History of Europe

The late Roman countryside and its patterns of life—a social pattern of landlords, free peasants, half-free workers, and slaves and an economic pattern of cultivated fields and orchards and the use of thick forests and their products—survived well into the Carolingian period. In the late 9th century, however, political circumstances led landholders to intensify the cultivation of their lands. They did this by reducing the status of formerly free peasants to dependent servitude and by slowly elevating the status of slaves to the same dependency, creating a rural society of serfs. The old Latin word for slave, servus, now came to designate a category of rural workers who were not chattel property but who were firmly bound to their lord’s land. The new word for slave, sclavus, was derived from the source of many slaves, the Slavic lands of the east.

During the 11th and 12th centuries the chief social distinction in western European society was that between the free and the unfree. For two centuries the status of serfdom was imposed on people whose ancestors had been free and who themselves would become free only when the rise of a money economy in the late 12th century made free, rent-paying peasants more economically attractive to lords than bound serfs. The aristocracy was able to accomplish this because of weakening royal power and generosity and because of its assumption of the bannum (“ban”), the old public and largely royal power to command and punish (now called “banal jurisdiction”). It announced its new claims by calling them “customs” and adjudicated them in local courts.

The aristocracy supervised the clearing of forest for the expansion of cereal cultivation but restricted the remaining forest to itself for hunting. It also forced its dependents to use its mills and local markets, to provide various labour services, and to settle more densely in the villages, which were slowly coordinated with an expanded system of parishes (local churches with lay patrons, to which peasants had to pay the tithe, or one-tenth of their produce). Serfdom was gradually eliminated in western Europe during the 13th and 14th centuries as a result of economic changes that made agricultural labour less financially advantageous to lords. During the same period, however, serfdom increased in eastern Europe, where it lasted until the 19th century.

The new stratification of society into the categories of free and unfree was accompanied by the transformation of the late Carolingian aristocratic family from a widespread association of both paternal and maternal relatives to a narrower lineage, in which paternal ancestry and paternal control of the disposition of inheritance dominated. Family memory restricted itself to a founding paternal ancestor, ignoring the line of maternal ancestors, and the new lineages identified themselves with a principal piece of property, from which they often took a family name. They also patronized religious establishments, which memorialized the families in prayers, enhanced their local prestige, and often provided them burial in their precincts.

The new lords of the land identified themselves primarily as warriors. Because new technologies of warfare, including heavy cavalry, were expensive, fighting men required substantial material resources as well as considerable leisure to train. The economic and political transformation of the countryside filled these two needs. The old armies of free men of different levels of wealth were replaced by new armies of specialist knights. The term knight (Latin miles) came into more frequent use to designate anyone who could satisfy the new military requirements, which included the wealthiest and most powerful lords as well as fighting men from far lower levels of society. The new order gradually developed its own ethos, reflected in the ideal of chivalry, the knight’s code of conduct. The distinction between free and unfree was reinforced by the distinction between those who fought, even at the lowest level, and those who could not. Those who functioned at the lowest level of military service worked hard to distinguish themselves from those who laboured in the fields.

English axman in combat with Norman mounted knight during the Battle of Hastings, detail from the Bayeux Tapestry; in the Musée de la Tapisserie de la Reine-Mathilde, in the former Bishop's Palace, Bayeux, France.Giraudon/Art Resource, New York Technological innovations

The increases in population and agricultural productivity were accompanied by a technological revolution that introduced new sources of power and a cultural “machine-mindedness,” both of which were incorporated into a wide spectrum of economic enterprises. The chief new sources of power were the horse, the water mill, and the windmill. Europeans began to breed both the specialized warhorse, adding stirrups to provide the mounted warrior a better seat and greater striking force, and the draft horse, now shod with iron horseshoes that protected the hooves from the damp clay soils of northern Europe. The draft horse was faster and more efficient than the ox, the traditional beast of burden. The invention of the new horse collar in the 10th century, a device that pulled from the horse’s shoulders rather than from its neck and windpipe, immeasurably increased the animal’s pulling power.

The extensive network of rivers in western Europe spurred the development of the water mill, not only for grinding grain into flour but also by the 12th century for converting simple rotary motion into reciprocal motion. Where water was not readily available, Europeans constructed windmills, which had been imported from the Middle East, thereby spreading the mill to even more remote locations.

In heavily forested and mountainous parts of western Europe, foresters, charcoal burners, and miners formed separate communities, providing timber, fuel, and metallic ores in abundance. The demands of domestic and public building and shipbuilding threatened to deforest much of Europe as early as the 13th century. Increasingly refined metallurgical technology produced not only well-tempered swords, daggers, and armour for warriors but also elaborate domestic ware. Glazed pottery and glass also appeared even in humble homes, which were increasingly built of stone rather than wood and thatch.

The most striking and familiar examples of the technological revolution are the great Gothic cathedrals and other churches, which were constructed from the 12th century onward. Universally admired for their soaring height and stained-glass windows, they required mathematically precise designs; considerable understanding of the properties of subsoils, stone, and timber; near-professional architectural skills; complex financial planning; and a skilled labour force. They are generally regarded as the most-accomplished engineering feats of the Middle Ages.

Cathedral, completed mid-13th century, in Chartres, France.© Manifestive_Media/iStock.com Urban growth

The experience of building great churches was replicated in the development of the material fabric of the new and expanded cities. The cities of the Carolingian world were few and small. Their functions were limited to serving the needs of the kings, bishops, or monasteries that inhabited them. Some, especially those that were close to the Mediterranean, were reconfigured Roman cities. In the north a Roman nucleus sometimes became the core of a new city, but just as often cities emerged because of the needs of their lords. The northern cities were established as local market centres and then developed into centres of diversified artisanal production with growing merchant populations. In the 10th and 11th centuries new cities were founded and existing cities increased in area and population. They were usually enclosed within a wall once their inhabitants thought that the city had reached the limits of its expansion; as populations grew and suburbs began to surround the walls, many cities built new and larger walls to enclose the new space. The succession of concentric rings of town walls offers a history of urban growth in many cities. Inhabitants also took pride in their city’s appearance, as evidenced by the elaborate decorations on city gates, fountains, town halls (in northern Italy from the 10th century), and other public spaces. Cities were cultural as well as economic and political centres, and their decoration was as important to their inhabitants as their water systems, defenses, and marketplaces.

The cities attracted people from the countryside, where the increasing productivity of the farms was freeing many peasants from working on the land. Various mercantile and craft guilds were formed beginning in the 10th century to protect their members’ common interests. The merchants’ guilds and other associations also contributed to the emergence of the sworn commune, or the self-regulating city government, originally chartered by a bishop, count, or king. The city distinguished itself from the countryside, even as it extended its influence there. During the 12th century this distinction was recognized culturally, when the Latin word urbanitas (“urbanity”) came to be applied to the idea of acceptable manners and informed Christian belief, while rusticitas (“rusticity”) came to mean inelegance and backwardness. Despite this awareness, cities had to protect their food supplies and their trade and communication routes, and thus in both southern and northern Europe the city and its contado (region surrounding the city) became closely linked.

In some areas of northern Europe, particular kinds of manufacturing became prominent, especially dyeing, weaving, and finishing woolen cloth. Wool production was the economic enterprise in which the cities of the southern Low Countries took pride of place, and other cities developed elaborate manufacturing of metalwork and armaments. Still others became market centres of essential products that could not be produced locally, such as wine. This specialized production led to the proliferation of long-range trade and the creation of communications networks along the rivers of western Europe, where many cities were located. Although some lords, including the kings of England, were reluctant to recognize the towns’ autonomy, most eventually agreed that the rapidly increasing value of the towns as centres of manufacturing and trade was worth the risk of their practical independence.

Originally a product of the agrarian dynamic that shaped society after the year 1000, the growing towns of western Europe became increasingly important, and their citizens acquired great wealth, usually in cooperation rather than conflict with their rulers. The towns helped transform the agrarian world out of which they were originally created into a precapitalist manufacturing and market economy that influenced both urban and rural development. Reform and renewal

A number of the movements for ecclesiastical reform that emerged in the 11th century attempted to sharpen the distinction between clerical and lay status. Most of these movements drew upon the older Christian ideas of spiritual renewal and reform, which were thought necessary because of the degenerative effects of the passage of time on fallen human nature. They also drew upon standards of monastic conduct, especially those regarding celibacy and devotional rigour, that had been articulated during the Carolingian period and were now extended to all clergy, regular (monks) and secular (priests). Virginity, long seen by Christian thinkers as an equivalent to martyrdom, was now required of all clergy. It has been argued that the requirement of celibacy was established to protect ecclesiastical property, which had greatly increased, from being alienated by the clergy or from becoming the basis of dynastic power. The doctrine of clerical celibacy and freedom from sexual pollution, the idea that the clergy should not be dependent on the laity, and the insistence on the libertas (“liberty”) of the church—the freedom to accomplish its divinely ordained mission without interference from any secular authority—became the basis of the reform movements that took shape during this period. Most of them originated in reforming monasteries in transalpine Europe, which cooperative lay patrons and supporters protected from predatory violence.

By the middle of the 11th century, the reform movements reached Rome itself, when the emperor Henry III intervened in a schism that involved three claimants to the papal throne. At the Synod of Sutri in 1046 he appointed a transalpine candidate of his own—Suidger, archbishop of Bamberg, who became Pope Clement II (1046–47)—and removed the papal office from the influence of the local Roman nobility, which had largely controlled it since the 10th century. A series of popes, including Leo IX (1049–54) and Urban II (1088–99), promoted what is known as Gregorian Reform, named for its most zealous proponent, Pope Gregory VII (1073–85). They urged reform throughout Europe by means of their official correspondence and their sponsorship of regional church councils. They also restructured the hierarchy, placing the papal office at the head of reform efforts and articulating a systematic claim to papal authority over clergy and, in very many matters, over laity as well.

The emotional intensity of ecclesiastical reform led to outbursts of religious enthusiasm from both supporters and opponents. Many laypeople also enthusiastically supported reform; indeed, their support was a key factor in its ultimate success. The increase in lay piety on the side of reform was indicated by the events of 1095, when Urban II called on lay warriors to cease preying on the weak and on each other and to undertake the liberation of the Holy Land from its Muslim conquerors and occupiers. The enormous military expedition that captured Jerusalem in 1099 and established for a century the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, an expedition only much later called the First Crusade, is as dramatic a sign as possible of the vitality and devotion of clerical and lay reformers.

Peter the Hermit leading a Crusade; from Abreviamen de las Estorias, early 14th century, a summary of universal history from the creation of the world to the death of Emperor Henry VII; in the British Library.The British Library (Public Domain)

The First Crusade had other, unintended effects. The success of Genoa, Pisa, and other Italian maritime cities in supplying the Christian outposts in the Holy Land increased their already considerable wealth and political power, which were soon comparable to that of Venice. Proposals for later Crusades often led to searching analyses, not only of specific military, financial, and logistical requirements but also of the social reforms that such ventures would require in the kingdoms of Europe. Finally, by bringing Latin Christians other than pilgrims deeper into western Eurasia than they had ever been before, the Crusade movement led Europeans in the 12th century to a greater interest in distant parts of the world.

The reform movement had a pronounced effect on church and society. It produced an independent clerical order, hierarchically organized under the popes. The clergy claimed both a teaching authority (magisterium) and a disciplinary authority, based on theology and canon law, that defined orthodoxy and heterodoxy and regulated much of lay and all of clerical life. The clergy also expressed its authority through a series of energetic church councils, from the first Lateran Council in 1123 to the fourth Lateran Council in 1215, and greatly enhanced both the ritual and legal authority of the popes.

The reform movement also erupted in a violent conflict, known as the Investiture Controversy, between Gregory VII and the emperor Henry IV (reigned 1056–1105/06). In this struggle the pope claimed extraordinary authority to correct the emperor; he twice declared the emperor deposed before Henry forced him to flee Rome to Salerno, where he died in exile. Despite Gregory’s apparent defeat, the conflicts undermined imperial claims to authority and shattered the Carolingian-Ottonian image of the emperor as the lay equal of the bishop of Rome, responsible for acting in worldly matters to protect the church. The emperor, like any other layman, was now subordinate to the moral discipline of churchmen.

Some later emperors, notably the members of the Hohenstaufen dynasty—including Frederick I Barbarossa (1152–90), his son Henry VI (1190–97), and his grandson Frederick II (1220–50)—reasserted modified claims for imperial authority and intervened in Italy with some success. But Barbarossa’s political ambitions were thwarted by the northern Italian cities of the Lombard League and the forces of Pope Alexander III at the Battle of Legnano in 1176. Both Henry VI and Frederick II, who had united the imperial and Lombard crowns and added to them that of the rich and powerful Norman kingdom of Sicily, were checked by similar resistance. Frederick himself was deposed by Pope Innocent IV in 1245. Succession disputes following Frederick’s death and that of his immediate successors led to the Great Interregnum of 1250–73, when no candidate received enough electoral votes to become emperor. The interregnum ended only with the election of the Habsburg ruler Rudolf I (1273–91), which resulted in the increasing provincialization of the imperial office in favour of Habsburg dynastic and territorial interests. In 1356 the Luxembourg emperor Charles IV (1316–78) issued the Golden Bull, which established the number of imperial electors at seven (three ecclesiastical and four lay princes) and articulated their powers.

Although the emperor possessed the most prestigious of all lay titles, the actual authority of his office was very limited. Both the Habsburgs and their rivals used the office to promote their dynastic self-interests until the Habsburg line ascended the throne permanently with the reign of Frederick III (1442–93), the last emperor to be crowned in Rome. The imperial office and title were abolished when Napoleon dissolved the Holy Roman Empire in 1806. The consequences of reform

The conflicts between emperors and popes constituted one conspicuous result of the reform movement. The transformation and new institutionalization of learning, the reconstitution of the church, the intensification of ecclesiastical discipline, and the growth of territorial monarchies were four others. Each of these developments was supported by the agricultural, technological, and commercial expansion of the 10th and 11th centuries. The transformation of thought and learning

The polemics of the papal-imperial debate revealed the importance of establishing a set of canonical texts on the basis of which both sides could argue. A number of academic disciplines, particularly the study of dialectic, had developed considerably between the 9th and 12th centuries. By the 12th century it had become the most widely studied intellectual discipline, in part because it was an effective tool for constructing and refuting arguments. The Gregorian reformers had also based their arguments on canon law, and a number of Gregorian and post-Gregorian collections, particularly that of Ivo of Chartres (c. 1040–1116), pointed the way toward the creation of a commonly accessible canon law. That goal was achieved in about 1140–50 in two successive recensions (perhaps by two different authors) of a lawbook called Concordia discordantium canonum (“Concordance of Discordant Canons”), or Decretum, attributed to Master Gratian. The Decretum became the standard introductory text of ecclesiastical law. Simultaneously, the full text of the 6th-century body of Roman law, later called the Corpus Iuris Civilis (“Body of Civil Law”), began to circulate in northern Italy and was taught in the schools of Bologna. The learned character of the revived Roman law contributed powerfully to the development of legal science throughout Europe in the following centuries.

Early in the 12th century, Hugh of Saint-Victor (1096–1141), schoolmaster of a house of canons just outside Paris, wrote a description of all the subjects of learning, the Didascalicon. Hugh’s contemporary, Peter Abelard (1079–1142), taught dialectic at Paris to crowds of students, many of whom became high officials in ecclesiastical and secular institutions. The teaching methods of scholars such as Gratian, Hugh, Abelard, and others became the foundation of Scholasticism, the method used by the new schools in the teaching of arts, law, medicine, and theology. In theology itself, comparable canonical work was done by Peter Lombard (c. 1100–60) in his Sententiarum libri iv (“Four Books of Sentences”), which became, next to the Bible, the fundamental teaching text of theology.

Peter Abelard with Héloïse, miniature portrait by Jean de Meun, 14th century; in the Musée Condé, Chantilly, France.Courtesy of the Musée Condé, Chantilly, Fr.; photograph, Giraudon/Art Resource, New York

But not all Christians admired the new Scholastic theology. The Scholastic teaching of Scripture replaced the early contemplative monastic style of exegesis with dialectical investigative techniques and speculative theology. Many monks and some outraged laity thought that Scripture was being mishandled, stripped of its dignity and mystery in the service of feeble human logic and cold rationality. They did not, however, stop the tide, as Scholastic theology created a complex, effective, and highly persuasive means of discussing both the complexities of divinity and the moral obligations of Christians on earth.

As groups of teachers organized themselves into guilds in the late 12th and early 13th centuries, they and their students received imperial, papal, and royal privileges. About 1200 these associations, modeling themselves on ecclesiastical corporations, developed into the first universities. During the remainder of the 13th century, clerical teaching authority within the universities was articulated. The first guilds were formed for the teaching of law at several schools in Bologna and for the teaching of arts and theology at Paris and later at Oxford, Cambridge, and other towns. With the foundation of the University of Prague in 1348, the model crossed the Rhine River for the first time. By the 15th century it had become a standard fixture of European learning.

University teachers insisted on the right to define teaching authority. Proclaiming the earliest version of academic freedom, they rejected outside interference and asserted that their professional competence alone entitled them to determine the content of disciplines and the standards for admitting, examining, graduating, and certifying students. They also transformed both the written script and the nature of the material book. Since teaching required a readable script and books whose texts were as close to identical as possible, the distinctive “Gothic” or “black letter” script was developed, which standardized abbreviations and the writing style used in texts.

The presence of universities of teachers and students in western European society was significant in itself. The universities reflected favourably on the cities in which they were located and on the rulers who protected them. The rulers also benefited from the opportunity to recruit increasingly educated public servants and bureaucrats from these institutions. The church benefited too, since the universities produced theologians, canon lawyers, and other officials that the church—even the papal office—now seemed to require.

The universities aided in the recovery and dissemination of Aristotelianism, particularly in the physical sciences and metaphysics. Only the new universities, moreover, could have housed and spread the intellectual work of Thomas Aquinas (1224/25–1274) and Bonaventure (1217–74), the greatest theologians of the 13th century, and of Henry of Segusio (Hostiensis; c. 1200–71) and Sinibaldo Fieschi (later Pope Innocent IV, reigned 1243–54), the greatest canon lawyers of the century.

St. Thomas Aquinas Enthroned Between the Doctors of the Old and New Testaments, with Personifications of the Virtues, Sciences, and Liberal Arts, fresco by Andrea da Firenze, c. 1365; in the Spanish Chapel of the church of Santa Maria Novella, Florence.SCALA/Art Resource, New York The structure of ecclesiastical and devotional life Ecclesiastical organization

With the removal of the most offensive instances of lay influence in ecclesiastical affairs, the organization of the universal church and local churches acquired a symmetry and consistency hardly possible before 1100. An 11th-century anonymous text that was accepted by canon law identified two orders of Christians, the clergy and the laity. It considered the clergy largely in a monastic context, indicating that the new attention to the secular clergy had transferred to them the virtues and discipline of monks. Although many monks were not ordained priests, their disciplined, contemplative life was held up for centuries as the ideal clerical model.

