Amy Stewart: International Medieval Congress 2018

International Medieval CongressAlthough I have been helping with the behind-the-scenes organisation of conferences for 6 months now, this month I got to experience an academic conference front and centre selling books at the Princeton University Press booth for the first time.

From the 2 – 5 July, the University of Leeds opened its doors to medievalists from over 60 different countries for the annual International Medieval Congress – the largest annual humanities gathering in Europe! The IMC is a unique gathering that breathed with a deep enthusiasm for all things medieval, including an historical craft fair, live medieval music, costumes and even live medieval combat displays.

2018 was Princeton University Press’s fifth year in a row to exhibit at the IMC’s Bookfair in the university’s Parkinson Building alongside academic publishers from all over Europe. This was a good chance for us to catch up with our contacts at other academic presses, as well as meet new contacts and learn more about their medieval lists and what they’re working on at the moment.

For our UK Humanities Editor, Ben Tate, the IMC is a good chance to meet up with current and prospective authors. It’s also an opportunity to attend some of the many seminars the conference organises to stay up to date with the current trends in medieval research.

From a publicity and marketing perspective, it was great to see Princeton University Press’s medieval list in its context, with academics browsing the stand between seminars. We had several academics asking after one of our latest books, John Blair’s Building Anglo-Saxon England, mentioning that they had seen it advertised, read an article about it or heard about it on the grape vine. It’s really rewarding to know that our efforts to bring new titles to their audiences really do work – we completely sold out Building Anglo-Saxon England! It was also good to see a lot of attention for our most recent medieval history monograph, Trustworthy Men by Ian Forrest and to spot the author browsing the Princeton stand too.

We will see you next year Leeds.

Hans-Lukas Kieser on Talaat Pasha: Father of Modern Turkey, Architect of Genocide

PashaTalaat Pasha (1874–1921) led the triumvirate that ruled the late Ottoman Empire during World War I and is arguably the father of modern Turkey. He was also the architect of the Armenian Genocide, which would result in the systematic extermination of more than a million people, and which set the stage for a century that would witness atrocities on a scale never imagined. Here is the first biography in English of the revolutionary figure who not only prepared the way for Atatürk and the founding of the republic in 1923, but who shaped the modern world as well. In this major work of scholarship, Hans-Lukas Kieser tells the story of the brilliant and merciless politician who stood at the twilight of empire and the dawn of the age of genocide.

Though you have written a number of books in history, this appears to be your first biography. What led you in this direction?

I have written a variety of biographical articles, all related to the modern Levant. Yet, this is indeed my first book-length biography. There were two main motivations for writing me this biography of Talaat Pasha.

First, Talaat was the main political actor in the 1910s, the last years of the Ottoman Empire, when he led a single-party regime. All those interested in that area in modern history must therefore be able to know him well. Yet, oddly, there doesn’t exist any non-Turkish biography of this paradigmatic politician.

Second, the last Ottoman decade and its wars, including the Balkan Wars, the Great War, the Armenian genocide, and the war for Asia Minor, have remained a Pandora’s box in need of historical clarification. I navigate with my readers through turbulent and complex, dramatic and impactful times, always focusing on the mastermind Talaat as well as late Ottoman Istanbul and its provinces. The Ottoman capital was the center of a still-huge Empire, a hub of European diplomacy, and a hotspot of international dynamics.

What is an example of Talaat Pasha’s influence still being felt in Turkey today?

A blatant legacy is ongoing genocide denial based on arguments already made by Talaat in 1915. Another legacy is favoritism instead of meritocracy, because leader-centered partisan regimes need systemic corruption to maintain their power. Talaat’s leadership had blended imperial pride, Turkish nationalism, and Islamism. Turkey’s current re-embrace of charismatic leadership and its post-Kemalist return to political Islam is not surprising if we understand that Talaat had been a first father—before Kemal Atatürk—of post-Ottoman Turkey. The “Kemalist revolution” did not undo pre-republican fundamentals. In his effort to concentrate power, the current president Erdogan largely draws on patterns and ideologies used by these historic leaders, both marked “sons of an Empire.” Whereas both Talaat and Atatürk had claimed a progressive departure from religious conservatism, Erdogan identifies also with the conservative legacy of Sultan Abdulhamid II and other sultans before him.

How do modern Turks reconcile the positive things that resulted from Talaat Pasha’s actions with the atrocities that he perpetuated?

Talaat’s corpse came pompously back from Berlin to Turkey in 1943, in a joint venture of Adolf Hitler’s and İsmet İnönü’s governments. Lauding books and articles by former party friends were published in the years afterwards. Talaat, the former grand-vizier, won thus again public credit as a patriot and great statesman. Streets, schools, and mosques were named after him. Nevertheless, he remained associated with the Great War: a lost war little-remembered in Kemalist Turkey, except for the victory at Gallipoli. The atrocities against non-Turkish Ottoman citizens in and after the Great War were almost totally repressed from public memory. For such a spirit, almost no negative things must be reconciled with the progressive revolution achieved by the unique Atatürk, prepared by Talaat. Compared to previous governments, the current AKP regime publicly remembers much more the Great War, that great jihad and its battles. Yet, it does this without soul-searching or an acknowledged need and effort of reconciliation—because, in Erdogan’s words, there was “never genocide or ethnic cleansing in our history.”

What are some of the things you’d like readers to take away from this book?

I’d like my readers to take away from this book interest in, respect for, and better knowledge of topical challenges of the late Ottoman world, today’s Middle East. These are challenges that subsist to this day because their peaceful solution surpassed the political resources and the will of the contemporary rulers. More than a hundred years later, consensual polities for people from different religions, but with equal rights, are still utopian. The Levant, the cradle of monotheism, is under the spell of competing apocalyptical expectations.

Also, I’d like my readers to revolt in spirit and intellect against attempts at doing away with, instead of meeting, universal challenges, and against disfiguring historical truths for state and personal interests. Talaat pioneered patterns of miscarried modernity, in particular demographic and economic engineering including genocide. Inspired by his party friend Ziya Gökalp, a modern prophet of Turkish-Muslim greatness, Talaat had given up in the early 1910s on seeking a democratic social contract, starting instead comprehensive press control and prosecution of rivals. Talaat’s rule made Asia Minor a “national home” for Muslim Turks, excluding other peoples rooted in the same geography. Talaat thus shaped politics in the post-Ottoman Levant for a hundred years to come.

Hans-Lukas Kieser is associate professor in the School of Humanities and Social Science at the University of Newcastle in Australia and adjunct professor of history at the University of Zurich in Switzerland. His many books include Nearest East: American Millennialism and Mission to the Middle East, World War I and the End of the Ottomans: From the Balkan Wars to the Armenian Genocide, and Turkey beyond Nationalism.

Konrad Jarausch on Broken Lives: How Ordinary Germans Experienced the 20th Century

Broken LivesBroken Lives is a gripping account of the twentieth century as seen through the eyes of ordinary Germans who came of age under Hitler and whose lives were scarred and sometimes destroyed by what they saw and did. Konrad Jarausch argues that this generation’s focus on its own suffering, often maligned by historians, ultimately led to a more critical understanding of national identity—one that helped transform Germany from a military aggressor into a pillar of European democracy. The result is a powerful account of the everyday experiences and troubling memories of average Germans who journeyed into, through, and out of the abyss of a dark century.

How did ordinary Germans experience the cataclysms of the 20th century?
During the tumultuous twentieth century, ordinary Germans often felt overwhelmed by events over which they had no control. Starting with the defeat of World War I, they ex­perienced a series of disasters such as hyperinflation, depression, Nazi dictatorship, renewed war, Holocaust, flight and expulsion, division, and Communist repression that left them scrambling to survive. Except for short periods in the late Empire, middle of the Weimar Republic, and beginning of the Third Reich, times were tough and unpredictable, putting a premium on adaptability. As a result of the disastrous decisions of elites, they had to deal with a stunning succession of five different political systems within the course of a single century. In contrast to the normal progression of life stages in more fortunate neighboring countries like Switzerland, the past seemed problematic, the present challenging, and the future uncertain. This book seeks to explore this neglected human dimension of events by drawing on seven dozen untutored autobiographies that cover their entire life-spans from the Empire to united Germany.

What amazing stories do their memoirs tell about suffering, survival, or success?
As related in these personal memoirs, the facts regarding the impact of such upheavals on individual lives are often stranger than fiction. While perpetrators of crimes rarely admit their misdeeds, the many bystanders recount their struggle to cope with multiple dangers by compliance or evasion, seeking to get through them as best as they could. Endlessly repeated at bars and kaffeeklatches, their life-stories focus on avoiding death at the front, not dying in bombing raids, fleeing from the Red Army, making it through post-war hunger and cold, while dealing with a succession of shifting ideological demands. The narratives of political or racial victims such as Communists or Jews instead focus on their suffering and miraculous survival, unlike many comrades or family members killed in mass murder. Only after the war are Western narratives able to celebrate successful rebuilding and prosperity. These are astounding accounts show how normal individuals were trying to live in highly abnormal times. Offering a chorus of diverse voices, the present book is an effort to present their stories to a wider public.

