The Materiality of Early Modern Political Texts - 2

In my last blogpost, I noted the point made by one participant at our Experiencing Political Texts workshop in York, that the correspondence of early modern men and women has been viewed differently. Whereas that of men who participated in politics has been read as a political text, that of women (even powerful and influential women) is often dismissed as gossip. That observation led me to ponder what makes a text political. Katie East addressed this point explicitly in her paper at the second part of our workshop on the materiality of texts, which took place on 28 March 2023. This is one of three themes that I want to explore here that arose out of the papers delivered on that day. The other two are the methods used by early modern authors to control or delimit the meaning of their text, and the survival of ephemeral texts.

Painting of Cicero denouncing Catiline and his conspiracy. Taken from Wikimedia Commons.

As Katie made clear, the political nature of a text is determined by several factors. Conventionally emphasis is placed on the content of the work and the intention of the author as well as the interventions of editors, commentators, or translators. Yet, as she explained, two other factors also play a critical role. First, the context(s) in which the work is written, printed, and read, and secondly the materiality of the text itself. Both Katie's paper and those that followed offered several illustrations of how context and materiality can enhance a text's political character.

Katie's paper focused on accounts of the Catiline conspiracy in ancient Rome that were published during the early modern period. She demonstrated how that story was given a new political edge: both during the Jacobite uprisings of the early eighteenth century, and in the chaos generated by the financial collapse of the South Sea Company. In her paper, Alex Plane showed how works that might be deemed apolitical in one context, could take on a political meaning in another. This was the case with the works on duelling held in the library of James VI and I. James was keen to establish his reputation as a peacemaker, yet this was undermined if members of the nobility were killing each other in duels rather than settling their issues via formal legal means. Duelling became a political matter, therefore, so too did the possession of books about it.

Sketch of Thomas Spence’s profile. Taken from the Hedley Papers at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Reproduced with the permission of the Society.

Explicitly political works could also have their political edge heightened by being read in new contexts. Harriet Gray demonstrated this with reference to Thomas Spence's political works. Though Spence died in 1814, members of the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society felt the need to distance themselves from his ideas in 1817 due to both the campaign against the Society of Spencean Philanthropists in London and the activities of their own librarian John Marshall, who showed marked sympathy for Spencean ideas.

Titlepage from Thomas Gordon’s edition of Sallust. Taken from Eighteenth-Century Collections Online.

Perhaps more surprising are the ways in which the materiality of a text could render it more or less political. Katie showed how even just the title page could emphasise or de-emphasise the political nature of Cicero's speeches on the Catiline conspiracy - or be used to encourage a particular reading of them. The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries witnessed various accounts of the conspiracy, including both those that used it to call for loyalty to the existing (monarchical) regime and those that adopted a republican reading. The addition of paratextual material such as dedications and, in the case of Thomas Gordon's translation of Sallust's historical account, overtly 'political' discourses on the text, could further heighten its political character and/or a specific interpretation. Even the layout of the text on the page could contribute to this. Gordon deliberately adopted a clean, classical, layout to push his political message. This was in contrast to the busier appearance of scholarly editions which encouraged a more contemplative reading.

Page from John Spittlehouse’s pamphlet The Royall Advocate which includes the marginal note ‘Jesus Christ was no Quaker’. Taken from Early English Books Online.

Leanne Smith furthered our consideration of page layout by showing how the Fifth Monarchist John Spittlehouse deliberately used the white space at the edges of a page to draw the attention of his readers to key passages and to direct their understanding. His pointed comments in the margin alongside his account of Oliver Cromwell's speech to Parliament on 4 September 1654 encouraged readers to question Cromwell's actions and motives. While comments in the margin of The Royall Advocate such as 'Jesus Christ was no Quaker' sought to turn his readers against that radical sect.

The page from The True Patriot’s Speech at Rome which gives the false imprint. Taken from Early English Books Online.

Finally, Joe Hone showed us how even something as apparently innocuous as the imprint could enhance the political character of a text. His paper focused on the short pamphlet The True Patriot's Speech to the People of Rome. Though printed in London in 1708, the imprint read 'Amsterdam, 1656'. Joe argued that 'Amsterdam' was used repeatedly around this time as shorthand to indicate the republican or anti-monarchical content or implications of certain texts. In this sense it was not a way of avoiding censorship (as might be thought) but rather a declaration of allegiance. Similarly, dating the pamphlet '1656' suggested its relevance to the period of the English republic, and encouraged the audience to read it as a counterpart to key republican texts such as James Harrington's The Commonwealth of Oceana and Marchamont Nedham's The Excellencie of a Free State, both of which appeared that year.

