I read eleven books this past July, a spattering of
fiction and nonfiction. In the first category I include Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe’s Gold, Sharpe’s Escape, and Sharpe’s Fury; Agatha Christie’s first
novel in her Poirot series; and an excellent science-fiction novel about the
future colonization of Mars. In the latter category of nonfiction I include four
books on French early modern history
(with focuses on the French Religious Wars, the Thirty Years’ War, and the
French Revolutionary Wars). Rounding off the list was the rather heady The All or Nothing Marriage and a book
postulating that UFO sightings and abductions are demonic in origin. The Best
Book of the Month goes to Kim Stanley Robinson’s Red Mars, and in its honor I post a handful of web-grabbed artwork
of our (hypothetical) future colonization of Mars:
Sunday, August 05, 2018
Saturday, August 04, 2018
the reformation: a come-to-Jesus moment
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I feel like this is an article I should read |
I’m not as lithe as I used to be—that, if anything, is
what the first month of my so-called ‘reformation’ has taught me. My recovery
times are longer, I have more pain in my back and joints (a back brace during
weight lifting has become a necessity), and the weight doesn’t seem to budge.
Though losing weight isn’t my goal, it’d still be nice to see. All the same, I’ve
increased my weight lifting significantly; this is the most I’ve lifted since
2010, and though I’m often hindered by lots of sore muscles, I’m getting back
into rhythm. I’ve reworked my workout regimen (and it will likely be reworked
again):
DAY ONE – Chest and Shoulders
DAY TWO – Semi-Daily Routine
DAY THREE – Arms
DAY FOUR – Semi-Daily Routine
DAY FIVE – Chest, Shoulders, and Arms
DAY SIX – Rest Day
Repeat!
The ‘Semi-Daily Routine’ is a series of less strenuous
activities. It was born out of a “Four P’s” workout I did for a few weeks
(Push-Ups, Pull-Ups, Pilates, and Planks), and it’s grown to include squats,
lunges, wall-sits, and jumping jacks. I’ve continued trying to eat well, but in
all honesty I’ve messed up a lot over the last couple weeks. Ash and I have had
much to celebrate, and celebration is best when done around a table with good
food and beloved family.
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
The Wars of the Roses: A Sketch
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Henry VI of England |
Henry V, who had
conquered half of France, died in 1422. The throne passed to his infant son
Henry. Guardianship of the infant king was put in the hands of the baby’s
uncles. The Dukes of Bedford and Gloucester split the governance of the realm:
Bedford became Regent in France while Gloucester assumed direct charge of the
court and parliamentary dealings. Gloucester hoped to attain the loftier title
of ‘Protector of the Realm,’ but the Council could sense his ambition and
refused to grant him such power. The Council’s slighting provoked a
two-decade-long quarrel between the two, and that quarrel was personal: the
Council’s chief was none other than Henry Beaufort, the bishop of Winchester,
who happened to be Gloucester’s half-uncle. In 1441 Beaufort accused the
Duchess of Gloucester of practicing witchcraft against the adolescent king.
Gloucester’s political clout suffered from her conviction, and the wily
Beaufort took Gloucester’s place over the king. Beaufort’s nephew, the Duke of
Somerset, and William de la Pole, the Duke of Suffolk, took places of high
power at Beaufort’s side. In 1444 Henry VI married the French-born Margaret of
Anjou. Though Somerset and Suffolk were disliked by most of the English, Queen
Margaret favored them—and absorbed their unpopularity. A string of defeats in
France served as an impetus for Gloucester to lead a revolt against the
ineffective crown. His rebellion failed, and he was imprisoned and died of a
stroke. The queen divvied up Gloucester’s substantial estates to Suffolk and a
number of her friends. Beaufort, who had laid the foundation for Somerset and
Suffolk, died in 1447, just six weeks after the revolt. Suffolk, immensely
unpopular with the people, was impeached and banished from England (he wouldn’t
make it far, murdered just off-shore in a boat on his way to France). Somerset
took the helm of the kingdom, but he, too, suffered a nosedive in popularity
after Jack Cade’s rebellion in 1450. Though he was able to cool the passions of
disaffected nobles and a moody populace, the rebellion brought to the forefront
another opponent that Somerset would have to face: Richard, Duke of York.
