. <lespire a certain relaxation in rht sphere of social manners. chan rhe corresponding social personality structure required by the life of a court aristocrat.. i\fosr obvious is the difference in che regulation of sexual relationships. Howe\er. tht court-aristocratic moulding of the personality passes mer in this or
L

find rhis impregnation of broader strata by behavioural forms and drive-controls

'crin,itin" in court socien parricularhin regions \vhere che couns were great Oflt" 'b . . and wealthy an<l rheir influence as srylt-builcling centres correspondingly scrong. Paris and Vienna are examples of chis. They are the sears of che cwo great rival , bsolmisr couns of che eighteenth century, An echo of this can still be heard in 1 rhe present day. not only in their reputation as centres of "good caste' or of kwrv induscries whose produces are intended panicularly for the use of "ladies". e.ven in the cultivation of sexual relationships. cht erocic characcer of d1e population. even though reality in rhis respect may no longer quirt march the reputation so frequently exploited by rhe film induscry In one form or anorher. however. the models of conduct of court-aristocratic boi/l/t mm/>t1g11it 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<lrnncing division of funcrions. rhe different social classes became muwally dependent. and che larger che number of people and the geographical areas that were placed in such interdependence, Ir was a highly constricted upper class, whose siwarion demanded constant self-restraint and intense dri\e-controL Precisely chis form of upper class from now on predominated in \Vesrern counuies. And che models of this self-restraint. first developed in courr-arisrocraric society for che sphere of sociability, were passed on from class to class. adjusted and modifie<l. like rhe upper-class funcrion i rself The he:ri rage of aristocratic sociecy had greacer or lesser importance depending on whecher its character as "good society" played a grtarer or lesser role for a class or a nation. As we have said, this \Vas the case to a greater or lesser degree wich increasingly broad classes and finally entire nacions in cht \Vesc, particularly nations which. having early de\eloped srrong central insciwrions, early became colonial powers In such nations there was an increase-under rhe pressure of social integrarion embodied borh in the intensicy
L L

-L28

The Ciz'i!i::i11g Proc,_r.1

..\.29
. 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

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; cizilit( 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
.L _ L '

more

c-

'-

t!H

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
L '

; h deuree of securi t\" are necessan jilt( c . . . . . '<f-fowever complex the leverage of interweaving processes w1th111 which the _. :1 1 wrion of conduct and experience in European societies rakes place may at

. qLi-nces ot 1 di\ision of functions advancing now more raprdlv. now more conse 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 1x1rion 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

snbilin of the central monopolies. all these are parts and . or che incre1sing class. '

ot the different industrial nation srnres, their "national character : . still represents the nature of the earlier power-relationships between nobrlrty bet \veen , _ and bourgeoisie and rhe course of the centurv-lonu . 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 abme it. or at least in that direction. Classes living permanenrly in danger of starving ro death or of

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-

[!0

n tl consciousness and arriwde . These art known in the Orienr and colonies > .

ns Levanrinism : and in rht perry-bourgeois circles of \'hsrern socieries rhey art

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\ -n .... i 1 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

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 <ense of inferioriry And rhis shaping of rhe super-ego on upper-class models also brings abour in rhe rising class a specific form of shame and embarrassment These are very different from rhe sensibilities of lower groups from which there is no chance of individual asctnr The behaviour of rhese lower groups may be coarser. bl![ ir is more uniform and in a \my more or" a piece. They live more vigorously in rheir own world wirhour anr claim w upper-class presrige, and rherefort wid1 grearer scope for discharge of rht affecrs: rhey live more fully in accordance: wich rheir own manntrs and cusroms. Their inferioriry 1i.Hi-1is rhe upper class, rheir gesrures borh of suborclinarion and resisrance, are clear and relarivtly unconcealed like their affecrs, bound by cltar. definite forms . In their consciousness rhey and rht ocher classts han'. for btrrtr or worst rheir clearly defined posirions By contrnsr. rhe feelings and gesrurts of inferiority in people rising socially as individuals rake on rheir parricular coloration from rhe fact char these people identify ro a certain exrenr with rht upper class. They have the same suucrurt as was described earlier in rhe case of shame feelings: ptoplt in rhis siruarion acknowledge in one part of rhc:ir consciousness rhe upper-class norms and manners as binding on rhemselvts, wirhour being able ro adopt chem wirh rht same east and ma[(tr-of-facrness. Ir is chis peculiar conrradicrion berween the upper class wirhin themselves. represented by rhtir own super-ego. and rheir incapabiliry of fulfilling irs demands. ir is rhis consranr inner rension thar gives rheir affecrin: life and rheir conduct its parricular character. Ar rhe same rime rheir predicament shows. from a new angle, rhe importance which a srricr code of manners has for rhe upper class. Ir is an insrrumenr of prestige. bm ir is also-in a certain phase-an insrrumenr of power . Ir is nor a lirrle characrerisric of rhe srrucrure of \Vesrern society that the watchword of irs colonizing movement is ""civilizarion"" For rhe people of a society with a high di\ision of funcrions. ir is nor enough simply ro rule sub jeer ptople and countries by force of arms like a warrior casre-alrhough rhe old. simple goals of mosr of rhe earlier expansionisr movements, rhe expulsion of ocher peoples from their land. rhe acquisirion of new soil for culrirnrion and serrlement, doubtless play no

In phases of d1t tirsr kind, phases of assimilarion. many individuals in the risin,t; Oll[Sider class art. howe1er 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 rhemsehes 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-

-i32

The

5tdfi.: Fur111atio11 <111cl Ciz'i!i:::atio11

433

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 J not identical 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* 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
my rh:: ori-lnal text in accordance with

Jus:

[i.:mprarion

to

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 <leYt!optd in connt:crion wirh class rtlarions for all forms of group oppression or, alrt:rnatiYdy. group emanciparion. Howt:n:r. rht: class model is roo narrow: one needs a bro;idtr ovt:r.dl connr"r rn <ltd wirh rht \aritrits of group oppression and group rise. I have found ir helpful ro use rhe rerm tsrablishtd-oursiders relationships as a mort comprehensive conct:pt in rhar senst: \Virh irs htlp one can work our more clearly tht: C()mmon ftarurts of group dominariun group subit:crion as \veU as rht distinguishing characrtrisrics of parricular ry pt. L:lu:h/fr.r llf/h u, :h, :rd11s!.1ri/Jn}

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 veois unsuccessfully trying to act in a "refined" or courdy manner. . bOllrb 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 "rOUjJS em1Jhasize more and more their specifically o b 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
L

-H-i

Prr;tes.r

Stdio Formario11 c1nd Ciz"ili::.atioil

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 firmhdifferentiated self-control: rhe central funcnon 111 a very p,ltt , . . exrensive network of interdependencies, as rhe upper class of a colo111al empire. -1 dependent 5 in Germanv l 1Ll. . 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.

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 . . and the super-ec:o, , . become evident in rhe \.anons 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' \'<?ar resulting from this, remained a relatively poor land with a low standard of livinr' for far longer than its \\'.fesrern neighbours-had an extraordinary long phase absolmism wirh a large number of smalL far from luxurious, courts, and. likewise through irs lack of cemralizarion, reached the phase of external, colonial expansion only relatively lace and incompletely. For all these reasons, internal tensions and the isolation of the aristocracy from the bourgeoisie \\ere strong and 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,

;f

436

Tht Cil'iliziilg Process

St:!fr Frmi1c1tir111 t111d Cil'i!i::atiffll

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-

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.\

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 invohed 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

of narions, cerrninly already txisr. They art all scill relacively unsrnble . As II1 che centuries of stru!..'.l!!t: berween cerrirorial don11.ni(i11s 1c 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 srues \\ cocJ ]11 . . 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 resohed (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 bringing 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

-i-i ()

State Formation mid Ciz'i!i2t1tio11

441

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 too '" r 0 wt only gain a cltar picrnre of what is happening by comparing it. as a spun a particular direccion. wirh rhe past mmemems 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 grmiry, 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, abcne 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 hme 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

far as one person's knowledge permits, to clarify the questions and ro prepare a \\'<lY which, in the crossfire of discussion, may lead enquiry forward in collaboration with many others. The behaviour patterns of our society, imprinted on iodi..-iduals from early childhood as a kind of second nature and kept alert in rhern by a powerful and increasingly strictly organized social control. are ro be explained, ir has been shown, not in terms of general, ahisrorical human purposes, but as something which has evolved from the totality of \Vestern hisrory, from rhe specific forms of behaviour rhar developed in its course and rhe forces of integration which transformed and propagated them. These patterns, like rhe whole comrol of our behaviour, like the structure of our psychological functions in general, are many-layered: in their formation and reproduction emotional impulses play their part no less than rational ones, drives and affects 00 less than ego functions. It has long been customary ro explain the control to which individual behaviour is subject in our society as something essentially ra[ional, founded solely on logical considerations. Here it has been seen differeml y. Rationalization itself. and with ir rhe more rational shaping and explanation of social taboos has been shown 50 to be only one side of a transformation affecting rhe uho!e personality, the level of drives and affects no less than the level of consciousness and reflection. The motive force in this change in individual selfsEeering is provided, it was shown, by pressures arising our of the manifold inrerweaving of human activities, pressures operating in a particular direction, and bringing about shifts in the form of relationships and in the whole social fabric This rationalization goes hand in hand with a tremendous differentiation of functional chains and a corresponding change in the organization of physical force. Its precondition is a rise in rhe standard of living and in security, or, in other words, increased protecrion from physical attack or destruction and thus from the uncontrollable fears which erupt far more powerfully and frequently into the lives of individuals in societies with less stable monopolies of force and lower division of funcrions. Ar present we are so accustomed to the existence of these more stable monopolies of force and the greater predictability of violence resulting from them, that we scarcely see their importance for rhe structure of our conduct and our personality" \'Ve scarcely realize how quickly what we call our ''reason", this relatively farsighted and differentiated steering of our conduct, with irs high degree of affect-control, would crumble or collapse if the anxietyinducing tensions within and around us changed, if rhe fears affecting our lives suddenly became much stronger or much weaker or, as in many simpler societies, both at once, now stronger, now weaker. It is only when we penetrate these connections that we gain access to rhe problem of conduct and its control by rhe social code valid at a particular time" The degree of anxiety, like the whole pleasure economy, is different in every society, in every class and historical phase. To understand the control of conduct

L
"

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 oursehes: 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

4-i)
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

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 mer 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 abme, 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

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,

i;

-i-16
various kinds. rht 1m:ludt of scru"des tmbracin" rhe whole v "lobt \\[11c1 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 ptoples 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 1 d10Ll [ \\ .. l t . "' Ives as w orhers)-rhar condirion rn which one so ohen rerers w1r 1 11g rhemse such '15 "happ1nes'.:> . .. 4-lI1Ll ..,l ......... i, . . 1.1. /.:!: ... : /;.'!J iTt't'L on1 u 111 1J1r., ..... 1 1 1 1 1 1 .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 . l c. --xisrence of nch of rhtm tuncnons in such a way r 1a1 1c 1s l poss1 J e . c1 U.1 n d1\1 l 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. rl1 ,__ c. ci,ilizin" [Jroctss is under wl\'. or, wich the old Holbach: "la 1 e-r si\:. may L ' . b .

;or

'

civilisarion

n'tsr pas encore rerminee"

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

Postscript
L

-i 51

"civilized" than tht\. were earlitr. or that those ot

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 dr;::.' . 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 t . ' 11 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

unCJnl1zed

societies are (or tn:n more "barbaric") than those of our own T'
. .

rkWlSt

lic1.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 P1rt 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 [ 1 5 worked out showin" a rno d e b _ . . .._ ve in human personality srrucrnres cowards a consol1datron and ditferl cianb . l l n at 1"tecr controls , 111d the lon"-term change 111 the hgurauons w 11c 1 enrw.oo (- 1 ' o '_ . _': . .
L . ,. .

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

'

'

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

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

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

The Cii'ilizi11g PmCi:ss

Postscript

453

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
0

IV
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 nrifi':c. m'irurirv 'lt [Jresenr en oved bv manv of rhe narural sciences. it 1. rurre o sc1t1 ' ' _
J11lo . .

process of srare formarion ro be found in Parr Three of The Cizilizinr 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

'-: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 1sc1p mes unsu1r,1 . mark on rlur c . 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 su1Jerstded bv 'oetn more or less 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 1 xoblemaric field which rodav is hardh less in need rhan ir p1one b ' . . . d was thirty years ago. of rhe simulrnneous 1mest1gar1on 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 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 Parsonss 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 ,11i1Je,1rs to bel1.eve, is characterized by aftecnv1ty and .. Community , arsons soc1ery .. b\ affective neutrality. Bur in determining the differences berween

-l 5-!

Pl)J/J<'i ipr

-155

diftertnr r\"pts of and bc:r\veen difftrtnr tl"!Jc:S of relarionsl1 1 , ,.,. h. . . , ' l t in 1 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 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 Parsonss 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 obstrnd 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

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 <ocie;ies and as individuals Insread of chis we find rhar rhe rheories lormed by :uch methods. like rht epicycle rheory of Prnlemy. require needlessly complicared auxiliar\" consrrucrions rn make chem agree wirh rhe lacrs. They ofren appear like dark clouds rhrough which here and rhere a it\\ rays of tighr much the earth.

or

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

Postsffij1t
the present study upholds rhe idea, based on abundant documentary material, rh<tt change is a normal characteristic of society. A srructured sequence of conrinuous change serves here as rhe frame of reference for investigating states Iocared ar particular points in rime. In prevailing sociological opinion, con\erscly, social siruations viewed as if they normally existed in a state of resr serve as the frame of reference for all change, Thus a society is regarded as a "social ;\'srem", and a "social sys rem" as a "sys rem in a stare of rest" Even when a difterentiarecl, "highly developed" society is involved, rhe arrempr is often made rn consider ir as ar rest and self-contained . le is nor regarded as an integral part of rhe inquiry to ask how and why this highly developed society has developed to this srare of clifterentiarion. In keeping with rht sraric frame of reference of rhe predominant sysrem-theories, social changes, processes and developments, which include the development of a stare or a civilizing process, appear merely as something additional, a mere "historical introduction" rhe investigation and explanation of which may very well be dispensed with in coming roan unclersranding of rhe "social system" and its "strucrnre" and "funcrions'', as
rhey may be observed here and now from a short-term viewpoint. These conceprnal rools themselves-including conceprs like "structure" and "function". which serve as rht badge of rhe contemporary sociological school of "structural funcrionalists"-bear rhe stamp of this specific mode of thinking, which reduces processes ro srares. Of course, their originators cannot entirely dismiss the idea chat die "srrucwres" and "functions" of the social "unit" or irs ''parts", which they picrnre as states, move and change. But rhe problems which ri1Us come inro view are reconciled with rhe sraric mode of thought by encapsularing them in a special chapter with the ride "Social Change", as though ir were something supplemenrary ro rhe problems of rhe normally unchanging sysrem. In rhis way "social change" irself comes ro be rrearecl as an arrribure of a state of rest. In other words, rhe basic, process-reducing attitude is reconciled with empirical observations of social change by introducing into rhe rheorerical waxworks of morion less social phenomena a few more equally motionless figures with labels like "social change" or "social process" In this way rhe problems of social change are in a sense frozen and rendered innocuous ro sratically-orientared sociology, So ir happens that rhe concepr of "social developmem" has almosr completely vanished from rhe sight of contemporary sociological rheorisrs-paracloxicallr, in a phase of social development when, in acrual social life and pardy also in empirical sociological research, people are concerning themselves more intensely and consciously than ever before with problems of social development,

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)roi 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 11/'t c1vil1zecl Bur on the basis of S\'Stemaric invesri "'Hions re"'e ot a society . . . b' 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.

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

-158

The Cirili::i11g Pro,ss

-i59

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 sre1d\ srires . . . _ 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 sociolou1cil 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

b<isis for further research in light ?f rht more comprehensive knowledge ,. wailable, and \vhich should hnd rhe1r place as expressions ot nme-bound \ ' flO'' . palirioil or philosophical prejudice, wirh a suitable rombsrone, 1n rhe graveyard
, 1

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 rnentierh 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

_ . . 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 <ociological inreresr moved. in a radical reaction against rhe older type of theory. ro rhe investigation of darn 011 society conceived as normally existing in a sn:re of rest and equilibrium. Hand in hand with this wem rhe hardenrng ot a collecrion of srereoryped arguments against rhe older sociological theories and rmim of rheir central concepts, particularly rhar of social de\elopment As these .lo" .srs did not trouble ro disrin"uish berwetn rhe facr-based and the WCI 0 b 1 o _ ideological elements in rhe concept of devtlopmenr, rhe whole discussio'.1 or long-term social processes, particularly developmental processes, was henceforth with one or another of the nin('.teenth-century systems of belief, and so. above all. with rhe notion rhar social developm('.nt, whether proceeding in a srraiuhr line without conflict or dialecrically with conflict, must auromarically be for rhe better ' a movement in rhe direction of prouress. from rhen on ;l b 'it appeared almost old-fashioned to occupy onestlf with questions _of social Jevelopmenr. Ir is sometimes said rhar generals. in planning strategy tor a new war, rake rhe strategy of the old one as their model. To assume without question that concepts like "social dtvtlopment' or "long-term social processes" inevitably include rhe old idea of progress is ro proceed in a similar way. \\le find, rherefore, in rhe framework of sociology. an inrellecrual development inrnlving a radical swing of rhe pendulum from a one-sided position rn an opposite position no less one sided. A phase in which sociological theorists primarily sought models of long-rerm social den:lopmenr has been succeeded by one in which rhey are primarily concerned with models of soci('.ties in a srnre ot rest and immutabilirv. If research was once founded on a Hernclirean kind of basic assumption rha; all is in flux (with rhe difference rhar it was taken almost for granted rhar rhe flow was in rht clirecrion of improvement), ir is based now on Elearic idea. The El('.atics. ir is said. imagined rhe flight of an arrow as a series of stares of resr: acrually. ir seemed to rhem. the arrow does nor mo\e ar all. For ar everv given moment it is in a particular place. The assumption of many present-day sociological rheorisrs that societies art usually ro be found in a srnre of equilibrium. so rhar the long-term social development of mankind appears as_ a chain of sraric social rypes, is strongly reminiscent of rhe Elearic conception of rht fliuhr of an arrow How can rhis swing of rhe pendulum from one exrremt to the orl1er in rhe development of sociology bt explained;, At first sight ir seems rhar rhe decisin: reason for rhe change in rhe orientation of sociology is a reaction of scientists proresring in rhe name of the

of Jead doctrines

460

Th, Cfrilizing Process

PostsaijJt

-i6 l

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 m rhe name ot scientihc obi'ecrivitv . . docmnes, . .. It "' nas 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'ma " . . . . . . . o ' cy or 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.

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 <lt rhe encl The spokesmen for the rwo rising industrial classes rook confidence in the thought of rhe future improvement of the human condition, even if what they envisaged as improYement and progress varied widely depending on their class" If one is ro understand whv rhe belief in progress waned in the rwenrierh century and why, corresponding!;,, interest among sociologists in the problems of long-term social development declined, ir is of no small importance ro realize how intense was the interest in the problems of social development in the nineteenth century, and ro ask on what rhis interest was founded.

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

. . . . . a greater 111crtase ol rhc:1r predom111anct o\tr less de1eloped nar1ons than ever before. only che classes wirhin rhtm bur also rhtse srart-socieries in rheir rocil , . . . . . . ' 1t} were ris111g. txpand111g social tormar1ons

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

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<l . c . c " . . . rer!11 social proctssc:s; rht almost complete: disappearance or rht conc_tpr ot soual developmenr from sociological rexEs-rhest and mher symproms ot ctn txtrtmt swing of rht inrelltcrnal pendulum are nor suflicienrly explained by rht upheavals of war and relaEed e\tnts. To undersrand them, wt must also rake account of . hc clnnues in rhe rwenritrh centun cpeu ' c , in rht o\trall inrtrnal srrucrurt and ;nrernarional posirion of dit great indusrrial nations of rht nineretnth century. \Virhin rhtst nations rhe represenrarives of rhe rwo industrial classes. rht ncj L1rri1! bourueoisie and rht indusuial working " c '- class. have in rht course of rhe 1 nventitEh century firmly now esrablished rhtmsc:lves against tht earlier clynasricariswcraric milirnry power elires as rhe ruling groups in rheir srares. The two indusuial classes hold each OEhtr in crn ofctn precarious and always unstable balance of rensions, with the olcl-esrnblishtd working class srill in tht weaker position. bur slowly gaining strength. The rising classes of d1e nintreenrh century. \Vho still had ro lighE wirhin Eheir scaEes against rhe tradmonal dynast!C elirt. and for whom development. progress. a berrer furure was nor only a fau bm also an ideal of grear emotional significance, have become in rht course of rht E\l'tnrierh cenEUff rhe more or less established industrial classes whose rtprtsemarivts art insralltcl insrirurionally as rht ruling or co-ruling groups Pardy as parrntrs, parch as opponents. rht reprtsenrarivts of rht industrial bourgtoisit and rhc: tsrnblished industrial working class now form rhe primary tlire in rht nations of rht first wave of indusrrializarion A.ccordingly. alongside classconsciousness and class ideals. and pardy as a disguise for rhem, national consciousness and rhe ideal of rhtir own nmion as rhe highest rnlut play an increasing role wiEhin the rwo industrial classts-lirsr of all in rhe industrial bourgeoi;it, bur increasinglv in rhe indusrrial working class as wt!!. Se:n as an ideal. howtvt;., rlit nation wrns arrenrion rn whar already txists . Since reprtstnrariws of rht rwo powerful and populous industrial classes no\v havt access ro posiEions of power in rht start, rht narion, organized as a srare as ir now is, appears emotionally and ideologically as Eht highest value . In rliis sense, ir appears as trernaL immutable in irs essential ftawres. Historical changes affect onlv externals; rhe people. rht nation, so ir appears. do noE change. The English, German. French. Iralian and all odier muions art, for rhost who consrirurt Ehtm, everlasting . In rheir "essence .. rhey are always rhe same. wheditr we are speaking of rhe tenth or rhe EWtntitrh century. Funhermore. ir was nor only the rwo industrial classes within rht older inclusrrial naEions which changed, once and for all, in rht course of the rwentierh centufl'. The rise of rht European nations and of Eheir offshoots in other parts of rhe which had gone on for ctnrurits, also came slowh ro a srandsrill in our own. Certainly. rhtir acrual !tad over non-European rnuions (with few

Om: mighr be rempred ro anribL1Ee rht belief in progress in European in rht centuries preceding rhe rwentiech I)[imarihro rhe i)roress i1 1 sc 1 ," '. c 1...nce rechnologv. Bur rhar is ctn insufficient explanation. How lirde rhc: experience: scientific and technological progress alone gi1es rist roan idealizacion of proirr-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 wa1e 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 1er 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 1oices 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 \1ars. 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

-i6-i

The Cii'ili::i11g Pm({;ss

Postscrij1t

465

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 ascendincv ,. h . . ,_ ' f or t e European nanons, as among in the world , ti1at t hp, ._ all powerful and rulml( ,_ ,l(rou1Js __ power rhe1 . wert <tble ro wield over other nations was the expression of an e n:ission bestowed on chem by Goel or naturt or historical destiny. rhe expression of a superiorirv over those less powerful which was founded in their verv esse nCP ' J This idea of their own self-evident superiority. detply roored in the self-image the older industrial nations, has been profoundly shaken by rhe actual of development in the twentieth century The reality-shock suffered when a national ideal collides with social reality has been absorbed by each nation in a differenr way, according to its own dewlopment and the specific nature of its national self. image For Germany rhe more comprehensive significance of this collision was first concealed by the more direcr shock of the military defeats. But it is indicarive both of the strength of the old national ideals and of the auronomy of chis development as a whole char even in the victorious countries of the second European-American war, at first, immediately after the victory had been won only very few people setm to have realized how radical!; and fundamentally the milirnf\' conflicts bttween two groups of relatively highly developed countries would reduce the power of this class of counrries as a whole over the less dtveloped countries, a reduction which had been in rhe offin" for some time. As is often the rnse, this sudden diminution in their power found the previously mighty countries unprepared and bewildered The acrual opporrunities for progress. for a better future. are-lea\ing aside the regressive possibilities of war-still very great for the older industrial ;ations, But in relation ro their traditional national self-images, in which rhe idta of their own national civilization or culrure is usually ensconced as the highest value of mankind. rhe furure is disappointing. The idea of rhe unique nature and value of one's own nation often serves as legitimation for char nation's claim to lead all other nations. Ir is this stlf-image, chis claim ro leadership by rht older industrial nations, that frns betn shaken in rhe second half of the rnentierh century by what is still a very limiteCl increase in power among rltt poorer. previously dependent and partly subjugated pre-industrial societies in othtr parts of rhe world.; In ocher words, chis reality-shock, in so far as it affects rht emoriw vale of the present state of a nation in regard ro its furure possibilities, merely reinforces a ttndency already present in national feeling that what rhe nation is and always has been, its eternal, unalterable heriragt, possesses a far greater emotive value, as a means of self-legitimation and as an expression of the national scale of values and the national idtaL than any promise or ideal located in rhe future. The "national ideal" draws attention away from what changes to rhe enduring and the immurable. This aspect of rhe transformation raking place in the European scares, and in a number of closely related non-European states as well. has been matched by

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

-i66
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 ._ .._,

Postscript

467

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 heihtening 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

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.

c

Postscript
01 SO

469

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 <lifficulry w apply w other concepts of dominant contemporary sociolo'v Concepts like ''strucrure", "norm", "integration" and "role" all represent in g,. current forms attempts ro conceprualize cerrain aspects of human societies abstracting from their dynamics, their genesis, their character as a process, their development. The rejection of the nineteenth-century ideological understanding of these dynamic aspects of society rhar has taken place can therefore be seen not only as a criticism of these ideological aspects in rhe name of a scientific concern with fact, bur above all as a criticism of earlier ideals that no longer correspond ro present social conditions and experience and have therefore been rejectPd in rhe name of later ideals. This replacement of one ideology by another- explains rhe fact rhar ir is nor simply the ideological elements in rhe nineteenth-century sociological concept of development rhar have been called into question, bur the concept of development itself, the very consideration of problems of long-term social development, of sociogenesis and psychogenesis. In a word, the baby has been thrown our with rhe bath warer. The present srndy, which concerns itself once again with social processes, may be better understood if this development of theoretical sociology is kept in mind. The tendency ro condemn the social ideologies of rhe nineteenth century from rhe standpoint of those of the twentieth appears ro preclude rhe idea that longterm processes might be the object of investigation without an ideological motive-that is, without the author, under the pretence of speaking of what is or zrns, actually speaking about what he believes and wishes 011ght to bt. If the present smdy has any significance at all, this results not least from its opposition ro this mingling of what is and \vhat ought to be. of scientific analysis with ideals . fr points w the possibility of freeing rht study of society from irs bondage ro social ideologies . This is nor ro say that an invesrigarion of social problems which rejects rht primacy of political and philosophical ideals means renouncing che possibility of ii1flutncing che course of political events through the results of sociological research. The opposite is rht case. The usefulness of sociological research as a rool of social praccice is increased if tht researcher does nor deceive himself by projecting what he desires, whac he believes ought ro be, into his invesrigarion of what is and has been

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

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-. As has been mtnt10ned. one le peop , "' _.. . 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

Pr)Jfstri/1/

importam role.

by die idea of the separate existence of the two

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 r the . . . . c,. ems o, 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

in chis i l l c ea tmage c1- l 1 e"1 1n1a1,-p 0 tree individual existing indepenc!emly of all ochers. In both cases the ..,.'""'' ideal image I . is changed , . unawares under his hands into '1 ficc ' . Omer 1ing th actually exists. For with regard w the imaue of the individLi1l re I . at . _ . , c' >o. w lat 1n rh
l '

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

.. r 11 ot rlirstars. min and sun . thunder and berween narura l t\tnrs c cc1L1rsc , 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. niiti beinus to"tditr as a 1xocess in the develO]Jmenr of mankind-is rtcliic,d

in
r

JlLI

"'

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. from rht homo philos11j1hims who was never a child and seemingly came into the world an adult. rhere is no way our of the epistemological impasse Thought steers helplessly back and forth between the Scylla of positivism and the Chaffbdis of apriorism. Ir does so precist!y because what is actually obsenable as a pr;cess, a development of rht social macrocosm within which the dtvelopmtnr of the individual microcosm can also be observed, is reduced in thought to a 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 clnnues in rhe fiuurarions formed b\ htrgt numbers of inrerdtpendem human be:n;s) or to
to

.. . 1

cpt or . c1n 1zanon . 1n r le taccua sense in which it is used here. actually means. The

human being are changed in a particular direction. This is \Vhar rhe

.. .

current today of the indi\idual as an absolutely independent and selfsuthcient being is here [rob structs . _ difficult to reconcile with rhe facts 1dduced ' undersrandrng ot the long-term processes which people undergo on bot! 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 "black box ... i.e. a closed container "inside .. which certain individual processes 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
o
0

d' 'd

l tk

l ..

l!S

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 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 individual which plays a considerable role in the human sciences rochl\' and rhus also contributes to rhe neglect of long-term changes in human course of social development as a subject of research. in the
1

rhe human

forming such figurations is connected

a certain rype of human self-image and st!f-ptrceprion People to whom it

sec:ms self-evident rhar their own self (or their ego. or whatever else it may be 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

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

Postscrijit
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. ' 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 ones 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 <tgain and again as something existing "ourside" society. \Vhat rhe concept of sociery refers to appears again and again as something exisring outside and beyond individuals. One seems ro have rhe choice only berween

473

, -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. 1 "eiieris" ' a realirv of a peculiar rvpe bevond ind1v1cluals Ar .mosr one cr f'li o 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, - char of a socierv oursicle no
tfiC
+ /

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 understood 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 <like the isolaced human being) as a steady srate, to nature" or to "society" Does this something exist; Or is it only produced by. or at any rate founded primarily on. an ace of thinking;

-!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'

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

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 a undas ersrood 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- solvmg p rn r I11s ters a k ev for rhese problems. The discussion of rhis 1 1 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 J . 00 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 .

..

" .