The work of the laity was the business of the world. The clergy, however, considered itself far more important than the laity. Members of the clergy themselves were ranked in terms of sacramental orders, minor and major. When a boy or young man entered the clergy, he received the tonsure, symbolizing his new status. He might then move in stages through the minor orders: acolyte, exorcist, lector, and doorkeeper. At the highest of minor orders the candidate could still leave the clergy. Many clerics in minor orders served in the administration of secular and ecclesiastical institutions. They also sometimes caused trouble in secular society, since even they received benefit of clergy, or exemption from trial in secular courts. Ordination to the major orders—subdeacon (elevated to a major order by Pope Innocent III in 1215), deacon, and priest—entailed vows of chastity and conferred sacramental powers on the recipient.

At the head of the Latin Christian church was the pope, whose powers were now articulated in canon law, most of which was made by the popes themselves and by their legal advisers. Not only did popes claim powers over even secular rulers in many instances, but a number of rulers, including King John of England (reigned 1199–1216), submitted their kingdoms to the popes and received them back to govern for their new spiritual and temporal masters. The popes also issued charters of foundation for universities, convened church councils, called Crusades and commissioned preachers to deliver Crusade sermons, and appointed papal judges delegate or subdelegate to investigate specific problems. In all these areas, as in the articulation of canon law, papal authority directly affected the lives of all Christians, as well as the lives of Jews and Muslims in their relations with Christians.

The popes were assisted by the College of Cardinals, which was transformed during the papal-imperial conflict from a group of Roman liturgical assistants into a body of advisers individually appointed by the popes. Among its duties articulated in conciliar and papal decrees of 1059 and 1179—rules still in effect in the Roman Catholic Church today—was to elect the pope. A cardinal could be a cardinal bishop (if the church he was given was outside the city of Rome, whose only bishop, of course, was the pope himself), a cardinal priest, or a cardinal deacon. Cardinals also had different roles. The cardinal bishop of Ostia, for example, always crowned a new pope. For some time the senior cardinal deacon gave the pope his papal name, a practice that began in the 10th century, perhaps in imitation of monastic tradition.

The papacy developed other means to implement its authority. After the Concordat of Worms (1122), which settled some aspects of the Investiture Controversy, popes held regular assemblies of higher clergy in church councils, the first of which was the first Lateran Council in 1123. Conciliar legislation was the means by which reform principles were most efficiently formulated and disseminated to the highest clerical levels. Although councils in the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries were closely controlled by the popes, later councils sometimes opposed papal authority with claims to conciliar authority, a position generally known as conciliarism. Papal legates, judges, and emissaries, widely used by Gregory VII and later popes, were dispatched with full papal authority to deal with issues in distant parts of Europe.

Papal collectors, who received funds owed to the popes for Crusading or other purposes, were also essential components of papal government. The papal chamberlain of Celestine III (1191–98), Cencio Savelli (later Pope Honorius III; 1216–27), produced the Liber Censuum (“The Book of the Census”) in 1192, the first comprehensive account of the sources of papal funding. In this respect, as in the formal communications of the papal chancery, the pope created an influential model, imitated by all other European principalities and kingdoms. Although only four papal registers (collections of important papal letters and decisions) from before 1198 survive more or less intact, all registers since then have been preserved.

The day-to-day work of the popes was carried out by the Roman Curia; the name Curia Romana was first used by Urban II at the end of the 11th century. The Curia consisted of the chancery; the Apostolic Camera, or financial centre; the consistory, or legal office, including the Roman Rota (chief papal court); and the Penitentiary, or spiritual and confessional office. The popes were also the secular rulers of Rome and the Papal States, and accordingly their servants included the rulers and officials of these territories.

The popes ran afoul of local movements for greater independence, including the revolution led by Arnold of Brescia, the priest and religious dissident, in 1143. Revolts continued throughout the 13th century and increased in frequency during the Avignon papacy (1305–78), when the popes resided in Avignon, and during the Great Schism (1378–1417), when there were two and then three claimants for the papal office. (The crisis was resolved in 1415–18 at the Council of Constance, which elected a new pope and restored papal authority over the city of Rome and the Papal States.) When a pope could safely reside in Rome, he worked at the church of St. John Lateran, his cathedral as bishop of the city of Rome, and not at the Vatican, which was chiefly a pilgrimage shrine. Only after Martin V (1417–31), the pope elected at the Council of Constance, found that the papal quarters at the Lateran had fallen into ruins was the papal residence and administration moved to the Vatican.

Lower levels of the clerical hierarchy replicated the papal administration on a smaller scale. The immense dioceses of northern Europe, ruled by prince-archbishops (as in Cologne) or by prince-bishops (as in Durham), were very different from the tiny rural dioceses of southern Italy. Within the secular clergy the highest rank below the pope was that of primate, who was usually the regional head of a group of archbishops. The archbishops, or metropolitans, ruled archdioceses, or provinces, holding provincial synods of clergy under their jurisdiction, ruling administrative courts, and supervising the suffragan bishops (bishops assigned to assist in the administration of the archdiocese). The archbishop was expected to make regular visits to the ecclesiastical institutions in his province and to hear appeals from the verdicts of courts at lower levels.

The archdiocese was divided into dioceses, each ruled by a bishop, who supervised his own administration and episcopal court. In ecclesiastical tradition, bishops were considered the successors of the Apostles, and a strong sense of episcopal collegiality between pope and bishops survived well into the age of increased papal authority. Episcopal courts included a chancery for the use of the bishop’s seal, a judicial court under the direction of the official or the archdeacon, financial officers, and archpriests (priests assigned to special functions). The bishop’s church, the cathedral, was staffed by a chapter (a body of clergy) and headed by a dean, who was specifically charged with administering the cathedral and its property. The chapter was not usually the bishop’s administrative staff and thus sometimes found itself in conflict with the bishop. Struggles between bishop and chapter were frequent and notorious in canon law courts, since they could be appealed, like disputed episcopal elections, all the way to the papal court.

Facade of the cathedral of Siena, Italy, 1285–1377. SCALA/Art Resource, New York

Episcopal powers were extensive: only the bishop could consecrate churches, ordain clergy, license preachers, or appoint teachers in episcopal schools. The bishop’s pastoral responsibilities extended to all Christians in his diocese. Moreover, since canon law touched the lives of all Christians, episcopal legal officials held great power. They visited diocesan institutions and presided over trials of those accused of violating canon law, which concerned many areas that in modern legal systems are subsumed under civil and criminal law, family courts, and moral offenses.

The diocese was divided into deaconries for the archdeacons, which might convoke lesser synods. Deaconries too had their own chancellors, notaries, and judicial officers, as well as archpriests who assisted the deacons. Since the archdeacon or official was usually the point of contact between the laity and ecclesiastical discipline, they were often the butt of satire and complaint. One topic said to have been proposed for debate at a 13th-century university was: Can an archdeacon be saved?

At the lowest level of the clerical hierarchy was the parish, with its priest, suffragan priests, vicars, and chaplains, who together supervised the spiritual life of the majority of European laity. The parish owned its church and the land that provided the priest’s income (the glebe); additional income was derived from tithes collected from all parishioners and often from an endowment. The priest was presented to the bishop for ordination by a layman, cleric, or clerical corporation with proprietary rights over the parish. In many cases, the actual care of souls in a parish was in the hands of a vicar, who was deputed by a patron to perform the priest’s duties when the priest was away studying or occupied in other business. The parish priest also administered the ecclesiastical calendar for his parishioners. Parishioners themselves might belong to spiritual associations, called confraternities, but all were expected to be baptized, to make confession once a year (after the fourth Lateran Council prescribed this in 1215), to take Holy Communion, to marry, and to be buried in the parish churchyard. The parish was the level at which most people learned their Christianity and the level at which most of them lived it. Devotional life

The popes also supervised the regular clergy, which included the religious orders of monks, canons regular (secular clergy who lived collegiately according to a rule), and mendicants. Each of these orders had a superior, who was advised by a chapter general that comprised representatives of the religious houses of the order. Orders, like dioceses, were organized according to regions, each having a regional superior and holding regional chapters. Individual religious houses were headed by an abbot or abbess (the mendicant orders had a slightly different organization) and administered by a chancellor and chamberlain. Provosts and deans usually supervised the property of each house.

In the 12th century, new devotional movements (movements devoted to Jesus or the saints) led to outbursts of religious dissent (with new forms of ecclesiastical discipline devised to control them) and equally passionate expressions of orthodox devotion. Although monasticism was by then an old institution, one of the great themes of the century was the search for the apostolic life as monks, canons, and laypeople might live it. The canons regular were one result of this movement, as were new monastic orders, particularly the Cistercian Order. But the most dynamic movement was that of the mendicant orders, the Dominicans and the Franciscans, founded in the early 13th century.

The Order of Friars Minor, founded by the layman Francis of Assisi (1181/82–1226) to minister to the spiritual needs of the cities, spread widely and rapidly, as did the Order of Preachers, founded by the canon of Osma, Dominic of Guzmán (c. 1170–1221). These and other devotional movements of laypeople were supported by Pope Innocent III and his successors. The mendicant orders greatly influenced popular piety, because they specialized in preaching in new churches that were built to hold large crowds. Indeed, during this time the sermon came into its own as the most effective mass medium in Europe. The mendicants also increased devotion to the Virgin Mary and to the infant or crucified and suffering Jesus, rather than to the figure of Jesus as regal and remote.

St. Francis of Assisi, detail of a fresco by Cimabue, late 13th century; in the lower church of San Francesco, Assisi, Italy. Alinari—Anderson/Art Resource, New York

Other forms of devotional life took shape during the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries. The Cistercian Order, for example, instituted the status of lay brother, who was usually an adult layman who retired from the world to undertake the management of monastic resources. Still other members of the laity retired to the sequestered life of hermits and recluses, usually under the supervision of a chaplain.

During the 13th and 14th centuries, devotional movements arose that were neither monastic nor clerical in any other sense. The most notable of these was the Beguines, an order of devout women (and occasionally, but more rarely, men, who lived in all-male communities and were called Beghards) who lived together in devotional communities within towns, especially in the Low Countries and the Rhineland, followed no rule, and took no vow. They worked in the towns but lived collectively and might leave for marriage or another form of life at any time. Some of the most important devotional literature of the period was written by and for Beguines.

The vast movements of reform, ecclesiastical organization, and pastoral care of the 12th and 13th centuries reached their greatest intensity in the pontificate of Innocent III (1198–1216). Lothar of Segni, as he was originally known, was the son of a landholding noble family outside Rome; he was educated in the schools of Paris and attached to the Roman Curia in 1187. Innocent issued the strongest and most tightly argued claims for papal authority, and he launched Crusades and instituted the office of papal judge-delegate to combat clerical crimes and heterodox belief. He also supported the new mendicant orders, paid particular attention to the needs of popular devotion, reformed and disciplined the Curia, and assembled the fourth Lateran Council in November 1215. Innocent came as close to realizing the ideals of reform and renewal in ecclesiological practice as any pope before or since.

The organization of normative religion, the formal rules and norms of practice in the faith, was intended to give regularity and order to lived religion. Daily religious life was characterized by the acceptance of tradition and authority and by belief in the saints as patrons of local communities and belief in the parish priest as a conveyor of grace by virtue of his sacramental powers (conferred by ordination) and his legal powers (conferred by the bishop). During the 12th century, institutional structures for official acts of canonization were established, but the enthusiasm for the saints remained an important part of both popular devotion and the official cult of the saints (the system of religious belief and ritual surrounding the saints). The cult of the saints was celebrated by clergy and laity in the observance of feast days and processions, the veneration of saints’ relics, pilgrimages to saints’ shrines, and the rituals of death and burial near the graves of saints. The liturgical dimension of pastoral care regulated the major events of the day, week, season, and Christian year, according to whose rhythms everyone lived. Priests blessed harvests, animals, and ships and liturgically interceded in the face of natural or man-made disasters.

Religious devotion strengthened the presence of normative religion in marriage and the family, the sacred character of the local community and the territorial monarchy, and the moral rules by which lay affairs were conducted. The fourth Lateran Council largely institutionalized the work of the 12th-century moral theologians at Paris, who had begun to apply the principles of doctrine and canon law to the lives of their contemporaries. From persuasion to coercion: The emergence of a new ecclesiastical discipline

The ecclesiastical reform movements that sharply distinguished clergy from laity also developed a means of sustaining that distinction through intensified ecclesiastical discipline. Clergy were not only freed from most forms of subordination to laypersons but also were granted legal privileges, being triable only in church courts and subject only to penalties deemed suitable by church authorities (benefit of clergy). Laity who injured clerical personnel or property were punished more harshly. But the distinction between clergy and laity also enhanced lay status. Lay authorities could legally perform judicial actions that were forbidden to clergy, like the shedding of blood or other forms of physical punishment. Clerical thinkers greatly legitimated lay activities that earlier monastic Christianity had once scorned, attributing a positive value to commerce, the law, just warfare, marriage, and other roles once considered signs of fallen and weak human nature.

The intensity of the reform movements led to a new and elaborated idea of sin and to categories of sin so grave that they required the harshest punishments, sometimes in cooperation with lay courts. The idea of crime itself, drawing on both older Roman law and earlier ecclesiastical discipline, gradually came to assume a distinctive place in secular law, as more and more conflicts that had once been settled privately came within the purview of lay legal officials. Clerical crime became a major focus of disciplinary concern. The term heresy, loosely used until the 11th century, slowly became better defined and was initially applied to clerical misconduct such as simony (the acceptance of ecclesiastical office from laymen) and nicolaitism (clerical marriage). The increasingly precise exposition of Christian doctrine by 12th-century theologians seemed to many people a displacement of the Christianity that they had always understood and practiced. Legal collections began to treat various forms of doctrinal and devotional dissent as heresy, thus formulating a category that would criminalize a wide variety of beliefs and conduct.

Promoters of the new ecclesiastical doctrine and discipline believed that the increasingly numerous devotional collectives and their charismatic leaders would eventually threaten the order of both clerical and lay society. In the early 13th century the English theologian Robert Grosseteste formulated a definition that accurately reflected the changed understanding of religious dissent: “Heresy is an opinion chosen by human faculties, contrary to sacred scripture, openly taught, and pertinaciously defended.” Criminal heresy involved belief that contradicted orthodox doctrine and was arrived at by purely human capacities. It was also belief that was publicly, and therefore seditiously, proclaimed, even after legitimate instruction by authorized teachers, thereby making the “heretic” contumacious in the eyes of the law.

Like the problem of criminal clergy, the problem of heresy raised procedural questions in law. Legal procedure in criminal cases might be initiated by an accusation by a responsible individual or by a denunciation by a group of specially appointed synodal witnesses. In 1199 Innocent III added a third procedure, that of inquisition, or inquiry by an appropriate authority, which was first used to investigate clerical crimes. Later popes appointed judges delegate as individual inquisitors, although there was not an institutionalized office of inquisition until the royal-papal establishment of the Spanish Inquisition in 1478. Christianity, Judaism, and Islam

The sacred texts of revealed religions may be eternal and unchanging, but they are understood and applied by human beings living in time. Christians believed not only that the Jews had misunderstood Scripture, thus justifying the Christian reinterpretation of Jewish Scripture, but that all of Jewish Scripture had to be understood as containing only partial truth. The whole truth was comprehensible only when Jewish Scripture was interpreted correctly, in what Christians called a “spiritual” rather than merely a “carnal” manner.

Although early Christian texts and later papal commands had prohibited the persecution and forced conversion of Jews, these doctrines were less carefully observed starting in the 11th century. Heralded by a series of pogroms in both Europe and the Middle East carried out in the course of the First Crusade, a deeper and more widespread anti-Judaism came to characterize much of European history after 1100. There also emerged in this period what some historians have termed “chimeric” anti-Judaism, the conception of the Jew not only as ignorant of spiritual truth and stubbornly resistant to Christian preaching but as actively hostile to Christianity and guilty of ugly crimes against it, such as the ritual murder of Christian children and the desecration of the consecrated host of the mass. This form of anti-Judaism resulted in massacres of Jews, usually at moments of high social tension within Christian communities. One of the best documented of these massacres took place at York, Eng., in 1190.

Before the 11th century the Jews faced little persecution, lived among Christians, and even pursued the same occupations as Christians. The Jews’ restricted status after that time encouraged many of them to turn to moneylending, which only served to increase Christian hostility (Christians were forbidden to lend money to other Christians). Because the Jews often undertook on behalf of rulers work that Christians would not do or were not encouraged to do, such as serving as physicians and financial officers, Jews were hated both for their religion and for their social roles.

Jewish identity was also visually marked. Jews were depicted in particular ways in art, and the fourth Lateran Council in 1215 insisted that Jews wear identifying marks on their clothing. Even when not savagely persecuted, Jews were considered the property of the territorial monarchs of Europe and could be routinely exploited economically and even expelled, as they were from England in 1290, France in 1306, and Spain in 1492.

Yet Christians also believed that it was necessary for the Jews to continue to exist unconverted, because the Apocalypse, or Revelation to John, the last book of the Christian Bible, stated that the Jews would be converted at the end of time. Therefore, a “saving remnant” of Jews needed to exist so that scriptural prophecy would be fulfilled.

Muslims, on the other hand, possessed neither the historical status of Jews nor their place in salvation history (the course of events from Creation to the Last Judgment). To many Christian thinkers, Muslims were former Christian heretics who worshipped Muhammad, the Prophet of Islam, and were guilty of occupying the Holy Land and threatening Christendom with military force. The First Crusade had been launched to liberate the Holy Land from Islamic rule, and later Crusades were undertaken to defend the original conquest.

The Crusading movement failed for many reasons but mainly because the material requirements for sustaining a military and political outpost so far from the heartland of western Europe were not met. But as a component of European culture, the Crusade ideal remained prominent, even in the 15th and 16th centuries, when the powerful Ottoman Empire indeed threatened to sweep over Mediterranean and southeastern Europe. Not until the Treaty of Carlowitz in 1699 was a stable frontier between the Ottoman Empire and the Holy Roman Empire established.