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Richard of York |
The governance of
English-controlled France had fallen on the shoulders of the Duke of Bedford,
and his death in 1436 left a vacuum to be filled. York’s political career took
off when he was appointed to fill Bedford’s shoes, albeit in a truncated
manner: he would be ‘lieutenant-general’ rather than ‘regent’ of France (because
Henry VI would be entering his majority soon, the king’s council wanted to
limit the role’s power). This change meant that York couldn’t appoint major
military officials, but he would make do. The truncated powers withstanding,
York had a daunting task across the Channel: the French were making headway in
reconquering their lands and the king’s council invested him with the task of
holding the French at bay. York’s brother-in-law, the Earl of Salisbury, and
the Earl of Suffolk accompanied him across the Channel. Their forces numbered
around six thousand men, far less than the eleven thousand that had been
promised. York’s first objective was to relieve and reinforce the beleaguered
English in Paris; but when Paris fell to the French, York was ordered to look
to the integrity of English-controlled Normandy. The Duchy had become plagued
with insurrection as local allies switched their allegiance to France in the
wake of the Franco-Burgundian reconciliation in 1435, and York set about
putting things to rights—or at least to keeping things from getting worse. He
left the field actions to his generals, notably John Talbot, and he poured most
of his attention into the governance of English-controlled France. A strong
government was just as sturdy a deterrent against enemies as swords and arrows,
and it was necessary to keep Talbot’s men effective in the field. His officers
recaptured Fecamp, Saint-Germain, a hodgepodge of Norman settlements, and clung
to the Pays de Caux. Pontoise, a strategic point between Rouen and Paris that
had been lost to the French in February 1436, was recaptured in a sneak attack;
the same methods were applied to Paris, but the English were repulsed. The
winter of 1436-37 saw English territory expand as far as Picardy, and a
Burgundian army was defeated at Le Crotoy.
York’s successes
earned him favor from the king’s council, and when his assigned tenure ran out,
they asked him to stay on; but York’s year in France had drained his coffers,
as he had to pay out-of-pocket for troops and material in hope that the council
found the money to pay him back, and he declined the offer. His successor, the
Earl of Warwick, arrived in France later than expected, which only stretched
York’s debt. York finally made it back to England in November 1437, and that
same month Henry VI reached his majority and assumed the full powers of
reigning monarch. York had toiled and sacrificed for the council, but they
turned their backs on him as soon as he returned from the Continent, made empty
promises about paying him back, and found no place for him on the king’s
council. York, cast from prominence, looked after his own estates. When his
successor in France, the Earl of Warwick, died in 1439, York was given a role
in the wardship of the late earl’s young son Henry. Warwick’s lieutenancy was
temporarily filled by John Beaufort, the 3rd Earl of Somerset, but when peace
negotiations with the French came to nothing, who would succeed Warwick became
a matter of violent debate in the king’s council. Cardinal Beaufort wanted to
pursue peace with France, but the Duke of Gloucester wanted to keep up the war.
The pacifists and warhawks both liked York, who was viewed as flexible,
dependable, a good governor, and seemingly neutral regarding England’s
political machinations (though York likely leaned towards Gloucester’s
warhawkishness). Henry VI liked York, and in July 1440 York was reappointed
Lieutenant of France. York reached the Continent nearly a year later in 1441,
and his wife and daughter Anne followed him (he and Cecily would have three
children during York’s second tenure in France: Edward, Edmund, and Elizabeth
would all be born in Rouen). York resolved to continue in his methods of
governing English-controlled Normandy while leaving the war effort to his
seasoned captains, but first York would have to get his hands dirty: he landed
just in time to take the reins against a French campaign.