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 <in understanding of these problems if one recalls the sponraneous, unretlecring self-cenrreclness of thought that can be obserYed ac any rime among children in our own society. A heightened control of rhe affects, de\eloped in sociecy and learned by the indiYidual, and above all a heightened degree of amonomous afftet control, was needed in order for che world-picture centred on the earth and rhe people li\ing on it to be overcome by one which, like the heliocentric worldpicwre, agreed becrer wirh the observable faces but was at firsr far less emotionally; for it removed human beings from their position at the centre of the uniYtrse and placed them on one of many planers circling about the centre. The rransirion from an understanding of nature legitimized by a traditional faith to one based on scientific research, and the shift in the direction of grtacer affect comrol char this transition involved, thus represents one aspecr of the ci\ilizing process examined from other aspects in this book Bur at char particular srage in the development of these more objecr-relarec! rhan self-related conceptual insrwments for exploring extra-human nacure, it was apparently not possible co include in the inYtsrigarion, and co reflect upon. rhis civilizational shifr itself, the move cowards stronger and more "inrernalized" self-control char was raking place within people rhemseln:s. \\/hac was happening to human beings as they increased their undersranding of nature remained ac firsc inaccessible co scientific insight. Ir is nor a little characteristic of chis srage of self-consciousness char the classical theories of knowledge representing ic art concerned far more with the problems of the object of knowledge than with the subject of knowledge, with objecr-percepcion than with self-percepcion. But if the laner is nor included from tht start in posing episremological problems, then rhis \'try posing leads to an impasse of equally inadequate alcernarives . The developmenr of che idea char the earth circles round che sun in a purely mechanical way in accordance with natural laws-chat is, in a way not in the least derermined by any purpose relating to mankind, and therefore no longer possessing any great emotional significance for people-presupposed and demanded at the same rime a development in human beings themselves cowards increased emotional control. a greater restraint of their spontaneous feeling that everything they experience and everything chat concerns them rakes its stamp from rhem, is the expression of an imemion, a destiny, a purpose relating to themselves. Now, in the age char we call "modern", people have reached a stage of self-derachmenr char enables chem co conceive of natural processes as an auronomous sphere operating in a purely mechanical or causal way without intention or purpose or destiny. and having a meaning or purpose for themselves only if chey are in a position, through objective knowledge, co control it and

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 d1ou"ht . d h .the . . 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 ptoples 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-abmt: 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

,. 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 onts own .. self and orhcr peuplt ( .. socieryJ. . 1 he shift in the dirtction of greater inchidualizarion that took place dunng is well enouuh known. Tht !Jresent stuck r..cives a somtwhat more rhe Ren1issance , o . 'derailed picture of this developmem in terms of personalicy suucture. At rhe rime, it points ro connections rhac h<ffe nor yet been properly clarified. The winsirion from che experience of naturt as landscape srnncling opposed w che observer, from the experience of narure as a perceprual object separated from i rs subject as if by an invisible wall: the transition from the intensified stlfperceprion of the individual as an entirely self-sufficient entity independent and cue off from other people and rhings-thtse and many other uends bear che srructural characteristics of the same civilizational shift.. They all show marks of rhe transition to a further stage of self-consciousness at which the inbuilt stlfconuol of the atfrccs grows stronger and reHecti\e derachmtnt greacer, while che sponcaneiry of affective action diminishes, and at which people feel chtse peculiarities in themselves bur do not yec deracl1 chemselves sufficiently from chem in thinking to make: chemselves the object of invesrigacion. \Ve thus come somewhat closer ro the cemre of che srructure of the individual personality underlying the self-experience of homo dc1;1.r11.r. If we ask once again whac really gives rise ro this concept of the individual as contained .. inside .. himself. severed from everything existing outside him, and what the comainer and rhe contained really srand for in human terms, we can now see the direccion in which the answer must be sought. The firmer, more comprthensi\t and uniform restraint of the affects characteristic of this spurt in the civilizing process. rngether with the incrtasecl internal compulsions that, more implacably than before, prevent all spontaneoLtS impulses from manifescing chemsehes directly and mororirnlly in action. wichout che inrervemion of comrol mechanisms-these are what is experienced as the comainer. tht invisible wall dividing rhe "inner world .. of the individual from rhe .. external world .. or. in differem wrsions. the subject of cognition from its object. rhe .. tgo .. from rhe .. ocher ... che .. incli\idual'" from .. society .. \Vhat is contained are the restrained instinctual and affective: impulses denied direct access ro the moror apparatus They appear in self-perception as whac is hidden from all others, and often as the rrue self the core of individuality. The term .. rhe mner man .. is a convernem metaphor, bur it is a misleading one. There is good reason for saying that rhe human brain is situated within the skull and the heart within the rib cage. In these rnses we can say clearly what is the container and what is contained, what is located \\ithin walls and what outside, and of what rhe dividing walls consist. Bur if the same figures of speech are applied to personality scructLires thty become inappropriate. The relation of

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

-180

Th, Ciz'i!i::ing Pl'IJCess

Postscript

-181

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 behmiour 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 ones 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

. 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 acc" and pardv . on a reificarion of individual self-control mechanisms--of _ fseverance of individual affective impulses from the mornr apparams, tram rhe direct contrnl of bodily movements and acrions. This self-perceprion in terms of ones 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 ' . orie mate d depenclenr people. Since people are more or less dependenr oi1 each other . narure and [hen social learning, rhrough edurn[ion <ocia1 1 .. . . , , . , . , " ' zanon and ,ocrnlly generared reciprocal needs, rhey ex1sr. one m1gh[ vemure ro say pluralirits, only in figura[ions. Thar is why, as was srared earlier, '-l't is not parricularly fruirful w conceive of human beings in rhe image of rhe man . Ir is more appropriart w envisage an image of numerous inrerde d . . . . . ' . . __ pen enr people hgurar10ns (1.e, groups or sone_rn:s ot diHerenr kinds) with each orher. Seen trom [h1s basic srandpomr, [he nh in rhe rradirional human self1mage disappears. The concepr of rhe figurnrion has been introduced because ir expresses whar we call sociery" more clearly and unambiguously rhe exisring conceprual rools of sociology, as nci rhcr an abscracrion of "rrn, nutr<: of i.ndividuals exisring wirhour_ a sociery, nor a "sysrem or "rorality" beyond 111d1v1duals, bur rhe network of interdependencies formed b1 individuals. Ir is cerrainly quite possible to speak of a social system formed of individuals, Bur the underrones associated with rhe concepr of the social sysrcm in contemporary sociology make such an expression seem forced Furrhermore, the concept of sysrcm is prejudiced by rhe associared notion of immurnbiliry \Vhar is meam by rhe concep[ of rhe figuration can be conYeniently explained by reference ro social dances . They are, in facr, rhe simples[ example rha[ could be chosen. One should rhink of a mazurka, a minue[, a polonaise, a rango or a rocknrolL The image of rhe mobile figurations of imcrdepcndem people on a dance floor perhaps makes ir easier ro imagine srares, ciries, families and also capirnlisr, communis[ and feudal sysrems as figurarions . By using rhis concept we can eliminare rhe anrirhesis, resting finally on different values and ideals, immanent roclay in the use of rhe words .. individual" and socierr". One can cenainly speak of .. dance in general, bur no one will imagine ; dance as a srrucrnre ourside rht indiviclu<il or as a mere absrracrion The same dance figurations c1n cerrainly be danced by differenr people: bur wirhout a plurality of reciprocally oriehrnred and dependenr individuals, there is no dance. Like every orher social figuration, a dance figurarion is relarively independent of rhe specific individuals forming ir here and now, bur no[ of individuals as such. It would be absurd ro say rhat dances are menral consrrucrions absrracred from observarions of individuals conside[ed separarely The same applies ro all o[her figurarions. Jusr as rhe small dance figurations change-becoming now slower, now quicker-so roo. gradually or more suddenly, do rhe large figurations which we call sociecies. This book is concerned wirh such changes. Thus. the srarringpoinr of rht srndy of the process of sra[e formation is a figurarion made up of numerous rela[ively small social units existing in free comperirion with one anorher. The investigarion shows how and why [his figurarion changes, Ir demonsrrares ar rhe same rime rhar [here are explanations which do nor have the haiacrer of c,1usal explana[JOns For a ch,rnge
(he endogenous dyn,1m1cs of rhe
111

a figur,mon is explained partly

pOSJ[!O 11

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 soci1l 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

6gUf,l

irself. rhe immanenr. rcndtncy of , rion of freeh com1Jetll1" umrs ro torm monopolies. fhe 111ves[1gar1on
.
b . .

<\ (he same nme, 1t mdICares how the personal1r! srrucrures ot human bc:rnt,s '1 clnne ;_i so ( b in con1unc[ion wirh such figurational changes, <- Man\" quesrions rhar deserve considerarion in a postscnpr have had w be lelr usi<le !;ere; othe:rwise, rhe postscript would have become a separate volume. Limired as rhey are, however, rhese reflecrions show perhaps rhar an under. di.n" of rhe 1xesenr srudr rec1uires a fairly exrensive reorientar10n 111 rhe sr.in "' . forms of sociological rhinking and imaginarion predominant roday. To derach oneself from rhe idea of oneself and of every individual human being as homo ,./ is cerrainly nor e1sy, Bur wirhour clerachmenr from rhis norion, one 11115115 possibly undersrand what is meanr when a ci\ilizing process is referred ro as a rransformation of individual srrucrnres Similarly, ir is nor easy so w develop one's own imaginative capaciry rhar one is able ro rhink in figurations, and, mortover, in figurarions whose normal charac[erisrics include a rendency w
<--'

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

5:Z)

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<H. Jaz erz wider in die schi_izzel ruor:

daz habet gar fi..ir missernr

-ms

Tht Cil'i!izi11g Proa.rs

"Der riuspt:t, swenne er ezzen soL und in Jaz rischlach sniuztt sich.

Appendix I

489

diu beide zimenr nihr gar woL

als ich Jes kan ,ersehtn mich. 1

On Behaviour at Table (p. 72)

A.

.. Swer ob <ltm cischt sniuzer sich. ob er ez ribtt an die hanr. Jer isr ein gouch. versihe ich mich. Jem ist niht besser zuht bekanm 1 ''Swer snudet ab ein wazztrdahs.

fhirceench century
DJZ

d"s crnhausers genhr und isr guor hotzuhr 1st " ' " ' Er di.inker mich ein zUhtic man. der alle zuht erkennen kan, der keine unzuhr nit gewan und im der zilhte nit zeran.

so er izztt, als trlicher phliget,

und smarzet als tin Beiersahs. wie der sich dtr zuhr verwiger
1'

Der zcihte der ist also vi! un<l sinr zt manegen dingen guor: nu wizzenr, dtr in volgtn wil. daz er vil selren misseruor

ir slilr Jie kel ouch jucken niht, so ir ezzr, rnir blozer hanr: ob ez aber also geschiht, so nemtr hovelich Jaz gewanr
11 '

25

Swtnne ir ezzt, so sir gemanr,

"In diu oren grifen nihr enzimr

und ougen, als erlicher ruor. swer dtn untbr von der nasen nimr,

daz ir vtrgezzr Jer armtn nihr: so werr ir gore vil wol erkanr.
isr daz den wol von iu gtschihr

so er izzec. diu driu sine nihr guor

"ich hoere von sUmlichen sagen (ist Jaz war, ciaz zimet i.ibe!J, Jaz si ezzen ungerwagen;

'i-

33

Keio eJeler man selbancier sol rnit einem lefftl suftn niht; ciaz zimer hcibschen liuren wol. den Jicke unecitllich geschiht

Jen selben m(ieztn erlamen Jie kni.ibel 'man sol ouch ezzen alle frisr mir der hanr Jiu engegtn isr: sirzr <ltr gtsell zt Jtr rthttn hanr, mir der ttnktn iz zthanr: man sol sich gen:n wendtn daz man ezz mir bti<ltn hendtn 'schaffi: \'Or swaz dir sl nOr daz du ihr sirzest schamtr6r ''

to

!-.fir schUzztln sufr:n niemen zimr. swie des unfuor Joch maneger lobe. Jer si frevtllichen nimt unJ in sich giuzer, als tr robe.

-ii

Und der sich i.iber Jie shlizzel habet, so tr izzer. als tin swin. und gar unsuberliche snaber. und smarztt mir dtm mundt sin

.j)

SUmliche bizent ab cier sniten und srozenrs in die schilzztl wider nach gtburischen siren; scilh unzuht legenr die hi.ibschen nicier

The Problem of the Change

10

Behaviour during the Renaissance (p. 60)

-\')

Edicher isr also gcmuor, swenn er <l::.12 bein genagen hat. daz erz wider in die schUzzel ruor: daz haber gar filr misserar

"Ne mangut mie jt re commande. avant qut on serve de viandt. car il sembleroit que tu feusses rrop glour. ou que rrop fain elisses." Vuidditr et tSSt\'tr memoirt a its ta bouche. quanr veulz boirt

53

Die senf und salstn ezzenr gern. Jie sulen Jes vii flizic sin, daz si Jen unftat wrbern unJ srozen nihr <lie vinger drin

Thu Cii'ili::iJJg Prr1cds

Dt:r riusrcr.
swi..:nrk

-i91
Swtr ob dtm risch dt:s wencr sich, Jaz er dit: glirrel \\ircr Ltr. so wartent sicherliche ut' mlch. er isr nihr \isch biz an clt:n grar Swer ob dcm rische sniuzer sich.

er

t:ZZt:Il

soL

und in daz cischL1ch sniuzec :-iich. diu bcide zimcnr nihr gar wol.
als ich Jes kan n:rsi::htn mich

Der bl'idt rtdt:n und c:aen wiL

diu
Z\Vt:i

!29

were mir einander ruon,

ob er tz ribtt an dit hanr.

der i:-;r t'in gouch. versiht ich mich.

und in dem slaf wil reden vii.

dt:r kan vi! selrcn wo! gt:ruon Ob Jem rischt Jar daz bn:htt:n sin. so ir ezztt. ddz slimlicht ruonr. dar an gedenkenr. fnundc: min.
daz nit kein sirt: so Libtlt sruont

t.km isr nihr bezzer zuhr bekanr

!ll

kh hm:n: von slimlicht:n sagen

(isr Jaz war, daz zimcr LibtlJ, chtz si t:zzen ungcrwa.t::t:n: dt:n st.:!htn mliezen erlamen die knlibc:l'. In diu oren grit'en nihr tnzimr und ougen. als edicher ruor, swtr den unflat von der nastn nimr.

81

Ez di.inker mich groz missernr.

an sweme ich die um:uhr siht. Jer daz czzt:n in dem munJe hat und die wilt: trinket als ein \ihe

so

t:r

izzer. diu driu sint niht c:uot

85

Ir slilr nihr blastn in den crane.

des spu!gt:nt slimdicht: gern:
daz isr tin ungewizzcn danc.
Lkr unzuhr solre man Lnbern

On v 25. cf.:

From d11..

of Borfficino Ja Riva:

La primiera

e quesra:

E Jaz ir rrinkr, so wisclu Jen munr. daz ir ht:smdzl'.t niln den tranc: diu hon:zuht wol zimt allt srunc

cht quando tu l: mcnsa.

<lei povero bexognoxo

imprimamentt inpensa Onvv from Ein Jjnud; dd

und isr t:in hovdich gtdanc lll'i

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. mir eint:m lefeL daz sdr wol

wit: seictn diL die ht.:!mt: wegenr.

da man frouwt:n dicnen sol 31 'i

10')

Swtr sich Uber dit: schlizzd habr. unJ unsl1berl!chen snabt mir dem munch:. als ein swin. dcr :-;ol bi anderm viht sin

le slilc die kt! ouch juckcn nihr. so ir

t:ZZL

mit bloztr hanr:

ob ez abt:r also t!t:schihr.

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, swer slilht unzuhc nihc vt:rbirc

swtr sniubc:r als tin bhs. unJe smarztt als cin dahs. und rlisst( st1 er ezzen sol.
diu Jriu dine zimtnt niemor wol

Ir slilr die zen<le srUrcn nihr

mir mezztrn, als erlicher ruor. und ;ds rnir nunt:gtm noch geschihr:
S\\

La sedexena aprcsso con verirat:

No sorbilar dra bocha quando tu mangi con cugial: Qutllo fa sicom besria. chi con cugial sorbilia Chi doncha

er

Lks

phlifet. daz ist nihr guot

:t quesra

uscmza. ben fa s d st dispolia

-492

The Ciri!izing Process

or

Af'jlwdix I

493

201

AnJ suppe noc low<le of thy Porrnge no ryme in ,ill th) lyfe

Non tangas aures nudis digitis ntqut narts

B.
.:;-!()
Swer Jiu bein benagen hJr.

Fifceench cencury From (rm1c1:.m(d dt l..1 uhk

un<l wider in die schi.lzzd ruor. <lii sin <lie hi:lveschen nn bthum
or From Q:risqui.1 u in
!lh1!.U:

Enfant qui vtulr esrre courroys Er

a routes

gens agrtable.

Er principaltment

a rablt.
II

in <lisco rncrn non sir bucella rtdacra

On v 65, cf.: Stam /JJ1er :./{! t1kmam
numquam riJebis nee faberis ore repltto

GarJe cts riglts tn Enfant soit de copper soigneux Ses ongles, et osrer !'ordure. Car se I' ur<lurt: il y en<lurt., Quant ilz se grate yerr roingneux

On v 8-L cf. also from: Q11isq11is

in l!hlJJd

Ill
Enfant cl honneur. lave tts nuins A ton ltvtr,

l5
from Th, i-i9

qui vulr pornre Jeber prius os vacuare

or Bl)r1k
And wirht fulle mourht drynke in no wyse

a rnn

disner.

Er puis au supper sans finer: Ce sont rrois foys

[()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. your mourhe clence withe A. clothe Par unt fois, jamais n'arouche, Ne soir remise en ton vaisseau

or
from L;

dt

Jc

(r;nhnir :.i

XIV
Enfanr. ayes en roy remors De ten gardtr, se y as failly. Er ne presences

ne boy pas la boucht baveuse. car la cousrume en est honrtuse

a nulluy
xv

Le morseau que cu auras mors. 1-!6 Nor on the borde lt:nynge be yee nat sene
11101St1m

Enfanr, garde [()\' de maschier En ta bouche pain ou \iande. Oulrre que ran cuer ne dtmandt, Er puis apres le rtcrascher

On v. 11 '"'7. cf: 51,ms /mr:r

_C\(I

culrello. dentts mundare cntrn Enfanr, garde qu en la saliert Tu ne merces point res morseaulx Pour Jes saler. ou rn deffaulx, Car c'est deshonneste m<rniert

XVII

On v 1-! l, cf.: S1,1m /mer ad 11Jcn.um

11

Illoris manibus escas nt sumpseris unquam

PrrJCt:JJ

-i95
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

XXIV
Enfanc wu.:;jour.s r-!.i:-ihh:.

l-11 ! ,sen wolrtn, dit. nichr essen sundern fr:sstn und die kosr cinschlingtn. die ihn: H;tnde b::y nahe
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 besuddtLn stf\ieren ohn unttrlass den

Doulx. courwl:-.. bcn:nt: .1miahk.

Enrre u:ub: qui sicrronr

:t

Eablc

EE El' gardes d btrt: 110y:;ihles

XXVI
Enfonr. sc tu faiz t:n wn \'t:rn: Souprcs (_k \in aucunemt:nr.

schwciss abzuwischen (dcr dann von wegt:n ihrs ei!t:nden und i.ibt.:r dit: srirn und das <l!lgesichr bis auff dtn lub herunter trlipfkt)

.frtsst:ns \'Un
)'l

auch

\V{d

die :\ase so

offr es inen gclieh::t darin zu schneutztn

Bo;. wur le \in t:ntit:n:mcnr.

ou autremt:nt !c gcctt: J. t::rrc

XXXI
Ern:mr.
>t:

E.

tu \'::uh: ::n rn pt:ncc

!560
from
<l

Trnp excessin:mcru bouter

Tu St:f,b constraint

Cj{ i/j:r

b;. C C,dviac:

a ruptt:r
XXXIV
Ltnfonr esranr assis. s ii haunt st:rviene d::vanr luy sur son assicrce. il la pn:ndra
et

Er pcrdn.: toLJtt: coruln,tnct: Enfant. .1rdt: toy de frontr Ens<1mblc tts mains. ne tt::-> bras ?'\t:
:1

la mtnra sur

son br,1s ou espaule gauche, puis il mttrra son p . 1in de costt: gaucht, le cousreau Ju cosrt droir. personnc C.1r il rourr.1 cEhcnir qu'on

b n<.tppt.. n::

<ll!X

t.!raps

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

A table un nt: se Joit gr.Her

cmp.:scht'.r par ce moyen qut:lqu un Il fault que ienfanr la discrl:rion dt: cognoistrc !es circnnsrances Ju lieu ol1 il scra

c
I 530
from [), ,:: ili:.::c
b;. Erasmus (if Rorrerdam:

En manc:eanr

ii doir prcndre le premier qui luy \iendr,1 en main de son tranchoir

trt:mptr honnesrt:merH et sans rournt:r de I aurrc t..usu: . despl:ctr un
c:1got.

Que s il ya Jts S<ll!Ces. 1 enfant y pourra .

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

. unt pt:rdrix,

Lill

.\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

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 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 Primus cibum appositum nt atringiro. non rnnrum ub id quml arguit avidum. std quod cum periculo conjunctum esc dum qui fervidum inexplor.1rum n.:cipir in os aut expuerL s1 dcp!utiar. adurtre gulam. urroqut: ridiculus atque ac A!iqu.mtiSf't:f mor.rndum. Lit ruer :FiSUeS(<l[ :1ffi:crui ttmr::r:tfl Digiw.s in jusculenra immergerc. agresrium esr: s::J cu!rdlo fuscinave rnllar quud ndr, rir:c id ex aut

i.

Fi

er la mtnre
(JS,

sur \t tr,rnchoir: si ce nest qu'il adviennt que qutlquefoys ii succe Lt motlle Jc quclque pt:tit commt par Je pa.sse temps en arrtndanr la desserre. car
t:t

L1voir :;uccl: i! le doir mt:nre

sur son ,1ssiette. comme aussi Its os des cerises

Jes prunes et semblabks, rour cc qu il n'esr point

U>.

bon dt: !es a\:der !l\ de !es j::crer J terr::. L't:nfant ne Joir .plJint rongtr indl:et:!Ht:r11elH In trois doigs: Il four que

comme foru lo chit:Ib

Quant I ::nfi1nE voudr.i Ju sci. ii en rrendra aYtc la 1io!ncre de .son cousteau ct non point avcc lt:s
J

ww digat

qu()d sol::nr ligurirnrLs. sed <..JUoJ r'orre anrt: ipsum jacer. sumar.

QuuJ Jigiris ::xcipi non pmest. quadra txcipitndum t:St 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 rtJdiro Si liquidius lsr quod d;nur. t:usrnndum sumiro t.:r cochltarL reddiro. seJ ad manti!t exrersum. Digirns uncros \cl ore prat:lingen::. \'cl ad runicam txrergert. parin:r inci\ile t:sr: iJ mappa porius aut mantili focitndum.

cnfant couppe sa chair tn menus morceaux sur son rr.rnclwir

er ne faur point qu.il

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
pone la viandt 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 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'ransois plus rondi:menr et en sorrt qu'ils rrou\tnr la procl:durt des ltalitns rrop <ltlicate et prtcitust Er ainsi chacunt nation ha qutlque chos:: de propn.: et difftrtnt des <llltrts. Pourquoy l enfant Y puurra proctJer sdon !es litux er cousrumes J iceux ol1 il sera. Da\anras:;t Its Allemans usenr de culil-rt:s en mangt<!.Ilt leur porngt tr mutts !es choses liquides.
et

1558
from h;. Gio\anni Jdla Casa. Archbishop of Benevento. quottd from rht il\t-Lmguage tdirion <Gt:ntva. l 609J. p, 68: \\/as meynsru wlirdt dit:ser Sischo( unJ St:int tJle Gesellschafr (iJ Vescon: e !a sua nobill- brigara) denen gc:->agr hahtn. tie wir bisw::iltn sehen wie dit gbichr nit Linmal auftlleben unJ ihrc mit dtm rlisst:l in Jer li,t.:en und ihr \iel wenigtr die h;inde nimmermehr \on dtr sp::ist

Its Jrnliens,_Jes fourcherres. Er Jes frans-oys de l un tr dt I autre, st:lon que bon leur stmbk er qu ilz en onr la commodirt. Les Iralitns st plaisent aucuntmenr J. avoir chacun son cousre;1u. ;\fais Jes A1lemans ont ceht tn sinulit:re rt:commandarion. tt re!lemenr qu on leur fair grdnd desplaisir de le

496

The Cfrili::ing Process

ou rrois

Appendix I
indecencts, lune est d'essuyer frequemmenr vos mains

497
a vosrre
serviette. et cit la salir ceux qui la voyenr porter

prendre Jevanr tux ou <le leur <lemanJer Lts au conrrain:: rnuce une pleine tabl personnes se servironr de dcu:x ou rrois cousreaux. sans faire Jifficulrt Je ie clt-m:rn<ler ou d ' prtry re le bailler s ilz I onr Par quoy. s'il advienr que quelqu\m demande son cousrc.-a.u a il luv bailler aprt-s 1 avoir nenoyt'. J sa serviette. en tenant la poincce en sa main er prCstnrant le celuy qui le deman<le: car ii seroir Jeshonnesre de la faire aurremenr

,-ornme un rorchon de cuisine: en sorte qu tlle fair nu! au coeur

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
commt ii yen a beaucoup (sc usages) qui ont Jt:ja changt. je ne doute pas qu'il n yen l'avenir
1..f ii .wj}is11i: p11flrl'll qur: /'1JJJ
!rcw/11.."r .01n

P. 273
F.

air plusieurs de ct!lts-cy. C..Jlli changeront tout de meme

Between 16-iO and 1680

Autrtfiis un j111uz-oit murJu: l!:.1i11hn.tnt t1.. .frYi!it

;-\!ifn:i,is fill j111:1!'11it :ird

Juin d,ms !:1

qu
11JJ

Sd!IJSc

1(1

d{J /!JJ

t/h"r1r1..

m!t r.5/lt:.:r: ,ft,

s.1 /;1J11dJL !:L
/!i1:tt'l1i!

/1:1.r

ti /, jttfrr .I hrr,, j1r1111-r11 q:h Ct!tt ''

,_ulroitt111tlli:
JaJis le potage on mangeoir Dans le plat, sans ctrtmonie. Er sa cuillier on essuyoir Souvtm sur la poult bouillie
Dans la fricassee aurrefois

tf m:1in1t1u11: .-, st11,j; tllh

grdnd, s,ddt'

1717
from fr:111fois d,
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<l. c tsr une Prince de boire le premier Chacun mange prtsenremenr c:t unt bicnsl-..rnn: pour un

a la sanrt

de celui

OU

Jt ceux qu ii traitt, er de leur fairt prtsenrer tnsuitt

It m2me vtrrt. ou le mC:mt gobeler. rtmpli J'or<linaire de mtme vin: er ctn est point parmi tux un manque de politesse de boire dans le mtmt verre. mais une marque dt franchise et d amirit: les femmes boi\"t:nr aussi Its prtmierts, et <lonntnt ensuitt, ou font porrer leur verre avec le mt-mt: vin. Jont elles Ont bC! 8. la santt Je ceJui J. qui elles St SOflt adresstes ..UllJ
(O!!il!lr: Cjlh f1.l.\.ft / 10/tr lllh fli'dff

Son poragt sur son assieue: II faur se servir polimenr

Er de cuillitr tt dt fourcherre, Er de temps en temps qu\m valet Les aille bver au buffet

f1.117!Ji

Jlf/llS

P. 101 A lady responds: Jent si;aurois approuver-nen deplaise

a Messicurs

Its Gens du Non-

G.
1672

cerre maniert <le boire clans It mtme \"trre. er moins tncort sur le rtste des Dames, cela a un air de malproprttt, qui me feroit souhaiter qu'ils rtmoignassenr leur franchise par <l'aurres marques

L
P. 12- Si prtnd au plat, il four bien se garder cl y mtttrt la main, que !cs plus qualifiez
t:S[

171-i
From an anonymous Cfri!ir::' fr.n:(.lis1.. (Lit-ge. 1-1-P):

ne I y aytnt mist Its premiers; n y dt prendre aillturs qu J l'tndroir Ju plat, qui

vis

moins encore Joie-on prtndre !es mcilleurs morceaux. quand mtme on seroit It dernier tsrre sttYy. voL1s nmlez prcn<lre qutlqut chose clans Lin aurre plat, J :l)a11f dd r1..ns
: 011:Jr,1i1..11f /hl.\ d11 p11f,1g1..
lWIS

a vis de nous; a !irenJre.

\'OLIS

Il est nectssaife aussi d observer qu ii four roUjours tssuyer vosrrt cuilltre quand. apres
si

en
11e

J1../ic;1ts <r:t'ils

II ntst pas

honntre d'humer Sa soupt quand on St serviroit cl ecuelle si

Ct

n'trnit que

I :mrir:: miJc

I :.1n1fr

::!

ce fm clans la famille apres en arnir pris la plus grande panit avec la cuillitre Si le poragt est clans un plaE, pofEtz-y la cuilliere

/;fJui'h1..

a vorre

rour sans \ous precipiter

Et mtme si on est J la table de gens bitn proprts. it ne suffir pas dessuyer sa cuillere: ii ne four plus s'en servir, mais en demander une aurre. Aussi strt on clans des plats, qui Jh St:ITr:Jl!

a present

Ne renez-pas roujours votre couteau

prendrt lorsque \ous voulez vuus en servir

la main comme font les gens Je \"illage: ii sufhr de lt

tn bien des lieux des cuilieres

q11:: pour pr1..11:lri.. d11 pr1::1g1.. d j,} /:1 s:ttf(1..