Contempt for Islam and fear of Muslim military power did not, however, prevent a lively and expansive commercial and technological transfer between the two civilizations or between them and the Byzantine Empire. Commercial and intellectual exchanges between Islamic lands and western Europe were considerable. Muslim maritime, agricultural, and technological innovations, as well as much East Asian technology via the Muslim world, made their way to western Europe in one of the largest technology transfers in world history. What Europeans did not invent they readily borrowed and adapted for their own use. Of the three great civilizations of western Eurasia and North Africa, that of Christian Europe began as the least developed in virtually all aspects of material and intellectual culture, well behind the Islamic states and Byzantium. By the end of the 13th century it had begun to pull even, and by the end of the 15th century it had surpassed both. The late 15th-century voyages of discovery were not something new but a more ambitious continuation of the European interest in distant parts of the world. From territorial principalities to territorial monarchies

As a result of the Investiture Controversy of the late 11th and early 12th centuries, the office of emperor lost much of its religious character and retained only a nominal universal preeminence over other rulers, though several 12th- and 13th-century emperors reasserted their authority on the basis of their interpretation of Roman law and energetically applied their lordship and pursued their dynastic interests in Germany and northern Italy. But the struggle over investiture and the reform movement also legitimized all secular authorities, partly on the grounds of their obligation to enforce discipline. The most successful rulers of the 12th and 13th centuries were, first, individual lords who created compact and more intensely governed principalities and, second and most important and enduring, kings who successfully asserted their authority over the princes, often with princely cooperation. The monarchies of England, France, León-Castile, Aragon, Scandinavia, Portugal, and elsewhere all acquired their fundamental shape and character in the 12th century. The office and person of the king

By the 12th century, most European political thinkers agreed that monarchy was the ideal form of governance, since it imitated on earth the model set by God for the universe. It was also the form of government of the ancient Hebrews, the Roman Empire, and the peoples who succeeded Rome after the 4th century. For several centuries, some areas had no monarch, but these were regarded as anomalies. Iceland (until its absorption by Norway in 1262) was governed by an association of free men and heads of households meeting in an annual assembly. Many city-republics in northern Italy—especially Florence, Milan, Genoa, Pisa, and Venice—were in effect independent from the 10th to the 16th century, though they were nominally under the rule of the emperor. Elsewhere in Europe, the prosperous and volatile cities of the Low Countries frequently asserted considerable independence from the counts of Flanders and the dukes of Brabant. In the 15th century the forest cantons of Switzerland won effective independence from their episcopal and lay masters. For the rest of Europe, however, monarchy was both a theoretical norm and a factual reality.

Whereas kings were originally rulers of peoples, from the 11th century they gradually became rulers of peoples in geographic territories, and kingdoms came to designate both ruled peoples and the lands they inhabited. Gradually, inventories of royal resources, royal legislation, and the idea of borders and territorial maps became components of territorial monarchies.

Kings acquired their thrones by inheritance, by election or acclamation (as in the empire), or by conquest. The first two means were considered the most legitimate, unless conquest was carried out at the request or command of a legitimate authority, usually the pope. The king’s position was confirmed by a coronation ceremony, which acknowledged what royal blood claimed: a dynastic right to the throne, borne by a family rather than a designated individual. Inheritance of the throne might involve the successor’s being designated coruler while the previous king still lived (as in France), designation by the will of the predecessor, or simply agreement and acclamation by the most important and powerful royal subjects. When dynasties died out in the male line, the search for a ruler became more complicated; when they died out in the male line and a woman succeeded, there were usually intense debates about the legitimacy of female succession. Liturgical anointing with consecrated oil was accompanied by the ceremonial presentation to the king of objects with symbolic meaning (the crown, the sword of justice, and the helmet, robe, and scepter), by the chanting of prayers dedicated to rulership, and usually by an oath, in which the king swore to protect the church, the weak, and the peace of his kingdom, to administer justice, and to defend the kingdom against its (and his) enemies.

From the very beginning of European history, kings had responsibilities as well as rights and powers. Kings who were thought to have violated their oaths might be considered tyrants or incompetents, and a number of kings were deposed by local factions or papal command, especially in the 13th and 14th centuries. Depositions also required ceremonies that reversed the coronation liturgy. Instruments of royal governance

Kings ruled through their courts, which were gradually transformed from private households into elaborate bureaucracies. Royal religious needs were served by royal chapels—whose personnel often became bishops in the kingdom—and by clerical chancellors, who were responsible for issuing and sealing royal documents. Royal chanceries, financial offices, and law courts became specialized institutions during the 12th century. They recruited people of skill as well as of respectable birth, and they established programs to ensure uniformity and norms of professional competence, goals that were increasingly aided by the education offered by the new universities.

In some circumstances, kings were expected to seek and follow the advice of the most important men in their kingdoms, and these gatherings were formalized after the 12th century. Kings also sometimes convened larger assemblies of lower-ranking subjects in order to issue their commands or urge approval of financial demands. As kings grew stronger and their bureaucracies more articulated, their costs, particularly for war, also increased. Greater financial needs often determined a king’s use of representative institutions in order to gain widespread acceptance of new direct or indirect taxation.

These assemblies developed differently in different kingdoms. In England the first Parliaments were held in the late 13th century, though they were not powerful institutions until the 16th century. In France the Parlement developed into a royal law court, while the intermittent meetings of the Estates-General (a representative assembly of the three orders of society) served as an instrument of consultation and communication for the kings. Across Europe these representative assemblies were composed differently, functioned differently, and possessed different degrees of influence on the ruler and the rest of the kingdom. Their later role as essential and powerful components of government began only in the 16th and 17th centuries.

The territorial monarchies represented something entirely new in world history. Although they often borrowed from the political literature of antiquity–—from the Greek philosopher Aristotle, the Roman statesman Cicero, and Roman epic poetry—they applied it to a very different world, one whose ideas were shaped by courtiers, professors, and canon lawyers as well as by political philosophers. Incorporating both clergy and laity under vigorous royal dynasties, the kingdoms of Europe grew out of the political experience of the papacy, the north Italian city-republics, and their own internal development. By the 15th century the territorial monarchies had laid the groundwork for the modern state. When, to further their own interests, they began to incorporate successively lower levels of society, they also laid the groundwork for the nation. The combination of these, the nation-state, became the characteristic form of the early modern European and Atlantic polity. The three orders

In the 11th and 12th centuries thinkers argued that human society consisted of three orders: those who fight, those who pray, and those who labour. The structure of the second order, the clergy, was in place by 1200 and remained intact until the religious reformations of the 16th century. The very general category of those who labour (specifically, those who were not knightly warriors or nobles) diversified rapidly after the 11th century into the lively and energetic worlds of peasants, skilled artisans, merchants, financiers, lay professionals, and entrepreneurs, which together drove the European economy to its greatest achievements. The first order, those who fight, was the rank of the politically powerful, ambitious, and dangerous. Kings took pains to ensure that it did not resist their authority.

The term noble was originally used to refer to members of kinship groups whose names and heroic past were known, respected, and recognized by others (though it was not usually used by members of such groups themselves). Noble groups married into each other, recognizing the importance of both the female and the male lines. Charlemagne used this international nobility to rule his empire, and its descendants became the nobility of the 11th and 12th centuries, though by then the understanding of noble status had changed. During the 11th century, however, some branches of these broad groups began to identify themselves increasingly with the paternal line and based their identity on their possession of a particular territory handed down from generation to generation, forming patriarchal lineages whose consciousness of themselves differed from that of their predecessors. Titles such as count or duke were originally those of royal service and might increase the prestige and wealth of a family but were not originally essential to noble status. Nor were even kings thought to be able to ennoble someone who was not noble by birth. As the status of the free peasant population was diminished, freedom and unfreedom, as noted above, gradually became the most significant social division (see above Demographic and agricultural growth).

The new warrior order encompassed both great nobles and lesser fighting men who depended upon the great nobles for support. This assistance usually took the form of land or income drawn from the lord’s resources, which could also bring the hope of social advancement, even marriage into a lordly family. The acute need on the part of these lower-ranking warriors was to distinguish themselves from peasants—hence the relegation of all who were not warriors to the vague category of those who labour.

Some nobles asserted their nobility by seizing territory, controlling it and its inhabitants from a castle, surviving as local powers over several generations, marrying well, achieving recognition from their neighbours, and dispensing ecclesiastical patronage to nearby monasteries. The greatest and wealthiest of the nobles controlled vast areas of land, which they received by inheritance or through a grant from the king. Some of them developed closely governed territorial principalities which, in France, were eventually absorbed and redistributed by the crown to members of the royal family or their favourites. Despite the extreme diversity between knights, lesser nobility, and greater nobility, their common warrior-culture, expressed in the literature and ideology of chivalry, served as an effective social bond, excluding all those who did not share it.

The stone keep of Cardiff Castle in Wales. © Gail Johnson/Dreamstime.com

As the territorial monarchies gradually increased in both prestige and power, the higher nobility adjusted by accepting more royal offices, titles, and patronage, developing an elaborate vocabulary of noble status, and restricting access to its ranks even though kings could now ennoble whomever they chose. The culture of chivalry served the ambitions of the lower-ranking nobility, but it also reflected the spectrum of different levels of nobility, all subordinated to the ruler. The culture and power of the European aristocracy lasted until the end of the 18th century. Crisis, recovery, and resilience: Did the Middle Ages end?

Both ancient and modern historians have often conceived the existence of civilizations and historical periods in terms of the biological stages of human life: birth, development, maturity, and decay. Once the Middle Ages was identified as a distinct historical period, historians in the 15th and 16th centuries began to describe it as enduring in a sequence of stages from youthful vigour to maturity (in the 12th and 13th centuries) and then sinking into old age (in the 14th and 15th centuries). Much of the evidence used to support this view was based on the series of apparently great disasters that struck Europe in the 14th century: the Mongol invasions, the great famine of 1315, the Black Death of 1348 and subsequent years, the financial collapse of the great Italian banking houses in the early 14th century, and the vastly increased costs and devastating effects of larger-scale warfare. For a long time historians considered these disasters dramatic signs of the end of an age, especially because they already believed that the Renaissance had emerged following the collapse of medieval civilization.

Mongol warriors, miniature from Rashīd al-Dīn's History of the World, 1307; in the Edinburgh University Library, Scotland.Courtesy of the Edinburgh University Library, Scotland

Reconsideration of the Europe of the 14th and 15th centuries, however, does not reveal decline or decay but rather a remarkable resilience that enabled it to recover from disaster and reconstitute itself by means of most of the same institutions it had possessed in 1300. Only from a highly selective and partial historical perspective was there ever, as the great Dutch historian Johan Huizinga once termed it, a “waning,” “autumn,” or “end” of the Middle Ages.

The process of rural and urban expansion and development indeed paused in the 14th century as famine, epidemic disease, intensified and prolonged warfare, and financial collapse brought growth to a halt and reduced the population for a time to about half of the 70 million people who had inhabited Europe in 1300. But the resources that had created the Europe of the 12th and 13th centuries survived these crises: first the European countryside and then the cities were rapidly repopulated. It is the resiliency of Europe, not its weakness, that explains the patterns of recovery in the late 14th and 15th centuries. That recovery continued through the 16th and 17th centuries.

The missionary mandate reached out across Mongol-dominated Asia as far east as China, where a Christian bishop took up his seat in 1307. The Mongol opening of Eurasia also relocated Europe in the minds of its inhabitants. No longer were its edges simply its borders with the Islamic world. Improved techniques in both navigation and marine engineering led Europeans from the 13th century to cross and map first their local seas, then the west African coasts, then the Atlantic and Pacific. From the late 15th century Europe began to export itself once more, as it once had to the north and east from the 10th to the 15th century, this time over vast oceans and to continents that had been unknown to the Greeks and Romans.

Neither the crises of the 14th century nor the voyages and discoveries of the 15th suggest the end of a historical period or an exhausted medieval Europe. The resilience and capacity for innovation of 14th- and 15th-century Europe, the hopeful, determined, and often passionate search for salvation on the part of ordinary people leading ordinary lives, even the inability of governments to weigh down their subjects without fierce displays of resistance—all indicate the strength of a European society and culture that men and women had shaped from the 8th century. Edward Peters The Renaissance

Few historians are comfortable with the triumphalist and western Europe-centred image of the Renaissance as the irresistible march of modernity and progress. A sharp break with medieval values and institutions, a new awareness of the individual, an awakened interest in the material world and nature, and a recovery of the cultural heritage of ancient Greece and Rome—these were once understood to be the major achievements of the Renaissance. Today, every particular of this formula is under suspicion if not altogether repudiated. Nevertheless, the term Renaissance remains a widely recognized label for the multifaceted period between the heyday of medieval universalism, as embodied in the papacy and Holy Roman Empire, and the convulsions and sweeping transformations of the 17th century.

In addition to Classical scholarship, the systematic investigation of the physical world, and commercial enterprise based on private capital, other important innovations of the Middle Ages that came into their own in the period included the revival of urban life, banking, the formation of states, and vernacular literatures. In religious life, the Renaissance was a time of the broadening and institutionalizing of earlier initiatives in lay piety and lay-sponsored clerical reforms, rather than the abandonment of traditional beliefs. In government, city-states and regional and national principalities supplanted the fading hegemony of the empire and the papacy and obliterated many of the local feudal jurisdictions that had covered Europe, although within states power continued to be monopolized by elites drawing their strength from both landed and mercantile wealth. If there was a Renaissance “rediscovery of the world and of man,” as the 19th-century historians Jules Michelet (in the seventh volume of his History of France) and Jacob Burckhardt (in The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy [1860]) asserted, it can be found mainly in literature and art, influenced by the latest and most successful of a long series of medieval Classical revivals. For all but exceptional individuals and a few marginal groups, the standards of behaviour continued to arise from traditional social and moral codes. Identity derived from class, family, occupation, and community, although each of these social forms was itself undergoing significant modification. Thus, for example, while there is no substance to Burckhardt’s notion that in Italy women enjoyed perfect equality with men, the economic and structural features of Renaissance patrician families may have enhanced the scope of activity and influence of women of that class. Finally, the older view of the Renaissance centred too exclusively on Italy, and within Italy on a few cities—Florence, Venice, and Rome. By discarding false dichotomies—Renaissance versus Middle Ages, Classical versus Gothic, modern versus feudal—one is able to grasp more fully the interrelatedness of Italy with the rest of Europe and to investigate the extent to which the great centres of Renaissance learning and art were nourished and influenced by less exalted towns and by changes in the pattern of rural life.

For additional treatment of Renaissance thought and intellectual activity, see humanism and classical scholarship. The Italian Renaissance Urban growth

Although town revival was a general feature of 10th- and 11th-century Europe (associated with an upsurge in population that is not completely understood), in Italy the urban imprint of Roman times had never been erased. By the 11th century, the towers of new towns, and, more commonly, of old towns newly revived, began to dot the spiny Italian landscape—eye-catching creations of a burgeoning population literally brimming with new energy due to improved diets. As in Roman times, the medieval Italian town lived in close relation to its surrounding rural area, or contado; Italian city folk seldom relinquished their ties to the land from which they and their families had sprung. Rare was the successful tradesman or banker who did not invest some of his profits in the family farm or a rural noble who did not spend part of the year in his house inside city walls. In Italian towns, knights, merchants, rentiers, and skilled craftsmen lived and worked side by side, fought in the same militia, and married into each other’s families. Social hierarchy there was, but it was a tangled system with no simple division between noble and commoner, between landed and commercial wealth. That landed magnates took part in civic affairs helps explain the early militancy of the townsfolk in resisting the local bishop, who was usually the principal claimant to lordship in the community. Political action against a common enemy tended to infuse townspeople with a sense of community and civic loyalty. By the end of the 11th century, civic patriotism began to express itself in literature; city chronicles combined fact and legend to stress a city’s Roman origins and, in some cases, its inheritance of Rome’s special mission to rule. Such motifs reflect the cities’ achievement of autonomy from their respective episcopal or secular feudal overlords and, probably, the growth of rivalries between neighbouring communities.

Rivalry between towns was part of the expansion into the neighbouring countryside, with the smaller and weaker towns submitting to the domination of the larger and stronger. As the activity of the towns became more complex, sporadic collective action was replaced by permanent civic institutions. Typically, the first of these was an executive magistracy, named the consulate (to stress the continuity with republican Rome). In the late 11th and early 12th centuries, this process—consisting of the establishment of juridical autonomy, the emergence of a permanent officialdom, and the spread of power beyond the walls of the city to the contado and neighbouring towns—was well under way in about a dozen Italian centres and evident in dozens more; the loose urban community was becoming a corporate entity, or commune; the city was becoming a city-state.

The typical 13th-century city-state was a republic administering a territory of dependent towns; whether it was a democracy is a question of definition. The idea of popular sovereignty existed in political thought and was reflected in the practice of calling a parlamento, or mass meeting, of the populace in times of emergency; but in none of the republics were the people as a whole admitted to regular participation in government. On the other hand, the 13th century saw the establishment, after considerable struggle, of assemblies in which some portion of the male citizenry, restricted by property and other qualifications, took part in debate, legislation, and the selection of officials. Most offices were filled by men serving on a rotating, short-term basis. If the almost universal obligation of service in the civic militia is also considered, it becomes clear that participation in the public life of the commune was shared by a considerable part of the male population, although the degree of participation varied from one commune to another and tended to decline. Most of the city republics were small enough (in 1300 Florence, one of the largest, had perhaps 100,000 people; Padua, nearer the average, had about 15,000) so that public business was conducted by and for citizens who knew each other, and civic issues were a matter of widespread and intense personal concern.

Giotto: frescoes in Arena ChapelGiotto painted frescoes in the Arena Chapel in Padua, Italy, about 1305–06.A. Dagli Orti/DeA Picture Library

The darker side of this intense community life was conflict. It became a cliché of contemporary observers that when townsmen were not fighting their neighbours they were fighting each other. Machiavelli explained this as the result of the natural enmity between nobles and “the people—the former desiring to command, the latter unwilling to obey.” This contains an essential truth: a basic problem was the unequal distribution of power and privilege, but the class division was further complicated by factional rivalry within the ruling groups and by ideological differences—Guelfism, or loyalty to the pope, versus Ghibellinism, or vassalage to the German emperors (see Guelf and Ghibelline). The continuing leadership of the old knightly class, with its violent feudal ways and the persistence of a winner-take-all conception of politics, guaranteed bloody and devastating conflict. Losers could expect to be condemned to exile, with their houses burned and their property confiscated. Winners had to be forever vigilant against the unending conspiracies of exiles yearning to return to their homes and families.