French forces had
just recaptured Creil and Conflans, and Talbot’s men wearied in Pontoise
beneath a French siege. York, with three hundred men, marched to reinforce
Talbot at the beleaguered city, and the 5000-strong French army withdrew. The English
chased after them for weeks, hoping (unsuccessfully) to force a battle. The
English caught up with the French, and York and Talbot attempted a pincer
movement to capture King Charles VII of France—but supplies were running low,
the troops were exhausted from weeks of hard marching, and French skirmishers
constantly winnowed the English forces. The pincer movement failed, and the
wearied English retreated. The French did a roundabout, put Pontoise back under
siege, and captured it with an artillery barrage. As the French continued reclaiming territory lost in the last hundred
years of war, the England’s royal Council lurched for peace, and in September
1442 York was appointed chief commissioner to begin peace talks with France.
Though peace with France slipped away, York was able to secure peace with the
Duchess of Burgundy, who acted in place of her husband. The next year Henry VI
put John Beaufort, recently created Duke of Somerset, in charge of eight
thousand men and tasked him with securing Gascony against the French. These men
were pulled from York’s already weakened force, increasing York’s difficulties
in pacifying Normandy. The English campaign in Gascony struck ill nerves with
the French Dukes of Brittany and Alencon, frustrating York’s entreaties with
the French nobility. Somerset failed to achieve his goals so that the Gascony
campaign did little beside make York’s job harder, and many historians
speculate that the Gascony Campaign was the fire-starter for York’s loathing of
Somerset particularly and the Beaufort family in general—a hatred that would,
in time, lead to civil war.
English reverses on
the Continent vaulted the Council’s pacifists to prominence, and Henry VI
decided it was time to make a bid for peace (or at the least a truce) with
France. As peace negotiations went forward, York’s responsibilities on the
Continent devolved into ‘toeing the line’ and maintaining the status quo. In
the fall of 1445, after spending five years in English-controlled France and
after having three more children, York returned to England. He’d become
associated with the Norman English who were opposed to Henry VI’s peace
overtures, so the king’s Council yet again made no room for him. The
lieutenancy of France went to Edmund Beaufort, the 2nd Earl of Somerset. Though
York attended meetings of the king’s Council and Parliament over the next two
years, most of his time was spent overseeing his estates on the Welsh border.
York’s fortunes shifted for the better when Henry VI’s uncle, the Duke of
Gloucester, died in February 1447 (he’d been accused of treason and died under
‘mysterious circumstances’ before he could stand trial). Since Gloucester and Henry
VI’s other uncles had died without male heirs, Richard became the senior
patrilineal descendant of Edward III; thus if Henry VI bore no children before
he died, York would be a solid candidate for the throne. But York’s fortunes
shifted again: when the Council gave up the province of Maine on the Continent
for an extended truce with France and a French bride for Henry, York failed to
keep his sentiments to himself and was politically banished to Ireland. He was
made Lieutenant of Ireland, and though he was certainly a good choice—he was
the Earl of Ulster and had numerous estates on the western island—it was clear
to everyone that this was the Council’s way to get him out of sight and out of
mind. His term of office was for ten years, effectively banishing him from any
other high office for a decade.
York, with a
pregnant wife and an army of six hundred men, departed for Ireland at the
beginning of summer 1449. There he cleverly inserted himself into Irish
politics, won friendships and favor from the Irish leaders, and even gained the
favor of the Irish Parliament. These successes would be rewarded: affable
Ireland would soon become a sanctuary and a beacon for Richard’s cause. Across
the western sea, public disaffection with Henry’s government and relentless
defeats in France spurred an uprising that would be known to historians as Jack
Cade’s Rebellion. Though Henry VI was able to put it down, the government was
rocked, and Henry’s chief counselor, William de la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk,
was exiled only to be murdered just after setting into the Channel bound for
France. The House of Commons railed against the king, demanding numerous
concessions, and York used the unrest to make his move. Styling himself as
nothing more than a reformer insisting on better government and the prosecution
of the ‘traitors’ who had lost northern France, Richard left his sanctuary in
Ireland and in early September 1450 landed a small invasion force in Anglesey. He evaded
capture by the Lancastrians and summoned followers to his cause. At the end of
September he reached London and had a sit-down with the king. The meeting came
to nothing, and Richard continued recruiting supporters. Violence swept through
London, and York’s premier political opponent, Somerset, was put in the Tower
for his own safety. Henry’s government made concessions to York, and the
‘reform movement’ died down. Somerset was released from the Tower and York was
given another political office, Justice of the Forest south of the Trent.