Quan<l on \"Olis strt de la viande, il n 'est pas stant de la prtndre avec la main: mais il faut prtsenttr votrt assierre de la main gauche en tenant \orre fourcherre ou vorre coureau de la droite Il esr cnnrre la bienseance de donner

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

a chague

cuilleree: ii faut arrendre qu ii soit refroidyo

a flairer

!es vianclts er il four se clonner bien de garde de !es

Que si par malheur on s'estoit brCdt. il fi1ut le souffrir si !'on peut patiemment et sans le faire parolrre: mais si la brUlure esroit insupportable comme il arrive qutlquefois. il four promprement et a\ant que les autrts sen viSEtmem par derriere quelque sauce. prendre son assiette d une main, tt la porter contre sa laguais. La civilirt veur gut !'on ait dt la politesse, mais tile ne pretend et se couvrant de Liutre main remtttre sur l'assiettt ce que !'on a clans la bouche, er It donner

remtnre Jans It plat aprf.-s !es avoir flairtes Si vous prtnez clans un plat commun nt choisissez pas Jes meilleurs morceaux. Couptz avec le couteau aprts gue vous aurez arrttt la \iandt qui est clans le plat avec la fourchtrte <le laquellt vous vous ser:irez rour porter sur vorre assient ce que vous aurez 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 <leux doigts qu on ne !es cracht clans la main

a un

pas qut I on snit homicide de soy-mf:mt. II est tres-indecenr de toucher

a quelque

chose de gras,

a quelque syrop etc. avec

Jes Joigrs, ourre que ct!a en mf:me-ttmps vous

a deux

-198

T ht

Prr1(dS

AJ!i'wdix I

-199

J.
1729
From La Salle. L. IIZr/,,
d1'1.>c.' .l11lJ! r;;, ./11:1
.'l

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
;!')):

cuillier bt dtstinte pour !es chosLs liquides.

t:[

la fourchtnc rour Its viandes de consisrnnct

Lorsque l'unt ou I aurrc tsr sale. on ptut Its m:[[oycr a\"eC sa stnierrt. s ii n tst pas possible de st
,:r /r1r.iqu 11?J ,g

.I ]:;/;/, ( p 8-) <le st p.1sser dl' qutlqu unl" de rnurc:s ces

procun.:r un autrt serYice; ii four tvirt:"r dt Jes assuycr avec la nappe. c tS[ unt malproprttt inipardonrublt: Qu<rnd I assittte est sale, ii four en demandtr une aurre: ct stroit une grossifrcre re\olrnnte Jt Li ncrwyer avi:c Jes Joit:cs a\'tC la cuiller. la fourcherrt et It couteau 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 <le !es porter bouche avec la main. <le remuer !es saucts a\'t:C

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: !
man,!.!:t:anr

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.'.alts. rous L1 dtplilnt 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
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:::nilcre !orsqu on esr

c bt a la pt:rsonnt la plus qu<lliftt de

:1

la

It: doigt. ou J y trt:mptr le pain avtc la fourchette pour

Ia sucer On nl doic jdn1ais pren<lrt: du sei aYcC !es doigts. 11 tst trt-s-ordrnairt aux enfancs d enrnsstr 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, rt[irer sans !es montrer
OU

:1

Table, est de s'en

servir pour neno1er sa bouche. :;es Jevrts er ses doigr:; quand ib sonc grns. pour dC:grnisser le coureau avant qw.: de couper du Pain. tr pour nerrohr la cuilltr. et la fourchette aprl=s qu on s'en est scrvL Lor:que Its doits sont fort grns. ii est qu ii taut tnsuitt Llisser sur I a:.sitnt
t:t
<-i

Its <lonner

a tlairt:r t:St

LIIlt autre impolittsse qui attaqut

propos de !es dt:graisser d\1hord avec un morc<;au de qut de !es essuier

le >faitrt de la table: et s il arriYt que 1on trouYt quelque malproprere Jans les a!imt:nts, ii faut !es

aV<.l!l(

a Sa Serviertt. afin de ne la p,1s

gras. ii esr rrts ma! honnere

de nt la !"''15 rendrt: malpropre

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:lquaurrt chust: qut:" ct: soir. an::c la 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 four avoir 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

1780?
from an anonymous work. L.l Cit ilih' /;r1Jhh pr1ur !:..1 A.pres. ii mtttra sa strYit:ttt sur lui. son pain avoir ses mains sur son assiettt: <Catn. n d J p 55: baucht: et son court:au
i:1

de b tcnir rnlijours fort proprt:", er de n y L.iisser wmbtr. ni

ni \'in. ni rien qui

Jroite. pour courer la

viande sans le rompre_ II se donnem aussi de garde de porctr son couteau

;1 sa bouche, II nt doit point

de nttto1tr a\cc ses doigts son assit..ccc, ou le fond de: qudquc plat: cela esc trfs

. il ne doit point non plus s accoudcr dessus. car ct:!a n appartien[

ffH:nra

inJCcenr, ii r-aur. ou n'y pas rm:chc:r. ou si on a la commoditt: Jen changer. se !a fairt: Jesenir. et s'tn faire aporttr unt: autre

qu:1 Jes gens malades ou vieux

Lt: sage Enfant s ii est aYtC dt:s Supt'.rieurs

It: dL:rnicr L.: m.1in au pbr

er la mtnrl

11 nc fau[ pas lursqu on t:S[

lorsqu on Ytut sen scnir

Tablt: ttnir Wt.'ijours It: ((IUtt:au

a la

nuin, il suffit de It prendre

.. 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. ::;ur son assit[te. Aussi ne four-ii jam<.1is rtmtttre dans le plat ce qu on en a os[t

I! est aussi rrts inciYi! de pontr un morccau dt pain pommlS. dt:.s poires ou qudqur:s aurres fruits.

la bouchc .1!a!l[ le coute,ll!

a L1 main: ii

res[

c:ncore plus d.., l y porter a\'eC ht poin[e du couttau II faut obsefYlr la ml:mc chose en maI\t.:eant des Il est contre la Bitnstancc: de tc:nir la fourcherrc ou la cuillier j plaine main. commt si on renoit un mais on doit tol1jours !ts tenir enrre ses doig[s On flt: duir p:ts Sl' strvir de la fourchette pour porter

l>L

1786
From a conversation bttWten the potl Delille and Abbt Cos:;on: Dt.:rnit-rement. L1bbt Cos.son. professeur de btlles lcrtrts au
oi:1 i! s trnit rrouvt quelquts jours auparavant avec .ks

a sa

bouchc des choses liquiJes sa car

ljlltlque

i-.bzarin. me parla cl un din::r

cuil!er qui t:"S[ destint'.t fmur prenJrt.. Ct:S SOrttS dt ciWSl'S 11 esr de 1 honrfrttlt'. de st sef\ir toujours de la fourchertt: pour porttr de la \'iande

L"

c1111r

a Versailles

l.i Bi:n-_1::/1:::

)t parit. lui <lis-je. qut vous avez fair cent incongruirts

-Comment done. reprir \"i\'tment 1abbe Cusson, fort inquitL II mt semble que j ai faic la ml-mt chose que tour It monde -Qut:!lt pn:somption! Je gage que vous n'avez ritn fait comme ptrsonnt. borntrai au diner. Er d abord que fitt:S-\"OUS dt \'OUt senittte tll \"OLIS metrnnt un coin voyons. je mt

j'JJ/::: ;u.r

:(J:;J:r .zr:: !:.t )11i,(:.1 .: tj:hlcj:h

dJr1.1:

,(TJ'. i't quclqut: sauct.., ou

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 malpropre, ou de Its t:SSLi"ier peut C:crt.: ptrmis
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

;1

lint:

personne bitn nee tt bit:n tlt\'tt

a table?

-De ma seniette? Jt fis commt lour le mondt: jt la dtployai. je !'tttndis sur moi er L1trnchai ix1r

a ma

boutonnihe

K.

-Eh bien mon chtr. vous tees le seul qui ayez fair cela: on n ernlt point sa seniettt. on la laisst sur sts genoux. [[ commt:nt tlrts-vour pour manger \"Otrt soupe?
(1---!

1774
from La Salle. L:Y Ri.gkr
f.,.
d

,/t /.; (iti!itt' d.1rt'ti:mh

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 {\.fais <litt:s-mois qudqut chost dt la manil:re dont \ous mangtfrtts \'Otrt pain. -Ctrtainement U la manit-re de tout It monde: jt la coupai proprement avec mon couteau

La senit[re qui c:st posCt sur l assitcre. trant de:;linte

a prt'.SL"f\'t:r

!t:s habics des caches ou aurres

malpruprerCs inst'.f'<lfd.bles des repas. il four [t.:llemeru I trcndrc

soi qu clle couvrt.: ks devants du

500

The Cil'ilizing Process

Appwdix I
guibus ptsriferam rettnri crepirus vim <lescribir, sed quia omnium adscribendos

501
rerunrur non du.xi

-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<le boir son caft clans sa rasse et i1mais dans sa soucuupe
1

D.

1558

Changes m Attitude towards the Natural Functions (p. 109)

A. Fifteenth century
From sr:nwinnf
!t'S (tJ!Jh!Ulltt-S

from Ga!aM. by GiO\anni <lella Casa. Archbishop of Benevenro:

c,111i/hur1mr1 cosrumart apparecchiarsi alle

d,
!:1

Uber <las stehec ts eintm sirrsamen, erbahrn mtnschen niche an (Similmentt non si conviene a

necessid naturali ), da13 tr sich zu nari.irlicher nocdurfr in andrer Leute gegenwertigkeir ri.isre un<l vorbereire odt:r nach elem er solchts verrichttt sich in ihtr gegenwerrigkeit wi<lerum nesrele und beklei<lt. So wird auch tin solchtT nach seiner aus

h1hle:

beimlichen orren wiederkunffr flir ehrliche gest!lschafr die hande nichr waschen, nach <lem die der leur gedancken eint untbterey fi.ir die augtn stellr. Isr auch ursache <larumb er sich

VIII
Enfant, prens <le regarder peint Sur le siege olr tu re sierras Se aucune chose y verra Qui soir dtshonnesre ou vilaine

ebtn umb derselbigtn ursach willen kein feint gewohnheit, wenn einem auf der Gassen etwas abscheuliches. wie es sich wol bisweilen zurrtigr. flirkommer. srarim a<l comicern st converrat eique iibm monsrrar Mulro minus decebir alreri re foeridam, ur olfaciar porrigere. quod nonnunquam facere aliqui solenr arque a<leo urgtre, quum eriam m.1ribus aliorum rem illarn grave oltnttm admovent et inquiunt: O<lorart amabo quanroptrt hoec foerear; quum porius dicc:n<lum esser: Quia foerer. noli odorari

E.
.'>29
Gr!f ouch nihr mir blazer ham Dir selben under din gewanr

1570
From rhe \\/ernigero<le Hofordnung of 1570:

c.
1530
From De cfri!i1t11t: !!iflrJ1m p11r:rilim11, by Erasmus of Rorrerchm: Incivile est tum salurare. qui reddir urinam aur alvum exonerar quibus narura pudorem addidir reregere cirra necessirarem procu! abtsse debet ah ln<loie liberali Quin ubi nectssiras hue cogit, ramen id quoqut <lecenrt verecun<lia faciendum est. eriam si nemo testis a<lsir. Nunquarn enim non adsunr angeli, quibus in pueris grarissimus est pu<licitiae comes cusrosque pudor. Lorium rtmorari valerU<lini perniciosum, stcrero redden: verecundum, Sunr qui praecipiant ut puer compressis naribus venrris thrum rerinear. Arqui civilt non est. dum urbanus vi<leri studes morbum accerstrt. Si lictt seceJerc:. solus id faciat Sin minus, iuxrn vtrustissirnum proverbium: Tussi crepitum <lissimuler. Alioqui cur non eadem opera praecipiunt ne aluum deijcianr. quum rernorari tlatum periculosius sit. quam alvum srringert i\forbum accersere: Audi Coi senis cit crepiru senrenriam Si Barus sine crepitu soniruque txcernirur oprimus . .ii.Ielius ramen est, ur erumpat cum soniru quam si condarur rerineaturque" Atqui adeo utile hie fuerit devorare pudorem, ur corpus redimas. ut consilio omnium me<licorum sic nates comprimas, quemadmodum apud epigrammararium Aethon. qui quamvis in sacro sibi caverir crepando, ramen comprtssis naribus Iovem salurar. Parasirica. et illorum qui ad supercilium scant. vox tsr: Di<lici comprimere nates Tussi crepicum dissimulare: Tussire st simulanr, qui pudoris graria nolunt crepirum aucliri. Lege Cbiliades; Tussis pro cn:piru Quum remorari thrum ptrniciosus sic: Extant Nicarchi versus tpigr<J..mmarurn libro secun<lo

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<le erzeige un<l verhaltt

F.

1589
From rhe Brunswick Hofor<lnung of 1589:

Dergleichen Jail nieman<l. <ler sei auch wer er wolle. unter. nach oder vor den .\Iahlzeiren, spar oder fruh. die \Venddsreine. Treppen. Giinge and Gemiicher mir elem Urin oder anderm Unt1ach verunreinigen. sonJern wegen solcher Nm:h<lurfr an gebi.ihrliche. veror<lnere Orrt gehen chue

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 <lcresrnble gu'il n y a pas moyen <le la

502
I.
J.Urt
1

/\f'f!wdix I
!i1.'t

50 .'>
f11!f.\ /.; Y1ir,, d

L, /' 1 1! .lt d1.n1.'hr,

.i

t,!t, ,JJ rip1L'.k?Jt.1:ir1ll

Ji:

f'a)m,:r,lfi1,71

:011/

1729
From La Salle. Lr.1

Jl: 11::/, Les pois

iun:nt manfts s.ms qu ii en rtst5.r un stul

u;,Jr.i .le L hir;:s,:nhc c: dt !.1ci:ilih'1:hr,.!itmh

(I\ou::n. l-2.9). p -:5ff.:

II est <lt la I3itnst.mct. tr ck- b pudeur de cou\'rir rnutt:S les panit:.'i du Corp;;. hors la

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 lxaucoup de prCcarnion II est propos de s accourumer

On Blowing One's Nose (p, 121)

Thirreemh Cemury
Borwc:sin <lt: la Riva (Bonvicino da Riva) D, /,

.-;ouffrir plusit:urs pti:irc-:s

!ncommoJirez sans se rnurner. frorrer. ni garter

It LSt bitn 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 <llltrt:S besoins nattirefs qu'on puisse avoir. ii tst de la BiensC:ance (aux Enfanrs mesrnes) dt ne !es faire quL dans des lieux
on rn: puisst pas tstrt: apt:rcl1.
.111om hruit. fr)rsq1/rJJJ u: ,,n (r1m/1:1t,::nii: et

fo)

La dt:sett:na aprcsso si t:
quando tu stranudt. Over ch ti tt: prl"ndt la rosse. fUarda con tu

ii est hontt:ux

t:t

indecent de le fairt.: dune maniere qu'on

In olrra parre

tL'

volze.

puisse esut entendu dt:s autres.

td t corrtxia inpensa.

I! nesr 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

A.z(J cht dra

no

It::; nommcr.

Zl"'.'iSe sor la rntnsa Pox la trenrena l- qutsra:

1731
From Johann Christian Barrh.

zaschun corttst Jonzdlo

J:_.d.mtht F:.lhfr.1,

Che st.: \'ore

lo naxo.

in wtlcher gezeiget wird. wit sich ein jungtr ?\knsch bt:y der galanttn \X.dt sowoh! durch manierl!che \\lerke als complaisarue \\"orre recomm.rndiren so!L .A.lien Liebhabtrn der ht:LHigen Policesse zu son<lt:rb.:.n:m :\utzt.:n and Vt.:rgnligt.:n ans Liehr gt:stellt:r. (Drt:sdt:n and Leipzi,:..::. l-?1lJ. p. 288: Gt-"het man bey eintr Person n>rbL"y. wc:lcht: sich erleichrcrr. so stdler m<lll sich, als ob man solches nichr gtwahr wUrde. und also 1st ts auch wider <lie HWlichkeir. zu

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 \'OStra COrtt:xia

B.

K.
1774
From La Salle. L.r

RZrJi_, J. !.1 hit11.'i:lli'(L L: .lt !.1

t"irifih' t"hrt'tiLlllh.

p 2-l:

Swer in Jaz rischlach sniuzet sich. daz sr<'ir nihr woi. sicherlich

11 est de la bi.tnstance l"t dt: la pudeur de couvrir mutts ks parries du corps. hors Lt rere er le:mains Pour !t:s b:.:soins narurds ii t:St de la hiensCance {aux enfonrs m0mt) dt: n y lieux ou on nt soir pas

c
qut: dans Jes
ni dt: ctrraines Enfanr. se ron rn:z est morvc:ux. Nt It rorcht." dt la main nue. De quoy ta viande esr ttnut. Le fair esr ,-iJain t:t honreux

11 n'cst jamais stanr dt parier dts rarries du corps qui Joivenr rnujours t-rn:
ntcessirts du corps auxqut:llts la nature nous a assujerris. ni mtme dt les nommer

XXX!Il

1768
Lerrtr from f.ladame <lu Detfand rn Madame dt Choiseul, i -68:

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<tnificencc ttl!es. que mes From A. Cabants . .\frnJtr.1 imim1:s :!11 hmJi.1 f1:lss/ (Paris. 191 ()) p Au quinzitmc sitclc. on l 01:

Jt

me hC!.rt: de 1ou\Tir, j'y

SL'

je It tire bit:n \ire: c t-"St un pot de rout d urk voix disenr qu"il

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

50-i

Th1: Cil'ilizing Pmct.rs

E

Appendix I
sont des salerez U faire soulever le coeur ;1 rnut le monde.

505

P. 134 Se mouchtr avec son mouchoir U Jtcouvtrr tr sans se couvrir de sa serviette. en essuyer la 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 propremenc il four It faire dans son mouchoir, en se dtrournanr le visage tr se couvranr de sa main er nt point regarder aprts clans son mouchoir

1530
From

ciri!i1:1h monm1 p11ui!i11m. by Er.i:;mus. ch l:

Pilt:o aut veste emungi. rusricanum, hracchio cubirnve. salsamencariorum. nee multo civilius id 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

Si quid in solum Jejecrum tst emuncto Juobus Jigiris naso, mox ptde pron:rt:ndum tst.
(From cht scholia:J Inter mucum er pituiram parum differentiae est, nisi quo<l mucum crassion:s, pituitam Huidas magis sordt:s inrerpn:canrur Srrophium er srrophiolum. sudarium tr -;udario!um. linreum tt linreolurn confundunr passim Lnini scriprores

169'1
from i\ftnag:e, Oicti1J1mairt" :!1)111ologiq11t :Ir: /.; lang11t i\fouchoir

a moucher:
(jllt

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. mouchoir

a moucher

G.

1558
From
G:d.11t11.

by Giov,1nni Jdla Casa:

1714
From an anonymous Cfrilih' jianf:tist (Litge, 171-i):

P -8: Du sole dein farztnttlein niemand Liberrtichen als ob es ntw gewaschen wen: ... (non

il suo moclchino
P -t-!: Es gehCire[ sich auch nicht. wenn du die nase gewischtt hast, JaB du das schnuptuch auseinan<ler ziehesr und hintinguckest gleich als ob Jir perltn un<l robinen vom gehirn hetten abfallen mbgt:n.

P. -! l: Gardez-vous bien de vous moucher avec les doigts ou sur la manche servez-vous de vorre mouchoir er ne regardez pas cledans aprts
WlUS

(tl!JJllh

ft.,

,11/ws,

mais

trrt moucht.

K.
die ihr farzolet oder wiscluCkhltin irn

\\ias soll ich dann nun von dentn sagen

1729
From La Salle, Lt:S

:le: /:1

c:t dr:

!d

rfrilih. dJr:!ti,mh (Rauen, 1...,.29):

G.
From Cabants.
(a)

Dll nez ec de la manitre <lt st mouchec tc d'ecemuec (p 23)

II est uts ma! honntsre de foi.iiller incessament clans !es narines avec le doigr. tt il est encore bien plus insuporcable de porcec ensuice clans la bouche ct qu'on a tire hors dts narines II est vilain de
St

h11h11d

:l:t hm/1.r

(Paris. 1910):

moucher avec la main nut, en la passanr dessous le Nez, ou de st moucher sur

P l 0.1:

cL-\uvt:rgne, !es "J"\rrfts d amour

sa manche, ou sur ses habits. cest one chose rrts conrraire doigts, er puis jerer l'ordure

a la Bienstance, de st

moucher avec deux combien

a tln

qu'elle I eut en mtmoirt. ii s1<l\isa de luy faire faire un Jes plus beaulx et riches mouchoirs,

a rerre.

er d'essuier ensuire ses doigrs avec ses habits: on

ol1 son nom esrnir en lt[trts enrrtlactes. le plus gentemenr Ju morn.It. car ii esrnir arrncht

a un

beau

cueur <l or, er frangt:s dt menues pensCes.

lb)

mal stant de voir de ttllts mal-proprerts sur des habits. qui cloivenr roUjours 2tre trts propres. quelques pauvces qu'ils soitnc
tS[

ii

II y en a qutlques-uns qui metttnr on doig[ conrre le Nez, et qui ensuire en souftlan[ du Nez. P 168: 159-i Ht:nry IV <lemnndair

a son

valet de chambre combien il avai[ Je chemises et celui-ci

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 Avant que de se mouchtc. ii est in<ltcenr d'estre long[ems J. rirer son mouchoir: c'est manquer de respect

rtpon<lair: Line Jouzaine, Sire. encore i en a-r-i! Je dtschirtes.-Er de mouchoirs. dir lt roi, tSt-.:e pas huir que j ai?-11 n i en a pour ces[t heure que cinq. dist-ii (LcsrniL Journal d'Henri IV.) .. Cinq mouchoirs d ouvragt d or. d'argenr et soye, prisez cent tscuz
(c)

a l'tgard des

personnes avec

qui on esc. de It deplier en differtnds endroics. pour voir <le qutl cote on st mouchera; ii fauc ricer P 10.2: Au seizitme sitclt. <lit .0.1onrei!. en France comme parrnu[. ft fhti! jhllf'lt
mdir.

mr111dY1ir: :!:ms l.1

1!1.l!ldJ,

:I.ms la
1n11:1dJ11ir:

ii

d/

rt{li qu till St
tjll llll

IJJr1:nih

la m:mchc:
f1r//llh

Q:uJJ!

:mx
lh

J1r1th,

un

dliSJi. dirt

h1111m:c d d, /.;

1111 di!

'JI' ii

.t n:r11iche .rm1s richd. ils /J(1rfmt .fc mo:n/JL /us .:r::.: Iii

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,

H.

1672

1774

506

TIJ1: Ciz,ifi:ing Pmcess

E.
! 5:\0
From/), (iti!i!d!t
m11r;11i:

507

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!

jlfh'ri!imn, by Er.tsmus:

1::3 r:l!

.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 liclt. lintt:olo sputum excipito Resorbere salivam. inurb.mum esr. qutmadmodum et illud quod quosdam viJemus non ex rl(:Ct::ssirnte, seJ ex

II four observt:r, en se mouchanr. routt:s !es regles de la bitnseanct lt dl' la propren:,

n:-.u. ad rertium quodqut n.:rbum e.xpw:n:

i\L
1797

F.

1558
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, by Giovanni dt:!b Casa:

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 <loch auff tint h(Jflicht \Veise und unvermercket thun.

On Spitting
(p. 129)
Middle Ages

Ich habe offr geh(Jrtt. daB flir zeiten ganze \()lcker so miiBill peleber. und sich so dapfer d.ibt:t.

dafJ sie des aussprlinzen Jurchaus nit bedi..irffet habr:n \'?it solcen dann wir uns auch nit tine geringt
ztir <.kssdben entluitcn kfornen

G.

A.

1672
from Antoine de Courrin,
Sr1li1Lill

:r.;ih dt 1.:i: ilih':

nee ultra mensam sputris nee desuper unquam

nee carnem propriam verres digiro neque scalpts

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.-

/r: pi1.-d dr..1.:1s: :: /'rc!tll! ( t.!

Si sapis extra vas expue quando Livas
.'\Jt!r1.-ji1is
1Jl!

.'f!!r: d

in:./1;,(1;,?JCc c't.r:oi: :us1.-:::

j11111rr11

pomr1i! h.ii!/1.-r
(hr1q11tr//il

q:1r:

01.1

1 th J .n-!.1s! /us 1.-ll b.ii!!r.w:: .1 prr.Jt!lf lllh J11.-r_,,1l1lh

:./, 1pulih' s'1.-n

B.
From a
C1111!Uh'J!(,.;

d:.. h;h/r: Cil.h B:d:..cS Boo!:. \' ) p

b rnble,

):

171-i
From an anonymous Cizili1t.'ji.mf.1i.r1.- (Liege.

2<)

l'e craicht p<ir

P 67 : Lt cracher frequent est desagn:able: quanJ ii est de ntcessitt on Joit It ren<lrt moins \isible
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 <lllprCs du feu. Et en quelque lieu que 1 on crncht. on doit mettre le pied

Car c est chost dtSconvenablt

51

Ctllui qui courrnisit a chitr

sur le crachat

Ne doir pas ou bacin crachier,

Fors quanr sa boucht tr ses mains leve, Ains ment hors. qu aucun nt gn=vt P -i l: II est Je mauvaise grace de cracher par la fenfrre dans la rue ou sur le feu Ne crachtz point si loin qu'il faille aller chr:rchtr le cr,1chat rour mtttrt It pitd dessus.

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

The Cil'i!izing Prncess

/1/1jiwdix l

509

II nt faur pas ceptndanr s accoUtumt:r <i cracher rrop soun:nr. tt sans nt'.cessirt: ctla tst seulemenr rrts malhonntre: mais ceia <ltgoute er incommoJe tout le monde Qu.wd rm non

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

de, /hrsr1mh.' dt.-

q11.1hh'

et lorsqu on est dans des lieux qu on rienr propres, ii est de l'honnerere

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<lns

c
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 <le prtn<lrt lhabirn<le <le le faire lnrsqu'on esr <lans I Ei,dise .1uranr qu'il esr cepen<lanr ii arrive souvent qu ii n y a point de pan: de Cuisine, ou m2-rne <l'Ecurie nius ---]
r
:-i.e.

from Der

!555

[111md

if iY111l!dhJ ((JJJh!!.llhd

(Lyon. l 555) by Pierre Broe:

celui <le l Eglist

e e que

Et quand \'"iendra que tu seras au lit Aprl:s soupper pour prenJre It Jtlit J'humain repos aucques plaisan( some si .1uprt:s de mi est coucht quelque home Tien doucement tOUS rts mtmbres Alont: 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

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

a droyr

1774
from La Salle. L . s

Fay que par toy il ne soyt esueille

id

u- d, !:.1 (fz ilih'

(l

D.
P 20: Dans l Eglise, chez Jes Grands er Jans rous les endroirs oU regnenr la proprete, il faur cmcher
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 ...

1729

P. SS: On doir
:it suit

ne st Jeshabilkr. ni couchtr devanr personne: !'on doit surrout. ne pas st couchtr dtvant aucone ptrsonrn: d autn: sext

moins qu on

Jans it

II bt encore bien moins permis

des personnes dt sexe difft'.renr. de coucher dans un mtme lie.

1910
From 1\ut::usrin Cabants.
:\frn11n

quand ct ne strait que des Enfanrs fore jeunes Lorsqut par une ntcessitt: indispensable. on est conrrainr Jans on voi"agt de couchcr avec quelque 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 1t:st encore moins dt mettrt:' sts jambes entrt:' cdles de la pt:rsonne avec qui on est couchf

imimt:r

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 rtgards

a tndtr

au tzrand jour? on ne songtair pas

Ainsi ctrrnin mtublt inrime occupait urn: place 1.Jhonneur .

a le

II est aussi rrCs indecent t:t plu honnt:re. de s amuser

dCrobtr au...x sit}!t. ou en quelqu'aurre tndroir d oU il puisse (rre

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

II en trait de mtme d:_un autrt meuble, qui ne fair plus partie du mobilier modtrne et cloner par ce temps <le "bacillophobit, J aucuns regrttttront peur-trre la disparirion: nous voulons parler du
crnchoir

E.

1774
From La
Li.s RZg},:< j, la

d dt /"' ti1 ifih' chrt':i,mh ( 1-- -i) p 51:

t:t

On Behaviour

the Bedroom (p. 135)

10

C'esr on ttrange abus dt faire couchtr des ptrsorn.:s de JiffC:rtnts sexes Jans une ml:mt chambre: tn rien de ce mt'.lange. Une granJe indigence pt:ut seule excuser ctr usage

si la nfcessirt y oblige. il fout bitn faire ensorre que !es lits soient stparts. er qut la pudeur ne souffn: 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 <lll repu:> du corps et non d rourt auue chose

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

510

'I he Cizj/j:;J;1g

Pro(c\S

On Changes in Aggressiveness (po 160)

, Sint uns al!en
1st

gt:gt.:b:.:n

t:in harrc ungewissez lebt:n'

Appendix II
P fates froni Das Mittelalterliche
Hausbuch

"\Vildu vcirhttn dtn r<>r. st; muosru kbl'n mit rnit

'.Man weiz wol daz <ltr t<)t geschihc

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 ...

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

II

5l5

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 \

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 These culrun.:s.

possibili[its of sdf-exprtssion which arise. ripen. Jecay. and never rtrurn

sublimart<l lift-tsstncts, grow with tht same superb aimlessness as the flowers of rht fidd They bt!ong, like rht plan rs and the animals. ro rht living Nature of Goethe, and nor to the dead Nature of Newton

2 The whole question of the den::lupment of the concepts Kufl:Jr <.md Zici/iJ,lfio11 needs
a frw non.:s may supporr rhe ideas in the rexr

<i

fullt:r

examination than is possible hert, where tht problem can only be briefly introducc-<l Ne\"t.:rchtltss. Ir could bt Jemonsrrare<l rhar in the course of tht nineteenth century, and particularly after 18-:-o. when Germany was both strong in Europe and a rising colonial po\\'\:."t. the anrirhtsis btrwten the rwo words diminished considerably at rimes, 'culrure' referring. as it do(;'S today in England and to some extent in France, to only a particular area or a higher form of history" as "the history of civilization' (cf also ibicL p. 25) G. F Kolb. in his Gt..Jchich!t: der i\lt11schhd1 mu! dc:r Cu!tur ( l 8-L1; a later edition is en tided C1tft11rGt.rchich1t dtr \luJSchh.:it) includes in his concept of culture the idea of progress rhar is generally excluded from it today. He bases his conception of K:tltur explicitly on Buckles concept of drili:a:irm Bur. as Jo<ll starts (0/, K11!111r,1;,dchich1schrtib11ng. p. 36). his ideal 'rakes its essenti<d features from modern conceptions and demands with regard to polirical. social. and religious freedom. and could easily be included in a party-political programme In other words. Kolb is a "progressive . a liberal from tht pre-18-iS period. a time when the Thus, for example. Friedrich Jodi. in his Oit K11!tm:(dChich1sdJrcih111!F <Halle. 18:8. p. _1), defines general cultural

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
rhmu,:.:h \\hich
,tnd :lttitudes
,1

5l9
b;1rb.1ri<;.:
rl1L

mu:-;r

j"'dS-.,

in order w

.1tr<i.in

!\.:!::tr in industry.
((JI11t:

ar:.

