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For discussion at the Political Theory Workshop, Stanford University, 9th October 2017

Republican Liberty and Early-modern Revolution

Quentin Skinner

Queen Mary University of London, q.skinner@qmul.ac.uk

This paper, very much work-in-progress, offers a preliminary sketch of an early chapter in a book I am trying to write, the provisional title of which is The Fall of the Free State. My aim is to trace the origins, the development and the eventual discrediting within Anglophone political theory of the claim that it is possible to enjoy individual liberty if and only if you live as a citizen of a ‘free state’. I should add that, because I am sure it will take me a long time to publish this work, anyone who wishes in the meantime to make any use of these preliminary observations is most welcome to do so.

The discrediting of the alleged link between the upholding of individual liberty and the maintenance of a specific form of government was one of the ideological achievements of classical liberalism, the origins of which are closely connected with the rise of utilitarian legal and political philosophy towards the end of the eighteenth century. The rival contention that it is possible to live as a free person only in a free state survived as a radical ideology in the aftermath of the French revolution, and a version of the argument subsequently became embedded in Marxist social philosophy. But the claim that there is no distinction between monarchy and tyranny, and thus that individual liberty can be respected only in republics, had by that time been effectively outlawed from the mainstream of Anglophone political thought, except of course in the early years of the American republic. The subsequent emergence of democratic regimes only served to underline the extent to which the liberal theory of freedom has no necessary connection with democracy.

The eventual aim of my book will be to attempt a kind of reckoning. Has anything of value in our thinking about freedom and government been lost as a result of the discrediting of republicanism by liberalism? (By the way, my answer will be emphatically yes.) Before we can engage with this question, however, we need to understand the structure of the republican theory and how it originally rose to prominence in Anglophone political thought. This brings me to my present paper, which has two linked purposes. One is mainly conceptual. I shall first attempt to trace the emergence of the republican theory, and in doing so to lay out its distinctive claims about individual liberty. My other purpose is more historical. I want to show that, once we grasp the distinctive claims of the republican theory, we can begin to appreciate the extent to which its characteristic demands underlay and served to legitimize the first revolutionary movement in modern European history, the English revolution of the 1640s.

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I: On the republican theory of liberty

The republican theory first rose to prominence in Anglophone public debate in the disputes between crown and Parliament in England during the opening decades of the seventeenth century, the disputes that culminated in the abolition of the monarchy and the proclamation of a Free State in 1649. Among leading critics of the monarchy in this period, there was broad agreement about two elements in the idea of individual liberty. The writers I shall be examining accept that everyone is by nature free from subjection to positive law. But they also agree that, even under the rule of law, it remains possible to live as a liber homo, a free person. To retain this status, two conditions must be satisfied. One is that you should be able to exercise your rights and liberties without interference. While this is a necessary condition, however, it is never sufficient, for it is always possible to enjoy your liberties to the fullest degree without being a free person. If the continuation of your liberties depends on the will of anyone else, then you are not a free person but a slave, even though you may have complete de facto enjoyment of your liberties, and may therefore be able to act entirely as you choose. The second necessary condition of living as a free person under a system of positive law is thus that your capacity to exercise your rights and liberties should never be subject to anyone else’s will, must never be a matter of grace as opposed to right.1

I need to underline two features of this argument. One is that, for the writers with whom I am concerned, the fundamental question about individual liberty is never whether you are de facto free to pursue your chosen options without interference or constraint. This is because you may always be capable of acting freely without being a free person. The crucial question is whether you can count yourself a free person, that is, someone capable of pursuing their chosen ends without there being any possibility of arbitrary interference. To enjoy personal liberty, it is never sufficient that you are free to act merely because someone who possesses the power arbitrarily to interfere with your options with legal impunity has chosen not to exercise that power. It is always necessary that you should be independent of any such power, never dependent on the mere goodwill of anyone else.

The other feature I need to underline is that it is not your awareness of living in a condition of dependence on the arbitrary will of someone else that serves to limit and undermine your liberty. It is the mere fact of being dependent, of which you may or may not be aware. If you are free to act solely because there is someone who has chosen not to hinder you, then you are not a free person but a slave, someone condemned to live in at least some domains of your life in a state of servitude.

As soon as critics of the British monarchy began to argue along these lines, they were vehemently denounced by supporters of the crown. As the royalists promptly responded, what freedom can I possibly be said to lack if I have complete enjoyment of my rights and liberties? Thomas Hobbes’s sparring partner John Bramhall strongly

1 For expositions and defences of this view of freedom see Pettit 1997; Pettit 2012; Skinner 1998; Skinner 2002c; Skinner 2008b. For a related discussion see Tully 1999.

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presses the point in his Serpent’s Salve of 1643. ‘If the Libertie of the Subject be from Grace, not from pactions or agreements, is it therefore the lesse? or the lesse to be regarded? what is freer then a gift?’2

The answer given by the writers with whom I am concerned is that, if you are living in dependence on the goodwill of someone else in any domain of your life, it will not be long before you come to recognize that this is your predicament, at which point your awareness will be bound to act as a bridle and a spur. As soon as you recognize that you are subject to the goodwill of a master, you will be bound to reflect that there are many things you cannot hope to say or do, and many other things you cannot forbear from saying or doing. You will find, in other words, that you are obliged to censor yourself for fear of what might happen -- and anything might happen -- if you were to speak or act in defiance of the master on whom you depend.

The critics of the British monarchy liked to illustrate this argument by reference to the place of the bishops in the House of Lords. The right of the bishops to sit in Parliament was withdrawn at the outset of the civil war in 1642. The justification for this decision stemmed from the contention that the bishops had never been capable of acting as anything other than slavish and servile hirelings of the crown. As Richard Ward explains in The Vindication of the Parliament, ‘having their dependance upon the King’, they felt constrained to ‘side with him, in any thing, though it were adjudged by the Parliament to be destructive and hurtfull to the Kingdome.’3 The author of An Honest Broker agrees that, due to their ‘total dependances’ on the king, with his right of appointment and dismissal, the bishops were inevitably committed to ‘advancing the Court by enslaving the Countrey.’4 Both writers conclude that there can be no place for such dangerous servility in a free and sovereign assembly of the people.

