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ITALIAN AND GERMAN CRITICS OF THE TACITISTS Just as the humanism of the Renaissance Ciceronians had affected the whole of sixteenth-century intellectual life, with even men fundamentally loyal to the scholastic traditions (such as the Spanish Dominicans discussed below) being obliged to take account of it in their own work, so the new humanism of the Tacitists penetrated all areas of thought. But it occasioned far more open and continued hostility than Ciceronianism had done, for obvious reasons; and in this chapter I shall consider the ways in which that hostility was articulated, and how anti-Tacitist ideas developed in the early seventeenth century. Broadly speaking, there were two ways in which people who sympathised with orthodox Aristotelian or Ciceronian values could handle the new humanism. One was to locate it within a familiar framework and thereby defuse it, while the other was straightforwardly to denounce it as incompatible with the values which earlier humanists had securely established. Again broadly, Italian and German writers tended to favour the former approach, and Netherlands writers the latter; Jesuit writers usually followed the Netherlanders rather than the Italians (as indeed they did in many other respects – witness the influence of the Louvain theologians on Jesuit theology). A continuous feature of the intellectual situation which made some engagement with Tacitism inevitable was the fact that the most influential classical scholars of the day were men like Lipsius: a high degree of technical competence and theoretical sophistication gave them a general authority within the study of the classics. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

INTRODUCTION Three of the great figures who were the heroes of the Enlightenment histories of morality were born within five years of each other: Hugo Grotius in 1583, John Selden in 1585 and Thomas Hobbes in 1588. The social and intellectual world in which they grew up, and in which all three were star performers before they came to reject it in various ways, was thus the world of the last years of the sixteenth century. That world had itself been shaped in complex ways by the events of the Renaissance, Reformation and Counter-Reformation, by the growth of Habsburg power and by resistance to it, so that an extraordinarily rich and pluralist culture was available to any intelligent and sensitive adolescent in Western Europe. By our standards, they were born into a sparsely inhabited continent: the total population of the lands where the Roman Catholic or Protestant Churches were dominant (which will be the area of our enquiry, corresponding to Europe west of Muscovy and the Ottoman empire) was probably some 60 million in 1600, roughly the same as that of the islands of Britain and Ireland today (Braudel 1972 pp. 396–7). (England, to continue this parallel, had about the same population as the Republic of Ireland today.) Despite this generally sparse population, there were two areas of intense urbanisation and great wealth, on either side of the continent – one in northern Italy, and the other in the Netherlands. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Historiography Social conditions It is fashionable these days to link intellectual movements with social conditions, political issues and even economic developments. But while one acknowledges the importance of these matters it is extraordinarily difficult to establish what the links could be. Economic determinism is altogether too naive a point of view. More sophisticated theories based on conceptions such as that of ‘ideology’ remain vague as to the nature of the relations that obtain between the various interacting factors from which an author's thoughts and their acceptance or rejection by his contemporaries spring. It is far from clear that the invention of doctrines on the one hand, and their reception on the other, are determined by the same influences. Yet it would be folly to ignore the fact that Locke was deeply involved in politics, or that Diderot and d'Alembert played an important part in the promulgation of middle-class values in pre-Revolutionary France. Nor should it be forgotten that Hume's history outraged both Catholics and Protestants; nor that Priestley's house was burnt by a Tory mob. But how all these matters flow together into the controversies about the limits of knowledge I am quite in despair to understand. I began work on this chapter fully convinced that a strong case for an ‘externalist’ treatment was possible. But as the work proceeded I felt more and more inclined to submit to the judgement of Peter Gay, that one's vague sense of a relation between social conditions in England and France and the intellectual movements that accompanied them cannot be realized in detailed accounts of specific paths of influence from the one to the other. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