Why did young people born in the 1920s get drawn into the Nazi dictatorship?
The children of the Weimar Republic proved especially vulnerable to Nazi appeals because Hitler’s propaganda promised to lead the young to a better future. The inability of their parents to deal with the effects of the Great Depression had discredited adult leadership. While schools indoctrinated adolescents in racist nationalism, the peer group in the Hitler Youth pressured insecure youths to join the exciting activities like hiking, camping, and paramilitary training. Too inexperienced to develop a political judgement of their own, most young people fell under the spell of the Führer and a movement that vowed to create a true “people’s community” without class distinctions and to make Germany great again by overturning the “shameful peace treaty” of Versailles. Only children from religious families, Communist parents, or Jewish backgrounds were excluded. The overwhelming majority of the young Aryans could feel emboldened by being treated like the avant-garde of a better future. Most did not understand that they would have to pay for this allegiance with their own lives.

How did World War II, the Holocaust, and the Cold War break their lives apart?
Instead of ushering in a brighter future with Germans ruling the continent, the Nazi dictatorship unleashed repression, war, and genocide. Already before 1939 the political and racial victims of the Third Reich experienced persecution, incarceration, and expulsion, if fortunate to get away. During the war many Nazi enthusiasts among the young men were killed in action in the Wehrmacht’s war of annihilation during its spectacular victories and inexorable defeats. Young women at the home front had to work in war-production factories, huddle in air raid shelters, and try to flee from the advancing Red Army in order to avoid repeated rape. While political victims suffered in penitentiaries, those Jewish Germans who had not managed to escape in time struggled to survive in the underground, during selection in concentration camps, and in death-marches at the end. Even after the fighting ended, many died of starvation, cold, and disease. Without regard to political commitment or racial belonging, this vortex of death and destruction broke millions of lives apart, leaving even survivors in a sea of suffering.

How did they as adults gradually turn into democrats or communists after the war?
With the end of hostilities, the remaining Weimar children had to pick up the pieces and become responsible adults. Trying to make sense of their horrible experiences, many retreated into their private lives by finishing professional training, getting jobs, and founding families. In the remnants of Germany, divided by the Cold War, they faced an ideological choice: should they try to become Western style democrats or follow the Communist dream of a classless society in the East? Since with American aid the Federal Republic of Germany experienced an Economic Miracle, many were willing to side with the West. Attracted by the promise of a peaceful egalitarianism, others chose the German Democratic Republic of the East even if it was a Soviet satellite. Though a series of Nazi scandals tarnished the Bonn government, ultimately the generational rebellion of 1968 turned it into a liberal society whereas the anti-fascist promise of the SED regime became a communist dictatorship. Only with the peaceful revolution and reunification of 1989/90, did Western democracy win the ideological contest in the end.

Why did their memories become surprisingly self-critical decades after the events?
Though Weimar children were too busy to confront their own past during their professional careers, many begun a painful process of self-examination after their retirement. In a diachronic reflection, these authors compared their youthful Nazi enthusiasm with their adult convictions as democrats or socialists, and tried to figure out how they could have believed such a racist nationalism as adolescents. Encouraged by political leaders, intellectuals and the media, they began to question their own earlier lack of sympathy for their persecuted Jewish neighbors as well as the exploited slave laborers or Russian POWs, pondering what they had witnessed of the mass murder during the Holocaust. In some cases, this admission of guilt for supporting the Third Reich and failing to act humanely towards its victims even led to nervous breakdowns, healed only by active engagement for progressive causes. While all memoirists stressed their own suffering, a minority went even further and embraced a public memory culture that has made Germans exceptionally self-critical when compared with to their former allies.

What lessons of human rights, pacifism and social solidarity do they hold for the future?
In a surprisingly broad consensus, ordinary autobiographies show that Germans have drawn largely similar conclusions for the future. Unfortunately, there are still some nationalist holdouts who blame the harsh treatment by the Allies or hold Hitler and the Nazi bosses responsible for their predicament. But most writers want to teach their own families as well as the general public an essential lesson in order to prevent the recurrence of such horrible events: their political messages cluster around the importance of human rights as antidote to dictatorship; the need for peace as barrier against another devastating world war; and the imperative of social solidarity as obstacle to a return of demagogic populism. Beyond the sheer drama of their life-stories, it is this collective learning process which makes reading these personal accounts worthwhile. As a paradigmatic resume of their broken lives, the autobiographies of the Weimar children emphasize that everyone should heed the warning of their disastrous experiences during the Third Reich.

Konrad H. Jarausch is the Lurcy Professor of European Civilization at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. His many books include Out of Ashes: A New History of Europe in the Twentieth Century and Reluctant Accomplice: A Wehrmacht Soldier’s Letters from the Eastern Front. He lives in Chapel Hill and Berlin.

Konrad H. Jarausch on Broken Lives

LivesBroken Lives is a gripping account of the twentieth century as seen through the eyes of ordinary Germans who came of age under Hitler and whose lives were scarred and sometimes destroyed by what they saw and did. Konrad Jarausch argues that this generation’s focus on its own suffering, often maligned by historians, ultimately led to a more critical understanding of national identity—one that helped transform Germany from a military aggressor into a pillar of European democracy. The result is a powerful account of the everyday experiences and troubling memories of average Germans who journeyed into, through, and out of the abyss of a dark century.

Broken Lives is a response to an Amazon customer review which called my synthesis of 20th century Europe Out of Ashes “interesting and worthwhile, but in the end unsatisfying.” In that previous volume I had attempted to interpret the development of the old continent as a struggle between Communist, Fascist, and Democratic modernities. Using the pseudonym “Spinoza,” the reader criticized: “Working from this narrative angle, from what you would really experience on the streets of these German cities as you walked around (what, in a word, Hitler would have experienced as he walked around as a teenager a decade or so later), would be far more powerful, and effective, in understanding the why of the 20th century than some ab­stract concept as modernism.” Since he was, in effect, calling for a history from below, I decided to rise to this challenge, albeit limited to a single country which I know best, namely Germany.

In order to reconstruct the experiences of ordinary Germans, I turned to the fascinating stories of Nazi repression, wartime suffering and post-war privation with which I grew up in a defeated and divided country. While some adults were unable to talk about what they had done or witnessed, many others were all too willing to unburden themselves. As an adolescent I had little patience with the endless tales of family members killed, possessions lost, flight and expulsion from home, and struggles to resume a normal life, because I wanted to escape the physical rubble and mental disorientation into a better future. But in retrospect I understood that these shared narratives constituted an archive of popular memories that had largely been ignored by academic historians because such accounts focused on German suffering rather than on the pain of racial and national victims of Nazi genocide and aggression.

With the passing away of the war-time generation, I realized that these stories were going to disappear unless they were preserved in written form as autobiographies. My search for such ego-texts was surprisingly successful, turning up over eighty untutored memoirs of people who were born in the Weimar Republic and put their experiences on paper in retirement at the end of the twentieth century. Many of the narratives, such as the nine volumes by the composer Gerhard Krapf, were in manuscript form as well as in private possession, reaching me through personal contacts. Others, such as the life-story of the Rhine River captain Hermann Debus were printed privately, appearing in little publishing houses below the radar of academic reviews or university libraries. Others yet, such as the amazing account of the Jewish historian and personal friend Werner “Tom” Angress were printed by reputable publishers. Surprisingly enough, the surviving authors and their descendants were eager to have their stories shared with a wider public.

As an ensemble, these popular memoirs constitute a set of private memories, largely absent from accounts of public memory culture. Quite a few scholars have analyzed the contentious development of an official memory culture that has become self-critical and contrite about the Nazi crimes and the complicity of the majority of the population. But this unofficial layer of recollections, below public protestations of guilt, has been largely neglected, since it is focused on German suffering, thereby initiating a competition of victimhood in which Germans also claim to have experienced terror and pain. This discrepancy has always fascinated me, since both the stress on critical public memory and the emphasis on apologetic private recollection seem to have a point, posing the question of how these contrary positions relate to each other. Hence I wanted to explore how later self-representations dealt with earlier Nazi complicity.

While working on a wide range of popular autobiographies, I was surprised to see that in a process of decades-long reflection many of the authors had become critical of their previous selves. For instance, Leonore Walb, on rereading her girlish Third Reich diary was so shocked by her adolescent enthusiasm for the Hitler Youth that she required psychiatric help in order to reconcile her later anti-Fascism with her earlier self. While this was, no doubt, an extreme case, other authors like Dieter Schoenhals wrote not just to convey family history to their off­spring but also in order to impart a timeless lesson to the public. Even if many remained reticent about their own reluctance to help Jewish acquaintances or Slavic slave laborers, virtu­ally all of them condemned the war and the dictatorship, seeking to make sure that such horrors would not recur. Encouraged by the reflective speech of President Richard von Weizsäcker in 1985, the official critical and private apologetic memories have gradually grown somewhat closer to each other.

