Bluebirds Soar High – 1921–22 Cardiff City F.C. season

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Jump to navigation

Jump to search

1921–22 season
ChairmanJohn Pritchard
(until November 1921)
Walter Emspall
ManagerFred Stewart
Division One4th
FA CupFourth round
Welsh CupWinners
Top goalscorerLeague: Jimmy Gill (20)
All: Len Davies (30)
Highest home attendance50,000 vs. Tottenham Hotspur (27 August 1921)
Lowest home attendance15,000 vs. Sheffield United (26 April 1922)
Average home league attendance27,500

The 1921–22 season was the 21st season[nb 1] of competitive football played by Cardiff City F.C. and the team’s first in the First Division of The Football League. Cardiff had won promotion the previous season by finishing as runners-up in the Second Division, becoming the first Welsh team to reach the top tier of English football.

Cardiff had a difficult start to the season, losing the first six matches of the campaign. They eventually saw results improve and finished in fourth place. The club entered the FA Cup in the first round and progressed to the fourth, before being defeated by Tottenham Hotspur after a replay. Cardiff went on to win the Welsh Cup for the third time in the club’s history after defeating Ton Pentre 2–0 in the final, having scored seventeen goals and conceded only one during their cup run.

During the season, 31 players made at least one appearance for the club. Billy Grimshaw played in more games than any other player, featuring in 47 matches in all competitions. Len Davies finished the season as the side’s highest goalscorer with 30 in all competitions, a new club record. His tally of seventeen in the First Division was three short of Jimmy Gill but fourteen in cup matches, including eight in four appearances in the Welsh Cup, saw him outscore his teammate. The highest attendance recorded at Ninian Park was 51,000 for the FA Cup fourth-round tie against Tottenham. The league fixture against Tottenham recorded an attendance of 50,000 although an extra 6,000–10,000 were estimated to have broken into the ground after turnstiles were closed. The average league attendance during the season was 27,500.

Background and pre-season:

A postcard published by the Western Mail of the Cardiff team that reached the FA Cup semi-final the previous season

During the 1920–21 season, Cardiff City FC was elected into the Second Division of The Football League having spent the previous decade playing in the Southern Football League. In the side’s first season in the Second Division, they finished as runners-up behind Birmingham on goal average, a tiebreak formula whereby a team’s goals scored is divided by the number of goals conceded after the two teams accumulated the same number of points.[2] As a result, Cardiff won promotion to the First Division, becoming the first Welsh side to play in the top tier of English football.[3] They also reached the semi-final of the FA Cup.[4]

Manager Fred Stewart remained in charge of the first team for the tenth year. He made several additions to the squad, signing full-back Tommy Brown from New Brighton and forward Willie Page, the brother of Cardiff defender Jack Page,[5] from Port Vale.[6] Cardiff City was investigated by The Football Association (FA) and the Football Association of Wales (FAW) over an illegal approach for Wolverhampton Wanderers defender Dickie Baugh Jr. The club was found guilty with Baugh having signed an agreement with an agent acting on behalf of Cardiff despite still being contracted to Wolves. Cardiff City FC was fined £50 and Baugh £20. The agent involved was subsequently banned from all football grounds under the jurisdictions of either the FA or FAW.[7] John Pritchard was elected chairman of the club ahead of the new season but left the role in November and was replaced by Walter Empsall.[8]

Cardiff also made significant investments in the club’s ground Ninian Park. A new pitch was laid using sea-washed turf which officials at the club labelled as “now being equal to the best in the country”.[6] The earthen embankments that enclosed the pitch were also built up to improve viewing for spectators.[6] The latter work nearly resulted in disaster when the refuse being tipped by Cardiff Corporation caught alight and spread across the Grangetown side of the ground. The fire was doused, with the aid of hundreds of local supporters who had raced to the ground to offer help, and little damage was sustained.[9] Having won promotion and reached the semi-final of the FA Cup, The Times expected Cardiff to adapt well to the higher tier.[10]

First Division


In Cardiff’s first match in the First Division, they met FA Cup holders Tottenham Hotspur at Ninian Park. The game, therefore, became the first top-tier match in English football to be played in Wales and was described in The Times as “the most important event in their (Cardiff’s) history”.[11] The fixture attracted a large crowd, and when 50,000 supporters had paid and been allowed into the ground officials attempted to close the gates. With thousands still queuing to gain entry, supporters broke through the gates and forced their way into the ground. Club officials estimated that between 6,000 and 10,000 people broke into the ground after the gates were initially closed.[12] Cardiff started the season without influential defender Jimmy Blair who was recovering from a bout of pneumonia;[13] Jack Page started the opening match in his place.[14] Tottenham suffered a setback early in the game as Jimmy Seed picked up an injury, but proved too strong for Cardiff and scored the only goal of the game through Jimmy Banks from outside the penalty area.[15] The excessive crowd numbers produced several unsavoury incidents, including fans taking over the scoreboard to use it as a vantage point. This experience prompted the club to seek advice from local police on crowd control at future matches.[6]

Defeat to Tottenham was the start of a difficult beginning in the First Division for the club. Defender Bert Smith became the first player to score for Cardiff in the division in the side’s following match with a consolation goal during a 2–1 defeat to Aston Villa on 29 August. Cardiff met Tottenham in the reverse fixture five days later at their opposition’s home ground but, having proven stubborn opposition for the more experienced side in the first meeting, they were soundly beaten after conceding three goals in the opening 30 minutes of the match. The game finished 4–1 to Tottenham with The Times describing victory for the London-based side as “a very easy matter”.[16] A 4–0 defeat in the reverse fixture against Aston Villa followed, prompting Stewart to make changes to his side ahead of back-to-back fixtures against Oldham Athletic. Blair returned to action having missed the first four matches and goalkeeper Herbert Kneeshaw was dropped in favour of Ben DaviesBilly Hardy, who had been ever-present the previous season, was also left out due to injury along with forward George West.[17] The changes yielded little reward as Cardiff lost both fixtures against Oldham, 1–0 at home, 2–1 away, starting the campaign with six consecutive defeats which left them bottom of the table.[14][18]

Cardiff’s next fixture was against unbeaten league leaders Middlesbrough in a match that was described in The Times as “the most noteworthy example of disparity of strength between contesting clubs”.[19] In a surprising turn of form given the club’s league form, Cardiff recorded their first victory in the First Division after causing an upset to win 3–1 and secure two points.[nb 2] Jimmy Gill, who had been the club’s top scorer the previous season, scored his first goals of the campaign with a brace and Harry Nash added a third. The victory prompted an upturn in fortune for the team as they lost only one of their five matches in October, a 2–1 defeat to Bolton Wanderers. Gill enjoyed a fine run of form during this time, scoring six goals in the five matches including braces during victories over West Bromwich Albion and Bolton in the reverse fixture.[14] With the club struggling for goals, October also saw the arrival of Joe Clennell from Everton for £1,500 (approximately £75,000 in 2020). In an attempt to recoup some of the transfer fees, two forwards who had played an integral role in promotion in the 1920–21 season, Arthur Cashmore and Fred Pagnam,[20] were sold having failed to score in a combined 17 appearances.[14] The club also signed Jimmy Nelson from Irish side Crusaders for £500 (approximately £25,000 in 2020).[21] On 31 October, club captain Fred Keenor was granted a benefit match against Bristol City.[22]


Trainer George Latham was forced into action in January 1922 due to injury, becoming the club’s oldest ever player.

Back-to-back fixtures against Manchester City at the start of November yielded only a point for Cardiff, who lost 2–0 at home and drew 1–1 away. Two victories against Everton later in the month proved a turning point in the season for Cardiff. The departure of Pagnam allowed Len Davies to make his first appearances of the season, scoring all three of Cardiff’s goals in 2–1 and 1–0 victories. The second fixture also saw Hardy and Smith return after injury layoffs.[14] A much-improved run of form ensued with Cardiff losing only one of their following thirteen league matches led by the goals of Davies, Gill and Clennell.[14] Davies also scored the first hat-trick in The Football League by a Cardiff player during a 6–3 victory over Bradford City on 21 January 1922.[23] As well as Bradford, the team’s run included wins over Birmingham (twice), ArsenalPreston North EndBlackburn Rovers and Chelsea.[14] The Times described the team during this time as appearing “almost invincible” as their improved form lifted them to sixth in the table.[24] The team’s victory over Blackburn during this spell saw an unusual Football League debutant when club trainer George Latham was forced into action. Hours before the game was due to start, Gill and Evans both went down with sickness and only one player, Nash, had travelled in reserve. Latham, who had played professionally previously, stepped in and became the oldest player in the club’s history at 41 years old.[25][26]

On 25 February, Cardiff suffered their first defeat since early December, losing 1–0 to Chelsea at Stamford Bridge as the opposition defence proved impregnable.[24] The team recovered to beat Sheffield United 2–0 in their following match with goals from Clennell and Ken MacDonald but suffered a further blow after losing 1–0 to struggling Bradford who were 21st in the table.[27] Two matches against reigning First Division champions Burnley produced positive results as the teams drew 1–1 at Turf Moor before Cardiff won the reverse fixture 4–2 at Ninian Park. Len Davies scored a brace with Gill and Jack Evans scoring one each. Cardiff repeated the pattern in their following two matches against Newcastle United, drawing away before Len Davies scored the only goal in a home victory.[14] Despite taking the lead early in the match, Cardiff suffered a 5–1 defeat to league leaders Liverpool on 15 April.[28] Two days later, they lost heavily again in a 3–1 defeat to Blackburn. They met Liverpool in the reverse fixture on 22 April, their opponents already having secured the First Division title.[29] Cardiff went on to win the match 2–0. They finished the season with consecutive draws against Sheffield United and Manchester United before beating the already-relegated Manchester United again in the final game. The side finished its inaugural season in the First Division in fourth place.[14]

Match results:


In result column, Cardiff City’s score shown firstH = Home match
A = Away match
pen. = Penalty
o.g. = Own goal


27 August 1921Tottenham Hotspur (H)0–150,000
29 August 1921Aston Villa (A)1–2Smith30,000
3 September 1921Tottenham Hotspur (A)1–4West45,000
5 September 1921Aston Villa (A)0–440,000
10 September 1921Oldham Athletic (H)0–120,000
17 September 1921Oldham Athletic (A)1–2Grimshaw18,000
24 September 1921Middlesbrough (H)3–1Gill (2), Nash35,000
1 October 1921Middlesbrough (A)0–030,000
8 October 1921Bolton Wanderers (H)1–2Gill40,000
15 October 1921Bolton Wanderers (A)2–1Gill (2)25,486
22 October 1921West Bromwich Albion (A)2–2KeenorGill20,000
29 October 1921West Bromwich Albion (H)2–0Gill (2)35,000
5 November 1921Manchester City (A)0–238,000
12 November 1921Manchester City (H)1–1Gill25,000
19 November 1921Everton (H)2–1L. Davies (2)35,000
26 November 1921Everton (A)1–0L. Davies30,000
3 December 1921Sunderland (H)2–0GillL. Davies35,000
10 December 1921Sunderland (A)1–4Gill20,000
17 December 1921Huddersfield Town (H)0–025,000
24 December 1921Huddersfield Town (A)1–0Grimshaw20,000
26 December 1921Arsenal (A)0–035,000
27 December 1921Arsenal (H)4–3ClennellGrimshawGillL. Davies41,000
31 December 1921Birmingham (A)1–0L. Davies30,000
2 January 1922Blackburn Rovers (A)3–1L. Davies (2), Grimshaw30,000
14 January 1922Birmingham (H)3–1Clennell (2), Grimshaw37,000
21 January 1922Bradford City (H)6–3Gill (2), ClennellL. Davies (3)27,000
4 February 1922Preston North End (H)3–0MacDonaldGrimshawGill27,000
8 February 1922Chelsea (H)2–0ClennellGill25,000
11 February 1922Preston North End (A)1–1L. Davies20,000
25 February 1922Chelsea (A)0–147,000
11 March 1922Sheffield United (A)2–0MacDonaldClennell35,000
15 March 1922Bradford City (A)0–115,000
18 March 1922Burnley (A)1–1Hardy30,000
25 March 1922Burnley (H)4–2J. EvansGillL. Davies (2)35,000
1 April 1922Newcastle United (A)0–025,000
8 April 1922Newcastle United (H)1–0L. Davies25,000
15 April 1922Liverpool (A)1–5Clennell45,000
17 April 1922Blackburn Rovers (H)1–3Clennell30,000
22 April 1922Liverpool (H)2–0GillL. Davies25,000
26 April 1922Sheffield United (H)1–0Clennell15,000
29 April 1922Manchester United (A)1–1L. Davies15,000
6 May 1922Manchester United (H)3–1GillClennell (2)19,000
Partial league table:

Main article: 1921–22 Football League § First Division

2Tottenham Hotspur422191265391.66751
4Cardiff City4219101361531.15148
5Aston Villa422231774451.34547
6Bolton Wanderers422071568591.15347


Cup matches –

FA Cup:

Cardiff entered the competition in the first round, where they were drawn against fellow First Division side Manchester United. Cardiff won the match 4–1, following a brace from Len Davies and one each from Nash and Clennell,[14] and was praised by The Times for a “very brilliant performance”.[32] In the second round, the team were drawn away against Third Division side Southampton, whom they had defeated in the third round the previous year. The lower-ranked side held Cardiff to a 1–1 draw at The Dell but goals from Gill and Clennell in the replay sent Cardiff through in a 2–0 victory.[14]

The side met Second Division leaders Nottingham Forest in the third round. Len Davies scored his second brace in the competition to lead the side to a 4–1 victory in front of over 50,000 spectators at Ninian Park.[33] Their win led to a fourth-round meeting with cup holders Tottenham Hotspur. The match was hotly anticipated, being described by The Times as “the greatest of the day”.[34] Over 50,000 fans again attended Ninian Park for the tie and despite Cardiff having the better of the first half, Tottenham took the lead through Jimmy Seed after the forward dribbled through the defence to strike the ball past Ben Davies with a powerful shot. Cardiff pressed for the remainder of the match with Billy Grimshaw, Gill and Clennell all going close to scoring. As the match entered the final minute, Len Davies was able to turn the ball into the net to salvage a replay for Cardiff.[35]

The replay was held at Tottenham’s ground White Hart Lane and, such as the demand for tickets, match officials agreed for spectators to be allowed to sit or kneel to the very edge of the pitch. Tottenham enjoyed the brighter start to the match but Cardiff took the lead when Jack Evans beat his man on the wing and crossed for Gill to score. In the second half, Tottenham continued to attack and was rewarded with an equaliser when Jimmy Dimmock headed in from a corner kick. Tottenham went on to score a second when Ben Davies failed to clear a cross and the ball fell to Charlie Wilson who scored the winning goal.[36] Wilson’s effort was controversial as Cardiff players complained that goalkeeper Davies had been deliberately impeded as he attempted to deal with the cross but the referee ignored their complaints and the goal stood.[37] Tottenham advanced to the semifinal where they lost 2–1 to Preston North End.[38]

Match results:


In the result column, Cardiff City’s score shows first H = Home match
A = Away match
pen. = Penalty
o.g. = Own goal


7 January 1922FirstManchester United (A)4–1L. Davies (2), NashClennell25,000
28 January 1922SecondSouthampton (A)1–1Gill19,281
1 February 1922Second (replay)Southampton (H)2–0GillClennell40,000
7 January 1922ThirdNottingham Forest (H)4–1L. Davies (2), GillClennell50,470
4 March 1922FourthTottenham Hotspur (H)1–1L. Davies51,000
9 March 1922Fourth (replay)Tottenham Hotspur (A)1–2Gill53,626
Welsh Cup:

Cardiff entered the Welsh Cup in the third round, being drawn against Football League Third Division South side Newport County. Cardiff’s side ultimately proved too strong for Newport as the match ended 7–0 with Len Davies scoring four, Grimshaw two and Keenor one. The side continued their free-scoring form in the following round where they defeated Merthyr Town, also of the Third Division South, with Len Davies scoring a hat-trick during a 5–0 win. In the semifinal, they were drawn against Welsh league side Pontypridd who had eliminated them from the competition the previous year. Keenor, Gill and Jack Evans each scored once to secure a 3–0 victory and send Cardiff through to the final. Ton Pentre were their opponents as Cardiff secured their third Welsh Cup title after winning 2–0 at Taff Vale Park.[14][39] Gill and Len Davies each scored once; Davies’ goal was his eighth in the competition.[14]

Match results:


In result column, Cardiff City’s score shown firstH = Home match
A = Away match
pen. = Penalty kick
o.g. = Own goal


18 January 1922ThirdNewport County (H)7–1KeenorGrimshaw (2), L. Davies (4)5,500
22 February 1922FourthMerthyr Town (H)5–0L. Davies (3), NashJackson (o.g.)5,500
10 April 1922Semi-finalPontypridd (A)3–0KeenorGillJ. Evans12,000
4 May 1922FinalTon Pentre (N)2–0GillL. Davies12,000


Len Davies was Cardiff’s top goalscorer during the campaign, setting a new club record with 30 goals in all competitions.

Billy Grimshaw made the most appearances of any Cardiff player during the season, featuring in 47 matches in all competitions. He also made the most league appearances with 38. Jack Evans was the next highest with 44 appearances and a further five players made 40 or more appearances. Goalkeeper Tom Farquharson made a single appearance in the final match of the season.[14] He would go on to set a club record with 445 appearances in The Football League that stood until 1985 when it was surpassed by Phil Dwyer.[40] Farquharson was one of six players who featured in just one match for the club during the campaign. The others included Albert Barnett, who was recovering from a broken leg suffered the previous season,[41] and George Latham, the club’s trainer who played one match during an injury crisis. At the age of 41, Latham remains the oldest player ever to feature in a competitive fixture for Cardiff.[25] Two of the players, Ernie Anderson and James Melville, never played another match for Cardiff before moving on.[14]

Len Davies was the club’s top goalscorer with 30 goals across all competitions. Although he scored three fewer than Jimmy Gill in league competition, his prolific scoring in cup competitions saw him outscore his teammate.[14] His 30 goals was also a new club single-season record, surpassing Gill’s tally of 20 the previous year and standing until the 1926–27 season when Hughie Ferguson scored 32 times. Gill’s 21 league goals were also a new club record, surpassing his own tally from the previous year. The record stood for two seasons until Len Davies scored 23 during the 1923–24 campaign.[42] Davies and Gill were two of the three players to score ten or more goals for Cardiff during the season, the third being Joe Clennell. Eleven players scored at least one goal during the course of the season and one opposition player scored an own goal.[14]

PlayerPositionFirst DivisionFA CupWelsh CupTotal
Ernie AndersonHB10000010
Albert BarnettDF10000010
Jimmy BlairDF3206030410
Charlie BrittainDF2701040320
Tommy BrownDF20000020
Arthur CashmoreFW40000040
Joe ClarkFW10200030
Joe ClennellFW321063204013
Ben DaviesGK3406030430
Len DaviesFW251765483530
Herbie EvansHB2906040390
Jack EvansFW3614041442
Sidney EvansFW40001050
Tom FarquharsonGK10000010
Jimmy GillFW342054324226
Billy GrimshawFW3866032478
Billy HardyHB3216020401
Eddie JenkinsHB90000090
Fred KeenorDF2711032313
Herbert KneeshawGK70001080
George LathamHB10000010
Ken MacDonaldFW42000042
James MelvilleDF10000010
Harry NashFW811121113
Jimmy NelsonDF20000020
Billy NewtonHB10000010
Jack NockFW20000020
Jack PageDF2106010280
Fred PagnamFW1300000130
Bert SmithDF2914040371
George WestFW41000041

FW = Forward, HB = Halfback, GK = Goalkeeper, DF = Defender



Brown and Willie Page, the two signings made at the start of the 1921–22 campaign, would both depart after a single season with only Brown having played for the first team. Such was Stewart’s confidence in his side that the club made no major signings before the start of the following season and only a poor run of form toward the end of 1922 prompted the arrival of a few players.[43] As a result of the team’s performance, they were regarded as an established side for the 1922–23 season with The Times describing the side as possessing “undeniable all-round ability” in its preseason report.[44]

The club recorded an annual income of £63,000 (approximately £3.2 million in 2020) for the campaign, £12,000 (approximately £600,000 in 2020) of which was profit. The difficulties in crowd control during the opening match against Tottenham had led the club to possess what was described as “the heaviest police bill in the country”. The construction of a concrete wall around the ground to counteract any further instances was approved in the hope of lowering the bill.[45]


  1. ^ Cardiff City FC was founded in 1899 but missed the entry deadline of the Cardiff & District League in their first year.[1]
  2. ^ 2 points were awarded for a win at the time.



  1. ^ Lloyd 1999, p. 17
  2. ^ Shepherd 2002, p. 22
  3. ^ “Growth of the Leagues”The Times. London. 22 August 1921. p. 12. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  4. ^ “Cardiff City”Football Club History Database. Retrieved 3 June 2021.
  5. ^ “Louis Page”englandfootballonline.com. 2 September 2018. Retrieved 7 April 2019.
  6. Jump up to:a b c d Lloyd 1999, p. 65
  7. ^ “Cardiff City Football Club Fined”The Times. London. 23 August 1921. p. 4. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  8. ^ Shepherd 2007, p. 50
  9. ^ “Ninian Park Fire”Western Mail. 25 June 1921. p. 4. Retrieved 3 June 2021 – via British Newspaper Archive.
  10. ^ “League Football Prospects”The Times. London. 24 August 1921. p. 10. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  11. ^ “League Football”The Times. London. 26 August 1921. p. 6. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  12. ^ Shepherd 2007, p. 27
  13. ^ “Blair’s Improved Health”Sheffield Daily Telegraph. 17 June 1921. p. 7. Retrieved 24 November 2020 – via British Newspaper Archive.
  14. Jump up to: a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u Shepherd 2002, p. 23
  15. ^ “The League Season Opened”. The Times. London. 29 August 1921. p. 12. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  16. ^ “League Football”. The Times. London. 5 September 1921. p. 13. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  17. ^ Leighton 2010, p. 64
  18. ^ “League Football”. The Times. London. 19 September 1921. p. 15. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  19. ^ “League Matches for Tomorrow”. The Times. London. 23 September 1921. p. 4. Retrieved 23 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  20. ^ Leighton 2010, p. 66
  21. ^ “Cardiff Still Recruiting”. Star Green ‘Un. 15 October 1921. p. 6. Retrieved 4 June 2021 – via British Newspaper Archive.
  22. ^ “A Cardiff Benefit”. Athletic News. 31 October 1921. p. 3. Retrieved 4 June 2021 – via British Newspaper Archive.
  23. ^ Lloyd 1999, p. 66
  24. ^ Jump up to a b “Chelsea V Cardiff City”. The Times. London. 27 February 1922. p. 15. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  25. ^ Jump up to a b Leighton 2010, p. 67
  26. ^ “Club Records”. Cardiff City F.C. 28 May 2015. Retrieved 27 March 2019.
  27. ^ “League Football”. The Times. London. 17 March 1922. p. 5. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  28. ^ “The Leagues”. The Times. London. 17 April 1922. p. 5. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  29. ^ “League Football”. The Times. London. 22 April 1922. p. 5. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  30. ^ Jump up to:a b c d Grandin, Terry (2010). Cardiff City 100 Years of Professional Football. Sheffield: Vertical Editions. p. 213. ISBN 978-1-904091-45-5.
  31. ^ “League Division One end of season table for 1921–22 season”. 11v11.com. AFS Enterprises. Retrieved 30 June 2021.
  32. ^ “The Cup Ties”. The Times. London. 9 January 1922. p. 17. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  33. ^ “The F.A. Cup”. The Times. London. 20 February 1922. p. 15. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  34. ^ “The F.A. Cup”. The Times. London. 3 March 1922. p. 5. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  35. ^ “Drawn Game at Cardiff”. The Times. London. 6 March 1922. p. 19. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  36. ^ “The F.A. Cup”. The Times. London. 10 March 1922. p. 5. Retrieved 25 March 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  37. ^ Leighton 2010, p. 68
  38. ^ Reyes Padilla, Macario (27 January 2001). “England FA Challenge Cup 1921–1922”. The Rec. Sport.Soccer Statistics Foundation. Retrieved 25 March 2019.
  39. ^ Schöggl, Hans (10 September 2015). “Wales (Cup) 1921/22”. The Rec. Sport.Soccer Statistics Foundation. Retrieved 11 April 2019.
  40. ^ Shepherd, Richard (21 March 2013). “1974–1989 Friday Fame & 80s Pain”. Cardiff City F.C. Archived from the original on 27 June 2016. Retrieved 26 March 2019.
  41. ^ Rowley, Terry. “Albert Barnett”. Altrincham F.C. Retrieved 27 March 2019.
  42. ^ Hayes, Dean (2006). The Who’s Who of Cardiff City. Breedon Books. p. 221. ISBN 978-1-85983-462-6.
  43. ^ Shepherd 2002, p. 24
  44. ^ “Association Football”The Times. London. 25 August 1922. p. 4. Retrieved 6 April 2019 – via The Times Digital Archive.
  45. ^ “Wonderful Record of Progress”Western Mail. 22 August 1922. p. 3. Retrieved 20 June 2021 – via British Newspaper Archive.


Cardiff City F.C. seasons

The Incredulous Twin – Finding Faith: The Second Sunday of Easter

Thomas the ‘Doubter’:

On the second Sunday of Easter, ‘western’ Christians celebrate Thomas the Apostle and the Gospel story in John of how, as the disciple who missed Jesus’ visit to the ‘Upper Room’ after his resurrection, he overcame his doubts about his master’s physical appearance to the others in the first days of ‘Easter Week’:

The Incredulity of St Thomas by Caravaggio

One of the twelve disciples, Thomas (called the twin), was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him,

“We have seen the Lord!” Thomas said to them, “Unless I see the scars of the nails in his hands and put my finger on those scars and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

A week later the disciples were together again indoors, and Thomas was  with them. The doors were locked, but Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas,

“Put your finger here, and look a my hands; then reach out your hand and put it in my side. Stop your doubting, and believe!” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him,

“Do you believe because you see me? How happy are those who believe without seeing me!”

John 20: 24-29 (Good News for Modern Man)

Who was Thomas the Apostle?

In the gospels, Thomas is also named as ‘the twin’, Didymus,  in Latin to reinforce his Aramaic name, Tau’ma, from the word t’oma, which also means ‘twin’. In the first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles (v 13) his name is coupled with that of Philip, which suggests he might have been, with Andrew, the other unnamed disciple of John the Baptist who followed ‘the lamb of God‘  from a village called ‘Bethany’ (not the home of Lazarus, Mary and Martha) where John had baptised Jesus the previous day, on the eastern bank of the Jordan. In the story in John’s gospel (chapter 1: 35-42), the two spend the day with Jesus until twilight, and are close enough to the town of Bethsaida, on the northern shore of Lake Galilee, for Andrew to fetch his brother Simon (Peter) to meet ‘the Messiah’. The next day Jesus leaves Bethsaida early to walk the twenty miles to join his mother at Nazareth before going on with her for a wedding in Cana two days later. He arrives at the feast with his growing band of disciples, including Philip and, no doubt, Thomas, Andrew and Peter, plus Nathanael (known later as Thaddeus), who is from Cana himself. After their thirsty walk from Nazareth, they find plenty of water, but no wine with which to toast the bride and bridegroom.

Therefore, it’s more than possible that Thomas was one of Jesus’ first pairs or ‘twins’ of disciples. His brother was Philip, whom he introduced to Jesus, just as Andrew had introduced Simon the fisherman the previous night. By the end of that third day, following Jesus’ first miracle, John tells us that all five had put their faith in him, two in their home town of Bethsaida and two in Cana. Despite Nathanael’s rather rude joke about Nazareth, Jesus describes him as ‘a true Israelite’, sitting under a fig tree early on a hot day. Although Israel had ceased to exist since  Maccabean rule had been ended by the Roman conquest of 63 BCE, when it had become part of the Province of Syria, Nathanael identifies Jesus not only as ‘the son of God’ but also ‘the King of Israel.’ This would have been heard as a direct challenge to Roman authority in northern Palestine, identifying Jesus with the local freedom-fighters, the nationalistic Zealots who wanted to free the whole country from Roman rule and reunite with Judea, as had happened briefly from 142-63 AD. If Thomas was one of these first disciples, although he himself is silent in the gospels at this stage, he was surrounded by certainty and infectious enthusiasm about who Jesus was among his relatives and friends, and there was little doubting the miraculous signs in which the Galilean himself revealed his glory (v 11).