LJ. Reprinted in rhc

( Heilbronn. l ss_;). YO! 1(J Grr,_1h (fi.ibingtn.

p -1 ! :S j.d.n{m;J,n. \'ol

10. Cf ;\rnold Bt:rney,

I-lowcvcr ncd.r
C(Jmp.tric-.un
to

Gt:rm.rn conr..:t:pt

01 /.:...').'.':!"

::iomt:timts

secnb

((J

ro the French and English is .1 st:cond-rart: value

as rht:

((incept of ci\ ilizarion in sutJ1 srntcmcnt:-.. the t'edint'. chat Zi:

J\..:rh:1r l)t\cf t:I1tirdy disaprc:trs in Gt:rman1

t:\t:fl

in this ri:riod, It is an cxprtssion

German;. s sdt-,tsscrtion ,1p1in..,r tht \\'cc->tl'.f!1 countries which

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 intcrrd.ttt:d \\id1 chc hi,wr! uf relations het\\'ten CorbtitUL"I1tS
,.\ft:

! . p. l {) It is undeniable that frL"nch dmmd is in irs innermost Lssenct" rht: df.lm,1 of t:riquLttl The prt:rug,:.ti\t: uf bt:in 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 15 This and rhe fullowinf rcferel1Cl'S art from Ltmprcchr. 8. I'' I. p 195 l!. .\buvillon. L.!!rc l"'P _l98f l '5 501 . . hit: dt: la Rocht:. G,.11.-hi:hh
1

<Frt:ibur_:;. I 90hl. Yol.

Fr,uKt, <ll1d Germany. Ic.s

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
\ l 8-0l, in which France is rtftrrtd ro as tht

mcnr. crTiLQ..:int: in the habitth of Germans ::-dt--lm,\L:c

Ci. abo Conrad Htrn1,rnn.

:.k1

Fr,i;d,in z,,;; S:Jnh,,:11:. p 99.

( 1--1: Berlin: Ku no Ridderhoff. 190- l

l(J

From I-krders S.1:h!.lJ.1.

\Ol

_:,_ pp ()- -H

J.r

1- Sophil de !a Rocht.

counrr;. or '"ciYilization . England as that of mart:rial culture , and Germany as char of "idea]

!3ii,hm.:.:

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::ir1.' ;'11 :h:. S1,:ff)!/j.'.!.) rf f.....;;r,u (London. l 0_)()) On rlk san11... subjt"ct. Ste- als<J K ;\fannheim.
\1.n: .\ 1:h.') n:
1

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

,,

.\.(,

J?,(11rJ}:nrai11n \London. l 0-101. and H

\Veil. D.;:. (Lt:ipzig and Hallt: Joh. H.

(Bonn.
l.

ch ')

Gr"-'-'''
C-\11

c:1:u,r.i.1/-L,xihr)1. .I!/:.1'

1m:l

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

Zedkr.

in rl:l' quotation arc the auchor's.) Cf. alscJ rhc- arric!t: on "Tht Courrit:r":

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 <LS <..hngLrous. on accouru of ,acillarin,t.:: princd;. favour. the many envious
sccrt"L sLmdcrcrs and 01':.:n enemies. anl! on rl1L othtr as depr,1ved. on account of tht" idleness) lasciviousnt".-i and luxur: frequently encountered rht:rl' , There h,nc:. howtver. at d! rimes bt:tn courtit:rs who prudently aYoided rhest pirr:d!s an<l ,igiLrnrly t:scaped the tel11["'Lttions to wid.:t"dnc-ss. and so repr::senced wonh;. examples of happy and virtuous courtiers ?\'onechdn" it is nor s::id without reason rh;n: "close to Court is closeDni!.
to

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

the

Cr"

,d:-,(1

thl' ,trtick --c:uun

If all suhjt"crs wt.'.fc <..klply 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. hoxe\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:-,
f1(1

Lick o( l'X,m1pks whtre the prince

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;-; p1 1/ic,: (fJun 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 ,1ccs we rnkt: ro bt rhe product of are innc1te to the human hectrr

lirrlt: or no arct"ntic,n when goin.t: alont: ha\ e sen,uns nor on!;.

to

his subjc-cr:-;, but was rt"cei\td quire

\\ hLn ,icr:inp: in accorlbnce with his f"'Osition For this n.:ason it is rll'Ccssar;. rlMr che prince 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 lflij}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<l. a
weakness is to hl' unJersrnod not
in rhe preceding ph<l'.'it:
Quoted in ,-\ronson. L.ui11r ,; /,, d.ii.ic. Fn:,.ri; C\!onq'tllicr, 19'>51.
(1

in rtbrion rn rl1L particular srrc-ngrh of the German

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 .">-

18

E. <..k ;\fau\ i!lun

,;

,iili1//h_I

{London. I -!Ol. p -!50

Ibid
S I hid

p !2-

pp.

-!()

l-2.

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. Ln;1rm1i..:. p 50

\"Ol.

9. pt 1, p. 2.1

d1. Iii

1.:

/_; plili!1:cj!h <London i ---! l,

520
:L? Baron d'Holbach,

J'\ott:s to jlag1:s -tl-.:f-9

p 162.
') Reprinted in in A Franklin. L ti,
1

521
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 <London. 1868). pc 2: fr}r further English. Icili,rn. French. and German books of this <t.::enn:. cf L1rly Ent.dish Texc Socitty. Extra Series. no. 8.

Part Two
l S R \\?allach. D..-s .;/;,;;d/./w/i.1,h1..
Bri!r1l/.;1.. ::ur

c<l F

Furnivall (London. 1869).

;\ B1J//ht 1{ Pri(tdl'lh.t anJ others. Tht moulding of the

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:-;.

im .\Iithl.dhr <Ltipzig and Berlin

.\U:rJ.;fhrs 1111d

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 would be obliged to ,tri\t rhem the same food as they made use of for themselves ' (St:e the imroducrion to A

Rtn.1iss.mi1... eJ \\' Gotrz. vol 2'5-..29 Ht:re Larins refers to Larin Christianity. i.t. the \\lt:st in general

l\.1t!:ur-,t:,1...>ChidJh dt-s

2 The Bihh":hr:d Er.:Jmi.ln.; (Ghent, 189_;) records 150 editions or.

morL prccistly. 131,

Cr111rtd)-B11ok. ed R \\,? Chambers (London. 191-i]. p. 6) Nor is

rhe text of l 526 which unfortunately was unavailable to me. so char I ,rn1 unaware how far it coincides wirh subsequent editions

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).lr)

Afrer the C11/!r1cjl!ic. the .\foridt

tli(r1mim11.

rhe Ad.1git1. an<l 01.. .!up/jci copi.1 z,r/;"1 r;m; ac

in

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 <loubtlt:ss be t:srimared still more highly. An idea of the dirtcc impact of his books is given by noting which of them wen: rranslared
et1m1hnUrii 01:.- tfri!it.tlr: achieved the highesc number of edicions

En,,l.wd (London. 1951). ml. l. p l-i-1

Edited by F

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.

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. l l Ibid . n 12. Ibid. n

from scholarly language inrn popular languagts. There is as yet no comprthensin: analysis of this. r\ccor<ling to J\L J\fann. Er.1J11;,

!cS j,'/;111s

!..-

ji.m,,;..:i.r:c (Paris, 19_.:'-il. p 181, rht most

have scarcely any

surprising rhinp;-as far as franct is concerned-is "the preponderance of the books of inscrucrion or piety over those of enttrrninmenr or S<Hire. The Pr..-iJL r;f F(1!(1. rht pbce in chis list rr.mslarors and ch:J.t the public demanded Ir was the .r\dagd, rhc p,4ur.1tir111f1r Ot.1th and the Cizilit) in BiJ)J. that attracted

Sitberr <Halle. 19.1-il.

l '!h. n

-i5 (
-i<Jf

A. similar success analysis for German and Durch regions would probably yield somewhat <lifrtrcnt results, Ir may be supposed char rht s.i.cirical writings had a somewhat success there (cf nort _;o below)
cfrilit.1!t was certainly considtrnble. Kirchhoff (in f-L'ip::iger Sr1r!in1tntsh.i11J!t:r im 16 j:Ihrh1mdt-r!; quoce<l in \\/. H. \Voodward. 0ditkrius Erds111w.
190-i]. p 156. n. _)) ascerrains that in tht three years 1551, and 1558 no lbs than 65-i copies The success of che Larin edition of

Ibid . n

1-i Ibid, vv 129f 15 Ibid, vv.<ilf 16 Ibid. vv 109f Ibid. n l57f 18 Ibid. n. 1-ilf

of

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:'j1/1cii/c (set n. 55 below).

19 Zarnckt. O,"'

C..1;'11. I" 1.:..h.

:>O Ibid .. p i_;-. vv. 28-f

-!. Despite

success in his own rime. chis work has received rtlarively litt!t: attention in rhe codes of conducr-however informative on rht: moulding of ptople

Erasmus litt:rature of more recent rimt:s. In view of the books theme. chis is only too undersran<labit. This theme-manners. or a and their relations, is perhaps of only limice<l interest for historians of ideas. \\?hac Ehrismann savs <Court Jisciplind in his

:>! Ibid .. p. U6. n. 258f n Ibid .. vv. :>6_;f

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 of insrrucrion for youchs of noble birth. Not raised co the le\tl of a teaching on virtue ' 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 n. 98, and above all by rht comprehensive study by .0.1. l\Iagen<lie, L; ji///ittSSr: Similarly. the study by B Groerhuysen. Origilh's (Paris. 1925). !'cSj1ri1 /;r,11rt,,11is in Fnmti (Paris. 192-), also rakes

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
J-:-

See A. Cabants. i\fou1rs i11timi:s Ju td11/ s Jussi' (Paris. 1910). 1st series. p. 2--!8
1

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
:\/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:mihh, Umkc/Jr:mg (boorish inversion). The writer ridicules "bad" conduct by appearing
to

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) The material used in Parr Two of chis study is a degree lower, if we may put it that way. rhan that in the works jusc mentioned. But perhaps they, too, show the significance this slight litt:rarure has for an undtrsrnn<ling of the great changes in [he structure of people and their rtlarions

recommend ic Humour and satire, which later gradually

recede in the German cra<lirion. or at least become second-rank \a!ues, art in this phase of German burgher society notably dominant The satirical inversion of precepts can be [raced back as a specifically urban. burgher frlrm of

522
inscillinp m,rnncrs at lt1sr
:i::-i

,1-; the r11.tttnch century. The r::curr1..:nt pn.:cerr not to fall

Yet kt:t:p

<.i

mt:asure in all rhins. <.rnd when the rrickk

too lonp: <.md runs all over mouth .tnd

the fo<id i-; he,1rd for ::x,1mf'lr.:. in .1 little po::m of this time. .. \Vic dl:'r m,i.isrr.:r stin nun lt:;-n>-r-" Z:m;ckc. Der C.z:z, I' l-i8J: .,_

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:
\\\)fllb edition of 1551 one reads:
01

111..,s. tht timl w 1.:iean :,our nose

Gt:Lh.:nk und mtrk ich dir s,1c w,:n m;m dir die kost her
so bis t.kr erst in Jtr schizzd:

rht:

und :-.cheuh in Jlintn driat:l al::. t:roz kl.1mpt:n als ain saw

Lisz \\ol disz buchlin otfr und \ii Lnd dw allztit das widerspil
c Iiun k dowu your

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_..'..
The prt:cept not w sc,rn.:h about for \'trsion:
<i

Read this booklt:t ofren. and

du du: charactLr of book. the dedication ot' tht: Helhach t:dition

!ont.: rime in rht: common dish recur::; here in the

To t:!ucidate rht spt:citic.ill;.

of l 56- ma;. bt quorL"d:

Dedicattd "by \\?L"ndt:!in Helluch. tht unworthy \icar of EckhardtschausL"n. to the honour.1ble and lt::trnL"d genrll'mc::n Adamus Lunict:rus. doctor o( mL"dicint: and city docror of Fr,rnk(urr am fohannes Cnipius Andronicus. citizen rhtreof. my lords and t:ood friends ct:rrain basis for assessing rht rime ar which and

!:lei ;diem dcm daz ich dir lcr in der schizzc.l hin und her
nach dem aller besten stuck:

. The long tirlt of tht: Larin Grohi.m:f.I itstlf may giYt

d1L

daz dir daz sclb daz zuck. und let_..'. erz auf dein rdler drar; ache nichr wcr daz flir Libd har
\\,.har I tc.teh is. di,t:: for rhc bcsr piece in rhc dish: snatch the piece ;. <JU likt best and put it on ;. our plate. and care nothing for thust who disapprove 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

th:.: concept of :i: .;li!.i.r. in Er<.1'mus s sense and rrnbably in thl' wake of his book. hep ins to sprt:ad in

Larin-writing Gtrman inrd!ectua! srr,1rum In rht rirlt: of rht 15-!lJ Grohi.m:1.r. this word dues nor Chltv.1stts Srudiosac )Ln-enn1ti' In the t:dirion thl' same

yc::r occur. Therl we re,1d: Iron

r,issagL" contains cht \\Ord :"izj/ju.-: 'Iron episcoptt:S srudiosaL" iuventuri ciYi!itart:m oput
:i: i!i!Jh mor:m: f'ihri!i:m: is appended

:\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

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 the prtccprs cl a pasc phase. which for ;.di their satire wert: mtant n:-ry increasing '"ci\i]ization

in'itrucrion rn wipe one's nose in

time appt:ars as follow:;:

Es isr dcr hrauch in frt:mbden landtn :\ls India, wo gu!t verhandtn Auch edd gsttin und perlin gUt D,1ss mans an d nastn henckcn thut So!ch hat dir J;1s nit hschcrt Drum hor w,1:-; zu dL"inr nast:n hon:

seriously. bL"come mtrdy a subjt:cr for laughter. which symbolizes both rht superiority of r:hc 11t:w phase and a sli.f!ht violation of its rnboos _; 1 //;, R1Ls B,,,/, p . .i-i-i

.;2 Glixdli.

(Romanlal.

\OJ

-!-.

p .'d. \'.. 155ff

y::. Fr.:rn;ois de
!l3ru,;cL. 1-l-l, !' (;

/.,.

.1:1 m111:J, (:

Ein

kL"ngcl n:chtvr len.:.;

.2i-! Arthur DtnL"CkL".

ft..ih!s . in with the ideas on table famous book

lkitr:igL zur Enrwick!un.:.:sge:-.chichce cks gesellschafrlichen t\nsrands.:.;eed 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
;;;rrni!l.'

Auss h:.:jckn lochern aussher heng. \\'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 forcign countries where go!d. je\\els. and pearls art found w hant: thLm on the flOSt: :\s we art: ltss 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,!!tl WL"rd zu gross: D..irumb hab dir ein solchts mess. \\ltnn Lr 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

\\'(: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;.

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

525

[\'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: Simibrly. Erasmus s to gi\'t an account txhausti\t for d1at rime. This quoration compltmt!lCS tht: earlier considerations rn somi: extent. Cnfurtunatt!y, Dern:::ke limits his comparison rn Gr:rman rnbli: disciplines. To confirm his finding::;, a ccimparison would btnr:tdi:d with books of courtesy in French and English. and abovt all wirh the earlier humanises is in rhest: prect:pts <ts in the middle-class table 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

50 Cf 1\ Franklin. Le Rtj'.15. pp 19-!f 51 Ibid . p. -i2 52. Ibi<l . p. 28.i ")5. Dom Bouhours, f?.t'lll.!rCflhS n11:1n!ltS .r!fr !d !.m.r.;,11t 1j,m(JiSt {Paris, 16-6L vol l, p -!8 5-L de Caltit:res. 0:1 /)';JI t! du 11;,m:.1JS N.u,::.r: da11.1 id 11J.l11it i't.I Jr: .r c\j1ri111c1: Ots ;;1i.:1JJJS dr: Jl.lrltr l//m:c.r:oisd: :JI qu.l) )id _11w: cit (,//d j, /.,. oi:1r rParis. 169!), p. 12: Thtn <l footman came to
0

inform rhe lady char J\.[onsieur Thib.i.ulr rht younger w,1s askin,s rn ste her very \vt!L '>aid the lady
'BL!l before admitting him I must rel! you \vho ;\f Thibault is. He is rhe son of a bourgeois friend

of mine in P<.1ris, one of rhose rich peorlt: whost.: friendship is sometimes useful ro people of rank in them mone: The son is a yoLmg man who lus studied wich rhe inri:nrion of entering a public 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

55

Ludwig .r\ndresen and \Y'alttr Sttphan.

:ur Gu:hichtt ,kr

11n

1111.I

"Did Erasmus han: modt:!s? Ob\iously. ht did not in\tnt , .rP1ir-zfrrt, and long befort him the
1

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

cit .\f"n!htf.;,,.,-j (J\1ontbtliard.

gtneral rules had bt:en laid

Nonethtltss. Erasmus is tht first

to

havt ue.1ri:d rht subject in a

sptcial <rnd complete manni:r; nont of rhi: authors jusr quored had envisaged civility or. if you \viiL propriety as capable of providing the subjecr of a separate study. They had formuL1reJ prc:ct'.pts and thtrt'., which naturally rtlartd rn education. morality. fashion. or hygiene

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 (li-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

A similar observation is made on Giovanni de Ila Casas G.,.f:.;ftri (first edition G.ddhr,

wirh other

TL Tin.'tJ of

London on S i\fay 19.1-. short!: bcfort tht coronation ceremonic:s. and

pieci:s by rhe author. 1558) in the introduction by I E. Spingarn (p xvi) ro an i:dirion entitled

obviously suggested b: the mtmor) o( similar festivities in the pa.st: "I3i:ing anxious to know, as many musr be ar such a rime as this. how best rn ro.isr an ox whole. I made inquiries about rhe

fff ,\LnllhrJ :md BJi.:;riri/tr (London,

to

191-i) point our rhar thtrt o.drtad: existed in En,tdish littraturt

1r is perhaps of strvin: to further work

in rht tifr:tenth century longer poems (published by the Early Texr SocitryJ treating bcha,iour in dressed. at church. ar rnble. ere., almost as comprehtnsin::-ly as Erasmus s tre,uis::. Jr is not impossible thar Erasmus knew of rhese poems on manners of ropicalicv in \\?hat is certain is rhat rht chtme of tducation for boys had a consiJtrable humanist circles in the yt-<.irS pn:ctding the appearance

matter at Smithfitl<l .\!arkct But I could only fin<l that nobody at Smithfield knew how l \':as ro obrain. srill lt-ss ro spit. roast. car\'e and consumt an ox wholt: The whole marrt.:r is very On 1-t i',[ay on rhi: same pagi: of Th: Ti!ihY, the head chef ar Simpsons in rhi: Strand
ga\'c inscrucrions for roctsring an ox whole, and a picrure in rhe same issue showed the ox on a spit
The dtbate, which continur:d for some rime in rhc columns of Tht Till.'r.... gives a certain imprtssion of tht gradu,d disappear.met of the cusrnm of roasting animals \vf10li:. i:\en on occasions whtn an arrempt is being made to preserve tra<lirional forms

of Erasmus s !irtlr: book. Quiet apart from. the versts D-- m11ribus in 11;,n.1.i Sff:.mdis by Johannes Sulpicius, theri: appe<l.ftd-to mention onh a fewBrunft:ls s Di1oj1/in.1 d jllfrfi1n11iJ insti!!ltio ( 1525 >. Hegen<lorffs O, im!i11h11d.1 z11.; ( 1529). and S.
Htydi:n s f11rm11fac. Ji1hri!i:m: co!/r,quir;r11111 ( 1528) Cf J\ferktr and Srnmmler. Jisciplines. tnrry on cable p 29.

59 Gree.I Frtudtnthal. Gut.d!u.mdj .l:,r

1m:I j1rri/d.1ri.1d;u1 !-f,m.<uir!.fdJ:ii/ !!.'if

diss, Fr,rnkfurt am

B,riklsfrhtigun,r. dd T_,1;1,11u.mdJ1
Main (\V(irzburg. l <J.;.i)

:MJ

fr:J:1 :m.I Enni!it zw1 1-60 hi.1 :11r

36. Larin rnbit. discipline. Ql!i.1quis (Lon<lon, 18681. p 22

in men.u, V. 18, in Glixelli. LLs

60. See r\ndrtsr:n and Stephan. l3tirr:(r.:.,. nil. I. p. 10. which also contains the information rhar rht
Furniv<dl 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

_;- Caxrnns f3r,r1 k 1f Cl!rtr:J_h. Early English Text Society, Exrra Series. no. 5. c:d

J.

58 Della Casa. G"1.i1c0. pt 1. chs. 1. 5 59 Caxton s /311:1k of C11rrc.l)' p -i5. v. 6-t

-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<uing the past. These include socializing your child "habit formation ,; 12) and
(cf.. e.g

B \'?arson,

conditionin,1:!

C.:rc. of !11/nJJ .md Chi!J p. 112) anJ (c.J \'\?arson. Ps)r../111/1,,r.:,_11j1Jm :L S1.wdp111"11: 1:/ .r Bcl.urhri.t, p.

-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<l., p 502

61 C( Zarnckt. O,r .lc.'t!Si"h, C. ..-:ri, p 1.18 62. See Kurt Trlusch nrn Burrlar. "Das rilgliche Leben an dt:n Jeurschen Fl.irsrenh(ifi:n des i 6 Jahrhundi:rts', in /;;;,. f..:11/no:c.ut"hi.-h:t (\\-'timar. 189-l. vol -i. p. 1.1 n 65 Ibid 6-! Cf Th, B... htd Bl/ 1 J. p 295 65 Quored in Cabanl:s, p 292 66 The best an<l briefest i'ui<le to the subject is A Franklin. Ls Soiw j, !.1 1oi!c11c <Paris, >. 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 what is regarded <.ts exceptional

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

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.

-!-

68 Some nor easily accessible mari:rial is ro bi: found in De Laborde.

P:z!.,-is ;\Ia:arin (Paris.

1816) Ste. tCir example, n

"Is ir necessary

tu

go into der,1ils! The almosr political role played

-!') Ibid . pt 2. p 8

throughout this epoch [sen.ntet.:nrh century] by rhe nit:hr commode allows us ro speak of it wirhour

526
Libl' -.,!J.1mr.:

ST
.rnd w
rli,H

rr.:\1plc

\\"t:ft:

rnluccd

to

(hi:;, Utensil <.:nd rht.: Provcnc:al

to h,i\T

che various r'orm::i of

it:.thiusy The inborn tendencies. in .shore. have

.1

ctrrain p!:J.i/f;."f;) ,rnd tht:ir

H:.:nri I\' s misrrl:'.'>:->t:S. ,\Ltt.Lulk dt: \'t.:rncuil. \\'ishu.l \'.(1uld he

.u-1

her charnh:.:r i'Ot in h:.:r

.1

imrru1"'rit:t} in uur<.b;. bur

dt

time was no more rlu.n

sli,duly nonchalant

. .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: s::conJ volumt:. to show due rht: molding of inscincrual lift:, inclw...lir\!.: its compulsive rt:arurc.s, .: function o( :.oci:il inrerdt:ptrKltncies 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:: corres11ond rhe difft..rt:nctS in ptrsonaliry srruuurt rhar can be ob.servt:d !n history

The- imrorunr inform:uiun in rht:sc not1..:s .dso needs Cifcful scrurin;.

(1( liwc:ntorio or te;.,wwr-; clu[(ds

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

cx;.1mpk

rlur Er'-i...,mus lt:fr bd1ind-so far

<-b

the Lxrr..1cr on nosr.:-bl(J\vinf.: we n1ay nort hen.:,_ for can bt.: asccnained wcb;.-rhc

number rn rh!rr;.-ninc
1

bur only onr: t-:uldt:n and one -;iln:r fork: sr.:t.:

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

Ir be rt:callt:d .tr rh!:"\ >fonc.1ignt:. L>.'.i)-' 1bk !. ch 25l:

P.1n:.1,;:1

rhar rebtt:d Phst:rv,trion::i are rt:uirdt:d v-.:r;.

in

;\ Wt:.1!ch or" intt.:fe:"ltin,L: intlirmarion i:-: conraintd ln Rabt.:bis s subjt:cr or natural iunctirnb t(ir t:x;implc. see bk I ch. 15

c;,!i\'.ilf.':1.1

On

The laws of conscit:nct: rh.n Wt: .Sl} art: horn of narurL . .:.re burn of custom: anyone

in inntr vt:nt:rarion the opinions ,rnd m<.11rner.s appro\cd .1nd acceptld ,ifound him c.mnor di.srt:gard rhtm
without remurst or ob:it:f\"t: chem without <tpplau.se Ir .sc.xms w mt.: th<lt che po\\-t:r uf cu.swm was wd! under..;tood b1 rht oriinacor of cht: fob!<: or rhe vilbt-:t: \\Oman who, having acquired at

(,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.

\"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.
(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

-1

Ibid ..

p p _;01f

) Ibid
L

Cf RLl<..lt:ck. c;,_,(hi,hh T. \\:ri,du

r;r'

(jtna. 188-), p.

O:lJ

O.r),

<London, I s-1

l.

-') Ocw 7Cickler.

:n;./ _\Ji1>:JI:t11: <Fr.mkfurr. I 09-). p _;h.i.

ParricuLlrl} consonant with rhe findings ot- rht prt:.st:nt scudy i:; the

rhm

rt:morst: . and thus

[he rsychic .srruccurt: rLferred [() 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 rows up-in a word. rh:ir r11i:"1 supcret:o is sociof.:tneric

<Vit:nru. 1

\Ul 21 On thl- rolt: of thl bt:d in the housdwkl. St:l G. G. Cuulwn.

Li/

In chis connection ir scarct:!} n<:eds

to

bt: sJid. but is pt:rhaps worrh tmphasizing explicit!). how

p where the .scarcit} ofbt:d.s and the Ullljllt:.S[ionint: u.st of beds by :"lt:Hr,i) reurJC' <irl brit:fl:; ,rnd clt_.,1rJ: dt:mUibtr.ltu.J in

Br.:ui:: 1C,1mbrid,!.:c.

much this scu<.h owes w che di.sCO\"t:Tic.; of Freud and die.- psychoanalycical school. Tht connections are 1oinr olwiou.s rn ,mynnt: acquaintl'd with psycho:urn!yrical writings, it did nor st:tm necessary to 1 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
1

>.r

B.1u::r. O.i

./-.r
.\l.n:ih); <Lond(ln, 1056). p 95.

-y Dr Hopwn and A. Bal!iol.

rhar adopted in this study bt:en srresstd explicitly. parricubrly as rhe rwo could perhaps afrcr sonw Ju!y 19.161: 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

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:-StrlJn,:.: men \\c.tf

i!(J

is ,!s follows (from Th:. Pu1/'IL

!'} j,und.::-. Tlit:} \\e.:.r

and di:-.dain mcn who \\eJr such

thin,t::.s .t'> P> jama::-.. Thcodurt: R<oo:--e\e!t \\'()ft: night-shirrs. So did \\.a.shinwn. Lincoln. (\eru ,rnd many other fomuus mt:n The.st: scrOl\L: in f,i.\our or tht: night-shirr as aainsr p;. jamas are :tth,rncu.l b: Dr D.ivls of
(lf.

((\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<rn SOL'iecy of good morals. ft:rvenc f.tich. simplicity and moderation. kindlint:ss. rnlt:r,1rion and j"'t:ace-chis we can nowhcrt: tlst ilnd so clearly and wtll t:xprt:ss.:d as in dit:

Ort,1\\a, \\"h<i has r()rmnl -a c!uh

we,trLrs. The ciub has a branch in ;\fontreal anJ a

,1

in 0..t:\\ York Its aim is tu rt:-poru!arise rht: night-shirr as

(lf

sin ot' real m,m!:ooJ." tl1r :-.ome timt:. \\?bar of rht :::amt social

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:::trvlr 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<d people were nor ashamnl rn barht naked rogerht:r in large numbers. cmJ often boch sexes rogtrher Alwin Schultz. qutsrion:
L)hn

This spe.tks ckar!: for rht .sprt..\!d ot rhe USt:

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: womLn has bttn rtct:din,i; rt-pL.ct:.s them is c!earl} a dt:rivarivc: of rhe long- t:Vtnint: drtss and an

ctndt:ncies. includin 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 ranicuL1rl1 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 hLtctr formtd than rht: carlit:r ont. ..\1. Ginsbert-:. (London. 195-!), p. l 18: "'\Y"hether inn:ue tendtncies are rt:prt:sstcL
f)j1t

XI\ 1wd .\'\

(Vit:nna. l 892J. pp 68f. says on chis

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:rtrminin wht:cher the a\t:rsion rn inet.:.scuou.s relationships ha.:-; ,rn inscincti\e b,1sis. or of rl1l ,:..:ent:ric factor:- underlying

\\le possess two inrertsting pictures of such a bachhouse I sh11u/j lilt

pi(l!trt.f

/fl Jl)

in ;;:!:-.mfr !lur I ,.,111.1idtr

.m.!

in

Iii) : id.l

:ht

jJriJi!ti'!i11n fir

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
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.

529
loincloth. tht \\"Omen The Leipzig miniature
00

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: ')8 [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
T.1h11r)

his

naktJ

I like my little sister better than

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<l; tht city fathers would never have rnlermed such an open tlourintt of all d.:cency.

99. Cf. e+:. Peters ... The InsritutionalistJ Sex-Taboo . in Knight. Peters and Blanchard.
G,1uj,:;, p 181

:.mt!

[r is not wlrhour inet:resr

to SlT

how the affective condition and the scan<lard o( n:punance of his the sexes were: certainly

own rime puc into che aud10r's rnouch the supro:>ition that usuall>opposite conclusion Compare difftrences
to

A study

or 150 girls

made by the \\Titer in 1916 i - showed a raboo on thouL::ht and discussion

segreb'.att:d , evtn though tht historical t\idence that he himst:!f products points rather to the'. this the matttr of facr and simply descripti\'t: attitude toward rbe';e

among well-bn:d girls of the subjeus. which they characreris,e as .. indelicate . polluting" and things completely outside the knowledge of a lady l. Things cmurar:
to

of standard in P S. Allen.