Machiavelli, NiccolòNiccolò Machiavelli, oil painting by Santi di Tito; in the Palazzo Vecchio, Florence.Mondadori Portfolio/age fotostock

Leaning Tower of Pisa (left) and the cathedral, Pisa, Italy.Photos.com/Thinkstock

Cathedral of San Martino, Lucca, ItalySCALA/Art Resource, New YorkDuring the 14th century a number of cities, despairing of finding a solution to the problem of civic strife, were turning from republicanism to signoria, the rule of one man. The signore, or lord, was usually a member of a local feudal family that was also a power in the commune; thus, lordship did not appear to be an abnormal development, particularly if the signore chose, as most did, to rule through existing republican institutions. Sometimes a signoria was established as the result of one noble faction’s victory over another, while in a few cases a feudal noble who had been hired by the republic as its condottiere, or military captain, became its master. Whatever the process, hereditary lordship had become the common condition and free republicanism the exception by the late 14th century. Contrary to what Burckhardt believed, Italy in the 14th century had not shaken off feudalism. In the south, feudalism was entrenched in the loosely centralized Kingdom of Naples, successor state to the Hohenstaufen and Norman kingdoms. In central and northern Italy, feudal lordship and knightly values merged with medieval communal institutions to produce the typical state of the Renaissance. Where the nobles were excluded by law from political participation in the commune, as in the Tuscan cities of Florence, Siena, Pisa, and Lucca, parliamentary republicanism had a longer life; but even these bastions of liberty had intervals of disguised or open lordship. The great maritime republic of Venice reversed the usual process by increasing the powers of its councils at the expense of the doge (from Latin dux, “leader”). However, Venice never had a feudal nobility, only a merchant aristocracy that called itself noble and jealously guarded its hereditary sovereignty against incursions from below.

Wars of expansion

There were new as well as traditional elements in the Renaissance city-state. Changes in the political and economic situation affected the evolution of government, while the growth of the humanist movement influenced developing conceptions of citizenship, patriotism, and civic history. The decline in the ability of both the empire and the papacy to dominate Italian affairs as they had done in the past left each state free to pursue its own goals within the limits of its resources. These goals were, invariably, the security and power of each state vis-à-vis its neighbours.Diplomacy became a skilled game of experts; rivalries were deadly, and warfare was endemic. Because the costs of war were all-consuming, particularly as mercenary troops replaced citizen militias, the states had to find new sources of revenue and develop methods of securing public credit. Governments borrowed from moneylenders (stimulating the development of banking), imposed customs duties, and levied fines; but, as their costs continued to exceed revenues, they came up with new solutions such as the forced loan, funded debt, and taxes on property and income. New officials with special skills were required to take property censuses (the catasto), calculate assessments, and manage budgets, as well as to provision troops, take minutes of council meetings, administer justice, write to other governments, and send instructions to envoys and other agents. All this required public space—council, judicial, and secretarial rooms, storage space for bulging archives, and both closed and open-air ceremonial settings where officials interacted with the citizenry and received foreign visitors. As secular needs joined and blended with religious ones, towns took their place alongside the church and the monasteries as patrons of builders, painters, and sculptors (often the same persons). In the late 13th century, great programs of public building and decoration were begun that were intended to symbolize and portray images of civic power and beneficence and to communicate the values of “the common good.” Thus, the expansion of the functions of the city-state was accompanied by the development of a public ideology and a civic rhetoric intended to make people conscious of their blessings and responsibilities as citizens.

The city-state tended to subsume many of the protective and associative functions and loyalties connected with clan, family, guild, and party. Whether it fostered individualism by replacing traditional forms of association—as Burckhardt, Alfred von Martin, and other historians have claimed—is problematic. The Renaissance “discovery of the individual” is a nebulous concept, lending itself to many different meanings. It could be argued, for example, that the development of communal law, with its strong Roman influence, enhanced individual property rights or that participatory government promoted a consciousness of individual value. It could also be argued, however, that the city-state was a more effective controller of the loyalty and property of its members than were feudal jurisdictions and voluntary associations. In some respects the great merchants and bankers of the Renaissance, operating in international markets, had more freedom than local tradespeople, who were subject to guild restrictions, communal price and quality controls, and usury laws; but the economic ideal of Renaissance states was mercantilism, not free private enterprise.

Initial letter of the Magnificat, from the Book of Hours of Gian Galeazzo Visconti, illuminated manuscript page by Giovannino de' Grassi, c. 1385; in the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Florence (Fondo Landau-Finaly MS. 22, fol. 147 v).SCALA/Art Resource

Cosimo de' Medici.Stock Montage/Hulton Archive/Getty ImagesAmid the confusion of medieval Italian politics, a new pattern of relations emerged by the 14th century. No longer revolving in the papal or in the imperial orbit, the stronger states were free to assert their hegemony over the weaker, and a system of regional power centres evolved. From time to time the more ambitious states, especially those that had brought domestic conflict under control, made a bid for a wider hegemony in the peninsula, such as Milan attempted under the lordship of the Visconti family. In the 1380s and ’90s Gian Galeazzo Visconti pushed Milanese power eastward as far as Padua, at the very doorstep of Venice, and southward to the Tuscan cities of Lucca, Pisa, and Siena and even to Perugia in papal territory. Some believed that Gian Galeazzo meant to be king of Italy; whether or not this is true, he would probably have overrun Florence, the last outpost of resistance in central Italy, had he not died suddenly in 1402, leaving a divided inheritance and much confusion. In the 1420s, under Filippo Maria, Milan began to expand again; but by then Venice, with territorial ambitions of its own, had joined with Florence to block Milan’s advance, while the other Italian states took sides or remained neutral according to their own interests. The mid-15th century saw the Italian peninsula embroiled in a turmoil of intrigues, plots, revolts, wars, and shifting alliances, of which the most sensational was the reversal that brought the two old enemies, Florence and Milan, together against Venetian expansion. This “diplomatic revolution,” supported by Cosimo de’ Medici, the unofficial head of the Florentine republic, is the most significant illustration of the emergence of balance-of-power diplomacy in Renaissance Italy.

Italian humanism

The notion that ancient wisdom and eloquence lay slumbering in the Dark Ages until awakened in the Renaissance was the creation of the Renaissance itself. The idea of the revival of Classical antiquity is one of those great myths, comparable to the idea of the universal civilizing mission of imperial Rome or to the idea of progress in a modern industrial society, by which an era defines itself in history. Like all such myths, it is a blend of fact and invention. Classical thought and style permeated medieval culture in ways past counting. Most of the authors known to the Renaissance were known to the Middle Ages as well, while the Classical texts “discovered” by the humanists were often not originals but medieval copies preserved in monastic or cathedral libraries. Moreover, the Middle Ages had produced at least two earlier revivals of Classical antiquity. The so-called Carolingian Renaissance of the late 8th and 9th centuries saved many ancient works from destruction or oblivion, passing them down to posterity in its beautiful minuscule script (which influenced the humanist scripts of the Renaissance). A 12th-century Renaissance saw the revival of Roman law, Latin poetry, and Greek science, including almost the whole corpus of Aristotelian writings known today. Growth of literacy

Nevertheless, the Classical revival of the Italian Renaissance was so different from these earlier movements in spirit and substance that the humanists might justifiably claim that it was original and unique. During most of the Middle Ages, Classical studies and virtually all intellectual activities were carried on by churchmen, usually members of the monastic orders. In the Italian cities, this monopoly was partially breached by the growth of a literate laity with some taste and need for literary culture. New professions reflected the growth of both literary and specialized lay education—the dictatores, or teachers of practical rhetoric, lawyers, and the ever-present notary (a combination of solicitor and public recorder). These, and not Burckhardt’s wandering scholar-clerics, were the true predecessors of the humanists.

In Padua a kind of early humanism emerged, flourished, and declined between the late 13th and early 14th centuries. Paduan classicism was a product of the vigorous republican life of the commune, and its decline coincided with the loss of the city’s liberty. A group of Paduan jurists, lawyers, and notaries—all trained as dictatores—developed a taste for Classical literature that probably stemmed from their professional interest in Roman law and their affinity for the history of the Roman Republic. The most famous of these Paduan classicists was Albertino Mussato, a poet, historian, and playwright, as well as lawyer and politician, whose play Ecerinis, modeled on the work of Lucius Annaeus Seneca, has been called the first Renaissance tragedy. By reviving several types of ancient literary forms and by promoting the use of Classical models for poetry and rhetoric, the Paduan humanists helped make the 14th-century Italians more conscious of their Classical heritage; in other respects, however, they remained close to their medieval antecedents, showing little comprehension of the vast cultural and historical gulf that separated them from the ancients. Language and eloquence

It was Francesco Petrarca, or Petrarch, who first understood fully that antiquity was a civilization apart and, understanding it, outlined a program of Classically oriented studies that would lay bare its spirit. The focus of Petrarch’s insight was language: if Classical antiquity was to be understood in its own terms, it would be through the speech with which the ancients had communicated their thoughts. This meant that the languages of antiquity had to be studied as the ancients had used them and not as vehicles for carrying modern thoughts. Thus, grammar, which included the reading and careful imitation of ancient authors from a linguistic point of view, was the basis of Petrarch’s entire program.

From the mastery of language, one moved on to the attainment of eloquence. For Petrarch, as for Cicero, eloquence was not merely the possession of an elegant style, nor yet the power of persuasion, but the union of elegance and power together with virtue. One who studied language and rhetoric in the tradition of the great orators of antiquity did so for a moral purpose—to persuade men and women to the good life—for, said Petrarch in a dictum that could stand as the slogan of Renaissance humanism, “it is better to will the good than to know the truth.” The humanities

To will the good, one must first know it, and so there could be no true eloquence without wisdom. According to Leonardo Bruni, a leading humanist of the next generation, Petrarch “opened the way for us to show in what manner we might acquire learning.” Petrarch’s union of rhetoric and philosophy, modeled on the Classical ideal of eloquence, provided the humanists with an intellectual dignity and a moral ethos lacking to the medieval dictatores and classicists. It also pointed the way toward a program of studies—the studia humanitatis—by which the ideal might be achieved. As elaborated by Bruni, Pier Paolo Vergerio, and others, the notion of the humanities was based on Classical models—the tradition of a liberal arts curriculum conceived by the Greeks and elaborated by Cicero and Quintilian. Medieval scholars had been fascinated by the notion that there were seven liberal arts, no more and no less, although they did not always agree as to which they were. The humanists had their own favourites, which invariably included grammar, rhetoric, poetry, moral philosophy, and history, with a nod or two toward music and mathematics. They also had their own ideas about methods of teaching and study. They insisted upon the mastery of Classical Latin and, where possible, Greek, which began to be studied again in the West in 1397, when the Greek scholar Manuel Chrysoloras was invited to lecture in Florence. They also insisted upon the study of Classical authors at first hand, banishing the medieval textbooks and compendiums from their schools. This greatly increased the demand for Classical texts, which was first met by copying manuscript books in the newly developed humanistic scripts and then, after the mid-15th century, by the method of printing with movable type, first developed in Germany and rapidly adopted in Italy and elsewhere. Thus, while it is true that most of the ancient authors were already known in the Middle Ages, there was an all-important difference between circulating a book in many copies to a reading public and jealously guarding a single exemplar as a prized possession in some remote monastery library.

Chrysoloras, detail of a drawing by an unknown artist, c. 1400; in the Bibliothèque Nationale, ParisJ.P. Ziolo, Paris

The term humanist (Italian umanista, Latin humanista) first occurs in 15th-century documents to refer to a teacher of the humanities. Humanists taught in a variety of ways. Some founded their own schools—as Vittorino da Feltre did in Mantua in 1423 and Guarino Veronese in Ferrara in 1429—where students could study the new curriculum at both elementary and advanced levels. Some humanists taught in universities, which, while remaining strongholds of specialization in law, medicine, and theology, had begun to make a place for the new disciplines by the late 14th century. Still others were employed in private households, as was the poet and scholar Politian (Angelo Poliziano), who was tutor to the Medici children as well as a university professor.

Politian, detail from Zaccharias and the Angel, by Domenico Ghirlandaio, 1490–94; in Santa Maria Novella, Florence.Alinari/Art Resource, New York

Formal education was only one of several ways in which the humanists shaped the minds of their age. Many were themselves fine literary artists who exemplified the eloquence they were trying to foster in their students. Renaissance Latin poetry, for example, nowadays dismissed—usually unread—as imitative and formalistic, contains much graceful and lyrical expression by such humanists as Politian, Giovanni Pontano, and Jacopo Sannazzaro. In drama, Politian, Pontano, and Pietro Bembo were important innovators, and the humanists were in their element in the composition of elegant letters, dialogues, and discourses. By the late 15th century, humanists were beginning to apply their ideas about language and literature to composition in Italian as well as in Latin, demonstrating that Vulgar Latin could be as supple and as elegant in poetry and prose as was Classical Latin.

Pontano, GiovanniGiovanni Pontano. Classical scholarship

Not every humanist was a poet, but most were classical scholars. Classical scholarship consisted of a set of related, specialized techniques by which the cultural heritage of antiquity was made available for convenient use. Essentially, in addition to searching out and authenticating ancient authors and works, this meant editing—comparing variant manuscripts of a work, correcting faulty or doubtful passages, and commenting in notes or in separate treatises on the style, meaning, and context of an author’s thought. Obviously, this demanded not only superb mastery of the languages involved and a command of Classical literature but also a knowledge of the culture that formed the ancient author’s mind and influenced his writing. Consequently, the humanists created a vast scholarly literature devoted to these matters and instructive in the critical techniques of classical philology, the study of ancient texts. Arts and letters

Classicism and the literary impulse went hand in hand. From Lovato Lovati and Albertino Mussato to Politian and Pontano, humanists wrote Latin poetry and drama with considerable grace and power (Politian wrote in Greek as well), while others composed epistles, essays, dialogues, treatises, and histories on Classical models. In fact, it is fair to say that the development of elegant prose was the major literary achievement of humanism and that the epistle was its typical form. Petrarch’s practice of collecting, reordering, and even rewriting his letters—of treating them as works of art—was widely imitated.

Raphael: portrait of Baldassare CastiglioneBaldassare Castiglione, portrait by Raphael, 1514–15; in the Louvre, Paris.Erich Lessing/Art Resource, New York

Ludovico Ariosto wearing a laurel crown, engraving.© Photos.com/ThinkstockFor lengthier discussions, the humanist was likely to compose a formal treatise or a dialogue—a Classical form that provided the opportunity to combine literary imagination with the discussion of weighty matters. The most famous example of this type is The Courtier, published by Baldassare Castiglione in 1528; a graceful discussion of love, courtly manners, and the ideal education for a perfect gentleman, it had enormous influence throughout Europe. Castiglione had a humanist education, but he wrote The Courtier in Italian, the language Bembo chose for his dialogue on love, Gli Asolani (1505), and Ludovico Ariosto chose for his delightful epic, Orlando furioso, completed in 1516. The vernacular was coming of age as a literary medium.

According to some, a life-and-death struggle between Latin and Italian began in the 14th century, while the mortal enemies of Italian were the humanists, who impeded the natural growth of the vernacular after its brilliant beginning with Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. In this view, the choice of Italian by such great 16th-century writers as Castiglione, Ariosto, and Machiavelli represents the final “triumph” of the vernacular and the restoration of contact between Renaissance culture and its native roots. The reality is somewhat less dramatic and more complicated. Most Italian writers regarded Latin as being as much a part of their culture as the vernacular, and most of them wrote in both languages. It should also be remembered that Italy was a land of powerful regional dialect traditions; until the late 13th century, Latin was the only language common to all Italians. By the end of that century, however, Tuscan was emerging as the primary vernacular, and Dante’s choice of it for his The Divine Comedy ensured its preeminence. Of lyric poets writing in Tuscan (hereafter called Italian), the greatest was Petrarch. His canzoni, or songs, and sonnets in praise of Laura are revealing studies of the effect of love upon the lover; his Italia mia is a plea for peace that evokes the beauties of his native land; his religious songs reveal his deep spiritual feeling.

Charon, illustration by Gustave Doré for an 1861 edition of Dante's Inferno (The Divine Comedy).© Photos.com/Thinkstock

Petrarch’s friend and admirer Giovanni Boccaccio is best known for his Decameron; but he pioneered in adapting Classical forms to Italian usage, including the hunting poem, romance, idyll, and pastoral, whereas some of his themes, most notably the story of Troilus and Cressida, were borrowed by other poets, including Geoffrey Chaucer and Torquato Tasso.

Torquato Tasso, detail of an oil painting by Federico Zuccari, 1594; in a private collectionCourtesy of L. Locatelli-Milesi-Tombini, Bergamo, Italy

The scarcity of first-rate Italian poetry throughout most of the 15th century has caused a number of historians to regret the passing of il buon secolo, the great age of the language, which supposedly came to an end with the ascendancy of humanist Classicism. For every humanist who disdained the vernacular, however, there was a Leonardo Bruni to maintain its excellence or a Gian Francesco Poggio Bracciolini to prove it in his own Italian writings. Indeed, there was an absence of first-rate Latin poets until the late 15th century, which suggests a general lack of poetic creativity in this period and not of Italian poetry alone. It may be that both Italian and Latin poets needed time to absorb and assimilate the various new tendencies of the preceding period. Tuscan was as much a new language for many as was Classical Latin, and there was a variety of literary forms to be mastered.

Poggio Bracciolini, Gian FrancescoGian Francesco Poggio Bracciolini.Vita di Poggio Bracciolini by William Shepherd, 1825

With Lorenzo de’ Medici the period of tutelage came to an end. The Magnificent Lorenzo, virtual ruler of Florence in the late 15th century, was one of the fine poets of his time. His sonnets show Petrarch’s influence but transformed with his own genius. His poetry epitomizes the Renaissance ideal of l’uomo universale (the renaissance man), the many-sided man. Love of nature, love of women, and love of life are the principal themes. The woodland settings and hunting scenes of Lorenzo’s poems suggest how he found relief from a busy public life; his love songs to his mistresses and his bawdy carnival ballads show the other face of a devoted father and affectionate husband. The celebration of youth in his most famous poem was etched with the sad realization of the brevity of life. His own ended at age 43.

Lorenzo de' Medici, painted terra-cotta bust, probably after a model by Andrea del Verrocchio and Orsino Benintendi, 1478/1521; in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. 65.8 × 59.1 × 32.7 cm.Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1943.4.92

Oh, how fair is youth, and yet how fleeting! Let yourself be joyous if you feel it: Of tomorrow there is no certainty—

Florence was only one centre of the flowering of the vernacular. Ferrara saw literature and art flourish under the patronage of the ruling Este family and before the end of the 15th century counted at least one major poet, Matteo Boiardo, author of the Orlando innamorato, an epic of Roland. A blending of the Arthurian and Carolingian epic traditions (see La Chanson de Roland), Boiardo’s Orlando inspired Ludovico Ariosto to take up the same themes. The result was the finest of all Italian epics, Orlando furioso. The ability of the medieval epic and folk traditions to inspire the poets of such sophisticated centres as Florence and Ferrara suggests that, humanist disdain for the Dark Ages notwithstanding, Renaissance Italians did not allow Classicism to cut them off from their medieval roots. Renaissance thought

While the humanists were not primarily philosophers and belonged to no single school of formal thought, they had a great deal of influence upon philosophy. They searched out and copied the works of ancient authors, developed critical tools for establishing accurate texts from variant manuscripts, made translations from Latin and Greek, and wrote commentaries that reflected their broad learning and their new standards and points of view. Aristotle’s authority remained preeminent, especially in logic and physics, but humanists were instrumental in the revival of other Greek scientists and other ancient philosophies, including stoicism, skepticism, and various forms of Platonism, as, for example, the eclectic Neoplatonist and gnostic doctrines of the Alexandrian schools known as Hermetic philosophy. All of these were to have far-reaching effects on the subsequent development of European thought. While humanists had a variety of intellectual and scholarly aims, it is fair to say that, like the ancient Romans, they preferred moral philosophy to metaphysics. Their faith in the moral benefits of poetry and rhetoric inspired generations of scholars and educators. Their emphasis upon eloquence, worldly achievement, and fame brought them readers and patrons among merchants and princes and employment in government chancelleries and embassies.