Somerset was appointed Captain of Calais, and when one of York’s followers
suggested that York be made king rather than Henry VI, he was imprisoned in the
Tower and Parliament was dissolved.
York had claims to
the throne, no matter how convoluted, from both his mother and father’s
bloodlines. His mother Anne had been the daughter of Roger Mortimer, the 4th
Earl of March. The Mortimers traced their bloodline to the Duke of Clarence,
the second adult son of Edward III, so that they were, by default, heirs of the
late childless King Richard II. When Henry IV seized the throne out from under
Richard II, their hopes for the throne were sidelined. Because the Mortimer
claim was placed on Anne’s brother Edmund, and because he died childless, the
claim passed to Richard of York; some lawyers would argue that York’s maternal
claim to the throne was better than that of the reigning House of Lancaster,
descended from Edward III’s third son John of Gaunt. On the paternal side, York
was a direct male descendent of his grandfather Edmund, the 1st Duke of York,
who had been the fourth adult son of Edward III. Thus York could claim that he
was a ‘prince of the blood,’ and he could argue that he, rather than the
sitting Henry VI, had the better claim to the throne. To this end in 1448 he
adopted the surname ‘Plantagenet’ to highlight his claim’s reliability.
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the Battle of Castillon 1453 |
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the Battle of St. Albans |
Richard named his compatriot, the Earl
of Warwick, was made Captain of Calais. This role was of vital importance, as
it was tasked with protecting the port of Calais against the always-menacing
French. Calais was England’s sole continental possession, the only surviving
fragment of what had been the king’s glorious empire, and was thus of critical
importance. In 1456 Queen Margaret, York’s clever opponent, regained control of
court and government, and York was ousted from the protector-ship and forced
back to Ireland. Warwick refused to surrender his title and armies to
Margaret’s control, and Calais became a cross-channel sanctuary for York’s
sympathizers. York wasn’t going to play Margaret’s games for the
protector-ship; he was going to try to straight-out steal the throne. In 1457
Henry tried to broker peace with the Yorkists, but the tails came to nothing.
York and Warwick began planning their separate invasions of England to turn the
throne to the Yorkist cause.
War on a scale that made St. Albans
look like a street brawl erupted again in 1459 when Queen Margaret ordered
Lancastrian royalists to waylay a contingent of Yorkist soldiers en route to a
Yorkist stronghold. The Lancastrian ambush failed, and the royalists lost twice
as many men as the Yorkists. The Battle of Blore Heath was an embarrassment for
the Lancastrians, but they got their revenge next month when Richard of York
invaded England only to be defeated at the Battle of Ludford. It’s worth noting
that his defeat wasn’t due to any ineptitude on his part but to a betrayal in
the ranks: a contingent of professional soldiers sent to York’s aid from Calais
had turned on him. York survived the encounter, but his troops dispersed. Parliament
declared York a traitor to England, and Richard had no choice but to hurry back
to Ireland to avoid the chopping block. Though declared a traitor, he was still
in control of Ireland and had the backing of the Irish Parliament.
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the Battle of Northampton |
Henry VI, now in Yorkist hands, was
taken to London, much to the aghast of Lord Scales in the Tower (he sensibly
surrendered the Tower to the victors). The Yorkists forced the king to give his
blessing to a Yorkist government, and Richard returned from Ireland to make his
bid for the throne. He would have to convince the court to make him king, a
daunting feat considering the current king was still alive. Richard hoped the
Yorkist victory would enable him to both woo or cow the government into
compliance, but they were unimpressed with his petitions. He had expected some
sort of respect, and his theatrics only made him look like a fool. Though he
failed to be recognized as king, the court compromised by giving his
wide-reaching powers within the realm, making him and Warwick the de facto rulers of the country.