Ben Jonson’s poem ‘To Groom Idiot’ taken from https://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/jonson/groomidiot.htm

We have already seen, with reference to Leanne's paper, how the materiality of the text could be used to encourage a particular political reading of it. This point was explored from a different perspective in Ruth Connolly's discussion. Ruth showed how Ben Jonson made careful use of punctuation to contain and control the meaning of his works. First, he made clear his expectation of readers in his poem 'To Groom Idiot', which criticises the eponymous recipient of the poem for failing to understand the punctuation of his works and for laughing in the wrong places. By this means Jonson created expectations as to how his works should be read. Secondly, Ruth used several specific examples to illustrate how a subtle change in punctuation - for example from a colon to a question mark - could alter the meaning of the text - and even how in a letter to Cecil from 1605 a colon was used to imply a meaning that was not explicit in the written words. Despite being very different kinds of writers, both Jonson and Spittlehouse used technical features of their texts to direct the reader's response. This is, of course, something we also see being used much more systematically in the elaborate bindings produced by Thomas Hollis for the works he disseminated, and in the marginal notes he added to those texts, which I explored in a previous blogpost.

The copy of Thomas Spence’s lecture held among the Hedley Papers at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Reproduced with the permission of the Society.

Finally, having been prompted by the papers delivered at York to think about the ephemerality versus the durability of early modern texts, I was interested to hear in the final panel about examples of ephemeral texts surviving under what might seem strange circumstances. Alex Plane explained that there is in James VI and I's Library an edict against duelling issued by Louis XIII of France in 1613. This is exceptionally rare - indeed it appears to be the only surviving copy. Its presence in James's library is probably due to Henry Howard, who was commissioned by James to write a work for him that was critical of duelling. To prepare for this task, Howard produced a common place book on the subject, and probably collected the edict as part of an information gathering trip to France. In her paper Harriet Gray reported that ephemeral material relating to Thomas Spence and John Marshall (including the only extant copy of Spence's original lecture 'Property in Land Everyone's Right' and Marshall's Newcastle Swineheard's Proclamation) can be found among the papers of the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society. Their survival is due to the concern among members to distance the Society from both Spence and Marshall, it is even possible that placing the texts in the collection was more about hiding them than preserving them (or at least about controlling the context in which they were read). They were not easy to locate or access  - as reflected in the fact that the Spence pamphlet was only discovered in 2005.

In my reflections on the first part of our workshop, I suggested that it had enhanced my understanding of how political works were produced and read in the early modern period. The second part deepened this, not least in encouraging me to think more about early modern cultures of reading and writing. Both Jonson and Spittlehouse took great care to guide their readers. Alex's description of James taking his courtiers on what were effectively writing retreats and having them surround him at dinner to discuss recently published pamphlets and draft responses to them, suggests a different kind of reading and writing culture from the image of an author sitting at a desk scribbling in the margins. Do we also, then, need to think again about our own cultures of reading and writing? What do readers need to know in order to properly to understand modern political texts?

The Power of Editors

Last month's blogpost centred on the radical periodicals produced by Thomas Spence and Daniel Isaac Eaton during the 1790s. This month I am extending that discussion by considering Spence's role as editor, and his use of his position to curate the words of others in such a way as to advance his own political ideas.

Spence’s Lecture, ‘Property in Land Every One’s Right’. From the collection of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Newcastle upon Tyne. Hedley Papers, Volume 1. Reproduced with kind permission.

Pig's Meat was composed almost entirely of extracts from a variety of political texts. Spence chose his extracts carefully, deliberately presenting key political themes. Prominent among these were: the importance of free speech and thought; the rights of man; and the superiority of republican over monarchical government. But Spence's main concern throughout was the oppression of the poor by the rich.

That theme also lay at the heart of Spence's Land Plan, which he first set out in a lecture to the Newcastle Philosophical Society on 8 November 1775. He argued that, in the state of nature, land was shared equally among all inhabitants for them to use to secure their own subsistence. On this basis, he insisted that 'the land or earth, in any country or neighbourhood, with everything in or on the same, or pertaining thereto, belongs at all times to the living inhabitants of the said country or neighbourhood in an equal manner' and that the state ought to protect this right to land (Thomas Spence, 'Property in Land Every One's Right'). In reality, however, land had been claimed by a few and divided among them for their own ends, making others dependent on them for subsistence. This injustice had been perpetuated through inheritance and purchase. Although this was the current state of affairs, Spence argued that things could be different if people were to acknowledge the injustice and take action. He suggested that each parish could form a corporation with the power to let, repair, or alter any part of the land, but without the power to sell the land. Individual inhabitants would pay rent to the parish for a portion of the land and those rents would be used to provide local and national amenities.

