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After preaching and song we turn to examine one further aspect of oral culture: drama. As with the other two media, drama had a rich and varied mediaeval heritage; the three modes of communication were in many respects closely connected, and each drew on the traditions and associations of the other. Popular theatricals made much use of song and the playing of musical instruments: drums, horns and pipes provided the steady backcloth to the other more dramatic special effects expected by a discerning and demanding audience. Mediaeval drama also shared much in common with the preaching tradition. We have already laid some stress on the theatricality of the mediaeval sermon, and preaching certainly shared with the more overt theatrical performances the sense of a special event for which large and eager crowds would gather in the expectation of something rousing and unusual. The two events had much in common in terms of their unfolding rhythm and drama: the long period of anticipation, the gathering of large bodies of eager auditors, milling noisily in the city's public space; the carefully managed choreography of the performance, the skill of the performer to rouse emotion and build to a thrilling climax. Preachers were well aware of the weight of expectations that fell on their performance; if they failed to entertain and enthral, travelling players offered other free entertainments. This does not imply, however, that the great preachers were necessarily opposed to drama, or resented the competition of dramatic presentations. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Luther and his colleagues would make much play with the concept of the new evangelical sermon. We should certainly not underestimate the element of novelty, and the surprise of the new. The priest who commandeered the pulpit – often his own pulpit – to launch a bold attack on time-honoured practices and the doctrine of the community he served was bound to cause a sensation. The impact on his congregation, moved, excited, troubled or appalled, was clearly profound. But it was so precisely because the sermon was so fundamental a part of church life. It also played an important role in the wider information culture of pre-modern society. In a world where most information continued to be conveyed by word of mouth, few could doubt that preaching represented one of the primary means of communication with a wider public. This was a world the reformers instinctively understood. Few doubted that, if they were to reach their audience, it would be through the medium of the word: and that meant in the first instance the word preached, as much as their published works. Many of those who would make up the first generation of the leaders of the Reformation had made their reputation first as preachers; they owed both their local reputation and the opportunity to contribute to the new evangelical movement to their skill in the pulpit. All, without exception, regarded preaching as fundamental to their duty as pastors, and to their evangelical mission. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The ICRC has always taken care not to go beyond the limits of that which risked alienating the good will of states to the detriment of tasks which they gave to it. The foundations of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, and particularly the ICRC's humanitarian protection, are to be found in Calvinistic Geneva in the nineteenth century. What became the ICRC got its start between 1859 and 1869. Decisions during this time greatly shaped not just the ICRC and the larger Red Cross Movement, but the entire “Red Cross” approach to peace and war, to public authorities, and to scope and styles of Red Cross humanitarian action. Thereafter the ICRC remained enormously influential on these subjects. It is a very complicated matter as to whether victims of war and victims of other struggles for power would have fared better in subsequent years through different decisions. What is clear is that the ICRC emerged as an important humanitarian actor in conflict situations and as “guardian” of a much revered – and much violated – international humanitarian law (IHL). The organization's provision of humanitarian relief, its visits to detainees, its efforts to restore family contacts, and its legal development work became fixtures of “man made” conflicts – first in Europe and then in the rest of the world. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

War is so awful that it makes us cynical about the possibility of restraint, and then it is so much worse that it makes us indignant at the absence of restraint. Our cynicism testifies to the defectiveness of the war convention, and our indignation to its reality and strength. No century [compared to the twentieth century] has had better norms and worse realities. Apparently the phrase “international humanitarian law” (IHL) was first used by the ICRC in 1953. In this chapter I will first show that there remains a lack of clarity about the precise scope of IHL. Then I will show that there is often confusion about its relation to international human rights law (HRL). Finally I will show that in relation to IHL the ICRC exercises three roles by whatever name: helping to develop the law, helping to disseminate the principles and rules of the law, and helping to apply the law. The central point of this chapter is not to provide a legal commentary on the specifics of IHL, but rather to discuss its practical relevance to victims of conflicts through the efforts of the ICRC. A theme running throughout this chapter is that one can overemphasize IHL as a technical legal subject compared to humanitarian diplomacy. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