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the Battle of Wakefield |
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the Battle of Towton |
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King Edward IV of England |
Denied access to Calais, he sought
refuge and support for the French. King Louis XI was related to Queen Margaret
of Anjou (who was French, after all), and he refused to give Warwick support
unless it meant a restoration of Henry VI and Queen Margaret. What reason would
Louis have for supporting a rebellion that was opposed to his kin? Warwick
begrudgingly agreed, knowing it was an impasse that could not be crossed, and
promised to marry his daughter Anne to Margaret and Henry VI’s sole son and
heir Edward, the Prince of Wales. Warwick and his ally the Duke of Clarence
invaded England in September 1470. Warwick’s army swelled with die-hard
supporters, among them his brother Montagu who had his own reasons for
rebelling against Edward. As Edward rushed south to meet Warwick and Clarence,
Montagu marched from the north in a pincer movement to surround the king.
Edward fled to friendly faces in the Duchy of Burgundy, and Warwick, true to
his word, reinstalled Henry VI on the throne.
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battle of Tewkesbury |
The throne thus passed into the hands
of the House of York, and the reign of Edward IV was a period of relative peace
and prosperity. He boosted England’s trade by making deals with the Hanseatic
League of North German trading cities, and a printing press was installed in
Westminster (by 1484 parliamentary statutes would be printed on the press).
Edward IV’s reign wasn’t without personal troubles: he had a falling-out with
his brother George, Duke of Clarence, and had him murdered in the Tower (it’s
rumored that he was drowned in a vat of wine).
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the Princes in the Tower |
England’s new king, Richard III of
York, named the Duke of Buckingham Constable and Great Chamberlain of England,
but Buckingham had the same rebellious spirit that flowed through the king’s
veins: he led a forlorn rebellion in October, but his army was demolished by
the royalists. Buckingham was captured, tried, and executed. Richard III’s
pacification of England marked the end of a tumultuous 1483: Edward IV had
died, his son Edward V had been deposed, and Richard had successfully taken the
throne (and eliminated rival claimants). The next year he established his
headquarters at Nottingham Castle.
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the Battle of Bosworth Field |
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
The Wars of the Roses: Misconceptions
The Wars of the Roses—the posthumous name of the dynastic struggle between
the Houses of Lancaster and York—has been dramatized and immortalized to the
point of becoming fable itself. Though mainstream images of the Wars resemble
George Martin’s Game of Thrones, in
reality it was much more like The
Hatfields & McCoys (albeit with a lot more death and a score of rolling
heads). This multi-generational family feud lasted three decades, from 1455 to
1485, but it wasn’t (as is often pictured) a period of unrelenting warfare:
historians have calculated that actual campaign time during the Wars comes to
around a mere 430 days (just over a thirtieth
of that thirty-year period).
The Wars of the Roses can be divided into three phases of conflict: (1) 1455-1464, (2) 1469-1471, and (3) 1483-1487. At the dawn of the Wars, the Lancasters sat on the throne in Henry VI, and they had been on the throne since 1399. When the Lancastrian Henry V died in 1422, the throne passed to his infant son Henry VI. While Henry V conquered much of France, Henry VI lost it. Much of the blame for this rests not on the young king but on his aristocratic council. The Council became a battlefield between relatives and friends vying for power. As the Hundred Years War came to a close, great nobles who had amassed vast amounts of wealth fighting in France returned home with their private armies. Lawlessness was rife in the countryside and taxation fell heavily on the urban centers. Henry VI came into his majority, but he was incapable of ruling, devastated by bouts of mental illness. His shrewd and brilliant French wife, Margaret of Anjou, controlled him and led the Council with Francophile allies. Much of England's population loathed her, even denounced her as a traitor, since she was French-born and the collapse of English possessions in France happened after her arrival in England. As the Lancastrians were losing France and popularity, between 1450 and 1460 Richard, the 3rd Duke of York, schemed his way into becoming the titular head of a powerful baronial league. His kinsmen—the Nevilles, the Mowbrays, and the Bourchiers—stood at his side. York’s right-hand man, Richard Neville, the 16th Earl of Warwick, had hundreds of supporters scattered over twenty counties. When Henry VI lapsed into insanity in 1453, York’s baronial league maneuvered to have him named Protector of the Realm. When the king recovered his wits in 1455, he reestablished his wife’s party and forced York to take up arms. York’s ambitions for the inept Lancastrian throne erupted into violence on 22 May 1455 at the First Battle of St. Albans. This would be the first major bloodshed in a three-decade dynastic struggle. But, alas, we are getting ahead of ourselves.