The section ‘Lessons for Monopolisers of Land’ from Thomas Spence, Pig’s Meat, Volume 1 (London, 1793). Robinson Library, Newcastle University. Rare Books RB 331.04 PIG. Reproduced with kind permission.

Throughout his lifetime, Spence produced a number of his own works (including political pamphlets, fictionalised utopias or travel writing, and even songs) which presented the key elements of his plan. The plan is also central to Pig's Meat, but here it is presented not in Spence's own words, but through those written by others. We can see how he does this by focusing on several extracts that appeared in the eighth issue (in autumn 1793). Under the title 'Lessons for Monopolisers of Land', Spence presents two biblical quotations. The first, which comes from Leviticus chapter 25, presents the Jewish idea of Jubilee. This required that every fifty years land within the state would be redistributed, reflecting the notion that the land belonged to God and was only granted to the people for their use. The second, which comes from Isaiah (chapter 5, verse 8), condemns those who parcel up land for themselves leaving none for others. These biblical passages are immediately preceded by an excerpt from the works of Jonathan Swift entitled 'An unpleasant lesson for the pigs' betters', which argues that those who enjoy wealth and power in society gained - and maintain - their position by vicious means, including incest, betrayal, poisoning, perjury and fraud. The biblical passages are then followed by an extract from the works of Samuel Pufendorf, to which Spence gives the title 'On Equality. From Puffendorf's Whole Duty of Man, according to the Law of Nature'. This passage includes the line: 'no man, who has not a peculiar right, ought to arrogate more to himself than he is ready to allow his fellows' (Thomas Spence, Pig's Meat, Volume 1, London, 1793, p. 91). Together, these passages reinforce key elements of Spence's Land Plan: that the land and the fruits thereof should benefit all members of society; that the current possessors of land have gained and maintained their position via unseemly means; and that it is possible (as in the example of Jubilee) to overthrow an unfair system.

Presenting what was a controversial plan via the words of others had obvious advantages for Spence, who was at this point an unknown London bookseller, recently arrived from Newcastle. Spence gives the impression that his Land Plan was in line with the views of serious political philosophers such as Pufendorf and respected authorities such as Swift. By labelling the Pufendorf extract 'On Equality' Spence was, of course, reinforcing this point. The inclusion of biblical quotations was another clever move. It simultaneously showed the poor that their cause was in line with the word of God (giving them greater confidence to assert their rights) and alerted wealthy elites to the fact that in oppressing the poor they were disobeying biblical injunctions and therefore God.

Spence’s ‘Rights of Man’ song from Pig’s Meat. Volume 1 (London, 1793). Robinson Library, Newcastle University. Rare Books RB 331.04 PIG. Reproduced with kind permission.

Very occasionally, Spence includes his own writings among the Pig's Meat extracts. The first volume includes a couple of his songs, and a version of his Plan in question and answer form. Here too, the juxtaposition of the extracts serves a deliberate purpose. Spence's first song appears immediately after an extract from John Locke's Two Treatises of Government; his second, between an extract from James Harrington and a speech by Oliver Cromwell; and the question and answer piece is sandwiched between two biblical quotations. By this means, Spence implies that his works are on a par with the texts surrounding them, thereby giving his works greater power and authority than if he had simply presented them in a pamphlet bearing his own name.

I discussed these ideas at a recent workshop on 'The Role of the Editor' at Newcastle University. Just as Spence's words gained greater power by being set alongside those of others, so my thoughts on this topic were enriched by listening to the other speakers.

The titles of the papers in the programme immediately raise questions about what we mean by 'editing'. The speakers discussed various examples including: authors editing of their own texts (Emily Price on William Lithgow, Joe Hone's paper which drew on evidence from proof copies); those editing texts written by others (Katie East on early modern editions of Cicero's works, Filippo Marchetti on John Toland's editions of the works of Giordano Bruni); the curation of a range of other 'texts' in periodicals and miscellanies (Kyra Helberg on the Lancet, Tim Somers on jestbooks); and even the editing of an archive (Harriet Gray on the Hedley Reports of the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society). By the end of the workshop we were wondering whether it would be better to think of editing as a task that various people undertake rather than a job title assigned to specific individuals.