In reality, the ICRC is in permanent reorganization As already demonstrated, what the ICRC did around the world was determined for a long time by a group of volunteer humanitarians now collectively called the Assembly. As noted in chapter 1, it was Gustave Moynier, not Henry Dunant, who interacted with the Assembly to lay the foundations for the modern ICRC during his long Presidency (1864–1910). While the Assembly has presided over a remarkable history of expanding accomplishments, it was surely the case that particularly Max Huber and his colleagues in the Assembly did not distinguish themselves against Hitler and the Swiss governing class that had tried to accommodate the Nazis (as noted in chapters 1 and 5). This type of failure to develop a well-considered humanitarian diplomacy in the face of brutal power politics was painfully exposed again in the Nigerian affair (1967–70, covered in chapter 2). Media coverage of ICRC difficulties in the Nigerian war and competition from other relief agencies pushed the ICRC into significantly altering its process of decision making. Progressively from about 1970, considerable influence shifted inside the organization from the Assembly to the Directorate. The top professional humanitarians, the leadership of the professional staff, came to manage the ICRC on a daily basis. The Assembly still established general policy. It and its Council, explained below, still could be a significant factor in ICRC policy making. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

It is not enough to call upon great humanitarian principles. In a fluid situation it is necessary to lay down rules of behaviour which must be respected by everyone, from the [ICRC] President down to the last delegate. From the historical overview presented in the previous chapters one can extract and analyze the basic principles and policies of the ICRC. These principles and policies allow us to situate the organization more clearly in international relations by allowing us to distinguish the ICRC's role, strategy, and tactics from other relevant actors. In the “international community” one finds numerous actors dealing from time to time with humanitarian affairs – states, United Nations organs and agencies, Doctors Without Borders, Amnesty International, the European Union's Humanitarian Office, and so on. The ICRC, while not ruling out the possibility of some type of cooperation with most of these, cooperates (or not) according to a particular set of principles and policies. The ICRC has historically marched to its own drummer. Two fundamental subjects To set the stage, we can focus briefly on two fundamental subjects: the ICRC's core role of humanizing war, and the relevance to the organization of the official seven Red Cross principles. Limiting versus opposing war From the beginning, the ICRC approach to protecting war victims left itself open to the charge that it was in bed with governments and their bellicose policy makers. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

While there are some signs of change in the right direction, there is still a great need for the ICRC to “open the windows” … On the whole, the ICRC seems to have blurred the differences between the discretion which their work requires and an obsession with needless secrecy. The Cold War years presented various challenges to the ICRC. Under concerted criticism not only from communist but also from certain western democratic circles, the ICRC staved off unwanted changes in its composition and mandate mainly through its performance in various conflicts – in Palestine and Hungary, for example. It also played its traditional role in helping to further develop international humanitarian law. By the middle of the Cold War, the organization was engaged broadly in complex ways not only in the Global South but also in Europe – not only in “developing areas” but also in Greece and Northern Ireland. There was clearly a need for its traditional roles during the Cold War, even if the ICRC was slow to anticipate some needed changes at headquarters as well as in the field. Its controversial performance in the conflict in Nigeria during 1967–70 led to important changes in Geneva. There were other opportunities for striking change, as in response to the 1975 Tansley Report on the Re-appraisal of the Red Cross, or at the 1974–77 diplomatic conference that produced two protocols additional to the 1949 Geneva Conventions. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

To most visitors today, Geneva is a respectable, prosperous, staid city resting at the end of Lake Geneva where the Rhône River pours forth to begin its rush to the sea. The city is Swiss, neutral, and a center for international diplomacy. In the mind it is associated with peace conferences and conventions designed to protect the weak and vulnerable. However, this was not the city in which Calvin ministered. More than just the passing years have moved across the face of Geneva. In Calvin's day the city was smaller, less secure, and decidedly isolated. It was a locale facing the constant threat of armed assault. It was over-crowded and stuffed with refugees. And it was poor. Most surprising of all for most people today to realize is that Geneva was not Swiss. Indeed, Geneva did not enter the Helvetic Confederation until the end of the Napoleonic Wars. For most of the years between its independence in 1535 and its entry into the Swiss state, Geneva did not even share a border with Switzerland. Thus, any real appreciation of Calvin's ministry in Geneva must begin with a realistic understanding of the environment in which he labored. What was his parish like? What was Geneva like? [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