Some have seen in the Acts of Thomas (written in east Syria in the early 3rd century, or perhaps as early as the first half of the 2nd century) an identification of Saint Thomas with the apostle Judas, brother of James, better known in English as Jude. However, the first verse of the Acts follows the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles by distinguishing the apostle Thomas and the apostle Judas son of James. The Nag Hammadi copy of the Gospel of Thomas begins:

“These are the secret sayings that the living Jesus spoke and Didymos Judas Thomas recorded.”

Of course, Judas was a popular name in first-century Palestine, so it’s entirely possible that, as a Galilean, he would have been known by his Aramaic name to distinguish him from the other two disciples by the name of Judas. Syrian tradition also states that the apostle’s name was Thomas. Few texts identify Thomas’ other twin, though in the Book of Thomas the Contender, part of the Nag Hammadi library, it is said to be Jesus himself, who himself is recorded as telling Thomas:

“Now, since it has been said that you are my twin and true companion, examine yourself…”

Again, it’s possible that Thomas or ‘Twin’ was the nickname given to the disciple to distinguish him from Judas Iscariot and Judas, son of James, because he bore a physical resemblance to Jesus, and/or, as the quote above shows, kept very close to him.

How can we know The Way?

To have been so close to Jesus, Thomas must at least have been among the very first disciples. Jesus later comments on the questioning of the ‘Way’ by both Thomas and Philip in a way which must have stung the pair of them, since he points out that, despite being with him from the first, neither shows a very deep understanding of who he is in relation to ‘the Father’. In John’s gospel, the fact that this criticism comes immediately after Jesus’ prediction of Simon Peter’s denial during the Last Supper, underlines its significance. Thomas is sceptical, but unlike Peter, he does not make grand gestures or promises he knows he cannot live up to, nor, like Philip, does he ask for further proof. Judas Iscariot has already left to betray his master by this stage, so Thomas’ incomprehension seems an insignificant sin by comparison with the other three. But Jesus expects better of his earliest converts. Where is the certainty that Andrew and Nathanael revealed in Bethsaida, and in the miracles which they testified to, beginning in Cana? (John 14: 5-12).

A Reluctant Martyr?

In John Chapter 11 Thomas is the disciple who suggests to the rest of the disciples that they should all return to Jerusalem with Jesus so that they could all be martyred with him. There are two ways of reading this. We can regard it as a somewhat cynical remark, fitting in with Thomas’ sceptical character, as revealed in connection with the Resurrection appearances, or we can take it at face value, as a declaration of loyalty from one close enough to Jesus to be called his twin. Of course, even then, the line could have been delivered with an air of resigned stoicism, rather than with the enthusiasm of a disciple looking for martyrdom.

Thomas’ name is also linked to Thaddeus’ early mission to Syria, but more importantly to the mission to the Jewish diaspora in India, which he undertook himself in 52 AD. From there he is recorded, in a text attributed to Joseph of Arimathea, to have returned to Jerusalem in time to be the only witness of the Assumption of Mary, which, in a strange resonance of the resurrection stories, was disbelieved by the other apostles until they themselves saw Mary’s tomb.

The Value of Scepticism to Faith:

Perhaps most significantly, however, in the early church, Thomas was not stigmatised as a ‘doubter’ so much as being the apostle who, having seen Jesus’ wounds at close quarters, was able to proclaim the two natures of Christ, that he was both fully human and fully divine. The vivid drama of his very personal testimony would have been difficult to dispute by the Greek Gnostics in the early church who argued that Christ was, throughout his time on earth, an ethereal presence, a vision of the Divine, rather than real flesh and blood. That’s why, although his feast day is celebrated on different days in the Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Anglican calendars, his ‘doubting’ is commemorated on the second Sunday, a week after the first appearances of Jesus to his disciples. By itself, the empty tomb proved nothing, and even the sudden appearances of Mary and the disciples, in the open air and through locked doors, might have given support to the Gnostic view of an ethereal body. It is the graphic detail of Thomas’ account, a man who knew Jesus well enough to have been his twin, that remains the most difficult to disbelieve, reinforced by the way in which Thomas’ scepticism is immediately transformed into his acclamation “My Lord and My God”. Jesus immediately responds with a beatitude, ‘Blessed are they…’ which remains as a promise to his followers down the centuries that follow. Thomas is not excluded from his Lord’s blessing by his original disbelief or scepticism, call it what you will. His Resurrection experience is total – he believes with all his senses and emotions, transcended by the Lord in that by believing he, and we, may have life in his name (John 20: 30-31). The ‘Drama of Thomas’ is well re-told in the following extract from a book used in schools:

From ‘The Drama of Jesus’, by Paul White & Clifford Warne:

‘Heavy cloud made the night even darker. Shadowy figures cautiously climbed the outside stairs to the large room on the roof. When the door opened to admit them the merest glow of light showed and the door was immediately shut. Finally it was barred with a huge wooden beam.

‘On one side of the room two men were arguing. “I tell you Peter, I don’t want to listen.”

‘ “But, Thomas, you must. The Lord is not dead. He’s alive. It’s a fact and you have to realise it.”

‘Aggressively, Thomas burst out, “If Jesus is alive why are we all coming here furtively and hiding behind locked doors? Are we scared that the Jewish leaders are going to arrest us for body-snatching? If He’s alive why doesn’t he show himself to the world” Even in the feeble light of the small lamp they could see his face going red. “Why doesn’t he show himself to the authorities before they break that door down and throw us all into prison? If he’s alive why doesn’t he go and see Caiaphas and the Council? That would prove his claims.”

“So far, he’s only appeared to people who love him,” said John quietly.

“I loved him and he hasn’t appeared to me…” Thomas turned away. There was a break in his voice. John moved across the room towards him. “It wasn’t Jesus’ fault you weren’t here last week when he first came among us.”

‘Thomas broke in, “But..”

“Surely, man, you remember He told us what was going to happen that day on the road from Caesarea Philippi. Not only then but on two occasions He made it clear. He said He would be handed over to the Gentiles and mocked, insulted, flogged and crucified.” John spoke with deliberation, “He said, ‘Three days later I will rise to life.’ “

‘Impulsively, Peter broke in, “John’s right. He said it again and again; we all heard him.”

“Heard him, maybe, growled Thomas, “but did you believe him?”

“Believe him?” Peter put his hands to his head. “I didn’t even know what he was talking about! That’s why I said, ‘God forbid, it must never happen to you, Lord.’ I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said to me, ‘Out of my way, Satan. You stand right in my path, Peter, when you look at things from man’s point of view and not from God’s.’ To me he was the Lord of life. I saw him heal sick people and bring the dead back to life; it was incredible to me that he should die, let alone come back to life as he promised. But he did. And Thomas, you must believe it. He has come back from death.” Peter’s voice shook with emotion.

‘Thomas started to walk away. Peter gripped his friend by the shoulder and swung him round and said tersely, “Don’t turn away from me when I speak to you. Do you think we’re all imagining this? Do you think we’re lying?”

‘Andrew stepped between them. “Simon, let him be. Were you in a hurry to believe when you first heard the news but hadn’t seen the Lord?”

“Anyway,” said Peter gruffly, “when Mary broke the news that his body was gone John and I ran all the way to the tomb. Right, John?”

“Right,” said John, smiling, “but I arrived there quite some distance ahead of you.”

‘Peter was beginning to relax. There was a hint of a smile in his voice, “But you weren’t game enough to go into the tomb till I arrived.”

‘John almost shouted, “Up to that moment I didn’t realise that I was seeing, before my own eyes, what the scriptures foretold. Now Thomas, get this straight. We’re not saying that He’s alive merely because the tomb was empty. We’ve seen him outside the tomb. We’ve heard him and touched him; we’ve seen him eat food here in this room.”

“But not me.” There was a hard note in Thomas’ voice.

‘ Thomas stepped back and lifted his voice so that everyone in the room could hear, “Think what you like. But unless I see the scars the nails made in His hands and unless I put my fingers where those nails were and my hand into his side I will never believe.”

‘Peter groaned, “I give up.”

‘Andrew spoke again, “Simon, be fair. We all found it hard to believe at first.”

‘Peter ran his fingers through his hair. “But it’s not the same with square-chinned, stubborn character here. I’ve told him, John’s told him, Mary’s told him, Cleopas told him – we’ve all told him.”

‘Andrew spoke urgently, “Simon, keep your voice down. You’ll have the whole Sanhedrin here in a moment. Let Thomas alone. Isn’t it hard enough for him when he sees our joy, and his doubts fill us with misery? At least try to see his problem, brother.”

‘Peter gazed at Andrew. He saw a look he had often seen on Jesus’ face. Impulsively he put his arm round Thomas’ shoulder. “If you’d seen him, you’d understand how I feel. Forgive me.”

‘Thomas shrugged himself free of Peter’s arm and muttered, “Forget it.”

‘An embarrassed hush settled on the whole room. A deep silence. 

“Peace be unto you.” The voice startled them.

‘They looked up and saw Jesus. In a moment they were all on their feet, their faces glowing. No one spoke. Instinctively they turned towards Thomas who stood there like a statue unable to believe his eyes. He stammered, “Lord, Lord, is it really you?”

Jesus came close to him and held out his hands. His tone was warm and strong, “Thomas, my friend, put your finger here. See my hands. See the nail wounds. And my side; take your hand and put it where the spear entered. Stop doubting and believe!”

Thomas slowly went down on his knees, his hands touching the wounded feet. “My Lord… and my God.”

“Is it because you have seen me that you believe?” Jesus asked him. “How happy are those who believe without seeing.”

‘And as suddenly as He had appeared, he vanished. The disciples stood there amazed. Thomas looked up, overwhelmed. The room was full of excitement and laughter of a sort that comes from profound relief and deep joy.

‘John spoke with infectious enthusiasm, “Jesus is no dead memory. He is our living Lord.” ‘


‘Our Lord and God, forgive the doubting heart in each of us, which questions your resurrection. We are men of our age and want to see and touch before we believe. And yet we thank you for that blessing, reserved for those who do not see and yet believe. Grant us that faith which looks to Jesus, risen from the dead, our Saviour and our living Lord.  Amen.’

Ian D. Bunting


Paul White & Clifford Warne (1980): The Drama of Jesus. Sydney: Hodder & Stoughton.

Related Articles:

“Let My People Go, that they may serve me!”: The Passover & The Exodus.

Pesach or ‘The Passover’:

Pesach, usually called ‘The Passover’ in English, is the greatest of the Jewish festivals, the holiday of the year and the oldest in the Jewish calendar. Like the Christian Easter, which partly originates from it, it varies in date from year to year, but occurs in spring and lasts for seven to eight days, about four of which are non-working days. Celebrated in the spring, at the full moon in the first month of the year, then Abib (April in modern calendars), the month of the green ears of corn, it contained the rite of the smearing of the blood of a lamb on the tent posts, probably designed to ward off demons of destruction or infertility. The festival probably dates back to the time when the Jews were wandering herders in the deserts of the Middle East, pitching their tents wherever they found grazing for their herds.

At the time when the young lambs were born, they observed a festival at which either a sheep or goat was sacrificed as a way of giving thanks; they gave up something which was valuable to them. The sacrifice was given at nightfall and the animal was roasted whole, in a nomadic fashion, and eaten hurriedly with desert food, unleavened bread seasoned with bitter herbs. No bones of the animal were broken, and no meat was left uneaten by daybreak. It was a family affair, not connected with the priests or a place of worship. The participants in the meal were ready to move at a moment’s notice to defend their flocks, belts fastened, sandals on their feet and staffs in hand. Passover was, initially at least, the festival of a pastoral community.

The Israelite Exile & Exodus Story:
The Journey to the promised land:
After forty yearsin the Sinai desert the Israelites probably went south, but we do not know their exact route.
They avoided the coastal region because of fear of attack from the Philistines.

As some groups of Hebrews became more settled and lived by farming the land, they developed their own traditions and festivals more closely related to growing crops. This took place before they harvested the barley and was called the ‘Feast of Unleavened Bread’ referring to bread that had no yeast or ‘leavening’. At the beginning of the festival, all ‘sour doughs’ (used like yeast to leaven the bread), had to be destroyed to safeguard the produce of the year to come. Then the first sheaf of the newly-cut barley, the ‘omer’ was presented to the priest as a sacrifice of thanksgiving. These people, of course, did not move from place to place like the shepherds, and therefore were able to build more permanent places of worship, often ‘high places’ on the hills. Even so, there were periods of poor harvests when the Hebrews found themselves dependent on the Egyptians for corn during the poorer years. All these characteristics of the two festivals, which eventually became one, are explicable without reference to the events of the exodus described in the Old Testament which gave Passover a new meaning.

In fact, the story of the Israelites’ exile in Egypt really begins with the story of Joseph (at the end of Genesis), the son of Jacob (Israel) who had been sold into slavery in Egypt and then rose to a position of high authority, describes how the Israelite family moved into Egypt to share the better harvests there. As they grew in numbers and social status, enjoying the privileges they had been granted, successive Pharaohs gradually became more resentful on behalf of their envious people, and the Hebrews found themselves reduced to abject slavery, longing to be free to reach the land flowing with milk and honey, promised to them by God. The Book of Exodus narrates how, under the leadership of Moses, the Hebrews achieved their freedom and escaped from Egypt, beginning with Yahweh’s terrible punishment of the Egyptians, and then set out to find their promised land.

The Passover Story:

The name of the festival, originally ‘Pesah’ (Hebrew: pasah) uses a word of very uncertain meaning but one which is linked to the earliest ‘J’ source, with Yahweh’s ‘passing over’ the blood-stained lintels of Hebrew homes while the destroying angel smote the firstborn children of Egypt (Ex. 12. 21-27). In the ‘P’ tradition of Ex. 12. 11, the fastened belt, sandalled feet and staff in hand are memorials of the haste with which the Hebrews left Egypt at God’s command. In Deut. 16. 3, the unleavened bread is called the ‘bread of affliction,’ again a memorial of the people’s flight in haste from Egyptian bondage. The date was also given a link to the exodus, for in the month of Abib, Yahweh your God brought you out of Egypt by night (Deut 16. 1; cf. Ex. 23. 14 ff.; 34.18).

Ever since that time, Jews have remembered and commemorated the night when they ate hurriedly, ready for the journey, and painted the doorposts of their houses with the blood of the lambs so that the plague of death would not touch the house. The two spring festivals became one historical festival symbolising and celebrating the struggle of the Jewish people toward national freedom. In the early days of Israel’s history, the festival was a festival of Pilgrimage when all who could, made their way to the Temple in Jerusalem. After the destruction of the Second Temple, Jews became more widely dispersed around the Mediterranean world, the festival was divided into two parts, the ceremony in the local temple, or synagogue, and the observance of the ‘Seder’ meal in each home. For this, the home is made spotlessly clean, and on the eve of Pesach (the Passover), all leavened bread is destroyed while the ‘matzoh’ or unleavened bread is prepared. Greetings are exchanged, the home is filled with light, and the table is set so that the whole family sits around it.

The various parts of the meal remind the Jews of the deliverance from the cruelty and enslavement in Egypt. At its commencement, the youngest son asks four traditional questions which his father answers fully. In this way, the younger generation is taught the Exodus stories. There are up to fourteen parts to the ceremonial of the Seder. It has given rise to inspired works of art in the making of the Seder dishes, Passover banners and matzoh covers. The meal also has special items. Four cups of wine are taken and there are cakes of bread, dishes of roasted egg, saltwater; perhaps symbolising the tears of the Hebrews in slavery, bitter herbs, and a sweet paste of almonds, apple and wine, said to represent the clay with which the Israelites were forced to make bricks when they were slaves. The last part of the Seder consists of prayers and songs, and a cup of wine is poured symbolically for Elijah when the door is opened so that he too may enter and drink.

The Last Supper and the Christian Festival of ‘Pasque’ (‘Easter’):
Jesus washed his disciples’ feet before the Passover meal.

It was probably at this meal, known to Christians as the Last Supper or the Lord’s Supper at which Jesus, as Paul describes, took the cup and the bread at one point and instituted for all his followers what became the central act of worship of their religion also called, variously, Holy Communion, the Eucharist or the Mass, depending on the different traditions to which they later came to belong. Maundy Thursday is named in the church’s calendar from the words of Jesus when at the Passover meal held with his disciples in the Upper Room of a house in Jerusalem, he said that he gave them a new commandment or mandate. He spoke the words as he proceeded to his act of humility and service, washing his disciples’ feet. The Latin words are, Mandatum novum da vobis; A new commandment I give you. From the word ‘mandatum’ came the word ‘maundy’ in Old English.

Jesus’ Passover meal with his disciples, his ‘Last Supper’.

Pesach has a long history and in many countries, Easter (a name referring to the pagan goddess of spring, Eostre) is called Pasque (France) or Pasg (Welsh), following the Judeo-Christian tradition. In some parts of Britain ‘Pacé Egg Plays’ were performed on the following day in the Passover festival and beginning of the Hebrew Sabbath, Good Friday in the church’s calendar. Pacé was again derived from ‘Pasche’ or ‘Paschal’. The plays were thought to be based on a sixteenth-century story, The History of Seven Champions of Christendom.

The Exodus and the Hebrew Year:

The exodus from Egypt is central to the faith of the Old Testament. If there is one description of God that, above all others, is characteristic of the God of the Old Testament, it is this: I am Yahweh your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt. The prophets are the heralds of this God:

I brought you up out of the land of Egypt.

(Amos 2. 10; cf. Jer. 2.6).

When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of the land of Egypt I called my son.

(Hos. 11. 1)

Psalmists praise this God:

Thy way was through the sea,

thy paths through the great waters,

yet thy footprints were unseen.

Thou didst lead thy people like a flock

by the hand of Moses and Aaron

(Ps. 77. 19 f. ; cf. Pss. 66. 6; 78. 11 ff. ; 136. 10 f.).

When a son is asked by his father the meaning of the commandments binding on Israel, the father is instructed to reply:

We were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt, and Yahweh brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand, and Yahweh showed signs and wonders, great and grievous, against Egypt and against Pharaoh and all his household before our eyes…

(Deut. 6. 21 f. ; cf. Ex. 20. 2; Deut. 5. 6).

The significance of the exodus for faith is unquestionable; what actually happened was probably sober enough. A group of Hebrew slaves under the leadership of Moses left Egypt. They safely negotiated a stretch of water called ‘the Sea of Reeds’ (not the Red Sea). The location of the Sea of Reeds is uncertain; the likelihood is that it lay in the general region of what is now the Suez canal or perhaps further east along the Mediterranean coast at Lake Sirbonis. The earliest narrative strand ‘J’ speaks of a strong east wind blowing all night to push the water back (Ex. 14. 21-28). The pursuing Egyptian chariots stuck in the soft sand and were drowned by the returning water. Naturally, Egyptian records have nothing to say about what was at most, from their point of view, a minor frontier incident. In the Old Testament, however, this is never an escape bid engineered by Moses, but always a mighty act of God through which he delivered his people out of slavery. In what is probably the earliest OT witness account of these events, the triumphant Song of Miriam expresses the essence of what happened:

Sing to Yahweh, for he has triumphed gloriously,

the horse and the rider he has thrown into the sea.

(Ex. 15. 21; cf. 15. 1)

A depiction of the legendary crossing of the ‘Red Sea’ from Exodus.
However, the Hebrew text refers to the ‘Reed Sea’ which was likely to have been somewhere north of the Suez Gulf, or along the Mediterranean Coast.

This was Yahweh’s victory over his enemies, a victory on behalf of his oppressed people. That it was interpreted in this way from the beginning must be attributed to the prior revelation of God’s purposes given to Moses. The exodus is the heart of the Old Testament gospel, the good news of what God has done. Just as the memory of central events in the New Testament gospel was preserved in the worship of the early Christian communities, so the exodus was handed down in Israel in one great family religious festival, ‘Passover’. Alone among the festivals of the Hebrew religious year, Passover goes back beyond the time of the settlement in Canaan, in all probability before the exodus itself. But Passover is also an illustration of something that happened to most of the festivals of the Hebrew year. Besides the Festival of Unleavened Bread (Massoth) which became linked to Pesach, Qasir (Harvest) and Asiph (Ingathering) are native to the agricultural life of Canaan.

Whatever their origins, the Old Testament gives the festivals a historical and religious reference, and in most cases, that reference was to the exodus or to the events associated with it. Asiph, for example, is the great harvest thanksgiving festival. With the farmer’s work for the year successfully completed, the mood was one of unrestrained rejoicing. In Deut. 16. 13, however, this festival is called Sukkoth (Huts). The origin of these ‘huts’ or ‘tabernacles’ is disputed. Some find in it a reference to the sacred booth in which the marriage between the god and goddess of fertility was consummated. Others think that they are simply reminiscent of the temporary harvest tents which gave protection to farmworkers from the Palestinian sun. According to Leviticus these huts or booths, however, had a totally different significance:

You shall dwell in booths for seven days; all that are native in Israel shall dwell in booths that your generations may know that I made the people dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt. I am Yahweh your God.

Lev. 23. 42 f.
Patriarchs and People:

But although we may still think that the patriarchal stories preserve some kind of folk memory of earlier times, we cannot tell exactly how old they really are. Certainly, their names are not of a kind found later in Israel, suggesting that they do indeed genuinely originate from a time before that of the kings. But, in several cases, they are also unmistakably Egyptian. ‘Moses’ occurs as an element in well-known Egyptian names such as ‘Tut-Moses’ and Aaron and Phinehas, other characters in the exodus story, also bear Egyptian names. The exodus tradition also bears some kind of folk memory that the Israelite ancestors spent some time in Egypt, but these were not necessarily descendants of the same patriarchal group that had originally come to Canaan from Mesopotamia. Therefore, we may be dealing with two parallel memories, and it is not clear which resulting story is older than the other. There is one reference to ‘Israel’ on a stele (victory inscription) found in Thebes in 1896, belonging to the pharaoh Merneptah and dated to about 1215 BCE, which indicates that a people by that name was already in Palestine in the thirteenth century BCE, at that time under Egyptian rule. But we can learn nothing else about them, and Israel is never mentioned again in any ancient Egyptian texts.

If Meneptah’s stele refers to a group that had settled under Moses’ successor Joshua, while the patriarchal stories concern people settling under the leaders called judges in the Bible, then the traditions in Exodus could actually be older than those in Genesis. The tribes ruled over by the judges bear the names of the twelve sons of Jacob, so the Genesis stories about these characters could easily reflect folk traditions from the period of the Judges following the settlement of the Israelites in Canaan. This is, however, speculative and it is possible that the narrative sequence the Bible offers is correct. Unless some Israelites did genuinely owe their ancestry to people outside the Land of Canaan, it is hard to see why such traditions should have developed, for it was hardly advantageous in most ancient societies to present oneself as the child of immigrants. But the archaeological evidence, together with the biblical narratives and what is known of how folk memories are created, suggests that most later ‘Israelites’ were, in fact, Canaanites, descendants of native inhabitants of the Land. The belief that all Israelites derived from those who had come out of Egypt with Moses was the belief of a few, but it was not internalised by the nation at large until later times. So all of Israel later celebrated the Passover Festival and rejoiced in the deliverance from Egypt that it commemorates, even though most were the offspring of people who had never been there. Nation-building, whether ancient or modern, often involves sharing with the multitudes folk memories that were experienced only by a few.

The Early Christian Writers & the Old Testament:

Some early Christian ‘churchmen’ saw no need for a New Testament so long as the Old can be read as describing the Christian faith so fully, and it is not surprising that the Gospels were not seen as Scriptures themselves. In the Easter Homily of Melito, the Bishop of Sardis (in what is now western Turkey), who died in 180 CE, states that the passage of Exodus that describes the Passover lamb is not meant to be read alongside the Gospel accounts of the Last Supper and the crucifixion, as prefiguring Christ. Properly understood, it is already an account of the reliability of the Gospel and Pauline accounts because, once read through properly enlightened (that is, Christian) eyes, it is virtually is a New Testament already. When it is read in a church, it is a symbolic description of the passion of Jesus. The author of Melitho will almost certainly have known one of the Gospels. That is to say that he did not need to cite such texts as if they were scriptural, since for him the existing Scriptures, the Old Testament as we call them, were already to be read as essentially Christian works.

Perhaps this helps to explain the strange phenomenon among some early Christian writers who accused the Jews of falsifying the Old Testament text by removing references to Christ, or the Messiah, and inserting misleading passages. They believed that Christians had the right, therefore, to correct the Old Testament in the light of the full revelation of God in Jesus Christ. In this way, the OT was seen as a complete and completely true revelation, not merely some preliminary disclosure, and a theory was developed that the ‘false passages’ that had been introduced into it needed to be removed or corrected. The Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael is a Jewish commentary on the second half of the book of Exodus, probably produced by synthesizing material from various dates, sometime in the second century CE. It is concerned primarily with how to observe the various pieces of legislation in Exodus, which from chapter twenty onwards consists of laws and precepts about life in society and the worship of the sanctuary. The Mekhilta is one of the oldest collections of rabbinic teaching in the form of scriptural commentary. A typical passage in it concerns the Jewish custom of the binding on the forehead and left arm a small scroll containing certain biblical texts, before beginning prayer. This is seen as enacting the instructions about keeping the Passover in Exodus 13: 6-9:

For seven days you shall eat unleavened bread… You shall tell your child on that day, “It is because of what the LORD did for me when I came out of Egypt.” It shall serve for you as a sign on your hand and as a reminder on your forehead so that the teaching of the LORD may be on your lips; for with a strong hand the LORD brought you out of Egypt.

The phrase a sign on your hand is understood as meant literally rather than metaphorically, and as referring to the left arm rather than the hand, for various reasons that the Mekhita spells out. To many modern readers, this interpretation seems extremely strange. In the first place, the text in Exodus 13: 9 is surely intended metaphorically; the remembrance of the exodus is to be as close to the Israelite as if it were written on his hand. Still, it is understandable that a symbolic, physical expression of the command came to be customary.

Passover in the present – ‘the Season of Release’:

For Jews today, Passover remains essentially a family festival when the whole family comes together to remember, rejoice, and especially to hear again the wonderful story of their deliverance, and to look forward to the time when all over the world they will enjoy freedom once more. In Jewish tradition, the season is therefore known as ‘The Season of Release’. Its central theme is ‘release’ and this can be interpreted on three levels. Historically, Passover celebrates the exodus of the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. On the annual seasonal level, it represents the release of the earth from the tight grip of winter, and on a personal and familial level, for each of those taking part, it symbolises his or her hope of release from the ‘bondage’ of wrongdoing.


John Barton (2019), A History of The Bible; The Book and its Faiths. London: Allen Lane (Penguin, Random House).

Martin Manser (1999), Bible Stories. Bath: Parragon.

Robert C Walton (ed., 1982), A Source Book of the Bible for Teachers. London: SCM Press.


Orbán’s Hungary – a member of NATO or Putin’s Fifth Column?: Hungarian Foreign Policy and Euro-Atlantic Integration, 1989-2019.

Springtime in Brussels and Budapest, 1999:

In 1999, during the first government of Viktor Orbán, when Hungary became a member of NATO, his foreign minister, János Martonyi wrote of the change in the country’s system of government that had begun with the mandate received from the first free elections, which had replaced the one-party-state system. The Prime Minister of the new Centre-Right coalition government of József Antall, on 23rd May, announced their intention to initiate its withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact. Reflecting on this from the end of the decade, Martonyi commented that the system change presented Hungary with…

… a unique and irreproducible opportunity to reintegrate once and for all into the community of developed and democratic states which are bound together by their commitment to the basic values typical of all of them: democracy, the rule of law – with its institutional frameworks and substance, respect for human rights including minority rights, and an economy based on private property and free initiative. Not to miss such a historic opportunity this time must be the task and guiding principle of action of all responsible politicians, political parties and the government.

János Martonyi & Zsolt Németh (1999), “Hungarian Foreigh Policy and Euro-Atlantic Integration”, in Hungary: A Member of NATO. Budapest: Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

This opportunity, the authors went on, had been well recognised by the Antall government of 1990-94. In his address delivered in the Hungarian Parliament on the government’s programme, József Antall had pointed out that:

“… the new government will be a European government, and not only in the geographical sense of the word. We stand for the tradition of democracy, pluralism and openness. We want to return to the European heritage but at the same time, also to those values that Europe has created in the course of the past forty years, in the wake of the terrible lessons and experience of World War II.

This formulation of these foreign policy priorities – Euro-Atlantic integration, good neighbourliness ensuring regional stability, and support for the Hungarian communities living abroad – did not apply to one parliamentary cycle only, and all the subsequent governments of the 1990s continued to see these goals as being of primary importance, through to the beginning of the first FIDESZ-led government in 1999. By then, the Hungarian national flag did already fly, together with the Czech and Polish flags, in front of the Headquarters of NATO besides the other sixteen, demonstrating that the community had been enriched by its new central-eastern European allies.