Title page of the Hedley Papers. From the Collection of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Newcastle upon Tyne. Reproduced with kind permission.

Just as the notion of an 'editor' proved more slippery than we had appreciated, so too the 'audience' to which editors addressed their works was far from static. Anthony Hedley may originally have produced the reports on the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society for himself (they appear to have only been presented to the Society by his daughter after his death) or at most as working documents for a small number of Society members. As Harriet Gray noted, this might explain why he was able to include details of controversies relating to the Society which were kept out of more public accounts. In his paper, Filippo Marchetti observed that Toland had more than one audience in mind when seeking to spread knowledge of Bruno's works, and that he deliberately produced different versions of the text for different audiences - adjusting the wording and accompanying evidence accordingly. Where Toland produced different texts for different audiences, Thomas Wakely (the subject of Kyra Helberg's paper) sought to address several different audiences through a single publication. The Lancet was intended for the medical profession (including both surgeons and students) but there is also evidence that it was directed towards - and read by - the wider public. As Emily Price's paper demonstrated, editors were not always in control of their audiences. She showed how Lithgow's travel narrative was originally directed towards members of the Court as a vehicle for advancing Lithgow's career and furthering anti-Catholic arguments, but that after his death it became a forerunner of the Baedeker or Rough Guide for travellers to the Continent.

There was also much discussion of particular editorial techniques, with a plethora of these on display in the papers. Katie East suggested that the context in which particular texts appeared could significantly affect how they were read - and even whether a particular text was considered 'political' or not. Cicero's speeches on Catiline were presented to early modern audiences in a range of formats: including in editions of Cicero's speeches; in collections of ancient speeches by various orators; in compilations of Cicero's works; in collections presenting historical evidence relating to the Catiline conspiracy; and even as interventions in contemporary political affairs, such as the South Sea Bubble. In each case the setting will have affected how the speeches were read. Both Harriet and I addressed the role that curation - and especially the juxtaposition of particular texts - can play in presenting a particular reading of an event or text. Emily and Tim both provided examples of adapting a text to fit new circumstances. And Kyra showed that Wakley was not above inventing correspondents to the Lancet to introduce particular topics or pursue his own ends.

The title page of the first edition of Gulliver’s Travels. Image courtesy of Joe Hone.

Finally, Joe Hone provided more insight into the question hovering over much of our discussion, namely how we can be sure of precisely who was responsible for editorial decisions in any given case. Emily had noted that Lithgow was away on his second voyage in 1614 when the first edition of his work appeared, and she wondered how his absence affected his editorial input. Joe demonstrated that the issue is complex. He showed us proof sheets in which an author insisted that particular words be rendered in italics - suggesting a high level of authorial intervention was possible. Yet he also explained how Jonathan Swift was furious when his printer removed the sharpest satirical barbs from the first edition of Gulliver's Travels, without informing him before publication. Of course, in most cases we simply do not have the evidence to be sure where responsibility lay. Yet, as the workshop made abundantly clear, there is much to be gained from thinking more deeply about editorial activity, and how this has shaped the documents that scholars use as evidence.

Political Engagement: Utopias and Political Texts

In the last few weeks I have engaged in two public-facing events in which I have shared my research with non-academic audiences. Participants at both raised interesting questions and comments prompting me to think more deeply about the topics I am currently researching. In this blog I reflect on what I have learned from this engagement.

The first event was 'The Quest for Utopia', organised by the Liverpool Salon and held at the wonderful Athenaeum in Liverpool's City Centre. The Salon has been hosting public conversations on philosophical, political, and cultural topics on Merseyside for more than seven years, providing valuable opportunities for 'critical discussion'. The event in which I participated (a recording of which can be accessed here) was the first of a series exploring the theme of utopia. In his opening talk Ronnie Hughes, who presents himself as 'an occasional and formerly enthusiastic utopian practitioner', raised the provocation that the term 'utopia' has been misunderstood ever since it was first coined by Thomas More in 1516. More's aim, Ronnie insisted, had not been to create a 'perfect' society, but merely a 'better' one. I developed this point in my own introduction on James Harrington's The Commonwealth of Oceana, emphasising that when thinking about improving society we need to follow Harrington in taking human beings as they are rather than proposing plans that require super-human virtue or self-sacrifice. Moreover, given the constant dynamism of human life, deliberately leaving some things for future generations to work on (as Ronnie and his team did with the Granby Four Streets project) provides hope and opportunity for the future.