Weaving the many diverse life-stories together into an over-all tapestry of experiences made me appreciate the human dimension of the descent into the Third Reich and the subsequent recovery. This shocking trajectory of a purportedly civilized nation was propelled by many small individual decisions which collectively gathered such enormous force that they shattered entire countries and people in Europe. It has not been appreciated sufficiently that the Nazi complicity broke millions of lives, not just among their political, racial, and ethnic victims, but also among their Aryan and German supporters. Far from apologizing for such misdeeds, I want to explain the youthful attraction of the NS dictatorship as well as the subsequent adult understanding of its terrible consequences. It is this crucial nexus between perpetration and suffering that charac­terizes German stories of the twentieth century—including that of my own family.

Konrad H. Jarausch is the Lurcy Professor of European Civilization at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. His many books include Out of Ashes: A New History of Europe in the Twentieth Century and Reluctant Accomplice: A Wehrmacht Soldier’s Letters from the Eastern Front. He lives in Chapel Hill and Berlin.

Celebrate Pi Day with Books about Einstein

Pi Day is coming up! Mathematicians around the world celebrate on March 14th because the date represents the first three digits of π: 3.14.

In Princeton, Pi Day is a huge event even for the non-mathematicians among us, given that March 14 is also Albert Einstein’s birthday. Einstein was born on March 14, 1879, in Ulm, in the German Empire. He turns 139 this year! If you’re in the Princeton area and want to celebrate, check out some of the festivities happening around town:

Saturday, 3/10/18

  • Apple Pie Eating Contest, 9:00 a.m., McCaffrey’s (301 North Harrison Street). Arrive by 8:45 a.m. to participate.
  • Einstein in Princeton Guided Walking Tour, 10:00 a.m. Call Princeton Tour Company at (855) 743-1415 for details.
  • Einstein Look-A-Like Contest, 12:00 p.m., Nassau Inn. Arrive early to get a spot to watch this standing-room-only event!
  • Pi Recitation Contest, 1:30 p.m., Prince William Ballroom, Nassau Inn. Children ages 12 and younger may compete. Register by 1:15 p.m.
  • Pie Throwing Event, 3:14 p.m., Palmer Square. Proceeds to benefit the Princeton Educational Fund Teacher Mini-Grant Program.
  • Cupcake Decorating Competition, 4:00 p.m., House of Cupcakes (34 Witherspoon Street). The winner receives one free cupcake each month for the rest of the year.

Wednesday, 3/14/18

  • Princeton School Gardens Cooperative Fundraiser, 12:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., The Bent Spoon (35 Palmer Square West) and Lillipies (301 North Harrison Street). All proceeds from your afternoon treat will be donated to the Princeton School Gardens Cooperative.
  • Pi Day Pop Up Wedding/Vow Renewal Ceremonies, 3:14 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., Princeton Pi (84 Nassau Street). You must pre-register by contacting the Princeton Tour Company.

Not into crowds, or pie? You can also celebrate this multifaceted holiday by picking up one of PUP’s many books about Albert Einstein! In 1922, Princeton University Press published Einstein’s The Meaning of Relativity, his first book produced by an American publisher. Since then, we’ve published numerous works by and about Einstein.

The books and collections highlighted here celebrate not only his scientific accomplishments but also his personal reflections and his impact on present-day scholarship and technology. Check them out and learn about Einstein’s interpersonal relationships, his musings on travel, his theories of time, and his legacy for the 21st century.

Volume 15 of the Collected Papers of Albert Einstein, forthcoming in April 2018, covers one of the most thrilling two-year periods in twentieth-century physics, as matrix mechanics—developed chiefly by W. Heisenberg, M. Born, and P. Jordan—and wave mechanics—developed by E. Schrödinger—supplanted the earlier quantum theory. The almost one hundred writings by Einstein, of which a third have never been published, and the more than thirteen hundred letters show Einstein’s immense productivity and hectic pace of life.

Einstein quickly grasps the conceptual peculiarities involved in the new quantum mechanics, such as the difference between Schrödinger’s wave function and a field defined in spacetime, or the emerging statistical interpretation of both matrix and wave mechanics. Inspired by correspondence with G. Y. Rainich, he investigates with Jakob Grommer the problem of motion in general relativity, hoping for a hint at a new avenue to unified field theory.

Readers can access Volumes 1-14 of the Collected Papers of Albert Einstein online at The Digital Einstein Papers, an exciting new free, open-access website that brings the writings of the twentieth century’s most influential scientist to a wider audience than ever before. This unique, authoritative resource provides full public access to the complete transcribed, annotated, and translated contents of each print volume of the Collected Papers. The volumes are published by Princeton University Press, sponsored by the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and supported by the California Institute of Technology. Volumes 1-14 of The Collected Papers cover the first forty-six years of Einstein’s life, up to and including the years immediately before the final formulation of new quantum mechanics. The contents of each new volume will be added to the website approximately eighteen months after print publication. Eventually, the website will provide access to all of Einstein’s writings and correspondence accompanied by scholarly annotation and apparatus, which are expected to fill thirty volumes.

The Travel Diaries of Albert Einstein is the first publication of Albert Einstein’s 1922 travel diary to the Far East and Middle East, regions that the renowned physicist had never visited before. Einstein’s lengthy itinerary consisted of stops in Hong Kong and Singapore, two brief stays in China, a six-week whirlwind lecture tour of Japan, a twelve-day tour of Palestine, and a three-week visit to Spain. This handsome edition makes available, for the first time, the complete journal that Einstein kept on this momentous journey.

The telegraphic-style diary entries—quirky, succinct, and at times irreverent—record Einstein’s musings on science, philosophy, art, and politics, as well as his immediate impressions and broader thoughts on such events as his inaugural lecture at the future site of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, a garden party hosted by the Japanese Empress, an audience with the King of Spain, and meetings with other prominent colleagues and statesmen. Entries also contain passages that reveal Einstein’s stereotyping of members of various nations and raise questions about his attitudes on race. This beautiful edition features stunning facsimiles of the diary’s pages, accompanied by an English translation, an extensive historical introduction, numerous illustrations, and annotations. Supplementary materials include letters, postcards, speeches, and articles, a map of the voyage, a chronology, a bibliography, and an index.

Einstein would go on to keep a journal for all succeeding trips abroad, and this first volume of his travel diaries offers an initial, intimate glimpse into a brilliant mind encountering the great, wide world. 

More than fifty years after his death, Albert Einstein’s vital engagement with the world continues to inspire others, spurring conversations, projects, and research, in the sciences as well as the humanities. Einstein for the 21st Century shows us why he remains a figure of fascination.

In this wide-ranging collection, eminent artists, historians, scientists, and social scientists describe Einstein’s influence on their work, and consider his relevance for the future. Scientists discuss how Einstein’s vision continues to motivate them, whether in their quest for a fundamental description of nature or in their investigations in chaos theory; art scholars and artists explore his ties to modern aesthetics; a music historian probes Einstein’s musical tastes and relates them to his outlook in science; historians explore the interconnections between Einstein’s politics, physics, and philosophy; and other contributors examine his impact on the innovations of our time. Uniquely cross-disciplinary, Einstein for the 21st Century serves as a testament to his legacy and speaks to everyone with an interest in his work. 

The contributors are Leon Botstein, Lorraine Daston, E. L. Doctorow, Yehuda Elkana, Yaron Ezrahi, Michael L. Friedman, Jürg Fröhlich, Peter L. Galison, David Gross, Hanoch Gutfreund, Linda D. Henderson, Dudley Herschbach, Gerald Holton, Caroline Jones, Susan Neiman, Lisa Randall, Jürgen Renn, Matthew Ritchie, Silvan S. Schweber, and A. Douglas Stone.

On April 6, 1922, in Paris, Albert Einstein and Henri Bergson publicly debated the nature of time. Einstein considered Bergson’s theory of time to be a soft, psychological notion, irreconcilable with the quantitative realities of physics. Bergson, who gained fame as a philosopher by arguing that time should not be understood exclusively through the lens of science, criticized Einstein’s theory of time for being a metaphysics grafted on to science, one that ignored the intuitive aspects of time. Jimena Canales tells the remarkable story of how this explosive debate transformed our understanding of time and drove a rift between science and the humanities that persists today.

The Physicist and the Philosopher is a magisterial and revealing account that shows how scientific truth was placed on trial in a divided century marked by a new sense of time.


After completing the final version of his general theory of relativity in November 1915, Albert Einstein wrote a book about relativity for a popular audience. His intention was “to give an exact insight into the theory of relativity to those readers who, from a general scientific and philosophical point of view, are interested in the theory, but who are not conversant with the mathematical apparatus of theoretical physics.” The book remains one of the most lucid explanations of the special and general theories ever written.