William de Bracton in the mid-thirteenth century had opened his De Legibus et Consuetudinibus Angliae by drawing exactly this contrast between the liber homo or free person and the servus or slave, in consequence of which the distinction had become firmly embedded in English common law from an early stage.5 For the origins of this contrast, however, we need to go back to the law of Rome, and in particular to the rubric De statu hominis at the outset of Justinian’s Digest, from which Bracton’s analysis is derived.6 There we are told that slavery can be defined as ‘an institution of the ius gentium by which someone is, contrary to nature, made subject to the dominion of someone else’.7 This in turn is said to furnish a definition of civil liberty. If everyone in a civil association is either bond or free, then a civis or free subject must be someone who is not under the dominion of anyone else, but is sui iuris, capable of acting in their

2 Bramhall 1643, p. 12. 3 [Ward], 1642, p. 19. 4 A Miracle 1643, Sig. D, 4r. 5 Bracton 1640, I. VI, fo. 5. 6 For a discussion see Skinner 1998, pp. 36-57. 7 The Digest 1985, I. V. 4. 35, vol 1, p. 15: ‘Servitus est constitutio iuris gentium, qua quis dominio alieno

contra naturam subicitur.’

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own right. It likewise follows that what it means for someone to lack the status of a free subject must be to live in potestate, subservient to the will of a master who wields dominating power.8

This classical contrast between the liber homo and the servus underpinned much of the debate between crown and Parliament in early seventeenth century England. When I first attempted to analyse this debate (in my book Liberty Before Liberalism in 1997), I accordingly characterised the views of those who contrasted freedom with servitude as ‘neo-Roman’ in character. But I now see that something more needs to be said about what I had supposed to be a harmless label if confusion is to be avoided. I am not suggesting, as some of my critics have assumed, that the early-modern theorists whose understanding of personal liberty I label neo-Roman were necessarily drawing on a first-hand knowledge of Roman legal thought.9 When I used ‘neo-Roman’ as a shorthand, I was simply referring to the belief –- almost universally accepted at the time -- that the antonym of liberty is servitude. I spoke of this as a neo-Roman commitment because it is grounded on the classic distinction between free and unfree persons enunciated at the outset of Justinian’s Digest. I should add that I still much prefer to speak of the ‘neo-Roman’ rather than the ‘republican’ theory of liberty, although the latter description has become far more widely used in current debates about individual freedom, mainly due to the impact of Philip Pettit’s classic book Republicanism.10 My own contrasting preference simply stems from the fact that it is possible to defend a neo-Roman theory of freedom without being a republican (as John Locke does, for example, in Two treatises of government).

When the distinction between liberty and slavery was taken up by Bracton in his De Legibus, the forms of servitude that were said to contrast with the status of free persons were extended. Rather than deploying the straightforward distinction in the Digest between the liber homo and the servus, Bracton and his successors counted bondsmen and villeins among the unfree, on the grounds that they too are in some respects subject to masters who possess arbitrary powers. The sense in which Bracton’s analysis is neo-Roman simply arises from his agreement with the Digest that the fundamental distinction in the law of persons is between the free and the unfree, and that what it means to be unfree is to live in potestate, in subjection to the arbitrary will of someone else.

During the debates between crown and Parliament in early seventeenth century England, we already encounter this distinction in Thomas Hedley’s great speech to the House of Commons in 1610, in which he questioned the prerogative right of the crown to impose levies without parliamentary consent.11 Hedley’s central contention is that ‘in point of profit or property of lands and goods, there is a great difference betwixt the 8 The Digest 1985, I. VI. 1. 36, vol. 1, p. 17. 9 This misunderstanding, no doubt my own fault, has given rise to some irrelevant criticisms of my argument. See, for example, Walker 2006 and Sommerville 2007, pp. 211-16. 10 See Pettit 1997. 11 For a full analysis see Peltonen 1995, pp. 220-8.

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king’s free subjects and his bondmen; for the king may by commission at his pleasure seize the lands and goods of his villani’, whereas if he seizes the property of free subjects by a similar exercise of arbitrary power the effect will be to introduce ‘a promiscuous confusion of a freeman and a bound slave’.12

The same argument resurfaced in the Parliament of 1628, particularly in the protests over Charles I’s exaction of a Forced Loan two years earlier.13 Sir Dudley Digges opened the debate by denouncing those who say that ‘he is no great monarch’ who cannot take ‘whatsoever he will’. Any king who ‘is not tied to the laws’ and who rules merely according to his will is no better than ‘a king of slaves’.14 Sir John Eliot echoed the argument, stressing that it is the very fact of being ‘liable to the command of a higher power’ that takes away our liberty.15 Speaking soon afterwards, Sir John Strangeways reaffirmed that such prerogatives undoubtedly serve to enslave, roundly concluding that ‘the great work of this day, you know, is to free the subject’.16

After these bruising attacks, king Charles I and his advisers resolved to abandon Parliament and impose a system of personal rule. They were able to sustain this policy for nearly eleven years, but by 1639 the crown’s financial embarrassments had become so acute that a new Parliament had to be called. Meanwhile the government’s efforts to manage without parliamentary subsidies had given rise to even more controversial uses of the royal prerogative, the most unpopular of which had been the extension of the ‘ship money’ paid by the kingdom’s seaports into a general levy in the later 1630s. As a result, the so-called Short Parliament that finally met in April 1640 reverted with even greater urgency to discussing the subversion of liberty. Speaker after speaker denounced the use of the prerogative to ‘make void the lawes of the kingdome’ and ‘impeach the Liberty of the Subject’, while accusing the king’s advisers of assuring him that ‘his prerogative is above all Lawes and that his Subjects are but slaves.’17

Charles I initially resolved on an immediate dissolution, but his financial difficulties proved so intractable that he found himself unable to avoid summoning a new Parliament, which duly met in November 1640. This was the moment when Henry Parker – who was to show himself the most original and resourceful defender of parliamentary sovereignty -- stepped forward with his pamphlet entitled The Case of Shipmony.18 Parker’s central contention is that the very existence of the king’s power to impose levies without the consent of the people, expressed through Parliament, has the effect of reducing the whole nation to servitude. The imposition of ship-money, he

12 Foster (ed.) 1966, vol. 2, p. 192. 13 On opposition rhetoric in Charles I’s early parliaments see Peltonen 2013, pp. 186-217. 14 Johnson et al. (eds.) 1977a, p. 66. 15 Johnson et al. (eds.) 1977a, p. 72. 16

Johnson et al. (eds.) 1977b, p. 214. 17

Cope and Coates (eds.) 1977, pp. 136, 137, 140, 142. 18

For a full analysis see Mendle 1995, pp. 32-50.