The Reading Room at the Liverpool Athenaeum. Image by Rachel Hammersley.

The emphasis on perfectionism may be one reason why, as participants lamented, utopianism is in short supply today. In our discussion we spent some time thinking about how to rekindle utopianism in the present and future. One obstacle is undoubtedly a pessimistic tendency - 'doom and gloom' as one person put it. It is easy to get so caught up in complaining about how bad things are, that we talk ourselves out of being able to do anything about it. Here too Ronnie had some wise words for us, identifying as a 'utopian moment' the point in his discussions with the Granby Four Streets residents when he told them they could have five more minutes of moaning, but then had to start talking positively about what they wanted. That shift is crucial if we are to have any hope of making things better. I was not the only participant reminded of Gerrard Winstanley and his comment that 'action is the life of all, and if thou dost not act, thou dost nothing' (Gerrard Winstanley, A Watch-Word to the City of London and the Armie, London, 1649). The first key to moving forward, then, is to turn from the negative to the positive; and to take action to move from how things have been, to how they could be.

Another important point that arose from our discussions was that scale is crucial. Grand visions can be impressive and inspiring, but they are also difficult to implement, and it can be hard to know where to start. Perhaps, then, instead of thinking big we need to take smaller steps initially to bring about concrete change. This might mean working locally rather than nationally or internationally. The Granby Four Streets project was local, as were the town projects arising out of the Garden City movement of the twentieth century. Such projects might not change the world fundamentally or bring about perfection, but they can and do make a difference to people's lives. Growing up in Milton Keynes, I was conscious that despite it often being the butt of jokes, there were many positive features of my home town (such as an extensive and well-lit cycle network) which I have missed in other places I have lived. Moreover, even small projects can have a big impact. After all, the Granby Four Streets project won the Turner Prize in 2015.

The Liverpool Athenaeum’s copy of Thomas More’s Utopia. Image by Rachel Hammersley and courtesy of the Library of the Liverpool Athenaeum - with particular thanks to Robert Huxley.

This leads to my third point: the importance of utopian thinking being grounded in place. The etymology of utopia means 'no place' and, as Robert Huxley demonstrated in his talk, a lot of utopian thinking of the Renaissance and early modern period was inspired by voyages of exploration that brought Europeans into contact with previously unknown places. But Vanessa Pupavac emphasised in her introduction that utopias work best when they are 'some place' connected to an actual location and its history. Believing, as some early explorers did, that we can impose our utopia or 'civilisation' on others - or, conversely, that we can import the Tahitian dream back to Europe - is a misconception that has repeatedly resulted in misery and disaster. We cannot remake the world divorced from the realities of climate, geography, culture, or human nature. Our utopias, then, must not only be positive and realistic, but also grounded in a particular time and place.

These ideas about how to build a better future remained in my mind as I approached the first meeting of our Experiencing Political Texts reading group, which took place at another wonderful city institution, Newcastle's Literary and Philosophical Society. The aim of this group is to explore the dissemination of political information both today and in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, thinking in particular about how the medium through which political ideas are conveyed can frame, influence - and even distort - the message.

Infographic advertising the Experiencing Political Texts reading group. With thanks to Nifty Fox Creative for the design.

At our initial meeting we talked about where each of us gets our knowledge about politics and current affairs from. There were various responses ranging from traditional media such as print newspapers and journals through to social media such as Twitter. It was also clear that while some of us favour text-based material, others prefer aural forms such as radio and podcasts. Fewer of us seemed to prioritise visual media, but that is also a format that is increasing in popularity - especially among the young.

Participants also commented on the limitations of some of these formats. In social media, headlines are accentuated, yet these do not always provide an accurate indication of the content of the article. Even longer articles may not provide as much depth - particularly on the history behind events - as might be necessary to properly understand them. Social media have been criticised for creating echo chambers, but participants also questioned the extent to which individuals reading conventional media seek out views and opinions different from their own.

This image and the one below are infographics produced by Nifty Fox Creative during the live scribing of our first reading group meeting.

More broadly, participants identified two pressing issues. First, the increasingly blurred line between truth and fiction - which becomes especially worrying when it is applied to the outcome of elections, as has been the case in several countries recently. Secondly, the fact that in many quarters the presentation of the news seems to be aimed primarily at entertaining the audience rather than informing or educating them. I share these concerns, but it also struck me that some of the early modern figures I have been studying actively deployed such tactics in order to engage readers. For example, Henry Neville deliberately presented his political views in entertaining genres such as a travel narrative and dialogue, and he used satire to draw in his audience. He also deliberately blurred the line between truth and fiction in order to prompt his readers into thinking more deeply about the truth of the information being presented to them. There is clearly a complexity here that requires careful unpicking.