This new edition features an authoritative English translation of the text along with an introduction and a reading companion by Hanoch Gutfreund and Jürgen Renn that examines the evolution of Einstein’s thinking and casts his ideas in a broader present-day context.

Published on the hundredth anniversary of general relativity, this handsome edition of Einstein’s famous book places the work in historical and intellectual context while providing invaluable insight into one of the greatest scientific minds of all time.


Blue: Ten Surprising Facts about the Color Blue

We all know the sky is blue, the ocean is blue, and the flag is (red, white, and) blue. Some of us have blue eyes, or blue blood, or are in a blue mood. And chances are you’re wearing something blue today. But how much do you know about the history of the color blue?

In Blue: The History of a Color, historian and symbologist Michel Pastoureau takes readers through the different meanings and uses of blue throughout Western history. Pastoureau’s fascinating anecdotes and lavish illustrations remind us that “color is first and foremost a social phenomenon.”

Originally published in 2000 as the first title in Pastoureau’s acclaimed series on the histories of colors, Blue is now back in print.

Here are ten surprising facts about blue:

1. In ancient Rome, blue was associated with barbarians. Wearing blue was looked down on as a sign of eccentricity or mourning, and blue eyes were considered a sign of bad character or a physical deformity.

2. The uses and meanings of blue in Europe shifted sharply when it became the color of Mary’s cloak during the development of the cult of the Virgin in the twelfth century. From depictions of Mary, blue spread to other religious imagery.

3. Because of the low usage of blue in ancient Greek and Rome, researchers in the 1800s wondered if the ancient Greeks and Romans could even see the color blue. (They could.)

4. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, merchants of woad (a blue plant-based dye) and madder (a red plant-based dye) competed fiercely and even violently to discredit each other’s colors.

5. During the Reformation, blue was classed with white, black, gray and brown as an “honest” color.

6. Blue was the symbolic color of the French Revolution, but France had trouble maintaining a large enough supply of indigo dye to keep its military dressed in blue. In 1829, infantrymen were ordered to wear red pants instead. They switched back to blue, however, in 1915, after the visibility of their bright red pants led to mass casualties in the first year of the Great War.

7. Goethe’s 1774 novel The Sorrows of Young Werther popularized blue coats for young men. The character Werther wears a “simple blue dress coat” with a yellow vest and trousers. Goethe saw blue and yellow as symbolic opposites, with blue being positive (active, warm, and bright) color and yellow being negative (passive, weak, and cold).

8. Between 1910 and 1950, black uniforms and clothing gave way to navy blue in one of the most important fashion events of the century.

9. Levi Strauss denim jeans were the first garments to have the brand name displayed on the outside. This was done to distinguish them from competing blue jeans brands Lee and Blue Bell (now Wrangler).

10. More than half of American adults today say blue is their favorite color. Pastoreau suggests that this statistic be taken with a grain of salt, even as he cites it as evidence of just how far blue has come since antiquity.


Tim Rogan: What’s Wrong with the Critique of Capitalism Now

RoganWhat’s wrong with capitalism? Answers to that question today focus on material inequality. Led by economists and conducted in utilitarian terms, the critique of capitalism in the twenty-first century is primarily concerned with disparities in income and wealth. It was not always so. In The Moral Economists, Tim Rogan reconstructs another critical tradition, developed across the twentieth century in Britain, in which material deprivation was less important than moral or spiritual desolation. Examining the moral cornerstones of a twentieth-century critique of capitalism, The Moral Economists explains why this critique fell into disuse, and how it might be reformulated for the twenty-first century. Read on to learn more about these moral economists and their critiques of capitalism.

You begin by asking, ‘What’s wrong with capitalism?’ Shouldn’t we start by acknowledging capitalism’s great benefits?

Yes, absolutely. This was a plan for the reform of capitalism, not a prayer for its collapse or a pitch for its overthrow. These moral economists sought in some sense to save capitalism from certain of its enthusiasts—that has always been the project of the socialist tradition out of which these writers emerged. But our question about capitalism—as about every aspect of our social system, every means by which we reconcile individual preferences to arrive at collective decisions—should always be ‘What’s wrong with this?;’ ‘How can we improve this?;’ ‘What could we do better?’ And precisely how we ask those questions, the terms in which we conduct those debates, matters. My argument in this book is that our way of asking the question ‘What’s wrong with capitalism?’ has become too narrow, too focused on material inequality, insufficiently interested in some of the deeper problems of liberty and solidarity which the statistics recording disparities of wealth and income conceal.

Was this critique of capitalism also a critique of economics, and if so what do these critics add to the usual complaints against economics—about unrealistic assumptions, otherworldly models, indifference to historical developments such as financial crises, etc?

Yes, the moral economists were critical of economics. But although their criticisms might sound like variations on the familiar charge that economists make unreal assumptions about the capacities and proclivities of individual human beings, the moral economists’ challenge to mainstream economics was different. The most influential innovators in economics since the Second World War have been behavioral scientists pointing out that our capacity to make utilitarian calculations is not as high as economists once took it to be. Part of what the success of this series of innovations is that the ideal of reducing every decision to a calculation of utility retains its allure, even as we come to realize how fallible our real-time calculations are. Behavioral economists have found our capacity to think like rational utilitarian agents wanting. But when did the capacity to think like a rational utilitarian agent become the measure of our humanity? This is the question moral economists have been asking since the 1920s. Initiated by historians determined to open up means of thinking outside economic orthodoxy, since joined by mathematically-trained economists concerned to get a more realistic handle on the relationship between individual values and social choice, the moral economists’ enterprise promises a far more profound reconstitution of political economy than behavioral economics has ever contemplated.

Doesn’t the profile of these writers—dead, male, English, or Anglophile, writing about a variety of capitalism long since superseded—limit their contemporary relevance?

No. Their main concern was to discover and render articulate forms of social solidarity which the dominant economic discourse concealed. They found these on the outskirts of ‘Red Vienna’, on railroads under construction in post-war Yugoslavia, but most of all in the north of England. They believed that these inarticulate solidarities were what really held the country together—the secret ingredients of the English constitution. Though they belonged to a tradition of social thought in Britain that was skeptical towards Empire and supportive of the push for self-determination in India and elsewhere, they raised the prospect that the same dynamics had developed in countries to which British institutions had been exported—explaining the relative cohesion of Indian and Ghanaian democracies, for instance. More broadly E. P. Thompson in particular argued that factoring these incipient solidarities into constitutional thinking generated a more nuanced understanding of the rule of law than nineteenth-century liberalism entailed: in Thompson’s hand the rule of law became a more tensile creed, more capable of accommodating the personal particularities of the law’s subjects, more adept at mitigating the rigors of rational system to effect justice in specific cases. The profiles of the late-twentieth century commentators who continue the critical tradition Tawney, Polanyi and Thompson developed—especially Amartya Sen—underscore that tradition’s wider relevance.

Aren’t these writers simply nostalgists wishing we could return to a simpler way of life?

No. Tawney especially is often seen as remembering a time of social cohesion before the Reformation and before the advent of international trade and wishing for its return. This perception misunderstands his purpose.

Religion and the Rise of Capitalism draws sharp contrasts between two distinct iterations of European society – the late medieval and the modern. But this was a means of dramatizing a disparity between different societies developing in contemporary England—the society he encountered working at Toynbee Hall in London’s East End, where social atomization left people demoralized beyond relief, on the one hand; the society he encountered when he moved to Manchester to teach in provincial towns in Lancashire and Staffordshire, where life under capitalism was different, where the displacement of older solidarities was offset by the generation of new forms of cohesion, where many people were poor but where the social fabric was still intact.

The demoralized East End was the product of laissez faire capitalism—of the attempt to organize society on the basis that each individual was self-sufficient, profit-minded, unaffected by other human sentiments. The political crisis into which Britain was pitched in the late Edwardian period underlined how untenable this settlement was: without a sense of what more than the appetite for wealth motivated people, there could be no ‘background of mutual understanding’ against which to resolve disputes. At the same time the answer was not simply stronger government, a bigger state. The latent solidarities Tawney discovered in the north of England carried new possibilities: the facility of market exchange and the security of an effective state could be supplemented by informal solidarities making everyday life more human than the impersonal mechanisms of market and government allowed.

Polanyi and Thompson brought their historical settings forward into the nineteenth century, making their writings feel more contemporary. But they were both engaged in much the same exercise as Tawney—using history to dramatize disparities between different possibilities developing within contemporary society. They too had come into contact with forms of solidarity indicating that there was more than calculations of utility and the logic of state power at work in fostering social order.  Polanyi and then especially Thompson advanced their common project significantly when he found a new terminology with which to describe these incipient solidarities. Tawney had talked of ‘tradition’ and ‘convention’ and ‘custom,’ and Polanyi had followed Tawney in this—refusing to associate himself with Ferdinand Tonnies concept of Gemeinschaft and Henry Maine’s system of ‘status’ when pressed to, but offering no cogent concept through which to reckon with these forms of solidarity himself. Thompson’s concept of the ‘moral economy’ made the kinds of solidarities upon which they had all focused more compelling.