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argues, presupposes that ‘the meere will of the Prince is law’, and that ‘he may charge the Kingdome thereupon at his discretion, though they assent not’.19 But if the king is able to claim such discretionary powers, then we depend as subjects not upon the law, to which we have given our consent, but merely upon the will of the king. As Parker insists, however, to depend upon the will of anyone else is what it means to live in slavery. He concludes that, if it is left to the king’s ‘sole indisputable judgement’ to ‘lay charges as often and as great as he pleases’, the effect will be to transform us into ‘the most despicable slaves in the whole world.’20

This distinction between liberty and dependence, and hence between free persons and slaves, was taken up by most of the leading parliamentarian spokesmen at the beginning of the civil war. Perhaps the clearest summary can be found in John Goodwin’s Anti-Cavalierisme, first published in October 1642. According to Goodwin, what it means to be ‘free men and women’ is to have ‘the disposall of your selves and of all your wayes’ according to your will, rather than being subject to the will of anyone else. If your rulers are in possession of discretionary powers, you will be obliged to live ‘by the lawes of their lusts and pleasures’ and ‘to be at their arbitterments and wills in all things.’ But if they are able to ‘make themselves Lords over you’ in this fashion, then your birthright of ‘civill or politick libertie’ will be cancelled, and you will be reduced to ‘a miserable slavery and bondage.’21

Although most critics of the crown refer only to free men, Goodwin not only speaks explicitly in this passage of ‘free men and women’, but argues that the defence of liberty against enslavement ‘is a service wherein women also may quit themselves like men, whose prayers commonly are as masculine, and doe as great and severe execution, as the prayers of men.’22 Does Goodwin think that a woman can be a liber homo? The question looks paradoxical, and among humanist writers on citizenship the paradox had always been emphasised. Discussing the place of women in civil associations, they had generally drawn on classical assumptions about the figure of the vir, the eponymous possessor of virtus or civic virtue. One consequence was that the rights and duties of citizenship came to be seen in strictly gendered terms. When the humanists speak of the vir, what they have in mind is a virile character by contrast with a woman. But if the distinctive quality of the vir is the possession of virtus or civic virtue, then it follows that the attributes needed for effective citizenship must be specifically male. Among humanist pedagogues, this distinction was frequently used to explain why no useful purpose can be served by granting women the kind of education recommended for young men. As Leonardo Bruni asks in discussing the teaching of women, why should they make an effort to master the art of rhetoric when a woman ‘never sees the forum?’ ‘The contests of the forum’, he goes on, ‘are the sphere of men’; the ability to speak

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[Parker] 1640, pp. 5, 17. 20

[Parker] 1640, p. 21. 21 Goodwin [John] 1642, pp. 38-9. 22 Goodwin [John] 1642, p. 4.

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‘winningly’ is a talent required only in the public sphere, in which women have no place.23

If we return, however, to the texts of Roman and common law, the position begins to look much less clear.24 The rubric De statu hominis in the Digest defines citizenship as the distinctive attribute not of the vir but of the liber homo. But it is crucial that, whereas the word vir denotes a man by contrast with a woman, the word homo simply means ‘human being’ and hence ‘man or woman’. The effect is to raise the question of gender in relation to citizenship in a different way. To be a citizen it is necessary to be a liber homo; but to be a liber homo it is only necessary to be sui iuris, capable of acting independently of anyone else’s will. But there seems no reason why at least some women should not be capable of acting in a spirit of full independence. What, then, is to prevent them (other than the gender of the Latin words involved) from being counted as liberi homines, and hence from taking charge of households and businesses? This possibility was admittedly circumscribed in English law by the rule that a woman’s property as well as her person became subject upon marriage to the will of her husband. But a number of anomalies remained. What about unmarried women who possess their own inheritances? And what about widows whose property may have come to them in the form of outright bequests?

These questions were never squarely faced, but they remained to haunt the critics of the crown throughout the 1640s. Ironically but unsurprisingly, it was the royalists who spoke up for greater inclusiveness, especially in the course of ridiculing the parliamentarian theory of representative government. Dudley Digges’s critique of Henry Parker in his Answer to a Printed Book, first published in November 1642, provides the earliest example.25 Parker had argued in his Observations that, when Parliament makes a resolution, it is exactly as if the decision has been taken by the whole body of the people, because the entire ‘generality’ elects its representatives in Parliament.26 Digges retorts that this conclusion cannot possibly be justified so long as ‘women generally by reason of their Sexe are excluded’ from having a vote.27 Soon afterwards Sir John Spelman in A View of a Printed Book responded to Parker yet more pointedly. If we are to speak of representing the whole generality, Spelman observes, the right to vote will need to be massively extended. Among those who will have to be enfranchised are inheritrixes -- that is, heiresses who hold their own property by inheritance. So too with jointresses -- that is, widows with property settled on them for life. Why, as Spelman asks, should they be ‘over mastered’ by ‘the Votes of those that are deputed by a minor number of the people?’ He concludes that it is blatantly false to say that members of Parliament are ‘sent with equallity from all parts’ and are ‘sent by all’. So ‘how doe they

23 Bruni 1987, p. 244. 24 On these complexities see Hughes 2012, esp. pp. 14-22. 25 Date (20th November 1642) from British Library (hereafter BL), Thomason copy. 26 [Parker] 1642, pp. 5-6. 27 [Digges] 1642, p. 15. The BL (Thomason) copy ascribes this tract to ‘Falk. Chilyw: Digges & ye rest of ye University’.

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then represent all?’28 How indeed? But it took several centuries for Spelman’s objection to be met in any democracy of the old or new world.

Johann Sommerville has argued that ‘it is difficult to sustain the claim that there was any developed tradition of republican or neo-Roman thought before the Civil War’ in England.29 He is certainly right in saying that it was possible to defend a neo-Roman view of individual liberty without being a republican, and that neo-Roman ideas had been filtered through the common law from at least the middle of the thirteenth century. But it seems unhelpfully contrarian to ignore the extent to which the distinctively Roman contrast between freedom and dependence underpinned discussions about individual liberty in the opening decades of the seventeenth century. When critics of the crown stressed the need to uphold the freedom of their fellow subjects, they were not speaking merely or even mainly in common law terms about the need to prevent their rights and liberties from being oppressed and curtailed. They were speaking in neo-Roman terms about the need to rescue the free-born people of England from the loss of their standing as free men, and sometimes as free women too. They were speaking, as they liked to proclaim, about the need to free the entire nation from its unjust condition of bondage and servitude.