In 1973 the small Gereformeerde congregation of twenty-five members at D'Kar was formally dissolved. Three pastors representing the Gereformeerde synod presided over the dissolution. They had travelled by car from Mariental in Namibia to the Botswana border, and there a truck driven by one of the congregation had met them to bring them the last three hundred kilometres to the church farm at D'Kar. In the church farmhouse they met with the men of the congregation. There were only eight of them. Yet it was not the smallness of number which prompted the dissolution. There had been fewer than twenty-one families when the congregation had been established in 1948 and no anticipation then of any startling increase in numbers. ‘The Gereformeerde do not go by strength of numbers but by strength of faith’, the dominie said. ‘In this we are unlike our sister church the Nederduitse Gereformeerde.’ The cause for dissolution was more significant: a directive from the Botswana government that the existence of the white Afrikaner congregation alongside a mission to the Bushmen by the self-same denomination was contrary to the government policy of non-racialism, and that the white congregation should in future amalgamate with the Bushman mission congregation. In this chapter we consider the D'Kar congregation's response to the establishment of the mission and explore their attitudes to attempts at converting the Bushmen to Christianity. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

It has been suggested that we can find clues to a people's social structure by looking at the paradigms implicit in the classificatory order they impose on the natural world confronting them. A telling image which occurs constantly in Afrikaner accounts is that of a multiplicity of juxtaposed ‘worlds’ each inhabited by an appropriate species. Thus Ghanzi is ‘a lion's world’ and also ‘a cattle world’, but not ‘a sheep's world’ – ‘Down in the south near Nossop, that is a sheep's world.’ South is also ‘a Hottentot's world’, whereas Ghanzi is ‘a Bushmen's world’. Ghanzi is itself a world in contrast to ‘South West’, Ngamiland, or even, laughingly, apologetically, in an unguarded moment, to Botswana itself. ‘Here is Ghanzi's world, there is Botswana.’ Appropriate species can share a world: goats, zebra and eland run with the cattle on the farm veld. Amongst people, a single species with the potential for miscegenation, close juxtaposition of different kinds can be dangerous since social order is seen to rest on the conservation of prevailing identities and boundaries. Thus whites and blacks alike are seen to have a disastrous impact on local Bushmen by disturbing a social order in which the different groups had retained their distinctiveness. Earlier days the Bushmen were absolutely divided. Here there were the Makoko, in the middle were the Nharo, south were the !Xo, and such. Now they are all mixed up and it's bad. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

One last word. Wanting to make the sixteenth century a skeptical century, a free-thinking and rationalist one, and glorify it as such is the worst of errors and delusions. On the authority of its best representatives it was, quite to the contrary, an inspired century, one that sought in all things first of all a reflection of the divine. Philip Melanchthon transformed the natural philosophy which was traditionally taught by the Schoolmen at universities into a Lutheran one. The late medieval Schoolmen frequently commented upon Aristotle's books on nature with the quaestio method and appealed to the authority of Aristotle, the Schoolmen and the Church. As part of university learning, natural philosophy contributed towards knowledge of God and alongside metaphysics it was an essential area of knowledge for theologians. The system of thought of the Schoolmen, tightly knit together by means of logic, was ultimately based on a conviction that rational knowledge about God was possible and necessary. Hence natural philosophical arguments were legitimately used to prove, elucidate and maintain theological points. In contrast, Luther denied the validity of human rational knowledge as a support for theology. Human reason on its own could not affirm theological truths. Natural philosophy of the late medieval Schoolmen was therefore rejected by Luther and Melanchthon – it could not teach the message of the Gospel. Instead, Melanchthon's natural philosophy was knowledge of Law in the sense that it provided the theoretical foundation of his moral philosophy of civil obedience. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Descartes reads De motu cordis For Harvey's doctrines to be rejected, or sufficiently accepted to form the basis of a new consensus, they had to be known. Some people read De motu cordis, others heard or read about its contents at second hand. What they made of it depended upon what was already in their minds; and however direct or indirect their knowledge of the book, almost everyone modified or misunderstood Harvey's doctrine. Such misunderstandings are basic to the processes by which a consensus came about and to its nature once formed. As we saw in the last chapter, personal communication played a large part in people's knowledge of new works in natural philosophy. Gassendi read De motu cordis in the year after it was published. He thought the doctrine of circulation was attractive, but accepted the medical view that the septum between the ventricles of the heart was porous. The heart could not therefore work as Harvey had claimed. Gassendi sent his opinions to Mersenne. Mersenne in turn discussed the topic with Descartes, who seems to have read the book by 1632. Mersenne was at the centre of a circle of correspondence concerned primarily with philosophical issues. Safe postal systems had been developing in Europe over the previous century and now allowed a comparatively rapid means of communication, by letters and the dispatch of books. Descartes was familiar with De motu cordis by the end of 1632. He too modified Harvey's doctrine. This modification is doubly important for the story of this book. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