Does subscribing to a moral critique of capitalism mean buying into one of the prescriptive belief systems out of which that critique materialized? Do you need to believe in God or Karl Marx in order to advance a moral critique of capitalism without embarrassment?

No. Part of the reason that this critique of capitalism went out of commission was because the belief systems which underpinned it—which, more specifically, provided the conceptions of what a person is which falsified reductive concepts of ‘economic man’—went into decline. Neither Tawney nor Thompson was able to adapt to the attenuation of Christian belief and Marxian conviction respectively from which their iterations of the critique had drawn strength. Polanyi’s case was different: he was able to move beyond both God and Marx, envisaging a basis upon which a moral critique of capitalism could be sustained without relying on either belief system. That basis was furnished by the writings of Adam Smith, which adumbrated an account of political economy which never doubted but that economic transactions are embedded in moral worlds.

This was a very different understanding of Adam Smith’s significance to that with which most people to whom that name means something now have been inculcated. But it is an account of Adam Smith’s significance which grows increasingly recognizable to us now—thanks to the work of Donald Winch, Emma Rothschild and Istvan Hont, among others, facilitated by the end of Cold War hostilities and the renewal of interest in alternatives to state- or market-based principles of social order.

In other words there are ways of re-integrating economics into the wider moral matrices of human society without reverting to a Christian or Marxian belief system. There is nothing extreme or zealous about insisting that the moral significance of economic transactions be recognized. What was zealous and extreme was the determination to divorce economics from broader moral considerations. This moral critique of capitalism represented a recognition that the time for such extremity and zeal had passed. As the critique fell into disuse in the 1970s and 1980s, some of that zeal returned, and the last two decades now look to have been a period of especially pronounced ‘economism.’ The relevance of these writings now, then, is that they help us to put the last two decades and the last two centuries in perspective, revealing just how risky the experiment has been, urging us to settle back in now to a more sustainable pattern of economic thought.

You find that this moral critique of capitalism fell into disuse in the 1970s and 1980s. Bernie Sanders declared in April 2016 that instituting a ‘truly moral economy’ is ‘no longer beyond us.’ Was he right?

Yes and no. Sanders’ made this declaration at the Vatican, contemplating the great papal encyclicals of Rerum Novarum and Centesimus Annus. The discrepancies between what Sanders said and what Popes Leo XIII and Pope John Paul II before him said about capitalism is instructive. The encyclicals have always focussed on the ignominy of approaching a person as a bundle of economic appetites, on the apostasy of abstracting everything else that makes us human out of our economic thinking. Sanders sought to accede to that tradition of social thought—a tradition long since expanded to encompass perspectives at variance with Catholic theology, to include accounts of what a person is which originate outside the Christian tradition. But Sanders’s speech issued no challenge to the reduction of persons to economic actors. In designating material inequality the ‘great issue of our time,’ Sanders reinforced that reductive tendency: the implication is that all we care about is the satisfaction of our material needs, as if redistribution alone would solve all our problems.

The suggestion in Sanders speech was that his specific stance in the utilitarian debate over how best to organise the economy has now taken on moral force. There is an ‘individualist’ position which favors free enterprise and tolerates inequality as incidental to the enlargement of aggregate utility, and there is a ‘collectivist’ stance which enlists the state to limit freedom to ensure that inequality does not grow too wide, seeing inequality as inimical to the maximizing of aggregate utility. The ‘collectivists’ are claiming the moral high ground. But all they are really proposing is a different means to the agreed end of maximizing overall prosperity. The basis for their ‘moral’ claims seems to be that they have more people on their side—a development which would make Nietzsche smile, and should give all of us pause. There are similar overtones to the rallying of progressive forces around Jeremy Corbyn in the UK.

The kind of ‘moral economy’ Sanders had in mind—a big government geared towards maximizing utility—is not what these moral economists would have regarded as a ‘truly moral economy’. The kinds of checks upon economic license they had in mind were more spontaneous and informal—emanating out of everyday interactions, materializing as strictures against certain kinds of commercial practice in common law, inarticulate notions of what is done and what is not done, general conceptions of fairness, broad-based vigilance against excess of power. This kind of moral economy has never been beyond us. The solidarities out of which it arises were never eradicated, and are constantly regenerating.

Tim Rogan is a fellow of St. Catharine’s College, Cambridge, where he teaches history. He is the author of The Moral Economists: R. H. Tawney, Karl Polanyi, E. P. Thompson, and the Critique of Capitalism.

A peek inside The Fate of Rome by Kyle Harper

HarperHere is the monumental retelling of one of the most consequential chapters of human history: the fall of the Roman Empire. The Fate of Rome is the first book to examine the catastrophic role that climate change and infectious diseases played in the collapse of Rome’s power—a story of nature’s triumph over human ambition. A poignant reflection on humanity’s intimate relationship with the environment, The Fate of Rome provides a sweeping account of how one of history’s greatest civilizations encountered and endured, yet ultimately succumbed to the cumulative burden of nature’s violence. Check out the trailer to learn more.


Kyle Harper is professor of classics and letters and senior vice president and provost at the University of Oklahoma. He is the author of Slavery in the Late Roman World, AD 275–425 and From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity. He lives in Norman, Oklahoma.

Richard Rex: 95 Theses on Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation

RexLegend has it that on October 31, 1517, German professor of theology Martin Luther nailed Ninety-Five Theses to the doors of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, sparking the Protestant Reformation in a single, rebellious act. In The Making of Martin Luther, professor of Reformation history at the University of Cambridge Richard Rex shows that this momentous event never occurred. In this major new account of the most intensely creative years of Luther’s career, Rex takes a provocative look at the intellectual emergence of one of the most original and influential minds of the sixteenth century. Lucidly argued and elegantly written, The Making of Martin Luther is a splendid work of intellectual history that renders Luther’s earthshaking yet sometimes challenging ideas accessible to a new generation of readers. To learn more about the ideas in his book, read on for Richard Rex’s Ninety-Five Theses on Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation. 

I                          Martin Luther did not nail the Ninety-Five Theses to the doors of the Castle Church in     Wittenberg on 31 October 1517.

II                        That was a myth created by Philip Melanchthon through the conflation of hazy reports and recollections nearly thirty years later.

III                       The Ninety-Five Theses were posted that day – by mail, to the Archbishop of Mainz, Albrecht von Hohenzollern.

IV                       The Ninety-Five Theses did not cross all Germany within four weeks. It was not until January 1518 that they spread like wildfire.

V                        The Ninety-Five Theses neither expressed nor reflected Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone, which he had not yet formulated.

VI                       The key to justification by faith alone was the sense of certainty of divine grace which it conferred upon believers.

VII                     Such certainty is not only absent from the Ninety-Five Theses, but is explicitly denied in Luther’s covering letter to the archbishop.

VIII                    Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone is a simple doctrine which many people, even some Protestants, find hard to understand.

IX                       Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith alone was unthinkable without the prior development of the theology of indulgences.

X                        Justification by faith alone represented not so much the abolition of indulgences as their ultimate extension and elaboration.

XI                       Indulgences were not selling salvation or forgiveness. They were remittances of punishment in reward for charitable acts or gifts.

XII                     It was not the unpopularity of indulgences that drove Luther to protest in 1517, but their popularity.

XIII                    Luther did not proclaim what many had long thought but never dared to say. He said what had never before been thought.

XIV                    The Protestant Reformers came not from the margins of the late medieval church, but from its intellectual and moral elite.

XV                     Although there were many Protestant Reformers, Luther was neither one among many nor even first among equals.

XVI                    Luther was the one: they were the many. No Luther, no Reformation.

XVII                  The personality cult of Martin Luther in his lifetime saw the structure of a saint’s cult applied to a living person.

XVIII                 No other Protestant Reformer was the object of such a cult in their lifetime.

XIX                    Luther alone of the Protestant Reformers saw the impossibility of reconciling justification by faith alone with the Epistle of James.

XX                     All the early Protestant Reformers took their lead from Luther and found their inspiration in him.

XXI                    Ulrich Zwingli alone claimed that his path to Reformation was entirely independent of Luther’s.

XXII                  That Zwingli was entirely independent of Luther’s influence is mere flummery, dependent on Zwingli’s unsupported word.

XXIII                 Zwingli made this claim only after he had fallen out with Luther. It was not true.

XXIV                 Andreas Carlstadt was unwilling to play second fiddle to Luther, but was unable to snatch the lead from him.

XXV                  Philip Melanchthon was a derivative thinker who always bore the impression of the last person to sit upon him – usually Luther.