II: On the republican theory and the English revolution

I now turn to the more historical section of my paper. I want to suggest that, if we were to give due prominence to the republican – or, as I prefer to day, the neo-Roman -- theory of individual liberty, we might be able to offer a new appraisal of three major episodes in the revolutionary decade of the 1640s.

Episode one: the outbreak of civil war. Why did the English crown and Parliament arrive at an unbridgeable impasse in the opening months of 1642, so that civil war broke out in in the summer of that year? The story that needs retelling -- if only because recent historians have barely mentioned it30 -- begins on 26th January 1642. This was the day when the House of Commons petitioned the king that ‘the whole Militia of the Kingdome may be put into the hands of such persons as shall be recommended unto your Majestie’ by Parliament.31 By the middle of February the two Houses had agreed on a draft Ordinance granting them control of the Militia, and this was formally presented to the king. Professing himself amazed, Charles at first sought to temporise, but on 28th February he eventually made it clear that he would veto any such proposal if it were put to him. His tone was adamant: ‘he cannot consent’, he replied; ‘he can by no meanes doe it.’32

28 [Spelman] 1643, Sig. D, 2r. 29 Sommerville 2007, p. 216. 30 Scarcely mentioned in Worden 2009; not at all in Cust 2015. But see Vallance 2015, esp. pp. 436-8. 31 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 59. 32 Husbands (ed.) 1643, pp. 90-1.

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Confronted by this promise to impose the veto -- the so-called prerogative of the Negative Voice -- Parliament reacted by making a series of genuinely revolutionary moves. On 1st March the two Houses announced that, if the king continued to withhold his consent, they would pass the Militia Ordinance on their own authority. Four days later they duly did so, and on 15th March they went on to declare that the Ordinance ‘doth oblige the people, and ought to be obeyed by the Fundamentall Laws of this Kingdome’ notwithstanding its failure to secure the royal assent.33

This declaration changed the entire terms of the debate. Parliament was no longer merely demanding control of the militia; it was claiming the right to bypass the king’s prerogative of the Negative Voice. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that Charles I should have taken this moment to be a sticking-point, as he was to recall in his speech on the scaffold seven years later.34 He immediately countered that the Negative Voice is a fundamental and unquestionable feature of the constitution. No subject can be ‘Obliged to Obey any Act, Order, or Injunction to which His Majesty hath not given His consent.’35 Two months later, in his reply to Parliament’s Remonstrance of 19th May, he prophetically added that he was prepared to uphold this doctrine ‘with the sacrifice of Our life.’36

It is easy to understand why the king reacted so vehemently. As he was to explain in his Answer to the XIX Propositions in June 1642, to refuse him ‘the freedom of Our Answer’ was to deny him any distinctive part in the legislative process and was consequently ‘destructive to all Our Rights.’37 What proved fatal, however, was that Charles’s insistence on his prerogative turned out to be no less a sticking-point for Parliament. They responded that, in matters of national importance, the king does not possess a Negative Voice. Sometimes they concede that the royal assent needs to be solicited, although they frequently add that the king has no right to withhold it.38 But at other times they urge the virtually republican claim that, once the two Houses have promulgated a law, it becomes ‘a high breach of the privilege of Parliament’ for such a proposal to be ‘controverted’ or ‘contradicted’. The royal assent, in other words, does not even have to be sought, and no attempt to impose a veto can have any binding force.39

During the spring of 1642, the argument over the Negative Voice began to put the crown and Parliament on a collision course. But what made Parliament dig in its heels at this particular point? Charles I had never threatened to use his veto at any previous stage in his negotiations with Parliament, and until this moment it had barely

33 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 112. 34 [Charles I] 1649, p. 4. 35 Husbands (ed.) 1643, pp. 113-14. 36 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 254. 37 [Charles I] 1642, pp. 3, 13. 38 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 268. 39 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 114.

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seemed a matter for concern even to his leading adversaries. The answer depends, I suggest, on recognising the importance of the neo-Roman theory of liberty in the minds of Charles’s opponents. As soon as Charles made it clear that he would impose his veto, they became fully alerted to the hitherto latent fact that every decision of the two Houses of Parliament was subject to the mere will of the king. But to live in subjection to the mere will of someone else, they had laid down, is what it means to live in slavery. The inference they drew was that, since Parliamentary legislation turns out to be wholly dependent on the will of the king, and since Parliament is at the same time the representative assembly of the nation, the people of England must be living in a condition of national servitude.

The first parliamentarian writer to deploy this argument was Henry Parker in his Observations of July 1642. If we allow the king to act in the last resort as ‘the sole, supream competent Judge’, then ‘we resigne all into his hands, we give lifes, liberties, Laws, Parliaments, all to be held at meer discretion.’40 But this will open up ‘a gap to as vast and arbitrary a prerogative as the Grand Seignior has’ in Constantinople.41 Charles I had already complained in his Answer to the XIX Propositions that without his Negative Voice he would be reduced from the status of a king of England to a duke of Venice.42 Parker daringly picks up the objection as a way of clinching his argument about national servitude. ‘Let us look upon the Venetians, and such other free Nations’ and ask ourselves why they are ‘so extreamly jealous over their Princes.’ They fear ‘that their Princes will dote upon their owne wills’ and thereby reduce their subjects to slavery. It is ‘meerely for fear of this bondage’ that they prefer to avoid the rule of hereditary kings.43

These claims were quickly taken up by numerous other writers on behalf of Parliament,44 but at the same time they were attacked with high indignation by supporters of the crown. The royalists treat the claim that England is an enslaved nation as an absurd hyperbole, and allow themselves to wonder if the parliamentarians can possibly believe their own rhetoric. Dudley Digges, for instance, treats it as the merest ‘impudence of malice’ to suggest that the king and his councillors would ever attempt to ‘pull upon their posterity and Countrey perpetuall slavery’. It should be obvious to everyone that the king would ‘hazard His Crown in defence of the subjects Liberty, and desires nothing more, than the utter abolition of all Arbitrary rule’. Digges darkly hints at parliamentarian corruption and hypocrisy, concluding that some of the king’s opponents ‘may ayme at getting greater fortunes, by pretending they are in danger to loose what they have’ when in fact they are in no danger at all.45

40 [Parker] 1642, pp. 43-4. 41 [Parker] 1642, p. 17. 42

[Charles I] 1642, p. 17. 43 [Parker] 1642, p. 26. 44 For examples see Skinner 2002a, pp. 338-42. 45 [Digges] 1642, p. 54.