The Wars of the Roses
is littered with misconceptions, not least because history is written by the
victors (a metaphor that, in this case, works quite literally). Early 15th
century chroniclers, lyricists, and historians rewrote the dynastic struggle in
such a way that it would bring glory to the struggle’s ‘Last Man Standing,’
Henry Tudor (who ascended the throne as Henry VII). Modern historians believe
that Tudor propagandists stretched the truth of the dynastic struggle, turning
it into three decades of chaos and bloodletting, to bolster the Tudor Dynasty’s
relative peace and prosperity. Thus misconceptions of the Wars began less than
a generation after the events, and they’ve continued down to the present day. A
few examples will suffice:
First, thanks to William
Shakespeare’s misguided (albeit excellent) Henry
VI, we have been conditioned to think of the York and Lancashire parties as
being united behind opposing roses: the white rose for York and the red rose
for Lancaster. However, historian Thomas Penn notes that ‘[the] ‘Lancastrian’
red rose was an emblem that barely existed before Henry VII. Lancastrian kings
used the rose sporadically, but when they did it was often gold rather than
red; Henry VI, the king who presided over the country’s descent into civil war,
preferred his badge of the antelope… For the best part of a quarter-century,
from 1461 to 1485, there was only one royal rose, and it was white: the badge
of Edward IV. The [opposing] roses were actually created after the war by Henry
VII.’ Henry VII’s royal bade was that of a white rose engulfed by a red rose;
by propagating the idea that the York rose was white and the Lancastrian rose
red, he made it so that his royal badge symbolized a ‘unification’ of the two
warring houses. The term ‘Wars of the Roses’ was coined by David Hume as recent
as 1762; he based the name off Shakespeare’s (erroneous) badges in Henry VI.
Second, though the Wars have
been portrayed as a ‘civil war,’ they were much more a dynastic struggle
between two cadet branches of the House of Plantagenet. Those who fought in the
Wars were the aristocratic families of York and Lancashire, along with their
noble allies, retainers, and supporters. Civil wars generally have political
undertones, wherein one side wishes to see political changes made; these Wars,
however, lacked such characteristics, as both the Yorkists and Lancasters
wished to preserve the nation and its current government. Both hoped to seize
the throne or to at least gain control of the king’s Council.
Third, because this was a dynastic
struggle rather than a civil war, England’s general population remained
untouched. The Yorkist and Lancastrian rivals fielded armies comprised of
aristocratic followers and their supporters. There was no conscription, no ‘levee
en masse,’ only volunteer soldiers aligning with the House that best guarded
their interests and served their advancement. Most soldiers fought not for the
ideals of their respective leaders but for the hope of gaining power, money,
and influence. Both sides took extra pains to make sure that non-combatants
weren’t harmed in the conflict; after all, whichever House came out on top
would need the support of the people to rule. Philip dy Commynes, a diplomat in
the courts of Burgundy and France and called by some historians ‘the first
truly modern writer,’ wrote of the Wars of the Roses: “It is the custom of the
English that, once they have gained a battle, they do no more killing,
especially killing of common people; for each side seeks to please the commons…
King Edward told me that in all the battles he had won, the moment he came to
victory he mounted a horse and shouted that the commons were to be spared and
the nobles slain. And of the latter, few or none escaped… England enjoyed this
peculiar mercy above all other kingdoms, that neither the country nor the
people, nor the houses were wasted, destroyed or demolished; but the calamities
and misfortunes of war fell only upon the soldiers, and especially upon the
nobility.”