Humanists were secularists in the sense that language, literature, politics, and history, rather than “sacred subjects,” were their central interests. They defended themselves against charges from conservatives that their preference for Classical authors was ruining Christian morals and faith, arguing that a solid grounding in the classics was the best preparation for the Christian life. This was already a perennial debate, almost as old as Christianity itself, with neither side able to prove its case. There seems to have been little atheism or dechristianization among the humanists or their pupils, although there were efforts to redefine the relationship between religious and secular culture. Petrarch struggled with the problem in his book Secretum meum (1342–43, revised 1353–58), in which he imagines himself chastised by St. Augustine for his pursuit of worldly fame. Even the most celebrated of Renaissance themes, the “dignity of man,” best known in the Oration on the Dignity of Man (1486) by Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, was derived in part from the Church Fathers. Created in the image and likeness of God, people were free to shape their destiny, but human destiny was defined within a Christian Neoplatonic context of contemplative thought.

You will have the power to sink to the lower forms of life, which are brutish. You will have the power, through your own judgment, to be reborn into the higher forms, which are divine.

Perhaps because Italian politics were so intense and innovative, the tension between traditional Christian teachings and actual behaviour was more frankly acknowledged in political thought than in most other fields. The leading spokesman of the new approach to politics was Machiavelli" class="md-crosslink">Niccolò Machiavelli. Best known as the author of The Prince (1513), a short treatise on how to acquire power, create a state, and keep it, Machiavelli dared to argue that success in politics had its own rules. This so shocked his readers that they coined his name into synonyms for the Devil (“Old Nick”) and for crafty, unscrupulous tactics (Machiavellian). No other name, except perhaps that of the Borgias, so readily evokes the image of the wicked Renaissance, and, indeed, Cesare Borgia was one of Machiavelli’s chief models for The Prince.

Borgia, CesareCesare Borgia, oil painting; in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence.Alinari/Art Resource, New York

Machiavelli began with the not unchristian axiom that people are immoderate in their ambitions and desires and likely to oppress each other whenever free to do so. To get them to limit their selfishness and act for the common good should be the lofty, almost holy, purpose of governments. How to establish and maintain governments that do this was the central problem of politics, made acute for Machiavelli by the twin disasters of his time, the decline of free government in the city-states and the overrunning of Italy by French, German, and Spanish armies. In The Prince he advocated his emergency solution: Italy needed a new leader, who would unify the people, drive out “the barbarians,” and reestablish civic virtue. But in the Discourses on the First Ten Books of Livy (1517), a more detached and extended discussion, he analyzed the foundations and practice of republican government, still trying to explain how stubborn and defective human material was transformed into political community.

Machiavelli was influenced by humanist culture in many ways, including his reverence for Classical antiquity, his concern with politics, and his effort to evaluate the impact of fortune as against free choice in human life. The “new path” in politics that he announced in The Prince was an effort to provide a guide for political action based on the lessons of history and his own experience as a foreign secretary in Florence. In his passionate republicanism he showed himself to be the heir of the great humanists of a century earlier who had expounded the ideals of free citizenship and explored the uses of Classicism for the public life.

At the beginning of the 15th century, when the Visconti rulers of Milan were threatening to overrun Florence, the humanist chancellor Coluccio Salutati had rallied the Florentines by reminding them that their city was “the daughter of Rome” and the legatee of Roman justice and liberty. Salutati’s pupil, Leonardo Bruni, who also served as chancellor, took up this line in his panegyrics of Florence and in his Historiarum Florentini populi libri XII (“Twelve Books of Histories of the Florentine People”). Even before the rise of Rome, according to Bruni, the Etruscans had founded free cities in Tuscany, so the roots of Florentine liberty went very deep. There equality was recognized in justice and opportunity for all citizens, and the claims of individual excellence were rewarded in public offices and public honours. This close relation between freedom and achievement, argued Bruni, explained Florence’s superiority in culture as well as in politics. Florence was the home of Italy’s greatest poets, the pioneer in both vernacular and Latin literature, and the seat of the Greek revival and of eloquence. In short, Florence was the centre of the studia humanitatis.

As political rhetoric, Bruni’s version of Florentine superiority was magnificent and no doubt effective. It inspired the Florentines to hold out against Milanese aggression and to reshape their identity as the seat of “the rebirth of letters” and the champions of freedom; but, as a theory of political culture, this “civic humanism,” as Hans Baron has called it, represented the ideal rather than the reality of 15th-century communal history. Even in Florence, where after 1434 the Medici family held a grip on the city’s republican government, opportunities for the active life began to fade. The emphasis in thought began to shift from civic humanism to Neoplatonist idealism and to the kind of utopian mysticism represented by Pico’s Oration on the Dignity of Man. At the end of the century, Florentines briefly put themselves into the hands of the millennialist Dominican preacher Fra Girolamo Savonarola, who envisioned the city as the “New Jerusalem” rather than as a reincarnation of ancient Rome. Still, even Savonarola borrowed from the civic tradition of the humanists for his political reforms (and for his idea of Florentine superiority) and in so doing created a bridge between the republican past and the crisis years of the early 16th century. Machiavelli got his first job in the Florentine chancellery in 1498, the year of Savonarola’s fall from power. Dismissing the friar as one of history’s “unarmed prophets” who are bound to fail, Machiavelli was convinced that the precepts of Christianity had helped make the Italian states sluggish and weak. He regarded religion as an indispensable component of human life, but statecraft as a discipline based on its own rules and no more to be subordinated to Christianity than were jurisprudence or medicine. The simplest example of the difference between Christian and political morality is provided by warfare, where the use of deception, so detestable in every other kind of action, is necessary, praiseworthy, even glorious. In the Discourses, Machiavelli commented upon a Roman defeat:

Savonarola, painting by Fra Bartolomeo; in the Museo di S. Marco, FlorenceAlinari/Art Resource, New York

This is worth noting by every citizen who is called upon to give counsel to his country, for when the very safety of the country is at stake there should be no question of justice or injustice, of mercy or cruelty, of honour or disgrace, but putting every other consideration aside, that course should be followed which will save her life and liberty.

Machiavelli’s own country was Florence; when he wrote that he loved his country more than he loved his soul, he was consciously forsaking Christian ethics for the morality of civic virtue. His friend and countryman Francesco Guicciardini shared his political morality and his concern for politics but lacked his faith that a knowledge of ancient political wisdom would redeem the liberty of Italy. Guicciardini was an upper-class Florentine who chose a career in public administration and devoted his leisure to writing history and reflecting on politics. He was steeped in the humanist traditions of Florence and was a dedicated republican, notwithstanding the fact—or perhaps because of it—that he spent his entire career in the service of the Medici and rose to high positions under them. But Guicciardini, more skeptical and aristocratic than Machiavelli, was also half a generation younger, and he was schooled in an age that was already witnessing the decline of Italian autonomy.

In 1527 Florence revolted against the Medici a second time and established a republic. As a confidant of the Medici, Guicciardini was passed over for public office and retired to his estate. One of the fruits of this enforced leisure was the so-called Cose fiorentine (Florentine Affairs), an unfinished manuscript on Florentine history. While it generally follows the classic form of humanist civic history, the fragment contains some significant departures from this tradition. No longer is the history of the city treated in isolation; Guicciardini was becoming aware that the political fortunes of Florence were interwoven with those of Italy as a whole and that the French invasion of Italy in 1494 was a turning point in Italian history. He returned to public life with the restoration of the Medici in 1530 and was involved in the events leading to the tightening of the imperial grip upon Italy, the humbling of the papacy, and the final transformation of the republic of Florence into a hereditary Medici dukedom. Frustrated in his efforts to influence the rulers of Florence, he again retired to his villa to write; but, instead of taking up the unfinished manuscript on Florentine history, he chose a subject commensurate with his changed perspective on Italian affairs. The result was his History of Italy. Though still in the humanist form and style, it was in substance a fulfillment of the new tendencies already evident in the earlier work—criticism of sources, great attention to detail, avoidance of moral generalizations, shrewd analysis of character and motive.

The History of Italy has rightly been called a tragedy by the American historian Felix Gilbert, for it demonstrates how, out of stupidity and weakness, people make mistakes that gradually narrow the range of their freedom to choose alternative courses and thus to influence events until, finally, they are trapped in the web of fortune. This view of history was already far from the world of Machiavelli, not to mention that of the civic humanists. Where Machiavelli believed that virtù—bold and intelligent initiative—could shape, if not totally control, fortuna—the play of external forces—Guicciardini was skeptical about men’s ability to learn from the past and pessimistic about the individual’s power to shape the course of events. All that was left, he believed, was to understand. Guicciardini wrote his histories of Florence and of Italy to show what people were like and to explain how they had reached their present circumstances. Human dignity, then, consisted not in the exercise of will to shape destiny but in the use of reason to contemplate and perhaps to tolerate fate. In taking a new, hard look at the human condition, Guicciardini represents the decline of humanist optimism. The northern Renaissance Political, economic, and social background

In 1494 King Charles VIII of France led an army southward over the Alps, seeking the Neapolitan crown and glory. Many believed that this barely literate gnome of a man, hunched over his horse, was the Second Charlemagne, whose coming had been long predicted by French and Italian prophets. Apparently, Charles himself believed this; it is recorded that, when he was chastised by Savonarola for delaying his divine mission of reform and crusade in Florence, the king burst into tears and soon went on his way. He found the Kingdom of Naples easy to take and impossible to hold; frightened by local uprisings, by a new Italian coalition, and by the massing of Spanish troops in Sicily, he left Naples in the spring of 1495, bound not for the Holy Land, as the prophecies had predicted, but for home, never to return to Italy. In 1498 Savonarola was tortured, hanged, and burned as a false prophet for predicting that Charles would complete his mission. Conceived amid dreams of chivalric glory and crusade, the Italian expedition of Charles VIII was the venture of a medieval king—romantic, poorly planned, and totally irrelevant to the real needs of his subjects.

Charles VIII, portrait by an unknown artist; in the Uffizi, FlorenceAlinari/Art Resource, New York

The French invasion of Italy marked the beginning of a new phase of European politics, during which the Valois kings of France and the Habsburgs of Germany fought each other, with the Italian states as their reluctant pawns. For the next 60 years the dream of Italian conquest was pursued by every French king, none of them having learned anything from Charles VIII’s misadventure except that the road southward was open and paved with easy victories. For even longer Italy would be the keystone of the arch that the Habsburgs tried to erect across Europe from the Danube to the Strait of Gibraltar in order to link the Spanish and German inheritance of the emperor Charles V. In destroying the autonomy of Italian politics, the invasions also ended the Italian state system, which was absorbed into the larger European system that now took shape. Its members adopted the balance-of-power diplomacy first evolved by the Italians as well as the Italian practice of using resident ambassadors who combined diplomacy with the gathering of intelligence by fair means or foul. In the art of war, also, the Italians were innovators in the use of mercenary troops, cannonry, bastioned fortresses, and field fortification. French artillery was already the best in Europe by 1494, whereas the Spaniards developed the tercio, an infantry unit that combined the most effective field fortifications and weaponry of the Italians and Swiss.

Thus, old and new ways were fused in the bloody crucible of the Italian Wars. Rulers who lived by medieval codes of chivalry adopted Renaissance techniques of diplomacy and warfare to satisfy their lust for glory and dynastic power. Even the lure of Italy was an old obsession; but the size and vigour of the 16th-century expeditions were new. Rulers were now able to command vast quantities of men and resources because they were becoming masters of their own domains. The nature and degree of this mastery varied according to local circumstances; but throughout Europe the New Monarchs, as they are called, were reasserting kingship as the dominant form of political leadership after a long period of floundering and uncertainty.

By the end of the 15th century, the Valois kings of France had expelled the English from all their soil except the port of Calais, concluding the Hundred Years’ War (1453); had incorporated the fertile lands of the duchy of Burgundy to the east and of Brittany to the north; and had extended the French kingdom from the Atlantic and the English Channel to the Pyrenees and the Rhine. To rule this vast territory, they created a professional machinery of state, converting wartime taxing privileges into permanent prerogative, freeing their royal council from supervision by the Estates-General, appointing a host of officials who crisscrossed the kingdom in the service of the crown, and establishing their right to appoint and tax the French clergy. They did not achieve anything like complete centralization, but in 1576 Jean Bodin was able to write, in his Six Books of the Commonweal, that the king of France had absolute sovereignty because he alone in the kingdom had the power to give law unto all of his subjects in general and to every one of them in particular.

Battle of Poitiers, oil on canvas by Eugène Delacroix, 1830.Art Media/Heritage-Images

Bodin might also have made his case by citing the example of another impressive autocrat of his time, Philip II of Spain. Though descended from warrior kings, Philip spent his days at his writing desk poring over dispatches from his governors in the Low Countries, Sicily, Naples, Milan, Peru, Mexico, and the Philippines and drafting his orders to them in letters signed “I the King.” The founding of this mighty empire went back more than a century to 1469, when Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella of Castile brought two great Hispanic kingdoms together under a single dynasty. Castile, an arid land of sheepherders, great landowning churchmen, and crusading knights, and Aragon, with its Catalan miners and its strong ties to Mediterranean Europe, made uneasy partners; but a series of rapid and energetic actions forced the process of national consolidation and catapulted the new nation into a position of world prominence for which it was poorly prepared. Within the last decade of the 15th century, the Spaniards took the kingdom of Navarre in the north; stormed the last Muslim stronghold in Spain, the kingdom of Granada; and launched a campaign of religious unification by pressing tens of thousands of Muslims and Jews to choose between baptism and expulsion, at the same time establishing a new Inquisition under royal control. They also sent Columbus on voyages of discovery to the Western Hemisphere, thereby opening a new frontier just as the domestic frontier of reconquest was closing. Finally, the crown linked its destinies with the Habsburgs by a double marriage, thus projecting Spain into the heart of European politics. In the following decades, Castilian hidalgos (lower nobles), whose fathers had crusaded against the Moors in Spain, streamed across the Atlantic to make their fortunes out of the land and sweat of the Native Americans, while others marched in the armies and sailed in the ships of their king, Charles I, who, as Charles V, was elected Holy Roman emperor in 1519 at the age of 19. In this youth, the vast dual inheritance of the Spanish and Habsburg empires came together. The grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella on his mother’s side and of the emperor Maximilian I on his father’s, Charles was duke of Burgundy, head of five Austrian dukedoms (which he ceded to his brother), king of Naples, Sicily, and Sardinia, and claimant to the duchy of Milan as well as king of Aragon and Castile and German king and emperor. To administer this enormous legacy, he presided over an ever-increasing bureaucracy of viceroys, governors, judges, military captains, and an army of clerks. The New World lands were governed by a separate Council of the Indies after 1524, which, like Charles’ other royal councils, combined judicial, legislative, military, and fiscal functions.

Columbus, ChristopherChristopher Columbus requesting support from Isabella I and Ferdinand II of Spain, chromolithograph after a painting by Václav Brožík, c. 1884.Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. (LC-DIG-pga-03133)

The yield in American treasure was enormous, especially after the opening of the silver mines of Mexico and what is now Bolivia halfway through the 16th century. The crown skimmed off a lion’s share—usually a fifth—which it paid out immediately to its creditors because everything Charles could raise by taxing or borrowing was sucked up by his wars against the French in Italy and Burgundy, the Protestant princes in Germany, the Turks on the Austrian border, and the Barbary pirates in the Mediterranean. By 1555 both Charles and his credit were exhausted, and he began to relinquish his titles—Spain and the Netherlands to his son Philip, Germany and the imperial title to his brother Ferdinand I. American silver did little for Spain except to pay the wages of soldiers and sailors; the goods and services that kept the Spanish armies in the field and the ships afloat were largely supplied by foreigners, who reaped the profits. Yet, for the rest of the century, Spain continued to dazzle the world, and few could see the chinks in the armour; this was an age of kings, in which bold deeds, not balance sheets, made history.

The growth of centralized monarchy claiming absolute sovereignty over its subjects may be observed in other places, from the England of Henry VIII on the extreme west of Europe to the Muscovite tsardom of Ivan III (the Great) on its eastern edge, for the New Monarchy was one aspect of a more general phenomenon—a great recovery that surged through Europe in the 15th century. No single cause can be adduced to explain it. Some historians believe it was simply the upturn in the natural cycle of growth: the great medieval population boom had overextended Europe’s productive capacities; the depression of the 14th and early 15th centuries had corrected this condition through famines and epidemics, leading to depopulation; now the cycle of growth was beginning again.

Holbein, Hans, the Younger: portrait of Henry VIIIHenry VIII, painting by Hans Holbein the Younger, c. 1540.© duncan1890/iStock.com

Once more, growing numbers of people, burgeoning cities, and ambitious governments were demanding food, goods, and services—a demand that was met by both old and new methods of production. In agriculture, the shift toward commercial crops such as wool and grains, the investment of capital, and the emancipation of servile labour completed the transformation of the manorial system already in decline. (In eastern Europe, however, the formerly free peasantry was now forced into serfdom by an alliance between the monarchy and the landed gentry, as huge agrarian estates were formed to raise grain for an expanding Western market.) Manufacturing boomed, especially of those goods used in the outfitting of armies and fleets—cloth, armour, weapons, and ships. New mining and metalworking technology made possible the profitable exploitation of the rich iron, copper, gold, and silver deposits of central Germany, Hungary, and Austria, affording the opportunity for large-scale investment of capital.

Guildhalls in the Grote Markt, Antwerp, Belg.Steve Allen/Getty Images

Portuguese caravels departing Lisbon for Brazil, the West Indies, and America; from an engraving after Theodor de Bry's Americae Tertia Pars, 1562.Giraudon/Art Resource, New YorkOne index of Europe’s recovery is the spectacular growth of certain cities. Antwerp, for example, more than doubled its population in the second half of the 15th century and doubled it again by 1560. Under Habsburg patronage, Antwerp became the chief European entrepôt for English cloth, the hub of an international banking network, and the principal Western market for German copper and silver, Portuguese spices, and Italian alum. By 1500 the Antwerp Bourse was the central money market for much of Europe. Other cities profited from their special circumstances, too: Lisbon as the home port for the Portuguese maritime empire; Sevilla (Seville), the Spaniards’ gateway to the New World; London, the capital of the Tudors and gathering point for England’s cloth-making and banking activity; Lyon, favoured by the French kings as a market centre and capital of the silk industry; and Augsburg, the principal north-south trade route in Germany and the home city of the Fugger merchant-bankers. (For further discussion, see below The emergence of modern Europe: Economy and society.)