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It is true that the parliamentarians’ claims about national servitude often sound hyperbolical, and it is likely that some of them may have been rationalising a political campaign they were pursuing for reasons of a different and less avowable kind. However, the question of whether they believed their own rhetoric is historically of less significance than the fact that their emphasis on national servitude proved a successful means of legitimising their attacks on the crown. The king’s policies undoubtedly lent plausibility to their claims about the undermining of liberty, and these claims were soon echoed by Parliament itself. The Declaration issued by the two Houses on 14th July described ‘the free-born English Nation’ as facing a stark choice between Parliament and ‘the King seduced by Jesuiticall Counsell and Cavaliers, who have designed all to slavery and confusion.’46 The Declaration of 4th August, in which Parliament finally announced its decision to take up defensive arms, reiterated that the king’s intentions have always been the same. Not only is he aiming to keep control of the militia, but to govern ‘by the will of the Prince’, and in this way ‘to destroy the Parliament, and be masters of our religion and liberties, to make us slaves.’47 The only possible response, they now resolve, must be to fight for liberty. This is ‘the true cause for which we raise an Army’ and for which ‘we will live and dye.’48

Episode two: the debate about the franchise. The next juncture at which the neo-Roman theory of liberty came to the fore was when the spokesmen for the victorious parliamentarian army, including a number of Leveller leaders, met to debate with the military grandees, Henry Ireton and Oliver Cromwell, about the terms of the post-war constitutional settlement.49 These discussions took place at the army’s encampment in Putney between 28th October and 11th November 1647, and one of the topics extensively considered was the franchise.50

The question of how best to explain the attitudes of the two sides towards the right to vote was extensively canvassed in the heyday of Marxist interpretations of the English revolution. But as Philip Baker has recently observed ‘the issue has been discussed rarely, if at all, in recent decades’.51 My reason for returning to the question is that, if we bring to bear the distinction I have been highlighting between freedom and slavery, we may be able to explain this much-discussed confrontation in a new and more satisfying way.52

The Marxist assessment of the Putney debates, classically outlined by C. B. Macpherson, was that the Leveller spokesmen were in basic agreement about the

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Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 464. 47 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 497. 48 Husbands (ed.) 1643, p. 498. 49 On relations between the army spokesmen and civilian Levellers see Foxley 2013, pp. 153-60. 50 Foxley 2013, pp. 151-2. 51 Baker 2013, p. 104. 52 See also Mendle 2001, esp. pp. 139-40, and for a related discussion see Glover 1999.

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suffrage. They thought of it as a civil and not a natural right, as a result of which they ‘consistently excluded from their franchise proposals two substantial categories of men, namely servants or wage-earners, and those in receipt of alms.’53 Among the Levellers who spoke at Putney, Macpherson’s prize exhibits were accordingly Thomas Reade and Maximilian Petty, both of whom undoubtedly insisted that, in Petty’s words, ‘we would exclude apprentices, or servants, or those that take alms’ from having the right to vote.54 One irony of this commitment, as Macpherson acknowledged, was that in this part of the argument Reade and Petty had no quarrel with Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton, both whom likewise assumed that, in Cromwell’s words, ‘servants, while servants, are not included.’55

No sooner, however, had Macpherson proclaimed this ‘underlying consistency’ to be one of the cardinal features of Leveller political theory56 than Keith Thomas showed that it failed to represent even the majority view of those who supported the Leveller cause at Putney.57 As Thomas rightly emphasised, most of the Levellers expressed the strongly contrasting opinion that the right to vote was a natural right of ‘every man’, of ‘every person in England’, of ‘every individual person in the kingdom.’58 The reason why this must be so, as Colonel Thomas Rainborough was to assert in a celebrated intervention, is that ‘every man that is to live under a government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that government.’ Even ‘the poorest man in England’ must therefore have the right to vote, since no one is ‘bound in a strict sense to that government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.’59 Captain Lewis Audley later reiterated the point more briskly. ‘The right of every free-born man to elect’ simply follows from the rule that anything ‘which concerns all ought to be debated by all.’60

Keith Thomas was undoubtedly justified in claiming that most Levellers at Putney accepted this argument, and consequently treated the right to vote as a right of every adult male. But C. B. Macpherson was equally justified in claiming that Petty and Reade, no less than Cromwell and Ireton, always insisted that servants, apprentices and alms-takers should be excluded. The question that accordingly remains is why these spokesmen rejected the idea of universal male enfranchisement.

Here again Macpherson and Thomas answered in strongly contrasting terms. According to Macpherson, the Levellers believed that servants and alms-takers as well as apprentices had ‘lost a crucial part of their native freedom or property, namely the

53 Macpherson 1962, p. 107. 54 For Petty’s formula, quoted in Macpherson 1962, p. 123, see Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 83. Foxley 2013, pp. 111-12 notes that John Lilburne never commented on these proposed exclusions. 55 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 82. 56 Macpherson 1962, pp. 110, 136. 57

Thomas 1972, pp. 57-78. See also Hampsher-Monk 1976, esp. pp. 398-406. 58 For these phrases see Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, pp. 53, 59, 66, 75, 80. 59 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, pp. 53, 61. John Wildman speaks in similar terms at p. 66. 60 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 81.