XXVI                 Martin Bucer was one of the most original Protestant Reformers, but lacked the charisma to win a significant following for himself.

XXVII               John Calvin’s most distinctive religious ideas were derived entirely from others, most notably from Martin Bucer.

XXVIII              John Knox was a prophet of the Old Testament disguised as an apostle of the New.

XXIX                 Ulrich von Hutten adopted Luther’s cause solely for the impetus it might give to the concept of the German Nation.

XXX                  Ulrich von Hutten had no grasp of Luther’s religious teaching as such.

XXXI                 The idea that Luther himself was only following the teaching of Augustine of Hippo is a radical misunderstanding of both men.

XXXII               For Luther, Augustine only ever said two things of real value – and he invariably misquoted one of them.

XXXIII              Luther’s doctrine of original sin was not Augustine’s, but one that Augustine repudiated when it was imputed to him by his opponents.

XXXIV              Luther’s misreading of Augustine on original sin was rich in consequences for his theology.

XXXV               Despite the early influence of Augustine upon him, Luther shed Augustinian habits of thought as completely as the Augustinian habit.

XXXVI              Renaissance humanism was not in any significant sense a ‘cause’ of the Protestant Reformation.

XXXVII            Luther always knew that he disagreed with Erasmus. Erasmus only slowly came to realise that he disagreed with Luther.

XXXVIII           By the time Erasmus saw Luther as a threat to the unity of Christendom, it was too late for his weight to turn the scales.

XXXIX              Erasmus failed to grasp the revolutionary significance of Luther’s teachings.

XL                      Luther perfectly appreciated the essentially conservative character of Erasmus’s religious teachings.

XLI                    Luther’s theology was formulated not in the language of Renaissance humanist scholarship but in that of the Vulgate Latin Bible.

XLII                   Luther’s theology depended not on the Greek or Hebrew scriptures, but on the Vulgate Bible and on the Latin theological tradition.

XLIII                  Luther’s appeal to the Bible alone was plausible and popular, but was soon shown by events to be fatally flawed.

XLIV                 This ‘scripture principle’ resulted in so many rival versions of Christianity that it showed itself to be no practical use at all.

XLV                   Luther never fully thought through the Biblical tag he loved to quote against his opponents: ‘All men are liars’.

XLVI                 For Luther, the plain sense of scripture meant taking Christ literally when he said, ‘This is my body’.

XLVII                For Zwingli, the plain sense of scripture meant not taking Christ literally when he said, ‘This is my body’.

XLVIII               Luther thought Zwingli a Nestorian. Zwingli thought Luther a Eutychian. Each knew the Bible was on his side.

XLIX                 Neither Luther nor any other Reformer advocated the right of the individual to make up their own minds about what the Bible taught.

L                         ‘Anticlericalism’ was not a ‘cause’ of the Reformation, though criticism of and violence against the clergy played their part.

LI                       Anticlericalism was not a growing problem that was bound to culminate in catastrophe for the late medieval Church.

LII                      If the friars had been widely resented and hated around 1500, Luther would hardly have joined an order of friars.

LIII                     Criticism of priests in the later Middle Ages was nowhere near as pervasive and corrosive as that of politicians in our own times.

LIV                    Medieval anticlericalism no more necessitated a Reformation than modern ‘antipoliticianism’ necessitates a revolution.

LV                      Just as we have no word for the denunciation of politicians, so too medieval Europe had no word for the denunciation of priests.

LVI                    The printing press was neither intrinsically nor necessarily more favourable to Protestantism than to Catholicism.

LVII                   The printing press might be considered the creation of the late medieval Church. The earliest printed item may have been an indulgence.

LVIII                  The classic printed text of the Reformation was not the popular pamphlet but the official catechism.

LIX                    The idea that preaching was in decline on the eve of the Reformation is a comical misapprehension.

LX                      The rapidly growing provision for preaching in the late medieval Church was a springboard for the Reformation.

LXI                    Luther and the Reformers were not the first to preach in the vernacular: preaching to the laity was always in the vernacular.

LXII                   Luther’s was not the first German translation of the Bible, though it was the most widely read and the most influential.

LXIII                  It is a misleading simplification to suggest that Luther invented congregational singing.

LXIV                 Lay participation in church music was an increasing feature of late medieval Christianity: Luther himself had been a choirboy.

LXV                   Far from being in terminal decline, late medieval Christianity was flourishing as never before.

LXVI                 The devotion of late medieval Christians to the upkeep and embellishment of their parish churches is one of the wonders of history.

LXVII                The Reformation was, from one perspective, the excommunication of the dead.

LXVIII               The elimination of the cult of the saints is one of the most striking achievements of the Protestant Reformation.

LXIX                 There is a deep affinity between the rejection of images from churches and the denial of the real presence of Jesus in the eucharist.

LXX                   The Reformation was a bourgeois phenomenon, but not a bourgeois revolution.

LXXI                 Yet Protestant beliefs and practices were no better suited to life in early modern cities than were those of Catholicism.

LXXII                The Reformation can to some extent be viewed as a rebellion of the rich against the poor.

LXXIII               Yet far from favouring capitalism, the early Reformers were even more firmly opposed to ‘usury’ than were their Catholic opponents.

LXXIV              The connection between Protestantism and the rise of capitalism was essentially fortuitous. There were plenty of Catholic capitalists.

LXXV                The connection between the Reformation and the enrichment of specific individuals was direct and unmistakable.

LXXVI              Luther was appalled when German peasants inferred from his doctrine of ‘Christian Liberty’ that Christians ought to be free.

LXXVII             It was the decisions of a generation of princes of the Holy Roman Empire that determined the fate of the Protestant Reformation.

LXXVIII            Princes were as likely as anyone else to be caught up in the fervid popular enthusiasm for Luther and his teachings.

LXXIX              Nowhere did the Catholic Mass cease to be celebrated until and unless it was forbidden by public law.

LXXX                Nowhere did Protestantism, once introduced, disappear except as a result of strenuous persecution.

LXXXI              The offer of the eucharistic chalice to the laity was one of the most potent and appealing symbols of the Protestant Reformation.

LXXXII             In almost all its forms, precisely because of its biblical focus, Protestantism did not weaken, but strengthened, patriarchal ties.

LXXXIII            Protestant polemic against Catholicism routinely deployed the stereotypes of misogyny along with accusations of effeminacy.

LXXXIV           The beards sported by so many Protestant Reformers consciously embodied and eloquently expressed their patriarchal proclivities.

LXXXV             Luther did not think Roman Catholicism made forgiveness too easy: he thought it made forgiveness too difficult.

LXXXVI           Luther did not think Roman Catholicism gave people a false sense of security: he felt it gave them no security at all.

LXXXVII          Luther remained a loyal Catholic until he could no longer believe that the religion of the Pope was the true Catholic faith.

LXXXVIII         The one thing on which almost all Protestants agreed during the Reformation was that the Pope was Antichrist.

LXXXIX           Luther invented the concept of the ‘invisible church’.

XC                     Luther’s belief in the existence and activity of Satan was almost as lively and compelling as his belief in Christ.

XCI                    Protestants and Catholics alike accused each of ‘judaizing’, deploying against each other the stereotypes of antisemitism.

XCII                   The ferocity of Luther’s antisemitism was extreme but not unique.

XCIII                 For example, Luther’s Catholic opponent, Johann Eck, published an encyclopaedic reiteration of the infamous ‘blood libel’.

XCIV                 Luther’s virulence in all controversy shocked not only his opponents but even his friends and followers.

XCV                  In 1500, western Christendom was a seamless robe. By 1600, it was a patchwork quilt. That was the Reformation.

Richard Rex on The Making of Martin Luther


The Making of Martin Luther takes a provocative look at the intellectual emergence of one of the most original and influential minds of the sixteenth century. Richard Rex traces how, in a concentrated burst of creative energy in the few years surrounding his excommunication by Pope Leo X in 1521, this lecturer at an obscure German university developed a startling new interpretation of the Christian faith that brought to an end the dominance of the Catholic Church in Europe. Luther’s personal psychology and cultural context played their parts in the whirlwind of change he unleashed. But for the man himself, it was always about the ideas, the truth, and the Gospel. Lucidly argued and elegantly written, The Making of Martin Luther is a splendid work of intellectual history that renders Luther’s earthshaking yet sometimes challenging ideas accessible to a new generation of readers. Read on to learn more about this key figure of the Protestant Reformation.

Why The Making of Martin Luther?
Martin Luther was very much a self-made man, though he would not have appreciated the compliment. From his point of view, he was made by God—not only in the basic sense soon to be inculcated by the catechism, but in the special sense that God had raised him up as an apostolic and almost apocalyptic figure to renew the preaching of the Gospel on earth. My book sets out the process by which Luther came to a new understanding of the relationship between the individual Christian and God, a process which integrally involved coming to a new understanding of himself.