James Primrose The first published opposition to Harvey's doctrines was that of James Primrose. The son of a Reformist Scot, Primrose was brought up in Bordeaux. Younger than Harvey, he took his MD, at Montpellier, in 1617. He had also studied with Riolan in Paris. He chose to incorporate at Oxford – in 1629 – and was admitted as a licentiate to the College of Physicians later in the same year, Harvey being one of the examiners. He seems to have been an ambitious man, and it was not long before he had persuaded the king to allow him to give a public lecture on medicine. The embarrassed college put a stop to it, claiming that Primrose (still a licentiate) was not qualified. It may be that his book against Harvey (it appeared in 1630) was also conceived as a way of publicising himself. Historians have been uniformly negative about Primrose's writings, either because of aspects like this of his personality or because he appears to have been so wilfully blind to the truth. But for us Primrose is interesting as one of those who was not convinced by Harvey's research and presentation: his natural philosophy. A study that seeks to explore the fate of Harvey's doctrine – and in this chapter we are concerned with its early fortuna – rejections are as important as modifications, misunderstandings and acceptances. Primrose heard some anatomy lectures ‘as a new member’ of the college. These must have been either the ‘extraordinary’ lectures of the college, given for the last time in December 1629, by Helkiah Crooke, or Harvey's ‘ordinary’ lectures, completed in the college by 26 February 1630. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Scholars have long been aware of Robert Boyle's status as a lay theologian. To date, however, no one has analysed any of Boyle's theological writings in the specific context of the theological controversies of his day. On the face of it, there is good reason for this neglect. These writings appear to be non-polemical in nature, and when this fact is considered along with Boyle's known distaste for controversy it is easy to assume that his theological writings represent simply Boyle's desire to show that a dedicated natural philosopher could be an even more dedicated Christian. A closer look at Boyle's 1681 Discourse of Things above Reason, however, indicates that when he wrote it Boyle was indeed engaging in a religious controversy — one which has important implications for his philosophical epistemology. Specifically, he was addressing the question of the extent to which human reason can and should be applied to the mysteries of Christianity. In this controversy the Anglican Latitudinarian, Joseph Glanvill, in arguing reason's competence, had pitted himself against certain nonconformist ministers (those refusing to conform to the Church of England after the Restoration of Charles II) who had argued — and would continue to argue — that human reason is not capable of understanding (at least some of) the mysteries of Christianity. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

To talk about parties belonging to liberalism in Switzerland is not an easy task. To the outsider the Swiss political system is quite a sophisticated one; so sophisticated that a political scientist following an approach based on economic rationality would give up the idea of studying such a country, since it is far too complicated given its political weight and influence in the world system. As a federal country, Switzerland is divided into 26 states (cantons and half-cantons) with their own political culture, tradition, administration and party systems. The country is split into four languages and two religions; some cantons are bilingual and others are bi-denominational. Federal parties are rather vague and badly organised bodies, and the main parties are cantonal. Parliamentary parties and parliamentary groups do exist, but they are quite undisciplined. Even the social democrats are unable to achieve the political cohesion they show in other parliaments in the world. MPs do not sit either following the French hemicycle or the British ‘face to face’ opposition system. In the Senate – Conseil des Etats, Ständerat–they sit by cantonal delegation and in the House – Conseil national, Nationalrat – the MPs' desks are allocated according to a rather mysterious formula, combining language, party and canton, with decisions taken randomly. There is no majority rule, and the sole opposition is made up of small right-wing and left-wing parties – xenophobes, neo-fascists, communists and left socialists – even the ecologists accept the rules of amicable agreement. This means that the majority/opposition pattern varies depending on the issues involved. When an opposition party becomes electorally important, it receives a portfolio in either the federal or cantonal cabinets. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