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property in their own capacities or labour.’61 By accepting wages or alms, they had alienated their right in their labour, and it was this act of alienation that lost them the ‘full freedom’ they needed in order to qualify for the vote.62 Thomas, by contrast, doubted whether any general theory underpinned the various exclusions demanded by Petty and Reade. He conceded that most of the Levellers seem to have treated apprenticeship as a self-evident reason for disenfranchisement, and he noted that this was likewise true in the case of criminal delinquency. But he concluded that ‘there is little indication in the Leveller writings of other circumstances under which birth-right could be forfeited.’63

Thomas was surely right to be sceptical about Macpherson’s explanation. It would be difficult to show that any of the Levellers embraced the Marxist conception of labour-power that Macpherson imputed to them. But was Thomas justified in his further claim that there is no general explanation to be given of why some Levellers wished to limit the franchise? His conclusion has certainly had a profound impact on the literature. It has never to my knowledge been challenged, and this part of the story remains where his classic study left it. It is symptomatic that, when Christopher Thompson later singled out Petty’s contribution to the dispute, he went so far as to assert that Petty’s exclusion of servants and alms-takers was not based on any identifiable theoretical principle, but was merely a change of position adopted ‘for tactical reasons’ in the course of the debate.64

If we recur, however, to the neo-Roman view of liberty, we find that there was in fact a general theory underpinning Ireton and Cromwell’s agreement with Petty and Reade. They all assume a distinction between being free-born and being a free man, and they all believe -- by contrast with Rainborough -- that the right to vote depends on being a free man, not simply on the universal condition of being free-born. Ireton explicitly calls for the franchise to be confined to ‘free men’, meaning those who are ‘not given up to the wills of others’ and are thus ‘freed from dependence.’65 Petty repeats that ‘an equal voice in elections’ should be granted only to those who ‘have not lost their birthright’ of liberty, and endorses Ireton’s account of how this birthright is lost.66 ‘The reason why we would exclude apprentices, or servants, or those that take alms, is because they depend upon the will of other men.’ They are not independent agents, but are ‘bound to the will of other men.’67

We still find it assumed, even in recent studies of the Putney debates, that the issue dividing Ireton and Cromwell from Leveller opinion was whether ‘the basis of political rights’, including the right to vote, should be grounded on ‘property ownership

61 Macpherson 1962, p. 144. 62 Macpherson 1962, p. 146. 63 Thomas 1972, p. 76. 64 Thompson 1980, p. 69. 65 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, pp. 78, 82. 66 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 53. 67 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 83.

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or birthright’.68 It is misleading, however, to suggest that, in rejecting birthright as the criterion, Ireton and Cromwell simply plumped for property ownership as the alternative. Like Reade and Petty, Ireton maintains that what qualifies you to vote is having an independent will. The reason why he equates this condition with property ownership is because he believes that only those with sufficient property to give them independence from the will of others will be capable of casting a genuinely free vote. As he expresses the point, only someone with property may be said to have ‘a permanent interest’ in the kingdom, an interest ‘upon which he may live, and live a freeman without dependence.’ It is not the mere fact of owning property, but the distinctive ability of those with property to ‘live upon it as freemen’, and consequently act without servility, that gives them the entitlement to vote.69 This was to remain the view of the leading defenders of the English ‘free state’ in the 1650s. As James Harrington was to express it in his System of Politics, ‘the man that cannot live upon his own must be a servant; but he that can live upon his own may be a freeman.’70

The corollary of Cromwell and Ireton’s view is that those without property should be excluded from the franchise on the grounds that they do not have a genuinely independent voice. Petty explicitly supports this conclusion, echoing the parliamentarian writers who had similarly rejected the right of bishops to vote in the House of Lords. He contends that, where we are dealing with servants who have masters, we know that, because ‘they depend upon the will of other men’, they will ‘be afraid to displease them’. The right decision must therefore be to deny them any separate voice, because their voice will never be genuinely separate. We ought instead to regard them as ‘included in their masters’, because it will certainly be their master’s will that they express.71

It is true that these claims gave rise to a highly restricted view of the right to vote. But it is not true, as Macpherson affirmed, that those Levellers who argued in these terms were repudiating the idea of universal manhood suffrage.72 The idea of universal manhood suffrage, as opposed to universal male suffrage, is precisely what Reade and Petty (no less than Cromwell and Ireton) wish to embrace. The reason why this commitment nevertheless gives rise to a limited franchise is that a large percentage of men, according to their view of things, lack the necessary attribute of manhood. Servants undoubtedly lack it, and so do bishops. To be ‘your own man,’ rather than someone else’s creature, and hence to be in possession of true manhood, requires you to be capable of acting sui iuris, of making up your mind independently of the will and desires of anyone else. This is the test failed by servants, alms-takers and bishops alike, and this is why they all deserve to be excluded.

68 Crawford 2001, p. 200. 69 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 62. 70 Harrington 1992, p. 269. 71 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, p. 83. 72 Macpherson 1962, pp. 107, 109.

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It is not clear what the other Leveller spokesmen felt about this line of argument. One might have expected them to respond that we cannot voluntarily relinquish our birthright of liberty, and thus that any social arrangements under which liberty is forfeited must be illegitimate. But in fact they seem to have allowed that it is possible to enter into a state of voluntary servitude, while denying that this is enough to justify disenfranchisement. They believed that, in order to qualify for the right to vote, it is sufficient to be able to give your consent to government. But they also believed that, in order to give your consent, it is sufficient to be able to reason about your predicament. ‘This gift of reason without other property’, as Rainborough called it, is taken to be enough to endow all adult males with the right to vote, even if they may be living as servants or in receipt of alms.73

Before leaving the Levellers, it is worth adding a footnote about the underlying social ideal of ‘being your own man’. One issue much discussed in recent political theory has been the concept of self-ownership.74 What does it mean, as John Locke is famous for having argued, to say that everyone has an entitlement to the proprietership of their own person? One way of improving our understanding of this peculiar and elusive concept might be to reflect on parliamentarian and Leveller discussions about what it means ‘to be your own man’ and thus ‘to live like a man’ instead of living in servitude.

Consider, for example, the opening of Richard Overton’s Leveller tract, An Arrow Against All Tyrants, first published in October 1646.75 The natural condition of mankind, Overton begins, is a condition of liberty enjoyed ‘equally and alike’ by everyone. This liberty consists in part of a right to act freely, a right to enjoy your natural rights without being ‘invaded or usurped’ by anyone else. But this pristine liberty is also said to consist in a right of self-ownership -- a concept that (so far as I can see) Overton introduces at this moment for the first time in Anglophone political thought. ‘For every one, as he is himselfe, so he hath a selfe-propriety, else could he not be himselfe.’ I may therefore be said to have a natural right to ‘enjoy my selfe and my selfe propriety.’76

One of the questions Overton asks is how this natural right of self-ownership can be lost or taken away. We are said to forfeit it when anyone else acquires ‘power over us’ to do ‘as they list’, without there being any means of controlling their arbitrary will and its potential exorbitancies. It makes no difference if those who ‘have power over us, to save us or destroy us’ prefer to save us, so that they act ‘for our weale’ rather than ‘for our woe’. Although they may leave us with the enjoyment of our freedom and rights, we remain at their mercy and in consequence lose the essence of our liberty. If

73 Woodhouse (ed.) 1938, pp. 55-6. 74 See for example Cohen 1995. 75 For Overton on manhood and self-propriety see McDowell 2003, pp. 66-70. 76 Overton 1646, p. 3.