Northern humanism

Cities were also markets for culture. The resumption of urban growth in the second half of the 15th century coincided with the diffusion of Renaissance ideas and educational values. Humanism offered linguistic and rhetorical skills that were becoming indispensable for nobles and commoners seeking careers in diplomacy and government administration, while the Renaissance ideal of the perfect gentleman was a cultural style that had great appeal in this age of growing courtly refinement. At first many who wanted a humanist education went to Italy, and many foreign names appear on the rosters of the Italian universities. By the end of the century, however, such northern cities as London, Paris, Antwerp, and Augsburg were becoming centres of humanist activity rivaling Italy’s. The development of printing, by making books cheaper and more plentiful, also quickened the diffusion of humanism.

A textbook convention, heavily armoured against truth by constant reiteration, states that northern humanism—i.e., humanism outside Italy—was essentially Christian in spirit and purpose, in contrast to the essentially secular nature of Italian humanism. In fact, however, the program of Christian humanism had been laid out by Italian humanists of the stamp of Lorenzo Valla, one of the founders of classical philology, who showed how the critical methods used to study the classics ought to be applied to problems of biblical exegesis and translation as well as church history. That this program only began to be carried out in the 16th century, particularly in the countries of northern Europe (and Spain), is a matter of chronology rather than of geography. In the 15th century, the necessary skills, particularly the knowledge of Greek, were possessed by a few scholars; a century later, Greek was a regular part of the humanist curriculum, and Hebrew was becoming much better known, particularly after Johannes Reuchlin published his Hebrew grammar in 1506. Here, too, printing was a crucial factor, for it made available a host of lexicographical and grammatical handbooks and allowed the establishment of normative biblical texts and the comparison of different versions of the Bible.

Reuchlin, Johannes Statue of Johannes Reuchlin, Pforzheim, Ger.Michael Hild

Christian humanism was more than a program of scholarship, however; it was fundamentally a conception of the Christian life that was grounded in the rhetorical, historical, and ethical orientation of humanism itself. That it came to the fore in the early 16th century was the result of a variety of factors, including the spiritual stresses of rapid social change and the inability of the ecclesiastical establishment to cope with the religious needs of an increasingly literate and self-confident laity. By restoring the gospel to the centre of Christian piety, the humanists believed they were better serving the needs of ordinary people. They attacked scholastic theology as an arid intellectualization of simple faith, and they deplored the tendency of religion to become a ritual practiced vicariously through a priest. They also despised the whole late-medieval apparatus of relic mongering, hagiology, indulgences, and image worship, and they ridiculed it in their writings, sometimes with devastating effect. According to the Christian humanists, the fundamental law of Christianity was the law of love as revealed by Jesus Christ in the Gospel. Love, peace, and simplicity should be the aims of the good Christian, and the life of Christ his perfect model. The chief spokesman for this point of view was Desiderius Erasmus, the most influential humanist of his day. Erasmus and his colleagues were uninterested in dogmatic differences and were early champions of religious toleration. In this they were not in tune with the changing times, for the outbreak of the Reformation polarized European society along confessional lines, with the paradoxical result that the Christian humanists, who had done so much to lay the groundwork for religious reform, ended by being suspect on both sides—by the Roman Catholics as subversives who (as it was said of Erasmus) had “laid the egg that Luther hatched” and by the Protestants as hypocrites who had abandoned the cause of reformation out of cowardice or ambition. Toleration belonged to the future, after the killing in the name of Christ sickened and passions had cooled.

Erasmus, DesideriusDesiderius Erasmus.Courtesy of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Christian mystics

The quickening of the religious impulse that gave rise to Christian humanism was also manifested in a variety of forms of religious devotion among the laity, including mysticism. In the 14th century a wave of mystical ardour seemed to course down the valley of the Rhine, enveloping men and women in the rapture of intense, direct experience of the divine Spirit. It centred in the houses of the Dominican order, where friars and nuns practiced the mystical way of their great teacher, Meister Eckhart. This wave of Rhenish mysticism radiated beyond convent walls to the marketplaces and hearths of the laity. Eckhart had the gift of making his abstruse doctrines understandable to a wider public than was usual for mystics; moreover, he was fortunate in having some disciples of a genius almost equal to his own—the great preacher of practical piety, Johann Tauler, and Heinrich Suso, whose devotional books, such as The Little Book of Truth and The Little Book of Eternal Wisdom, reached eager lay readers hungry for spiritual consolation and religious excitement. Some found it by joining the Dominicans; others, remaining in the everyday world, joined with like-spirited brothers and sisters in groups known collectively as the Friends of God, where they practiced methodical contemplation, or, as it was widely known, mental prayer. Probably few reached, or even hoped to reach, the ecstasy of mystical union, which was limited to those with the appropriate psychological or spiritual gifts. Out of these circles came the anonymous German Theology, from which, Luther was to say, he had learned more about man and God than from any book except the Bible and the writings of St. Augustine.

In the Netherlands the mystical impulse awakened chiefly under the stimulus of another great teacher, Gerhard Groote. Not a monk nor even a priest, Groote gave the mystical movement a different direction by teaching that true spiritual communion must be combined with moral action, for this was the whole lesson of the Gospel. At his death a group of followers formed the Brethren of the Common Life. These were laymen and laywomen, married and single, earning their livings in the world but united by a simple rule that required them to pool their earnings and devote themselves to spiritual works, teaching, and charity. Houses of Brothers and Sisters of the Common Life spread through the cities and towns of the Netherlands and Germany, and a monastic counterpart was founded in the order of Canons Regular of St. Augustine, known as the Windesheim Congregation, which in the second half of the 15th century numbered some 82 priories. The Brethren were particularly successful as schoolmasters, combining some of the new linguistic methods of the humanists with a strong emphasis upon Bible study. Among the generations of children who absorbed the new piety (devotio moderna) in their schools were Erasmus and, briefly, Luther. In the ambience of the devotio moderna appeared one of the most influential books of piety ever written, The Imitation of Christ, attributed to Thomas à Kempis, a monk of the Windesheim Congregation.

One man whose life was changed by The Imitation was the 16th-century Spaniard Ignatius of Loyola. After reading it, Loyola founded the Society of Jesus and wrote his own book of methodical prayer, Spiritual Exercises. Thus, Spanish piety was in some ways connected with that of the Netherlands, but the extraordinary outburst of mystical and contemplative activity in 16th-century Spain was mainly an expression of the intense religious exaltation of the Spanish people themselves as they confronted the tasks of reform, Counter-Reformation, and world leadership. Spanish mysticism belies the usual picture of the mystic as a withdrawn contemplative, with his or her head in the clouds. Not only Loyola but also St. Teresa of Avila and her disciple, St. John of the Cross, were tough, activist Reformers who regarded their mystical experiences as means of fortifying themselves for their practical tasks. They were also prolific writers who could communicate their experiences and analyze them for the benefit of others. This is especially true of St. John of the Cross, whose mystical poetry is one of the glories of Spanish literature.

Loyola, St. Ignatius ofSt. Ignatius of Loyola.Photos.com/Jupiterimages The growth of vernacular literature

Le Miroir de humaine saluation (“The Mirror of Human Salvation”) by Ludolf of Saxony (supposed author), c. 1455; the French manuscript is an example of western European Christian scripture written in the vernacular.The Newberry Library, Louis H. Silver Collection, 1964 (A Britannica Publishing Partner)

Geoffrey Chaucer, from the 15th-century Ellesmere manuscript of The Canterbury Tales. Photos.com/Jupiterimages

Portrait of François Villon, woodcut from the first edition of Villon's works published by Pierre Levet, 1489; the ballade “Faulce beaulte” (“Fausse beaute”), printed below the portrait, is an acrostic, i.e., the initial letter of each line read top to bottom forms the poet's first name, Francoys.Courtesy of the Bibliothèque Nationale, ParisIn literature, medieval forms continued to dominate the artistic imagination throughout the 15th century. Besides the vast devotional literature of the period—the ars moriendi, or books on the art of dying well, the saints’ lives, and manuals of methodical prayer and spiritual consolation—the most popular reading of noble and burgher alike was a 13th-century love allegory, the Roman de la rose. Despite a promising start in the late Middle Ages, literary creativity suffered from the domination of Latin as the language of “serious” expression, with the result that, if the vernacular attracted writers, they tended to overload it with Latinisms and artificially applied rhetorical forms. This was the case with the so-called grands rhetoriqueurs of Burgundy and France. One exception is 14th-century England, where a national literature made a brilliant showing in the works of William Langland, John Gower, and, above all, Geoffrey Chaucer. The troubled 15th century, however, produced only feeble imitations. Another exception is the vigorous tradition of chronicle writing in French, distinguished by such eminently readable works as the chronicle of Jean Froissart and the memoirs of Philippe de Commynes. In France, too, about the middle of the 15th century there lived the vagabond François Villon, a great poet about whom next to nothing is known. In Germany Das Narrenschiff (The Ship of Fools) by Sebastian Brant was a lone masterpiece.

The 16th century saw a true renaissance of national literatures. In Protestant countries the Reformation had an enormous impact upon the quantity and quality of literary output. If Luther’s rebellion destroyed the chances of unifying the nation politically—because religious division exacerbated political division and made Lutherans intolerant of the Catholic Habsburgs—his translation of the Bible into German created a national language. Biblical translations, vernacular liturgies, hymns, and sacred drama had analogous effects elsewhere. For Roman Catholics, especially in Spain, the Reformation was a time of deep religious emotion expressed in art and literature. On all sides of the religious controversy, chroniclers and historians writing in the vernacular were recording their versions for posterity.

Bronze statues of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in front of a stone sculpture of Miguel de Cervantes, Madrid, Spain.© Hemera/Thinkstock

Shakespeare, WilliamWilliam Shakespeare.© Archive PhotosWhile the Reformation was providing a subject matter, the Italian Renaissance was providing literary methods and models. The Petrarchan sonnet inspired French, English, and Spanish poets, while the Renaissance neoclassical drama finally began to end the reign of the medieval mystery play. Ultimately, of course, the works of real genius were the result of a crossing of native traditions and new forms. The Frenchman François Rabelais assimilated the themes of his day—and mocked them all—in his story of the giants Gargantua and Pantagruel. The Spaniard Miguel de Cervantes, in Don Quixote, drew a composite portrait of his countrymen, which caught their exact mixture of idealism and realism. In England Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare used Renaissance drama to probe the deeper levels of their countrymen’s character and experiences.

Renaissance science and technology

According to medieval scientists, matter was composed of four elements—earth, air, fire, and water—whose combinations and permutations made up the world of visible objects. The cosmos was a series of concentric spheres in motion, the farther ones carrying the stars around in their daily courses. At the centre was the globe of Earth, heavy and static. Motion was either perfectly circular, as in the heavens, or irregular and naturally downward, as on Earth. The Earth had three landmasses—Europe, Asia, and Africa—and was unknown and uninhabitable in its southern zones. Human beings, the object of all creation, were composed of four humours—black and yellow bile, blood, and phlegm—and the body’s health was determined by the relative proportions of each. The cosmos was alive with a universal consciousness with which people could interact in various ways, and the heavenly bodies were generally believed to influence human character and events, although theologians worried about free will.

Martin Waldseemüller's 1507 world mapWorld map by Martin Waldseemüller, 1507.Geography and Map Division/The Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. (Digital File Number: g3200 ct000725)

These views were an amalgam of Classical and Christian thought and, from what can be inferred from written sources, shaped the way educated people experienced and interpreted phenomena. What people who did not read or write books understood about nature is more difficult to tell, except that belief in magic, good and evil spirits, witchcraft, and forecasting the future was universal. The church might prefer that Christians seek their well-being through faith, the sacraments, and the intercession of Mary and the saints, but distinctions between acceptable and unacceptable belief in hidden powers were difficult to make or to maintain. Most clergy shared the common beliefs in occult forces and lent their authority to them. The collaboration of formal doctrine and popular belief had some of its most terrible consequences during the Renaissance, such as pogroms against Jews and witch-hunts, in which the church provided the doctrines of Satanic conspiracy and the inquisitorial agents and popular prejudice supplied the victims, predominantly women and marginal people.

Copernicus, Nicolaus: heliocentric systemEngraving of the solar system from Nicolaus Copernicus's De revolutionibus orbium coelestium libri VI, 2nd ed. (1566; “Six Books Concerning the Revolutions of the Heavenly Orbs”), the first published illustration of Copernicus's heliocentric system.The Adler Planetarium and Astronomy Museum, Chicago, Illinois

Newton, Sir IsaacSir Isaac Newton, portrait by John Vanderbank, c. 1725; in the collection of the Royal Astronomical Society, London. Photos.com/ThinkstockAmong the formally educated, if not among the general population, traditional science was transformed by the new heliocentric, mechanistic, and mathematical conceptions of Copernicus, Harvey, Kepler, Galileo, and Newton. Historians of science are increasingly reluctant to describe these changes as a revolution, since this implies too sudden and complete an overthrow of the earlier model. Aristotle’s authority gave way very slowly, and only the first of the great scientists mentioned above did his work in the period under consideration. Still, the Renaissance made some important contributions toward the process of paradigm shift, as the 20th-century historian of science Thomas Kuhn called major innovations in science. Humanist scholarship provided both originals and translations of ancient Greek scientific works—which enormously increased the fund of knowledge in physics, astronomy, medicine, botany, and other disciplines—and presented as well alternative theories to those of Ptolemy and Aristotle. Thus, the revival of ancient science brought heliocentric astronomy to the fore again after almost two millennia. Renaissance philosophers, most notably Jacopo Zabarella, analyzed and formulated the rules of the deductive and inductive methods by which scientists worked, while certain ancient philosophies enriched the ways in which scientists conceived of phenomena. Pythagoreanism, for example, conveyed a vision of a harmonious geometric universe that helped form the mind of Copernicus.

In mathematics the Renaissance made its greatest contribution to the rise of modern science. Humanists included arithmetic and geometry in the liberal arts curriculum, artists furthered the geometrization of space in their work on perspective, and Leonardo da Vinci perceived, however faintly, that the world was ruled by “number.” The interest in algebra in the Renaissance universities, according to the 20th-century historian of science George Alfred Leon Sarton, “was creating a kind of fever.” It produced some mathematical theorists of the first rank, including Niccolò Fontana Tartaglia and Girolamo Cardano. If they had done nothing else, Renaissance scholars would have made a great contribution to mathematics by translating and publishing, in 1544, some previously unknown works of Archimedes, perhaps the most important of the ancients in this field.

Cardano, GirolamoGirolamo Cardano.A history of electricity: the intellectual rise in electricity from antiquity to the days of Benjamin Franklin by Park Benjamin (John Wiley & Sons, New York, 1898)

If the Renaissance role in the rise of modern science was more that of midwife than of parent, in the realm of technology the proper image is the Renaissance magus, manipulator of the hidden forces of nature. Working with medieval perceptions of natural processes, engineers and technicians of the 15th and 16th centuries achieved remarkable results and pushed the traditional cosmology to the limit of its explanatory powers. This may have had more to do with changing social needs than with changes in scientific theory. Warfare was one catalyst of practical change that stimulated new theoretical questions. With the spread of the use of artillery, for example, questions about the motion of bodies in space became more insistent, and mathematical calculation more critical. The manufacture of guns also stimulated metallurgy and fortification; town planning and reforms in the standards of measurement were related to problems of geometry. The Renaissance preoccupation with alchemy, the parent of chemistry, was certainly stimulated by the shortage of precious metals, made more acute by the expansion of government and expenditures on war.

The most important technological advance of all, because it underlay progress in so many other fields, strictly speaking, had little to do with nature. This was the development of printing, with movable metal type, about the mid-15th century in Germany. Johannes Gutenberg is usually called its inventor, but in fact many people and many steps were involved. Block printing on wood came to the West from China between 1250 and 1350, papermaking came from China by way of the Arabs to 12th-century Spain, whereas the Flemish technique of oil painting was the origin of the new printers’ ink. Three men of Mainz—Gutenberg and his contemporaries Johann Fust and Peter Schöffer—seem to have taken the final steps, casting metal type and locking it into a wooden press. The invention spread like the wind, reaching Italy by 1467, Hungary and Poland in the 1470s, and Scandinavia by 1483. By 1500 the presses of Europe had produced some six million books. Without the printing press it is impossible to conceive that the Reformation would have ever been more than a monkish quarrel or that the rise of a new science, which was a cooperative effort of an international community, would have occurred at all. In short, the development of printing amounted to a communications revolution of the order of the invention of writing; and, like that prehistoric discovery, it transformed the conditions of life. The communications revolution immeasurably enhanced human opportunities for enlightenment and pleasure on one hand and created previously undreamed-of possibilities for manipulation and control on the other. The consideration of such contradictory effects may guard us against a ready acceptance of triumphalist conceptions of the Renaissance or of historical change in general.

An artist's visualization of Johannes Gutenberg in his workshop, showing his first proof sheet.Fine Art Images/Heritage Image/age fotostock Donald Weinstein The emergence of modern Europe, 1500–1648 Economy and society

The 16th century was a period of vigorous economic expansion. This expansion in turn played a major role in the many other transformations—social, political, and cultural—of the early modern age.

By 1500 the population in most areas of Europe was increasing after two centuries of decline or stagnation. The bonds of commerce within Europe tightened, and the “wheels of commerce” (in the phrase of the 20th-century French historian Fernand Braudel) spun ever faster. The great geographic discoveries then in process were integrating Europe into a world economic system. New commodities, many of them imported from recently discovered lands, enriched material life. Not only trade but also the production of goods increased as a result of new ways of organizing production. Merchants, entrepreneurs, and bankers accumulated and manipulated capital in unprecedented volume. Most historians locate in the 16th century the beginning, or at least the maturing, of Western capitalism. Capital assumed a major role not only in economic organization but also in political life and international relations. Culturally, new values—many of them associated with the Renaissance and Reformation—diffused through Europe and changed the ways in which people acted and the perspectives by which they viewed themselves and the world.