Revolution in Budapest & at the Border, Oct. 1988-Oct. 1989:

In order to understand developments in the attitudes of the Hungarian political parties and their voters towards the North Atlantic Alliance in the 1990s, we need first to look back into the period immediately preceding the change in the system in Hungary in 1988-89. The Communist government announced on 23rd October 1988, the 32nd anniversary of the 1956 Uprising, that they would start negotiations for a Soviet troop withdrawal. They also announced the setting up of a historical commission to establish a true and official characterisation of the Uprising. Changes began to happen fast from that point. On 11th January 1989, Hungary’s Parliament passed a law allowing citizens to form independent associations, including political parties, thus paving the way for an eventual end to one-party rule. The following month, the groundbreaking report prepared by the historical commission of the ruling MSZMP reported, rejecting the official interpretation of the 1956 Uprising as a “counter-revolution” rather describing it as a popular uprising against the existing state power and saying that, under Stalin, the ideal of international communism was turned into a merciless imperial programme. Imre Pozsgay, who had become a prominent figure in the Politburo, acting largely on his own initiative, publicly announced soon after that the events of 1956 had indeed been a popular uprising rather than an attempt at counter-revolution. Even the Party Central Committee could not be induced to go as far as Pozsgay. Although by that time János Kádár had gone, it was still by far the most delicate subject in Hungarian politics.

Hungarian-Soviet improved when the Soviet Union withdrew two thousand soldiers from Hungary at the end of April, and Gorbachev stated that the Soviet goal was to withdraw ten thousand soldiers and four hundred and fifty tanks by May 1990, which raised the US and Hungarian expectations even further. Nevertheless, Hungary enjoyed an increasing sense of security and, as a demonstration of its independence, it began dismantling its fences along the Austrian border in May 1989. For forty years before that, the question of belonging to an alliance system was considered to be one of the strictest taboos in a Communist-led country occupied by the Soviet Union. It was much riskier to take a stand against the presence of Soviet troops in Hungary or even to raise the issue than to call for human rights or pluralist democracy. Besides the fact that the deployment of Soviet troops in Hungary was the main guarantee for the survival of the communist system there, the experience of 1956 had shown that a violation of Soviet military interests implied the threat of even more brutal repression. Due to this fear of the military might of the Soviet Union, even those opposition groups which took shape in the 1980s considered this issue of the country’s independence taboo and did not insist on placing it on the agendas.

But in June 1989 permission was given for the bodies of Imre Nagy, the executed former Prime Minister, and the other leaders of the 1956 Uprising to be exhumed. Nagy’s body was found buried in the waste ground at the Újkozmeto cemetery, wrapped in tar paper. On 16 June his coffin lay in state in Heroes’ Square in central Budapest before being finally reburied. The public funeral was attended by an estimated a quarter of a million Hungarians and broadcast nationwide on radio and television. The ceremony also paid tribute to the thousands of others who died in the retribution meted out by the revolution. While it was organised privately, several Hungarian officials attended part of the ceremony. It was there that the consensus of silence on Soviet withdrawal was first broken on 16 June 1989, when at the ceremonial reburying of Imre Nagy and his fellow martyrs, Viktor Orbán, one of five speakers, declared that:

The Young ‘Liberal’ Democrat, Viktor Orbán, speaks at the re-interment of Imre Nagy in June 1989. These days, neither Liberal Democracy nor Nagy’s Social Democracy are any more fashionable for Orbán and his now ultra-conservative party and government.

“If we do not lose sight of the ideals of 1956, we will be able to choose a government which will instantly start talks on the immediate start of the withdrawal of Soviet troops.

Viktor Orbán’s speech at Heroes’ Square, 16 June 1989, at the funeral of Imre Nagy and fellow martyrs in András Bozóki (1992), Tista lappal. A Fidesz a magyar politikában 1988-1991 (‘With a cleansheet. Fidesz in Hungarian policy 1988-91): Budapest, p. 155.

Orbán’s speech was a clear challenge to the reform wing of the ruling Communist Party (the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party (MSZMP) to keep their word. From the point of view of the security policy, his reference to the ideals of 1956 equalled a claim for independence and, along with that, the neutrality of Hungary. These developments were accompanied by much public discussion of the events of 1956, as well as many other historical subjects. At last, Hungary had come to terms with its past. Its future was secured by a decision, taken by the Central Committee, to introduce a multi-party system. By then, Pozsgay’s own position seemed closer to that of the opposition Hungarian Democratic Forum (MDF) than to his own party. President Bush praised the Hungarian Government’s decision to begin discussions with the opposition parties.

The reburial of the 1956 martyrs, 16th June 1989:
Although himself a former Communist exile in Moscow, the 1989 exhumation and reburial of Imre Nagy and those executed with him, was a turning point in the accelerating changes and national renewal during the decisive year of 1989-90. The honouring of Nagy and his colleagues in this way confirmed the revolutionary (as opposed to the counter-revolutionary) nature of the 1956 events better than any legal rehabilitation could have done.

As a sign of the new US-Hungarian relationship, President Bush became the first US President to visit Hungary on 11th-13th July, accompanied by Secretary of State James A. Baker. By the time President Bush visited Hungary in July 1990, Hungary had effectively ceased to be either a Communist country or a Soviet satellite. He met with Hungarian officials and delivered an address at Karl Marx University in which he praised Hungary’s opening up to the West and its transition to democracy and a market economy, noting that “voices long stilled are being heard again.” At the ‘G7’ Economic Summit meeting, held in Paris on 15th July, participants agreed to provide economic assistance to Poland and Hungary to support their political reform process. Later in the summer of 1989, the civic organisations, in comprehensive negotiations with the leaders of the MSZMP achieved their declared goal of holding free, multi-party elections in the Spring of 1990.

President H. W. Bush participates in a bilateral meeting with PM Miklós Nemeth in July 1989 in the Department Room of the Parliament in Budapest.
Source. The George Bush Presidential Library.

When the BBC Journalist John Simpson visited Imre Pozsgay later that summer, he asked him whether he and his colleagues would be the beneficiaries of the changes they were introducing. His answer was:

“Who can say? Naturally I hope so. That’s why we’re doing these things. But to be honest with you, there’s nothing else we can do. Even if others win the elections, there’s no serious alternative to doing what we have done.”

John Simpson (1990), Dispatches from the Barricades.
Hungarian PM Miklós Nemeth told the DDR Government it was simply being repaired!
An East German mother comforts her bewildered child at the Hungarian-Austrian border ‘picnic’ at which thousands escaped to the West in Sept 1989.

Hungary took another major step towards reasserting its independence when on 11th September, again at the instigation of Imre Pozsgay, it lifted restrictions on visitors from East Germany. It opened its borders with Austria, allowing people from East Germany (the DDR) on holiday in Hungary, to flood through to the West in such numbers that the entire future of the DDR was called into question, by dealing a fatal blow to its iron-fisted security system. Allowing them to leave Hungary to the west across the Austrian border, breached a twenty-five-year-old agreement with the DDR. The move prompted an exodus of tens of thousands of East Germans to West Germany via Austria.

Above: (left) Demonstrators in Budapest keep up the momentum; (right and below) East Germans, holidaying in Hungary, cross the border and head West, to the fury of their government, and to their own freedom.

The second republic was ended by the second Orbán Government in 2010-11.

In October 1989, Hungary’s Parliament also adopted a new, democratic constitution, changed the country’s name from the “Hungarian People’s Republic” to the “Republic of Hungary,” authorised the formation of political parties, forbade such parties to operate in workplaces, scheduled national elections, disbanded the Workers’ Guard, and authorised reparation payments to persons arrested after the 1956 Uprising. On 23rd October, exactly one year after the changes had begun, Acting President Mátyás Szűrös proclaimed the new Republic on the thirty-third anniversary of the Uprising. The Revolution of 1988-89 had reached its successful conclusion and the country’s transition to multi-party democracy and a market economy had begun. Developments throughout central-eastern Europe as a whole continued at a rapid pace. Warsaw Pact Foreign Ministers, including Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, met in Warsaw on 27 October and renounced the 1968 Brezhnev Doctrine, under which the Soviet Union had reserved the right to intervene in other countries whenever it believed that the government of a USSR-allied state was threatened.

The crowds outside the Parliament welcome the proclamation of a liberal-democratic Constitution for the new ‘Republic of Hungary’, October 1989.

Another Country: The Transition to Democracy & Independence, October 1989-June 1991:

This was a major step in redefining the nature of relationships between the Warsaw Pact countries, and a decision of major importance given the 1956 and 1968 invasions of Hungary and Czechoslovakia. The second step came on 2nd November, at least as far as Hungary was concerned, came when Imre Pozsgay, as Hungarian Minister of State, met with President Bush in Washington to discuss Hungary’s transition to democracy. By November, the position in East Germany had become so bad that the government of East Berlin could think of nothing better than to allow its citizens to move freely to the West. Liberalisation in Hungary had led directly to the breaching of the Berlin Wall which came down on the night of 9 November. US officials watched closely events in central-eastern Europe as the crumbling concrete mirrored the fall of communism. On 28th November, President Bush signed into law the Support for East European Democracy (SEED) Act, authorising $938 million in aid to Hungary and Poland, now considered to be well in the lead in democratic reform. Between 1989 and 1993, the SEED Act provided more than $136 million for economic restructuring and private sector development.

Senior politicians in Hungary now talked seriously about joining the European Community, and even their jokes about joining NATO were not entirely fanciful. In the autumn of 1989, as the political parties began to lay out their programmes for the free electorate, they went beyond the ideals of “independence and neutrality” in their party platforms. The Hungarian Democratic Forum (MDF) considered…

neutrality to be attainable as a future goal, as a consequence of which the Soviet Union could perceive a country in its immediate neighbourhood that would be politically balanced and would not threaten its security interests.

Programme declaration, 1989, of the Hungarian Democratic Forum in The Hungarian Political Yearbook, 1990 Budapest: Edited by Sándor Kurtán, et. al.

The Alliance of Free Democrats (SZDSZ) pointed out that:

We have to point out … the fact that the Warsaw Treaty is a political reality, with its complete dissolution to be comprehensive international settlement. However, we must wait until the mutual dissolution of military blocs to implement Hungary’s claim for independence. Our goal is for Hungary to quit the Warsaw Treaty. On the other hand, we wish to bring about such retirement not through a unilateral announcement but rather to obtain the consent of the parties concerned.

Programme declaration, 1989, of the Alliance of Free Democrats, in: Hungarian political yearbook, 1990. Ibid, pp 597-598.

As was expected, Viktor Orbán’s then-nascent liberal party, The Alliance of Young Democrats (FIDESZ), held the most radical view:

… we will have to review our relationship with the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Treaty. We will suggest to start immediate talks with the Soviet government on the earliest possible withdrawal of the latter’s troops from Hungary … Quitting the Warsaw Treaty and declaring the country’s independence could be imagined as maximum goals.

Programme declaration of 1989 of the Alliance of Young Democrats, in Hungarian political yearbook, 1990, p. 500

Viktor Orbán in the mid-1990s, looking to the Right.

The most cautious view was expressed by the Hungarian Socialist Party (MSZP), which had emerged as an independent party out of the former ‘Reform Wing’ of the ruling MSZMP:

Our goal is for NATO and the Warsaw Treaty to become superfluous and eligible for dissolution simultaneously and still in the course of this century. While still being a member of the Warsaw Treaty, our country wishes to promote consent among blocs in an independent manner and through its initiative, as well as the strengthening of confidence and the exemption of interstate relations from ideological divergences of view … We are concerned that belonging to an alliance system must not be a basis for interference in a country’s internal affairs.

Programme declaration, 1989, of The Hungarian Socialist Party, in: Hungarian political yearbook, 1990. p. 583.

None of these programmes involved a sudden withdrawal of Soviet forces, however, nor did they propose or envisage applying for NATO membership in the short to medium term. In the early months of 1990, there was no indication of the collapse of the Soviet Union and its empire which was soon to take place. Hungarian politicians, Orbán included, were careful not to be seen as threatening Soviet security interests. The foreign policy slogan of the change of system – “change of orientation” – however, turned more radically into reality than was previously expected. The negotiating team of the last government of the socialist system reached an agreement in Moscow on the withdrawal of troops from Hungary on 9 March 1990, a mere two weeks before the first free elections. According to the agreement, the last Soviet soldier would leave Hungary on or before 30 June 1991 (as it happened, this event took place a fortnight earlier, on 16 June 1991). Two-thirds were to be withdrawn by the end of 1990.

Above: The famous MDF (Hungarian Democratic Forum) poster from the 1990 Election Campaign: Comrades Go Home!

The Hungarian democratic transition gathered speed in the spring of 1990. When the final round of elections came, on the 8th of April 1990, the ‘Reform Communists’ or MSZP won only eight per cent of the seats (33), finishing fourth, and Pozsgay and his colleagues were out of office. A centre-right government came to power, led by the MDF, which won 164 out of 386 seats. In 1918, Hungary had emerged from an empire and found itself on its own; but now, at least, it had shown the way to the rest of Central and Eastern Europe. In May, Hungary’s National Assembly elected Árpád Göncz as its Speaker and Acting President. The candidate of the Free Democrats, Göncz had spent six years in prison for taking part in the 1956 Uprising. While still Acting President he made a private visit to Washington and met with President Bush to discuss private-sector development and democracy. He was confirmed as President in August. József Antall of the MDF became Premier. On 26 June 1990, the newly constituted multiparty parliament in Budapest requested the government to start the talks on Hungary’s withdrawal from the Warsaw Treaty.

Flushed with the refreshing feeling of sovereignty and drawing lessons from the wider international political process, in particular from the rapid change in Hungary’s security environment, the Hungarian political leaders gradually turned from the idea of neutrality to the concept of Euro-Atlantic integration. Foreign Minister Géza Jeszenszky had already become the first leading representative of a Warsaw Pact country to visit NATO Headquarters on 26-28 June. He had talks with Secretary-General Manfred Wörner, who expressed NATO’s desire to develop relations with Hungary and accepted an invitation to visit Hungary. Alongside the obvious need for a transition in international security arrangements, as democratic reform began to take hold in Hungary, the United States and other Western countries agreed to help with the tremendous financial burden of restructuring the economy and preparing the country’s markets for global integration. In October 1990, Prime Minister Antall made an official working visit to Washington. President Bush noted the resumption of American business in Hungary. He had asked Congress for $300 million in economic aid for central-eastern Europe.

From the Dissolution of the Warsaw Pact, July 1991 to NATO Accession, 1998:

At the beginning of 1991, the Warsaw Treaty itself received a mortal injury: in accordance with the agreement reached in Budapest on 25 February, the military organisation of that alliance was disbanded. Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Poland announced their withdrawal effective by the 1st of July 1991 and, in the event, the entire Warsaw Treaty expired on that date when at a final meeting in Prague, the Pact was formally disbanded. Thus, after nearly five decades of Soviet occupation, Hungarians witnessed what less than two years previously had been seemingly impossible: the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact and the removal of Soviet troops from Hungarian soil. The Hungarian National Assembly approved this fact by unanimous vote. Almost simultaneously with the Warsaw Pact, COMECON also ceased to exist. At the same time, the US Agency for International Development (USAID) opened an office in Budapest, and between 1991 and 1998 USAID provided more than $240 million in direct assistance to Hungary. Having begun the reform process among the central-eastern European states, it had regained its full national independence ahead of its own timetable as a result of the internal collapse of the Soviet Union.

With the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact and subsequently, of the Soviet Union, the bipolar world order ceased to exist, with NATO remaining the only security alliance able to effectively influence political processes. From the point of view of Hungary’s security, the Balkan conflict which broke out in 1991 and continued with varying intensity throughout the decade in the former Yugoslavia (predominantly along the Hungarian border), border incidents – albeit mostly minor – highlighted Hungary’s vulnerability in a blunt manner. The fact that in a matter of not more than two years the number of Hungary’s neighbours had increased from five to seven, out of which only two (Romania and Austria) did not undergo a radical change of state territory, proved the uncertainty of the region. There was agreement among the Hungarian political élite that the only way to break away from the disintegrating central-eastern European region was through accession to the integrating West. The reunification of Germany proved that the institutional anchoring of a former Eastern Bloc country was possible.

In October 1991, PM Antall made a private visit to Washington, where President Bush reiterated the US commitment to the economic and political transformation of Hungary, particularly in the context of the impending dissolution of the Soviet Union. Antall also expressed concern about the civil war in Yugoslavia. In October 1992, the United States announced that it would contribute an additional $900,000 to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) to support refugees from the former Yugoslavia who had been granted asylum in Hungary.

In this rapidly changing political environment and after a certain initial uncertainty, the principle of “national consensus” in foreign-policy decision-making was accepted in Hungary by 1992. In essence, this rested on a gentlemen’s agreement by which the opposition would not overtly criticise the government in foreign and security policy and, in exchange, the government would consult with the opposition before taking important steps in foreign policy. This system of so-called six-party coordination was established in Parliament, as a consultative forum which, in contrast to the composition of the Foreign Affairs Committee of the National Assembly, was operating on the basis of parity. The basic principles of security policy were adopted unanimously by Parliament in 1993 and the basic principles of national defence based on the first document constituted the peak of that process. The elaboration of these two important parliamentary resolutions had already started back in 1990 but substantial work had not been possible due to the constant changes in the international environment and the initial distrust among the parties. The Government submitted and withdrew one draft after another until, at the beginning of 1993, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs invited one representative from all six parties represented in Parliament to elaborate on the text of the draft resolution in cooperation with the Foreign Ministry. Besides the fact that they described the security of the country in harmony with the requirements of our age, the basic principles of security policy adopted on 2nd March became the first official document targeting fully-fledged Hungarian membership of NATO:

… we are suggesting concrete co-operation in the field of foreign and security policy as well as military co-operation that would gradually lead to establish the conditions for fully-fledged membership in NATO and the Western European Union.

Resolution No. 11/1993. of the Hungarian National Assembly on the principles of the security policy of the Republic of Hungary.

The “principles of national defence” were adopted a month later (14th April) also by consensus, as well-used even more unambiguous terms:

The goal of the Republic of Hungary is to join the already existing international security organisations such as NATO and WEU as full members. Existing co-operation with NATO member countries in the fields of security policy consultations, defence management, officer training, defence industry and human conversion, science and environmental protection provide valuable support for the transformation of the Hungarian Defence Forces in accordance with our necessities and capacities and for establishing the practical requirements of accession to NATO.

Resolution No. 27/1993. of the Hungarian National Assembly on the principles of the national defence of the Republic of Hungary.

With the Cold War over and the iron curtain having been torn down, both the American and Hungarian politicians and diplomats actively engaged in redefining their relationships in this new era. In October 1993, Secretary of State Warren M. Christopher visited Hungary. He met with Foreign Minister Géza Jesszenszky and addressed the American Chamber of Commerce. During the address, he said that NATO would propose outreach to central-eastern European nations through a Partnership for Peace programme. In December 1993, Vice-President Albert Gore attended the funeral of József Antall, Hungary’s first post-Communist Premier. Participants at the NATO Summit meeting in January 1994 formally announced the Partnership for Peace programme, which provided for closer political and military cooperation with central-eastern European countries. President Clinton, accompanied by Secretary of State Christopher, then met with leaders of the Visegrád states (Hungary, Poland and Slovakia), including President Göncz and PM Péter Boross, in Prague. In early February, Hungary joined the Partnership for Peace programme.

During the NATO meeting, the Presidents of the United States, Russia, Kazakhstan, Belarus, and Ukraine signed the START1 nuclear arms reduction treaty. Hungary had signed all of the OSCE’s follow-on documents since 1989. In December 1994, President Clinton and Secretary Christopher attended a Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe summit meeting in Budapest. A decision was made to change the name of the CSCE to the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe, and to expand its responsibilities. In June 1995, Hungary signed a ‘status of forces’ agreement relating to the programme. These organisations provided a good school for Hungarian MPs in the search for consensus and foreign policy cooperation beyond party interests. Except for the delegation to the Council of Europe, the composition of the Hungarian parliamentary delegation was based on the principle of parity and the members belonging to different parties were almost always put aside their disputes were almost always able to put aside their disputes related to internal policy in the interest of a more effective representation of national interests.

The North Atlantic Assembly (NAA), a parallel forum for legislators from member countries, maintained a close working relationship with the Alliance and submitted reports and recommendations for the North Atlantic Council. It was the first Atlanticist institution to open its doors to the countries of central-eastern Europe. As early as November 1990, it had accorded the status of associate delegation to several former member states of the Warsaw Pact, including Hungary. The Hungarian National Assembly accepted the invitation in its resolution adopted on 29th January 1991 and from that time on, the six-member delegation participated fully in the NAA’s activities. In the same year, one member of the delegation was nominated as a ‘special rapporteur’, the first time a delegate from a non-member state had been given this role. By 1994, the Hungarian delegation was allowed fully-fledged participation in committee work as well, and in May 1995, the NAA held its spring meeting in Budapest, the first such meeting to take place outside NATO territory. The NAA provided an excellent means of exchanging information and know-how about NATO’s functions on the one hand, and the goals of Hungarian foreign policy on the other. It was also in 1990 that the Hungarian National Assembly could join the work of the WEU Assembly by sending two ‘special observers.’ The redefinition of the role of the WEU at that time nurtured Hungary’s hope of joining the European Community (later the EU) as well as NATO through the links with the WEU. But by the mid-nineties, Hungarian foreign policy had not reached a position where it could decide between the ‘Atlanticist’ model, seeing the WEA as NATO’s European pillar or one based on a concept of a European defence identity within the evolving European Union.

By the end of the first parliamentary cycle following the change of system in Hungary, the joint political thinking that had been crystallised with respect to Euro-Atlantic integration suffered a severe setback when the opposition Socialist Party (MSZP) expressed reservations over a selective enlargement of NATO, stressing that it could only imagine Hungary’s accession to NATO only after a referendum on the issue. This variance in approach led to the predictable reaction against ‘leftism’ in Hungarian politics in the run-up to the general election. However, following a certain amount of hesitation after the elections, the consensus was restored by the newly elected Government, led by the MSZP, which had dropped its resistance to Hungary becoming a NATO member independently of others in the region in exchange for a referendum to ratify eventual membership. In the meantime, Hungary took several practical steps to aid the mission of the Western Alliance.

At the end of November 1995, following the initialling of the Dayton Peace Accords, which ended the war in Bosnia, the Hungarian Government announced that Kaposvár in southern Hungary would become the principal supply base of the US components of the international peacekeeping force, the NATO-led Implementation Force. The Hungarian Parliament was almost unanimous in voting to allow NATO forces to use Hungarian bases, including the airfield at Taszár. From December onwards, the US First Armored Divisions passed regularly through the city of Pécs in southern Hungary en route to peacekeeping duties in Bosnia. President Clinton visited the US military personnel at the base in January 1996 and met with the Hungarian PM, Gyula Horn and the Minister of Defence.

The close working relationship between the Clinton administration and the Socialist-led Hungarian Government which developed through practical cooperation led to the transition to full membership of NATO. During the NATO Summit Meeting in Madrid in July 1997, Secretary-General Javier Salana invited Hungary, the Czech Republic and Poland to join NATO. A national referendum in Hungary approved membership on 16th November of the same year. Only 49.24% of eligible voters turned out, but of those 85.33% voted in favour of Hungary’s accession, leaving 14.67% against. It could therefore be concluded that only the staunchest opponents of the accession took part in the referendum, presumably including those opposed to accession for ideological, political and conscientious (pacifist) reasons, as well as those who were strongly attached to the notion of neutrality. Following the referendum, the acceptance of NATO accession gradually increased further to reach its peak of 63% by August 1998, while the level of opposition remained at just 16% (see the graph below).

Hungary signed the protocol for accession on 16th December 1997, and Parliament voted for membership in February 1998. In May of that year, the second round of parliamentary elections took place, bringing Viktor Orbán and his Alliance of Young Democrats (FIDESZ) – Hungarian Civic Party to power for the first time. To begin with, this did not herald a shift towards a more conservative foreign policy under Defence Minister, János Szabó, and, in any case, it was too late to reverse the decision to join NATO, even had the new government wished to do so. Furthermore, in a resolution passed on 15th October, the National Assembly agreed to consent to the use of Hungarian airspace by reconnaissance, combat and transport aircraft, in addition to helicopters taking part in NATO actions aimed at the enforcement of UN resolutions on the settlement of the crisis in Kosovo, without restrictions.

However, Hungarian public opinion was very quick in taking the country’s membership in NATO for granted. The issue rapidly disappeared from the forefront of popular attention and political discourse. Except for some unusual periods related to specific, topical and important events, such as the period immediately preceding the referendum, the issue of international security was not a significant one for the broader strata of Hungarian society. It might be argued that it has remained out of the limelight ever since, especially since the threat of the spread of war has receded, until very recently. On the list of public priorities, the matter of NATO enlargement was lower down not only than most economic, social and internal political issues but also matters related to EU integration.

The attention paid in Hungary to NATO-related subjects tends to cover, in addition to those which formerly dominated issues directly related to Hungary’s accession, more and more of the broader perspectives of the activities of the Alliance. For example, according to the last poll taken in August 1998, the Hungarian public had a positive view of NATO’s role in preventing and managing conflicts within the region. With respect to the situation in Kosovo, 55% of those asked were of the position that involvement with NATO would reduce the probability of a border conflict between Albania and Yugoslavia, and could prevent the outbreak of a civil war in Kosovo. The remaining 45% were equally divided between the disapproving and the undecided. By comparison, according to the USIA Survey, the number of those replying positively to the same question equated to 56% in Poland, 51% in the Czech Republic, 66% in Romania, 70% in Slovenia and 85% in Croatia. But support for Hungarian participation in such actions was substantially smaller, and while the overwhelming majority accepted that Hungarian airspace should be made available, only 46% were supportive, and an identical percentage opposed the participation of a Hungarian engineering contingent in the SFOR-mission in Bosnia. Even fewer, only 28%, agreed with Hungarian military participation in Kosovo, while 64% were opposed to such a deployment.

This data regarding public opinion on NATO provided an early warning to PM Orbán and other potential leaders about the political perils of ignoring the attitudes of voters towards the active military deployment of Hungarian forces. As far as NATO enlargement was concerned, however, public opinion was generally supportive of the potential membership of neighbouring countries and even the Baltic states. It was clearly seen as being in Hungary’s interests for these countries to comply as soon as possible with the expectations and accession criteria of both the Alliance and the EU.

The End of Foreign Policy Consensus: The Balkans, the European Union, Iraq & Afghanistan, 1999-2009:

In the decade following the end of the Cold War, the last of the twentieth century, the Hungarian people were finally able to redefine their country’s place in the global community, concluding with In the second decade, Hungary began the process of reintegrating itself into a new, unified Europe. The road back to Europe culminated on 1 May 2004, when Hungary joined the European as a full member.

The post-Cold War era brought new levels of cooperation between European nations, including those of central-eastern Europe, as they joined together to support democracy and the rule of law and, especially after the attacks on the USA on 11th September 2001, to work together to combat the threat of global terrorism. There were also threats from epidemics and international crime. Secretary of State Madelaine K. Albright, herself a refugee from central Europe during the Second World War, and a noted scholar, visited Hungary in December 2000 and met with PM Orbán. She was awarded an honorary degree by Szeged University.

In a sign of the close bilateral relationship with the US, and its multi-lateral relationships through NATO, in January 2003, Hungary was one of eight central-eastern European states whose leaders signed a letter endorsing US policy during the Iraq crisis. During the early stages of the war, Hungary invited the US Army to train Free Iraqi Forces as guides, translators and security personnel at the Taszár airbase. It also committed a transportation company of three hundred soldiers to a multinational division stationed in central Iraq. On 17th June 2004, Hungary sustained its first combat casualties when a roadside bomb (IED) killed one soldier and wounded another, south of Baghdad. Less than a week later, PM Péter Medgyessy made a working visit to Washington and assured President George W Bush that Hungary would keep its troops in Iraq. Secretary of State Powell visited Hungary in October to thank Hungary for its support of the coalition and to encourage its continued participation. The Hungarian Government also donated seventy-seven tanks to the Free Iraqi military. Although the mandate for the Hungarian forces in Iraq expired at the end of the year, Powell convinced the Hungarian Government to renew its soldiers’ mandate so that they would remain until after the pivotal Iraqi elections in December.