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we depend upon their mere goodwill for the maintenance of our rights, we shall be living not as ‘free people’ but in a state of bondage, thraldom and servitude.77

The loss of liberty we suffer when we acquire a master is thus equated with a loss of self-ownership, a loss of our ‘naturall propriety, right and freedome’ to ‘live like men’ as opposed to living like slaves.78 By contrast, the condition of self-ownership is equated with the ability to act according to our own will, and hence with the ability to ‘own’ (that is, take responsibility for) the consequences of our actions. So long as we are not beholden to anyone else, our actions -- just like our goods -- may be said to be fully our own. We may be said, in other words, to be our own person, not a mere creature of anyone else.79 This appears to have been the universal understanding of the phrase. Even Thomas Hobbes, who did so much to undermine the idea of freedom as a matter of being sui iuris, feels obliged to admit that, when we describe someone as being ‘his own person’, what we mean is that he ‘acteth by his own authority’ as opposed to acting ‘by the authority of another.’80 Given that there has been so much discussion of late about the meaning of self-ownership, it is striking to find that those who first introduced the concept into Anglophone political discourse meant something so precise and straightforward by it. To have full property in yourself, they are telling us, is simply to be able to act independently of the arbitrary will of anyone else.

Episode three: legitimizing the Free State. On 17th March 1649 the English House of Commons passed an Act announcing ‘the abolition of the kingly office’.81 The nation was said to be reaffirming ‘its just and ancient right, of being governed by its own representatives or national meetings in council, from time to time chosen and entrusted for that purpose by the people’.82 Five days later the Commons printed a Declaration explaining that they were now in the process ‘of Setling the present Government in the way of A Free State’.83 By a ‘free state’, they explained, they meant a republican form of rule. The Representatives of the people now Assembled in Parliament have judged it necessary to change the Government of this Nation from the former Monarchy, (unto which by many injurious former incroachments it had arrived) into a Republique’.84 As the Act of 17th March had already explained, in resoundingly neo-Roman terms, the reason for this decision was that ‘the office of a king’ had been found to be ‘dangerous

77 Overton 1646, pp. 4, 5, 6. 78 Overton 1646, pp. 5, 6. 79 Macpherson 1962, pp. 140-1 quotes the opening of Overton 1646 and recognises (pp. 148, 153) that the Levellers define unfreedom in terms of dependence. But he then insists (pp. 148, 150) that they define freedom in terms of the capacity freely to dispose of one’s own labour, thereby missing the point, as I see it, about ‘being your own man’. 80 Hobbes 1840a, p. 311. 81 Gardiner (ed.) 1906, p. 386. 82 Gardiner (ed.) 1906, p. 386. 83 A Declaration 1649, title-page. Date (22nd March 1649) from BL (Thomason) copy. 84 A Declaration 1649, p. 20. For the debate about the legitimacy of the new regime see Wallace 1964; Burgess 1986 and 1990; Barber 1998, pp. 174-201; Skinner 2002b, pp. 264-307; Hoekstra 2003. For ‘republican’ liberty in the 1650s see Scott 2004, pp. 151-69.

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to the liberty, safety, and public interest of the people’, chiefly becauset the royal prerogative had been used ‘to oppress and impoverish and enslave the subject’.85

This version of events was instantly challenged by most of the political nation, including many spokesmen who had hitherto been enemies of the royalist cause. The most vociferous of these critics deployed the same neo-Roman vocabulary to argue that the only change currently taking place was the replacement of one form of enslaving tyranny by another. This was the reaction of the Presbyterians who had been excluded from the House of Commons by the army in December 1648 in order to secure a majority for putting the king on trial. Among their spokesmen was the indefatigable William Prynne, whose Arraignment of February 1649 charged the army and Parliament with an attempt to bring the people ‘into perpetuall slavery and bondage to their Vast, Unlimited, Lawlesse, Arbitrary’ form of rule. According to Prynne, these acts of treason and tyranny had not only been facilitated by the army, but ‘their Armies were raised purposely to effect all these Designes’, which ‘wee now finde effected, and fully accomplished’.86

Still more vociferous were the Levellers, and none more so than John Lilburne, who published Englands New Chains Discovered in March 1649, directing his fire against the Council of State established in the previous month.87 Lilburne protests that, in spite of ‘all those specious pretenses, and high Notions of Liberty, with those extraordinary courses that have of late bin taken’, we can now see that the underlying aim was ‘the more securely and unsuspectedly to attain to an absolute domination over the Common-wealth’.88 The council of state is usurping the power of Parliament, so that ‘after these fair blossoms of hopefull liberty, breaks forth this bitter fruit, of the vilest and basest bondage that ever English men groan’d under’. The aim of the military junto is to make themselves ‘Lords and Masters, both of Parliament and People’ and to rule by their own will alone.89

It is true that a far larger number of commentators immediately professed themselves willing to accept the new regime. But it cannot be said that their reasons for doing so generally echoed with much enthusiasm the claims of Parliament about the ending of enslavement and the inauguration of a new era of liberty. Many preferred to argue in pragmatic terms that, if the new regime brings protection and peace, this may be said to grant it a sufficient title to be obeyed.90 A still larger number insisted that the new government is undoubtedly a usurping one, and should only be accepted on the

85 Gardiner (ed.) 1906, p. 385. 86 Prynne 1649, p. 6. 87 Lilburne 1649a. Date (1st March 1649) from BL (Thomason) copy. 88 Lilburne 1649a, Sig. A, 3v. 89 Lilburne 1649a, Sig. B, 1r-v. 90 For these pamphleteers see Skinner 2002b, pp. 296-302.