A fourth misconception is that the
English nobility was devastated by the end of the Wars. This simply isn't the
case. It is true that the upper-tier nobles suffered badly: of the sixteen
families of dukes and earls that existed at the tail end of Henry VI's reign,
only two remained fully intact at the end of the struggle (though the others
were beaten and bloodied, most of the old nobility survived by way of heirs
filling the vacuums left by slain family leaders). Historians have estimated
that the rate of ‘family extinction' at the time was around 25 percent, much
less than fable and folklore would have us believe. The Wars cost 105,000 lives
in a country of three million, but this was only about 3.5% of the population
(a minuscule ratio when compared to the three million lives lost in the
preceding Hundred Years War (which averaged nearly 776,000 deaths every three
decades).
Fifth, it is often assumed that the
Yorkist and Lancastrian alliance system with nobles was cut-and-dry; but
allegiances in noble families was constantly shifting as people switched sides
or intermarried. Interestingly enough, the Yorkists drew most of their support
from the Midlands, while the Lancastrians were predominant in Yorkshire! This is
because York and Lancaster were dynastic titles that had little to do with
geography.
Monday, July 09, 2018
7.9.18
"For the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them." (2 Cor 5.14-15, NRSV)
We are to be rooted in Christ's love. The gospel needs to be the foundational bedrock of our lives. We are to live not for ourselves but for Christ. In this vein no part of life should not be touched, shaped, or changed by the gospel. The Bible teaches that Christ isn't just in the business of canceling debts; he's in the business of reconciling the whole world to himself--and all Christians are 'ministers of reconciliation' rooted in the gospel. We are tasked with being God's co-workers in His work of reconciling all things to Himself.
We live in the Digital Age, and it shows no signs of slowing down. We live in a culture that revolves around social media. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram: all of these are centered on cultivating an image that proves to the world that we have it all together. We post our highlight reels on social media, but we make sure no one knows about those things that aren't marketable, and we sure as hell make sure no one knows about our sins and weaknesses. No one posts about the fight they had with their wife, or the way they lost their temper on their children, or how they're skating by at work and hoping no one notices. Social Media isn't about vulnerability; it's about pretending. It's pretending to be someone you're not and hoping everyone buys it (usually we do, because we're not so great at critical thinking). We who are in Christ are to be ministers of reconciliation, and Social Media can often be a barrier to fulfilling the task to which God has appointed us.
If we are to take seriously our call to be ministers of reconciliation, then we must be honest with ourselves. We must be honest with our brokenness. We must be honest about how we deny guilt or pass blame. We must admit that whatever broken relationship we're a part of, we're a part of it; we're not innocent bystanders but participants. We must be honest about how we project our dysfunction on others so that we don't have to feel guilt; denying guilt and passing blame is, ultimately, an act of self-preservation. We project our emotional problems on others; we live out of the hurt we've experienced and share it with others.
To begin moving forward in our task of working with God to reconcile the world to Himself, we must be honest about our emotional hazards, our dysfunctions, our brokenness. We need to seek out (with much wisdom) a friend with whom we can be honest and a friend who can be honest with us, speaking much-needed painful truth into our lives. And, perhaps most importantly, we need to practice vulnerability, whereby we take down the images we create and show ourselves as we are to the world. Everyone who cultivates an image on Social Media is hiding things out of guilt and shame; by being open and vulnerable, we are telling them that it's OK to be messed up, that they're not alone, and we open doors in which we can share the gospel about a God who knows we're messed up, who loves us anyway, and who is eager to save us knowing full-well that we'll never have it all together this side of heaven.
Tuesday, July 03, 2018
on reading
My journey through the historical fiction of the Napoleonic Wars continues! Sadly I've almost reached the end of O'Brian's novels for 2018. His wit and writing style is unparalleled, but Cornwell is a close second. To 'flesh out' the novels I've been supplementing them with a plethora of non-fiction works detailing various phases and events in Early Modern Europe. Many of them have been hit-or-miss, but those posted below have been fantastic.
I'm almost done with my historical Reading Queue for this year; once I finish a handful of non-fiction books, I'll be side-stepping from the Early Modern World to splash headfirst into science fiction, horror, and a good number of detective yarns. If I have time I'll also purvey some dinosaur books. Who doesn't love a good dinosaur book (and a lot of good ones have come out over the last year)?