In early November, PM Ferenc Gyurcsány proposed to Parliament that Hungary would not withdraw its troops until the end of March 2005. The Fidesz-led opposition opposed the proposal, breaking the security consensus which had existed since 1990, but Parliament voted by 191 to 159 to support the extension. However, the vote fell short of the required two-thirds majority, the Government was forced to terminate the mission at the end of the year and on 20th December it withdrew its troops from Iraq. But the Gyurcsány Government continued to work with the Allies to provide alternative assistance to Iraq, including participation in the NATO Training Mission there, and also stepped up its participation in other military missions. In 2005, it augmented its contingent in the Balkan peacekeeping missions to a 450-strong force. In August 2005, it also sent a reconnaissance team of a hundred and twenty troops to Afghanistan, along with medical and administrative personnel. In 2006, Hungary assumed the leadership of a Provincial Reconstruction Team (PRT) in northern Afghanistan as part of the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) operations.

In June 2006, President G. W. Bush visited Hungary to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the 1956 Uprising and Hungary’s ongoing efforts to strengthen global democracy. During his visit, he made a speech on Gellért Hill in Buda in which he said:

The lesson of 1956 is clear: Liberty can be delayed but it cannot be denied. The desire for liberty is universal because it is written by our Creator into the hearts of every man, woman and child on this Earth. And as people across the world sep forward to claim their own freedom, they will take inspiration from Hungary’s example, and draw hope from your success. … Hungary represents the triumph of liberty over tyranny, and America is proud to call Hungary a friend.

As part of their commitment to NATO, the US and Hungary continued to stand ‘shoulder-to-shoulder’ in the global war on terror. In November 2007, Hungarian Defence Minister Imre Szekeres announced Hungary’s latest contribution to this mission. A sixteen-nation consortium of NATO allies, plus two non-NATO states, selected the airport at Papa to host their strategic airlift fleet of three C-17 transport aircraft beginning in late 2008. Papa’s airport was supposed to play an important role in transporting logistics materials and provisions in response to worldwide crisis situations. It was a further demonstration of the excellent security cooperation that existed between the US, NATO and Hungary before the ‘second coming’ of Viktor Orbán in 2006. On the ‘eve’ of his advent to power, Marc J Susser, the US Department of State’s official historian concluded his study of US-Hungarian relations with the following comment:

Today, the two countries share a commitment to democracy, economic progress, and educational and cultural development. Shaped by a common experience of breaking free from an empire, the two countries have developed strong political, economic and cultural ties, marked by mutual respect. … relations between the United States and Hungary continue to improve, as Hungary continues to move ahead with its national commitment to democracy, the rule of law and a market economy.

Mark J. Susser (2007), The United States & Hungary, Paths of Diplomacy, 1848-2006. Washington: Bureau of Public Affairs, United States Department of State, p. 96.

The Reversal of Euro-Atlantic Integration, 2009-2019:

Since 2006, and especially since the beginning of his third term in 2014 in his sixteen-year rule in Hungary, Viktor Orbán has gradually returned his country to the Russian ‘sphere of influence’ and away from its supposed allies in the Euro-Atlantic Alliance. Following the flood of Syrian refugees crossing Hungary to seek asylum in other EU member states, such as Germany, in the summer of 2015, he began to criticise the management of the crisis by the EU institutions and member states, especially Germany.

Putin and Orbán in 2017.

By his own admission, Orbán is only worried about the fight against the EU as an institution that seeks to replace the nation-state. He is driven not by the healthy resurgence of national identity and patriotism in Hungary but seeks to pervert it into an authoritarian ‘nation-statism’ that belongs to the Horthy Era (1 March 1920 – 15 October 1944, see insert below) in recent Hungarian history, if not to the late nineteenth century when the country was finally emerging from its first general crisis. Orbán’s basic concept and strategy for European unity start from his observation that the EU is wealthy but weak. This, he suggests, is the worst possible combination… one that is acutely vulnerable to the single greatest threat confronting Europe – and Hungary. It is a threat, he claims, which is undermining his country’s financial stability and its precarious achievement in modernising the economy. 

If the EU is wealthy but weak, Hungary is both poor and weak, with its wealth increasingly concentrated in the hands of an ever-decreasing oligarchy. The hard-working middle classes are reminded that they have his government to thank for its nationalist foreign policy (influence over its neighbours in and surrounding the Carpathian basin with Hungarian minorities), its restoration of ‘law and order’, ‘public safety against terrorism’ and its national culture that has slowly begun to flourish again after the long years of Communist sterility. The threat to all this comes, not from within, which has seen Hungary under his watch being returned to being one of the most corrupt nations in Europe, but from outside, from mass migration and its ‘mismanagement’ by the institutions of the European Union. On the significance of the Brexit vote, he drew his conclusion that…

… there used to be little doubt that the European Union was a major actor in global politics, capable of influencing developments not only back home but in remote corners of the globe. The secession of the UK marks the end of that era. The EU’s influence is even weakening closer to home, as it is apparent in the conflict in Ukraine. 

Viktor Orbán (2017), Hungary and the Crisis of Europe.

Yet, for all that we might worry about the effect of ‘Brexit’ on European integration, the early signs are that it will, paradoxically, strengthen the Atlantic Alliance which Hungary was so proud to become a member of earlier this century before it joined the EU.

In 2018, after securing a fourth consecutive term, Viktor Orbán turned his wrath on Ukraine, which had introduced a new law to ensure that the Ukrainian language was used as the main medium of instruction throughout the country. About a third of the people of Transcarpathia, over the Ukrainian border from Hungary, are Hungarian speakers. The new law did not exclude the use of other first languages like Russian and Hungarian in schools or elsewhere, but Orbán found common cause with President Putin in opposing the new law as a pretext for involvement in Ukraine’s internal affairs. This became related to Ukraine’s desire to join NATO in 2019 when Hungary declared its opposition to Ukraine’s membership of the Alliance and announced that it would seek to block it. Russia had already illegally occupied and annexed Crimea in 2014, and supported the Russian-speaking separatist forces in their paramilitary campaigns in the Donbas and other regions of eastern Ukraine, supporting them with arms and troops (allegedly providing trading) and enabling them to gain control of a large part of these regions. Until the beginning of the current Russian attacks on Ukraine and the NATO condemnation of them, Orbán did not criticise Russian actions and, even now, he is refusing to allow military equipment and supplies to transit Hungary and cross its border with Ukraine. He has also proved extremely reluctant to apply agreed EU sanctions and claims that Hungary can remain ‘neutral’ whilst also remaining a full member of NATO. According to the Treaty, of course, there is no such status.

For some time now, it has appeared to be Hungary and others among the Visegrád countries who have deliberately sought to undermine the efforts of NATO and the EU to deal with Russian aggression in Ukraine, and to prevent them from sending clear signals to Putin about the independence of the Baltic states within the NATO-EU ‘umbrella.’ As he rightly admits, Hungary has benefited under this umbrella in the not-too-distant past, especially during the wars in former Yugoslavia, but more recently – under his rule – it has contributed very little. The Hungarian government will have to make up its mind in the near future whether it wishes to continue its commitment to NATO, as well as to the EU. To many Western observers, it seems that it wants to keep the resources from the west and east alike, but does not want to keep up its commitments as a member of these ‘clubs’.


Rudolf Joó (ed.) (1999), Hungary: A Member of NATO. Budapest: Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Hungary.

Viktor Orbán (2017), Hungary and the Crisis of Europe, in Gyula Kodalányi (ed.), Hungarian Review, Volume VIII, No.1, January 2017. Budapest: Danube Institute.

Mark J. Susser (2007), The United States & Hungary, Paths of Diplomacy, 1848-2006. Washington: Bureau of Public Affairs, United States Department of State.


Who are the Ukrainians? Mythology & History, Part II: 1801-2001 – From Napoleon’s Empire to end of Empires?

Putin’s Perverse & Very Unorthodox History:

In a letter of 10th March, H.H. Patriarch Kirill ‘of Moscow and all Russia’ replied to a letter sent on 2nd March by World Council of Churches (WCC) acting general secretary Rev. Prof. Dr Ioan Sauca asking the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church to mediate so that the war can be stopped. His letter repeated the claims recently made in a newspaper article written by Russian President, Vladimir Putin, with whom the Patriarch is said to have a ‘close relationship’. In his letter, he did not undertake to mediate in order to stop the war but accused ‘Western leaders’ of bringing suffering not only to the Russian political or military leaders but specifically to the Russian people. He went on to assert that Russophobia is spreading across the Western world at an unprecedented pace. On the more recent causes of the conflict he wrote:

The origins of the confrontation lie in the relationships between the West and Russia. By the 1990s Russia had been promised that its security and dignity would be respected. However, as time went by, the forces overtly considering Russia to be their enemy came close to its borders. Year after year, month after month, the NATO member states have been building up their military presence, disregarding Russia’s concerns that these weapons may one day be used against it.

Moreover, the political forces which make it their aim to contain Russia were not going to fight against it themselves. They were planning to use other means, having tried to make the brotherly peoples – Russians and Ukrainians – enemies. They spared no effort, no funds to flood Ukraine with weapons and warfare instructors. Yet, the most terrible thing is not the weapons, but the attempt to “re-educate,” to mentally remake Ukrainians and Russians living in Ukraine into enemies of Russia.

Pursuing the same end was the church schism created by Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople in 2018. It has taken its toll on the Ukrainian Orthodox Church.

As far back as 2014, when blood was being shed in Kiev’s Maidan and there were first victims, the WCC expressed its concern. Dr Olav Fykse Tveit, the WCC General Secretary at the time, said on March 3, 2014, “The World Council of Churches is deeply concerned by the current dangerous developments in Ukraine. The situation puts many innocent lives in grave jeopardy. And like a bitter wind from the Cold War, it risks further undermining the international community’s capacity to act now or in the future on the many urgent issues that will require a collective and principled response.”

That was also when an armed conflict broke out in the Donbas region, whose population was defending their right to speak the Russian language, demanding respect for their historical and cultural tradition. However, their voices went unheard, just as thousands of victims among the Donbas population went unnoticed in the Western world.

This tragic conflict has become a part of the large-scale geopolitical strategy aimed, first and foremost, at weakening Russia.


Source: History Today.
Catherine the Great, depicted above, was the founder of the Modern Russian Empire into which most of Ukraine was annexed in 1796.

In my first article on this subject matter, I wrote about the historical inaccuracies contained in Patriarch Kirill’s letter regarding the Medieval and Early Modern relations between the Kyivan Rus, ‘Ukraine’ and its neighbours, including the ‘Rus’, modern Russia and other ‘neighbours’ including Cossacks, Lithuanians and Poles. In this second article on the History of Ukraine, besides giving a factual account of relations between the country, Russia and ‘the West’ over the course of the previous two centuries, I also want to address the two further ‘justifications’ given by Patriarch Kirill, above, and President Putin that it is ‘the West’ in general and NATO, in particular, that has brought about Russia’s cataclysmic war with Ukraine through provocative military actions, and that those leading the Ukrainian resistance to Russians are the inheritors of a form of Nazism.

Napoleonic & Nation-State Europe in the Nineteenth Century:

To understand the contemporary history of Russian-Ukrainian relations, we need to look back to the time of the third partition of Poland in 1795, and to the effects of Emperor Napoleon’s conquests on central-eastern Europe before his defeat in Russia in 1812. At the time, Ukraine was an integral and significant part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Since 1789, Europe had undergone a generation-long convulsion that had left nothing untouched. Old states had been abolished and the world of the ancient régime was gone forever.

Napoleonic Europe in 1812.

While Napoleon concentrated his efforts on conquering both Western and Central Europe after 1799, the Tsar asserted Russian power in the Baltic and against Turkey. Alexander I, who became Tsar after the assassination of his father, Paul I in 1801, at first opposed France, but after the defeat of the Austro-Russian army at Austerlitz in 1805, and the Prussian-Russian force at Friedland in 1806, his mood changed. Following his treaty with Napoleon at Tilsit in 1807, the boundary between the French conquests and Russia, Europe was divided into spheres of influence. Napoleon gave the Tsar the district around Belostok and in return, the Tsar accepted the existence of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, a potential threat to Russia’s Polish lands. After Napoleon’s crushing defeat of Prussia in the autumn of 1806 and his rapprochement with Alexander I at Tilsit in 1807, Poland’s chances of regaining its independence barely a decade after its extirpation by the Third Partition seemed strong. Napoleon’s establishment of the Grand Duchy composed of territories taken from Prussia’s share of the last partition was meant as punishment for his enemies, but he showed no inclination to permit a genuinely independent Poland. Thus, after Austria’s defeat by Napoleon in 1809, it lost West Galicia to the Grand Duchy.

In 1809, Sweden was forced to cede Finland to the Tsar, though Alexander and his successors ruled it as a separate Grand Duchy with its own laws. The Tsar’s forces then occupied largely Romanian-speaking Bessarabia and forced the Sultan to give it to Russia in 1812. Up to this point, Napoleon had been content to leave Russia to its own devices, and Russia was in any case distracted by its war with Turkey. But nothing could disguise Napoleon’s determination to draw Russia into his Continental System, designed to choke Britain’s trade with Europe. Finally, in 1812, Napoleon lost patience and made the ill-fated decision to invade Russia. Prussia and Austria bided their time and waited to see how the invasion would turn out.

From 1812, with Napoleon’s catastrophic defeat in Russia, in which his army of six hundred thousand vanished into the steppe and the snow, the defeat of Napoleonic France suddenly became a probability. Driven out of Spain and then defeated by a coalition army at Leipzig in 1813, in 1815 the Imperial French forces suffered their final defeat at Waterloo in Belgium. Yet, although the representatives of the victorious powers who had assembled in Vienna to determine the future of Europe were joined by a common desire to restore the world lost after 1789, they were forced to recognise that no such course was open to them in practice. Thus, the Holy Roman Empire and its constellation of feudal principalities and mini-states were summarily abolished by Napoleon in 1806 was not restored. Instead, they drafted the boundaries of a thirty-nine member German Confederation, paying lip service to the notion of a common German identity that had been so strongly displayed during the war of liberation against Bonaparte after 1812. Yet the ‘new order’ established at Vienna was also profoundly conservative and the victorious allies agreed to meet periodically to settle any disputes which might threaten the peace and their hegemony as a guarantor of this. This “Congress System” proved inadequate for dealing with the crises that arose after 1815. It soon became clear that it had only been the overwhelming threat of Napoleonic France that had kept the Allies united. The disappearance of that threat after Waterloo revealed the continuing rivalries and differing interests of the four Great Powers who had vanquished it. Nevertheless, the boundaries established between them in 1815 proved remarkably stable over the next century, especially when compared with the twenty years of turbulence that had preceded the Congress.

Napoleon’s eventual defeat in 1815 meant a restoration of tripartite control of Poland by Russia, Austria and Prussia. The new division of spoils gave west Poland and Gdansk to Prussia while Austria surrendered its claim to West Galicia, which in common with the remainder of the Grand Duchy came under Russian hegemony, in exchange for Tarnopol. Alexander ruled this so-called “Congress Kingdom” of Poland as just another part of his empire, despite its constitution which made it a personal union with Russia. But it was the decay of Ottoman power in Europe during the nineteenth century which was the key factor in destabilising post-Napoleonic Europe. Moldavia and Wallachia were the first to rebel against Turkish rule in 1821, with the encouragement of Alexander I’s Greek minister, Capodistria. Despite the failure of these uprisings, the Greeks then started a more effective rebellion, backed by idealists such as the English poet Lord Byron. The British, French and Russians sought to temper Turkish reprisals for these revolts, leading to the annihilation of the Ottoman fleet at the decisive battle of Navarino in 1827, which cleared the way for an independent Greece to finally re-emerge in 1830. By then, Moldavia and Wallachia had become autonomous in 1829, emerging as the United Provinces in 1859, having also gained a part of Bessarabia from Russia in 1856, giving them access to the Black Sea. The provinces became Romania in 1861.

The Eastern Balkans and the Black Sea, 1815-61.

The great Polish rebellion of 1831 was easily defeated by the Russian army and provided Alexander’s successor, Nicholas I, with an excuse to tighten his control. The ancient university city of Cracow survived 1815 as the Republic of Cracow, the last remnant of self-governed Polish territory until 1847, when Austria annexed it in agreement with Russia and Prussia, despite the protests of France and Britain. In 1848, a series of revolutions rapidly engulfed Austria and Hungary and spread throughout Central Europe. They had, however, retained sufficient power to hold the line in 1848-49, albeit at great cost and in part because of the divisions within liberal-nationalist ranks. But relations between Vienna and St Petersburg cooled rapidly, opening the way for Emperor Napoleon III’s campaigns against Russia. These, and the strains imposed on the Russians in fighting the Crimean War (1854-56, shown on the maps below) against a coalition of France, Britain and Turkey, showed that neither the Habsburgs nor the Russian Tsar remained strong enough to preserve the Vienna system by force.

‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’ at the Battle of Balaclava in a contemporary painting.

In addition to her gains in Poland, Catherine II (‘the Great’) had acquired Crimea (1783) and Odesa (1794). The primary aim of the Romanovs was to secure access to the seas through ports that were open to navigation all year round. Throughout the first half of the nineteenth-century Russian policy aimed at continuing the drive toward the Mediterranean and gaining control of the Straits at Constantinople. This desire resulted in the Crimean War and British intervention in the Russo-Turkish War of 1877. Russia also claimed to be the protector of Orthodox Christians in the Turkish Empire, a claim that was rejected by Turkey. The British Government was forced to act by public opinion at home when Russia destroyed the Turkish fleet at Sinope. The allies, principally France and Great Britain, determined to destroy the naval station at Sebastopol and all the fighting was concentrated around this port. The allied troops were landed at Eupatori, marched southwards and met the Russians at the River Alma. Though victorious, they neglected to make a further speedy attack on Sebastopol, which was strongly fortified. To prevent a naval attack on the harbour the Russians sank some ships at the entrance. The siege lasted a year, from September 1854 to September 1855, during which time the Russian armies made three attempts to relieve the port, attempts which were repelled by the British at Balaclava and Inkerman, and by the Sardinians and French at Tchernaya.

Serfdom had disappeared in Prussia after 1807 and was abolished in the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1848. As the map above shows, The 1861 abolition of serfdom in the Russian Empire was supposed to ‘liberate’ more than forty million peasants, but the system of the ‘mir’ was retained (collective ownership of fields and responsibility for the individual in the community). At the same time, there was the promotion of secondary and primary public education and a university statute granting academic autonomy and also easing press censorship. Nevertheless, the hoped-for easing of social tensions did not come about. The peasantry, increasing in numbers, suffered because of a lack of landholdings and high levels of debt to the landlords; the peasantry was not trained in the independent administration of their holdings, which led to relatively low yields at a time of increasing tax burdens. The ultimate result was unrest and in 1863 there were serious political uprisings followed by an assassination attempt on the tsar in 1866 intensified the autocratic reaction as well as the revolutionary movement of the intelligentsia.

By the 1856 Peace of Paris, Russia lost control of the Danube delta and the neutrality of the Black Sea was guaranteed. This led to the transfer of Russian hegemony to France, but it also led to tensions between Austria and Russia in the Balkans. The Crimean War also exposed the backwardness of the administration, economy and army of the Russian Empire. In particular, serfdom obstructed any form of progress, whether in the moderate form of a head tax or the often arbitrary form of corvées. Alexander II decided on an autocratic revolution from above, to eliminate the powder keg within the state. After the Crimean War had checked Russian ambitions of reaching the Mediterranean, the Russians redirected the ambitions toward Persia and the Middle East, Afghanistan, Manchuria and the Far East. These expansionist moves led to further clashes with Britain until 1907, because they seemed to threaten British interests in India (the Afghan Wars) and China, leading to the Anglo-Japanese Alliance of 1902.

Florence Nightingale, the ‘founder’ of modern nursing and the Red Cross at work in the military hospital at Scutari.

The Rivalry & Clashes of Empires, 1871-1914:
The European Empires of 1871

The years 1871 to 1914 saw Imperial Europe at its zenith. Outside Europe, all the Great Powers bar Austria-Hungary but including Italy, established empires that extended across the globe; within Europe, they co-existed uneasily. Russia considered it essential that no other power achieved a position from which it could control the straits at Constantinople, through which passed most of the grain on which its economy, and hence her Great Power status, depended. Russia’s fundamental motive may thus have been defensive, but in practice, it varied between attempting to stabilise Ottoman rule and overthrowing it in the hope of replacing the empire with a string of submissive satellites. To Habsburg Austria-Hungary, Russia’s efforts seemed a dangerously threatening attempt to encircle the Habsburg monarchy with a crowd of irredentist Slav states under Russian protection. As revolts against Ottoman rule spread through the Balkans in the mid-1870s, Austria was reassured by St Petersburg’s acceptance that no new large Christian state should be created that might thwart Austria’s ambitions.

Map showing the formation of the two groups of European Powers, the Triple Alliance and the Triple Entente, before the Great War of 1914-18.
These sketch maps were first published in 1936 (see below for details of sources)

But by 1877 Russian public opinion had pushed the Tsar into was in support of the Orthodox Christian Slav rebels. Under the Treaty of San Stefano in 1878 which concluded the war, the Russians chose to create a “Big Bulgaria” stretching across the southern Balkans. To Austria-Hungary and Britain, this seemed like the creation of a Russian puppet-state, which also left Constantinople vulnerable to attack. The Chancellor of the newly united Germany, Otto von Bismarck, stepped in to separate his two imperial allies before a further war broke out. The Treaty of Belin (1878) overturned much of the San Stefano agreements and preserved a pretence of Turkish suzerainty over a much-reduced Bulgarian principality. But however understandable the failure to grasp the Balkan nettle at the Berlin Conference, the problems of the region’s numerous ethnic, nationalist, imperialist and religious rivalries festered unchecked into the next century.

Imperial Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean

The boundaries between the Great Powers changed little in the century after the Congress of Vienna. Germany, although now united, Austria-Hungary and Russia still shared largely the same frontiers as those established at Vienna, and most observers could be forgiven for regarding them as permanent. But in practice, the emergence of small states on the periphery of the Powers, allied to tensions created by conflicting aspirations for autonomy and independence on the part of the many ethnic groups within the Austro-Hungarian and Russian empires, marked the beginnings of a process that threatened those empires’ territorial integrity. In tandem with the Great Power rivalry, it created the pre-conditions that were to lead to the cataclysms of the First World War. Whatever its problems with regional nationalism, Russia, for its part, at least had a majority ethnic group. Both Austria-Hungary and Russia sought to increase their influence in central and eastern Europe.

A ‘Serio-comic’ map of Europe, 1899, reproduced by courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum.

By the end of the nineteenth century, when the comic map above was published, parts of Europe had been transformed by a different kind of revolution than those of the first half of the century, an industrial one, like the one that Britain had begun to experience in the second half of the previous century.

The Russian Empire was catching up with the other empires. Taking coal production as an example, although by 1900 it was still only half that of French production, the increase in Russia’s growth since 1860 had reached 170 per cent, while French growth had slowed to twenty-eight per cent and Britain’s growth was at twenty-four per cent. In the late nineteenth century, Europe’s influence on the world at large seemed greater than ever. But the large-scale development of industry, the growth in towns, as shown on the map below, and the building of the railways also brought serious problems across the continent, as they had in Britain earlier in the century. Nevertheless, they also brought increased wealth and power. In Ukraine, the Donbas coalfield and the Yuzovka iron and steelworks led the way in the Imperial Russian Empire (see appendix one below for a case study of this). This European industrial supremacy did not last for much longer. By 1914, the USA was producing more iron and steel than the whole of Europe put together.

With Britain’s abandonment of its role as protector of the Turkish Sultan, a policy intended chiefly to contain Russian ambitions, the way was left open for Serbia, Bulgaria and Greece to attack Turkey in 1912, but dividing the spoils of this first Balkan War proved harder and led to a second war the following year. But it was the involvement of all these Empires which turned a regional conflict into a pan-European war. Especially after Austria’s annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1908, Russia was determined to resume its role as the protector of Orthodox Christians in the Balkans and central-eastern Europe, if necessary against the Catholic Habsburgs rather than Muslim Turkey. With Austria and Russia members of two rival alliance systems, the Triple Alliance and the Triple Entente, their rivalry in the Balkans threatened to suck all the Imperial Powers of Europe into military conflict. Although Italy was also, originally, part of the Triple Alliance, it also had claims on Habsburg territories up to the Alps and along the Dalmatian coast, and, as it turned out, was not a reliable ally. Romania was also allied to them but was obviously not a great power. Austria and Germany could not afford to abandon each other, therefore, even at the risk of a general European war.

Central-Eastern Europe on the Eve of the First World War.

The First World War & its Aftermath in Central/ Eastern Europe:

Austria’s declaration of war on Serbia in July 1914 following the Serbian-sponsored assassination of the Habsburg Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo the previous month was the spark that lit the global conflagration which was referred to at the time as ‘the Great War.’ Once the Tsar had ordered a general mobilisation, there was little chance of extinguishing it, especially after Germany’s determination to smash through the Triple Entente that encircled it. If war did come, the Kaiser’s generals wanted it sooner rather than later: they were increasingly confident that they could defeat both France and Russia. However, by choosing to attack France first, through neutral Belgium, the Kaiser and his generals miscalculated, especially since they did not expect Britain to enter the war. While the Germans advanced into Belgium, the Russians, as they had promised the French, invaded East Prussia. An army of ten divisions advanced into the province from the east: another of the same size attacked from the south. The first actions went in the Russians’ favour, and two generals, Hindenburg and Ludendorff were ordered to Prussia to halt their advance. At Tannenburg, Ludendorff achieved a classic envelopment and almost completely destroyed the southern Russian force. Then he redeployed against the eastern army and drove it out of Prussia with crippling loss. The Austrians, who also had two fronts, launched their main offensive in a move north from Galicia into Russian Poland, but were caught sideways by the Russian counter-attack, a straight drive into Galicia from the east; despite German support, the Austrians were unable to recover and by the end of 1914 the whole of Galicia was in Russian hands.

In May 1915, a German force sent by Falkenhayn smashed through the Russian line in western Galicia. It then became the southern arm of a vast pincer movement against Russian Poland, the northern arm being provided by Hindenburg and Ludendorff striking south from East Prussia. By early August the Germans were in Warsaw; by early September they were masters of the whole of Russian Poland. In 1916, the Germans could always break through the Russian line if they wanted to and the Russians could punch a hole in the Austro-Hungarian front. Brusilov, the Russian commander in the south, did just that and was rewarded with a progressive collapse of the Austro-Hungarian armies in this sector that produced one of the most spectacular victories of the war. Czech and Slovene units had always performed reluctantly on the Russian front; now they simply threw away their weapons and ran. The Russians took a quarter of a million of them prisoner in the course of an advance that carried across the eastern half of Galicia. Other events of significance in 1916 included a major Russian advance in Caucasia and Germany’s creation of a Polish kingdom out of the Russian-occupied territories conquered by them, though they didn’t give this kingdom any of German Poland. Neither did it have a king.

The Russian Empire’s war effort was in serious if not terminal decline by the early months of 1917 and it was clear that before long, Germany would be able to dictate terms to it. The Russian peasantry had realised that the paper money the government was printing to pay for the war was in fact worthless. When they refused to accept it any longer, the towns got no food. In March (February in the Russian calendar), there were riots in Petrograd (formerly St Petersburg); when troops were called in to put down the rioters, they joined them instead. Liberal politicians formed a parliamentary government and ‘soviets’ (trades’ councils) were set up among factory workers. Unlike after the 1905 revolution, however, the Tsar was forced to abdicate. Russia’s new leaders were quick to assure the British and French that they would honour the Entente, and that the war would go on, but the capacity to wage war was no longer there: the support systems had disintegrated and the troops wouldn’t fight any longer. The country drifted miserably along, its leaders helpless, their authority steadily waning. As the map below shows, the Germans were making additional progress on the eastern front, especially in Galicia and Livonia.

The Bolshevik Revolution, & the ‘Peace of Bread’, 1917-18:
Lenin was the first and founding head of government of Soviet Russia from 1917 to 1924 and of the Soviet Union from 1922 to 1924. 

Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, better known by his alias Lenin, was a ‘man with a plan’, or rather a definite programme. When he arrived in Petrograd in April, from a lengthy Swiss exile, to assume the leadership of the ‘Bolsheviks’, Lenin insisted that peace should be their top priority, and he meant peace at any price. His supporters heard his views with dismay, his enemies with scorn, while the Kerensky government branded him a traitor so that he had to go into hiding. Over the next six months, however, the Petrograd Soviet came to see that this was exactly what the country and the revolution needed. In November (October in Russia), detachments of armed workers swept the Liberal government aside and put Lenin and the Bolsheviks in power. True to his word, he immediately asked the Germans for an armistice.

Lev Davidovich Bronstein, better known as Leon Trotsky, was a Ukrainian-Russian Marxist revolutionary.