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grounds that, like all established powers, it must be recognised as an ordinance of God.91

This is not to say that the Rump and Council of State wholly lacked for supporters willing to vindicate their cause. During the months after the execution of Charles I, two celebratory lines of argument emerged. One took the form of reverting to the ‘monarchomach’ theory of popular sovereignty. It is symptomatic that the most celebrated of the monarchomach texts, the Vindiciae, contra tyrannos of 1579, was published for the first time in an English translation in 1648. By far the most influential work to argue in these terms was John Milton’s Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, largely written at the time of Charles I’s trial and first published on 13th February 1649.92 Milton begins by acknowledging that, although all men are naturally born free, they usually submit to forms of government capable of restraining violations of ‘peace and common right.’93 When they do so, however, they merely entrust their powers to their rulers ‘to doe impartial justice by Law’, with the result that ‘the power of Kings and Magistrates is nothing else, but what is only derivative, transferr’d and committed them in trust from the People, to the Common good of them all’.94 The power itself always ‘remaines fundamentally’ with the people, who retain the right, when instituting a king or chief magistrate, to ‘choose him or reject him, retaine him or despose him though no Tyrant, meerly by the liberty and right of free born Men, to be govern’d as seems to them best.’95

Milton regards it as unquestionable that king Charles I (whom he never deigns to name) ruled as a tyrant. He acted with ‘contempt of all Laws’ and spent seven years ‘warring and destroying of his best Subjects’ while his people suffered enslavement from his ‘boasted prerogative unaccountable’.96 Milton accordingly defends in emphatic terms the right of the English people to remove him from office and look forward instead to ‘the flourishing deeds of a reformed Common-wealth’.97 Without this right, the people ‘may please thir fancy with a ridiculous and painted freedom, fit to coz’n babies; but are indeed under tyranny and servitude’, since they will be living ‘in the tenure and occupation of another inheriting Lord’ whose government ‘hangs over them as a Lordly scourge’.98 But in spite of this revolutionary commitment, Milton continues to structure his argument around the monarchomach contrast between monarchy and tyranny. He never denies that monarchy suitably constrained by law is a legitimate form of government, and he repeatedly contrasts the rule of tyrants with good and just

91 The most prolific of these writers was John Dury, who published at least nine pamphlets arguing this case between 1649 and 1651. On Dury see Wallace 1964, pp. 393-403 and Mandlebrote 2007. 92 Date from BL (Thomason) copy. 93 Milton 1991, pp. 8-9. 94 Milton 1991, pp. 9-10. 95 Milton 1991, pp. 10, 13. 96 Milton 1991, pp. 4, 18. 97 Milton 1991, p. 32. 98 Milton 1991, p. 32.

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kings.99 History teaches us ‘how great a good and happiness a just King is’, just as it teaches that ‘so great a mischeife is a Tyrant’.100

By contrast with this line of thought, a fully-fledged neo-Roman defence of the English Commonwealth soon began to emerge in which no distinction was drawn between lawful monarchies and illegal tyrannies. This was the principal argument mounted by the Rump Parliament itself. The Act of 17th March 1649 abolishing the office of king not only condemned the enslaving rule of Charles I; it also argued in broader terms that, ‘usually and naturally any one person in such power’ can be expected to reduce his people to servitude. This is because any king ‘makes it his interest to incroach upon the just freedom and liberty of the people, and to promote the setting up of their own will and power above the laws, so that they might enslave these kingdoms to their own lust’.101

The same equation between monarchy and tyranny was proclaimed by a number of the Rump’s supporters over the next two years. We already find the author of The Armies Vindication arguing in these terms as early as January 1649. If we ask ‘what form of Government is best’, we cannot fail to answer that ‘Monarchie is worst’. The truth is that ‘Monarchy is Tyranny’ and reduces its subjects to ‘meer slavery’.102 Later in the year, Henry Robinson in his Short Discourse similarly claimed that ‘Monarchy and Tyranny’ are ‘very neer of kin’, so that ‘Royalty and Liberty have never heartily embraced each other’.103 Marchamont Nedham went on to develop the argument in his Case of the Commonwealth in May 1650, declaring that ‘there is no difference between king and tyrant’, and calling on the people of England to ‘become as zealous as the ancient Romans were in defense of their freedom’.104 Writing nearly two years later, with the Commonwealth well-established, Francis Osborne felt able to dismiss all princes as ‘Monsters in power’.105 He praises the English Parliament for granting the people ‘redemption out of Monarchical thraldom’ after a long period in which they had been ‘willing to sell themselves for Slaves,’106 and he mainains that those nations which have ‘never at all admitted any Kings’ are the ones ‘celebrated for most wisdome, felicity, and continuance’.107

The reason why these writers refuse to see any difference between monarchy and tyranny is a wholly neo-Roman one. Kings invariably possess discretionary and prerogative powers, leaving the rights and liberties of their subjects dependent on their arbitrary will. But to live in dependence on the will of others, they all agree, is what it 99 Milton 1991, pp. 14, 16. 100 Milton 1991, pp. 16-17. 101 Gardiner (ed.) 1906, p. 385. 102 Philodemius 1649, pp. 6, 63-4. Date (11th January 1649) from BL (Thomason) copy. 103 [Robinson] 1649, p. 11. Date (24th October 1649) from BL (Thomason) copy; attribution from Wallace 1964, p. 392. 104 Nedham 1969, pp. 127-8. Date (8th May 1650) from BL (Thomason) copy. 105 [Osborne] 1652, p. 12. Date (18th February 1652) from BL (Thomason) copy; attribution from Wallace 1964, p. 405. 106 [Osborne] 1652, pp. 34-5. 107 [Osborne] 1652, p. 23.

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means to live in servitude. This is the argument already put forward in The Armies Vindication of January 1649. As soon as we reflect on the ‘marks of Sovereignty’ that are taken to be ‘the Rights and prerogatives proper to Monarchs’, we cannot fail to see that ‘there is nothing left the people but meer slavery’.108 Henry Robinson in his Short Discourse similarly speaks of ‘Prerogative Tyranny’, arguing that ‘in the dispensations of which, you have little cognisance of justice, or reason, but of grace and favor’, so that there is ‘a necessity of bondage and misery’ among the people.109 Francis Osborne concludes that kings intend ‘nothing more than the augmentation of their owne Arbitrary power’, and that their prerogatives are ‘destructive to the very essence of Liberty’.110

Except for Marchamont Nedham, who became the editor of the government newspaper Mercurius Politicus,111 it cannot be said that any of these writers were prominent spokesmen for the commonweath cause. Nevertheless, these were the propagandists who put the neo-Roman theory of liberty to the most radical use in the constitutional debates of the English revolution, deploying it not merely to condemn the government of Charles I but to equate monarchy with tyranny. With this intervention, the political outlook that has come to be known as ‘republican exclusivisim’ entered the mainstream of Anglophone political thought.112 For a brief moment, the neo-Roman view of dependence as the antonym of freedom became the official ideology of the English state.

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