Monday, July 02, 2018
7.2.18
Double Trouble & A Double Cure
All of humanity stands before God with two major problems. First, we are legally guilty for our rebellion against God. This rebellion isn't just about the bad things we've done; it encompasses our hearts, our minds, our thoughts and attitudes, our emotions, even things we haven't done that we should have done. Our hearts beat in rebellion against God and are bent inwards on ourselves. The guilt we've accumulated makes us guilty, and the wages of such rebellion is physical and spiritual death. The second problem we face is that we're enslaved to sin; even if we want to do good, we are incapable of doing it! Thus there is absolutely no hope for us to find good footing with God--at least not on our own feeble, futile efforts.
God answers this "Double Trouble" with a "Double Cure." When Jesus died on the cross, he took our place, and he died for God's rebellious creatures. When we turn to Christ and become united with him, Christ's sacrifice on the cross is applied to us: the punishment he bore becomes our own, and the debt we owe to God for our rebellion is paid in full. God doesn't excuse our rebellion; He deals with it on the cross, and Christ's work is appropriated to us. Because of the forgiveness we experience in Christ, we are able to stand before God as if we'd never sinned. In addition to dealing with the legal ramifications of the guilt we've accumulated because of sin, God also breaks the enslaving power of sin in our lives and fills us with the Holy Spirit. The Spirit's task is to comfort us, teach us, convict us, and lead us in the ways of righteousness. Because sin's power is broken, we are able, day-by-day, to become the sort of people God wants us to be. We are able to crucify our sin and live for righteousness as we walk by the Spirit.
How do we experience the forgiveness of our sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit? The Bible is quite clear: we are to respond to God in faith, repent of our sins, confess that Jesus is Lord, and be baptized in His name.
Belief in Jesus has two key aspects: assent and trust. By believing in Jesus we assent to the truth of the gospel, believing that, yes, Jesus is the Son of God and the Way, the Truth, and the Life. By trusting in Jesus, we give ourselves over to him, no longer trusting in our own efforts for salvation but relying fully on him and the work he has done. By entrusting ourselves to Christ, we are committing ourselves to him as our Master and King. This is why confession is such a big deal: by confessing that Jesus is King, we are stating that the powers-that-be (whoever they may be) are not the world's true king. It is a revolutionary and even subversive declaration. For a Christian in the days of the early church to confess that Jesus is Lord was to mark himself out as someone who isn't 'falling in line' with the state. No halfhearted devotion to Jesus would result in such a damning confession; only those who had truly committed themselves to Christ and his Way would be willing to put themselves on the line like that.
The Bible teaches that, in addition to faith and confession, repentance is necessary for salvation. It has been said that repentance is the first half of faith; you can't get faith without repentance. You can't commit yourself to Jesus without making the decision of the will to turn your back on the Old Ways of living and to embrace the New Way revealed by Christ. If faith is absent repentance, then it isn't really faith at all.
The Bible also teaches that we are to be baptized into Christ. In Romans 6 Paul tells the Roman Christians to look back on their baptisms as the point in time in which they became partakers of the New Covenant. He instructs them to live their lives in light of the reality of their baptism. While it has become commonplace to believe that baptism is nothing more than "an outward symbol of an inward reality," the Apostle Paul (along with the rest of the New Testament and the church in general up to the 15th century) understood that when a person was baptized into Christ, they participated in his death and resurrection. There was nothing symbolic about it; only until the Reformation did the Swiss reformer Ulrich Zwingli advance the idea that baptism is merely a symbolic act. It is in baptism that Christ's work on the cross is appropriated to us. Because many Christians today haven't been baptized (thanks to the ignorance regarding what the Bible plainly teaches about baptism), it's important to note that faith and repentance are the keys that make baptism worthwhile. Those who believe in Jesus, who have confessed him as Lord, who have repented (and continue to repent) of their sins, but who haven't been baptized, will likely be judged by "the light that they have been given." It's my belief that those who hold anemic views of baptism will have experienced baptism without even knowing it--their first bath after faith, or their first dip in the pool, may likely be appropriated to them as baptism.
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books read: 2024
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