CHARACTER AND AIMS Friedrich Carl (1652–98) came to power as regent of Württemberg as a result of the unexpected death of his elder brother, Duke Wilhelm Ludwig, after a reign of a mere three years (1674–7). His dual role as ‘Duke Administrator’ and prince of the junior Winnenthal line of the family was to impart special characteristics to his regency. On the one hand, he realised that his nephew Eberhard Ludwig would one day become reigning duke and he would once again he reduced to the relative obscurity of prince of a junior line. He therefore tried to extract maximum advantage for himself and his own sons while his power lasted. On the other hand, owing to the length of his rule – Eberhard Ludwig was scarcely a year old when Friedrich Carl became regent on 27 November 1677 and under Württemberg law could not become duke before his eighteenth birthday in 1694 – he developed attributes of a reigning duke. He therefore interfered in the internal structure of the duchy to a far greater extent than the indecisive regents of the period 1737–44, from whom he differed radically in both youth and character. Although nominally obliged to share power with the privy council and with Eberhard Ludwig's mother, the pious Magdalene Sibylle (1652–1712), he soon seized the reins of government for himself. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

THE SOLDIER TRADE IN THE LITERATURE The preceding two chapters have established that if a prince were to achieve his dynastic and political aims, he required a large army and a full treasury. To secure these he needed large revenues. If his existing revenues were inadequate, or he was unable to exercise full control over them, he was forced to look for outside assistance. The most important and politically significant form of such assistance was the subsidy treaty. Subsidy treaties originated in the ‘pensions’ paid by the king of France in the late fifteenth century to the leaders of the Swiss cantons in return for mercenaries for his army. From then on, the treaties developed a number of different forms, but always retained the same basic characteristic – one party provided military assistance in return for financial or political advantage from the other. This has been one of the most misunderstood areas of early modern international relations. Traditionally, the subsidy treaties of these princes have been regarded as a Soldatenhandel, whereby the princes sold their subjects to foreign powers to ‘increase their revenues and satisfy their [desire for] luxury’. This interpretation has profoundly influenced the historical view of the lesser German princes and their role within the Reich and the European states system. Only recently has it begun to be revised. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

STRATEGIES FOR DYNASTIC ADVANCEMENT As long as the Reich remained intact, few of the German princes had the power to secure their dynastic goals by force alone. Force achieved significant, permanent territorial adjustment on only two occasions after 1648. The first was in 1715–21 when both Prussia and Hanover profited from Sweden's collapse in the Great Northern War (1700–21) by seizing most of its territory in north Germany. The second was the Prussian annexation of Austrian Silesia in 1740. Both took place under exceptional circumstances and benefited major rather than minor German states. The first example involved the expulsion of a foreign power from Reich territory and occurred in north Germany, far from the centre of imperial influence and at a time when the emperor was in any case distracted in the Balkans and Italy. The second was achieved during the unique period of the imperial interregnum of 1740–2 and at a time of acute Austrian weakness. It also involved vast military and diplomatic effort and nearly led to Prussia's destruction during Austrian attempts to recover Silesia in the Seven Years War (1756–63). Both Bavaria and Saxony were ruined in similar attempts to use force at various times between 1700 and 1745. Smaller states stood no chance whatsoever. The lack of success is striking testimony to the strength of the old Reich. It is also a legacy of the Thirty Years War which left a deep impression on the German consciousness. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