Even as the terms were being discussed, the Germans were advancing towards St Petersburg. From 22nd December onward, Leon Trotsky conducted the peace negotiations as the representative of Russia, declaring an end to the war without accepting the German conditions. On the 10th, he briefly broke off negotiations and resumed the war, with the ‘rail offensive’. The Peace terms that Germany subsequently offered Lenin in March were very harsh: Russia would have to give up all claims to Poland, Lithuania and Finland and agree to make Ukraine independent. Lenin had already recognised Finland’s independence and was prepared to see Poland and Lithuania go too. They weren’t ethnically Russian and he believed in the principle of self-determination.

But when it came to Ukraine, even he had difficulty in giving it up, believing, like all Russians, that it was an integral part of the ‘Motherland’. Still, if this was the added price of peace, he was prepared to pay that too, and the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk (in Western Ukraine, see below) was signed in March, finally ending Imperial Russia’s war.

By August 1918, the Germans upped the price of peace still further: they wanted the rest of the Baltic provinces to be made independent, together with Georgia. Lenin gave way again, and when the Treaty of Berlin was signed that month, the former Russian Empire had lost a third of its productive land and a third of its people. With the exception of Georgia and the bulk of Ukraine, all these territories remained independent until at least 1939. Lenin hoped that some, at least, of the territories he ceded would maintain formal links with Soviet Russia, an idea wasn’t in itself naive – Finland, for example, would probably have ended the war as a communist state had the Germans not sent troops there to help the ‘White’ reactionaries to defeat the Reds (Bolsheviks). What was naive was to believe that the Germans wouldn’t intervene in this way. German forces quickly occupied all the ceded areas and made them into dependencies. Estonia, Livonia and Kurland were all earmarked for eventual annexation: Finland, Lithuania, Poland, Ukraine and Georgia would retain a degree of autonomy. No final decision was taken about Crimea or Bessarabia, the latter having already been annexed by Romania in April 1918 in compensation for their losses elsewhere, most noticeably in Dobruja, which had been divided between Germany and Bulgaria at Brest-Litovsk. By the Treaty of Bucharest (May 1918), Romania ceded Dobruja to Bulgaria and allowed their oil reserves to be exploited by Germany. Finally, after the breakthrough in Macedonia by the Allies in September, the Bulgarian army collapsed and an armistice was concluded at the end of October. By the Treaty of Neuilly the next year, Bulgaria lost all the territories it had recently acquired but retained access to the Black Sea at Alexandroupolis.

The Germans actually occupied considerably more Russian territory than they were entitled to under the terms of Brest-Litovsk. They took Belorussia simply to shorten their lines, but in the Black Sea region, where they advanced to the lower Don River and crossed from the Crimea to the Taman Peninsula, clearly aiming at taking over permanently. In due course, they would doubtless have extracted the third round of concessions from the Bolshevik government. Soviet power in this south-eastern area was then at a very low ebb. The Don Cossacks were refusing to accept the authority of Moscow, which had become the Soviet seat of government in March when Lenin decided that the Germans were getting too close to Petrograd. The anti-Soviet or ‘White’ forces that were rallying to the flag of General Denikin were proving more than a match for local Bolsheviks and, in Caucasia, in the far south, the Turks had reoccupied the towns they had lost in 1878 by the terms of the Berlin Treaty, together with everything else that German forces hadn’t already ‘nailed down. The two treaties, deeply unfavourable to Russia, revealed the shape of Europe Berlin hoped would be the outcome of the war. Germany’s subsequent defeat was to mean that little could be done to exploit the territories lost by Russia. Nonetheless, the German desire to lay claim to the resources of this vast region foreshadowed Hitler’s obsession with it twenty years later. By November, General Denkin was in complete control of the Kuban area: his success marks the formal opening of the Civil War between ‘Whites’ and ‘Reds’.

In February 1918, ‘The Peace of Bread’ was concluded by Germany, Austria-Hungary and Turkey, with Ukraine. This involved the recognition of the Ukrainian state, Ukrainian autonomy in Eastern Galicia, in exchange for the delivery of grain supplies to the Central Powers. By November 1918, when the armistice in the West was signed, General Denkin was in complete control of the Kuban area (as shown on the map below): his success marks the formal opening of the Civil War between ‘Whites’ and ‘Reds’. During the Armistice negotiations the Allies had insisted on the Germans withdrawing from their conquests in the east; the unwelcome result of this was that the Soviet forces occupied the Baltic states and Ukraine. The Allied reaction was to beef up the White forces – General Yudenich’s army in Estonia as well as General Denikin’s in the south – and support them in counter-offensives that by October 1919 had taken Yudenich halfway to Petrograd and Denikin more than halfway to Moscow. At the same time, the Poles occupied as much of Western Russian territories as they could.

Civil War, the Creation of the USSR & Inter-War Poland:

In Russia, 1918 had seen the formation of socially and politically diverse anti-Bolshevik groups (the ‘Whites’). They fought against the Red Army, organised by Trotsky. They fought in Siberia and the Ural-Volga area in the south. To safeguard their interests, the Allies landed their troops in Vladivostock, Murmansk, Archangel and all the ports on the Black Sea. In 1919, the Whites rejected President Wilson’s proposal for a conference of all Russian parties. By 1920, in any case, the Allies had withdrawn their troops and the evacuation of the last ‘White’ troops from Crimea had taken place. The Bolsheviks had cleared the country of the armies of foreign states and Lenin had supreme power. His aim was to create a world revolution, but he had first to reshape ‘Greater Russia’ itself. Conditions in town and country alike were appalling. His chief difficulty was to satisfy the peasants, who resisted attempts to confiscate their harvests. Famines in 1920 and 1921 compelled him to make concessions in order to restore some measure of prosperity to the country. By his New Economic Policy, announced in 1921, a certain amount of private trading in both town and country. By the Rapallo Treaty of 1922, Britain, Italy and France recognised the Russian Soviet Republic which in December of the same year, at the Tenth All-Russian Congress of Soviets became the USSR (Union of Socialist Soviet Republics) consisting of the Russian, Transcaucasian, White Russian and Ukrainian republics.

On the death of Lenin in 1924, Joseph Stalin, son of a Caucasian (Georgian) cobbler was the secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). Over the next five years, he gradually became the dominant influence in the party and eventually the de facto dictator of the USSR. His aim was to develop the resources of the country and make the Soviet Union a powerful state and improve the unfriendly relations that had continued with other nations in the wake of the civil war. He was prepared to delay the coming of the ‘World Revolution’ to secure these ends. This brought him into increasing conflict with Trotsky, who also objected to individuals having private rights or property in a Communist state. However, by 1927 Stalin was sufficiently strong to drive Trotsky and his followers into exile. He then introduced his Five-Year Plan, a grandiose scheme to speed up the development of the Union’s industries, education and agriculture. In agriculture, the number of state farms was increased; they were intended to be model institutions for the education of the peasantry into improving farming methods. The smallholders, the poorer peasants were encouraged to combine their tiny plots of land and farm the land collectively. The rich peasants, the kulaks, objected to the collective farms, and in 1929 Stalin determined to destroy them. They were deported to poorer districts or sent to labour camps. The resultant chaos and the continuing confiscation of harvests led to widespread famine, especially in Ukraine, where mass starvation led to the period 1932-33 becoming known as the Holodomor (see appendix two below).

Polish leaders realised that the war had given them an opportunity to finally gain their freedom, though at first, they did not anticipate complete independence and struggled only for self-government. Though the mass of Poles fought in the armies of Russia, an influential group supported Austria, led by Józef Pilsudski, who became the Polish Chief of State (1918–1922) and First Marshal of Poland (from 1920). In 1916, Russian Poland was overrun by the armies of the Central Powers; the Germans occupied Warsaw and granted a measure of independence that did not come up to the expectations of the Poles. In 1917 the Revolutionary Government in St Petersburg endeavoured to obtain Polish support against Germany by a more generous offer of self-government, but an independent state was proclaimed in Warsaw and Galicia soon after the collapse of the Central Powers on both fronts. The new state was represented at the Paris Peace Conference, where its independence was recognised internationally. The western frontier was agreed upon, with the provinces of Posen, West Prussia and Galicia included in the new Poland, as shown on the right-hand map below. The eastern frontier was settled provisionally.

In the aftermath of the First World War, Germans in Austria were forbidden to unite with Germany under article eighty of the Treaty of Versailles, despite being entirely German in language and culture. This was confirmed in the Treaty of St. Germain, by which Austrians in the Tyrol, Galicia and Bohemia were also left under alien rule. Control of Galicia, a wealthy area across the Carpathians, passed to Poland. The most dramatic effects of the Paris settlement were the resurrection of Poland as an independent state more than six score years after its partition. Its soil was fertile and productive, with coal, iron, zinc, salt and petroleum resources also contained beneath its earth. The western part of the region was inhabited by Poles, but in the eastern part, the people were Ruthenians, creating a difficult minorities problem. Attempts made by these people to unite with their fellows in sub-Carpathian Ukraine, newly independent of Russia, were frustrated by the Polish Government, and an insurrection in 1919 was ruthlessly crushed by Pilsudski. In April 1920, during the Polish-Russian War, he invaded and overran Ukraine, occupying Kyiv. When the Russians began a counter-offensive that brought the Soviet armies to the outskirts of Warsaw, the very existence of Poland was once again threatened. With the aid of the French, the Soviet army was driven back, and a further treaty was signed at Riga in October by which Poland secured more favourable eastern borders including lands in western Ukraine, ceded by the USSR. But the still indefinite eastern frontier with the USSR and the desire of the Ruthenian minorities in Eastern Galicia to join with Soviet Ukraine. The fear of Bolshevism and the general poverty and lack of infrastructure in the country proved too much for the inexperienced democratic Government. After 1926, the country was ruled by Pilsudski as a military dictator.

Central-Eastern Europe in 1925

Two new states had also been created at the Paris Conference: Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. Of equal importance, the Paris Peace Settlement left every post-war state in central Europe with internal problems and potential border disputes. It proved easier to break up the multi-ethnic empires than to replace them with ethnically homogeneous states. Poland and Czechoslovakia both had large German minorities after 1919, as well as disgruntled Slav minorities. Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia also had substantial Hungarian minorities, as did Ukraine (in its western sub-Carpathian region) and Romania (in Transylvania). Hungarian resentment at the loss of over two-thirds of its pre-war land and at the fate of more than one-third of the Hungarian-speaking population was to simmer throughout the inter-war period.

Territorial changes affecting Hungary (the beneficiary), Yugoslavia, Slovakia, Romania and Ukraine (Soviet Russia), 1938-41. The towns that were taken over as a result of the liquidation of Chechoslovakia, now in Ukraine, are Uzhorod (Ungvár) and Mukacheve (Munkaos), in the dark grey at the top.

For the first five years of his rule, the Nazi dictator confined himself to chipping away at the restrictions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles. He refused, for example, to resume the reparations payments imposed at Versailles, while in 1933 he took Germany out of the League of Nations. More seriously, in March 1935 Hitler reintroduced conscription and an airforce, both forbidden in 1919. In March 1938, Hitler’s pan-German ambitions became more apparent when in direct contravention of the Versailles Treaty, he engineered the unification (Anschluss) of his native Austria with Germany. By the following March, with the tacit blessing of Britain and France, who were anxious at all costs to avoid war, Hitler had also occupied the rest of the Czech lands, using at first the excuse that the country’s three-and-a-half-million German speakers had been persecuted by the Czechoslovakian government.

The Nazi-Soviet Pact & Partition of Poland, 1939-41:

Meanwhile, the poverty of the Polish people under Pilsudski’s dictatorship had remained acute. Pre-war emigration to the USA had practically stopped and there was much unrest among the national minorities in the mid-thirties. More than eight per cent of the population was Jewish, living mainly in the towns and seen as ‘a race apart’ by many of their new compatriots. They lived under almost unbelievable conditions of squalor and poverty and, given subsequent events, it is easy to forget that anti-Semitic agitation, as in Germany, was growing, providing the Polish Government with one of its major problems. But Poland as a whole presented a major obstacle to Hitler’s policy of Lebensraum.

… Poland’s isolation On 23 August, the German-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact was signed. Its secret clauses divided Poland between the two states along an agreed frontier in central Poland. This diplomatic coup convinced Hitler that the west would not intervene and on 1 September Germany invaded. But Ribbentrop continued to be concerned about the threat posed to any ‘necessary’ German incursions into eastern Poland, the region that adjoined the Soviet Union and that it had just been agreed was within the Soviet sphere of influence. He cabled Schulenberg, the German ambassador in Moscow, on 3 September:

We should naturally, however, for military reasons, have to continue to take action against such Polish military forces as are at that time located in the Polish territory belonging to the Russian sphere of influence. Please discuss this at once with Molotov and see if the Soviet Union does not consider it desirable for Russian forces to move at the proper time against Polish forces in the Russian sphere of influence and, for their part, to occupy this territory. In our estimation this would not only be a relief for us, but also, in the sense of the Moscow agreements, be in the Soviet interest as well.

But the Western Allies had just declared war on Germany because they had agreed by treaty to protect Poland against aggression. If the Red Army moved into eastern Poland, would they now decide to fight the Soviet Union as well? The Soviet leaders were concerned that a pact that, from their point of view, was designed to keep them out of the European war might now drag them into it. But there remained strong arguments in favour of military action. The Soviets recognised the material benefits to be gained from annexing a large chunk of the neighbouring country with which they had historical scores to settle. Stalin was still bitter about the war the Bolsheviks had fought with the Poles after the Revolution and the Treaty of Versailles before the USSR had come into being. The Curzon Line, the proposed border at that time between Poland and its neighbours, was used to agree on the spheres of influence in the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact. Moreover, ethnic Poles were not in a majority in these eastern territories. Around forty per cent of the population were of Polish origin, thirty-four per cent were Ukrainian and nine per cent were Belorussian. This, the Soviet propagandists realised, allowed any incursion to be couched as an act of ‘liberation’, freeing the ‘local’ population from ethnic Polish domination. A combination of all these factors meant that on 9 September, Molotov finally replied to Ribbentrop’s cable of the 3rd, to say that the Red Army was about to move into the agreed Soviet ‘sphere’ in Poland. At a meeting in Moscow the following day with the German ambassador, Molotov told Schulenburg that the pretext for the invasion would be that the Soviet Union was helping Ukrainians and Belarussians. This argument, he said, …

… was to make the intervention of the Soviet Union plausible and at the same time avoid giving… it the appearance of an aggressor. 

The Nazi invasion was augmented by the Soviet invasion of eastern Poland in mid-September. The Soviet Union had so far made no more to invade from the east. With only three Polish divisions covering the eight-hundred-mile-long eastern border, it came as a complete surprise when at dawn on 17 September they did so, in accordance with the secret clauses of the Nazi-Soviet Pact that had been agreed on 24 August. The Soviet leaders wanted revenge for their defeats at Poland’s hands in 1920, access to the Baltic States and a buffer zone against Germany, and they opportunistically grabbed all three, without meeting any significant resistance. Soviet forces crossed Poland’s eastern borders from Belorus and Ukraine, meeting only light resistance, led by Marshal Kovalov in the north on the Belarusian front and Marshal Timoshenko in the south on the Ukrainian front. In a radio broadcast the same day, Molotov justified the Soviet action by the ‘plausible’ argument he had outlined to Schulenberg. Caught between the two great powers, Polish fighting power evaporated. Warsaw surrendered on 27 September and by the 29th, Germany and the Soviet Union had partitioned Poland between them. The following day all Polish resistance ceased. The Red Army was initially welcomed in many places, especially those with non-Polish majority populations. There was confusion in these places as to whether this was an actual invasion at all. Perhaps, some thought, the Soviet troops had really come to ‘help’. Maybe they would just motor through the flat countryside of eastern Poland and confront the German Nazis, who had already captured most of the west of the country. The photograph below reveals that there was little panic on the streets.

The total losses of the Red Army in Poland amounted to 734 killed. Stalin continued to use Polish ‘colonialism’ in the Ukraine and Belorussia as his casus belli, arguing that the Red Army had invaded Poland in order to restore peace and order. The Poles were thus doubly martyred, smashed between the Nazi hammer and the Soviet anvil, and were not to regain their independence and self-government until November 1989, half a century later. By mid-September, the Germans had already moved into several areas behind Warsaw and had indeed taken Brest-Litovsk and Lviv, but some fighting had broken out between Cossacks and Germans, with two of the former killed in one incident and fifteen Germans in another. The campaign cost 8,082 German lives with 27,278 wounded and the loss of 285 aircraft, whereas seventy thousand Polish soldiers and twenty-five thousand civilians had been killed, with 130,000 soldiers wounded. The chief of staff of the XLVIII Panzer Corps on the Eastern Front, Friedrich von Mellenthin, who served at the Battle of Kursk, the Battle of Kyiv, and the spring 1944 retreat through western Ukraine, concluded that:

The operations were of considerable value in “blooding” our troops and teaching them the difference between real war with live ammunition and peacetime manoeuvres.

Friedrich von Mellenthin

In his memoirs, Panzer Battles, published in 1956, Mellenthin, the Wehrmacht’s adversaries on the Eastern Front are consistently depicted in derogatory and racial terms, including in a section dedicated to the “Psychology of the Russian Soldier”. According to Mellenthin, a “Russian soldier” was a “primitive being”, characterised by “mental sluggishness” and lacking a “religious or moral balance”. He described them as “primitive Asiatics”. We don’t know whether this was the view that he held of them before Operation Barbarossa, however, when they were his allies in Poland.

It was not long before the whole of western Poland came under German control. On 28 September, Soviet and German representatives met to draw up a demarcation line which gave Warsaw to the Germans and the Baltic states as a sphere of interest to the USSR. Almost at once, the German authorities began to break Poland up. Silesia and the Corridor became parts of the Reich, and a central Polish area called the General Government was placed under a Nazi administrator, Hans Frank. Thousands of Polish intellectuals were rounded up and murdered. Peasants were removed from their villages in parts of western Poland and replaced by German settlers. Hitler had been right to calculate that Britain and France would give Poland little help, but he was wrong about localising the conflict. Although Britain and France had declared war on 3 September, there were only isolated raids by Allied scouting parties and aircraft.

In eastern Poland, casual abuse of the class enemies of the Communist system turned into a widespread and systematic arrest. On 27 September, just ten days after Red Army troops had crossed into Poland – the Soviets came for Boguslava Gryniv’s father. He was a prominent lawyer and head of the regional branch of the Ukrainian National Democratic Party (UNDO), a legally constituted organisation. When there was a knock at their door the Gryniv family were surprised to see a member of the local Soviet authority, as it was a church holiday and they were about to celebrate with a family meal. But they took his father away anyway, leaving the family to pray for him not to be punished and to be returned to them. He was one of the first of many to suffer at the hands of the Soviets in eastern Poland. Altogether, between September 1939 and June 1941, around 110,000 people were arrested during the reign of terror facilitated by the occupation of eastern Poland. Aristocrats, intellectuals, trade unionists, churchmen, politicians, veterans of the 1920-21  Russo-Polish War, anyone who might form the nucleus of new national leadership, were arrested by the NKVD and sent to concentration camps from which virtually none emerged.

The Nazi Conquests in the East to 1940

As in the case of Boguslava Gryniv’s father, individual arrests of members of the intelligentsia and others thought of as a threat to the new régime began from the moment the Red Army arrived in mid-September. Gryniv was sent to the local jail immediately upon arrest, a small cell that usually held drunks and petty criminals. All the most important people who had remained in the town were in this prison. They thought it was simply a ‘misunderstanding’. However, about three weeks later he was taken to Chertkov, where he discovered that all he was accused of was membership of UNDA, a legal organisation before the invasion which was by no means anti-Bolshevik. However, in reality, he was seen as a dangerous member of the previous ‘ruling class’. He disappeared from the prison towards the end of 1939 and fifty years later his family finally learnt that he had been murdered by the NKVD in the spring of 1940. By July of that year, when Hitler held victory celebrations in Berlin, Germany and the ‘Axis’ powers were masters, directly or indirectly, of the whole of Western and Central Europe, as well as much of Eastern Europe. The Soviet Union had made use of Hitler’s western offensive in order to occupy Finland and the Baltic states. But the difficulties experienced by the Soviet armies in obtaining these objectives suggested that it posed no threat to Germany. Hitler’s rhetoric about Lebensraum for German colonisation seemed about to become reality.

Operation Barbarossa & ‘Operation Blue’, 1941-42:

In June 1941 Hitler launched his greatest military gamble, the invasion of the Soviet Union. German forces proved unstoppable until they reached Moscow in December. On 22 June 1941, German forces, together with the allied armies of Hungary, Romania and Finland, threw three million men, three thousand tanks and 2,700 aircraft across a two-thousand-mile frontier with the Soviet Union. Geographically and numerically it was the largest military operation ever launched. The decision to attack the USSR was finally made in December 1940 when ‘case Barbarossa’ was laid down in Führer Directive number twenty-one. But Hitler had seriously explored the idea since the summer. The alleged weakness of the Soviet force after the Stalinist purges presented a tempting opportunity; while Stalin’s own ambitions in eastern Europe looked increasingly threatening. Above all, conquest in the east promised a vast area for exploitation, as it had done, briefly, in 1917-18, the ‘living space’ (Lebensraum) that Hitler wrote about in Mein Kampf. The fact that the space was already occupied by ideological and ethnic enemies of the Reich gave the operation the air of a crusade. Hitler’s crusade against communism, temporarily shelved by the Nazi-Soviet Pact, made the invasion a probable outcome, or at least a realistic prospect, however daunting.

Stalin remained impervious to all suggestions that a German attack was imminent in the summer of 1941. Local commanders made some limited preparations, but when German forces attacked almost complete surprise was achieved. Although Soviet forces had vastly more tanks and aircraft and approximately the same number of divisions, the poor quality of much of the equipment, coupled with the disorganization of the Soviet response, created ideal opportunities for the German armies to exploit.

During 1942 the main weight of the German military effort was concentrated on the Eastern Front. The Axis-allied forces attacked on three broad fronts; North, Centre and South, where Hitler insisted on an advance on economic targets in industrialised southern Ukraine and, in particular, on the oilfields of the Caucasus. Later in June, German forces launched ‘Operation Blue’, clearing Crimea and the remaining areas of southern Ukraine, before dividing the forces for attacks against Stalingrad and against the Caucusus oilfields around Maikop, Grozny and Baku. At first, Axis forces made remarkable gains. By September, the Red Army had been driven back into Stalingrad, which was expected to fall within a matter of days. By October much of Ukraine was in German hands and between two and three million Soviet prisoners had been taken in three months. Later that month, Hitler announced that victory had been achieved but his claim proved premature. By the end of November, the Germans were once more at the gates of Leningrad and Moscow. Hitler’s Germany was at the peak of its power, certainly, but this was the limit of the German advance. As the winter set in, they were forced to ‘dig in’ while fierce Soviet resistance in Stalingrad, and the extended supply lines slowed the progress of General Paulus’s Sixth Army to a crawl. Overstretched forces in the Caucusus were halted and then slowly driven back by Soviet forces whose supply position picked up as Soviet factories made good the losses of 1941.

Map 1: The Turn of the Tide, 1942-43.

In November a powerful Soviet counter-offensive cut off Stalingrad and drove the German line back as German forces faced their first real defeats of the war. The Russian counter-attack continued into December, driving the Germans back more than a hundred miles and giving Stalin time to rebuild his shattered defences. During 1943, the Wehrmacht was forced to retreat on all fronts, though they still possessed formidable military strength. On 31 January Paulus surrendered. Since November, thirty-two Axis divisions had been destroyed. In the summer of 1943, Hitler ordered one last attempt to break through the Soviet front. ‘Operation Citadel’ drew almost one million men and 2,700 tanks to a narrow front around the city of Kursk, on the eastern edge of Ukraine. There the military leaders planned to encircle and annihilate a Soviet force of more than one million. Soviet preparations blunted the German attack between 5-13 July and there then followed a huge Soviet counter-thrust which broke the German line and in four months drove it back to Kyiv. Although the German army fought a fierce defence, each successive Soviet surge forced a further withdrawal. In the event, The Germans were defeated by the immensity of the task they had set themselves: the enormous distances involved, the severity of the Russian winter and the seemingly limitless manpower of the Russian army.

The extent of Hitler’s Europe (East) in 1942.
The red line marks the maximum extent of Axis military control. The brown area shows the Axis administration territories.

Nevertheless, the almost total conquest of continental Europe by the Nazis by the summer of 1941 provided the circumstances for a sharp change in the direction of German race policy towards the active pursuit of genocide. Hitler and the racist radicals in the Nazi movement had no master plan for the annihilation of non-Germanic peoples in 1939, but their whole conception of the war was one of racial struggle in which the Jewish people above all were the enemy of German imperialism. When Germany found itself ruling very large Jewish populations after its conquest of the east, the régime began to explore more extreme solutions to the Jewish Question. The German ‘New Order’ was viewed from Berlin in terms of a hierarchy of races: at the apex were the Aryan (Germanic) peoples followed by the Latin and Slavic populations, and at the foot were ‘races’ – Jews, Sinti and Roma (‘gipsies’) – who were deemed to be Untermenschen (sub-human) and thereby unworthy of existence. The treatment of these ethnic groups began with a programme of ghetto-building or imprisonment, but the orders for Barbarossa deliberately encouraged the murder of Soviet Jews. In the Baltic states and Ukraine native anti-Semitism was whipped up by the Nazi occupiers and led to widespread racial violence and massacres.

There is strong evidence that in July 1941 Hitler ordered the physical extermination of the Jews (Adolf Eichmann), flushed with the prospect of victory in the USSR and the realisation that there were no longer any forces in Europe that could constrain a programme of annihilation. The systematic murder of the Jews began in late 1941 with the establishment of a series of ‘extermination’ camps in occupied Poland where victims were either gassed as soon as they arrived, or worked to death in the factories and quarries close to the camps. The occupation and exploitation of the western Soviet Union, especially Ukraine, had long been the goal of Hitler’s Lebensraum policy. Although German forces never reached their ultimate objective of a line from Archangel to Astrakhan set by their Führer as the eastern boundary of his future empire, the organisation and exploitation of the occupied territories was commenced. A fluid area behind the front line was under military administration, but two Reichskommisariats were established, Ostland administered the territories of the former Baltic states plus Belorussia, while Reichskommisariat Ukraine administered the bulk of Ukraine (The Crimea remained under military administration and Sub-Carpathia, including southern Galicia, remained part of Axis Hungary, as shown below).

Resistance to the Reich

Extermination was placed on a ‘proper’ organisational foundation with the establishment of under the RSHA (Reichsicherheitshauplant) of a series of camps established in occupied Poland where victims were either gassed as soon as they arrived, or worked to death in factories and quarries close to the camps. The systematic murder of Jews began in late 1941, first of all with mass shootings in the occupied territories, and extended to the Sinti and Roma in 1942. In 1943 and 1944 Germany put pressure on Italy and Hungary, its Axis allies, to release their Jewish populations to the Reich. When both states were occupied, any resistance to anti-Semitism was quashed, and hundreds of thousands of Jews were deported to the camps in Poland and Germany slaughtered in 1944 and 1945 in an effort to complete what Hitler saw as his chief legacy for Europe, a ‘Jew-free’ continent. Records remain inadequate, but approximately 5.3 million Jews and at least 250,000 Sinti and Roma were killed in the camps.

Jewish deaths in extermination camps 1942-45.

In practice, the wartime situation, partisan resistance and Soviet military recovery meant that the German plans to exploit the western ‘Russian’ regions, including Ukraine, were barely begun, however. Only the policy of “mass extermination” of Jews and other groups targetted as enemies of the Reich was continued on a huge scale, even as Germany was being pushed back on all military fronts from mid-1944 onwards. Apart from inflicting enormous loss of life and massive damage to property, the German occupation of Soviet Russia itself left no traces on the ground. After the expulsion of the Germans, the Soviet forces rapidly restored the former Soviet administration, albeit in areas racked by depopulation. The summer and early autumn of 1944 were a time of conflict between the Allies, not only over what seemed to be the eternal question of Poland but also over the post-war shape of Europe, and, most particularly, Soviet intentions towards the eastern European countries that they were shortly to occupy.

Towards the middle of August 1944, the Soviet general offensive began to slacken, Soviet armies outrunning their supplies since behind them lay an advance of some 350 miles. Soviet troops were on the East Prussian frontier and had bridgeheads on the Vistula and the Narew, while the Soviet command planned to wipe Army Group North off the map. The Finns had already abandoned the German-Finnish compact and late in August were suing for peace, harsh though the terms proved to be. In the event, the Romanians beat the Finns in the race to make peace. The Soviet hammer having battered three German Army Groups (North Centre and North Ukraine), it was now the turn of Army Group South Ukraine to fall under it. Even before a shot was fired, however, this Army Group faced disaster, hemmed in as it was between the Red Army was eager to fall on it and the Romanians, who were even more eager to betray it.