This world of early capitalism, however, can hardly be regarded as stable or uniformly prosperous. Financial crashes were common; the Spanish crown, the heaviest borrower in Europe, suffered repeated bankruptcies (in 1557, 1575–77, 1596, 1607, 1627, and 1647). The poor and destitute in society became, if not more numerous, at least more visible. Even as capitalism advanced in the West, the once-free peasants of central and eastern Europe slipped into serfdom. The apparent prosperity of the 16th century gave way in the middle and late periods of the 17th century to a “general crisis” in many European regions. Politically, the new centralized states insisted on new levels of cultural conformity on the part of their subjects. Several states expelled Jews, and almost all of them refused to tolerate religious dissenters. Culturally, in spite of the revival of ancient learning and the reform of the churches, a hysterical fear of witches grasped large segments of the population, including the learned. Understandably, historians have had difficulty defining the exact place of this complex century in the course of European development. The economic background

The century’s economic expansion owed much to powerful changes that were already under way by 1500. At that time, Europe comprised only between one-third and one-half the population it had possessed about 1300. The infamous Black Death of 1347–50 principally accounts for the huge losses, but plagues were recurrent, famines frequent, wars incessant, and social tensions high as the Middle Ages ended. The late medieval disasters radically transformed the structures of European society—the ways by which it produced food and goods, distributed income, organized its society and state, and looked at the world.

The huge human losses altered the old balances among the classical “factors of production”—labour, land, and capital. The fall in population forced up wages in the towns and depressed rents in the countryside, as the fewer workers remaining could command a higher “scarcity value.” In contrast, the costs of land and capital fell; both grew relatively more abundant and cheaper as human numbers shrank. Expensive labour and cheap land and capital encouraged “factor substitution,” the replacement of the costly factor (labour) by the cheaper ones (land and capital). This substitution of land and capital for labour can be seen, for example, in the widespread conversions of arable land to pastures; a few shepherds, supplied with capital (sheep) and extensive pastures, could generate a higher return than plowland, intensively farmed by many well-paid labourers.

Capital could also support the technology required to develop new tools, enabling labourers to work more productively. The late Middle Ages was accordingly a period of significant technological advances linked with high capital investment in labour-saving devices. The development of printing by movable metal type substituted an expensive machine, the press, for many human copyists. Gunpowder and firearms gave smaller armies greater fighting power. Changes in shipbuilding and in the development of navigational aids allowed bigger ships to sail with smaller crews over longer distances. By 1500 Europe achieved what it had never possessed before: a technological edge over all other civilizations. Europe was thus equipped for worldwide expansion.

Social changes also were pervasive. With a falling population, the cost of basic foodstuffs (notably wheat) declined. With cheaper food, people in both countryside and city could use their higher earnings to diversify and improve their diets—to consume more meat, dairy products, and beverages. They also could afford more manufactured products from the towns, to the benefit of the urban economies. The 14th century is rightly regarded as the golden age of working people.

Economic historians have traditionally envisioned the falling costs of the basic foodstuffs (cereals) and the continuing firm price of manufactures as two blades of a pair of open scissors. These price scissors diverted income from countryside to town. The late medieval price movements thus favoured urban artisans over peasants and merchants over landlords. Towns achieved a new weight in society; the number of towns counting more than 10,000 inhabitants increased from 125 in about 1300 to 154 in 1500, even as the total population was dropping. These changes undermined the leadership of the landholding nobility and enhanced the power and influence of the great merchants and bankers of the cities. The 16th would be a “bourgeois century.”

Culturally, the disasters of the late Middle Ages had the effect of altering attitudes and in particular of undermining the medieval faith that speculative reason could master the secrets of the universe. In an age of ferocious and unpredictable epidemics, the accidental and the unexpected, chance or fate, rather than immutable laws, seemed to dominate the course of human affairs. In an uncertain world, the surest, safest philosophical stance was empiricism. In formal philosophy, this new priority given to the concrete and the observable over and against the abstract and the speculative was known as nominalism. In social life, there was evident a novel emphasis on close observation, on the need to study each changing situation to arrive at a basis for action.

The 16th century thus owed much to trends originating in the late Middle Ages. It would, however, be wrong to view its history simply as a playing out of earlier movements. New developments proper to the century also shaped its achievements. Those developments affected population; money and prices; agriculture, trade, manufacturing, and banking; social and political institutions; and cultural attitudes. Historians differ widely in the manner in which they structure and relate these various developments; they argue over what should be regarded as causes and what as effects. But they are reasonably agreed concerning the general nature of these trends. Demographics

For the continent as a whole, the population growth under way by 1500 continued over the “long” 16th century until the second or third decade of the 17th century. A recent estimate by the American historian Jan De Vries set Europe’s population (excluding Russia and the Ottoman Empire) at 61.6 million in 1500, 70.2 million in 1550, and 78.0 million in 1600; it then lapsed back to 74.6 million in 1650. The distribution of population across the continent was also shifting. Northwestern Europe (especially the Low Countries and the British Isles) witnessed the most vigorous expansion; England’s population more than doubled between 1500, when it stood at an estimated 2.6 million, and 1650, when it probably attained 5.6 million. Northwestern Europe also largely escaped the demographic downturn of the mid-17th century, which was especially pronounced in Germany, Italy, and Spain. In Germany, the Thirty Years’ War (1618–48) may have cost the country, according to different estimates, between 25 and 40 percent of its population.

Cities also grew, though slowly at first. The proportion of Europeans living in cities with 10,000 or more residents increased from 5.6 percent of the total population in 1500 to only 6.3 percent in 1550. The towns of England continued to suffer a kind of depression, now often called “urban decay,” in the first half of the century. The process of urbanization then accelerated, placing 7.6 percent of the population in cities by 1600, and even continued during the 17th-century crisis. The proportion of population in cities of more than 10,000 inhabitants reached 8.3 percent in 1650.

More remarkable than the slow growth in the number of urban residents was the formation of cities of a size never achieved in the medieval period. These large cities were of two principal types. Capitals and administrative centres—such as Naples, Rome, Madrid, Paris, Vienna, and Moscow—give testimony to the new powers of the state and its ability to mobilize society’s resources in support of courts and bureaucracies. Naples, one of Europe’s largest cities in 1550, was also one of its poorest. The demographic historian J.C. Russell theorized that Naples’ swollen size was indicative of the community’s “loss of control” over its numbers. Already in the 16th century, Naples was a prototype of the big, slum-ridden, semiparasitic cities to be found in many poorer regions of the world in the late 20th century.

Commercial ports, which might also have been capitals, formed a second set of large cities: examples include Venice, Livorno, Sevilla (Seville), Lisbon, Antwerp, Amsterdam, London, Bremen, and Hamburg. About 1550, Antwerp was the chief port of the north. In 1510, the Portuguese moved their trading station from Brugge to Antwerp, making it the chief northern market for the spices they were importing from India. The Antwerp bourse, or exchange, simultaneously became the leading money market of the north. At its heyday in mid-century, the city counted 90,000 inhabitants. The revolt of the Low Countries against Spanish rule (from 1568) ruined Antwerp’s prosperity. Amsterdam, which replaced it as the greatest northern port, grew from 30,000 in 1550 to 65,000 in 1600 and 175,000 in 1650. The mid-17th century—a period of recession in many European regions—was Holland’s golden age. Late in the century, Amsterdam faced the growing challenge of another northern port, which was also the capital of a powerful national state—London. With 400,000 residents by 1650 and growing rapidly, London then ranked below only Paris (440,000) as Europe’s largest city. Urban concentrations of such magnitude were unprecedented; in the Middle Ages, the largest size attained was roughly 220,000, reached by a single city, Paris, about 1328.

Another novelty of the 16th century was the appearance of urban systems, or hierarchies of cities linked together by their political or commercial functions. Most European cities had been founded in medieval or even in ancient times, but they long remained intensely competitive, duplicated each other’s functions, and never coalesced during the Middle Ages into tight urban systems. The more intensive, more far-flung commerce of the early modern age required a clearer distribution of functions and cooperation as much as competition. The centralization of governments in the 16th century also demanded clearly defined lines of authority and firm divisions of functions between national and regional capitals. Trade and the “Atlantic revolution”

The new importance of northwestern Europe in terms of overall population and concentration of large cities reflects in part the “Atlantic revolution,” the redirection of trade routes brought about by the great geographic discoveries. The Atlantic revolution, however, did not so much replace the old lines of medieval commerce as build upon them. In the Middle Ages, Italian ports—Venice and Genoa in particular—dominated trade with the Middle East and supplied Europe with Eastern wares and spices. In the north, German cities, organized into a loose federation known as the Hanseatic League, similarly dominated Baltic trade. When the Portuguese in 1498 opened direct maritime links with India, Venice faced the competition of the Atlantic ports, first Lisbon and Antwerp. Nonetheless, Venice effectively responded to the new competition and attained in the 16th century its apogee of commercial importance; in most of its surviving monuments, this beautiful city still reflects its 16th-century prosperity. Genoa was not well placed to take advantage of the Atlantic discoveries, but Genoese bankers played a central role in the finances of Spain’s overseas empire and in its military ventures in Europe. Italians did not quickly relinquish the prominence as merchants and bankers that had distinguished them in the Middle Ages.

In the north, the Hanseatic towns faced intensified competition from the Dutch, who from about 1580 introduced a new ship design (the fluitschip, a sturdy, cheaply built cargo vessel) and new techniques of shipbuilding, including wind-powered saws. Freight charges dropped and the size of the Dutch merchant marine soared; by the mid-17th century, it probably exceeded in number of vessels all the other mercantile fleets of Europe combined. The English competed for a share in the Baltic trade, though they long remained well behind the Dutch.

In absolute terms, Baltic trade was booming. In 1497 the ships passing through the Sound separating Denmark from Sweden numbered 795; 100 years later the number registered by the toll collectors reached 6,673. The percentage represented by Hanseatic ships rose over the same century from roughly 20 to 23–25 percent; the Germans were not yet routed from these eastern waters.

In terms of maritime trade, the Atlantic revolution may well have stimulated rather than injured the older exchanges. At the same time, new competition from the western ports left both Hanseatics and Italians vulnerable to the economic downturn of the 17th century. For both the Hanseatic and Italian cities, the 17th—and not the 16th—century was the age of decline. At Lübeck in 1628, at the last meeting of the Hanseatic towns, only 11 cities were represented, and later attempts to call a general meeting ended in failure. Prices and inflation

In historical accounts, the glamour of the overseas discoveries tends to overshadow the intensification of exchanges within the continent. Intensified exchanges led to the formation of large integrated markets for at least some commodities. Differences in the price of wheat in the various European regions leveled out as the century progressed, and prices everywhere tended to fluctuate in the same direction. The similar price movements over large areas mark the emergence of a single integrated market in cereals. Certain regions came to specialize in wheat production and to sell their harvests to distant consumers. In particular, the lands of the Vistula basin, southern Poland, and Ruthenia (western Ukraine) became regular suppliers of grain to Flanders, Holland, western Germany, and, in years of poor harvests, even England and Spain. In times of famine, Italian states also imported cereals from the far-off Baltic breadbasket. From about 1520, Hungary emerged as a principal supplier of livestock to Austria, southern Germany, and northern Italy.

Changes in price levels in the 16th century profoundly affected every economic sector, but in ways that are disputed. The period witnessed a general inflation, known traditionally as the “price revolution.” It was rooted in part in frequent monetary debasements; the French kings, for example, debased or altered their chief coinage, the livre tournois, in 1519, 1532, 1549, 1561, 1571–75 (four mutations), and 1577. Probably more significant (though even this is questioned) was the infusion of new stocks of precious metal, especially silver, into the money supply. The medieval economy had suffered from a chronic shortage of precious metals. From the late 15th century, however, silver output, especially from German mines, increased and remained high through the 1530s. New techniques of sinking and draining shafts, extracting ore, and refining silver made mining a booming industry. From 1550 “American treasure,” chiefly from the great silver mine at Potosí in Peru (now in Bolivia), arrived in huge volumes in Spain, and from Spain it flowed to the many European regions where Spain had significant military or political engagements. Experts estimate (albeit on shaky grounds) that the stock of monetized silver increased by three or three and a half times during the 16th century.

At the same time, the growing numbers of people who had to be fed, clothed, and housed assured that coins would circulate rapidly. In monetary theory, the level of prices varies directly with the volume of money and the velocity of its circulation. New sources of silver and new numbers of people thus launched (or at least reinforced) pervasive inflation. According to one calculation, prices rose during the century in nominal terms by a factor of six and in real terms by a factor of three. The rate is low by modern standards, but it struck a society accustomed to stability. As early as 1568 the French political theorist Jean Bodin perceptively attributed the inflation to the growing volume of circulating coin, but many others, especially those victimized by inflation, chose to blame it on the greed of monopolists. Inflation contributed no small part to the period’s social tensions.

Inflation always redistributes wealth; it penalizes creditors and those who live on fixed rents or revenues; it rewards debtors and entrepreneurs who can take immediate advantage of rising prices. Moreover, prices tend to rise faster than wages. For the employer, costs (chiefly wages) lag behind receipts (set by prices), and this forms what is classically known as “profit inflation.” This profit inflation has attracted the interest of economists as well as historians; especially notable among the former is the great British economic theorist John Maynard Keynes. In a treatise on money published in 1930, he attributed to the 16th-century price revolution and profit inflation a crucial role in the primitive accumulation of capital and in the birth of capitalism itself. His analysis has attracted much criticism. Wages lagged not so much behind the prices of manufactured goods as of agricultural commodities, and inflation may not have increased profits at all. Then, too, inflation in Spain (particularly pronounced in the 1520s), or later in France, did not lead to a burst of enterprise. There is no mechanical connection between price structures and behaviour.

On the other hand, the price revolution certainly stimulated the economy. It clearly penalized the inactive. Those who wished to do no more than maintain their traditional standard of living had, nonetheless, to assume an active economic stance. The increased supply of money seems further to have lowered interest rates—another advantage for the entrepreneur. The price revolution by itself did not assure capital accumulation and the birth of capitalism, but it did bring about increased outlays of entrepreneurial energy. Landlords and peasants

The growing population in the 16th century and the larger concentrations of urban dwellers required abundant supplies of food. In the course of the century, wheat prices steadily rose; the blades of late medieval price scissors once more converged. Money again flowed into the countryside to pay for food, especially wheat. But the social repercussions of the rising price of wheat varied in the different European regions.

In eastern Germany (with the exception of electoral Saxony), Poland, Bohemia, Hungary, Lithuania, and even eventually Russia, the crucial change was the formation of a new type of great property, called traditionally in the German literature the Gutsherrschaft (ownership of an estate). The estate was divided into two principal parts: the landlord’s demesne, from which he took all the harvest, and the farms of the peasants, who supplied the labour needed to work the demesne. The peasants (and their children after them) were legally serfs, bound to the soil. These bipartite, serf-run estates superficially resemble the classic manors of the early Middle Ages but differ from them in that the new estates were producing primarily for commercial markets. The binding of the peasants of eastern Europe to the soil and the imposition of heavy labour services constitute, in another traditional term, the “second serfdom.”

In the contemporary west (and in the east before the 16th century), the characteristic form of great property was the Grundherrschaft (“ownership of land”). This was an aggregation of rent-paying properties. The lord might also be a cultivator, but he worked his land through hired labourers.

What explains the formation of the Gutsherrschaft in early modern eastern Europe? Historians distinguish two phases in its appearance. The nobility and gentry, even without planning to do so, accumulated large tracts of abandoned land during the late medieval population collapse. However, depopulation also meant that landlords could not easily find the labour to work their extensive holdings. Population, as previously mentioned, was growing again by 1500, and prices (especially the price of cereals) steadily advanced. Inflation threatened the standard of living of the landlords; to counter its effects, they needed to raise their incomes. They accordingly sought to win larger harvests from their lands, but the lingering shortage of labourers was a major obstacle. As competition for their labour remained high, peasants were prone to move from one estate to another, in search of better terms. Moreover, the landlords had little capital to hire salaried hands and, in the largely rural east, there were few sources of capital. They had, however, one recourse. They dominated the weak governments of the region, and even a comparatively strong ruler, like the Russian tsar, wished to accommodate the demands of the gentry. In 1497 the Polish gentry won the right to export their grain without paying duty. Further legislation bound the peasants to the soil and obligated them to work the lord’s demesne. The second serfdom gradually spread over eastern Europe; it was established in Poland as early as 1520; in Russia it was legally imposed in the Ulozhenie (Law Code) of 1649. At least in Poland, the western market for cereals was a principal factor in reviving serfdom, in bringing back a seemingly primitive form of labour organization.

No second serfdom developed in western Europe, even though the stimulus of high wheat prices was equally powerful. Harassed landlords, pressed to raise their revenues, had more options than their eastern counterparts. They might look to a profession or even a trade or, more commonly, seek at court an appointment paying a salary or a pension. The western princes did not want local magnates to dominate their communities, as this would erode their own authority. They consequently defended the peasants against the encroachments of the gentry. Finally, landlords in the west could readily find capital. They could use the money either to hire workers or to improve their leased properties, in expectation of gaining higher rents. The availability of capital in the west and its scarcity in the east were probably the chief reasons why the agrarian institutions of eastern and western Europe diverged so dramatically in the 16th century.

In the west, in areas of plow agriculture, the small property remained the most common productive unit. However, the terms under which it was held and worked differed widely from one European region to another. In the Middle Ages, peasants were typically subject to a great variety of charges laid upon both their persons and the land. They had to pay special marriage and inheritance taxes; they were further required to provide tithes to the parish churches. These charges were often small—sometimes only recognitive—and were fixed by custom. They are often regarded as “feudal” as distinct from “capitalist” rents, in that they were customary and not negotiated; the lord, moreover, provided nothing—no help or capital improvements—in return for the payments.

The 16th century witnessed a conversion—widespread though never complete—from systems of feudal to capitalist rents. The late medieval population collapse increased the mobility of the peasant population; a peasant who settled for one year and one day in a “free village” or town received perpetual immunity from personal charges. Personal dues thus eroded rapidly; dues weighing upon the land persisted longer but could not be raised. It was therefore in the landlord’s interest to convert feudal tenures into leaseholds, and this required capital.

In England upon the former manors, farmers (the original meaning of the term was leaseholder or rent payer), who held land under long-term leases, gradually replaced copyholders, or tenants subject only to feudal dues. These farmers constituted the free English yeomanry, and their appearance marks the demise of the last vestiges of medieval serfdom. In the Low Countries, urban investors bought up the valuable lands near towns and converted them into leaseholds, which were leased for high rents over long terms. The heavy infusions of urban capital into Low Country agriculture helped make it technically the most advanced in Europe, a model for improving landlords elsewhere. In central and southern France and in central Italy, urban investment in the land was closely linked to a special type of sharecropping lease, called the métayage in France and the mezzadria in Italy. The landlord (typically a wealthy townsman) purchased plots, consolidated them into a farm, built a house upon it, and rented it. Often, he also provided the implements needed to work the land, livestock, and fertilizer. The tenant gave as rent half of the harvest. The spread of this type of sharecropping in the vicinity of towns had begun in the late Middle Ages and was carried vigorously forward in the 16th century. Nonetheless, the older forms of feudal tenure, and even some personal charges, also persisted, especially in Europe’s remote and poorer regions. The early modern countryside presents an infinitely complex mixture of old and new ways of holding and working the land.