.\,r:t rf Er.:smlu (Oxford. 19 l-! l, pp 20-iff

1

custom. often callc-d "wicked

and "immor.d

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

2 Things "'disgusting such as bodily functions, normal a.s well as rarhologicaL and all the
implications of uncleanliness

his young son; tht whole book was connivtd as a

to

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:
considered unclean Sex differences,

the child. men and women. young .m<l old alike. so that rhe child c.m see and lt:arn rn understand them,
and see what were intenJnl
to

schoolbook. In it i\forisotus discussLs rlw different stages of life He introducl . .; _i!i0\\T1-up:-;

:Ind bad behaviour an: in this world. Tht: notion that cerrain p<trts of this: work bt: n:ad sold) by women or solely by old men is put intci the mind of the

6 Age di fftrencts
All matters relating rn the double st<.rndar<l of morality

aud10r by his undersr.rndable perplexity in face of the idea that all this might once have- been 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

8 All matters connected with marriage-, pregnancy, and childbirth 9 Allusions rn any part of the bod: c:xcept he1d and hands lO Politics
l l. Religion

societ\' was lower than that o( later rimes

'In- this period. writes R. Kiibner of the late t.Iiddle Ages. man and woman ufren marry very
young The Church gives tht:m the right to marry as soon as thty have n:ached St:Xual maturity. and this ri!..iht was often exercised Yourbs marry betwten 15 and 19. girls bet\\'ten 15 and 15. This 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

l 00 A. Luchaire. L:l .u,::i'-f'-' lOl Ibid .. p TS. 102 Ibid. p. 2-::2

105 Ibid . p. 278

.1:1

hmp.> d, Phili/1jh-.-\:1,::.:1Yh (Paris. 1909). p.

i-:

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

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)

J furnivall 1London. including Chil:lct,: There the pussiblt marriat:,t:ablt age is fi\t:O as four:ten for
im .\1i:hlJ.dh'r (Leipzig. 185"""'), Bt:irr.ig I. pp -!91T.

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-:!
l 06 Set p I 62 above.
<111

89 F Zarnckt,

')0 Bauer. D.u

91 \\
1

p.
jd

U6
iJJ
(Jena. 189-:J, p. _;_; <l:3tr!in. 1890,

l0 7 H. Dupin. L1 rourtoisi, !08 Ibid . p --

111o_w1 ,Ir IPatis. 1951). p '7')

n

Rudeck.

lO':J Zarncke.
l ll

o,,. clu11sdk
\-Y

C11,,, pp y,f.

16-f.. 1-sff

'!2 Ibid. p. _;_;

9_1 K. Sch:ifcr. "\Vie man frlihtr heiratete . Ztil.i-chrZrf j/ir
ml 2.no. l.p _;I

l lO Ibid. p. -18.

59Sff (Paris. 191.1): P. Champion, Fr,mf11i.1

Huizinga. H"lw. pp 52ff

t/(

112 L 1Iiror. L,y d01:r:,r:mrm/. IL11r 11rigilh. l'-ur /1trlmh 11_'.), P Durrieu. L.s u;s
l,ffd

'!-i \V Rudeck. p. 5 l ':J

95. Briennc . .\f/mr,ird. vol .2. p 11: quoted in Laborde. Ptd:.-ir ,\Lr:::_:rin. n. 522
l)(,

Vil/011, SJ !'it ct son !r:m/'s (Paris. 191.1) vol. 2, pp, 230ff. quoted in Huizinga. Hr:rbst, p. 32.
hmrc.r de
S1Jth

r.

O:m::: d11

D11(}c:l!J

di: B.:n:1 (Paris, 1)122), p 68

d

von Btzold ... Ein Kcilnet Gcdenkbuch des Jahrhunderts . in Am ,\!it:ddtcr :m:! R,11c1in:mce ISL)
')(i( See also Regnaulr.

C\lunich anJ Berlin. 1918). p 9- \\!. Rudeck, p

11-! C. Petir-Duraillis. 011.:1mh11U JllJJll'c.ll/X Jilr P,1Js8ds ,m .\T siZd, (Paris. 1908). p -i115 Ibid . p. 162 l 16 Ibid .. p. S. I 1- Luchaire.

Id llhcltrS

/NijJ,'/l:lirt-s

I[ droi: dt

l'c'llgc.llJCt

d.ms kr

1-:1, Alltn. ,\r,t r{Er.ls111m. p 205: A. Hyma.

cl ;\fichigan Press. 19_;()), pp

consi<lereJ

)f111th 1f[r.tsmm (University Lr (r1n./i!i 1 111 )!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 Common law often rakes a not very benevolent arriruJe rnward the basrar<l. Ir is a
tu

l"'' -'"";,;,; /rt111r.1is,,

pp

2-sr
d

qw:stion that rem,1ins

bt invtstip1tt:d whether common law thus expresses the actual social

118. For furrhtr derails on this. see A 1:ranklin. Pari.r pp S08f l 19 H

lr:.r P:nisicns .m fri:.it11h sitdr: (Paris. 1921).

opinion of different strata or only tht: opinion of a particular stratum

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 This r:uy point in chi::
:-,,1mt

din:crion

of arms
<Leipzi,r;:,

120 Inrrnducrion
pp

to

/J.:.r

ll.1i"1.d;/1(h. t:d H. T Bosst:rc c:nd \'C.

_:;-ff
121 Berthold von ed Pil-iffrr 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:
13.n:jrl/!!u: fDn:sdtn. lHH<il. 2hri.

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<hh

only children who

iwm outside. our of

121 .'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 <lll;, thin,i.:: (:Sstntial!v Dt\v ro the of the nuin coursl" of thL civilizint: prnct:ss. ont: p.1nicular prnblC'm tl:.:.strn:s some ;.i.rrenrion Tht' n:Lnion or \V.estern to .:Lmiinu.1, to :t.r,)1in,:.; and shows. over

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 <ldine<l h;._uit.:nic insight. frum a cltar or. as we sa). "r.niona!
of the danger of <lire to he.dth. The relation to washing, too, changts in conjunction with the

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 soci<il reasons. under the prt.:ssure o! mon: or k;;s pt:rctptible washing is omitted. or !imircd tu die minimum di:mandtJ by extl:rna! compulsiuns. immediate pt:rsonal wdl-bt.:ing. when such external compulsions arc absent. \\hen dH.-: social pnsit!on Jot:s nor demand ir. Tor..b) washing and bnJil) ckan!iness Me insrillcJ in the indiYidud from an eady at:t.: as ;.: kind o( autorTL:tic habit. rlwr it graduall: morL- or !c.;:-. from his consci<1Lisne;;s that hl' washe . .; disciplint.::-. himsdf rn CO!bLHH de<rnlinL' . ..;s our o( regard for mhers and. at led.st originally, at the instigation of others. i.l:',. for rt.:asons of t:Xtana! compulsion He W<ishes by :.t:lf-compulsion t.:\'t.:Il if no une dsc is presi:nt who censurt.: or punish him f(ir nor doing If ht omits rn Jo so. it is tor..by-as it was nut earlier-an exprt.:ssion of a not wholly successful conditioning to the t:xisring social standard The same change in bd1'.1Yiour and in affective that emerged in chc i1westigarion of other civilizational curn:s is set.:n htre also Socia! relations are tn.rnsr.urmt:<l so char compulsions exerted by people: on unt.: another art: changed into mort: .rnd more pronounn:d ,.t:lf-compu!..;ion' in rht: individu,d: the tormariun of the i:-; con,.olidar:.:d. It is.
\'.Ord. tlrn.r :,ecror oC the indi\idu,d d1t: CIO:.:ial code. hie. O\\Il whJLh rnJay constr,1in:. the- individual w wash and ck-an himst:lf rlgularl: Tht.: mtchani:-;m becomes rerfups tn:n clearer if we rerot.:mbcr that to:. hy many mt.:n sha\e t:\"en if rhert.: is nu social rn dCJ so, simply from lubir. tht:y feel discomtin.:d by tht:ir super:.:go if rh:.:;. dC1 not 1..:\"en though such an omission is quire ccnainl: not derrimtnr:d rn ht:a!th Regular with :;oap and water is another such 'compubiYL ,icrion cLdti\',ued in our society by thL nature: (Jf our conditioning and consolid:.tted in our consciousness h: h: .:zicnic. "rational' explanations Ir ma: suftlce in this conrn:crion ro documt:nt this d1ange by t.:vidt.:nce from anothl'r obscr\"tr. I. E. Spingarn says in rht inrroducrion to an English translation of Ddb C:.LSJ:. G.d1:v, (The Humanist Libr.1ry. t:d. L Einsrein, [London, Yo! 8, p. XX\): "Our cuncern is onl} \\'irh secular anJ tht:rt: wt tlnd that cleanliness was considert:J only in so Lr as it was ;.1 social necessity. if indeed then: as an individual nt.:cbsit; or habit it scarct.:ly <.!ppt"ars at all Dt.:lla CJsa s '->tandard 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<tust tht observer of his own :-.ociety-rlw desire for c!t:;.mlines..;-,lS givt:n. without askin,LC how takt:s rhe

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<ll1 than in thl' preceding ct:nrurit:S Such obsenati:ins. when rt.:.sred, an: found to be correct in at kasr one way: it apptar:-; that the use of Watt:r as a mtans or bath and declined somewhat in thl transition to modern rimes. at lea.st if lift: in rht upper classes is considered. If rht change is examined in this w.i:. a simple explanation presents icst.:!f that certainly needs more exact that one could conrracr confirmation. Ir was well enough known at the c:nJ of the ;\[iJdle diseases, e\"en fora! ones, in rht bathhouses. To undtrsrand rht effect of such a clisco\try. one must t..,L.ice ontsdf within the consciousness of this society, in which causal connections. in this case the rucurt: of tht transmission of dist."ase and inft:crion. WL're sril! somewhat \"<l_l'.llt \\/hat could ht: imprinted on consciousrn.:ss \\as the simpk fact: water baths are dangerous. ont can poison onestlf in rhem. For it was in rhis way, as a kind o( poisoning. that human reason at rhis rimL assimilartd tht: mass infecrions, rhe that swept through socit"ty in numerous waves \Ve know and understand the terrible fLar which st:izt:d reoplc- in the fact of such plagut:S. Ir was a fear char coulJ nm. as at our of social expt:ritncL-. be limitLJ and uided into Ct:rtain channels by t.:x.icr knowkdge of che causal connections anJ therefore of the limits of the danger. .r\nd it is vc:ry possible that ar that rim:.: dit: use of \\;.tter. particular!: warm water for bathing purpost:s, was associated with a rdarivd: indistinct of this kind which greatly the real danger Bur if in a society at that of experience ;.!ll object or piece of bt.:11a\"iour is associactJ with f"c:ar !n this way. it can be a long whik before this fear and irs symbols. the corrtsponding prohibitions and rtsisranct.:s, rect.:dt.: .1g<.1in In the courst of generations rhe memory of the original c.1usL of the fear may \"try wtll disappear \\!hat remains ali\"e in the consciousness of pt.:oplt is perhaps only a fotling m.rnsmitred from ont: generation to anmhtr that dangt.:r is connected to the us:: of water. and a of distaste for this custom rhar is constantly socially rl'inforced Thus we general discomfort, ;;1 find in the sixtt:enth .. for i:x,1mrk. Iikt: rhis: EstU\"tS ct bains. je vous en priL Fu: t:s-lts. ()LJ VOLIS en mourre:; Flt:t and b:uhs. I
!<JU, or :ou will dit

and wh: it emered from the other standard in the: course of hi:.;rory. Toda:. indt:ed, it is in ,r..:ent:ral

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<ltt:d likt.: a slowly Lbbi11g w.tYL of fear: bur at rhe present start of rtstarch this is certainly only a hyporhesis .r\11 rht same, the hypothesis shows one thing quirt: clearly: how such phtnomena could be txp!ained .r\nd it tht:rtby Jemonsrrarts a fact that is highly characteristic of rhe whole civilizing proctss This process rnkes place in conjunction with a progrtssi\'e limitation of outward dangers. and so with a limitation and channdling of ft:ar of such external dant'.ers. These outward of human lifr: become more calculahlt, the paths and scope or" human fears more rtgulated. Lifr

533
somtrimes stems
tu

us unct."rtain enough ro<lay. bur this bears no comparison with rhe

l-i Luchairt op cir. pp. 1-6-7 A skerch of rht disrriburion of rule ar rhe rime of Hugh Caper 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 l5 A Luchaire. Hi.r1oir, :kc lw1i1:1tiom .\fo1:.ll':hiq:1._. :/, l.r fr.Jl:c,

rht indi\ idua! in mt.-ditval sociery The grtater control of sourcts of t"c-ar that is slowly tsr:ab1ishcd in rht transition co our social stn.:nurt is !n<lte<l one of the most tltmencary prt:condirions for the standard or' conduct that we express by the concept of civilization The armour of civilized would crumble vtry rapidly iL through a cliangt: in society, the degree of insecurity that txisred earlier wert
to

C.:/h':i, 1 ;,

198"-1181!! (Paris, 188_1). vol 2. Kores er Appendices. p. _129

break in upon us again, and if danger became as incalculable as it once was.

t 6. Karl Hampe.

l-fo:h111i11d;/1" Propyl:icn \Vt!regtschichre, ml _; merlin. l 952).

Pl!JJ

Corresponding foars would soon burst the limits set to them today. However. ont spt:cific form of fear does ,srow with the incrc:ast of civilization: die half-unconscious "inner fear of <l breaching: of che resrrinions imposed on civilized men. Some concludint! ideas on this subject are to be found at the end of this book in Part --synopsis: Towards a Theory of Processes"

_;06 i-: Kirn. 0.1s

18. A. Dopsch. Oit

.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.

Part Three
l James \Vescfall Thompson. Eco!l!Jl!Jic and Sm:j:d fhstr11:1 of E11rrljh in L;frr :\fiddlt..-'
I 131!1J-l 530! New York and London, 19.1 l). pp.

Histol) <f E11ro/h (London, 1930), "The l\lanor', pp l65ff rrrigin . mx dt I hi.rr//irt rm.dt fr.mr:.1ik (Qslo. 19_'.) 1), p. 23 20 Dopsch. :md s 1::.i.. ;/, Gr:m./l.lgt11 j,,. ,moj1."fi.rchtn f...."l!!tur,mu dr:r Zt'i! l'l/1.' C:i.ur his pt. .2. p. _'.)09: ""Tht grt:ater rht real power, the economic and social base.
frr,110111fr

19. ?\fare Bloch. Lcr

of these officials became. the less rbe monarchy could contemplare transferring rht office outside tht
incumbent"s family on his dtach

506-7 .

2. This is txemplific:d by tht consequences resulting from the Carolingian estates or Ilse. These \\'tre perhaps not <L<; extremt as chey appear from tht following: quotation; bur undoubre<lly the situation of tht Carolingian fisc played a pan in the formation of the national frontiers:
The wiJe:;prea<l character of rhe Carolingian fisc dissolution partitions made che fisc like a vast net in v;hich the

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
to

explanation of \\,-esrern feu<lalizacion is sought rather in tht preceding lart:-Roman insriturions. than in contemporary forces of integration: 'i\-fany \\Ticers appear :;cmltnc thac the fact is char . believe tha[ \Vesrern European tt:udalism has its insrirurional origins in pre-Roman Teutonic institutions. Let us t:xplain m rhe Germ<mic invaders merely seized upon those contractual institutions (p. 162) The vt:'ry fact rhar analogous feudal relationships and the jynamics of a specific

Empire was held The division and dissipation of the fisc was a more imponant factor in the

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

of the late Roman Empire which

of central Europe in tht ninth ctntury, and m<1dt these regions a battle-ground of kings
nations Jra\\n in che ninth

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. 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.
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

long before tht:'y became a battle-ground of

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

James \X'esrfoll Thompson, Dww11ir '1liil S<o'i"! His11) of th, .\!iddf, Agc.r 1300-/3001 (New York 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)

Cd/1,'ri,w (Paris. 1901), p. lHO
tn
,:

methodo!og) of hisrnricil anJ social n:search. attempts "to Jescribc: the concept (Paris. 195_,'.)J, p. 8 with

l)fh:

underlying rhe

?1. ,-\ Luchaire. Le.(

of feudalism

Bur \\"hilt this scudy does begin to transform the older historiographical

-! C. Petic-Duraillis, Ln 1111.;;,ndJit
cf Fritz Kern. Di, :\nPing, ,kr

method into one more concerned with actual social structures and so gives rise to useful parcicular insights. ics comparison of different feudal socierits is one of rhe many examples of rhe clifticultles arising when a historian rakes over the mechodolog:ical guiding ideas of ?\fax \Vebtr and tries-in che words of Octo Hintze-to consrruct \isual abscractions. rvpes obsefYt:'r The similarities confrontint: the

following map For derails on rht t:astern frontitr of the western Frankish empire ;.rnJ its movements,

5 Paul Kirn. Das

rrm1

CTUbingen. 191 ()), p l 6 Awp.anp dcr Awikt his :um dd p l l8

r?ci.-htJ,

Propvlcien-Welrgtschichre, vol _;merlin,

t/trr1/'/iisthcn K11il11rtl1lll id/Jmg (Vienna.

of different people and sociecies arc nor idt:al

thar have in a sense to be

to

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 themsehes: this is lacking the historians whole concept of types miscarries. If we art

ir

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

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 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

CJs,;r his

:111/ Karl

dtn Grossm (Vienna. 1918-2-!). pr. 2. p 115

8 Kirn. op. cit., p. l 18

9 A. rnn Hofmann, Po!itisch, G<IchidJh c/,r D,:1!s1An (Snmgarr and Berlin. l 92 l-8J. rnL I, p -105 10 Ernst Dlimmltr. Gdchichtt tits 11szti"inkis(ht11 R,ithl.'.S <Berlin, 1862-88). \ui 2. p _;06. 11 Paul Kirn. Pr1!itisdx G . . schichh :1'111.ich,n Gren:.m (Leipzig. 193-!), p 2-4 12 F Lot, Lts :krnitrs (,;rr1/inp),11.1 (Paris. 1891). p. -t also J Calmerre. Lt monc!L (Paris,
l 9.1-iJ. p. l l L)

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 hcne shown how remarkablv

A

1.:::, Beaudoin. quoted by

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 2tht scrunurts and forces which ha\"{: been established hert: in rdation to \\lestern feuJalism

535
comparative structural analysis or this kind would prove a more Lbcful way or pt:cu!iarities by which the iewld
o( rhe \Vesr
01

Jar:n and their hisrnric.d ch;.ui_:.::: difrtr fron 1

or"

-German;. bein,L: Jt..,..,:to ltt ..Kk from ourside ,mJ po.ssessed of a firmlr 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 Fr.1nce crumbled away in the ninth and tench cenrurits: old Gt:rman\. anchored rn the ,mcient duchies, which inracr. rerainld it'.'> integrity (Thompson. op .. cit.. p -!-i.)l. But another
m

Similar re:rn!rs have hi::tn produn.d by

the I-lome:ric 'sarriur

Tu txplain the production o( lart:e: e:plc cycles-tu mention only this f"c.lture:-in ancient

\\;cstern knip:hrly socit:t} and in orhcr societies with a similar srrucrure. we: do nor ni:::<l any It i:-; quit:: enou,rh :-,peculative biologisric hyporh::si:-. ch:: notion o( ";.ouch o( social tu txamine the sp::cific forms of social lift: rhat devt.lop at medium and 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 hlroic dt:1.:<ls of .s.reat warriors tlut :.m: rernhl warrior societies a spt.:cific plact.: and function which difft.:r from tho;;e or sit\!lers and songs in
.1

decisive focrnr in the spet:d .rnd o( rl:ud.d JisirHtl_.:fotion in the westt.:rn Frankish <lrea was pr.:cisdy the rhat afrt:r the l\ormans had settled in\'asions b;. fureip:n triht:s, and therefore the external thn:at, was less than in tht: eastern Fr.mkish <tr:..a The qw.:srion whether laru:tr areas. onct unified. dtca;. mort: s!o\\'ly and wht:ther converst:ly. once deC.l\'ed. the\ with u:reatt.:r Jir.tlndr: than sma!lt:r cmL-S. this prohltm or social dn1amics rn .be invesr'--iu:ated. Bur._ar anv r.1te. hand in hand with the ,t.:r.tdua! we.J:enin,!! of tl1e Carolingian houst brought'-- about at least i;1 p.1rr b;. tht: un<l\oidahle reduction !nits Wr...dth in tht course of generations. by the loss of part o( its l.u1d to pay r(1r servict.:s or its division hetwt:en difit:rt.:nt familr mtmbt:rs (this too remains ro bt i:xamined in mort: derni!L \Yent a ph;1st ot'dis!n[tpr,nion emhr.tci;lf: the whole Carolinu:ian dominion It may b(:' th;u eYen in the ninth ctnrury chi:-; disintel-'.ration in the: wtsrt.:rn Frankish arta went somewhat il1rth(:'r rlun in tht.: lacer German region. But ir was cerrnin!y mort quickly arrested in the Lm.:er precisely because of rhe external chrea[. O\'er a Jon,!! period rhis threat in<livic.lLul tribal !taders the ch,H1Ct: to become strong central rult.:rs through milicarv successes oYtr common enemies and so (() re-invigor.1tt and extend the c.1rolinpian central And for a time tht.: po.ssibi!it;. or coloniai t:xpansion. che acqui.sicion of rn:w land on the t.:<lS[t:rn frontitr of rhe Gtrman region. acted in tht.: .sank dirt.:ction tu scren,L:tht:n the c:ntr.d authority. Jn rht western Frankish are.i. by contrast. from tht.: ninth centur;. on both factors were less: the threat of in\'asion bv cribt:s the :hance o> 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;.- <Cf pp. l 9-ff and 215-lLl ._ r E. L1:\',1sseur, L; f' 1 1/11tl.l!ir,;,' /r.nl(.ii .. l Paris. l 889L \'{J!. 1. pp l )-t-S 28 Bloch. op cir . p. )
Lcipzi!'. 19:'.0J

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

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-:.

r;

of [he society

of pro:esst:s of dift"erentiarion. [ht t:mergt.:nce of wealthier ho'--LhtS

;1

mass of w.irrinr socie[y :md

,::.: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 lndispensahlt for thtir succe:;s is an or srruc[ural history of this kind h.ne sc.trct.:!y begun. that has htt:n made especial!;. diftlcu!c by cht

O\'ersharp distinction b::rwten ac.1demic disciplines and tht Lick of colb.bur.1cion het\\'een them which hi.l\'e charactt:rized research hitherto. Essential for an undtrsrnnding of earlier feudal :;ocitrits and their structure, for example. is an exact comparative study of livint-: feudal socitrit:s before it is coo late. A rich knowltdge of dernils and srrucrura! conntcrions ntctssary for an under:;rnnding of any 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<1Ciltic" "tribes, and hisrnry concerns itsdr lt:'.'JS \Virh p;bt socierie'.'J ,md arrtntion
to

5 l.

Kurr Brcysi,c. f:.:1!::11;:,,_,d1ich!1 Jcr .\"1:c1i: iBerlin. l ')()I l. '""I. .:'.. pp 95-ff.. parric p

anJ ir borh di:..cipiine:-. rogcd1t:r rurr: their socit:ty of the-

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 ennrs. 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

those livint: societies which in thlir srructurt.: art: close to the

\\

founded in tht \\hole srrunure

flt:\\"

01

Engbnd s t:XEernal and incern<d hisrorv.

Bv Yirtue of

face

\Vesr Both together should investigate the strucrure. in the srrictest sense of rhe word. of such

that in l ()()(1 a

state W<.lS esrnhlished in England from the foundations

it was rossiblt:

socittib. the functional

by which people in them are bound in very sptcific wa;. s. and che forces of intcrwea\"int-: which under certain circumstances bring <tbour a o::- chest deptndencies and relationships in a quite specific direction 2.1 On this the following discussion. cf. A and E Ku!i.scht:r. /\.rir.,e,.1:i\f

to use of tht: exp::ricnces g<HhtreJ by the ere.tr rTlonarchils. most of all the closest. t:1l" French The fr,1f.:menrncion of the high nobi!it} and the hereJitariness uf offices were in a st.:nsi:: uni;. the C(lnclusiuns dr,i.wn b;. rhe 0-Jorman monarchy from rht: fort: or its nt:art.:st example.

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 p
()2.

.12 Pirennt. L,_, 1il!u ju m 1.h1I

1

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

25 Henri Pirenne. LJ l'i!!d d11 11:1J)r11 ci/..:r (Brussels. 192-> 26 Paul Kirn, Pr1/iiiHhr. Gr.schid1h dtr :.Lff.>chr.11 Grr.n:,n (Leipzig. l

widrnut interest in rhar. through i[s onesidedrn:ss in the oprusire direction, ir puts into proper pp. l Sff For funhtr derails 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 <lntiquit;. had complt:cd;. disaprtartd by the t:ar!;. >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 Sla 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::.

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.

in

.\li./.l!t ,,\uru. 1952)

the decline nf rht western Frankish area is explained primarily in rtrms of thl" prcarer external rhrelt:

536

1'\otus to pagus 220-223

is the antonianus more and morc:
to

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<!r. nor as expressions of rhe of a gradual historical process. bur <lS rwo separate, sucu:ssive and irn:concilablt physical srnres of society (er pp. 2Uh- - anJ f'1P 2.2Ufr above), PerruSevski opposed the difft:rtnt conception that no such thing as die barter economy ever existed: "\\ 't: do nor wish here rn discuss in derail the face char. as i\lax \\?ebc:r has shown. the barter economy is one of rhost scholarly Urnpias which nor only do nor exist and ha\T nen-:r existtd in actLL.d reality. but which unlikt others which art likewise Utopian generalizations on account of thtir logical character. can ntvtr have any application to actual reality (p. -!88) To this wt may compare Pirtnnt s account (op cit. p 8l:
1

(f:

Lor. Lijin dl!

11111;::./(

dlltiqltt (P.i.ris. 192 1

As for
elk

}.

p 63) \Vages for rhe army ti:nd

0(

be p.i.iJ in produce' (p.

fr))

int:lucrnble consequences

a SYsrem :ire

which allows serYices to be rewarded only by p . i.ymenr in kind. the distribution of land.

rc:adily perceived: they !tad to what is calltJ the t"euda! systt:m or to an analogous rep:imc:' <p. (;/ J

_,8, RostoHSe\", Th, .\r,e.d .m./ t.-01:11111it' Hi.1/111) r:( th .. P 528 and many other places. Cf Index: Transportation

R//JJU?J Em;1ir, (Oxford, I

j( _,,//, ,;. :r.nd:'

PP ()6.I

YJ. Richard Ldtlwre des Notttts. ! hi.lff/irc de I <Paris. l Y.3 I).

The investigations

..

L, di ..,:.;/

.i/.;c.>. (r)JJ!niw:i 1,n

or Lefobvre des I\'oettt:S. on . l.CCULH1t both of their results and of their dircnion
01

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 Indications of the necessar} corru:rions are rn be found in .
j

From rhe economic point of \'itw tht most srrikint: and characteristic institution m this
civilisation is tht t:rtat estate. Jes origin is. of course. much mort ancient and it is easy to establish 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 land, no-ont bothered to buy food from oursidt was rt:ally simply an economy wirhour marktrs Finally PttruStvski opposts to the notion whtrtby "ft:udalism and .. barter economy ar'pear as two Jifft:rtnt spheres of exisrt:nce or stort:ys of socitry. the larttr as the infrastructure producing or causing rhe former as the superstructun.-. his own view rhat the two phenomena havt nothing to do with each orhtr:
(p

the

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 .
i(l/J;'111ilicp1t
if

but now it ce1sed ro do

to

this. hecmst.: thtrt wt rt no mClrt mtrchants and rownsmtn now thar evtryone li' td ofr" his own . Thus, each c:start devoted itself rht kind of i:conomy which has been Jtscribt:d rather inexactl: as rhe "'closed tstate economy . and which

of China and Byzantium on rhe inn::ntions of the ?\fiddle Agts appears to require closer examination. 2 SLfftry had ctased to play an imrorranr 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,lrcl. .. how can one spe.ik

of a cause and effect relationship? <p -i8-iL A comprehtnsive account of rhc

L

results of rhis

work by Lefebvre des Noettes in German is to be found in L. Lhwendrnl, 'Zuu:rier und Sk!averei /'ir S1 1::i.df11'J(hm1,'.:. 19.151. no _?

-!O Ltftb\Te des i\oi:rtes, "La Nuir du moyen age et sun invenraire . .\Iu:::rri :li 255. pp 5-_?ff
-l

{ l 9.)2J, vol.

1 Von \Vc:rvtkt:. op cit.. p -t(lS

\Oxford. 19.?S), PI"' 11.1-1-L Cf. cdso ..\

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' -!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 which we c1ll feudalism. are nothing other than rwo different aspecrs of rhe same ti:Jrms of human relarionshir's They can be conceptually :listh::,!!hh,:I ns rwo difttrenr asrtcrs of tht: s:1me human relationships. but even conceprnally they cannot be sijhtr.:llul. like two substances which can exist independently T)1e political an<l military functions of the feudal lord and his function as the owner 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!)

A Zimmern, 51//IJJJ .w.I Crr1u11.r 11:hu Gr,J Zimmern. Tht GrtJ C1Jll.'!11f1JJU:.dth !Oxford. 1051 l

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 <London, l 928), c. pp. 12-iff. havt clarified these relationship::; Bur the fact rhar fri:emt:n worktd.
howtn.r highly rhe share of tht:ir work in toed production ma\ b;: c-stimartd, in no wa\ contr.idicr...:: what was illustrartd ear!itr by thL quorntion from rhe work of,-\. Zimmcrn-th:: (11..:t proctsst:s the ::,ucial within a socieq whcrt manual work is don<. roan\ consillt:r,1hk Lxrent lw

::l!aYes differ in a very sptciilc way from thost: within a society \Vhere all urb',_in work at least is 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
to

in ancicnt socierv. as in ptrform thl S<.lnlt: work

in terms u( an auronomous movtmtnt of economic rdations and

modern ones with a large slave-labour sector. is always dettcrnblc It is not difficult to undi:rsrn:id rhat under the prt:SSUrt: o( pmerry a number of freemen art: f1e\'t:rthdt:SS forctJ as shnes. But ir is no less clear that rhtir situation, like that u( manual labourers in u:entral in such a society. is decisively influenced by tht existence of slave labour Thest freemen. or

functions, or SI/!,!) in rt'fm::l of changes of political and militar;. functions. but on!;. in terms of rhe intertwining human activities comprisint: both these two instparably connected are<tS of functions and forms of rtlationship 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
)-i Ibid, p. ix
!'tfll/Cjfh'

:lt least a parr

11111nd(

0(

Jes

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)
anliljlh.