Finally, we looked at some examples of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century political texts and compared them with the sources of political information available to us today. The group discussed what sort of people would have been able to read these works, thinking about access, class, and literacy. We acknowledged that the sharing of texts - for example by reading them aloud, passing them on to friends, and using the circulating and subscription libraries that emerged in the eighteenth century - will have increased the number of people who could engage with them. The presentation of works will also have been affected by the authors' sense of their target audiences - including the fact that some works will have been designed to be read aloud in coffee houses. The group also raised the thought-provoking question of whether authors thought only about contemporary audiences or whether they also had future readers in mind. If not, what does that mean for reading groups like ours addressing these texts today? I look forward to exploring these issues further in later sessions.

Launching Experiencing Political Texts

The way we consume news and political information is changing. A survey of 50,000 people in 2016 concluded that social media had taken over from television as the main source of news for people aged 18-24 and another published just a couple of weeks ago came to the same conclusion regarding 11-16 year olds. Similarly, research conducted in 2019 found that under 35s tend to use their smartphone (rather than print media, radio, television, or computer) to access the news, and that those in the 18-24 category rely on social media rather than news apps for their political information. While the majority of those asked in all age groups still tend to consume news in the form of written text, there is a growing appetite (especially among younger groups) for visual content including video and graphic storytelling.

This is thought to be an image of Major John Cartwright by Henry Fuseli, c. 1779. National Portrait Gallery NPG 4538. Reproduced under a Creative Commons Licence. Cartwright was a founder member of the Society for Constitutional Information and a driving force behind its establishment.

Innovation in the formats in which political information is presented to - and consumed by the public - is not a new phenomenon. Early modern Britain was a period of experimentation in this regard. The Society for Constitutional Information, established in April 1780, was concerned precisely with making political information accessible to new audiences. The organisation sought to diffuse knowledge of the British constitution 'throughout the realm', 'through every village and hamlet' even 'into the humble dwelling of the cottager' (An Address to the Public, from the Society for Constitutional Information. London 1780, p. 1). To this end they printed and disseminated for free a variety of works on British institutions and politics. Moreover, from the outset the members paid particular attention to the format in which their works were printed, declaring explicitly:

That Small Pica be the Type to be used in the Pamphlets and Tracts to be printed by

the Society; that Duodecimo be the Size of the Page; and that Demy Paper not

exceeding Thirteen Shillings and Six Pence a Ream, be employed in the several

Works to be printed. (The National Archives: TS 11/1133).

The title page and frontispiece image of Eikon Basilike (1649). Reproduced, with permission, from the copy held in Special Collections at the Robinson Library, Newcastle. Kieper (K942.062 CHA). This is a good example of an early modern text that used literary techniques and the materiality of the text (including the interaction of text and image) to convey its message.

Like tech companies today, members of the Society knew that making key political information easily accessible was key and that the medium in which it was delivered was as important as the message itself. This was true of early modern authors more generally. They used an array of literary strategies to entice readers in, exploited the material form of the works they produced, and paid attention to their circulation. One reason they did so was that they were concerned not merely to inform their readers but to encourage them to think about and engage with the issues under discussion - and even to stimulate them into action. The Society for Constitutional Information disseminated political texts in order to increase the number of people campaigning for the reform of political institutions. By educating British people on the constitution they hoped to stimulate them to take political action; to demand their rights and bring about a transformation of what they saw as an outdated and corrupt political system.

The 'Experiencing Political Texts' project that launches on 3 July seeks to explore this crucial relationship between medium and message in greater depth. By examining the methods used by early modern political authors to engage their audiences, and analysing how effective they were at achieving their ends, we hope to draw various conclusions. In the first place we will have a better understanding of how to read those texts - and how best to present them to modern audiences - whether via library catalogues or in modern editions. In addition, we will also advance our thinking on how best to disseminate political information and to stimulate calls to action in the twenty-first century - and even how to generate an engaged and active citizenry.

At the heart of the project will be a network comprising various groups. In the first place there will be humanities scholars from a range of disciplines with expertise in complementary approaches and skills. We will also involve library and archive professionals with experience of presenting early modern political texts to wider audiences, and digital humanities experts and software developers with the technical skills to think about digital representations. Finally we hope to recruit citizens of Newcastle and the surrounding area with a particular interest in the dissemination of political ideas and information.