liberal parties in the netherlands defined Two Dutch parties can legitimately claim to be part of the liberal famille spirituelle, the Volkspartij voor Vrijheid en Democratie (People's Party for Freedom and Democracy, or VVD in the Dutch acronym) which adopted its present name in 1948 and which has been a member of the Liberal International since 1960, and Democraten '66 (or D'66 – recently renamed D66 without apostrophe), which, established in 1966 as a party of radical reform, consciously sought to break the hold of traditional class and religious alignments in Dutch politics in favour of a far going programme of institutional reform. Of these two parties, the VVD undoubtedly has the older and better title. The 1948 party grew from the Partij van de Vrijheid (Freedom Party) which was established in 1946 as a new incarnation of the pre-Second World War Liberale Staatspartij De Vrijheidsbond. That party in turn had been formed in 1921 to collect a number of different liberal and other parties which had developed side by side in a period of limited franchise and a district system before the First World War, and in the aftermath of that war. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the liberals had regarded themselves (and had been regarded by others) as very much a dominant force in Dutch politics. They had represented the cause of constitutional reform – which had led in 1848 to a comparatively early breakthrough of responsible parliamentary government in the Netherlands, under a constitutional revision which was very much the work of a liberal Professor of Constitutional Law, Johan Rudolf Thorbecke. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

For a full measure of the Protestant Reformation in France in the first half of the sixteenth century, we must look beyond the insurgence itself to the closing settlements. In their own way they marked a stage. After so much feuding and fanatic bigotry, the new men at the forefront of affairs came willingly or unwillingly to temper the righteousness of their cause with mingled feelings of chagrin, exhaustion, and uneasy compromise. The dynasty of Valois-Angoulême had faded and disappeared, leaving Henry of Navarre to claim the rich patrimony of the Crown. In a jaunty mood of elation he may well have said that Paris was worth a mass. Yet, when on 25 July 1593 before the archbishop of Bourges in the great church of Saint-Denis he abjured the tenets of his Protestant upbringing, the moment of truth and disillusionment was patently clear: France remained staunchly Catholic. He had to recognise that profound reality before validating his inheritance. For all the show of undeniable pugnacity, the Protestant cause could not reach beyond the posture of a minority. Its stance and conduct betrayed the very attitudes of a minority. All the more striking, therefore, was its success in carving out a niche of recognition in the structured life of France. Here lay one of the great dramas of early modern Europe and summed up a host of novelties, crises of conscience, deeply felt desires for reform as much by those who followed the path of revolt as by those who remained in or returned to the doctrines and traditions of Catholicism. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Not the least notable successes of the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century were scored in the three kingdoms which constituted the eastern frontier-land of the Latin church: Poland, Hungary and Bohemia. The historical interest of the fortunes of the Reformation in these lands is due largely to the peculiar form given to its manifestation east of Germany by those political, social and economic characteristics which distinguished this area from western Europe. For whereas in Germany, the Netherlands, France and Britain we can observe the impact of reformative ideas on societies which were already enjoying the benefits of strong monarchy, where aristocratic separatism had already been largely defeated, where commerce and the towns were increasingly potent, and where society was no longer based on an adscript, service-rendering peasantry, in the countries east of the Elbe, the Böhmerwald and the Leitha we can watch the impact of the Reformation on a society where kings were weak and noble landlords strong, where medieval Parliaments were still dominant, where the towns were relatively few, small and impotent, and where serfdom was being ever more widely and severely established and legalised. The western Slavs and the Magyars had ever since their admission into Christendom constantly been stimulated by the importation of techniques, art forms, institutions, ideas and persons from the earlier developed societies of Germany, Italy and France, and had given to them a character that was peculiarly Polish or Czech or Magyar. That process of importation and modification was in the sixteenth century applied to the principles and practices of the religious reformers of Wittenberg and Geneva. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Secular clergy and missionary religious, each operating under their own organizations, shared responsibility with the Holy Office of the Inquisition for maintaining the faith in Spanish America. While the missionaries aimed at the conversion of pagan Indians and the seculars ministered to the faithful, the inquisitors dealt with religious deviation. Philip II had transferred the Inquisition to the New World in the sixteenth century for this specific purpose. In an empire where religion was an aspect of citizenship at least as important as birth, this responsibility of the Holy Office was indeed a grave one. Non-believers might undermine the faith of Indians and other ‘ignorant persons’ and thus dilute the purity of America. The Laws of the Indies, accordingly, charged the governmental authorities and bishops to rid the Indies of foreigners and other persons ‘suspicious in matters of the faith’. The Inquisition stood as the first line of defense. Regarding religious conformity, all persons in New Spain were subject to the jurisdiction of the Holy Office. The only exceptions were the Indians, and they came under the less formal and reportedly more lenient episcopal inquisition in the hands of the bishops and the secular clergy. Religious, chiefly Dominicans well schooled in canon law, made up the core of the Holy Office itself. Laymen and churchmen alike aided the inquisitors, and the whole functioned much like any other government agency. The main exception was that Inquisition records and proceedings were closed to inspection by viceregal authorities. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Orléans, December 1560: the meeting (the first in seventy-five years) of the Estates General of France, summoned by the young king, Francis II, to advise a way to allay the strife between Catholic and Protestant that threatened his kingdom with civil war. The chancellor of France, Michel de L'Hôpital, addressed the assembly's opening: The division of language is not what makes for the separation of realms. Rather it is the difference of religion … that divides one realm into two. Hence the old proverb, one faith, one law, one king, and it is difficult that men of … diverse and contrary opinions should refrain from resorting to arms. There was more love, he lamented, between an Englishman and Frenchman of the same faith than between two Frenchmen of different faiths. In vain L'Hôpital pleaded for moderation, for France was shortly to be plunged into a destructive revolutionary conflict. Eighty years later, in 1641, the English philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, saw his own country engulfed in similar troubles. The dispute over religion and between the spiritual and civil power, he then wrote, “has of late, more than any other thing in the world, been the cause of civil wars in all parts of Christendome.” Later still, another British philosopher, David Hume, safe in the haven of the eighteenth century from the unimagined upheaval of the French revolution yet to come, looked back in his History of England upon the revolution that Hobbes had witnessed. He reflected on the explosive effects when the religious spirit mingles with faction. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The Dutch republic was the first new state of modern times whose independence was born and forged in revolution. Not only that. The revolution in the Netherlands that founded a new republican state also led to the creation of a new nation. Contrary to the supposition of recent theorists of modernization, post-1776 America was not the “first new nation.” This place must be reserved for the Dutch, although perhaps because the Netherlands rebellion lacked the universalism of the American revolution the fact is easy to overlook. Of course, the Dutch nation and its country were a truncation of a larger body, the seventeen provinces of the Low Countries subject to the Spanish monarchy, which became politically divided in the course of the rebellion itself. One part, often generally called Holland, achieved independence and under the name of the Dutch republic or United Netherlands became the seat of a durable regime. The other part, Belgium, remained under Spanish and later Austrian Habsburg rule. There was nothing inevitable or preordained about this split, as a modern Dutch historian has made it his lifework to show. Nevertheless, it happened, and from the crucible of rebellion an independent Dutch state and nation arose. Most of the newly independent states that appeared after 1945 began as colonial possessions from a condition of backwardness. To contemporary students of modernization, they exemplify the assorted problems of underdevelopment, poverty, and deficient economic growth. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