A vital word. Luther’s professional focus on the epistles of Paul—generally known at that time simply as ‘the Apostle’—in the 1510s was the crucible in which both his new account of the Christian faith and his new understanding of himself were forged. Luther modeled himself increasingly on Paul and came to see himself in apostolic guise.

Definitely. Luther cannot be properly understood if due account is not taken of his sense of the imminence of the end times. Like most of his Christian contemporaries, he did not expect the world to last that much longer, but his own sense of the end of days was much more urgent, largely because of his conviction that the Papacy, which was swift to condemn him and his teachings, must be the Antichrist. The medieval myth of the Antichrist, which Luther adopted and adapted, saw this terrible figure as the herald of the final act of human history. If the Antichrist was in action, then the end really could not be far off.

Is your book a full biography?
The Making of Martin Luther is biographical, but not a biography, still less a full biography. Its unrelenting focus is on the development of Luther’s thinking, of his theology. If it was not for Luther’s ideas, we would never have heard of him. Chronologically, it is concerned with the first half of his career, the period of radical innovation, rather than with his last twenty years, the years of consolidation. It’s about how Luther brought down one establishment, not how he built up another.

One of your chapters is entitled ‘The Catholic Luther.’ Why?
Luther, like all the first generation Protestant Reformers, started out as a Catholic, and neither he nor the others can be understood without reference to their shared Catholic background. Luther only developed his ideas because he was a theologian. And he was only a theologian because of a very ‘Catholic’ event in his life: his ‘conversion’ to the professional religious life in fulfillment of a vow made to a saint in a thunderstorm. And Luther’s new ideas, though radical, reflected central concerns of late medieval Catholic theology, such as sin and grace, and the Passion and Death of Jesus Christ. For example, Luther’s consuming sense of the superabundant sufficiency of Christ’s Passion for the redemption of sin was, paradoxically, a version of the same idea that lay beneath the Catholic doctrine and practice of indulgences, against which he notoriously protested.

There are lots of books about Luther, even lots of new books. Why read this one?
The story of Luther is still bedeviled by misunderstandings—about what his key ideas were and when they emerged, about what was really different in his ideas, and about the Catholic ideas from which he increasingly stood apart. Some misunderstandings can be traced back to Luther himself, whose vast and diverse output requires very careful and contextual interpretation. Others are canonized in the long tradition of Luther studies, passing like viruses from one biography to another. Historians can struggle with the theology, and theologians can stumble over the history and chronology. I’m not the best historian, and I’m not the best theologian. But few historians of this period can match my grasp of the theological issues, and few theologians can match my capacity to interrogate sources historically. This book has sought to put the story together again from square one, on the basis of a critical and unsentimental engagement with the sources. It strips away the rust of tradition to reveal an entirely fresh image of Luther in the crucial phase of his life.

Richard Rex is professor of Reformation history at the University of Cambridge and a fellow of Queens’ College. His books include Tudors: The Illustrated History and Henry VIII and the English Reformation. He lives in Cambridge.

Kyle Harper on The Fate of Rome

Here is the monumental retelling of one of the most consequential chapters of human history: the fall of the Roman Empire. The Fate of Rome by Kyle Harper is the first book to examine the catastrophic role that climate change and infectious diseases played in the collapse of Rome’s power—a story of nature’s triumph over human ambition. The Fate of Rome provides a sweeping account of how one of history’s greatest civilizations encountered and endured, yet ultimately succumbed to the cumulative burden of nature’s violence. The example of Rome is a timely reminder that climate change and germ evolution have shaped the world we inhabit—in ways that are surprising and profound. Recently we interviewed Kyle Harper about his new book:

What is the fall of the Roman Empire?

The fall of the Roman Empire is one of the most dramatic episodes of political dissolution in the history of civilization—the long process that saw the fragmentation and disappearance of central Roman authority around the Mediterranean. In the second century, the Roman Empire was the world’s dominant superpower. One in four people on earth lived inside its borders. There was peace and prosperity on a scale never before seen. Five centuries later, Germanic kingdoms had conquered most of the west, and the Islamic caliphate was triumphant in most of the east. Population fell by maybe half, and there was less wealth, less trade, cruder institutions, and technological regression. The “fall of the empire” is a shorthand for all of the events and processes that led an empire that seemed invincible in the second century into a state of disintegration by A.D. 650.

What caused the empire to fall?

Historians have offered more than 200 answers, and obviously there was no single cause. But I argue that we have to allow environmental change—climate change and pathogen evolution—a dominant role. Human societies are deeply dependent upon their physical and biological environments, and these environments are radically unstable. The earth’s climate system has experienced significant climate change, even in the relatively stable epoch we know as the Holocene. And the biological environment—the set of organisms we share the planet with—has been wildly in flux, in ways that have redirected the course of human history. The empire was an intricate machine that depended on demographic and economic foundations, which fueled the army and the fiscal system. The Romans built their empire—unbeknownst to them—under unusually favorable climatic conditions. In a sense, their luck started to run out in the middle of the second century, with a sequence of climate change and new kinds of disease. Of course, these challenges did not spell the end of the empire. But the new reality became a part of the ongoing struggle to maintain their political dominance. Ultimately, the catastrophic pandemics that Rome suffered undermined the stability of the imperial machine.

How does new evidence change our answers to old questions?

Historians are the great unintended beneficiaries of at least two exciting new kinds of information about the past coming from the natural sciences. First, paleoclimate data. The need to understand global warming, and the earth’s climate system in general, has produced a treasure trove of new insights into the climate experienced by our ancestors. Two, genomic data. Thanks to the affordability of genome sequencing, we are learning a stunning amount about the story of the great killers of the past. The history of the bacterium that causes bubonic plague, Yersinia pestis, has really started to come into focus. It is a relatively young pathogen that evolved in central Asia and caused three great historical pandemics, the first of which afflicted the later Roman Empire in the reign of Justinian. This pandemic was probably as devastating as the medieval Black Death, carrying off something like half of the entire population. And, now, its genetic traces have been found in graves of the sixth century. What is most exciting, however, is the consilience—the leaping together—of new kinds of evidence and more traditional historical sources. I hasten to add that we historians are constantly finding new texts and documents and producing better understanding of old texts and documents. The ongoing, humanistic study of the Roman Empire is just as important as the thrilling scientific evidence. The pieces are starting to fit together.

How did diseases affect the course of Roman history?

All underdeveloped societies bore a heavy burden of infectious disease. Most deaths in the Roman world were caused by infectious disease. And the very success of the Roman Empire, paradoxically, exacerbated the endemic disease burden. The Romans were unhealthy. The dense urban habitats were unsanitary environments where low-level gastroenteric diseases were rampant. The transformation of the physical landscape facilitated the spread of mosquito-borne pathogens like malaria. The interconnection of the empire created a unified ‘disease pool’ where chronic diseases like tuberculosis and leprosy spread further than ever before. But, above all, the empire—and its massive trade contacts beyond the borders—opened the gate for newly evolved diseases, like smallpox, bubonic plague, measles, and possibly others—to enter the Roman world. The evolution of new, acute, directly communicable diseases created disease events—what are properly called pandemics—of a magnitude that had never been seen before. Three pandemics in particular—the Antonine Plague, the Plague of Cyprian, and above all the Justinianic Plague—shook the foundations of the Roman Empire.

Does the argument that “the environment did it” reduce the role of human factors?

There is simply no compelling way to describe the fall of the Roman Empire without an enormous allowance for human factors. The Empire was a human creation. Its fate was shaped by human choices and human structures. But I argue that we can actually understand the human element more deeply, and more sympathetically, with a deeper knowledge of the environmental dimensions of Roman history. The Romans were far from helpless victims of environmental catastrophe. They harnessed the power of the environment. They reshaped the disease ecology of the empire, with unintended consequences. They were resilient in the face of stress and strain. But we should not shy away from recognizing the power of nature. The physical and biological environment is an integral part of human life. There is really no separating human and natural factors in the story of Roman civilization.

What lessons can we learn from the fall of the Roman Empire?

The Romans have always captivated the imagination. The empire they built was truly extraordinary, in its scale and longevity and in the ways that its precocious development presaged modernity. And the dissolution of this empire has always been a poignant theme for reflecting on how even the greatest and most powerful of human constructions are ultimately transient. To be sure, our world is very different from the ancient world. We live long lives thanks to germ theory, public health, and antibiotic pharmaceuticals. Anthropogenic climate change is a greater risk than solar variability or volcanic winters. Still, we learn from the past because history is a humanistic discipline. We study the past and in the process emerge with a deeper, richer sense of what it means to be human. I hope that The Fate of Rome leaves its readers with a new sensibility toward the relationship between humanity and the environment. We care about the Romans because their civilization seemed to break free of some of the constraints that nature had imposed. But nature is cunning. Germs evolve. Surprises and paradox lurk in the heart of progress. The deep power of evolution can change the world in a mere moment. I hope the book sensitizes us to the awesome power of nature at all scales, from the microscopic to the global.