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

-!3. According to A. Zimmern Greek society in its classical period was nor a slave societr in the cypical sense of the wor<l: 'Greek society was nor a slave-society: but it con mined a sediment
to

slaves

perform irs most degrading tasks. while the main bo<lr of its so-called slaves consisrtd of

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;;
z

i'P 161-2!. +l Pircnnt: .

! 5

.i\, pp l fr. recoursL to inland .m:.1s and its

1{1r

IhiJ .. pp

I llrf

H1

Ibid. p. 2-

tht: devl'lopment of\Vtstern

State

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"<irlier than th:n of nauricai :-..:ot:ttes.
L
J1J.n-j1:c .m!itj!h .:

Tht: formt:r bt:f.:'111 hetWt:en about 1()')() and 1100. the latter clt:.trl} nm bt:fore l 20(l Cf Ldtbvrr.:
!.i
1

11:.lril.\

L.1 r,'z

11

!1iiioi: .ll!

(Parls. l

pp. l05ff.

Cr also E H Byrne pp. ')_ !:\.

Shi/ p.:n,':..

Tu:.{/jh .111:! Thir/,:.11:h C:.1:t.'1ri,.- <Cambrid,!.!:e. 0.bss'" 1<J30).

1,,,;1f,

Luch.1irc L'1!ii.' \'/( Phihpj1c

i[S

\Ill (P.iris. ! '!Ill I.!' 011

\V.t: shuuld t<lkt: o.rc Pircrrnt frir ex.1mrlc in Lt.\ .lli i1:0.Ju1 .l.(t. pp l()S-9} not ro arrribuct: i:xag,:-;tmted imt"'Ort,mcc to urban charters. :\'t:ithtr ln Fl.rndcrs nor in an; other rl'.giun of Europe do the: contain (ht: tor.die: of urban law Tht:} conrine tht:msdvt:s w fixing the main outlines, formuL1rlri_:..: somt: t:Ssent!a! principlcs and rc:-oh somt: p.:rricularl;. imt"'orcmr con fliers For mo:;r or rht: time the} arc produet:::i ur Sf"'cCial ci ,:nd ha\e Li.ken onl: ur Ljllt:Stions be int: dcbatl:"d wht:n the;. WLre dra\\ n up Ir' th;: burghl'.r"> 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: thly 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<Hl"d a rich Ht:etation of cusroms. privilt:gl:S which wert nor less indispt:ns.ible for b'-'int: Lill\\ ritttn This is so crut: t!L:t a .'._..:Oud number or ch,1rtt:rs tht:m.-,eh e:-. fort:s,rn ,tnd rt:cot:nizt:J in . td\ ann tht dc\dopmcnt (If urb.rn Lrn In 1 l the Count of Flander.-, ,!.!LiiHtd rht: bur,!.!hcrs or ur: 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
tlH:

f1x"uion by an indcrLndtnt 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. rtlatinly impl'.niou;; rn mmtment and 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<lt:nt. th:: more necessar;. becomts a uniform law tXtcnd!ng U\'tr .-:;uch currt:r1C): the more . rhtrefori.:. thc
Ln\

!9. Law is. o( courst. rhrouf!h

pt:rmission rn aJd from day rn

rkccssar;.. r(Jr

uniform

and its .1rT'.1ratus. which like currcnc;. b::comts ii:self

in turn ,lfl Of_!.:;.rn of irHcgrdtion ,ind t"'rm!uctr uf inrcrdcpLndtnct: oppPSt:S .rn: and thL more serious <lre dk disturb.uKcs anJ :;hifrs ur intert:S[ Lhat ,lf1} chan,:.:t: hrin,:.:s \\ irh it Thi . . , mo conrributts

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 <Jnd a major feudal !ord. :;wod in rht samc sorr of rt:btionship rn e1ch otht..""r as w1.fa: onl: ..;rat:.:' do: .rnd their !e.:-:,d .-,hcrn rhc- s.Lml f'.:ttc:-n .:.-.; rhos:.: elk L1ttcr. fo!lowin,L.: fair!) dirn:tl; shifts of interest ;i.nd social S(r:.:n,l.!:th 'ill Cdmctcc. L; ,,,_;,,, Pl' -11-1

to tht facr rh,:t rhc mere rhrt:at of t:nouph w makt indi\

h} tht:

or,:.:.ins of f"'O\\er !" for long periods

j"'U\\ l"f

.rnd \\hole social prnurs com pl: \\ ith \\kit has once blen l"::lt.1hlished relationships, The

5 I ;\. Luckire. L.1 "':i,.:( _ti.n11;;i.,, .111 '12 C. H Haskin:;. '/ h. 5.; Ibid. p ')(1 5-! Ibid
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.;.

./, Phif.:pp,
"I:i,{/:h

(Paris. l 90L)l. p 26'1 (Cambrid,'...'.c. l p. '1')

the norm of law and prnp:.:rr: on tht basis of a rarricu!ar ::>tJ,f.!l <if social

.. d--Ial!t:. l

p i - .;

intcrc.cs i(knriiltd with the prLst: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 of social power rdatiuns in physical strug_des rn which pl'ople in kss intt:r'-kpLndenr ::;oci('.tics an: 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 lxcomt: excr.wrJinarily grl'.at. whLn inti.:rtst in the prt::-erv.1tion or" the t:xisrin,:..: bw has ht:cumc unct:rrain in L1rgt: pans of socit:r) e:::itabl1::;hed law corre:;ponds tu rhc soci.d ro\\cr rdationships then. ofo:.-n after

59. Brinkniann. l:ni.1hhm:gJ,(:..1(hfrhh h(J \Vcchsslcr. op. cit .. pp I-ill-!

(11

Luchairc. L.; h2 Ihid r

lhid
(i')

.;/1 hii.f!.<

p .."1-l

\\.ht:n society h<1d a l'"'rt:domin.md: b:i.rtcr t:corwmy .rnd pL1pll'. \\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 rht: social f'UWLr maintaining tacb claim by an indi\idual h<:1d m ht alwa:s foid;. dircctl: \isib!e. Ir' ic bcc,1mt: douhrfu!. thl:" claim lapsed. Evt:ry prnpt:rt} owner had rn ht: fL'"<id) rn pro\ t: in ph] sic.d comb,:r that he still had m!!irar: and ::;ocial to b.:ck his "lt:gal claim CorroponJint-: w the clos:.:r intertwining of human acti\irits at a later srn,:;t onr 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 gLnera! 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 iH: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

6-! Plerrt: de \"aissitrL-.

(1(1

h.n::. (P.iri:-.. 19051. p lt)

Brinkmann . or. cir., p _:,5 \\.t:chsslt:r. Of"' cit. p -1

I

(,-. Sch(inback. quoted 111 \\'echs:;lt:r. op cit. p.

(1,'-;
(il).

Similarl; in .c\briannt: \\'tbt:r.

.'mJ

Dt: V.1issil:rt:. op cit. p il'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

-o.
1/

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 <md that chis is ont of rhtm. I am nor sure that they ha\'t: c.iuses. i( a cause Wt: mt:an something \\ hich would account for rht: ntw :;ratc of aff.i.irs. and so explain away what seemed its !l(Weity. Ir is, at any ratt. certain that the efforts of scholars have so (ar failtd to tind an orit.:in for rht content of love pottf}
-1
In Enpl.rnd the rnrrcsrondinp term is t(1Lrnd in later l'criods restricted. sometimes escn

man corrtSI"'ondinp:ly difrt:rt:nt

540
txplicidy. to strvJnts. An example of rhis is the way in which. in an Enf.!:lish account of what
consrinm:s
<l

Notes to f'dgt.r .?69-339

5-41

,L:uoJ mt:aL tht:

'"curtt:St:

hun6tie (Jf servantt:s is conrr.1sred to the "kynt:

or" clariq b: a m.athenurical formulation of the monopoly mechanism? This question can only lx answtred on the basis or- simple expt:rit'.llCl,
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<ls research astray. l\fany ptople regard it JS rhe most tssenrial task of research to txplain all ch,tnt_..'.ts b\' somt:d1inL:" unchangeable die re.ar<l for mathematical formulation derives nor least from this c;f dlt'. But this scale of ndues has its roots nor in the rnsk of restarch itst:!f bur in the re-searchers for eternity. General regularities like rhat of the monopoly mechanism and all other general of relar:ionships. wherher mathtmatically formulated or not, do not constir:ute the final goal or culmination of historical and sociological research. Understdnding of such is as a to a different end. a means of oricnrntin,t.: human btin,i;s with regard to themstl\'es and rhcir work] Their value lies solely in their funcrion in elucidatin historical change 82. On this set -on the Sociogt:nesi:i of Fi:udalism . pp 250-6 above. tspeciall; pp 250-1 On "social pmvt:r st:e also rhe Note on the conci:pt cif social po\Hr . p 2.1-L nore. 85 Longnon . .:\!I.is hisloriq11i. d, !.1 (Paris. 1889l 84 Luchaire. His!fJiri. do f 11stit11:ilin.1 ,\Ion:trd;iq111..1 (1891 J, vol. 1. p 90 85, Petit-Outaillis. L:1 munt1r.hit ,11 FrdJ!fr cf'" .-\11g/c1,rrc, pp 109ff Hh A Cctrtd!icri. Phi/jpp 11 :llf,('l!Jf un.l dtr Z:1Ll1l.'il.'iiihrudi d,s .WJ.:,!: inirdhn (Ltipzig. 191.1 J. l' 5.

and company of them that syrri: at the supp:._.r , G G Coulrnn

191 'J>. i'
(,;Jo

in Bri!.!i;;
15.2. \. l-!lf For other

(LeipziF.

f'

l.)(l. v -i and i"

<.iSf't:Cts of this tlrsr main phase in rhe transition from warriors w courtiers (tht: tducarion and co<le:s
or knifhrly orders in different countries) cf E.
,ir;;/ (iz

ili::h:r

(London. l
l

: .i .-:u:L.i fr) i!lwtrate A T Bylt:..;, ;\ftdie\al C(JUrn:sy-

buoks and tht: prose romances of chiv,dry {pp.

.=;

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. ch 8. as quoted by A. Lot_..'.non. L.1 f1m:.r!ir1JJ ,/c: !'11nit/

ji:.m3:1is,

(Paris. 1922J. pp. 18-19

/, i<c)n:t

-s
-9

;\ Vuitry. [t!i:lu .i:tr Luch<1ire. L1,!fi1 \ 1

ji11.m:.:i1.T dt /.1

Fr:.n.':t

<Paris. 18-8>. p 181

Tht: land from 0-:orchumberland rn the Channel was easit:r to uni6 rhan from FL.mdtrs ro the :dso R.

P: n.:nn:s Pdir-Duraillis. L.1 71;r,n,;iLhit 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

l) points out how ::stonishing

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
89 C Petit-Dutaillis.
.1:tr !au, u- /,
Jll/

it reall: v:.t'., that givLn 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-

90

A. Vuitry. Ei.r!.ltS

!1..

1:..;(-i!Jh

J, Lr1uis \111 <Paris. 189-tl. p 220 jin.m.-i1..r cit !.1 rr.lll(t, nouvelle sfrit:. \"Ol. l <Paris. 18S5).

such \.tst <Lrc<LS and rhe nmure

or

r:hcir cohesion comprehensible

to

us.

p 5-iS 'Jl Ibid,. p, _;-o

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<ir,t[Lb by a bun:.1ucr.1q 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;niour 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 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 no a warrior class. a nobility, bur a pc-actfol and scholarly officialdom Ir is primarily thtir situation and runction which ls exr'rtssc:d in tht f.i.cr rhar in tht: traditional Chinest: scale of Yaluesunlike tht Jap:rntsc:-milir:ary activity and prowess hold no Yery high place. Diffen:nr as [ht Chinese way rn ctnr:ralizarion was ro thar in thl" \\/est in detail. thtrefore. tht foundation of the cohesion of largtr dominions in both e<ises was the elimination of freely compering warriors or landowners. 80. On rht importance of the monopoly of physical force in the building of states . cf above all
;\[ax

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
E.ss,J)S 'ill

91 Cf cg Karl I\fannheim. '"Compt:ririon as a Cultural Phenomenon . in f\.noult.!gt- London. Roudtdge and Kegan Paul. 1952. pp 191-229

tht

rf

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

(Paris. 195-iJ. p l SO :\-br 19 This :dso conrains

-!

9-:- P. Imbtrr de la Tour. Le> r1rigi111.J dt /,, rt}i1mh <Paris. 1909). 1. p. 'JS Illirot. op. cir.. II lap 21
( l 'J2'J). vu! 16 l. p 581

99. Henri Hauser. rc::vit:w of G. Duponr-ferrit:r. '"La formation de 1 trnt

100 L \\.'. fowlc:s. Loomis 1nstiture.
101 Luchaire, L1..s 01im1:m1d ji,mi,:.lisi.s ,:

, R1..n1c

Hi.11/jriqi1c

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
I' 209

P Lehugeur. Philip/it /,. L11ng

1316-!

Lt

11h:,mi.rn;t

.If!

(Paris. 19_:; l ).

\\/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_;

105 Branr:fimt.
106,

(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
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

H Il!ariejol. H,11ri /\"ct Lolli.' .\I// (Paris. 1905). p 2

R.ichhri:m1.1

Ibid,. I' 590

108 Cf. A. Stmzel. Di, [l!!U id:l11nr jc, ,ct!thrhn i'

(i()()

in dt.'1:.1d!n

(Stuttgctrt. 18- 2 l.

mar:hematical formulation \Vhar. for txamplt. is gained in ttrms of possibilities of knowledge an<l

5-12
lOLJ Richclil:u.

rr.
tr.

1. ch .--.:. . si:crion l
1()- -

l lU E L1vi:-.s:: L,1:1:. .\'/\ \P.iri .., ll)ilh1. f'

Part Four
1. Tht:rt: is ttH..L) a\\ idcsprt:,1d rwrion th,1t rhr: !(1rrTh ()f ::.oci.d
.tfi'..." W
\()!

l 1 l S.11nr-Simon,
112 Cr" L1Yisst:. op cir. I"

by Lodh.:i-;u1 \ o!. 1. !"

;rnd j':lrriudar so<.:i,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

11-1

he e:-:p!ainl'd Thi . . ; ide,1 nukes it .tI'rt...tr

t(>r that red.son
!HJ[

,lS

hy rh1.: purprht: tht:\ h.nt.: tor 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
\',;.iy

115. Thom,_::; Aquinas, fh

l th 11op cir. Pl'- 592fi. Ibid .. f1(1uvt:Hc sfrit:, \'O]

J:1:/.h1,1;m:. Rome t:"dit:.. vol i 9. p 622

1. p 1-!5 For an(Jtht:r form of rhe moni:r.iriz:.nion of growing nt:t:d for muiwy. the lib:::rarion. for St1f rParis.
1

,1

comm(ln dt:ci:-.ion rn li\l' rngl'ther in this

,rnd nu nrhu Bur rhis norion is;: fiction .rnd

a \cry ,l.!:(JOd instrument ot' restarch

s::it.:neuri,d rie:hrs under

1920J

pr::ssurL of the kings

r.,1;.rnt.:nr. m i1ondsmen by rhe kin,L: and his administr<niun. cf >fare Bloch. N. ,i'
Ii:-; Paul Viul!cr. lln:,,m
!J!Jf!:!lfinli)

Tht: conserH _ui\cn hy the indi\idu<d w li\c \'.irh otht:r:-. in <l p.irricuL.lf (orm. rht: jusrific.nion (Jfl _:.;rounds ot" parricuLr i'llrposc..; for dh: r:ict th,n ht: li\b for cx.1m1-.Je \\ichin a St.ite. (J[ is bound to orlwr::, as a cirin-n, nfrlcial. \\'(Jrker. (Jf r:trmer and not kn!.!.!hr. prit:.-,t ur hondsm,rn. or ,1s c.ttrkrt:,trinp: n<mud-d1i..: conscrH and thi:-. justitlc,ltion are r1.:rrnspccti\"t: In rJfr, matl::r the

2.

r-

individual has littk choice. Ht: i-; born inrn :in order \\ ith institutions of a ranicu!ar kind: hl condi[inned m(Jre or sucllsst"ully rn conform tu it r\nd tn:n if ht.. should ilnd this order and its
nl-ithcr ::ood nor ust:i.ul. ht: could nor simpl) \\ irhdr.1w hi:-; .hstnt .11i...l jump uur uf rhc orLlt:r He m,1y tr) w t:-,Clf'L. it as an adHnture:--. 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 <l o( conditionin,L'. by ir than to pr,tist and justi(\ ir 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 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

2-1.2
IHlU\"

l l CJ Ibid
1.20. Vuicr;.. op. cit.
l
i,

:.Cr. nil 2. p. -11:-)

121 G. Dupont-Ferrier. "L: Ch;::mbrt ou Cour des Aide:; <lt: Paris . Rr.,: !ft
p. 195:
011

chis and whar follows the same author. f.lu./lr S!Ir

L,-

Yol. 2 {P,1ris.
122 LCon ?\liroc Lu

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<J05l. pp Cf also Thomas B:1sin. f{j_,;uirc

i 2_1 Ibid .. p. 12-! Duroru-F::rrier.

dc.1r gu,il and

rational pLrn. towards rht..: order of :..oci:il

and

Ch.n1c \"/!
.I
'rr.n:\1,f.r

L'

on.:anizarion .ire in G J.tcquernn. D()::m:c;;:'-1

./t Lr1:1i.' SI. cd Quichtrat rraris. 185)J. \"OI .I

rPari'I. IH9l
l.

1. pp

i-off. DlL1!!.., (Ill financial Fr.n;,-, .!, Chdr!,s \.fl

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:

Lr

panic no. XIX in que:-;rion-and-ans\\er rCirm "Le

-! i Fion:nct:.

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, ror

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

l 8<Jrn. pp.

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( oals. 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

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 <lt Rome and [he Vt:nt:tian (h,mcdll'r: \\ou!d lun: suffiu::d on cht:ir own to spr::,1d rill nt:w donrint:s 01 diplomaq and rolirics. Bur. in re.die: in rh:: pruI.usinn of r:.:rty ..;utcs which shared rht: I't:ninsub. thtre \\.1s nor one thac could rnir h.:\'c: rurnishcJ_ cxampll'S The morurchies uf Europe went ro school at rht: coun:s of rill' princes .rnd tyr,mts ot

purru:-.iYl', art: ITH1dt:ll::.._]

or

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 plannLcL a sptcif1cd!y S(lcial dar:um: a compctitiYl' relationship with its pt:ctdi,tr rc-gularitit:s as <l!scussl'd l'arlit:r Thus ir is nor from a common plan of rTian\ people, but a.-; .S{imtthin,'...: unpLrmt:d. emer,:..:in from tht: CO!l\"crgt:nce and collision or the plans (Jf many thar
<tll

diYision of i"unccions comes into btint:. and areas in thl' 1(1rm of states. and rn many other
01

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<licatt rhar he connt:ctl'd
to

the same applies rn the intl'ration of lart:t:r and sociohisrorical proctssts J\.nd only an awareness o( the relative auronom}

tht inr::rrwininp of indiYidua[ pLm:-. and

actions. of rhe way rhe individual is bound by his social life wir:h orhers. ixrmits 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<lt rht medium in which it can d::\"elop. They ser the indi"idual limirs. but ar the same rime him t:rearer or lesser scope The social fabric in chis sense forms tht: substr,1cum from \\"hich and into which rht: individual consunrly spins and weavr.:s his purposes But this fabric and tht actual course uf its historical ch,ni_ec as a \\"hole. i:-. intended and planned by no-one

the srt:ciiic 'power it

<b

of the French king and rht: or,L'.,miz,ttion or" tin,rncu;

sumt:rhin,i..: long fomi!iar in Iraly

544

Notts to pagts 366-3 7.?

Nutts to pages 3 7.?-387

545

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 <Lnndon. 19-8> 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! Stltcrt<l Papers from rht Proceedings of rht :\merican Sociological Socien ( 1952!. td. E. S Bogardus <Chicago. for a criticism of rht: earlitr biologisric notion of social processes. cf \\'' F Ogburn. Sfj._ia! (London. l 92.i). pp 56f.: The publication of rhc Origin
1

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<guph. l2 February. 1<)37): childrtn. especially young children, like aggression They favour action. action and more acrion They art no' avtrse from [he sht<lding of bloo<l. bu' i' mus[ bt <lark blood. Virrue [riumphant is chttrtd ro d1t 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 is the specific structure of taboos in simpler

in borh <lirt:crions. ftar anJ joy, revulsion and

S/1tcits. sening forth a rhc:ory of tYolurion of sptcies in rtrms

;acietits It was pointed out abow (cf pp. 569ff, especially pp .F 5-i; also pp. 99ff) that in tht 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 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: shocking" 5. Cf CH. Judd. Th, and 77ff 6, Introduction
to

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 a manifestation of evolurion and there an <tnempt to stek rhe c.1ust:s of chest soci<ll change5- in terms of variation and selecrion Preliminary co the search for causes. howen:r. <ltttmpts wer::: made to establish tht de\dopmenr of parricular social institutions in stagts. an evolurionary series. a parricular stage necessarily prtceding another. The for laws ied to many hyporht:ses regarding factors such as geographical location. climate. migr.irion. group conflict, racial abiliry, the evolution of mtntal ability, and such principles as natural selection, and survi\al of the tic. A half-century or more o( investigations on such theories has yit:!ded some results. but rhe achievements have nor been up to rhe high cnrenained shorriy after tht publication of D.1rwin s theory of natural seltcrion Tht inevitable st:ries of Staf:tS in rht dtvdopmc:nr of social institurions has nm 011ly not been proven hue hcts been disprovt:"n For mort: rt:ct:'nt ren<lencics in the discussion of rhe problt:m of hisrnric.d dungt cf. A. Goldenweistr. social E\'olurion. in E1h)iI1/iuli1-1 r:f5rJCi:d Stiu1c::5 (Nt:'w York, lt;_:;51 voL 5, pp. 656ff. (wirh compreht:nsivt: The arricle concludes wirh the retltction: orderliness of

rht savage

rules of etiquette art not only strict, but formidable. Neverrhtless, to us their rnble manners are o(Social lmtit11!iom (New York, 1926). pp 105ff Also pp. 32ff writrtn by Amelor de la

rht Frtnch translation of Gratians .. Hand Oracle

Houssait. Paris. 168-L Oraot/11 ,\Lnwd/, published in

(n11r

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<lbook or- courdy-absolutisr politics. ,\fachiavtlli. however.. stems ro speak more

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

Since rhe \\\lrld \\'ar sruJents of tht social scitncts wiehour aiming at tht

It is nor withour significance. however. th<.J.r dtspiet this difference, tht conduct recommtndt<l by
borh Machiavelli an<l Gratian appears ro rnid<lle-class peoplt as mort or less immoral ... although similar modes of conduet and sentiment art certainly nae lacking in rhe bourgeois world In this condemnation of courtly psychology and courdy conduct by the non-courtly bourgeoisie is expressed tht specific difference of tht whole social moul<ling of the two classes. Social rules are built inrn the personality of non-courtly bourgeois strata in a different w.iy from that in the courrly class. In the former the super-ego is far mort rigid and in many respec:s stricter than in the larrtr. The belligerent 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. dicrnted by the practical necessitits of social lift Even adults in chtse circles always remain awart rhat these are rules that they must obey because they li\'t with othtr people. In middle-class strata rht corresponding rules art ofrtn rooted far more detply in rht individual <luring childhood, not 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 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 have some natural bodily defecc: for they are accustomed to avenge themselves on Nature One of the middle-class English books of manners of the seventeenrh century. that likewise had wi<lt circulation and had their origin in the well-known rules of George \\lashington. Yrmth's Beh.:u'io11r by Francis Hawkins ( 16-!6), gives pride of place to "'rhou shalt not and so gives behaviour and obstrvation in the same case a different, moral rwist (No. 31 ): 'Scorne nor any for the infirmiryes 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 This srudy of rht civilizing process from thtst pragmatic effons in rlur. susr'en<ling al!

wishes and c..kman.<ls concerning what ought to be. ir tries to tsrablish whar was and is. and ro explain in which way. anJ why. it becan:t as ir was and is Ir setmeJ more appropriate to ma.kt tht rherapy depend on tht diagnosis rather rhan rht diagnosis on rhe therapy Cf. f J Teggarr. T/;L111J of Histr11) (New Haven, 1925). r the inn:stigation of how

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. in\\/. G Sumner, fr,/kudys (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 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. \\lhac was said above also applies. for example. ro socitries with a related strucrure in tht presentday Orient and. to various degrees dtpen<ling on the nature and extent of inregrarion, to so-called "primitive societies 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

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
1 ::

in

mirh. k

or- tht:rn. since in rht form of

de Champ.1gnr.: s cycle

De ,-\more

<.llld

tht: whole litt:r,1run.: or rht medit:val controvt:rsy over

In a worLL Wt.- tind in Grntian, ;ind .1frer him in Li Rochtfoucauld :md L1

women 10 Haskins. Of-.. cir. p 9!

11 Pp l 2-82 above. 12 Cf. pp. 18--'Jl abO\c

,r..::ern.:r.d m;1xims . a!! tht: modb or- bd1aYiour which we: cncounct:r. for cxamp!t: in S:iinr-Simon, in the pr,1criu.: CJ! court liri: irsr.:!f. .\uain and a,uain we flnd injuncrluns on tht: nt:ct:,sir;. to hold back tht .ifrL"ct'.i (?\'o. 2N-:'l: 0:'tVL"r act whi!t.: j"",Lssi(Jn lasts. Orl1L"rwist: ;.ou will sp(lil t:\t:r;.rhin_t.: !1(lt rL"a:-.on. in him. \\"t: find thl achict:
.. Know
to

Or (No. 27)):

le La Brmi:rc. C<1r,1a;r,s. nc la cour 11',tris. Hachette. !')221. IJ,11rn.c. ml 2. p. 2.;- 0:0 6-!; cf 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: tbt:atrt with [he samt: decoration. bur nor rht: same actors All rhost who rejoicL" ar a fa\'our recr:ivr.:d or ;.1re c1sr inrn sorrow and despair by a rL"(usal. all will ha\c vanished from the stage. :\!ready other 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
to

'Tht. m<i.n prejudicr.:d by passion ,dw,1;. s sr't::tks a bri_L:up:agt dift"erenr from wh.1r things an:; pa:-;sion. adopt
:i

ps;.chulup:ical .Htitude. a pt:rmancnr

obsL"n,1rion of char,1crt:r (:\o 2-5 l:

:-.<1

thoroughly the char.tcter nf chose \\irh whom you ch:aI. The I1t:Ct:ssir: of sc!f-obscn,Hion Know your

Or the re:-iulr cl such knowltd,ut.. rht: obst:rYarion (l\'o 201 ): All chose who .1prear nHd arc mad, and Jft: halt. of those who do nor mad

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 modlr;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 rt: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 OHr 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 end <-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.ne 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 ltr: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 samL" tht: bourgeois world feels. should b:.: forbidden not for pr,1ctic.d reason:,. concern for ont:'s
in

displact that of civilire On this development cf also rht passage 'Dt.:s

.r\l! forei,i!ntr:i art not B<trb,1rians. nor

a!l our Compatriots civilizeJ li. 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

lh Saint-Simon. op. cit. p h.-1 iPp. 60- 2. tsp 66-- above

Cf also n.

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

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 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 are

interest betwt:en dit leadin,::...: groups of tht nobility and rhose of the as in every strong autocracy the struggle bL"ing wageJ arnunJ tht: ruler. in tht:

in france than in Engbnd Cnder rh:: cm:..r of :1bsoli__1rism tht:y are constand;.

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.

t:()od rL"puutiun with other r'eoplr:. bur by an inner \'Oicc. conscience. larin,:.:: h:ihlrs. washint: and mht:r

,1 wurd. h; mornlity. The

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
thl Censure of mhtrs and women
21
Pp

in rht: structUfl' uf Climmands and prohibitions rh,1t \\as sten t:arlit.r in tht study of functions. reappt:,lf:i hlrc. 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!/
iOxforJ. l l)2l)J, l'P 'J2ff

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 <larum. then all ocher island nations would have
to

show similar characteristics. and no people should

be closer to the English in its charantr and lrnbitus than. for example. die Japanese, chis in i-.farit: Ir is nor tht island situ<1tion as such which secs its :;ramp on rhe nation.ti character of the population. bur the :iigniiicancl" of this situation in tht: total scructure of rhe islanJ socit:ty. in the rht: small pro:ic pit:ce by Andrea:,

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:,

548

Notes to pc1gts 434-437

549
who control properq chances rhrough an unorganized monopoly ro those who do nor haYe such chances That the social prtssure in Jifftrtnr \V'tstern states varies in <legrte is ob\iuus. But we do nor \'tt
U$t

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
<l

low t\aluarion of military pro\vtss and more

very high social prestige

In En;lan<l the rdarivtlv pacitied nobility. rogethtr with leading bourgeois groups. succeeded very

early in ..,sharply rtsrricrin; the kings control of weapons and the army. and panicularly the
physical violence wid1in rht country itself And this srrucrure of the monopoly of physical

of

possess any \"try useful conceptual tools for analysing these pressure relationships. nor any pr..::isr:: framework within \Vhich tht <legrte of pressure can be precisely measured. for example, by a comparison of difftrenr states. \\?hat is clear is that this "internal pressurt'. is most accessible ro observation an<l analysis from the point of view of the standard of living, if bv rhis we do nor mean only the purchasing power of incomt bur also the rime and intensity of work. needed rn obtain rhis income .i\foreover. we cannot gain a proper understanding of rht n:larionships of pressurt and rension within a society by comparing rht li\"iny srandards of its differtnt classes srmiLally, i .t. at a particular rime. bur only by a comparison O\"tr exrendtJ periods The degree of tension and the population pressure wirhin a society art very ofren not explained br the absolute ltvel of the living srandard, bur rather by the <.1brur'tness with which this standard falis in certain classes from ont l;vel ro another. \Ve must have in \"iew rhe curYc, the historical mo\emtnt of the standard of living of different classes of a society in order to undtrsrnnJ the relationships of pressure and rension within it This is tht reason why we should nor look at ont industrial nation on its own if we wish ro gain a clear picrurt of rhe nature and strengrh of rhe relationships of pressure and tension within it.._ For the level of the li\ing srand<.1rd. difftrenr as ir is in different cbssts of tht samt. sc;cit:n, i:, partly dettrmined by the position of rhis whole society in the global network of <liffe-rtnr stares and empires with its further division of functions. In most if nor all the industrial nation scares of Europt the living srandard. which was itself attained in conjunction wirh indusrrializarion. c;in be maintained only by constant imports of agrarian products and raw materials. These imports can onh be paid for either by income from correspondingly large exports or by income from in\esrmenrs other countries or from gold reserves 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

made possible. rn be sure. only by tht country s island character. played no small part in the formation of tht specifically English national character. How closely certain features of the English super-ego. or. in other words, rht English conscience, an: boun<l up with rht structure of the monopoly of rhysical force is shown even today by the social latitude gi\en in England to rhe conscientious objector . or the widespread sentiment chat general conscription represents a major and dani;;erous restriction of individual freedon1. \\ie would probably not bt wrong in assuming that movements and organizations have been able to remain as strong and vigorous as they have over rhe centuries in England only bemuse the official Church of Englanr.l was not backed by a police and miliclfy apparatus to the same extent as were. for example, the national
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 character and the nature of rhe country luvt indeed, in a great variety of ways, txtrttd a
_>{) On this question cf also A Loewe,

formarivt influenct on the national character

25 Ste above. pp 13ff. 6-fff. and p 513. nott

0(

Th, Price

Lih,rt) (London. 19371. p 31: "The educated German of the classical and post-classical period is
to

,; 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 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

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 can be maintained only if enough scopt for the rdtvanr exports or impons of diffc.:rtnt counrrits
to

26. Pp. 236ff above 2-. Pp 264-5 and 26R-

above. Thar the strength of tensions berwetn clifft:renr htgemonial

Bur rhr: sensirivirv

tlucruarions in international exchange.

to

defeats, ro slow or rapid decline

units is indissolublv bound up with the strength of tensions and tht whole social order within them has alreadv been srr-essed on a number of occasions Ir was shown that connections of this kind existed even in 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 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

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
other-,. The r:Xp(lrr and import '-T1cicy
in chis rht:rc- renuin-ir
_1,
(li. th.:

551
weakening partit:s lx:c<1mt:s morl- re-;rricred To a state
-;aid. ir is unabk
Ul

_::,
t

T Parson:-.. :-:,r,;:.:i

.n.':./

PtrY>J:.dJ:_1 (G!t:ncoc. J LJ().::.) pp 82. 210{

to

thc::it lossls h;, in\i:stmtnts or ,i..:uld fl..,t.:ne-;-only rwo possibi!irie:- It mu::it cithcr forcc up t:>:pun:.,. for t:;<amplt by
we

Tht idt:a rhat :-:ociai chan,:.:e should bi: underc;wod in tt:rms ul a change ot" srrucnm.: rhrou.:..:h .: bt found in numerOLb places !n
1 Londnn.

