It is possible to view the whole of human history as one long march to equality. For what began as a species ensnared by tribal ties and hierarchical societies has, over the long, dark centuries, evolved into a civilization of souls at least partially ruled by the freedom to think and do as they choose. More over, this march has bestowed upon us the momentum necessary to fulfil our universal destiny of becoming an intelligent species governed by fair laws and equitable opportunity. However, an important question remains.
How has this march been sustained? How were kings and tyrants, warlords and high priests, convinced to shed their all-consuming powers and reduce themselves to regular citizens? Did the people rise up and take back the authority they had given to their betters, or was this authority frittered away, a currency spent by profligate overlords? Perhaps both are possible avenues towards equality, but it is the latter that seems to have brought down many of our most famous rulers. James II of England is no exception.
The catholic king of a protestant nation, James II, the last member of the House of Stuart to wear the English crown, was, in the main, a pious king who, in the name of reform, enacted numerous laws and empowered new institutions in an effort to modernize a realm still staggered by Oliver Cromwell and his Commonwealth. Initially, his reforms bore fruit, resulting in a potent army, capable of withstanding attacks from mainland powers, and a clergy able to practice James' Liberty of Conscience, a policy that put Catholic priests on equal footing with their fellow religionists. However, deeply troubled by rebellious protestant lords and confronted by a largely hostile parliament, James, instead of consolidating his gains and passing them onto his heirs to further, doubled down on his reforms: ordering that the officer core of his army be stacked with loyal catholics, using the courts to attack religious leaders who resisted him, and re-affirming that his power to rule descended from God himself and that, therefore, no parliament could gainsay him without defying the divine.
James II's transition from reformist to authoritarian triggered, in 1688, a revolution in England. In parliament, political differences were set aside for the universal goal of ousting the increasingly tyrannical James and replacing him with a monarch who would happily submit himself to the laws of parliament, acknowledging that assembly of citizens as the paramount body of authority in the land. William of Orange, the protestant husband of James II's daughter, became the ideal candidate. And so, after he agreed in that same year to invade England with a force of Dutch troops, and after those troops easily routed James II's new army, sending the king into exile, the revolution was complete and William III of England became the first monarch to rule an England governed by the new and perpetual Bill of Rights.
Though 1688 is a thorough, academic history of this Glorious Revolution, and though it exhaustively examines some of the revolution's triggers, it is a tome entirely too preoccupied with its author's own grudges. Instead of devoting some of its 650-some pages to establishing solid biographies for the major players in this most vital of historical dramas -- James, the fallen monarch; William III, his son in law and successor; Henry Compton, the rebellious bishop; or even the heads of the Wigs and the Tories, parliament's two major political forces --, Mr. Pincus devotes himself to refuting the claims of fellow historians, a pervasive attitude that grounds his text in esoteric arguments. For those who populate the insular, academic circles in which Mr. Pincus must swim, debates over whether or not the Glorious Revolution was conservative or progressive, or whether or not it can be considered a revolution at all, may well be cause for much excitement and debate. But for the rest of us, who are merely interested in the historical milestones that mark the progress of humanity, these are irrelevancies which pale in comparison with actual events.
Notwithstanding its author's many preoccupations, 1688 contained valuable information. Mr. Pincus' contention that the relatively good state of English roads lead to the swift dispensing of information, which in turn fuelled public interest in government, which in turn hamstrung James II, leading to the revolution, is fascinating. He adds other heavy chapters on the state of economics and religion in late 17th century England, both of which bear edible fruit. But ultimately, Mr. Pincus' distractions doom the piece. I pity those university students compelled to read this. How their eyes must droop... (2/5 Stars)
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