How did you decide to write a book on Rome and the environment?

I’ve wanted to write this book for a long time. I’ve been very fortunate to be around extremely creative people, including Michael McCormick, who was one of the first historians to insist that people in a traditionally humanistic field should pay attention to things like climate science, archaeological genetics, and bioanthropology. But only in the last couple of years has it even become possible to start pulling all the evidence together. The sequencing of the ancient genome of Yersinia pestis, for instance, is a watershed, as is the much clearer definition of the “late antique little ice age” achieved from tree rings and ice cores. All of this has happened in the last few years, and for those of us studying Roman history, it’s unbelievably fortunate. I think my book is the first to try to tie all this together with a robust model of how the Roman Empire actually worked, and what’s exciting is that over the next decade there will be lots of new evidence and plenty of revision to the story that I tell.

I also am lucky to be a Provost at the same time I’ve been working on this book. It means that I get to interact with atmospheric scientists, anthropologists, ecologists, microbiologists, and so on, on a daily basis. I have very generous colleagues who have helped me trespass across other disciplines. In turn, I hope my book shows why history is so valuable and so essential to other fields. Historians have a part to play in helping us understand everything from the landscape of global health to the chemistry of the atmosphere. In short, just as the natural sciences can help us understand human history better, so too can a deeper knowledge of the history of our species help us understand the natural world.

HarperKyle Harper is professor of classics and letters and senior vice president and provost at the University of Oklahoma. He is the author of Slavery in the Late Roman World, AD 275–425 and From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity. He lives in Norman, Oklahoma.

Dennis Rasmussen: The Infidel and the Professor

David Hume is widely regarded as the most important philosopher ever to write in English, but during his lifetime he was attacked as “the Great Infidel” for his skeptical religious views and deemed unfit to teach the young. In contrast, Adam Smith was a revered professor of moral philosophy, and is now often hailed as the founding father of capitalism. Remarkably, the two were best friends for most of their adult lives, sharing what Dennis Rasmussen calls the greatest of all philosophical friendships. The Infidel and the Professor is the first book to tell the fascinating story of their friendship—and how it influenced their world-changing ideas. Read on to learn more about the relationship between these two towering figures in Western philosophical thought.

Who were David Hume and Adam Smith, and why are they important?
Hume and Smith were eighteenth-century Scots who ended up becoming two of the most significant figures of the Enlightenment, and indeed the entire Western tradition. Hume is widely regarded as the greatest philosopher ever to write in the English language. He’s also among the most provocative of philosophers: a powerful critic of both religion and the capacities of human reason, as well as a forceful champion of commerce and the all-around benefits of civilization. Smith is almost certainly history’s most famous theorist of commercial society, or what we’d now call capitalism—in fact, he’s often hailed as the founding father of capitalism. As his modern interpreters never tire of pointing out, though, Smith was far more than an economist who theorized the invisible hand and championed free trade. Instead, he was a professor of moral philosophy who included political economy as just one of his many intellectual interests, and he recognized—to a greater degree than Hume, as a matter of fact—a number of potential dangers and drawbacks associated with commercial society. It’s truly remarkable that two thinkers of this stature were best friends for most of their adult lives; that’s a big part of what inspired me to write the book.

It’s certainly remarkable that they were best friends, but you go so far as to claim that theirs was the greatest of all philosophical friendships. That’s a big claim.
Yes, it is, but I think it’s a warranted one. In fact, it takes some effort to think of who the closest rivals would be. During the course of writing the book this became something of a parlor game that I played with fellow political theorists, philosophers, and intellectual historians: What was the greatest friendship in the history of philosophy? Most people’s first instinct is to say Socrates and Plato, but given the four-decade age disparity between them, their relationship was probably more one of teacher and student, or perhaps mentor and protégé, than one of equals, and in any case the record of their personal interactions is scant. Ditto for Plato and Aristotle. Locke and Newton admired one another, but could hardly be said to be close friends. Heidegger and Arendt had more of a (stormy) romantic relationship than a friendship, as did Sartre and de Beauvoir (with somewhat less drama). As for Montaigne and La Boétie, Lessing and Mendelssohn, Bentham and James Mill, Hegel and Schelling, Marx and Engels, and Whitehead and Russell, in each of these cases at least one member of the pair falls considerably below Hume and Smith in terms of impact and originality. Emerson and Thoreau approach closer to their level, if we choose to count them as philosophers rather than literary figures. The leading contenders among philosophers are probably Erasmus and Thomas More, but in terms of influence and depth of thought most would give the clear nod to Hume and Smith.

You suggest that the context in which Hume and Smith’s friendship took place was almost as remarkable as the friendship itself; can you say a bit more about that?
Hume and Smith were the leading figures of what’s now known as the Scottish Enlightenment, which was really one of history’s intellectual golden ages. Scotland began the eighteenth century as a poor, backward outpost on the fringe of Europe, but Hume’s and Smith’s lifetimes saw the arrival of a vibrant new age of economic prosperity and cultural achievement. Some of the important men of letters of the period, in addition to Hume and Smith, included Hugh Blair, Adam Ferguson, Henry Home (Lord Kames), Francis Hutcheson, John Millar, Thomas Reid, William Robertson, and Dugald Stewart. This Scottish renaissance also comprised natural scientists like the founder of modern geology, James Hutton, the chemist Joseph Black, and James Watt of steam engine fame, as well as artists like the painter Allan Ramsay, the playwright John Home, and the architect Robert Adam. Hume and Smith knew all of these figures personally, and they each play a role in the book. I also describe their encounters with some of the luminaries of the age beyond Scotland, including Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Johnson, James Boswell, Edward Gibbon, Edmund Burke, and Voltaire.

Did Hume and Smith influence one another’s ideas and writings, in addition to being close friends on a personal level?
Hume was almost certainly the single greatest influence on Smith’s thought. There are numerous references to him, both explicit and implicit, throughout Smith’s writings. The reverse is less true, as Hume—the older of the two by a dozen years—had composed almost all of his works before Smith even began to publish his, though Hume did write an anonymous review of Smith’s first book, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, soon after its release. That’s not to say, however, that Smith simply adopted Hume’s views wholesale. On the contrary, he modified almost everything he touched. The book explores where and how Smith drew on his friend’s thought and where and how he challenged it on a host of topics, including morality, economics, politics, religion, and the workings of the human mind more broadly.

What’s the significance of the title—why The Infidel and the Professor?
One of the running themes of the book is that Hume and Smith adopted broadly similar views, but very different public postures, toward religion and the religious. Hume was a religious skeptic; he never denied outright the existence of a higher power, but he deemed the principal arguments on behalf of one highly implausible, and he considered the effects of religion to be mostly pernicious. This will be somewhat controversial, but I argue that Smith’s views on this score were substantially closer to Hume’s—that is, substantially more skeptical—than is usually assumed. In making this case I place a special emphasis on a controversial public letter that Smith wrote soon after Hume’s death in which he chronicled—some would say flaunted—the cheerfulness and equanimity of Hume’s final days and described his unbelieving friend as a paragon of wisdom and virtue. Whereas Hume was fairly forthright about his lack of faith, however, Smith generally went to great lengths, in both his writings and his personal life, to avoid revealing his religious beliefs (or lack thereof). These contrary postures led to equally contrary reputations: Hume was christened “the Great Infidel” and was deemed unfit to teach the young—he twice sought professorships, but in both cases the clergy opposed his candidacy decisively—while Smith became a respected professor of moral philosophy.

Does the book break any other new ground?
The literatures on Hume and Smith taken individually are vast, but this is—nearly unbelievably—the first book on the two of them considered together, so it’s easily the fullest account of their personal and intellectual relationship. On a related note, the book also provides the first systematic treatment of Smith’s responses to Hume’s thought over the course of his entire career, from his early essay on the history of astronomy (which was written by 1746) through the final edition of The Theory of Moral Sentiments (which was published in 1790). Still further, the book aims to shift the usual assumptions regarding what’s original and important in Hume’s and Smith’s writings. For much of the twentieth century Smith’s philosophical writings were deemed to be little more than a series of footnotes to Hume’s, and as an economist Hume has long been regarded as a minor predecessor of Smith, insofar as he is taken notice of at all. Ironically, putting the two side by side serves to highlight the importance of Smith’s contributions to moral philosophy and Hume’s to political economy. Smith followed Hume in developing a moral theory based on human sentiments, but his version of moral sentimentalism incorporated several significant improvements on Hume’s. Conversely, Hume argued for free trade and stressed the moral, social, and political benefits of commerce several decades before The Wealth of Nations appeared, and it’s striking how much of that work builds on Hume’s insights.

RasmussenDennis C. Rasmussen is associate professor of political science at Tufts University. His books include The Pragmatic Enlightenment. He lives in Charlestown, Massachusetts.