By the early fourteenth century the period of medieval economic growth was over; the population of Europe reached its peak at about this time, and the spatial pattern of cities was to develop no farther before the nineteenth century. POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY The political map of Europe had assumed a form which, with minor changes, it was to retain into modern times. Only in the Balkan peninsula, where the Byzantine empire was clinging desperately to its last foothold, were major changes still to come. In most of Europe political control was becoming more centralized, and kingship more absolute. Feudalism, as a mode of government, was weakening, though its outward symbols were as conspicuous as ever. Only in eastern Europe and Russia were feudal relationships tending to strengthen. In the Spanish peninsula the southward advance of the Christian states had reduced the Moorish kingdom of Granada to the Sierra Nevada and neighboring coastlands. To the north, Castile, having absorbed Léon and other petty states, reached from the Biscay coast in the north to the Strait of Gibraltar (Fig. 6.1). It dominated the Meseta, while around its periphery lay Navarre and Gascony, Aragon and Portugal. Only Castile still had a boundary with the Moors and still continued its centuries-old crusade against them. Portugal and Aragon were casting their eyes beyond the seas and were beginning that commercial expansion which was to take them to Asia and the New World. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The centuries from the early ninth to the early fourteenth saw the rise and splendor of medieval civilization. They saw also the emergence of a political organization of the land which underwent little fundamental change before the end of the eighteenth century: an increase in population which stretched to its limits the agricultural resources of Europe, and the development of a pattern of cities, that remained almost unaltered until the Industrial Revolution. Not until the nineteenth century do we encounter again a period of comparable development and change. THE INVASIONS The period began with another wave of invaders from beyond the core areas of western and central Europe. These came from Scandinavia, westward from the fjords of Norway and the plains of Denmark to the British Isles and France, eastward from Sweden to the shores of Russia and overland to the Black Sea (Fig. 5.1). The first of these sea raiders reached the shores of western Europe before the death of Charlemagne; the last landed on those of northern Britain two and a half centuries later. Their raids were but an episode in European history, but they had, locally at least, far-reaching consequences. The sudden explosion of Nordic peoples in the ninth century is as enigmatic as that of the Tartar peoples during previous centuries. It has been attributed to political struggles within Scandinavia, to overpopulation, and to environmental change in this climatically marginal land. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

Reflecting upon the course of the Reformation in 1557, Heinrich Bullinger, successor to Zwingli and leader of the reformed church in Switzerland from 1532 until 1575, presented a gloomy and pessimistic assessment. God had revealed his truth to the German nation in these times and his people had proved themselves ungrateful. The immediate consequence of this infidelity, Bullinger believed, were the dreadful wars between the Emperor and the Protestants ravaging Europe. France, Germany and Italy were engulfed in battles, and Swiss soldiers, despite the persistent opposition of the reform movement to mercenary service, continued to die on foreign territory. Within the Confederation the Protestant cities of Basle and Berne pursued their protracted quarrels with Calvin's Geneva over matters of doctrine and church polity, whilst the Catholics, strengthened by the Council of Trent, were everywhere resurgent. The despair of the aging reformer at his desk in Zurich accurately reflects the general disappointment among Swiss reformers that the soaring hopes of the first generation had not been fulfilled. The Reformation had not, as Zwingli had originally anticipated, culminated in a unified alliance of evangelical states under the leadership of Zurich. Instead half the Confederation remained defiantly loyal to Catholicism, and even those states which had eventually followed Zurich into the Protestant camp pursued their own models of reform with a stubborn and, at times, cantankerous independence. Any survey of the Reformation in Switzerland should reflect this enduring diversity, a phenomenon which has to some extent been masked by the subsequent success of Zurich and Geneva in impressing their reforming ideals on a wider European movement later in the century. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

In other words, you cannot observe a wave without bearing in mind the complex features that concur in shaping it and the other, equally complex ones that the wave itself originates. These aspects vary constantly, so each wave is different from another wave, even if not immediately adjacent or successive; in other words, there are some forms and sequences that are repeated, though irregularly distributed in space and time. Since what Mr. Palomar means to do at this moment is simply see a wave – that is, to perceive all its simultaneous components without overlooking any of them – his gaze will dwell on the movement of the wave that strikes the shore until it can record aspects not previously perceived; as soon as he notices that the images are being repeated, he will know that he has seen everything he wanted to see and he will be able to stop … Only if he manages to bear all the aspects in mind at once can he begin the second phase of the operation: extending this knowledge to the entire universe. From the particular to the general in historical explanation Tocqueville disclaimed that he was laying down an unassailable maxim when he wrote in the second volume of the Democracy that the social conditions of democracy were unlikely to be conducive to revolution. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]