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 indinul: w .1 loweri:1g of the '.'>LHHlm.b (1f. the members oi. rhi:-i .-.:uciLty. Thi::i (all is p.1;-,snl on by thost: conrro!ling the monopoly
cconomic (!prorrunitit:" ::iurroundcd b:
.1

T P.1rson.'i ,md 2-i-f Similarly. in Robtrr K . .\krrwi. .\ 1 1.'l.rl

Parsons s work: cf. t(;r

) Smd.st:r
.n:)

1t))- J. pp

.\1,:i.zi

(Glt:ncot.:. I 9591. p. I 22. ,rn

to

rho::ic who do not control rht:m

The

LittLr

thus find rhemsthts n socitty ancl dwst

ideal social start: <rhout-:h one app.1rt:nrly undcrsrood <.:s rt:al1 in which there arc no conrr.idictions ;rnd tcnsion.'I is counrtrposcd rn anothtr in which rht:sc soc:al phtnomt:ria. e\'aluarcd ;is dysfunctiunal . txerr a pressure tO\Llrd Tht: prohlem ht:it\i..: put on
;1

douhk circle uf monuroly rule-rs: tho::it' within thtir

O\\

rcprc.-,cntinp: itlrt:i,un sociltie::i The t'rcssure cm<-mat!J\!..'. from rhl'm conrribun:s rn imptllinp rheir own rt:prc.,cnuri\t::-. and rhcir rht: \'. irhin d!frt:rt:nr ;.1s a wholt: inw a comr'critivt: stru,L:,!..'.lt: wirh otht:r sociLtit:s, And rhus and El10st: lx:t\\'t:t:ll rhi::n1 munully rcim(irce each othtr This spiral
(Jt. <t

social '\Ltric

normal!;. frtL of tt:nsion and immuwblt:

r(1r discus:-.ion ht:rl. ;1s can c->et:n. is nor idcntic,tl v;irh tht: problem

traditional!: discussld in term:; of thi: conct:prc->

<md dyn;.1mic

The tr.1dirion,d

mu\l'mlJH is. rn bl :-.un:-ir must he emph,1sized-onl} one orders or ch;.:n,:...:c monopo!} But the meruion oi this

Lue numhi:r or di(r-...rent stqut:ntial

ofren irn-ohtS tht: que:>rion of which method !s prtt"cmhk in cxaminin,r.:: socid r'ht:nomena, ork limirin tht: inquiry rn ': p<1rticuL1r time st:,!.'.mtnr or one invohin,t: chc :-.n1d} of mort: cxct:ndtd proceSSlS. Hert:. in contLtSt. ir is not dle mt:thod or t:\'t:Il the sociolo,t:ica! selection

order. how:.:ver fr.1.:..::mt:nrary. m;1y give an

impre:-.si()n oi rill' p()wt:r of rht: uimrellin,!..'. r"or(tS which rnday keep tht: inrer-st.tte compttirion and

ur

in motion

2S. Cf

n'

prnbkms as such which is under discu:-.:>inn. bur the conceTtions of socier:. of hum<.in figur:ttions.
0

10-l . :'. above A :-ununar}

Oi

present-day tht:uric:-. on tht: oriin:; of Statt:S is pp. 1_;9ff

to

bt

found in .\Lclt:od. Th, (Jri,;;i;: .m:.l lli.r:1!l::

1:/ Pr1/i1ic'.I,

underlying tht: ust: uf tht: v.1riou:.i methods <Hld tyj'"1t:S of prnblem st:lecrion, \\:hat is said ht:rt: is nor direcrcd against rht: possibility

29 G !'I' TO ff .1bove .. t:sp. Pl' -!02ff .iU Cf. !'!'

_'lj

of sociologically

short-term social conditions, this typt

of prohlt:m

an tnrirely kitimart: and indisptnsablt: kind

of socioloical

inquiry. \Vhar is s;1id

!11(:'1!1'

here is direcred <\!..'.ainsc a certain

f1,.,.;r

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,

r: pe

of theorl'tical co:1Ccpti()n, Pfrtn hur h: rni

ntn..;..;:iri!y
to

.1ssociared with t:mpirica! socioloicd in\escigarions or sready sr.1tes Ir is quire cerG:in!y possible

.m./ C."r11:z,1:finn.di!), p.

undt:rrake emt..,irical invi:stigalions <if Stt:,1d;. 'iC<He.'.'i while using m(1dt!s relation bet\\'t:en social st.tries and

of social chan,L:ts, proct:SSL'i

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 (:\'t:w Yurk. 1,S{)l)J, p preciou::- const:natl\t: 121:

. and p -_;: 'Tahlt: m;mners an:. quort:s \\" Jamt:s. Prin!..'Jj)kr

.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 social d: 1umics' suffers from insur"ticiently clt,ir problems and the merlwds or inquiry
Oil rill

Hc1bit is rhus rht t:nurmous tiywhccl o( socitt). !rs most

bt:t\\'t:t:n tht t:mpirical in\e:>ri,:..::arion of slwrr-tc:rm appropriatt: to rl1lm. on rhc one hand. and Lbt: or [ht: terms :;t,ttic insut"tlcicnt cap,u.:!t)'
to

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 bein 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

rllt:ort:tical modt:ls by which-txp!icirl;. or not-one the orlll"r ,0.!t:rton

S

is ,L:Uided in rosing tht problems and in f''rt:St:ntin_:..: tilt: rt:.'iUJr.'i of rl1L inquir). and

d} namic

in rht:

rdt:rrt:Ll

to

above sho\\

\er) clearly this

d!ffe-rt:ntiatL'. ,1s when he sJ;. s th;1t within tht: fr;rn1t:\\ork o( a sociolo,L:ica! in terms of rht social SJSttm .
;,1

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!
((1

i.'i. whar

:.it.i.ndards. cod.:s. and ide.LS o( chastity. dt:cency. proprit:ty, modesry. etc 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: Ir scared} nt:t.:ds ro be s.1id chat this is trut: not only nf rht

from rht: point of vit:w of chanpl ,t:ucx.l

p.irt

5 Thl tcndcncits o( rhc Europt:crn nations

,:.:rearer unification may cerr.iinly derivt:

to

o( rhtir driYin,r.: force from the con-;o] idarion .rnd cxtt:n,ion o( ch:: in-, of interdLT'tndt:ncit:s. abmt all

wcmt a colourkss rt:porr ot' the Let:-.

or z(Jrci,!..'.n .rnd simplt:r srn.. iltic:-,. 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 r(JrmuLlCed h: lmotion:. \\hich
,Lr::.:

in rht: c-.:onomic .md millur:- .:;rhen:s: bur it w,::-. tht: shock

thl cLiJitiunal narion,tl :-.t:lr--imat:.::-, or

dit: Europt:<m countries that ,!..'.a\l rise in all rhtse narions to ,: disrosirion rn adai..,t dll'.ir own arrirudcs-ht:sirant!} and tc-nrati\'el;.. at lea.st in rht bcinnin,:..:-rnwards gre..Htr funcriona! intt:rderendt:ncl. despitt the nariocentric rraditiCJn. Tht: difficulty occupit:S the dominant tmorionaJ j"'"OSitiun among its form;.1tion which is cnilving pussesscs at first only :: for thtm in gi:rwrnl terms it can lx- c-xpbirn:d in

.\1,,-j_;f /;.'1::':1:i1,11.1. en:n

if ht.: ancmpts a difft:renr :-.ulution to rht

f'roblcn1:-, dun i:-, ort-t:red ht:re (p. 2-<iJ: This chapttr \\ill aim to prcne that tht: t)pt:s of rt:rsonai kno\\ n w civili::.t:d men ,\ft: products

of this

undt:rtaking lit:s prt:cistly in thl

oi

an c\olution in whicl1 t:morions han: arc the institutions. some

fact char. as a rt:sult of the nariocenrric sucializarion of children ,rnd adults. L'ach ot these nations
O\\"!l

t.J:cn a nt:\\ dirccrion

Th.: insrrumt:rus .md m::.ms of this

pt:opk. i\"herLdS tht: Jargt:r transnariona! but hardly an cm(itionai sinilicance

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
ot. plt:asurt:s.

r.:tiona!

of beh1.1\'iour and tht: new t:morional arrirnJt could

The effort of indi\ idudls to ad arr

6. This difkrenct destrH:s a mon: tXtt:nsivL cumparati\"e invt:stigarion thm is possib!t: htre But

until tht insricuriuri itself was created

tl.-w words Ir is connecreJ with die kind ..rnd exrc-nt of rhe

thcmsch cs w ins[ituriund demands results in whctt may bt pwperl: dtscribt:d as a whotl} new

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 bnurc:cois cnn<;tnc1tism can be ohstn cd \'.hi ch is dttcrmineJ deprtciarion o( Veiy hitrh

to <1

Notes to the Postscript 0968)

"fokort Parsons. ") Ibid p y;:;
f;;

b;. thl values (i

rhe pre-industrial dynastic-agrarian-military rowtr Clitt:s These Yalucs include a \try pronounced rhat is rdl-rn::d rn as tht. world ot" commt:rct: (i.e, traclc and indusrryJ and th::: social who!t as tht: individual. a prominent p,1rr in the const:rvatism of industrial classes. rht:y an ur1tqui\ocdl: hipher \,due artachtd rn the sr.tte \\"herc\t:f such values pla;.

.\r;;,:ti/(),:.:i.-.zi

\Glencoe:. 1LJ65 l. pp. _)5<-Jf

552

Notes to /Jttgl 465

Notes to /1C1ges 465-470

long as natioctn[ric \alues and ideals dominate rhe theorizing of such a degree. as long as they fail to realize rhat sociology can n._o more be

553
American sociologists to from a primarily

un<ltrsrandably conrnin a pt'rCepribk anti-liberal tendency. In rhis rmJicion ntgacive fttlings are arrached to tht high t:stimation of rhe individual ptrsonalir:y and of individual initiative and to the corn:sponJingly lower evaluation of the srnte" roraliry. in other words. to rht valu.es of a commercial wor!J pleading for free competition. In counrrits when: members of rhe pre-induscrial agrarian tlire kept kss emphatically aloof in their pracrical life and in their values from commercial operations and from ,dl those earning their livt!ihoo<l by such operations. and where the power of princes and coun circles as centres of the stare was limin:J. as in England. or non-existent. as in t\merica. the rising bourgeois groups. in their gradual ascen[
[0

national point of view than physics. rheir preJominant influence represents a not inconsiderable danger for the world-wide development of sociology. As can be seen, "the end of iJ..-:ology is not yer in sight among sociologists Incidentally. something similar would probably have to be said about Russian sociologv if it had a dominant influence. Bur as far as I am aware, while rhcrt are in the bv rht svsrem of growing and number ot empirical sociological investigations, there is as vet scarcely a theoretical sociolog\ This 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 the d.ominanr American

become rhe dominant class. evolved a ryp..-: of conservarism which-apparently-

was highh compatible with the ideals of non-intervention by rht state. of the freedom of the individual. and therefore with specifically liberal values More will be said in the rexr about some of [he specific <lifriculries of this liberal-conservative nationalism. this apparently unproblematic simultaneous assertion of the "individual 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

theory of society, the Russian theory is a nariocenrric mental construct. From this side. too, the end of ideology is quirt certainly nor in sight in sociological theorizing Bur char is no reason nor ro strive 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. '-8. T Parsons,

Err,/ution:.n)' i:111d Comf1.;ri:11in

(Englewood Cliffs.

NJ, 1966). p 20:

"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)

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 ruthltss 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 rht powtr

End (I

(New York. 1961 ). Bell, roo, srarrs from the assumption grours in rht pursuit of rhtir own is facr. He

berween

concludes from this focr. much like the aJvocatt:s of German Rf,,.. df11Jfitih, that the politician. in of his own group. ought rn intervene wid10ur ethical commitment in the power srru-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<l .. p 2-9), Ht a[[empts to limit this concept solely to political docrrines directed at changing the order He forgets that ir is possible ro rrear rhe existing order nor only
;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 <mother American sociologist, Seymour :Marrin lipstt. "is not only or even primarily a means through which different groups can attain their ends or seek the good sociery; it is rht good society itself in opern.rion <Pr,fitical .\Lm, Ntw York. 1960. r -!o_:;) lipstr later modified this statement
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

Index

absolutism. xii. 1-. ms, 191-i. 205, 210,

2_:;9. 2-is. ,-, 51h.

-f ?1-j

_:;s-. 5h6. -!06.

.mi:i,a r<::)nh.

52. _::,_:;, 56-8 ..125-6. _1.:'i_::..

y;() _

_;_,-. _:;so. 561

animals. crutlty ro, 1-1-2
A.njou. 20). 2(16. 2-9, 281-5. 28-. 2S8. 2lJ!
2<)_), ,l0(1

absolmisc courcs. 1-i. 15, _,l. G.o. 8-.

12H. 156. 2-!8. 2-i9. 252. 256. 5 .1H.

589-<JO. 3<JL .190 .

.or-<J.

-i2 I. -i25.
l

-i2- . .!_)-!, -!55

ahsoluri:-;r monarchy. _::., 1. _12(1, _::.25. 31

Dukts of. 29<-i. 2<.r. )02. _15 I Anne of Brinany. :H)9. 55(1
anriquiry. :;2. 6L 2i2. 22'S-_1U,

55-:n
-!2l. -Hl-)

Erhiopia
accumulation.

.rnxic:y. l l-L 121. l3L l!l. l 2. 5H5 . .

<)

capical formation
l, 98.

affcccs. affecc-concrol. xi. 29. 60, -1.

,;/\{,

-il-i-16. !lH. -il:J. shan1e

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.
-!--

209-.102 apriorism. -!-l. -l-5

.r\quiraine. 205. 2()(1. 2-9. 282. 285. 28--:--8. 2<.J ..1

Aquinas. Thomas. )-t'=i Arabs. 211. 213. 215. 229

.du1 drih:s
Africa. 586

aggn:ssin:ntss. l(d-

180

Ara,:.::on. 282
ariswcT.tcy.
.ia

.1idc1. 5-!6-50, 55-!-6

Albtri. Eugenio. Y56-- , 558-9
Albigt:nsians. 28()

nobility

armies. 192-L

51-

Alembert, Jean
ambivalence,

u . -iO

Alphonsi. Pt.:rrus. 5_)

Arnulf of Carinchia. l <J'J-200 .ircisan:i. 220-1. Asia, _1H8

assimilacion.

- -l 8. _1 .Y1-- . -125--t Amptn:. Andre . 25

-UO

Aulc. \\,-arren 0. 55-ln Auscria 201

556
Auscrians. 12 autarky. 206-7, 2-iO. 2SS. 291. Auvergnt. 28---i-5, 29-i axes of ctnsion,

The Cil'ili:i11g Procrss

37 9
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. Carttr!ieri. Alt:xan<lt:r. 51 l n Casrigloni. Giovanni. 60. 69 Carbolic Church. Catholicism -

Index
Roman Catholic. -i-. l-i3. l-i-i. l-i6--. -i2l ChrisEianiry cinema. i -o. -!26. 5-i Sn

557

31-3,
SSln

316. _126. 3_10 ..1-1-!

sii muLr Church

c.wsation, -i82-_=1 Cavalli, Marino, ,3'58-9 Caxton. \\'illiam.
7

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 Balzac. Ho no rt de. -iO l ''barbaric behaviour. ix. -i l. -!2. 48. 5 1, 5--l. 81. 107. 1!3. 210. -iSO Barctlona. 196. 2-9, 282 Baroque. 189. 2S I. 39_; Barrow. R.H. S37n

meJieval urban. 5-t. 18'7. 289. 323, 3_16- . _1-16. -!34 office-holding. 325professional. 426

330-3.

circulation of mockls. cizilih'. xii. ?1-L -il. -!3. -!--52, 61. 6--1. 6-. -1. 811. 82. 83. 86-9, 108, l 3_), 182. 189. 2S6. 586_195. -i28

0-1. 10-i

central authority. 268. 319. 320. 325, _)2-L

:dsr1 inEtliigenrsia
Bouvines. Barde boxing. 1-0-1

of. 28-i
200. 2(17

.328 . .333. _)_16. _)49. 355 ..160 ..162, _; ":' 1. 388

cenErnlization, xiii. 201. 205. 236. 261-2. 2'-!-5. 292.

"civilization . popular concepr of. 5-10, 15,

2-i. )0, 39. 4'. 51-2, - 1. 83. 86. 88.

235.
l<F. ll-i. 132. 13_1. 155. l-iS. --lSl in France (tizili.ution). x. 23, 3?1-5 . .18--43. -!8 in Germany <Zi1 iliutio11). 6-l l, 26-50. 6S.
Si1. d/Jtj

Brandenburg. 12.

306. 313 . .1-13. 5-i2n

Branrome. Pierre <le Bourdeille. _)_)-! BrtEigny. Treaty of. 29_1, 295 Breughtl, Pitter Sr. l 76 Brtysig. Kurr, 535n Brinkmann, Hennig. 2--!5 British Empire. 266 Brifrany, 285. 288. 296. 502, 509, 3-12 Broe. Pierre. l-iO

centrifugal forces. l er. 199. 2011-8, 219.

barcer economy. 205--:-. 210. 213. 22-i. 232,

237, 239, 2--l0-5, 2S.o-L 260, 289. 297, 303, 313. 317. 5-i-i, 368. 379. 391. 536n Barth. John Christian. l l.1 Basin. Thomas. 5-L2n bathing, 119. 138-9, 5 _10-2n Bau<leau, Nicolas. -10 Beatrice of Bourbon. Bell. Daniel. SS2n Berry. 196. Duke of, 167. 28-i 179. ST-8n,

238. 261-2. 266, 261, 2-:--!, 292, _113. _:;.-!_:;

sa ";/so JectnrralizaEion

centripetal forces, ctn:mony. 388 ch:.tins

centralization interdependence.

Sl'-l8n K;t/J:tr
Ji"

Ci\ilization, as a process.
Sll

civilizing process

u-.

Bruges. 5_19n Brunelleschi. Filippo. 189 Brunner. Ofrn. 5 _;2n

of iruerdepen<ltnet:. chains of ,lt.r .-\i.lc, _150. _15-!

,(.dh,

civilizing proct:ss. ix-xv, 15, 18. 20. -i 1, -U. 51. 8'\. 88-92. 102. 11--l. 116. 128-9. 1)2. U-i-5. l-i2. 152. 153. 1 168-9. 188. 191, 205. 206. S30-2n spurts in. xii. 15--8. 2'5. _1":'9. _181. 382. 389. 592. -iO l ..j(J7. -!_18 cleanliness. 152. 5_;0-2n
Slc

,:h.m.rr1m

162-.3. 2-!199. 202. 206. 31-

225-6.

Charlemagne,

2-il. 25-i. _16S-8-. -i30. -iSl-2. -i81.

296

BLrnel. Guillaume. s_; l n Burdach. Konrad. 2-16 bureaucr3cy, .13. 36. 38. Blirger. GotEfried r\ugusr. l 9 burgher class. bourgeoisie Burgundy. 196. 20_1, 206. 21-i.

,ds1, Carolingian Empire

Charles lll, King of France. 199

bedroom. beha\iour in. x. 51. l

205, 239, 446

Charles IV. King of France. 286. 28Charles \', Holy Roman Emperor. S9. 262. _1 l(I

296

washing

Btrd10ld von Regensburg. 175 Bertran de Born, 162

262, 285, 294,

Charles\', King of France. 29S, 296. 29'7, 3-i9, 350-1 Charles VI, King of France. 296. 298. 3S8 Charles VII. King

cltrgy'clerics, 165. 201. 208. 327-55. _)62 cliques. _15. 36. 398 closure

506. _1')2
dukes of. 288. 29-!. 296. _102. 307-8, 359 Bury. J B . S 3-in Byles. _,\Jfred Thomas. '\-ion Byrne. Eugene H . 5?18n Byzantine Empire. 216. 225. 22-!, 229} 5_::,:n Cabants, A. S9. 122. 12.o. 152, 153 Callieres. cle. 8 7 -8. 9_)-i, 9--8 Calmerre. Joseph. 2119. 23 7 Calviac. C. 91. 105 Capellan us. Andreas. S-i6-'n Caperians. 192. l9S, 20-i. 21 7 , 258-61, 267, 27'-302. _)06-7. 328-9 capital formation. 366. -i 14 capitalism. 210 Carolingian Empire. 19S. 19 7-9, 208, 212, 121-2. 1

Bild1111g, IS. 2-i-6. 31. 6-i. Sl8n tdsr1 K11!:ur

bishops. 20 l, 3 29 Bloch. Marc. 55-n body.
Jc,

of France. )02.

w- __109.

of society, 230. 269. 2"7 --L 288. 28-:-,

-i-j(i

.:;s 1. _:;s.J-5. _:;ss

Cl1arles Vlll. King of France. _309. 5S6. _3S8 Charles

Cohn. E. 518n Cohn. \\lilly. S_15n Colbert, )tan-Baptiste. 36 collectivisation . "socieralizarion

"'natural fr!nccions ': nakedness

of Valois. 295, 296 3.

BogarJus. Emory S . 5-i-!n Boileau. Pierre Louis. 12 Burner, A .. 528nn bondsmen. 216-l - . 220. 2_)6 Bonvicina da Riva. 53. Bonwir. Ralph, 553n books, demand for. importance of. -iOl Bossert. H.T, 529-30nn Boston Tea Parry, -iO Bougie. Celestin. xv Bourbon. house

Charles the BaJ. King of Navarre. 295 Charles the Bold. Duke of Burgundy. 17

colonization. 4.1.

-!'. 215. 230. 38-i-6. -!2'-8.

Charles rhe Far. King of the west Franks. 2011 Chareler, Marquise de. l l S 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 Christianity, -i7. 86fa ,;/_ro Church 152, 166. 203

-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.

of. l 9S. 296. 302

Bourditu. Pierre, xvii bourgeoisie. 80. 88, l 00, 116. 128-9. 192.
239-iO. 422-_15 28 7 , 3-i-i. 352. 360-2,

Church. 86-7. 15-L 187, 188. 190, 215. 216,

395. 397, 421, -i25.

21-L 222. 223-L 229. 286. 289, 297t 312. 5.15n Carolingian kings of west Franks, 195. 201-3

of

223. 267, 281. 328-30. -il-i England. S-i8n

-126. -J2s. -129. --l53. -i35, -i36. -1r.

--!38
Comte. Auguste. -i58. -i6l

Greek Orthodox.

558
2')_...,, "15"1n C:(lnd,1rcLr., .\brit: .k.rn Antoint:
concL'pr
2(lLJ,

I m!o:
Du1'in. H. 111'5 DL:clar.:rion hdcp::ndcnc.e <LSJ\L -iO

559

.\brqui:-. de -f.2

(1f.

Duronr-Fcrrier. Cust<l\\: .:.o- _-)32. Durkhl'im. Emile-. ! '56. -!- _;

_-".)-!

t"i.:ucLdism. 20l) feud:d courrs. L)l, 2!5 2+L .:.;.1'1 . ..".'.-t8. 2)2 .

..-.:s.;.

con,ci(1u-:nl.;..;, ix. xi

-tH 12 l 2-0,

_"1

-l

.;'!o . .;er. -102 lU_i. -iOS-11. -11-!.

-!15. -:lS. -!19. -1.20. -1.11. +!l

Dcdd.:!nd Fricdri,:h dcfecarion n,nur.d i-L:nctions

215. 216 lord'.'\, l 212. 2')8.

_1()(1, _;_;() _ _ ; .. !2

221. 22'5
dclirnC\ '.18. lllfl. 115.

.l!1d drinkin.::.;. -'l" uhlc m'-'nncr:i urensils. r(>rks: kni\-c-s: sroons: ublt: 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 co. lhO. _.:.--. -!05. !OS .. !l(i, !'=i'5

_;!h. _;.!-._;!CJ. _.:;52. _l)_). _)(-Ji, _;90. -10-L -!2_-)

consen;.tti'.'-n1. 5"11 n. "152n

corisrr,1int:-i

l+! -122
16S-Sl. 2-tl.

ft:ucLd socierics. ix. xii.!-. 16-l. 20'1. 2.;o. 2_;5, 255. 2.-19. 25 l. _;o.i-'1. ')_;_.:.-uL
5 .)"in

1_::._1, l-!9. 15h--

Dllilii.

!15-21 1!'5 ::xtcrn;.d, by utht.:r 1. X\, 6H. l (JlJ, l _:;5, l 'ih- ..lh5--lJ. 582-.l.
i21.
-!-15.

.'"- .d.i modesr:: sn,tnit..: J. :cquc-s S!-"1 Del Lt C,:.:;;.1 -.

11

t"cud,diz.1rion. xii. 195-256. 2-_.:;, _::.1 .. i.

.)(1h, _)h9. -!.,()

.-".

15.

(1(), h8-

-o. -

-1-s

lli. li--18. l20-i. l2_i. uo. l!_;. ll-l 1-lii 11-. lSl. 18'). -!l- -llS. !21. ::i_;on dcmocr.tric
2-6

.d.1'1
!H l

Fichre. Joh.urn Gottlieb. 19

11\>. I'-)-. 198. _::-_;, 2H2. _.:;12.

of busini:ss life. 15()

conrr.1srs. diminishint-:. 5S2- -. -!.10

El Cid. 21 'i
Elt:atic modes of rhoughr. -!O.l. -!"'59 .1/.111 proct:ss-reducrion
diminarion conn:sc:-; 265-L 2-0.

.11--l-l h. _) l 8, .120. 565-<l .. 10_;. l l 2 . . f_; - -8, -! ') 1. -! 5 2 concept of. -181-5
FlachsLrnd. Caroline. 21

-l

l I.

Cordier. 7'farhurin. -iS. l l (; C(lf!lLillc. Pierre ! ()

clt:mocr;.niz.1riun. functional. l _;!-5. -L25 dcrendt:ncit:s. 2_;_;, 2_;-, 21.l. _16{), }: . !02 !il! I)
Dbe<trtcs . Renl:. -!-2 -! -. -!-')

FLrndt:rs, 196. 20_:;, 20(1. 221. 225. 225. 2-9.

Cossnn.

S-!
0-brquis de

-s

Coult01L G.G. 5YJ--l0n

coun:. 22.l . .19-L !5) conduct. -!2 nobilir; nuhilir; . .1,,

mtioru!iry. -!0-! srn:icty. 1-L l ), 1

dcrachmt:nr dt:\"dopin.:-: counrrit:c:. <..lcn:hipml'.nt, soci,d Didcror Deni'.'>.

.li

.;11 ..1..:.1 _)+-i

cmb,1rr.1ssmenL ')I. 52.
(i(J,

285. 2SS, 29(1. _; lO. _:;-!- 5-19. _15_.:;

1. 98. l()L),

l!l)

,!'1--6n, -i81

J L),

2')

li-i-l'!. lT. 1-iO. 1!2. l'il-.:'. 1'5'\. 160. 1-8. l Htl. 392. -il-1-..".'.2. -!_)I. +H
rhrcshold frornicr of. (10. -120. -122. -!25

tlaruknce.. 5 I Flauhcrc. Gusr.n e, Florcnct:. l SH. I SlJ

.j(J

Funrnnt:. Theodor. _10 hlrhonnais. Fr.msois

foreign 1"'\olicy. -! l 0

diffl'.rcnriar!(Jn. _;h- -l.;ll. !50-1

-!-. h.l. 8h. !Oh.

.J", dtliGK}. shamt:. rcf"'UgflH1Ct::

emoriuns aft"i.:cts
En:pirL sryle. 109 Eni'cls. Friedrich .. ;(11. '5) _)n En!'Lind. ! 2 2-i. 2'!. W. -iO. (10. l l). 1>'5. 102.

Du\t:rFt:r de

2-L

Y>.

f):.1:,:,L.i C.i:1,1;:,

').::,
l)()

psy
.;(l.i.

meuphor of. -! 1(1

129. 1_;c;. l'\11-l. l'i'\. i)I, lS--')l.

disrincrion (1'1

10'1. 128, U--\lf, 213.

diYision of socl.d

foresi,dit. i.;_;, _:;-5. 5-8-8..".'.. 58!-5.