The Defeat of the Reich, 1944-45: Liberation, January 1944-March 1945.

On 20 August 1944, Malinovskii’s Second Ukrainian Front launched its attack, encircling five German corps in the Jassy-Kishinev operation, while Tolbukhin’s forces trapped the Romanian 3rd Army. But defeat in the field was outmatched and outpaced by political events when on 23rd August a coup in Bucharest knocked Romania out of the war with King Michael’s unconditional surrender to the Allies. Romania’s declaration of war on Germany followed in a trice and Romanian troops were ordered not to open fire on the Red Army. The Romanian defection had cataclysmic consequences for Germany with far more than the fate of an Army Group involved: the fortunes of war in the entire south-eastern theatre had changed virtually overnight. With a German army hopelessly trapped and what was left of two Romanian armies laying down their arms, the whole of southern Bessarabia, the Danube delta and the Carpathian passes lay open to the Red Army. Henceforth neither the Danube nor the Carpathians could bar the Soviet advance and ahead of the Soviet armies lay the route to the Hungarian plains, the gateway to Czechoslovakia and Austria, as well as a highway to Yugoslavia and Bulgaria.

The Era of the Cold War in Europe, 1949-1999:

The Allies had considered the question of the post-war order in Europe as early as 1943, in Tehran, in November of that year. British PM Churchill and US President Roosevelt had agreed with Stalin that, should Hitler be defeated, the Soviet Union would be allowed to treat Eastern European territories its army had conquered as belonging to a Soviet sphere of influence. But the erasure of the Nazi map of Europe involved vast movements of population. Poland became an overwhelmingly Polish society for the first time, with half a million ethnic Ukrainians being ‘returned’ to Soviet-controlled Ukraine in 1946-47, as had been agreed at Yalta, many to certain death, allegedly for ‘collaborating with the Nazis’ (for more details of deportations, refugees etc., see appendix three below).

Cold War Central-Eastern Europe in 1949.

Following the defeat of the Third Reich, the map of the European continent was radically transformed. The most striking transformation was the shrinking of Germany, with Poland the principal beneficiary, and the division of what remained of the two countries. But Poland lost vast territories on its eastern border to the Soviet Union. The Baltic states – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – together with Ukraine and Bessarabia, were all incorporated into the Soviet Union. Austria was detached from Germany and restored to independence, initially under a Soviet-sponsored government, reluctantly recognised by the western powers. It gradually moved away from Soviet influence over the following ten years, but Hungary, bordering Soviet Ukraine, was not allowed to follow suit in 1956 following Stalin’s death. The two zones of Germany followed wholly divergent paths: while denazification in the west followed the Austrian model, with the first free elections permitted to take place in January 1946, in the east the Soviets moved quickly to eradicate all pre-war political parties other than the communists, simultaneously stripping Ukraine, for example, of industrial plunder for war reparation. Much the same was true of the rest of central-eastern Europe. Indeed, by 1949 it was clear that Stalin had created what was, in effect, a massive extension to the Soviet Empire, as well as a substantial buffer zone between the Soviet Union and ‘the West’. Western-Soviet relations were plunged into a ‘deep freeze’ from which they would not emerge for decades. The ‘Cold War’ had begun and, in escaping from Nazi persecution, much of Europe had simply exchanged one form of tyranny for another.

Given all these massive challenges for the victorious powers, the post-war borders of Europe proved remarkably resilient. For forty years after 1949, there were no major changes to the European map. Yet it was mutual hostility that provided the essential stability of the period of the Cold War. Eastern Europe was dominated by the communist Soviet Union, which imposed on it a repressive and economically backward rule. Western Europe, by contrast, was broadly democratic and economically vigorous. These divisions were underlined by rival military and economic blocs: NATO, the EEC (now the EU) and EFTA in the West; the Warsaw Pact and COMECON in the East.

The Fall of the Wall & Falling Dominoes, 1989-91:

Following the fall of the ‘dominoes’ and the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, Gorbachev’s attempt to reform the Soviet system through glasnost and perestroika failed to stem the swelling tide of liberal-nationalist ‘people-power’. In the Spring of 1990, Soviet public opinion, as the street demonstrations showed, was not just impatient, but also divided; on the ‘right’, the conservative communists complained that he was going too fast, whereas on the ‘left’ reformers felt that he was not moving fast enough. The Supreme Soviet responded by voting him sweeping presidential powers. On 11th March, Lithuania formally declared its independence. Vytautas Landsbergis, a musicologist, pictured below, was elected president, the first president of a free Lithuania for fifty years. He was a straightforward enemy of the Soviet state as constituted since the forcible inclusion of the Baltic countries at the start of the Second World War. His political skills were negligible and he had little conception of the need to assuage the dignity and self-esteem of a great country facing humiliation. Most western governments believed that Lithuania could singlehandedly destroy perestroika unless it developed a clearer sense of the art of the politically possible. Landsbergis showed no sign of doing so. Gorbachev attacked the action of the Lithuanians as “illegitimate and invalid” but was reluctant to use force to reverse it. At Malta, he had agreed with Bush not to do so, and in return, the US President kept his public remarks low-key. The US administration wanted to see the Baltic republics gain their freedom, but relied for world stability on a lasting relationship with a strong USSR.

Vytautas Landsbergis, first elected President of Lithuania, 1990.

As the chaos broadened and the crisis deepened in March, Soviet paratroopers occupied party buildings in Vilnius. On 25th March, Estonian Communists voted for independence; Latvia would follow in May. Meanwhile, on 28th March, already independent Hungary held its first free elections since 1945, which passed off completely peacefully. Struggling to retain control, Gorbachev imposed economic sanctions on Lithuania. He cut off oil supplies and eighty-four per cent of the flow of natural gas by pipeline, letting through just enough to keep essential services such as hospitals, going. He also prohibited the supply of other goods. The US considered, but rejected, sanctions against Moscow, despite lobbying in Washington from US citizens originally from the Baltic States. Instead, the administration threatened to withhold the signing of a projected trade deal with the Soviets. In Moscow, government officials saw Lithuania as the place where they had to make a stand if they were not to lose bigger republics like Ukraine as well. That would be an economic and political catastrophe from which Gorbachev would not recover. In April support for the Ukrainian nationalist movement, ‘Rukh’, was strong, especially in Galicia, which had been Polish-Ukrainian in the recent past. The Foreign Editor of the BBC, John Simpson (pictured below), visiting Moscow and Kyiv in April, was told by a Ukrainian friend that…

“You don’t see a single red flag flying there now, only the blue and gold flag of our Ukraine, the blue of the sky and the gold of the corn.”

John Simpson, BBC journalist, at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, 1990.

As it happened, he was Jewish, and Ukrainians, like Lithuanians, had a powerful yet wholly unjustified reputation for anti-Semitism during the Second World War. It was claimed that the SS had recruited many of them for concentration-camp work and found them hard-working, brutal and obedient. When Simpson asked him why he, a Jew, had become a Ukrainian nationalist, he replied that in Lviv, the capital of Western Ukraine, politics was different…

… ‘Rukh’ isn’t like these other groups, ‘Pamyat’ and so on. It’s got some brains. When they found out in the elections Jews had voted almost one hundred per cent for Rukh, it changed its whole approach to us. Some of my friends and I had a meeting with the Rukh leadership. They agreed to set up Hebrew lessons, they decided to start demanding the right of emigration for the Jews. And you know what? They asked us for help in distributing their literature in Yiddish. … Oh yes, and one other thing. They came round to see us later, and said they’d heard there was a secret ‘Pamyat’ cell operating in Lviv. They offered us protection if we wanted it.

John Simpson (1990), Despatches from the Barricades, p. 299.

Clearly, the Ukrainian nationalists of the 1990s, as elsewhere in Eastern Europe, had put clear blue and gold water between them and the war-time Nazi collaborators. They had already decontaminated themselves from the stain of anti-Semitism, if they had ever really needed to, more than thirty years ago. But Simpson did comment that the thought that Jews might vote for a Ukrainian nationalist movement and that the movement might protect them from violence as a result set his young friend laughing and shaking his head again. By contrast, in Russia itself, at that time, Simpson reported that anti-Semitism was growing fast. The Jewish demand for emigration enraged people who themselves would have liked to have left Russia but did not have the international support given to the Jewish refuseniks. One Jewish ‘witness’ and victim of the ‘resultant’ abuse told him:

People in shops and in the streets say to us, “When are you going to Israel?” or “What are you waiting for?” You find swastikas drawn on posters near where you live. They shout at us and our children. The mood is getting uglier: you can feel it.

So much for the bizarre claim that a country that in 2022 has a Jew as its President is somehow historically anti-Semitic and in need of denazification. Many of those transported and murdered at Auschwitz were sub-Carpathian Jews, some of them ethnic Hungarians, but others ethnic Ukrainians, as well as Poles. In the early 1990s, once the travel restrictions began to be lifted in Russia, hundreds of thousands of (mainly ‘Ashkenazy’) Russian Jews poured through central European airports en route to Israel. Few of them were firm Zionists and some were actually anti-Zionists. All of them were leaving behind a country, Russia (not Ukraine), in which anti-Semitism was on the rise again. They feared further ‘pogroms’, like those that Theodor Hertzl and his family had endured a century earlier, under the Tsarist régime, before escaping to Budapest.

West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl, second from right, with Mikhail Gorbachev in Moscow, summer 1990. Kohl pledged to curb German military strength and offered substantial financial aid. Eventually, Gorbachev agreed that Germany could be reunited, within NATO.

In the early summer of 1990, the conditions to be attached to German reunification were hammered out. The Soviet Union failed to secure a transitional period in which the military forces in East Germany (DDR) retained “associated membership” in the Warsaw Pact, obvious nonsense, or an agreement on a hard-line plan whereby for three to five years the other powers would oversee Germany’s conduct. In London in early July, a NATO summit made a declaration of non-aggression with the Warsaw Pact nations. That helped the cause of German reunification, and Germany, meanwhile, helped itself by finally confirming its borders with Poland, promising to limit the future size of a German army, agreeing not to station nuclear weapons in East Germany and offering to pay the costs of removing half a million Soviet troops from the former DDR and resettling them in Russia. Kohl and Genscher went to Moscow together, and at a press conference on 16 July, Gorbachev declared, …

“ … whether we like it or not, the time will come when a united Germany will be in NATO if that is its choice. Then, if that is its choice, to some degree and in some form, Germany can work together with the Soviet Union.”

Left: January 1990. Right: December 1991, out of a job, Mikhail Gorbachev was hailed worldwide for his role in ending the Cold War, was ultimately rejected by his native Russia. Former US State Department analyst gave his verdict on the man, saying that while Gorbachev may not have been the main factor: “… what happened would not have happened without him. That cannot be said of anyone else.”

Gorbachev’s extraordinary statement was, as Chancellor Kohl put it, a breakthrough, a fantastic result. A fortnight earlier, at the Twenty-eighth Party Congress, Gorbachev had been ferociously attacked by party hard-liners for letting the Baltics go, weakening the Warsaw Pact, and undermining the ideological foundations of the Soviet Union and its ruling Communist Party. He was, nevertheless, re-elected its general secretary, and continued to commit the Soviet Union to uproot the cornerstone of its security policy since the end of the Second World War. On 3 October, East and West Germany (FRG/FDR) were joined; Germany was reunited.  The crowds and flags in the pictures on the right and below show that this was a popular political reunification, at first, within the European Union. The security and economic issues would be addressed later.

The Brandenburg Gate, 3rd October 1990.

Some historians say the Cold War ended when the Berlin Wall came down in October 1989: others say it was when the Soviet Union publicly reconciled itself to seeing a reunited Germany, whose invasion and defeat in 1941-45  had cost the Union more than twenty million dead, in a military alliance with the West. Since Germany had always been at the epicentre of the Cold War in Europe, Gorbachev’s statement in Moscow on 16 July has a strong claim to be considered the decisive moment of the Cold War’s ending. But if the contest was over, the contestants had not yet left the ring. There was still a great deal of unfinished business, both in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Just as the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 had marked the beginning of what has become known by historians as the ‘Second Cold War’, so also the summer of 1990 marked the beginning of two conflicts that still remained unresolved more than a decade later, one in the Persian Gulf and the other in what, then, was still part of the USSR, in Ukraine. The Soviet Union was still in being, though beset with problems, two of which were desperately difficult for Gorbachev to deal with. He was trying, as fast as he could, to reform both an economy that was rapidly collapsing and a system of government in which corruption had become a way of life.

He was trying to hold the Soviet Union together when every single member state sought independence or would do so very soon. On the same day that Gorbachev made his momentous statement in Moscow, 16 July, Ukraine declared its sovereignty, followed by Armenia, Turkmenistan and Tadzhikistan in August, and Kazakhstan and Kirghizia in October. In the same month, both Russia and Ukraine declared their state laws to be superior to those of the Union. In November, however, the Supreme Soviet declared this position invalid. Gorbachev proposed the setting up of a new central government that would have representatives in it of each of the fifteen republics. Boris Yeltsin, as leader of the Russian Republic, made clear that he did not want to see power concentrated at the centre, in Gorbachev’s hands. By the end of November, Gorbachev had shifted his position again, proposing a ‘new Union Treaty: a Union of Sovereign Soviet Republics’ with loosened ties between each republic and the central Soviet government. Meanwhile, the Supreme Soviet had been making fundamental reforms: on 1 October it passed a law guaranteeing freedom of worship and on 9 October legislation to bring in a multiparty system. They demonstrated that such huge constitutional issues could be settled by voting and diplomacy. The Media too were freed from state control.

Above: Ukrainians protest at continued Soviet domination. Ukraine was the first of several Soviet republics to declare its independence from the USSR and its sovereignty on 16 July 1990.

But the economy was a far more challenging task for Gorbachev to face: Just the prospect of radical economic restructuring threatened social chaos and caused immediate fear and distrust. To go from a command economy, where everyone did as they were told by the centre, to one that operated without central planning and control, leaving prices to market forces, was to travel a pathless route into unknown territory. Not many wanted to go that way, and the few who did had no route map by which to arrive at a clear destination. On 20 July a “five hundred day” economic programme to move the USSR towards a market economy was published. It proposed the sale of large numbers of state enterprises, the dissolution of state collective farms, currency reform and a new banking system. But Gorbachev’s nerve failed him, and the reforms were not introduced. Uncertainty was only making matters worse, and the Bush administration steadfastly refused to provide aid to fund the programme upfront, saying that it would only give it as a reward for implementing reform, not as an inducement. Moreover, concerned that Gorbachev might be deposed, the US continued to maintain a state of full military preparedness.

Towards the end of November (19-21), NATO and Warsaw Pact leaders met in Paris to sign a historic treaty setting reduced levels of conventional forces in the whole of Europe (CFE) from the Atlantic to the Urals. Disarmament was no longer simply about the ‘superpowers’ controlling the numbers of nuclear warheads. Negotiations had become multi-lateral and multi-faceted. It was against this background that, in Paris, the sixteen member-states of NATO and the six member-states of the Warsaw Pact countries published a Joint Declaration of non-aggression in which they stated that they no longer considered themselves enemies. As the Cold War ended with the former ‘satellite’ states freely placing themselves under the NATO umbrella, the conflict in the Middle East was about to go up in flames, quite literally. Together with the break-up of the Russian sphere of influence and the Balkan wars, this was to dominate the next generation of international relations.

Gorbachev’s Georgian Foreign Minister and ultimate ‘scapegoat’.

As 1990 ended, Gorbachev, under persistent conservative criticism, made a ‘sharp right turn’. The USSR’s Supreme Soviet, unable to agree on an economic programme, had granted Gorbachev special powers to rule by decree during the transition to a market economy. Firing his moderate interior minister and replacing him with the hardline former KGB chief, Boris Pugo, Gorbachev sent a clear reactionary signal on 17 December, saying that The country needed a firm executive rule to overcome the threat posed by the dark forces of nationalism.

By the end of the year, Shevardnadze had personally paid the price for the USSR’s concessions in Eastern Europe and on Germany, and support for the United States in the Persian Gulf.

He had been offered up as a scapegoat by Gorbachev to the conservatives. Knowing that he was about to be kicked upstairs as vice president, he resigned his post of Foreign Minister, warning that a hardline dictatorship was at hand, and returned to his native Georgia. Shevardnadze had played a key role in advancing ‘perestroika’ and ‘glasnost’ alongside Gorbachev. On 26 December 1990, the Congress of People’s Deputies approved new executive powers for the president. In Moscow, the following February, Gorbachev fought on. He held a referendum and won approval for his new Union Treaty; the Soviet Union was to be preserved as a renewed federation of equal sovereign republics in which human rights and the freedoms of all nationalities would be guaranteed. Several republics boycotted the vote, and Yeltsin made it clear that he sided with the boycotters. In March, a coal miners’ strike began in the Donbas, in Ukraine, and mass demonstrations took place in Moscow, for Yeltsin and against Gorbachev, despite a ban and the presence of fifty thousand police and soldiers. The marches went off peacefully, but the ban and the massing of armed forces caused much offence. Gorbachev’s rightward turn had cost him respect among the reformers. The following month Georgia declared its independence from the USSR. Correcting his course, the Soviet president held talks with leaders of nine republics to formulate a political and economic reform package and a modified relationship between the capital and the republics. The leaders reached a new agreement on a treaty, called ‘Ninety-plus-One’. On 12th June, Boris Yeltsin was elected to the newly created post of president of Russia, in a landslide. Yeltsin received fifty-seven per cent of eighty million votes. He was the first democratically elected leader in Russian history.

Central-Eastern Europe, 1991-2001

The Failed Coup & the End of the Cold War:

At the end of July, at a summit in Moscow, Bush and Gorbachev signed START 1, beginning a new sequence of strategic arms reduction agreements. George Bush had undertaken to visit Ukraine, and went on to Kyiv after Moscow. The Ukrainians were hoping for US support in their move to independence from Moscow, but Bush perceived just how perilous Gorbachev’s position was and did not want to make it worse. Speaking publicly in Kyiv, he denounced the grim consequences of “suicidal nationalism.” Croatia, having left the Yugoslav Federation, and Slovenia, were already at war, so it’s unlikely that he was speaking about the Ukrainians, but they were disappointed by these remarks. The speech went down badly in the USA as well; where Bush’s critics dubbed it his “Chicken Kyiv” speech. In August, Gorbachev went on holiday to his villa at Foros on the Black Sea. Early in the morning of 19 August, as his holiday was coming to an end, radio and television started broadcasting an announcement in Moscow from the State Committee for the State of Emergency: President Gorbachev was ill and unable to perform his duties; Vice-President Yanayev had assumed the powers of the presidency; an emergency had been declared. It was, of course, as we now know, a coup but for the ordinary citizens of Moscow, Kyiv and Leningrad at the time, matters were very unclear. Where was Gorbachev? Perhaps he really was ill?

What had actually happened was that on Sunday 18 August, a delegation from Moscow hat arrived at the seaside villa to see Gorbachev. Before they entered, the president tried to telephone out, but the line had been cut. As Navy vessels manoeuvred near the shore, the five conspirators pushed their way in: They told Gorbachev that he should approve the declaration of a national state of emergency and sign it, or resign and hand over power to Yanayev. Gorbachev flatly refused. They left, putting Gorbachev under arrest, cut off from communication with the outside world.

The plotters in Moscow included several members of the government, among them Prime Minister Pavlov; KGB Chairman Vladimir Kryuchkov; Interior Minister Pugo; and Minister of Defence Marshal Dmitry Yazov (pictured above, right). Most of them had been urging Gorbachev for months to impose emergency rule and had now decided to do it themselves, hoping he would go along with it. He had underestimated their strength, but they had also underestimated his determination to resist. His refusal to give in was brave, but in Moscow, the real struggle was just beginning. In every Moscow ministry and in the republics, every civil servant had to make up their mind about what to do. Most watched to see how things would turn out, but enough of them, in government, the army and the KGB refused to obey orders from the ‘Emergency Committee’ to ensure that the coup went off half-cock. Gorbachev’s insistence on a transition to democracy was paying off. Resistance was led by the White House, the seat of the Russian Parliament, by Boris Yeltsin. He denounced the coup and those behind it, rallying support for the legitimate government and a liberal-democratic future rather than a return to totalitarian tyranny. He called for a general strike.

Above left: Tanks in the streets; attempted coup in Moscow. But the army was halfhearted in obeying the Emergency Committee’s orders. The plotters failed to seize power outright. Above right: Crowds surround the Russian Parliament building, some with Ukrainian flags, where Boris Yeltsin leads the resistance against the unconstitutional coup.

Those who agreed with Yeltsin, and had the courage to say so, went to the White House, ringed by troops and tanks, to declare their support. Shevardnadze was one of the first. At eight in the morning, eastern US time, President Bush met the press. He praised Gorbachev as “a historic figure,” hedged on Yanayev, but stopped short of outright denunciation when he called the seizure of power, “extra-constitutional.” He insisted that he would not seek to “overexcite the American people or the world. … We will conduct our diplomacy in a prudent fashion, not driven by excess.” This reaction was not much more than ‘wait and see.’

At Foros, meanwhile, the Gorbachevs, on a transistor radio their captors did not know they had, had learned what was happening in Moscow from the BBC World Service. Raisa Gorbachev, in her diary, expressed indignation at the news on state television. Gorbachev sent a message to Yaneyev: Cancel what you have done and convene either the Congress of People’s Deputies or the USSR Supreme Soviet. The first blood was spilt on the night of 20 August, when three young men were killed by armoured personnel carriers moving towards the White House in support of the coup. Had the ‘Emergency Committee’ been more resolute, many more lives would certainly have been lost. But they were hesitant, unsure of themselves, and of their support. The coup had failed. A delegation of the plotters reached Foros at 5.00 p.m the next day and asked to see Gorbachev. It included Kryuchkov and Yazov, but Gorbachev refused to see them until communications had been restored. When they were, Gorbachev rang Yeltsin, and shortly afterwards a Russian delegation arrived to bring the Gorbachev family back to Moscow. The conspirators resigned or committed suicide.

22 and 23 August 1991: Exiting the plane that Yeltsin sent for him, Gorbachev returns to a changed Moscow. Yeltsin was now in charge, and the next day, in the Russian parliament, he forced Gorbachev to read out documents implicating his own Communist colleagues in the coup against him.

All that remained was to establish the precise relationship between the Soviet Union and the individual republics. On the 20th and 21st of August, Estonia and Latvia declared independence, and Lithuania reaffirmed its declaration of 1990. The republics of Ukraine, Belarus, Moldavia, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, Kirghizia, Tadzhikistan and Armenia followed soon after. On 2 September, President Bush announced that the United States recognised the independence of the Baltic states. The Soviet State Council did so four days later and, on the same day, Georgia broke all ties with the Soviet Union. The republics voted to reject Gorbachev’s Union Treaty, favouring instead a confederation. On 30 November, Yeltsin’s Russia, as the leading power in the new association, took control of the Soviet Foreign Ministry and all its embassies abroad. On 8 December, in Minsk, Yeltsin for Russia, Leonid Kravchuk for Ukraine, and Stanislav Shushkevich for Belarus, the three Slav states, without bothering to take the other republics with them, signed a pact ending the USSR and creating the CIS, the Commonwealth of Independent States. They first informed George Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev what they had done, humiliating the Soviet president, who the next day denied their right to have done it; but the Russian Parliament ratified and therefore legitimised the pact, and within days all but one of the other remaining republics joined.

US Secretary of State under George Bush

With James Baker, Bush’s Secretary of State, in Moscow a week later, the four republics possessing nuclear weapons – Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and Kazakhstan – announced that they would abide by and implement the cuts in arms agreed by Bush and Gorbachev, and the three other states agreed to transfer their nuclear weapons to Russia, signalling that they no longer posed a nuclear threat to either the West or Moscow. On 25th December 1991, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was brought to an official end when the red flag with hammer and sickle was lowered over the Kremlin for the last time. Mikhail Gorbachev ‘resigned’, commenting a few days later:

I do not regard the end of the Cold War as a victory for one side. … The end of the Cold War is our common victory.

But, for his part, in his ‘State of the Union’ address for 1992, an election year, President Bush chose to claim triumphantly that the United States had “won the Cold War”. Others have continued to claim the same for the past thirty years.

In the wake of the collapse of communist rule in the USSR and the sudden disintegration of the Soviet Union, no fewer than twenty-two new countries, among them the fifteen former republics of the USSR, came into being. Thus the three Baltic states, Ukraine Belarus, Moldova, Georgia, Azerbaijan and Armenia gained independence that none of them had known since before the Second World War. These new states were not destined to remain in peace. Break-away movements emerged, threatening to inflict on the region a fatal combination of old hatreds and new destructive power. Transnistria declared independence from Moldova, Chechnya declared independence from Russia and Crimea sought to break away from Ukraine. Added to these divisions, civil war followed in Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan went to war over Nagorno-Karabakh, and from 1991 Yugoslavia simply imploded under pressure from long-suppressed inter-ethnic rivalries. A series of wars continued for a decade, forcing NATO to intervene to prevent genocide against the majority Albanian population of Kosovo. More peacefully, the general election of June 1992 led to Czechoslovakia breaking into two, the Czech Republic and Slovakia. By 1993, the euphoria following the events of 1989 had evaporated. Large parts of Eastern Europe were beset by instability, poverty, ethnic tensions and even outright war. It was, therefore, no surprise that the central European states looked to the west and the European Union. By 2001, most of the new democracies had applied to join both NATO and the EU. The ebb and flow of people across borders, and the changing nature of those borders, a process that Europe thought it had left behind in 1945, was returning with a vengeance.


Modern British-Ukrainian Connections – Three Case Studies:

Appendix One:
Hughesovka – A Case Study of the ‘Welsh’ city in Eastern Ukraine:

Since April 2014 Donetsk and its surrounding areas have been one of the major sites of fighting in the ongoing Donbas War, as pro-Russian separatist forces battle against Ukrainian military forces for control of the city and surrounding areas. Throughout the war, the city of Donetsk has been administered by the separatist forces as the centre of the Donetsk People’s Republic (DPR), with outlying territories of the Donetsk region divided between the two sides. Donetsk International Airport became the epicentre of the war with almost a year-long battle leading to massive casualties among civilians and total ruination of the northwestern neighbourhoods of the city.

Donetsk, formerly known as Aleksandrovka, Yuzivka, Yuzovka (Hughesovka), Stalino is an industrial city in eastern Ukraine located on the Kalmius River in the disputed area of Donetsk Oblast. While internationally recognized as being in Ukraine, the city is under the de facto administration of the Donetsk People’s Republic, which claims it as its capital city. The population was estimated at 905,364 (2021 est.) in the city core, with over 2 million in the metropolitan area (2011). According to the 2001 Ukrainian Census, Donetsk was the fifth-largest city in Ukraine. Administratively, Donetsk has been the centre of Donetsk Oblast, while historically, it is the unofficial capital and largest city of the larger economic and cultural Donets Basin (Donbas) region. Donetsk is adjacent to another major city, Makiivka, and along with other surrounding cities forms a major urban sprawl and conurbation in the region. Donetsk has been a major economic, industrial and scientific centre of Ukraine with a high concentration of heavy industries and a skilled workforce. The density of heavy industries (predominantly steel production, chemical industry, and coal mining) determined the city’s challenging ecological situation. 

John James Hughes
Born 1814
Merthyr Tydfil, Glamorgan, Wales
Died 17 June 1889 (aged 74–75)
Saint Petersburg, Russian Empire
Buried: West Norwood Cemetery, London
Known as the Founder of the city of Donetsk
Engineer, businessman

The original settlement in the south of the European part of the Russian Empire was first mentioned as Aleksandrovka in 1779, during the reign of Empress Catherine the Great. In 1869 the Welsh businessman John Hughes founded a steel plant and several coal mines in the region, and the town was named Hughesovka or Yuzovka (Юзовка) in recognition of his role (“Yuz” being a Russian-language approximation of Hughes). Hughes was born in Merthyr Tydfil, Wales, where his father was head engineer at the Cyfarthfa Ironworks. It was there that Hughes started his career, under his father’s supervision. He then moved to Ebbw Vale, before joining the Uskside Foundry in Newport, Monmouthshire, in the 1840s. It was here that Hughes made his reputation and fortune, patenting a number of inventions in armaments and armour plating.