Members of these different constituencies will gather together for three workshops. The first, to be held in Newcastle on 7th and 8th September 2022, will focus on the use of genre and form in early modern political texts and the ways in which authors sought to stimulate active political engagement by sparking their readers' imagination or provoking debate. The second, which will take place in York in early 2023, will explore the materiality of early modern texts, the other material objects associated with them, and the connections between these and the practical culture of political clubs. The final workshop, scheduled for September 2023 in Newcastle, will explore how the literary and material dimensions of early modern political texts can be effectively presented to audiences via library catalogues, exhibitions, and editions, as well as the issues raised by digital presentation.

Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society where the Reading Group will meet. Image Rachel Hammersley.

Also central to the project will be a monthly reading group that will meet at the Newcastle Literary and Philosophical Society on the second Tuesday of each month from October 2022 through to June 2023. Members of the group will read and discuss short extracts from key early modern political texts, as well as being encouraged to reflect on their own engagement with and consumption of political information. Discussions will be recorded through visual live scribing providing the opportunity to track changes in thought among the group and a means by which the ideas they explore can feed directly into other elements of the project - including the workshops and exhibitions.

The National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh, where one of the exhibitions relating to the project will be held. Image Rachel Hammersley.

The project will culminate with two public exhibitions, one at Newcastle University's Robinson Library and the other at the National Library of Scotland in Edinburgh, at which our key findings will be presented and explored. The exhibitions will focus on comparing original print editions of early modern political texts with modern print and digital versions to encourage thinking around the relative merits of different forms and how the manner in which we receive our political information impacts on our understanding and interpretation of that information. Workshops accompanying the exhibition at the National Library of Scotland will explore the implications of our findings for different groups such as activists or school children.

Of course it is not simply a case of disseminating political information in ways that are appealing and accessible to audiences. The medium also shapes the content. The report on the 2016 study cited above notes the ways in which social media can manipulate the news offering. Stories may be one-sided, biased, or even fake, and targeted to individual readers' existing interests and opinions. Despite this, in the most recent survey, 47% of the 11-16 year olds asked, said that they trust the news they see on social media and that they have more faith in social influencers than politicians to tell them the truth about the news. Moreover, today on social media political information is generally consumed in paragraph-sized chunks or even just headlines - with most readers not digging more deeply to understand the full story. There is, perhaps, a danger that our modern methods of political communication far from generating engaged and active citizens produce passive news consumers instead.

Early Modern Political Thought and C21 Century Politics: A Workshop

As part of my British Academy Fellowship I organised a workshop at Newcastle's Literary and Philosophical Society on Wednesday 16 May 2018, on the relationship between early-modern political thought and twenty-first-century politics. The Lit and Phil is an ideal place to host such a discussion, having been a vibrant centre for thought and learning in the heart of Newcastle for more than 200 years. Although its founders eschewed discussion of religion and politics, its forerunner - the Philosophical Society - debated such issues as 'Whether a National Religion, or a variety of Sects, is of greater advantage to the State?', 'Whether the Civil War in the reign of Charles I and the present conflict with America be similar?' and 'Which is the better form of government, a limited monarchy as in Great Britain, or a republic?' 

I invited four distinguished speakers to the workshop each to speak on a different theme. 

Image of Thomas Rainsborough from a mural in the Ouseburn Valley, Newcastle. Image by Rachel Hammersley.

John Rees, author of The Leveller Revolution, talked about political organisation and mobilisation during the Civil War. He focused on the Putney Debates arguing that it was in that forum that some of the arguments deployed ever since for and against democratic change were laid down. Thomas Rainsborough set out his famous plea for the right to representative government and democratic accountability. He argued that: 'the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live, as the greatest he' and therefore that 'every man that is to live under a government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that government' (The Clarke Papers, ed. C. H. Firth, London: Royal Historical Society, 1992, p. 301). Against him General Henry Ireton asserted that only those with property should have the vote. Moreover, as Rees noted, the organisation of those debates themselves hinted towards a more direct notion of democracy, with ordinary soldiers acting as the voices of their regiments. Drawing on his own experiences in opposing the regime of Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, Rees showed that these arguments retain relevance and resonance today.

Professor Ann Hughes speaking at the workshop. Taken by Rachel Hammersley.