_;ss.

599.

258-9. 2+!-'5h. 5X--9-. -101, -!l-. -!20. -22- counc-.-.,y. -''" cuurric-r:-i. l '5. 26. h-.
!2). J '5-.

_;8_;-5. _195. -!2!. -!_lP. -H6

-111-. -1_;11

diY!sion or' bhour.

2':Ji ..;61. _;-o,

r'uncrions di\"ision of soci.d funcri(Jn:-i. 102. I - 2, 198. 20'1-- 21 o 22h 22;..;,

2"1_; 2(1. 2hS.

lS-. 18S. 11. l'!O. 192. 1'!-i. l')S. l'J6. 2l'). 22'5. 21;1-- . .:'Sl-501 . . 'T. 5-!8. 586. !20. -l.26. -i.28. l.1-!-'i, +!0.
5-!--i->n. 552n
!Oh

forcsr clearance i(nk

-!l),

Jt:furcsrnrion 58-60. -8. 82. 85. 88-9.2. 9-.

10--lJ. l.:'S Fouqutr. 9-! Fowlt:s. L \Y'_, _; l .2

Fr.1nce x. 12. 15. ll)-2U. 2-l.

-r.

2:A,

Cuurrin. r\nrninc Jt:.

-t)_

82. 8). tJ 1.

.2S2 28-. 2l).;!i. 5+!

;(lo. _;o.:,. _:; 15-20.

Erasmus. Dcsiclt:rius.

-!- -52.

lOl-2. W8. ltl'J. ll'i. 12!. l_iO-l.

1.15 ..11-C _;60-l. 5-0-1. _;-:; 58--9-.

::.hl. _;(1---0. _178.

60-9. -1. -()--

C..8(l, 50 l. llj l. _.:.92. !00, -!02.

811. 8'\. '!l. 101. 110-l l. 11-1-l ).

.>>. .ll-!.1 ...:;'5. _;-. 60. h2. 1>5. s--'!. 92-S. [()_\. 11-.
1)0. 182. lS-. lS'). l'J2-l1. 20-l.

-!lh. -!2- !.29. L;_;, l.;9. i-il. -i-f5

122-5. 126. 1_)0. 1.1-l. l_)()--. l-10-l. l-i_i-8. i)l. l'i_\. l'i'! .. ;(I[.
'i26n

112. tlH. l.2.;. lcourtb}:

"' )-!.

!2-1

xii. 10. 2_< 29.

,.,-_l).

Donatdlo. l.SlJ Dopsch. Alfred

21!. 2..".'.5 2-!..".'.. 2-13 . ..".'.-!8. 2hl- . 506-l!. 525-62. 58(1, _;r;-.

J lJlJ. _2(Jh,

209
-!30-2. -!56

rdar!onshir's. _;;-.; l, _182

Erhiori.1. led. i<is. l'N. 2.:i_;

101-2. -;_i'\ French 6. l l. 15. l!. '!-1. %. l90. -!.;_;

-!-.

:;--8. 61-.:'. 6-1. ii8-'J.

l 1-L 165. 182. 252-_;, 255. 2)(), YJO.

Dn.:ux. huLbc of. _.:.02 driYts. dri\"t.:-controls. driYe mouldin. xv, xviii. Sl). illi. lil-. 109. 117. 1-il.
I+!. l '52-.i. l 'i'i. l '58-GO. 161. I

66. 95.
110,

Europl'an
!:.:.

55ln

Franci;1, Dt1chy of. Dub:>; of. 19(), Francis I. of France. W'J-lO. _1'5S
Franks. 2.?8

]:(l.).

'"' .d.>r1

L'JzJhtt'

Crl:cy. Barde of. _l-i9 Crusades.-!-. 21 i-20. 2-;9.

1-2 l-8. lHO. 22!. 250. 235, 2-il.

evolution. biological. 5+!n

258. 260. 262. 311. _;,12. 559

.du, t.ksdopm(:nr. srn..i,d

consu,1inrs. exrcrnal

193. 262.

5,15

culture

g:.

f::.:rl:ffr

2-!.2, _2 .J) . ..".'.50 . .25,;, 2-0. 369. 371. _;-_l-S9. . _.:,q-_!lL .i16. -!21. - -i29. 15"i. -i-!3. !-i6
Dryden. John.

txternal consrrainrs fonrnsy. _;-5_()

Franklin ..-\lfn:d. '521 n. '5.2lnn. 529nn

u;
_:;q8

t"t.:ars. xi. xiii. 98. 10-i-5. 10-. 121. Ll-L _:;-5,

eastern Frankish area, 200.

2LL 5_;5n

1..fancin,:.'. 1 l t) .. -tS2
D.1n\ in Charks. '1+rn

2-i(>.

Dlimmltr. Ernsr. :;_.:..2n

_1-<1 _;s5 ,fl 1. --118. -i 1CJ. -i20. -121. -l2L -!.11. +!l-!. )_)l-2n

wc:-;tcrn Frankish arLa. 20.1, 2l_;-I S.

2 l ')-20 . .:'.111, 25'\. 25-. 21i2. 266.

560
5,)n

The Cil'i!izing Prr1cess

20-. 208. 2 7 --302. 508-l l. .i28-9.
Gracian, Balc.isar. 58-. 5-! 5-011 Greece. 228, .:; _:.; '"'."-8n Greek OrthoJox Church. '" :m;/cr Church Gut!fa. 25 I. _;9_1
guilds. crnfc _;26

Index
Hugh of Sc Vinor. 53 Huguenots. 342 Huizinga. Johan. 1-i-i. 16-i. 16:-. 52'n Humbnldt, ,-\lexander rnn. 25 Hundred Years War. 278. 293. 2':!!. 295. 299-302, 3-lS. _)50. _)51 Hungarians. Hungary 200-1, 203. 211, .158 hygiene. 97-8. 107. 11-i. 127. 550-2n id. -i09. -i!6 ideal rypt. -i8 l illegitimacy. l 5-i-5 als1J marriage Imberr de la Tour. Pierre. 5-i l n lnca empire. 5-iOn individualization. 63, 232. -i 7 9
industrial society, 42. 231

561

Judd, Charles H Jun:nal des Ursines. _;55-6. 358 Kanr. Immanuel. 9-10. 1.1. 1-. 18. 2-!. ."-3-i. -i-s
Kern, fricz. 5 _12n

Frederick II. tht Great. King of Prussia. 12-I-. 192. 2-i0 Frederick \Villiam. Grem Elecwr. !8-. 258 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 Freud. Sigmund. I 60.
!

guilr. IO-i, 152. !6-i. !68. -i-i.1. Guisrnrd, Robert. 215 habirm. xi. xiii. xvii. 11-. 1-i I. 2-u. _i66-9.

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 knighrs. knightly sociery. 6_i. 8-. 163-9. 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.
funccions

l ()

Freudenthal. Gred. 525n Fr1J11dt. .136. _:;-to. ?i60 Fulk IV of :\njou. 281 Fulk V. the Younger. 281
functional <lemocmtizarion funcrional
.b-

3'8. 385. -Hl8. 41-i. 5-!7-Sn 1-!.:/?its 1f G11r1:! 85, 103. 106, HP,
132 Jemocratizarion.

Habsburgs. 18 7 , 219. 262. 26'5, 299 ..108-IO :1/so German-Roman Empire 'half-edurnreJ'". -i3 l Halphen. Louis. 5 36
Hammtr. Heike. xvii

functional dependence, 31.). 5 1- ..\18. 370. _i 5. -il8. -i29

1

funcrionalism. critique of. 5-i?i--!n. 55 ln

Hampe. Karl, 205 Hanoraux. G .:\.:\ . 5--i2n happiness. 5 _)() Haskins. C H , 2-i-i, 389 Hauser. Henri . .i 11 Hegel. Gustav Wilhelm Friedrich, 366
hegemony. 201. 260-2, 2-H. 31 5. 318.

Furnivall.

FJ.

52ln

integration. 450-1 inre!ligenct, -lO-l

incelligencsia, 9-32. 35-8. 42-3, 63-5, 96 interdependence. xii. 116-I-, 128-9, !7 7 ,

:!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

180, 196. 205-8. 222. 22-i-6 2.1-i. 235. 23-, 2-d, 2-LL 253--4, 269, 2:_;.

-!32,

32-L _;2-. 350, 331, ?133, 5-U, _; ..u.

2"5-6, 300, 315. 51-. 319-20. 522.

division of social

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-

3-i9. 352, 368-70. 575. 379-8 l. 386-97, -iOO. -iO-i, -409. -ill-U. -419.

Lt Bruyere. Jean de. 596. 39-. 598, 5-i6n

Lafaytrre, Madame de. 155 La :\lesangi:rc. l 25-6 Lancaster, house of. 299 land-ownership, 2 l-i-20. 235-6 t/'11;.:, 196. 3-42 f,lllJ;lh d ,,jj_ I 96 La
La Salle, Jean-Baptiste, 80-3.

-i22-3, -iT. -i29. -i3!. -i.o5. -W. -i39,

-i-i5- 7 , -i81-2 chains of. 370, 380
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

due de. 5-i6n s-. I O(i.

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

-!5:)
gescurts. -!9

Iraly, 60. 65. 66. 299. 358

is-.

196. 198. 215. 22!.

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 Jerusalem. 215-l 6 Joan of :\re. i() 1 Jodl. Friedrich. 5 l 7n John, Duke of Berry. 296 John, of England. 28-l. 350 John [I. the Good, King of france, 292-6
Lefebvre des Noenes, Commandant. 55 1 n.

Ghiberti, Lorenzo. 189 Ginsberg. :\!orris. 526- 7 n Godefroi de Bouillon, 219 Goethe. Johann Wolfgang rnn. 13-I-i. l 5-19.

538n Lehugeur, P, 5--i 1n Leibniz. Gortfried. 11. -P3-i. -i 7 5

Lenrncinism.

23. 25. 26. 28-30. 480

Goldenweiser. :\lexandtr. 5-i-in ,_good sociecy", -!25Gothic, 25 l. 593 Gofrschtd. Johann Christoph. 11
govc-rnmtnc

Holy Roman Empire "" German-Roman Em pi rt Homeric sociecy. )_;-in

Lessing. Gorthold Ephraim. 15, 16-17 -B 1

Levasseur. E , 5 3 5 n Lewis. CS, 539n libidinal impulses. _)/7, _o81, .JOO, -403, -i09,
.j 10. -i -i22. -433 Lichtenberg. G.C H . T

homr1 d:ms11s. xvii, -:!"70-6. -i--:-9-81

Houssait. :\melor de. 5 3Sn Huberr II of Vienne. 292 Hugh Caper. 203-i. 25-

GouJsblom. Johan. -132 srncts, srnce-fiJrn11.1cion

u.

562
Lipst:c Sl'.ymour

The Ci l'ili ::i 11g Pr1Jn:ss

is-. 165. 1s11. i'!'J. 2s1. 252_ -' 5 monarch). 195. 19lJ.

ll/{kx

565
coun!). 5-L G_i. (i6. !28. ISO. IS6. !8<J-'Jl.

_;o-.

_;I . _12-i. _-12--9.

nobility 2-i8.
-il-!. -!20.
5-(). 586-9-. 599.

L(H.wc. . Adolf. xv, 5-i8n

589
lil

London. 299 . .1Ul-2

Auguste. 28_-l. 5-! l n

hU-- 2

5.10. _;_;I. _;_:;.1. 5.16. 3-iO. 5-1--9 ..151. 352. 353. _;5,i, _;8-, _196 monasct:rit:s, monascic lift. 1.18 money. mont:rnriza[ion. 192. 1
206-8. 212.

Lorr.iinl'.. 196

.J\f1 h:.:droum. hcha\ iour in: fork: knife: natur.d funcrions, nose-blowing;
sruon: spitting: tablt nl<l!lflers
,\Lnnheim. Karl. 5!8n. 5-!ln ;\fared. Etiennt:. 2l)')

Loe f'erdinand. 5_-16- -n

218. 221-_l. 228. 2-!0. 255-i. 288. .10_1, 51-i. .125. 32-!. ?13-i. _1_1-.
i5'J-GI. i-l. _i95. -US. -!-ill. 5-ien

French. 20, _ll-5. -!2. 86. 96. _;2-:-. .l.15-t3. -!_1'5

German. l). l '5-20. 22. 2-. 29. _)_il)-iO. .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 gradi:s
J"

Lotharingia. 21-i
Louis I. the Pimi:;, King of France. 199

Louis IV. King oi" fr,mce. 2()2

Louis VI, the Far. King of Franct, 20-L

258-62. 2-8. 2-9. 280. 28 l. 28N.

,\.[arie. LLlughccr ot" Charlt:s the Bold. 1- .1. ,\.farit.: de Champ.1grn:. 5-lh--n Jean H _155
marriage. 15-l-,. 2(10. 299 ..;.)-. ).2811
,\larx. Karl. -158 .. J(1l. -166. 55_;n

monopolits:
economic. _16. :Y-l8. 30(1. _:;-:-o. -Ll6-mechanism.
X\,

25-. 265. 26-!. 26-.

550. 5-15
Louis VIL King of Fr<rnce. 285. 286. 5.-10
Loui; VIII. Kini' of France. 28(i. 2<JI Louis IX. Saine King of France. 286, 291. 296

2G8- -s. 2'!<J. ,; IS of physical forct \"ioltnce. xiii. 169. 19_1.

of. 2.10-1

:\Iasaccio. Tommaso di GioYanni. l .S9 machematical formulations. )-i0-1 n ,\la,hieu dEscouchy. !6,\laupassam. Guy de. -ill!

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.

J, / 11r;l;/c1.1. ./c mh.: warrior class :/ 561 li ihlt.rsc dr: rdh. _;-, 96, 32-!-6. _;55, ?>61
.;/F, court socit:cy:
1

Louis X. King of France. 2L)5 Loui-; XI. King of Fr.met. _;o-.

_;os.

..-158

MauYillon. E Jc. 1 l. le. I'J l\laximilian. Holy Ruman Emperor. r-:_;, -'08-'J .Mazarin. Jules Cardinal. _15<1 meac. or'. '10. ')?-;, t)O. <-)CJ-I 0.1.

-u-.

nomadic tribes. 2!0-12 NormanJy. 206, 21-L 220. 2-9-85. 28-. 2H8

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

-Us. L19. -i-i 5-6 ofrult. 268. 2-i. 2--i. 2-s. 289. 290. 5-!2.
.1.1_1
or rnxarion. 268.

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<J. 28-i-5. 296. 299 Orleans. Gasrnn Duke of. 5-i2 Orlt'.ans. Liselurtt: Duchtss

Louis XVI. King uf [ranee. 189 Louis. Dukt: of Bourbon. 296. 29Louis. Dukt: of Orie.ms. 29-. 298

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
I\lterscn, Trc<H) of. 19()

2-_;. 2-s. 2--. 515 . .11-. _l-L1 ..1-i-!-62, 565. 5:9, _188 ..195.

-t2-;'. -i29. -U_l-1. !56-tr.msformacion of pri\"a[e inrn public.

socit:ralization
.\fonrnigne ..Michel dt. 52-n ,\londhfry. house of. 258-60 .\fon[mortncy. Henri. Duke of. _1-!2. -!0-!-6 >.fontmorency. house of. 258

merchancs. 11. 2-0. 52'1.

_)_.).-!,

_;86

Louis of :\njou. 296-- . _15 l

!oYe. 2ll)-)() Lowtm:hal. Lt.:o, 5.1-n tower scrarn. lL 88. 216 ..152. ,180-_l. _-)8h.

.d.ui
mcrcantili:;m. _.:;-

commcru:

of. 112

l\fenmt:t:. Prosper. 2)
l\fcrovingian i:poch. 199. ,\lcrrnn. Robcn K.. 5 5 In .\1iddk

Om1 L Holy Roman Emperor. 200-l. 2-i6 . 26! oucsidtrs, 582.

12
(1]-.), ()<;.

morali,y. 12-. l-iO. l-il. l-i-L I-iG. 15Johannis. 1!6--. I-i8 68. rnu[iLuion. 1(12--!

-150

O\"erpopulacion. 212

.191, 596. -i.2- -ii. -HO

Luwit:. Robtrt H. 5-!0n. 5-!5n
Luchaire. Achille. l62-i. !6l). 2()_;_,_ 2_;11.

x-xii.

'12-hO.

-II. 8-. 100-L lO--S. l l'J. 150. !62.

2-iO. 2-t-. 25-..::..;..;. 285

Lucian 62

I<i-i. 1-2-1c. is-. lS<J. 19'5-.>62 .Fl, 3i9.1. -!21. -!2_1, -!2-!. !2'1. L1-i. middle c!as:; .. ,\lilrnn. John. le
.\fin1Jt.>.ill,(tr. xii. 2.l6-5h.

pi.teification. -!2. -o. i05. 19U-i. 195. 2-16, 25-1. _;I I. _;89. -i U. -! l 9-20. -l2_l-6
pain. endurance of. _;-:- 3

-!35

naktdne;s. l !8. l_i8-!0. l-9. --il -18

,_,./u; modest:: shamt

bourt:t.:uisic

Papac). 529
Paris. l 'J. 2S. _16.

migracion. lhl. lh.2. 210-l.2

!'\a1'lcs. 215 1'apolcon L -l_i "na[iou:nrrism . 551 n. 552-.1n na[ional char.icctr.

s-.

I 10. 1- i. l S'J. l %.

,\fachiaYtlli. >Jiccofo. 5!5n. '552n

,\laclcod. \Villiam. 5-!(ln ;\bgna Carca.

261. 28-!-5. 28-. 295. 295. 299.

_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.

minstrels

.\li1mu.in,(u

52. 9-i. -i2--8. 5-i--8n

;\faint. 28-i-5. 291. 29.1

,\Iajorca. King of. 291-2 ,\lalraux. Andre. -i02

l\fir.ibeau. Vietor. 3-t-6. Lton. _))(), _1:::, 1

mi.ui df/11:inici.

-! l

nationalism. !65-5. 55 l-2n

"nawral funcrions . I O'J-2 l. l .'15. l .18. I 50. l 59. !60. !80 ..j()_) nm1rc. 155. l-i I. l '-i. _i6G. -i l 9-20. -i-i2.
-!

-!69-70. -i-:2

-i 5 5-i

manners:
cm.Its of. 5. 20 ..12 _l-! -il-5. -52-62. 6_1.

mubility. social mocbn. '5!. 6-!

h8. 2_1-

ptasamry. 89. 100. i-_i-80. 21--18. 2-i2. .182. 589. _;91 Peru. )')I Pt[er;. B . 5 2'Jn Peri,-Durnillis. Ch,1rlcs. 89. !68. 5-lOn Pcrn1sev;ki. D ,\[. 5_1-i-6 _:.;-') 2. -! 5 _1-!

l !11. I I_;, 1_;-. I-il. 1-i'',

68- -2. 80. 88. l)l.

1n Middle

er.

!08. 155. 189.

I 52

na\"y.

-l_).j

''c

:dui dtlicaq: shame

nttds. conscellation of. _19-l

52. 5-. 58. G0-5. -o-2. 8'J. '!I. 92. 95. !08. I U. l 28. l .\.'i.

Mohammed. 2 l l I\folitre. Jean-Baptiste. l'

i\it:czsche. r:rit:drich. 29. 52. 95

nighcclochts. 159-!0. 526n

564
Ptyrat. Jean du, 181-2 phenomenon, concept of. 2'50

Thu Ciz'ilizing Procm

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-

Indo:
Romains. Jules, -!02 Roman Catholic Church ..kt 1mdr:r Church
RNllt.111

565

social funnions 'rolts. 25 l . .315. 318 . .326. _;'52 . .36' ..109, _::;-s, ?1'9 ..;si. _188.

Philip I, 1'.ing of France, 281 Philip ll Augustus. i:r. 2-17. 28-i-6. 29 L

de.'

11-1 R11Jt:,

53

!0-i, -i39
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 social system. conctpr of. -!55--. -166-8 sccieralization. 272-.3, 3-i-L -!_1_1, 4i6 sociogentsis. xi. xiii, xv, 28. _11-4.3, l 09, 119. 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-. .j 10-11. -i 16 sociogenetic ground rule, xi, .:! 10, 5.11 n sociology. xiv, -i(F, -!55-7 :\merican. 550n. 552-3n Socrates. 115 South America. 5..J9n

Romi.lf1 Empire, 222. 22-!. 225, 228-9, 53-n

_;_;o, 3_;2. 3-d

Philip Ill, King of France. 291, 295 Philip IV, the Fair. King of France, 292. 293. 295, 3.j'? Philip V, Duke of Orleans, 286. 298 Philip VI. Dukt: of Valois, King of France.

:.dso sociogenesis

.;/s11 German-Roman Empire

Romantsqut, 231 Rostovrsev. ;\lichael, 5 3 7 n Rousseau. Jean-Jacques ..o4. 35. 151 royal mechanism . .320. 32--8, _;36, 596 Ruckerr, Friedrich. 5_; Russell, John. 53, 5-J Ryle, Gilbert. 553n

psychologizarion. 6'7. 39'-i 1-i psychology, xiv. lT, -iOl hisrorical. -i06-'7 Ptolemy. 455 Puritanism, -! 17 Quesnay. 38 Quirzow, house of, 258 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

291-2
Philip rhe Bold. Duke of Burgundy, 286. 296-8. 351 Philip of Evreux, 295 Physiocrars. 3 5, .'> "-9 Pirenne. Henri, 228-9. 535-6n

Sr Bonavenrure, 59 Sainr-Simon, Duke of, 3-iO-l, 3-i3, 400, 401. -i05-6 Sand. George. 2-i2 Saracens. 21 _1, 215 Saudi Arabia. 591 Scheidt. Kaspar. 64 Schiller. Friedrich.\.), 17 19. 22, 159, 189

plagues. 5 _1 l n Planragenr. house of. 281-L 293. 295 pleasure balance. pleasure economy, 378,
Poiriers. Barrie of. 29.3. 294 Poirnu. 192. 285. 350 polirtsse. 3-! "polyphony of hisrnry". 2-i 1 Pope. Alexander. 12. 16

.j.j 1

coun rarionality Raumer, Karl rnn. l-i3. l-i5-6, 151-.'>. -!14,

Stt' ,;/51,

-i-il Rayna!, Guillaume Thomas real rype, -iS 1 /(o,;/politik. 552n reason, Stt- rarionaliry, rationalisation Reformation. 339 relational dynamics.
Stt

..j()

Spain. 196. 215. 358 specialization Jic <livision of social functions

Schomberg, General Frederick Herman, .j(l.j Schubarr, Christian Friedrich D , 19 Schulrz. Alwin. 5 2"-Sn science. 5. -i06 Scodand, 263. 266. 286 'second secularization, habi(US

.12. -! 1.1
specutorship. l 70-2 speech and usage. 92-". 189. 190 ..'>8'. --!.21-2. -!2-L -!25 Spencer. Herbert. -i58 Spingarn, IE . 5 .10n spirring, -i9. 51. 57. 129-35 spoon. -i9-50, 58-9, 73. 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'

ropularion growth, 208-14 positivism. -t-:-1

power: balances .frc power ratios chances. 193. 26-i, 269. 270,

figurarions

relmive auronomy, 366. 5-Bn

1, 425. 446

relarivism, xii religion, 6, 8'7. 168-9. 31-i religious wars, 33-i, 3-12 Renaissance. 60-72. 126. 18H-9, 226. 393.

-i 1-!
;m:kr constraints
Stt

S,fhs1::ujng1.,
self-consrrainc. self-rtsrrainr.

. '8, 79. 82.

posirions, 198 ratios. 2-0, 282. 312---!-L 3-i 1. 3-46, -!?)6 relations. 69. 18-, 23-, 2-0 . .00-i, 506. 3i9. -i 11, -i28 social. 23-i struggles, 2-i 5, 316. 3 30_. 35 1 prestige, .'>3'. 395, 396, -i25. -i3L .j.\5 priests. priestly class. 3.'>0, 332. 41-i "primitive societies. 5-l, 113, 1.35. 160. -W3. 1j06, 'i 19. -i40. 5-i-in

undi:r constraints

s,,

constraints. stlf-

473
repugnance, frontier of repugnance. rhresholJ of repugnance. 51. : 1. 86. 97-99. 102-3. 106. 11-1-19, 121. 13-i-5, 140-1. l-i6. 159-60. 162. 1'72. 176, 1'78. 392. 4 l-i-21. -i25 repulsion, -BO Re\olution. French, Ja' French Revolution Richard I. rhe Lian Heart. King of England,

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,

process-reduction

Stephen of Blois. 281

S111n11 m1t!

Srnelztl. AJolf Dr:wg. 1.3-1-L iSulpicius, Johannts, -iS. 140. 52-in

j11im,,

11'.r

jiCJll'S de /is, 296-99

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
s,, t1fso "natural functions": embarrassment:

process-reduction (rht conceptual rtduccion of processes ro srnric conditions). xii, 156. .\55. 55ln a!Jti concept form;.ition

28-i. 293 Richelieu. Cardinal. 338 ..'>-iO. 3-i2. 404-5

Rieux. Counr. 40-i-5

Sumner. \\:rilliam Graham. 54-in, 550n super-tgo, xiii. L13, 153, 160. 2-!1 37!-5,
1

.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, 3i3 surviv<d units. 382. -136 Swabia. 1. 20.j

roht,

"progress". 132. 226. 25-i. 365. -i52. -!62-3

prosrirurion, 148-9. 153 Proresrnnrism, l-i3. 188, '-117, :i21. 5-i8n Proust. ;\larcel, -iO 1 Prmence. 196. 286

d, rrJ, Roberr. Count of Clermont, 296 Robert II. the Pious. King of France, 259 Roche, Sophie de la. 15. n-2
!lfJh!dSt: dt:, frt nfJh!t:Sfr

repugnance; modts(y Sicily, 215 slaYery. 226-8, 5 .F-8nn Slavonic rribes, 203. 211 Smelser, NeilJ, 55ln social change. concept of, .j 5 2. 4 56-", 5 5 1n

Rochow. house of. 258 Rococo. 189

566
Swt:dt:n. 5-!0n S\\"itzt.rland. l LJ_2 r;_ihl:: m;.mners. x. -!9-Sl. 5.1. 56-9.

VL:rdun. Tre.1ry or. l l)()

Vi.:rsailh:s ..1-iO-! \\:xin. \ienrLl.

women. l-!2-()0,

_)-1.

_)<)(J

\Vorld \\.ar IL !h!

in court society. 2-l5-50 255 w(lrk. 9. l 2H-9. 220-21 class. industrial. StJ. -16 l-_1 \'?urld War L 9. !Oil, i.i'J. lS-, .iOO

2tn. 28-i

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

-i.2-

\ iolt:nce. 1) - . _; l -l

Zarnckc. Frinlrich. 150. I Zimmcrn. :\!fri.:d. 22-. 228

255. 52?-\n

7irkbria. Thomasin nm. '5_1, 58

.J,r1 aggressi\'t:llbS: munopulit:s of

sic.ii forct: \'iokncc: \V,:r: warriors Vi(Jllcr. Paul. .1!--8. _)')')

de 1-Li.utevi!lt:. 215 Tannhiiuser. 55-8, -2-). 9-.

Tasso. 12 L.lxcs. taxation.

\ irruc. 2.1.

2(1.

l.;3

Visconti, Valt:nrina. 299

Voft:h\t:ilk. \\'1.dtht'f \on dt.:r. 2_;8
2(18.

5-. 19.2-.1. i 98. 25K 5.25. _1_15, 55-. 5-!-!-<1.2

Frcderick

Volt.tire Fr.rn<;ois 1\L1ric. l-i. 1.::;. 19. 25.

10. i2. SN. 'Yi. 11nimiring. 51 Vuirry. AJolpht:. 292. 29-L 5-tS. 5-!8

J.

S+ln

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

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<J. 51-!. +15. -16.1 warriors. warrior class. xii. xiii. 10-L I P6. 15-

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. _;-_;
Toulouse. county of. .::-'.:}. 282. 286-K. -10'5 Tuur.1irn:. 28-l.

162--0. i--. l'Jl-1.

2'56.
2(1-. .1-H-(1,

ir.

20'5. 2P.

22h. 228. 250. 2_; 1. 2_:;5_ 2-!-, 2-i9.

2-<) . .28S. 289 ..12--i,
_1-0-1. _186-9--:-, iO?;.

towns. 188. 220-1. .28- -8 ..

528-.12 .

tr.:dt. 15.

_;-. 218. 2?18. 289. !l!

.du, commtru:
traffic. _168
rr.rnsporr. 22.1-5. 2K9
lri(klt:

"' 425. -!59 warrior :-.ocieties. 20-. 2)2. 2.1.1. 25-:. 2-i<i

25.1. 2---89. 29-. 505. 3 l5. _1h8.

t:lt-t:Ct::. .

up. trickit: d_own

1...ircularion

nubilir:-

of mo<lds: contrasts. diminishing: Jemocr.irizariun, funnional troub,1dours ..It:: :\iim:"-'.::in,'..;.::r

washin.L: hanJs. 50. ")(). 1-. 1-!l

.d.1'1 Lurhing: clt:anliness

\\lashingrnn. George. 5-l5n \\'t:hcr.

'i-!On

Tudor. house of. 188 Turgur. Annl' Robert Jacqut:-s. _;-, -!U. 'Sl9n
Turks. 211

5.19n

\\'cbi.:r. .\bx. xiii. -!69. -l-2. ;-.::; 'S.1.)n. S.16n. \\.cchss!t:r. Edu,1rd. 2-!5. 2-ih. 2-18. 2'10

unintended consequences. _165-<1. S'S In l.:nittd 265

LinireJ States of America. -!-!O, -i2H

wedding cusrnms. l-i9-50

Weill. H. 518n
7 \\

urirution, "natural funnions l'SSR. SS.On

Pierre de. 2-!8. 2-!9 Valois. house

eimar. 19. 25. 18'J

\\:er\"tke, Hans von. 556n

\Vesce. Richard. l l2

\\"illiam I. thc- Conqut:ror. Kin_t: of England.

_=\()-

of. 195. 296. 299-.)02.

192. 215. 219. 266. 26-. 219-85 Wincktlmann. Johann Joachim. 19 \Vulff. Friedrich \\'olzogcn. Caroline
Y(Jll ..

vassals. l ')8-'). 232, 2.l5-h

Vt:ndome. Duke of, 5-!2 Venict. 'ilJ. W. 22-1. _i'ih-<ill

l lJ

22-.)