It is now time to consider what specific measures and policies Calvin sheltered under the general labels and maxims that served him for his description of the magistrates' office. As we have seen, the connection between principle and practice was not explicated by Calvin. And, to anticipate the results of the investigation, it appears that Calvin entertained a set of perfectly conventional views about the conduct of government and the practices and mores of a well-ordered commonwealth. Indeed, as has been ‘discovered’ in study after study, almost all the laws and arrangements supposed to be distinctively Genevan and Calvinian prove to have had their parallels elsewhere, amongst Romanists as well as evangelicals, and both contemporaneously and in previous centuries. What was distinctive about Geneva and about Calvin's conception of the laws of a godly commonwealth is neither the content of these laws nor their theocratic orientation, but the rigour and impartiality with which these laws were enforced at Geneva, and the single-mindedness and lack of concession to current practice with which the organization of the church and the practice of pastors and magistrates were directed to its end. Calvin could of course hardly have been unaware that his opinions on ‘moral’ matters were in most respects conventional, albeit peculiarly strict and severe, at any rate amongst godly men; but their conventionality or otherwise was an entirely secondary consideration for him. What counted, as far as his official doctrine was concerned, was their conformity with Scripture. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

By 1558 Calvin was an extremely sick man, plagued by migraine, gout, colic, piles, nephritis, the stone and quartan fevers. He feared that he might not live to complete the last Institution, which he was composing on his sick-bed. And although he drove himself as hard as ever when not entirely prostrated by illness, his activities were those of a man putting his affairs in order. The Institution was now given an arrangement with which Calvin professed himself satisfied; the Genevan Academy, already described in its statutes as a Université, was at last established in 1559, complete with its own statutes and Theodore de Beze (Beza) as its first rector; an expanded version of the Ordonnances of 1541 was put on the Genevan statute-books in 1560 and 1561; an ordinance concerning the law and discipline of matrimony was appended; and the laws governing Genevan morals and mores were consolidated. All this had been done by 1561; his last magnumopus, the Harmony of the Last Four Books of Moses, was not completed until 1563, but Calvin had been working on it for years. In fact, he did not die until 17 May 1564. His last public act was an address to his ministerial colleagues summarizing his life and travails, and impressing on them the need to ‘make no changes, no innovation’ and to maintain amity and solidarity amongst themselves. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Our account of Calvin's conception of a Christian commonwealth must begin where he did in any matter of politia, at the top. The apex is the two-fold regime of magistrates and ministers. The ‘form’ of the latter, both as ecclesiology and as the ecclesiastical constitution of Geneva, has already been described. What remained to be done in this connection was to attend to the detail which makes the difference between the letter of the law and a working set of arrangements. Thus Calvin unceasingly badgered the PC for competent ecclesiastical personnel in adequate numbers, attempted and eventually secured (by the later forties) the elimination of the remaining unfit ministers, prevented the imposition of objectionable candidates on the Venerable Company by the magistrates, extracted not ungenerous remuneration and lodgings for at least the urban ministers and doctors, tried to secure official protection for ministers against abuse and recalcitrance, and in 1559 saw through the establishment of the Genevan ‘Academy’ for the training of future pastors and magistrates. To the same end he fought a running battle to ensure the Consistory's mastery over the ‘discipline’, a battle not effectively won until 1555; his success was symbolized in 1560 by the ending of the practice whereby the syndic who presided at the Consistory came bearing his staff of office: without it, he was now clearly designated as an ecclesiastical and not a civil official. This did not, however, prevent the Consistory being furnished with a beadle to ensure the attendance of culprits. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

CALVIN IN 1535 The De dementia Commentary was the beginning and also the end of Calvin's projected career as a humanist scholar. Less than three years after its publication he was an exile living in Basel in straitened circumstances and under the assumed name ‘Martianus Lucianus’. His decision to leave France was precipitated by fear of persecution, and by conclusive evidence that Francis I, previously an uncertain and ambivalent defender of humanists, had finally espoused the Sorbonne's interpretation of what was to count as orthodoxy. It is impossible to say what kind of evangelical Calvin was at his arrival in Basel, a place notable for its de facto tolerance of a wide diversity of opinions. Nor is it possible to say at what date Calvin conceived or began the execution of the first Institution. We do not know either whether Calvin was now putting on record reflections long since habitual with him, or whether it was writing the Institution which itself crystallized his thoughts. All that can be said with confidence is that since the De Clementia Commentary Calvin had published nothing except two Prefaces to Olivetan's French translation of the New Testament (which were written, it appears, shortly after his arrival at Basel), and had written, but left unpublished, Psychopannychia. It is apparent, then, that some time before he left France, Calvin's attentions had been concentrated entirely on theology, and that it was evangelical, and not merely humanist, theology. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Moses Hess and Aron Liberman were the first “Jewish socialists”, the first to argue that Jews should form an independent unit in the fight for international socialism. In 1862, Hess–successively mentor, comrade, party opponent, and finally part-time ally of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels–published the case for the establishment of a Jewish socialist state in Palestine. He thus anticipated by almost forty years the next major statement of socialist Zionism, that presented in 1898 by Syrkin, who saw himself as in some sense his heir. Liberman presented his theories of Jewish socialism in Lavrov's revolutionary journal Vpered! during the years 1875–6. If Hess was the first drawn to the maximalist pole of Jewish socialism, then Liberman was the first to explore its minimalist counterpart. Jewish socialists, he contended, should not put forward any national demands and yet they should organize the Jewish workers as an autonomous unit within the movement, be it the Russian party or be it the Socialist International. However, what makes a study of Hess and Liberman important here is not that they were first in the field, nor even that they had a marginal influence on later developments, but that their own lives are of intrinsic interest to the historian of Jewish socialism. In their biographies can first be seen the type of inner tension that was to constitute a basic characteristic of Jewish socialism. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]