Ann Hughes, Emeritus Professor of History at Keele University, engaged with the question of religious liberty and toleration. The period of the mid seventeenth-century witnessed the articulation of arguments both for and against toleration. The Presbyterian Thomas Edwards rejected toleration, citing the dangers that full religious liberty would bring. By contrast, in Areopagitica, John Milton celebrated the acceptance and even encouragement of (moderate) division and variety. Hughes highlighted the fact that Edwards and Milton essentially had different conceptions of the truth. Edwards believed that he knew what the truth was and that the task was to enforce it. By contrast, Milton emphasised the need for openness in order to discover the truth. Once again, we can see how these two views remain in conflict among us today with figures on both sides of the secular-religious divide in danger of being closer to Edwards than to Milton.

Image from Dr Ariel Hessayon's talk at the workshop. Taken by Rachel Hammersley.

Ariel Hessayon, of Goldsmiths College, discussed environmental issues, noting that while we worry today about global warming and its implications for competition over scarce resources, people in the seventeenth century were anxious about the impact of a cooling climate in what has become known as the 'little ice age'. Building on Geoffrey Parker's important work on this topic, Hessayon considered the sources that seventeenth-century men and women used to make sense of what was going on, and their responses to environmental change and challenge.

Dr Gaby Mahlberg speaking at the workshop. Taken by Rachel Hammersley

Finally, the historian and journalist Gaby Mahlberg opened with Berthold Brecht poem Thoughts on the Duration of Exile in order to address the issue of refugees and exile. She reminded us that exile is generally a matter of necessity rather than choice, and explored the ways in which seventeenth-century English republican exiles were affected by the people and ideas with which they came into contact in the nations that gave them shelter. She also spoke of the difficulties they faced in attempting to maintain and pursue their political activities abroad.

The four papers were linked in my mind by the fact that fear seems to have been a pervasive and constant presence in mid-seventeenth-century England. Ireton was afraid of the social anarchy he thought would inevitably arise from giving the poor and propertyless the vote (while those poor and propertyless were of course endlessly fearful of what the authorities would do to them). Edwards was fearful that tolerating certain religious positions would be a slippery slope that would again result in anarchy. The idea of the religious sects of the time as a canker eating away at society is a powerful image of the intensity of this fear. At the same time, members of those religious sects must have been constantly fearful of repression. Extreme weather events and other natural phenomena then, as now, bred fear as human beings grappled with the question of how to deal with what is beyond their control. Finally, exiles and refugees today, as in the past experience great fear for their lives and prospects, and at the same time have the potential to provoke a fearful reaction in others: their 'otherness' makes them suspect and a threat.

Frontispiece from the pamphlet The World Turned Upside Down (1645) taken from https://open.conted.ox.ac.uk/resources/images/early-media-role-woodcuts and shared on the basis of a creative commons license.

It is perhaps not surprising that a period of great change and revolution was marked by fear. Thomas Hobbes commented that he and fear were twins (it was said that his mother went into labour on hearing news of the Spanish Armada) and fear certainly played a central role within his political thought. Similarly the title and frontispiece to the pamphlet The world turned upside down of 1645 reflects the sense of fear and strangeness that seems to have been palpable at the time. Historians typically focus on the changes that were introduced, the debates that were played out, and the ideas that emerged, but perhaps refocusing on the fear would prove fruitful. 

Image said to be of Gerard Winstanley from a mural in the Ouseburn Valley, Newcastle. Image by Rachel Hammersley.

It is also important to remind ourselves that fear need not always provoke a violent, destructive or exclusive response. On this point I was struck by Ariel Hessayon's comment that Gerrard Winstanley's answer to the climactic problems of the seventeenth-century (and indeed to those of poverty and division too) was in essence peaceful, communal and constructive. He set about planting beans and turnips on St George's Hill in Surrey in a bid by himself and the members of his community to feed themselves.

Speaking of Winstanley brings me back to the poster I produced for the event and the image on it depicting a slightly quirky quartet of figures. Winstanley and Rainsborough are there joined by the nineteenth-century Chartist William Cuffay and the "King of the Hippies" Sid Rawle, under a banner stating 'This Land is your Land' 'Take it'. This mural can be found painted on to an artists' studio at the top end of the Ouseburn Valley in Newcastle. It would seem that I, and those attending the workshop, are not the only current residents of Newcastle who can see the relevance of seventeenth-century political ideas.

Ouseburn Valley mural with our four speakers: Gaby Mahlberg, Ann Hughes, John Rees and Ariel Hessayon.

You can find another blogpost on this event by Liam Temple, complete with audio recordings of the papers at:http://theosophicaltransactions.com/conference-report-early-modern-political-thought-and-twenty-first-century-politics-16th-may-2018/