In the mid-1850s, Hughes moved to London to become manager of C.J. Mare and Company’s forges and rolling mills, which was then taken over by the Millwall Iron Works & Shipbuilding Company, part of the Millwall Iron Works, Shipbuilding and Graving Docks Company. Hughes was a director of the company when it foundered, and resultantly became manager of the residual Millwall Iron Works Company. In 1868, that Company received an order from the Imperial Russian Government for the plating of a naval fortress being built at Kronstadt on the Baltic Sea.

Hughes was born in Merthyr Tydfil CREDIT: Getty

Hughes accepted a concession from the Imperial Russian Government to develop metal works in the region, and in 1869 acquired a piece of land to the north of the Azov Sea from Russian statesman Sergei Kochubey (son of Viktor Kochubey). The worker’s settlement at the plant merged with Aleksandrovka and the place was named Yuzovo, later Yuzovka (Russian: Юзово, Юзовка), after Hughes. In its early period, it received immigrants from Wales, especially from the town of Merthyr Tydfil. He formed the ‘New Russia Company Ltd.’ to raise capital, and in the summer of 1870, at the age of fifty-five, he moved to Russia. He sailed with eight ships, carrying not only all the equipment necessary to establish metal works but also much of the skilled labour; a group of about a hundred ironworkers and miners, mostly from South Wales.

Welsh workers in the ironworks at Hughesovka, John Hughes is second from the right in the front row.

By the end of the nineteenth century, the Yuzovka works were the largest in the Russian Empire, producing 74% of Russian iron in 1913. A period of relative decline in the early years of the twentieth century was followed by expansion during World War I. Many of the men who accompanied John Hughes settled in Hughesovka and brought their wives and families. Over the years, although a Russian workforce was trained by the company, skilled workers from the United Kingdom continued to be employed, and many technical, engineering and managerial positions were filled by British immigrants; who were overwhelmingly Welsh. A thriving expatriate community was established, living in good quality company housing, and provided with an English school and an Anglican church. Despite the cold winters, hot summers and occasional cholera epidemics, some families remained in Hughesovka for many years.

Henry Taylor of Blaenafon with workers at Hughesovka, the 1890s

At the beginning of the 20th century, Yuzovka had approximately 50,000 inhabitants and attained the status of a city in 1917. So, the modern Ukrainian city of Donetsk began as the ironworking town of Hughesovka, founded by John Hughes of Merthyr Tydfil. South Wales, especially the town of Merthyr, was at the forefront of the development of the iron industry in Britain and it is therefore not surprising to find Welsh people leading the industry across the world in the nineteenth century. Many Welsh workers were employed there from 1869 until they were expelled during the Russian Revolution of 1917.

Hughesovka became Stalino in 1924 CREDIT: Getty

The Bolshevik revolution of 1917 ended the Hughes family’s connection to the works. The Hughes brothers and almost all their foreign employees returned to Britain or other countries. The works were nationalised by the Bolsheviks in 1919. During Soviet times, the city’s steel industry expanded. In 1924 Yuzovka was renamed Stalin and then in 1929 Stalino, and in 1932 the city became the centre of the Donetsk region.

Ruins of the Holy Transfiguration Cathedral, Donetsk, after its destruction by Soviet authorities in 1931. Image: Wiki Commons/State Archives of Donetsk region.

In 1929, when Yuzovka became Stalino, the USSR was producing, as Russia had done in 1914, about half as much steel as the United Kingdom, which in turn was producing half as much as Germany. Yet by 1937, when Stalin’s second five-year plan was completed, the gap had been virtually closed: The USSR was turning out considerably more steel than Britain and nearly as much as Germany. This achievement is visible on the map below in terms of urban population growth.

Stalin’s new industrial centres, including Stalino as the biggest, were dotted across what had been the ’empty’ corner of the continent. Renamed Donetsk (Donetske, according to the Kharkiv orthography) in 1961, the city today remains a centre for coal mining and for the steel industry. The works survived and prospered despite régime and socio-economic change, and Donetsk remains a major metallurgical industries centre today.

The re-built Cathedral of the Transfiguration of Jesus

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Hughes_(businessman); https://www.peoplescollection.wales/collections/1850071; https://museum.wales/articles/1562/Working-Abroad—Welsh-Emigration-Iron

Appendix Two:
A 2012 article, “Wales and the forgotten famine” – The ‘Holodomor’ in Ukraine:

The cost of Stalin’s forced industrialisation in human terms was immense, and almost unimaginable to people in western Europe then, let alone today. The peasantry, who had to provide the initial resources, were plundered and left to starve. Much of the labour needed was obtained by arbitrary arrest and most of those arrested were callously worked to death. More than a million people were shot out of hand; ten times as many as those who later died in the war-time camps. To ‘save’ Russians and Ukrainians from the Nazis, Stalin murdered beat and brutalised them in a reign of terror that even Hitler had difficulty matching. Yet little was known about this outside of the Soviet Union, partly because western politicians and journalists of the time did not wish to admit to the terror. Only recently has the full scale of this become clear and widely known.

A Holodomor memorial at the Andrushivka village cemetery, Vinnytsia oblast. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The following article by Mick Antoniw, Welsh Assembly Member for Pontypridd, appeared in the Western Mail in early November 2012:

This weekend in Ukraine and in Ukrainian communities and homes across the world people will be commemorating the 79th anniversary of the “Holodomor“, the artificial famine created by Stalin which led to the deaths over an eighteen- month period during 1932-1933 of over seven million Ukrainian men women and children. The precise figures will never be known but estimates suggest between six and ten million died.

It is only in recent years, since the collapse of the Soviet Union that people in the West have become aware of this concealed and forgotten act of genocide.

As a child, brought up in a Ukrainian émigré community I became aware of the stories of the Holodomor. I grew up with some children whose families had survived and lived through these terrible events. In a hotchpotch community of the post war flotsam and jetsam of Ukraine, former soldiers from the Polish, Red and German armies, in some cases soldiers who had served in all three, ex partisans, nationalists, socialists, betrayed communists, ex-Gulag and concentration camp prisoners, former slave labourers and mere, ordinary refugees from the bombings and killings; all had their horror stories but all knew of and in some cases had experienced the Holodomor, the “death by famine”.

You might think that famine was nothing new; after all there was famine in the immediate post revolution period in Ukraine. However, this was different, a man-made famine which had as its main objectives, the forced collectivisation of land and the peasantry, and the wiping out of millions of Ukrainians and replacing them with more loyal, Russian speaking cadre, to appease Stalin’s feeling of political insecurity arising in central and South East Ukraine, the bread basket of Europe.

The famine also exposed the worst and the best in British journalism. The worst, typified by some of the left leaning journalists who visited and reported on the Soviet Union in glowing terms, feted and well looked after by the Soviet authorities they saw no famine. In fact suggestions there might be a famine on any thing like the scale suggested was immediately put down and rubbished as anti soviet or right-wing propaganda. Journalists of international acclaim such as the 1932 Pulitzer Prize winner Walter Duranty were seduced by the Soviet propaganda machine into allowing their hearts to overrule their heads and their responsibilities as journalists.

British and indeed international investigative journalism failed spectacularly. On the other side, the best of British journalism was exemplified by journalists such as Malcolm Muggeridge and in particular Welsh journalist Gareth Jones. After graduating from Cambridge in 1930, Barry born Gareth made his first visit to ‘Hughesovka’ (Donetsk) where he saw the first signs of famine. In 1933 he visited Soviet Ukraine again and defied a ban on travelling to visit the famine affected regions. During his March 1933 “off limits” walking tour of Ukraine he witnessed the famine first hand and reported:

“I walked alone through villages and twelve collective farms. Everywhere was the cry, “there is no bread, we are dying.”… In one of the peasant’s cottages in which I stayed we slept nine in the room. It was pitiful to see that two out of the three children had swollen stomachs. All there was to eat in the hut was a very dirty watery soup, with a slice or two of potato. Fear of death loomed over the cottage, for they had not enough potatoes to last until the next crop. When I shared my white bread and butter and cheese one of the peasant women said, “Now I have eaten such wonderful things I can die happy.” I set forth again further towards the south and heard the villagers say, “We are waiting for death.”

During the famine around 20-25% of the population of Soviet Ukraine was exterminated including a third of Ukraine’s children. That the famine was a direct product of Stalin’s political leadership was illustrated by the gruesome statement of leading communist MM Khatayevich who summed up the official position:

“A ruthless struggle is going on between the peasantry and our regime. It’s a struggle to the death. This year was a test of our strength and their endurance. It took a famine to show them who is master here. It has cost millions of lives, but the collective farm system is here to stay. We’ve won the war”.

Gareth Jones was vilified and ostracised for reporting honestly what he saw. He was nevertheless one of the few who stood up and maintained the highest journalistic principles. He was banned by the Soviet authorities from re-entering the Soviet Union. Two years later he was murdered in suspicious circumstances in Manchuria.

In recognition of Gareth Jones’ exposure of the famine a memorial plaque in English, Welsh and Ukrainian was unveiled in Aberystwyth in May 2006. In November 2008 I attended a ceremony in London at which his nephew was awarded the Ukrainian Order of Freedom. Wales has an unusual historic connection with Ukraine mainly arising out of its common industrial heritage. In Gareth Jones, Wales can be proud of something else; at a time when many turned a blind eye to the terrible events in Ukraine, it was a Welshman who stood up and told the world the truth.

Mick Antoniw, First posted on November 17, 2012, by AngloMagyarMedia.

The memorial plaque to Gareth Jones was unveiled in Aberystwyth in 2006.

Appendix Three: The Refugees’ Hymn – When are we going home?

The hymn How Great Thou Art owes much of its popularity to its extensive use in the Billy Graham crusades of the 1950s. But it owes its origins to a trail leading from Sweden to Britain via central-eastern Europe.

The sleeve from Stuart K Hine’s 1958 album featured a collection of hymns and tunes from eastern Europe.

The words in English are a translation of a Swedish poem, O store Gud, by Carl Boberg (1859-1940), an evangelist, journalist and for fifteen years a member of Sweden’s parliament. He was born the son of a shipyard worker on the southeast coast of Sweden. He came to faith at the age of nineteen and went to Bible School Kristinehamn. He returned to his native town of Monsteras as a preacher and it was there in 1886 that he wrote his nine-verse poem, inspired to praise God’s greatness one summer evening while looking across the calm waters of the inlet. A rainbow had formed, following a storm in the afternoon, and a church bell was tolling in the distance. Translated literally into English, the first verse of his poem reads:

O Thou great God! When I the world consider

Which Thou hast made by Thine almighty Word;

And how the web of life Thy wisdom guideth,

And all creation feedeth at Thy board:

Then doth my soul burst forth in song of praise:

O Thou great God! O Thou great God!

Stuart K Hine’s postcard from western Ukraine in the 1930s.

Boberg’s verses were set to music in 1891 and appeared in several Swedish hymnbooks around the turn of the century. An English translation was published in 1925 under the title O Mighty God, but never really caught on. Earlier, in 1912, a Russian version by Ivan Prokhanoff had appeared. This was almost certainly made from a German translation of the original Swedish hymn. The English translation was the work of British missionary and evangelist, Stuart K Hine (1899-1989), who heard it being sung in Russian in western Ukraine, where he had gone in 1923. After singing the hymn in Russian for many years, Hine translated the first three verses while continuing his missionary work in the Carpathian mountains in the 1930s. The scenery there inspired his second verse which draws little from Boberg’s original poem while remaining true to its general spirit of wonder at God’s creation:

When through the woods and forest glades I wander

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees:

When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur,

And hear the brook, and feel the gentle breeze;

Then sings my soul, my saviour God, to Thee,

How great Thou art! How great Thou art!

Stuart Hine wrote the fourth verse of his hymn when he was back in Britain in 1948. In that year more than a hundred thousand refugees from Eastern Europe streamed into the United Kingdom. The question uppermost in their minds was When are we going home?  In an essay on the history of the hymn, Hine wrote:

What better message for the homeless than that of the One who went to prepare a place for the ‘displaced’, of the God who invites into his own home those who will come to him through Christ. 

Contrasting with a third verse which is about Christ’s ‘bearing’ of our individual burdens of sin on the cross, the final verse is about our places among the multitudes on the ‘last day’, just like the mass of homeless refugees finding a temporary home in Britain:

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation

And take me home – what joy shall fill my heart!

Then shall I bow in humble adoration

And there proclaim, my God, how great Thou art! 

Seventy years ago, Stuart Hine published both the Russian and the English versions of the hymn in his gospel magazine Grace and Peace in 1949. It is perhaps worth remembering that, by then, many refugees from the Soviet Union had been ‘homeless’ for almost the entire decade. It was in 1940-41, following his ‘Winter War’ against Finland, that Stalin ordered the evacuation of Karelia with those returning forced to leave permanently. That was followed by the resettlement of two million Poles, mostly Catholic, from eastern Ukraine to northern Russia and the deportation to Siberia of Germans and other ‘unreliable’ peoples – Estonians, Latvians, Lithuanians, Tartars, Kalmuks and Caucasians to Siberia. Hundreds of thousands of ‘ethnic Ukrainians’, especially Cossacks, were also transported there. To strengthen the ‘Soviet peoples’ (presumably the Russians, Georgians, Kazaks and Ukrainians), such deportations were continued after the war.

Refugees and displaced peoples after 1945.
Thirty million million Europeans, 60% of them German, lost their homeland. Almost all ethnic and national borders coincide since that time, also in eastern-central Europe. To care for the ‘displaced persons’ (D.P.’s for labourers, refugees of international background and the deported, the UN took over the 1945 UNRRA and transformed it into the IRO in 1947, which was then attached to the UNHCR in 1951.

O Lord My God rapidly caught on in evangelical circles both in Britain and the UK, as well as in Eastern Europe, despite (or perhaps because of) the oppression of the churches by the Soviet-style communist régimes that were taking control of the states where the hymn was first heard. 


Laurence Rees (2008), World War Two: Behind Closed Doors – Stalin, The Nazis and the West. London: BBC Books.

András Bereznay, Mark Almond, et.al. (2001), The Times Atlas of European History. London: Harper Collins.

Jeremy Isaacs & Taylor Downing (1998), Cold War.  London: Transworld Publishers.

John Simpson (1998), Strange Places, Questionable People. Basingstoke: Macmillan.

Richard Overy (1996), The Penguin Atlas of the Third Reich. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.

John Simpson (1990), Despatches from the Barricades. London: Hutchinson.

Colin McEvedy (1982), The Penguin Atlas of Recent History. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.

Hermann Kinder & Werner Hilgemann (1978), The Penguin Atlas of World History, volume two: from the French Revolution to the Present. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.

Irene Richards, et.al. (1938), A Sketch-Map History of the Great War and After. London: Harrap.

George Taylor (1936), A Sketch-Map History of Europe, 1789-1914. London: Harrap.


Who are the Ukrainians? Mythology & History, Part I, 862-1796: Kyivan Rus & Cossacks; Great Powers & Empires.

Fake History & The Russian World-View:

As you know, this conflict did not start today. It is my firm belief that its initiators are not the peoples of Russia and Ukraine, who came from one Kievan baptismal font, are united by common faith, common saints and prayers, and share common historical fate.

In a 10 March letter, quoted above, H.H. Patriarch Kirill of Moscow and all Russia responded to a letter sent 2 March by World Council of Churches (WCC) acting general secretary Rev. Prof. Dr Ioan Sauca asking the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church to mediate so that the war can be stopped. His letter repeated the claims recently made in a newspaper article written by Russian President, Vladimir Putin, with whom the Patriarch is said to have a close relationship. In his letter, he did not undertake to mediate in order to stop the war but accused ‘Western leaders’ of bringing sufferings not only to the Russian political or military leaders but specifically to the Russian people. He went on to assert that Russophobia is spreading across the Western world at an unprecedented pace. He concluded:

I pray unceasingly that by His power the Lord help establish the lasting and justice-based peace as soon as possible. I ask you and our brothers in Christ, united in the Council, to share this prayer with the Russian Orthodox Church.

Dear Father Ioan, I express my hope that even in these trying times, as has been the case throughout its history, the World Council of Churches will be able to remain a platform for unbiased dialogue, free from political preferences and one-sided approach.

May the Lord preserve and save the peoples of Russia and Ukraine!

With paternal love,


In this first of two articles, I attempt to address, as an economic, social and political historian as well as a church historian, what I believe are the mistaken interpretations of Ukrainian, Russian and wider central-eastern European history which have been used by President Putin and Patriarch Kirill in justification of the Russian state’s invasion of Ukraine and its continuing war against the Ukrainian people as a whole. In doing so, I have tried to limit myself to the use of factual accounts and sources, including historical maps, while also trying to explain how Soviet-era ‘historiography’ has been used to create a ‘fake history’ and ‘mythology’ of relations between the ancestors of both Ukrainians and Russians over the past twelve hundred and sixty years since the founding of Kyiv as a trading centre the Rus, and the other peoples of central-eastern Europe. The ‘mythology’ has been powerfully linked to the ‘sanctification’ of the invasion of Ukraine through the Ruski Mir, the Russian ‘World-view’ which holds that Russians, Belorussians and Ukrainians are the same people in ethnicity, religion and culture.

Vikings, Traders & Tribes:

‘Hungarians at Kyiv’ – a painting by Pál Vágó (1853-1928). Tough many attempts, based in part on archaeological finds and in part on old accounts, were made to depict Hungarian prehistory and the Conquest at the time of the Millennium and the turn of the twentieth century, much uncertainty still attends the pre-history of the Hungarians., the period before they arrived in the Carpathian Basin. It is difficult to maintain, on the basis of archaeological evidence from the territories known today as part of the Ukraine and Russia, that these relics are unmistakably Hungarian. It is probable, however, that as a result of the extensive and multibranched archaeological research, many such finds today lie hidden in the area of the former Soviet Union, mainly in smaller regional museums, which through further scientific investigation will identify as being of ancient Hungarian origin.

Towards the end of the eighth century, while Charlemagne still ruled over his Frankish Empire, bands of hardy ‘pirates’ or ‘Vikings’ from the northern lands of Scandinavia. Driven by landlessness, poverty, and discontent, these pagan warriors sailed forth in search of trade, plunder, and adventure. In their long narrowboats, they made daring raids all around the coasts of Europe and up and down the rivers of the east as far as Kyiv on the Dnieper. Swedish adventurers, under a leader called Rurik, established a trading centre there in 862, with another one at Novgorod in among the northern ‘Rus’. However, evidence of Scandinavian activity east of the Baltic in the ninth and tenth centuries is ambiguous. A large number of coins from ‘northern Russia’ found in Scandinavia may indicate trade, plunder, tribute, or the payment of mercenaries. Islamic texts also refer to the “Rus” as traders who were settled in Kyiv as early as the mid-ninth century. Besides Kyiv and Novgorod, they also held a base at Staraya Ladoga. From their merchant kingdom, they sailed down the Dnieper and around the western coast of the Black Sea to attack the wealthy city of Constantinople (Micklegarth), which was besieged in 907. Links with Byzantium, where Northmen became members of the Imperial bodyguard led to their eventual conversion to Christianity.

It is striking how marriage alliances throughout the tenth century created links of varying strength between England, France, Burgundy, Germany, Bohemia, Russia, Bulgaria, and Byzantium, and to how international many of royal courts of Western Europe were at this time, welcoming scholars and ambassadors from many countries. Tenth-century Europe was also marked by the emergence of political entities in the northern and eastern parts of the continent. The marauders of the previous century, the Vikings in the north, the Magyars in the east, formed settled kingdoms. In the east, the Piasts extended their rule to Cracow in the south, and east and west. Rapid expansion on the part of the Kyivan Rus, notably under Igor in the 940s, enlarged the territories over which they had control at the expense of their Polish and Khazar neighbours. Later expeditions by Sviatoslav against the Khazars in 965, Volga Bulgars in 966, and the Bulgars on the lower Danube in 967 resulted in many gains, albeit temporary. Trade, too, played an important role in the growing importance of the Rus. From the coin evidence, it is clear that the Samanid rulers of Transoxania had become very rich at the end of the ninth century as a result of the discovery of silver in Afghanistan. They minted vast quantities of coinage and their merchants began to trade with the Volga Bulgars, Rus, Ves, Lapps, and Finns.

Showing States created by conquests in the core areas of the Vikings in the ninth and tenth centuries.

Significant expansion by the Kyivan Rus had much to do with their wealth, but the cultural links formed in the wake of mercantile connections were also crucial for political developments as Rus interests increasingly focused to the west and south towards the end of the tenth century. The formal conversion of Olga, the regent as Igor’s widow, and the marriage of Vladimir to the Byzantine princess Anna provided an essential connection with Byzantium, which was of great importance for Russia’s future development. The formal conversion of Vladimir and the Rus to Greek Orthodox Christianity in 987 in the wake of the marriage meant that the Kyivan Rus interests were increasingly pursued in the west and south towards the end of the tenth century. The Semanids succumbed to the Turks in 998, after which Bulgar on the Volga developed rapidly as a trading centre and the Volga Bulgars were supplied in turn by the Rus, who continued to trade actively with Constantinople and the Islamic regions.

Central-Eastern Europe in the Tenth Century.

The Emergence of Feudal States & Alliances:

Feudalism was the dominant system of political control and social organisation over much of eleventh-century Europe. The ‘state’ in the modern sense – an agreed territory with sovereign powers and clear borders, and with a precise relationship with all its citizens, simply did not exist. Instead, there was a series of individual rulers each effectively sovereign within his own lands, though each in turn nominally owing allegiance to a king or other ruler. As a consequence, the map of feudal Europe is complex. Much of it was dominated by principalities, duchies, and counties, so that even countries such as France, while united in theory, were in practice far from being so. This fragmented authority nonetheless provided the political context for a marked rise in Europe’s population, prosperity, and culture. The Church, too, Catholic and Orthodox, had an important act on the map of Europe, as many abbots and bishops were landowners on a grand scale, often with correspondingly great political powers. Even outside the lands of the former Carolingian Empire, where feudalism was at its strongest, ‘states’ were dependent on successful military-political leadership. The death of a strong leader could easily lead to political collapse. This danger was amply demonstrated in the early decades of the century by the fortunes of the Kyivan Rus and the Umayyad Caliphate of Cordova. The Kyivan Rus dissolved after the death of Vladimir I of Rus (c.978-1015), who was succeeded by sons who ruled separate principalities based on Novgorod, Polotsk, and Chernihiv.

The First ‘Russian State’ was established by the Kyivan Rus, circa 987.

Because the existence of ‘states’ often depended on the personal authority of a strong leader, large areas could be joined in a single lifetime. Thus in 1013, King Swein of Denmark conquered England, while the English king, Aethelred fled to Normandy. He returned when Swein died in 1014, but Swein’s son Cnut continued the struggle, while divisions between Saxons and Anglo-Normans handicapped the resistance. After Aethelred’s death, England was divided between Eadmund ‘Ironside’, his son, and Cnut, by the Peace of Alney in 1016. Cnut received Mercia and Northumbria, while Edmund continued to rule Wessex, including Kent. However, Edmund died the same year and Cnut became King of All England (1016-35). On the death of his elder brother, Harold, King of Denmark (1019), England became part of a Scandinavian empire, which expanded further with the conquest of Norway in the 1020s. In 1031 Cnut advanced to the Tay and received the submission of Malcolm II of Scotland. The essentially personal nature of authority was demonstrated, however, by Cnut’s empire: he did not create any administrative system to weld it together. Cnut was the king of a number of kingdoms, not a monarch seeking to enlarge one of them. After his death in 1035, his empire dissolved, but not before it had provided an important connection with the Kyivan Rus.

Archaeological finds along the banks of the Oder and Vistula reveal that the Hungarian kingdom of the House of Árpád also had direct commercial relations with the Vikings in the tenth century. The road across Russia, and especially to Kyiv, seem to have played a prominent role in these relations. St István’s coins have also been found as far north as the Faroe Islands. According to a passage in a chronicle written in French verse by Gaimar, who lived in Northumbria, the first Christian king of Hungary, István (1000 or 1001–1038) was acquainted with the Dane Valgarus even before he brought the sons of Eadmund Ironside to the Hungarian Royal Court at some point soon after Canute’s seizure of the English crown in 1016. But this is the only written record linking the Vikings and the Magyars. It was not until 1012 that St Colman decided to take the Danube road on his pilgrimage to Palestine from Ireland. He never got as far as Hungary, however, as he was killed by Austrian peasants who mistook him for a spy. But the fact that he chose the route along the Danube testifies to the new attitude of western nations towards Hungary, with pilgrims and traders now being able to approach István’s crown lands without fear. Nevertheless, for some centuries, only a few pilgrims from the British Isles made their way across the country.

King Cnut and Queen Aelgifu (Emma) receiving symbols of their power from Christ, present an altar cross to the New Minster at Winchester, from a manuscript written and decorated at Winchester in 1031. The double portrait acknowledges their importance to each other.

The first mention of Hungary in Western European sources was recorded when St István received the two young sons of Eadmund Ironside at his Court, exiles from Canute’s Court following his takeover of their father’s kingdom in 1016. As already noted, Eadmund died on 30 November 1016, shortly after reaching his agreement with Cnut, King of Denmark, deciding the boundaries of his realm. He left behind his Queen, Ealdgyth, and two small sons, Eadmund and Edward. Cnut’s advisor, Eadric, tried to persuade his king to have the two little orphans put out of the way as they might cause trouble in the future. However, since Cnut had already gained control of the whole of the kingdom, he had no desire to sully his name and new kingdom with the blood of children. Instead, he dispatched the two boys to Sweden, with the command that the boys should meet their end there. The boys were both very young, and Edward (the youngest) could only have been a few months old. But Olaf Sköttkonung, the devout Christian King of Sweden, was revolted at the idea of murdering the ‘innocents’, especially since Canute himself was unable or unwilling to undertake the atrocity. Besides, the princes’ grandfather, Aethelred the Unready, had been an old ally of his. He decided that the boys be taken for sanctuary to Hungary, to István’s court.

The painting on the left is ‘The Baptism of Vajk’ by Gyula Benczúr. Vajk became King István (Stephen), the first Christian king of Hungary.

Presumably, they were taken through Kyivan Rus in 1017-18, but the Anglo-Saxon chronicles record nothing further of them for the next forty years. It may be that the boys were removed to Kyiv in 1028, following Cnut’s deposition of King Olav. They must therefore have arrived in Hungary with Valgarus long before King István’s death in 1038 since we know from the Hungarian sources researched by the inter-war historian, Sándor Fest, that István received them cordially and educated them with deep affection. Eadmund, the elder of the two died young, but in due course, again according to the Anglo-Hungarian sources, Edward (‘the Exile’) married a Hungarian noblewoman, Agatha (Ágota), apparently a relative of both the German Emperor and István himself. She bore him three children: Margaret, Christine, and Edgar. The three children were educated in Hungary until 1057 when, after four decades of exile, Edward was recalled to England with his family by the childless and ageing Anglo-Norman king, Edward the Confessor (1042-66), Aethelred’s remaining son, who was delighted to hear of his nephew’s survival and therefore that of the House of Wessex. However, Edward of Wessex was to die in mysterious circumstances soon after the family’s return to England, once again leaving his uncle without a natural heir, since Edgar was only a child, far too young to inherit the throne. This led to the dynastic conflict which ended with the Norman Conquest following the Confessor’s death. Harald Hardrada of Norway invaded England, unsuccessfully, in 1066, and there was a further Danish incursion in 1069-70. With the Normans’ completion of their conquest, the Viking era of English history, which had begun with the raids of 789, was at an end.

Meanwhile, a divided succession had characterised the Kyivan Rus territories in the east as it had with Cnut’s empire. The Kyivan principalities had been united under Jaroslav the Wise (1019-54) of Novgorod, who, after the death of his brother, the Prince of Chernihiv, ruled them all save Polotsk. It was a period of particular Kyivan political expansion, as shown on the map below, and one of extensive cultural influence. The map below right, at the top, shows The Development of the Kyivan Rus, 862-1031 with the area in brown showing the territory added by them by 1000. The single green line shows the approximate western frontier of the Khazar Empire in the early ninth century and the broken green line shows its frontier in 967.

The expansion of Poland under Boleslaw I Chobry, ‘the Brave’ (992-1025, shown on the map below) was an overlapping feature of the development of the Kyivan Rus territories at this time. Boleslaw built on the foundations of the Polish ‘state’ created by his father, Prince Mieszko I, who had converted to Christianity in 965. Boleslaw strengthened the centre by creating an administrative system based on counts and used this as a base to expand Polish territory to the east, south, and west, taking Cracow (formerly a Bohemian territory) in 999. Many of Boleslaw’s conquests were temporary and involved long, debilitating wars on all frontiers. The conquest of Little Poland, which included Cracow, was permanent, however, and Casimir I (1038-58) transferred his residence there. At first, it was a dependent territory of the Holy Roman Emperor Otto III, who crowned Boleslaw King of Poland in 1000, but Boleslaw broke with the Empire after Otto’s death in 1002. He seized the imperial lands of Moravia (1003), Lusatia (1018), and Bohemia, though he controlled the latter for only two years (1003-4). Boleslaw further increased Polish influence in the east when he placed his son-in-law, Svyatopolk, on the throne of Kyiv in 1018. Boleslaw was again crowned King of Poland in 1024, this time by an Archbishop with the assent of the Pope, symbolising his independence from imperial control.