Two further changes in the countryside are worth noting. In adopting Protestantism, the North German states, Holland, the Scandinavian countries, and England confiscated and sold, in whole or in part, ecclesiastical properties. Sweden, for example, did so in 1526–27, England in 1534–36. It is difficult to assess the exact economic repercussions of these secularizations, but the placing of numerous properties upon the land market almost surely encouraged the infusion of capital into (and the spread of capitalist forms of agrarian organization in) the countryside.

Second, the high price of wheat did not everywhere make cereal cultivation the most remunerative use of the land. The price of wool continued to be buoyant, and this, linked with the availability of cheap wheat from the east, sustained the conversion of plowland into pastures that also had begun in the late Middle Ages. In England this movement is called “enclosure.” In the typical medieval village, peasants held the cultivated soil in unfenced strips, and they also enjoyed the right of grazing a set number of animals upon the village commons. Enclosure meant both the consolidating of the strips into fenced fields and the division of the commons among the individual villagers. As poorer villagers often received plots too small to work, they often had little choice but to sell their share to their richer neighbours and leave the village. In 16th-century England, enclosure almost always meant the conversion of plowland and commons into fenced meadows or pastures. To many outspoken observers, clergy and humanists in particular, enclosures were destroying villages, uprooting the rural population, and multiplying beggars on the road and paupers in the towns. Sheep were devouring the people—“Where there have been many householders and inhabitants,” the English bishop Hugh Latimer lamented, “there is now but a shepherd and his dog.” In light of recent research, these 16th-century enclosures were far less extensive than such strictures imply. Nonetheless, enclosures are an example of the power of capital to transform the rhythms of everyday life; at the least, they were an omen of things to come.

In Spain, sheep and people also entered into destructive competition. Since the 13th century, sheepherding had fallen under the control of a guild known as the Mesta; the guild was in turn dominated by a few grandees. The Mesta practiced transhumance (alternation of winter and spring pastures); the flocks themselves moved seasonally along great trailways called cañadas. The government, which collected a tax on exported wool, was anxious to raise output and favoured the Mesta with many privileges. Cultivators along the cañadas were forbidden to fence their fields, lest the barriers impede the migrating sheep. Moreover, the government imposed ceiling prices on wheat in 1539. Damage from the flocks and the low price of wheat eventually crippled cereal cultivation, provoked widespread desertion of the countryside and overall population decline, and was a significant factor in Spain’s 17th-century decline. High cereal prices primarily benefited not the peasants but the landlords. The landlords in turn spent their increased revenues on the amenities and luxuries supplied by towns. In spite of high food costs, town economies fared well. Protoindustrialization

Historians favour the term “protoindustrialization” to describe the form of industrial organization that emerged in the 16th century. The word was initially applied to cottage industries in the countryside. In spite of the opposition of urban guilds, rural residents were performing many industrial tasks. Agricultural labour did not occupy the peasants during the entire year, and they devoted their free hours to such activities as spinning wool or weaving and washing cloth. Peasants usually worked for lower remuneration than urban artisans. Protoindustrialization gave rural residents supplementary income, which conferred a certain immunity from harvest failures; it enabled them to marry younger and rear larger families; it prepared them, socially and psychologically, for eventual industrialization. The efforts of urban guilds to limit rural work enjoyed only limited success; in England, for example, the restrictions seem rarely to have been enforced. Cottage industries certainly existed in the Middle Ages, but the economic expansion of the 16th century diffused them over much larger areas of the European countryside, perhaps most visibly in England and western Germany.

More recently, historians have stressed the role of towns in this early form of industrial organization. Towns remained the centres from which the raw materials were distributed in the countryside. Moreover, urban entrepreneurs coordinated the efforts of the rural workers and marketed their finished products. Certain processes—usually the most highly skilled and the most remunerative—remained centred in cities. Not only the extension of industry into rural areas but also the greater integration of city and countryside in regional economies was the principal achievement of 16th-century industry.

This manner of organizing manufactures is known as the “putting-out system,” an awkward translation of the German Verlagssystem. The key to its operation was the entrepreneur, who purchased the raw materials, distributed them among the working families, passed the semifinished products from one artisan to another, and marketed the finished products. He was typically a great merchant resident in the town. As trade routes grew longer, the small artisan was placed at ever-greater distances from sources of supply and from markets. Typically, the small artisan would not have the knowledge of distant markets or of the preferences of distant purchasers and rarely had the money to purchase needed raw materials. The size of the trading networks and the volume of merchandise moving within them made the services of the entrepreneur indispensable and subordinated the workers to his authority.

The production of fabric remained everywhere the chief European industry, but two developments, both of them continuations of medieval changes, are noteworthy. In southern Europe the making of silk cloth, stimulated by the luxurious tastes of the age, gained unprecedented prominence. Lucca, Bologna, and Venice in Italy and Sevilla and Granada in Spain gained flourishing industries. Even more spectacular in its rise as a centre of silk manufacture was the city and region of Lyon in central France. Lyon was also a principal fair town, where goods of northern and southern Europe were exchanged. It was ideally placed to obtain silk cocoons or thread from the south and to market the finished cloth to northern purchasers. The silk industry is also notable in that most of the workers it employed were women.

Northern industry continued to concentrate on woolens but partially turned its efforts to producing a new type of cloth, worsteds. Unlike woolens, worsteds were woven from yarn spun from long-haired wool; moreover, the cloth is not fulled (that is, washed, mixed with fuller’s earth, and pounded in order to mat the weave). Worsteds were lighter and cheaper to make than woolens and did not require the services of a mill, which might have to be located near running water. Under the name of “new draperies,” worsteds had come to dominate the Flemish wool industry in the late Middle Ages. In the 16th century, several factors—the growth of population and of markets, the revolt of the Low Countries against Spain, and religious persecutions, which led many skilled Protestant workers to seek refuge among their coreligionists—stimulated the worsted industry in England. England had developed a vigorous woolens industry in the late Middle Ages, and the spread of worsted manufacture made it a European leader in fabric production.

Another major innovation in 16th-century industrial history was the growing use of coal as fuel. England, with rich coal mines located close to the sea, could take particular advantage of this cheap mineral fuel. The port of Newcastle in Northumbria emerged in the 16th century as a principal supplier of coal to London consumers. As yet, coal could not be used for the direct smelting of iron, but it found wide application in glassmaking, brick baking, brewing, and the heating of homes. The use of coal eased the demand on England’s rapidly diminishing forests and contributed to the growth of a coal technology that would make a crucial contribution to the later Industrial Revolution.

In industry, the 16th century was not so much an age of dramatic technological departures; rather, it witnessed the steady improvement of older technological traditions—in shipbuilding, mining and metallurgy, glassmaking, silk production, clock and instrument making, firearms, and others. Europe slowly widened its technological edge over non-European civilizations. Most economic historians further believe that protoindustrialization, and the commerce that supplied and sustained it, best explains the early accumulations of capital and the birth of a capitalist economy. Growth of banking and finance

Perhaps the most spectacular changes in the 16th-century economy were in the fields of international banking and finance. To be sure, medieval bankers such as the Florentine Bardi and Peruzzi in the 14th century and the Medici in the 15th had operated on an international scale, but the full development of an international money market with supporting institutions awaited the 16th century. Its earliest architects were South German banking houses, from Augsburg and Nürnberg in particular, who were well situated to serve as financial intermediaries between such southern capitals as Rome (or commercial centres such as Venice) and the northern financial centre at Antwerp. Through letters of exchange drawn on the various bourses that were growing throughout Europe, these bankers were able to mobilize capital in fabulous amounts. In 1519 Jakob II Fugger the Rich of Augsburg amassed nearly two million florins for the Habsburg king of Spain, Charles I, who used the money to bribe the imperial electors (he was successfully elected Holy Roman emperor as Charles V). Money was shaping the politics of Europe.

The subsequent bankruptcies of the Spanish crown injured the German bankers; from 1580 or even earlier, the Genoese became the chief financiers of the Spanish government and empire. Through the central fair at Lyon and through letters of exchange and a complex variant known as the asiento, the Genoese transferred great sums from Spain to the Low Countries to pay the soldiers of the Spanish armies. In the mid-16th century, dissatisfied with Lyon, the Genoese set up a fictional fair, known as Bisenzone (Besançon), as a centre of their fiscal operations. Changing sites several times, “Bisenzone” from 1579 settled at Piacenza in Italy. Political and cultural influences on the economy

The centralized state of the early modern age exerted a decisive influence on the development of financial institutions and in other economic sectors as well. To maintain its power both within its borders and within the international system, the state supported a large royal or princely court, a bureaucracy, and an army. It was the major purchaser of weapons and war matériel. Its authority affected class balances. Over the century’s course, the prince expanded his authority to make appointments and grant pensions. His control of resources softened the divisions among classes and facilitated social mobility. Several great merchants and bankers, the Fuggers among them, eventually were ennobled. Yet, in spending huge sums on war, the early modern state may also have injured the economy. The floating debt of the French crown came close to 10 million ecus (the ecu was worth slightly less than a gold florin), that of the Spanish, 20 million. These sums probably equaled the worth of the circulating coin in the two kingdoms. Only in England did the public debt remain at relatively modest proportions, about 200,000 gold ducats. Governments, with the exception of the English, were absorbing a huge part of the national wealth. The Spanish bankruptcies were also sure proof that Spain had insufficient resources to realize its ambitious imperial goals.

The effort to control the economy in the interest of enhancing state power is the essence of the political philosophy known as mercantilism. Many of the policies of 16th-century states affecting trade, manufactures, or money can be regarded as mercantilistic, but as yet they did not represent a coherent economic theory. The true age of mercantilism postdates 1650.

Cultural changes also worked to legitimate, even to inspire, the early modern spirit of enterprise. In a famous thesis, the German sociologist Max Weber and, later, the English historian Richard Henry Tawney posited a direct link between the Protestant ethic, specifically in its Calvinist form, and the capitalist motivation. Medieval ethics had supposedly condemned the profit motive, and teachings about usury and the just price had shackled the growth of capitalist practices. Calvinism made the successful merchant God’s elect. Today, this thesis appears too simple. Many movements contributed to a reassessment of the mercantile or business life, and the rival religious confessions influenced one another. Calvinism did not really view commercial success as a sign of God’s favour until the 17th century, but 16th-century Roman Catholic scholastics (as the humanists before them) had come to regard the operations of the marketplace as natural; it was good for the merchant to participate in them. Martin Luther, in emphasizing that every Christian had received a calling (Berufung) from God, gave new dignity to all secular employments. Roman Catholics developed their own theory of the “vocation” to both secular and religious callings in what was a close imitation of the Lutheran Berufung. Aspects of early modern society

To examine the psychology of merchants is to stay within a narrow social elite. Historians, in what is sometimes called “the new social history,” have paid close attention to the common people of Europe and to hitherto neglected social groups—women, the nonconformists, and minorities.

Two fundamental changes affected the status of early modern women. Women under protoindustrialization were valued domestic workers, but they also had little economic independence; the male head of the household, the father or husband, gained the chief fruits of their labour. A second change, perhaps related to the first, was the advancing age of first marriage for women. Medieval girls were very young at first marriage, barely past puberty; these young girls were given to mature grooms who were in their middle or late 20s. By the late 16th century, parish marriage registers show that brides were nearly the same age as their grooms and both were mature persons, usually in their middle 20s. This is, in effect, what demographers call the modern, western European marriage pattern. Comparatively late ages at first marriage also indicate that significant numbers of both men and women would not marry at all. Though the origins of this pattern remain obscure, it may be that families, recognizing the economic value of daughters, were anxious to retain their services as long as possible. European marriages were overwhelmingly patrilocal—that is, the bride almost always joined her husband’s household. Thus, the contribution that daughters made to the household economy exerted an upward pressure on their ages of marriage. Whatever the explanation for the new marriage pattern, the near equality of ages between the marriage partners at least opened the possibility that the two would become true friends as well as spouses; this was harder to achieve when brides were young girls and their husbands mature and experienced.

In investigating what might be called the cultural underground of the early modern age, historians now take full advantage of a distinctive type of source. The established religions of Europe, both Roman Catholic and Protestant, zealously sought to assure uniformity of belief in the regions they dominated. The courts inspired by them actively pursued not only the heterodox but also witches, the insane, and anyone who maintained an unusual style of life. The special papal court known as the Inquisition operated in many (though not all) Catholic states. Its judges carefully interrogated witnesses and kept good records. These records permit rare views into the depths of early modern society. They show how widespread was the belief in magic and the practice of witchcraft and how far popular culture diverged from the officially sanctioned ideologies. The variety and strange nature of popular beliefs have convinced some historians that Christianity had never really won the minds of rural people during the Middle Ages. Only the aggressive and reformed churches of the 16th century succeeded in converting the peasants to formal Christianity. This thesis may be doubted, but it cannot be doubted that the European countryside sheltered deep wells of popular culture which the documentation of the age leaves largely in darkness.

Witchcraft presents special problems. Witches were hunted in the 16th century with a relentlessness never seen before. Were they becoming more numerous, their services more in demand? It may be that the two reformations, Protestant and Catholic, purged Europe of the magical aura that the medieval church had hung over it. It may be that the abiding thirst for enchantment could be slaked only in the cultural underground, only through popular magic. But it may also be that the new determination and efficiency of the reformed religions and the early modern states simply exposed persons long a fixture in village life: the woman healer, who knew the ancient, time-honoured cures; the old wife, who through charms or potions could induce conception or sterility, love or hate. It is hard even to reconstruct the character of early modern witchcraft. Terrorized witnesses tended to respond in ways they thought would please their interrogators; thus, they reinforced stereotypes rather than revealing what they truly believed or did. Court records of this kind are not flawless sources, but they remain a rich vein of cultural history. Ironically, the court officials saved for history the thoughts and values they had hoped to extirpate.

The 16th century also witnessed a continuing deterioration in the status of western Jews. They had been expelled from England in 1290 and from France in 1306 (the first of several expulsions and readmissions). Riots and killings accompanying the Black Death (the Jews were accused of poisoning the wells) had pushed the centres of German Jewry (the Ashkenazim) to the east, into Poland, Lithuania, and, eventually, the Russian Empire. In 1492 the Jews of Spain (the Sephardim), who had formed the largest and most culturally accomplished western community, were given the choice of conversion or expulsion. Many chose to leave for Portugal (whence they would also be subsequently expelled), the Low Countries, Italy, or the Ottoman Empire. Those who remained and ostensibly converted were called “New Christians,” or Marranos, and many of these later chose to emigrate to more hospitable lands. Many Marranos continued to live as Jews while professing Christianity; accusations against them were commonly heard by the Inquisition in both Spain and Italy. Their position was especially distressing. Often, both Jews and Christians rejected them, the former for their ostensible conversion, the latter for secretly practicing Judaism.

The communities of exiles had different experiences. Jews in Holland made a major contribution to the country’s great prosperity. The Italian states, papal Rome included, accepted the exiles, hoping to profit from their commercial and financial expertise. Yet the Jews were also subject to increasingly severe restrictions. The Jewish community at Venice, which absorbed large numbers of Iberian Jews and Marranos, formed the first ghetto (the word itself is Venetian, first used in 1516). The practice of confining Jews into walled quarters, locked at night, became the common social practice of early modern states, at least in the central and eastern parts of the continent. The Sephardim, who continued to speak a form of Spanish known as Ladino, established large and prosperous colonies in Ottoman cities—Salonika, Istanbul, and Cairo among them. On balance, however, the early modern period in Europe was socially and culturally a dark age for Jewry.

Is there a single factor that can explain the social history of Europe’s 16th century? Many have been proposed: population growth, overseas discoveries, the emergence of a world economic system, American treasure, profit inflation, capital accumulation, protoindustrialization, the Renaissance or Reformation. Perhaps the most decisive change was progress toward more integrated systems of social organization and action and toward wider and tighter social networks. The western monarchies overcame much of the political localism of the medieval world and set a model that even divided Italy and Germany would eventually emulate. Economic integration advanced even more rapidly; markets in foodstuffs, spices, luxuries, and money extended throughout the continent: The skilled banker could marshal funds from all the continent’s money markets; silks from Lucca were sold in Poland. Cities formed into hierarchies, still on a regional basis but surpassing in their effectiveness the loose associations of medieval urban places. To be sure, competition among the centralized states often led to destructive wars and terrible waste of resources; and the quest for unity brought shameful persecution upon those who could not or would not conform to the dominant culture. David Herlihy Politics and diplomacy The state of European politics

In the 15th century, changes in the structure of European polity, accompanied by a new intellectual temper, suggested to such observers as the philosopher and clerical statesman Nicholas of Cusa that the “Middle Age” had attained its conclusion and a new era had begun. The Papacy, the symbol of the spiritual unity of Christendom, lost much of its prestige in the Great Western Schism and the conciliar movement and became infected with the lay ideals prevailing in the Italian peninsula. In the 16th century, the Protestant Reformation reacted against the worldliness and corruption of the Holy See, and the Roman Catholic church responded in its turn by a revival of piety known as the Counter-Reformation. While the forces that were to erupt in the Protestant movement were gathering strength, the narrow horizons of the Old World were widened by the expansion of Europe to America and the East. (This section treats the political, diplomatic, and military history of Europe from the Reformation to the Peace of Westphalia. For a discussion of the religious history of this period, see Christianity, Protestantism, and Roman Catholicism. The expansion of European culture to new lands is covered in colonialism.)

In western Europe, nation-states emerged under the aegis of strong monarchical governments, breaking down local immunities and destroying the unity of the European respublica Christiana. Centralized bureaucracy came to replace medieval government. Underlying economic changes affected social stability. Secular values prevailed in politics, and the concept of a balance of power came to dominate international relations. Diplomacy and warfare were conducted by new methods. Permanent embassies were accredited between sovereigns, and on the battlefield standing armies of professional and mercenary soldiers took the place of the feudal array that had reflected the social structure of the past. At the same time, scientific discoveries cast doubt on the traditional cosmology. The systems of Aristotle and Ptolemy, which had long been sanctified by clerical approval, were undermined by Copernicus, Mercator, Galileo, and Kepler. Discovery of the New World

In the Iberian Peninsula the impetus of the counteroffensive against the Moors carried the Portuguese to probe the West African coastline and the Spanish to attempt the expulsion of Islam from the western Mediterranean. In the last years of the 15th century, Portuguese navigators established the sea route to India and within a decade had secured control of the trade routes in the Indian Ocean and its approaches. Mercantile interests, crusading and missionary zeal, and scientific curiosity were intermingled as the motives for this epic achievement. Similar hopes inspired Spanish exploitation of the discovery by Christopher Columbus of the Caribbean outposts of the American continent in 1492. The Treaties of Tordesillas and Saragossa in 1494 and 1529 defined the limits of westward Spanish exploration and the eastern ventures of Portugal. The two states acting as the vanguard of the expansion of Europe had thus divided the newly discovered sea lanes of the world between them.