Some Russian and Ukrainian historians have also claimed, some quite recently, that Edward the Exile’s wife Agatha was ‘Agafija’, daughter of the Grand Duke Jaroslav the Wise of Kyiv. They claim that she married Edward Aetheling after he and his brother arrived at Jaroslav’s court in 1028. However, even if he was in Kyiv, Edward would have been only twelve at this time, too young even for a betrothal. We know that Agafija’s ‘sister’, Anastasia, referred to below, became the wife of Andrew I, István’s eventual successor. Her mother, Jaroslav’s wife was Ingergerd, who herself was the daughter of King Olaf of Sweden, another reason for Edward and Eadmund’s original refuge at the court in Kyiv. Anastasia, who was born in about 1020, married Andrew in around 1038, after he had fled with his brother Levente from Hungary to Kyiv in 1030. It is possible that Edward went with him, and returned with him to Hungary in around 1046 when Andrew became king, having fought in Andrew’s army. The problem with the ‘Rus’ solution to the Agatha mystery, however, is that Adam of Bremen only mentions the marriages of three of Jaroslav’s daughters, including Anna, who married Henry I of France, together with the marriages to the kings of Norway and Hungary, but not that of Agatha, or Agafija.

Medieval Hungarian chronicles also state that King Andrew I had an illegitimate son named Georgius by a woman from the village of Pilismarót. It has been claimed that Georgius accompanied the Wessex exiles back to Britain in 1057, settling with other Magyar nobles in Scotland and that the Clan Drummond is descended from George and his son Maurice. His name became popular among Orthodox believers, and one historian has written that Georgius’ mother may have been a Rus lady-in-waiting to Andrew’s wife, Anastasia of Kyiv. This is perhaps the origin of the confusion between Agatha, the mother of the three Wessex children, and the Royal Court of Kyiv. As to Agatha’s own name, although Greek in origin (meaning ‘good woman’), the name of a third-century martyr and Orthodox saint, it was popular in the Middle Ages throughout Europe, not just in the eastern parts, including in the French ‘Agace’ and the Latin ‘Agacia’, though it fell out of use in the later Middle Ages. The Hungarian form, Ágota, is still quite common today, however. It cannot, therefore, be taken as an indication that the Exile’s wife was a woman of Orthodox origin, as has been suggested. There is also a fresco of Jaroslav, Ingergerd, and their daughters, of uncertain eleventh-century date, in the Saint Sophia Cathedral in Kyiv, built by Jaroslav, which shows only three daughters. Some have sought to identify a fourth in the fresco, arguing that this could be Agatha, but this has been largely disproved. David J Webber concludes that the scientific and artistic evidence of the fresco shows this figure to be a young son and besides, that there is no written evidence of a fourth daughter, so that the Agatha mystery, for him at least, remains unsolved. For this purpose, Hungarian links to western Catholic states were more significant in the period of the Árpád dynasty.

More importantly for current purposes, the ‘Rus’ theory is largely based on an attempt by some historians of medieval central-eastern Europe to emphasise the importance of Russian imperial and dynastic links rather than the much more complex reality of the time, which was the struggle to establish independent states. Christian Raffensperger has recently emphasised the significance of ties of kinship between the ‘Rus’ and other royal dynasties, but in his review for the Medieval Journal of America, Alexandr Musin argues that Soviet historiography has played a decisive role in the construction of a myth about Ágota’s Kyivan origins in Raffensperger’s two books:

… the main challenge of both publications resides in the contradiction between the potential creativity of innovative approaches and the tyranny of concepts, which in many cases determines the vision of the past. On the one hand, the concept of (the) Rus that the author develops seriously questions the traditional perception of medieval eastern Europe as ‘alter orbis’ in respect to Latin civilization. On the other hand, the author shares the idea of the Kingdom of Rus as a clearly identifiable entity with a unitary system of political power, law, taxation, and culture based at Kiev that spanned territory from the White Sea to the Black Sea.

Today it is not necessary to specify that this geopolitical monster was only the invention of Soviet historian Boris Grekov. His concept of ‘Kievan Rus’ created in the 1930s was a “Soviet Union” projected into the medieval past. In fact, medieval eastern Europe was more a federation of semi-independent local polities with special identities and serious cultural differences, ruled by different branches of familial dynasties and nominally consolidated by the unity of ecclesiastical power.

Aleksandr Musin, Institute for the History of Material Culture,
Russian Academy of Sciences.
The Rus Principalities & The Mongol Invasions:

Developing feudal states of central-eastern Europe in the eleventh century.

In the east, when he died in 1054, Jaroslav the Wise left each of his sons an autonomous principality. The Great Principality of Kyiv took precedence but it exercised little control over the others. Raids by Polovtsy nomads, who sacked Kyiv in 1093, weakened the Great Principality, moving the centre of Rus activity farther north to the forest belt and away from the exposed steppes but, as the map below for 1095 shows, the Rus principalities continued to develop as distinct territories. In the twelfth century, the centre of Rus activity continued to move towards the forest belt.

Central-Eastern Europe in the Late Eleventh Century, showing the early formation of the Rus states.

A new principality, Suzdal, developed in this area, while in 1126 Novgorod became a republic; it soon extended its power to the White Sea. In 1169 Kyiv was again sacked, this time by Suzdal and the title of the Great Prince was transferred to the new principality, becoming known as the Great Prince of Vladimir, after its capital. Eastern Europe suffered great turmoil in the thirteenth century, undergoing significantly greater territorial changes than occurred in Western Europe in the period. The Mongol invasions devastated the region; the northern principalities of the Rus were overrun in 1233-9; Kyiv was stormed and razed in 1240; in 1240-4, the Mongols tore through Hungary, taking Pest, while smaller forces poured into Poland, took Cracow and defeated a German-Polish army at Walstatt in 1241 before the hordes were recalled on the death of the Great Khan Ogedai later that year.

Central-Eastern Europe in the Twelfth Century, the Time of the Crusades.
Above: Eastern Hungary and Galich (Galicia) before and during the Mongol Invasions, 1140-1240.

The Growth of Poland & Lithuania:

In 1310, John of Luxembourg was elected King of Bohemia and Moravia (1310-46). He held much of Poland too, particularly Mazovia (1329-51), including Warsaw, and most of Silesia. Despite their loss of territories, under Wladyslaw I (1305-33), Poland successfully resisted overall rule by the kings of Bohemia. To the east, Lithuania under Gediminas (1316-41) was emerging as an important power, expanding into the northern Rus principalities, which were greatly weakened by the Golden Horde, the Mongols who settled the steppes after the invasion of 1240. The damage done to the Rus principalities created an opportunity for Lithuania to thrive. Founded in the thirteenth century by Mindaugas (d. 1263), this pagan state could not expand towards the Baltic because of the activity of the Teutonic Knights. Instead, it expanded east, which saw the seizure of the northern Rus principality of Polotsk as well as Podlasia.

The Mongol Invasions of the Thirteenth Century and ‘The High Middle Ages.’

During the joint reign of Algirdas (1345-77) and Kestutis (1345-82), the southern lands of the Kyivan Rus were overrun. Lithuania, therefore, absorbed Kyiv – which fell in 1362-3 – and the remaining central Rus principalities; Novgorod-Severski also fell in 1363. The Lithuanians thus expanded up to the lands of the Golden Horde, who were then pushed back, so that by 1392 the Lithuanians had reached the Black Sea to the west of the Dnieper. Meanwhile, Moscow became the seat of a growing Russian principality, Muscovy. At the beginning of the fourteenth century, the power of the rulers of Hungary had been greatly limited by the growth of aristocratic power. The native Árpád dynasty died out in 1301 and the first of the Angevin rulers was elected king in 1308. From his capital at Visegrád, Charles I (1308-42) reduced the power of the magnates, greatly increased royal authority, and strengthened the economy. but it proved difficult to retain control of frontier areas. His successor, Louis the Great (1342-82) considerably extended Hungarian territorial power. To the east, Moldavia emerged under the suzerainty of Hungary from 1372, which then gradually expanded its power towards the Dniester and the Black Sea. To the north, Galich-Lodomeria (Galicia) was gained by Hungary in 1370, and in the same year, Louis succeeded the childless Casimir the Great as King of Poland. Under John of Luxembourg and his son, Charles IV, (1346-78), the power of the Luxembourg dynasty grew greatly, as Charles was also Holy Roman Emperor. This amalgamation did not, however, long survive the death of Louis in 1382, an indication of the transient nature of state-building, especially in central-eastern Europe. Often, there was no political, strategic, ethnic, economic, or geographical logic to these conglomerations and no real constituency of interest behind them.

The Recovery and Consolidation of the Central-Eastern European States in the Fourteenth Century.

After Louis’ death, without a male heir, his elder daughter married Sigismund, bringing the Hungarian Crown lands under the Habsburgs. Charles also made Moravia, Silesia and Lusatia indissoluble parts of the Bohemian crownlands. Sigismund (1387-1437) became King of Hungary in 1387, Emperor in 1410 and King of Bohemia in 1419, taking Luxembourg power to its greatest heights, but this did not serve as the basis of a long-lasting state. But Poland remained independent under Louis’ younger daughter, Hedvig. In 1385, by her marriage to the Grand Duke of Lithuania, Jagiello, he became King Wladyslaw II of Poland (1386-1434). In return, by the terms of The Treaty of Krevo, the Lithuanians converted to Catholicism, although the two states continued to operate as separate entities. In 1410, however, the Polish-Lithuanian forces advanced into Prussia where they crushed the Teutonic Knights at Tannenburg. The Knights were greatly weakened, their period of expansion being brought to a definitive end. Uniting Poland with Lithuania made it an important power in central-eastern Europe until the sixteenth century.

The Advance of the Ottoman Turks & the Wars of Religion:

The Ottoman Advance from the Late Fourteenth Century.

Meanwhile, in addition to the growing Ottoman threat to the south-east, the century was one of a crisis caused by the ‘Black Death’, the bubonic plague which devastated the whole of Europe from 1346 to 1353, killing at least twenty million out of a total population of about eighty million. Recovery was hindered by further outbreaks towards the end of the century. This also helped to provoke social and economic tensions: the refined feudal system of the “High Middle Ages” broke down, helping to cause a wave of rural and urban disorder. There were crises in the Catholic Church too, with the transfer of the Papacy to Avignon (1305-77) and the Great Schism (1378-1417) in western Christendom between the rival Popes in Avignon and Rome. The fifteenth century was in some senses the age of the “new monarchies”, consolidated states with more definite frontiers and greater bureaucracies, which sought to know exactly where they could impose their demands for resources and where they needed to create their first line of defence. Central and Eastern Europe experienced a time of particular turmoil, with the ever-present threat of the Ottoman forces diverting much-needed resources to the defence of Christendom. In 1453, Mehmet II finally captured Constantinople, causing great consternation throughout Europe. His army then laid siege to Belgrade in 1456, but the siege was raised by the brilliant Hungarian leader, János Hunyadi. However, by 1460, the final Byzantine strongholds had fallen and with the capture of Trebizond on the Black Sea in 1461, the last remaining embers of Byzantium were finally extinguished.

Bohemia, meanwhile, was rent by religious dissent, with the followers of Jan Hus, who had been burnt at the stake by the Council of Constance in 1415, seizing power in 1419. It was not until 1436 that Sigismund, the Hungarian King, was able to reassert his authority there. In 1457 the Bohemians elected the Hussite George of Podébrady as King of Bohemia. Pope Paul II preached a crusade against him, which led to an unsuccessful Hungarian invasion in 1468 which nevertheless led to the partition of the Bohemian kingdom. Hunyadi’s son, Matthias Corvinus, was King of Hungary from 1458 to 1490, gained control of Moravia, Silesia and Lusatia and took the title “King of Bohemia”, though he did not control the Bohemian territory itself. Corvinus was a renaissance ruler who promoted learning throughout the lands he ruled, developing the Hungarian state considerably, but he faced opposition from the nobles concerned about maintaining their privileges. The Polish-Lithuanian Jagiellonian dynasty had a long-standing connection with Hungary. Wladyslaw I had been King of Hungary from 1440 to 1444, and after the death of Matthias Corvinus in 1490, the Hungarians chose Ladislav II of Bohemia as their King. He rejoined to Bohemia those areas which had been conquered by Hungary under Corvinus. Although Hungary and Bohemia remained separate kingdoms, their joint rule by the Jagiellonian dynasty might have produced a closer union. The late fifteenth century saw a consolidation of many European states and their coalescence into the contours that were to shape Europe’s borders until the crisis of nationalism four centuries later. The expansion of Muscovy to 1466 was a slow process that owed much to the determination of its ruling house.

Though the rulers of the Rus had been under the shadow of Mongols, and their northern descendants, the Muscovites were able to use this to their advantage in the challenges they faced from other Rus rulers, such as the princes of Tver, who were not subdued until 1468, however. Other Rus states were unable to resist Muscovy’s expansion and by the end of the century, Muscovy had emerged as the predominant principality in what was now described as ‘Russia’. The capture of Novgorod in 1478 marked the emergence of a new power in the east, and one that, with the disappearance of the Byzantine Empire, could now also claim to be the champion of Orthodox Christianity. Ivan III, the “Great” (1462-1505), who conquered both Tver and Novgorod, refused to pay tribute to the Golden Horde and defied its attempt to intimidate him into doing so (1480). In 1493, significantly, he took the title Sovereign of all Russia. Certainly, by then, he was the ruler of the Great Principality of Moscow, but this did not include the southern Rus who were then under the control of Lithuania.

The Growth of Lithuania to 1526.

Lithuania also claimed to be the heir of the Kyivan Rus, and Ivan was in conflict with it for most of his reign. In the early stages, he stirred his allies in the Crimea to raid Lithuania and, spinning a network of negotiations as far afield as Turkey, Moldavia, Austria and Denmark, he contested Lithuania’s sovereignty over the principalities on the borders of Russia. At the end of this first bout of diplomacy in 1494, Alexander the Grand Prince of Lithuania, not only recognised Ivan’s conquests but also married his daughter Elena the following year. The second bout (1500-03) began with an important victory for Ivan on the Vedrosha River (July 1500) and by the six-year truce which followed 1503, he kept all the lands he had conquered. When he died in 1505, he left Russia in a strong position to take both Smolensk and Kyiv at some point in the future. The fall of Pskov in 1510 marked the completion of this process of integration. Throughout Europe in the late Middle Ages, national boundaries had been hardened and the concept of “statehood” was emergent, becoming politically more significant than the “nation”, in its original meaning of a people of common descent.

After Wladyslaw II died he was succeeded in both Hungary and Bohemia by Louis II (1515-26; known as Ludwig I in Bohemia), but his reign was cut short when he was killed at the Battle of Mohács in 1526 when Suleiman the Magnificent destroyed Hungary’s army and independence. Louis had no children, and his inheritance was to be contested by his brother-in-law, Archduke Ferdinand, the brother of the Habsburg Charles V, and the Turks were to take control of the land east of the Danube. Neighbouring Moldavia was already a fiefdom of Poland-Lithuania, previously of Hungary under Corvinus, part of which had fallen under Ottoman control from 1484. Having become Emperor in 1519, Charles V faced an immense task in keeping his domains united. The rise of Protestantism in the first half of the fifteenth century placed an additional strain on the Empire. In 1529, the Sultan’s army besieging Vienna failed to take it, but the Turks’ gains confined the Habsburgs to Slovakia, Croatia and a thin strip of land along the west bank of the Danube. Although the successors of Charles V had vast resources at their disposal, they had to fight on several fronts, against the infidel Muslim threat in the east and the heretical Protestant challenge in the west. In the centre, Hungary was effectively divided into three parts. In the west, Ferdinand of Austria continued to rule over less than a third of the old kingdom (so-called Royal Hungary). In the east, Transylvania, a new state of Hungarian character and leadership was created under the loose control of the Ottomans. The third part was ruled directly by the Sultan who gradually extended the area he fully controlled until 1568 when the new frontiers were settled by the Treaty of Adrianople.

1530: The Habsburg Ascendancy, Ottoman occupation and the triumph of the nation-state in central-eastern Europe.

Although Eastern Europe escaped the intense religious wars that plagued the west, stability eluded the rulers even there. The Teutonic Order of Knights had never entirely recovered from its defeat by Polish-Lithuanian forces at Tannenberg (Grünwald) in 1410. By 1513 it was left with just East Prussia, and in 1525 they converted to Protestantism and secularised the remaining Teutonic lands as the Duchy of Prussia, the largest Protestant fief in the kingdom of Poland. Further south, for nearly two centuries following the union of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Kingdom of Poland in 1386, the relationship had been a personal one, formed and sustained through dynastic inter-marriage. However, by the 1560s it was obvious that Sigismund II Augustus would be the last of the Jagiellonian line. For the Lithuanians, the implications of the loss of the link with Poland was dire. Lithuania had been under threat from both the Ottomans, who had seized territory on the lower Dnieper and the Muscovites, who were pressing westwards under Ivan the Terrible (1533-1584). This left Poland and particularly Lithuania vulnerable to interference by Russia. In this, the spectre of religious division as a tool of dynastic politics also arose, as many of the inhabitants of Lithuania were Orthodox, and Muscovy saw them as potential subjects. Only Polish support could guarantee Lithuania, while the union between the two countries offered the Polish nobility the prospect of fresh lands for settlement. In 1569 at Lublin, a Lithuanian Parliament specially called into existence agreed with the traditional Polish ‘Sejm’ (the bicameral parliament) to form an “indissoluble” union or “commonwealth” and to elect a common monarch after the childless Sigismund II’s death. But Poland and Lithuania were to remain distinct states, each with its own army, administration, and laws.

Meanwhile, in Bohemia, a movement of religious and political dissent against the Habsburgs had developed during the seventeenth century. By 1618, the largely Protestant Bohemian aristocracy was in open revolt over the closure of the reformed churches by the Habsburg authorities and their seizure of church funds. They decided to choose the neighbouring Calvinist ruler of the Palatinate, Frederick V, as King of Bohemia. He also had estates bordering Bohemia to the east at Eger in northern Hungary, which meant that in the event of an election to the throne, he was a clear, local counter-candidate to the Habsburgs. This was seen as a direct challenge to Imperial authority and what the Habsburgs considered as their divine right to rule. Besides this, control over wealthy and strategically central Bohemia, with its vote in choosing the Emperor, was essential to the Austrian Habsburg dynasty. Ferdinand II, the new Emperor, undertook an ambitious war of reconquest to restore his authority not just over Bohemia, but also other German principalities lost to Protestantism since 1570. By 1620 he had conquered Bohemia and installed himself as King there, but this was just the beginning of what became known as The Thirty Years War which ravaged most of central Europe (see maps below). When it finally ended in 1648 after the most savage and destructive warfare yet seen in Europe, few changes were made to the political map of central Europe.

The First Struggle for an Independent Ukraine:

Large-scale wars in Eastern Europe, particularly involving Poland, did have a major effect on the continental balance of power, however. Soviet historians date modern Russian history from the reign of Tsar Aleksei Mikhailovich (1645-1676), principally because of the beginning of the formation of the all-Russian market by ‘commercial capitalists’. The territory in the south of ‘Ukraine’ was Zaporogia, an autonomous Cossack area (see the map below). The wandering peoples of the steppes on the southern fringes of Russia and on the lower reaches of the Volga, the Don, the Donetz and the Dnieper consisted mainly of fugitive peasants and outlaws from Russia, Poland, Lithuania and Turkey, as well as some Tatars. They lived by hunting and fishing, keeping cattle and bees, and by plundering their neighbours, whether Turks, Tatars, Russians or Poles. Conforming to none of the more usual social systems, they settled in fortified towns and organised themselves on semi-military lines, mainly to defend themselves against raiding Tatar bands and their Turkish overlords, but sometimes to mount rebellions against Russia or Poland, as during The Time of Troubles (1598-1613) and during their revolts against Poland under Sigismund III, Wladyslaw IV and Jan II Casimir in 1625, 1630, 1649-51, 1654-67. Within Cossack society, the ataman had executive powers, and in wartime was the supreme commander in the field. Legislative power was given to the Band Assembly (Rada). The senior officers were called starshyna. In the absence of written laws, the Cossacks were governed by the “Cossack Traditions” – the common, unwritten law.

However, Ukraine appeared set to become an integrated part of the Polish Commonwealth. Russia and Poland in their turn pushed south as they gradually colonised the steppes and brought many Cossacks under their control. Local Cossacks became known as ‘registered Cossacks’ who were, in theory, subordinated to the Polish authorities though their obedience was often bought by encouraging them to raid Tatar and Turkish enemies to the south. The Dnieper Cossacks of Ukraine became especially difficult for the Polish authorities to control as religious differences exacerbated their political and social antipathy to Poland since the Cossacks were Orthodox and the Poles were mainly Catholic. But there were also major divisions and dimensions among Orthodox believers as well, most notably between the original Greek branch and the Russian branch. Nikita Minin, ‘Nikon’, Patriarch of Russia from 1652-66, ruled for a time both Church and State and caused the Great Schism or (raskol) by reforming the Church, including an attempt to make the Church superior to the State. He had risen quickly in the Church to become head of a monastery in Novgorod (1643); then, by inspiring Tsar Alexis he became Abbot of the Romanov family monastery of Novospasski near Moscow (1646); Metropolitan of Novgorod (1648) and then Patriarch of Russia.

While the Tsar was away from Moscow in the Thirteen Years’ War (1654-67), Nikon was named ‘Great Sovereign’ (velikii gosudar) and given as much power as if he were tsar. Fierce, impatient and overbearing, he enforced reforms in the Church in a series of annual councils (1652-60) which precipitated the schism. Unlike the traditionalists who believed that Russia had been converted to Christianity by St Andrew independently of Greece, Nikon saw the Russian Church as a legitimate branch of Greek Orthodoxy and now found it full of what he believed to be incorrect practices and other deviations from the ‘parent body,’ which he was determined to put right. Sacred books, services and chants were all corrected with the help of Greek scholars from Kyiv and elsewhere. Innovations not only shocked the mass of old-fashioned believers and clergy, but they also alienated his old brethren in the Zealots of Piety. In fact, they split the Church, and the Old Believers remained steadfast nonconformists down to the twentieth century, their religious resistance mixed up with various forms of political and social power, including hostility to westernisation. In the time of Nikon, their leader was Archpriest Avvakum who was first exiled to Siberia and eventually burnt at the stake in April 1682. Between 1675 and 1695, about twenty thousand Old Believers committed suicide, by setting fire to their wooden churches.

Eventually, Tsar Alexis screwed up enough courage to oppose Nikon and his pretensions that the Church should be above the State, exempt from secular courts, its property immune from taxation. A Church Council (1667-7) attended by the Patriarchs of Antioch and Alexandria stripped Nikon of his priestly functions and exiled him to Beoleroz in the far north (Dec 1666). The same Council confirmed Nikon’s Church reforms but handed over to the State the job of punishing deviations. Nikon died on his way back to Moscow where he had been recalled by Theodore III. He had left the Church in no position to resist subordination to the State over the centuries to follow, whereas the Kyivan Greek branch of Orthodoxy was able to maintain its independence. This was partly because Wladyslaw IV Vasa, King of Poland (1632-1648), threw his weight behind toleration in a country of many religious denominations that was otherwise in danger of falling prey to the regimentation of the Catholic Counter-Reformation. He ensured toleration both for the Protestants in Western Poland, where he sponsored a Protestant-Catholic colloquy at Torun (Thorn) in 1645 and for the Greek Orthodox in Lithuania and Ukraine, to whom he granted religious liberty and recognition of their underground hierarchy (1633), in the form of the Metropolitan of Kyiv and four bishoprics. Nevertheless, the Jesuits were taking a firm grip on education, thereby succeeding in cutting Poland off from the intellectual progress in the West. Moreover, the Crown was too weak to subordinate the Church to the State, so its hierarchy and the Papacy became increasingly influential in Poland’s policy-making, especially in foreign affairs.

Finally, Wladyslaw found the Ukrainian problem too difficult to solve. The Cossacks were growing desperate as the Polish magnates colonised the Dnieper area, turned them into serfs instead of ‘registered Cossacks’, brought them under the machinery of the Polish State, and persecuted their Orthodox forms of worship. The Ukrainian Cossacks had long been restive as the tide of Polish colonisation crept over their steppes, regimenting their freedom-loving brotherhood, enserfing the peasantry and persecuting the Orthodox. Most Ukrainian peasants now found themselves enserfed. In order to persuade the Poles to take on the burden of defending them in future, the Lithuanians had agreed to turn Podlasia, Volhynia and Ukraine over to the Polish administration. In the second third of the seventeenth century, Polish noblemen and commoners moved into these territories, settling and establishing new farms and great estates, endowing Catholic (Uniate) churches and thereby extending the influence of the Catholic Church. In turn, this helped to fuel conflicts with the Orthodox groups already living in those areas, especially the Cossacks of Ukraine, who had spread well to the east of the Dnieper as far as Poltava.

An explosive mixture of racial, social and religious hatred brought the Cossacks out in armed rebellions in 1625, 1630, 1637 and 1638. Between 1638 and 1648, however, Wladyslaw enforced a period of ‘golden peace’ from a new fortress on the lower Dnieper. At the same time, he hatched a grandiose scheme for neutralising the Cossack’s influence once and for all by eliminating the Tatar danger further south. The Tatars agitated the Cossacks, sometimes by raiding their lands, sometimes by joining them in anti-Polish alliances; but the only successful way of curbing them was to defeat their overlord, the Ottoman Sultan. In the late 1640s, Wladyslaw began negotiating a visionary anti-Turkish crusade in conjunction with Venice, the Papacy, France and others. He encouraged the Cossacks to prepare for battle with hints of further privileges but kept the scheme secret from the Seym until 1646 when they forbade it. The Cossack rebellions of 1648-57 were serious enough as a Polish affair, stirring up religious and national minorities into violence as well as ‘infecting’ Polish peasants and townsmen, but catastrophic as an international conflict. Disappointment with the policies of Wladyslaw IV proved the last straw for the Cossacks who broke out into violence on the eve of his death and brought out many others in open rebellion, which rocked Poland in the reign of his successor, Jan II Casimir.

In 1648, thousands of peasants rose in revolt against their masters, encouraged by a simultaneous dispute between the Polish authorities and the leaders of the “free” Cossacks, led by Bohdan Chmielnicki, a skilful soldier and diplomat. Nevertheless, in Chmielnicki, the Cossacks had chosen a ‘Hetman’ with burning grievances of his own against the agent of a Polish magnate who had confiscated both his property and his wife. Starting from his base on the lower Dnieper in April 1648, he invaded Poland, beating Jan Casimir’s troops at Zólty Wody, Korsun in May and Pilawce in September, raising mass revolts in his wake. Kyiv fell to the rebels and was declared Orthodox again, while the Catholic clergy were driven out. After winning these dramatic victories, the Cossack leaders settled with the new King of Poland, Jan Casimir, much to the disgust of the peasantry. Abandoned by the Tartars, he made The Treaty of Zborow with Jan Casimir who was ready to compromise, in August 1649. The Dnieper Cossacks now aimed to form an independent state, and for the rest of the seventeenth century, they played off Russia, Turkey and Poland – and even Sweden and Austria – against each other in a series of wars that accelerated the decline of Poland but resulted only in the eventual incorporation of the Cossacks in Russia and Poland, at least while the latter still existed. For the time being, fresh quarrels ensued as the Poles gradually whittled down the area of Cossack control as the Cossacks turned to Muscovy for support. But when the war restarted, Chmielnicki, with the fickle Tartars once more not pulling their weight, not wanting the Cossacks to be too successful, was defeated at Beresteczko in June 1651.

As a result, he formed an alliance with Tsar Aleksei with whom he had been negotiating since 1648 and on whom he now applied pressure by threatening to ally with Turkey instead. By then, Russia was becoming involved in the Thirteen Years’ War (1654-67) with Poland and Sweden. The first phase of this involved a further Russian push into the west, into Ukraine, and north-west into Lithuania towards the Baltic. By the Treaty of Perejaslaw of 1654, Tsar Aleksei formed an alliance with Chmielnitcki and the Dnieper Cossacks in what Soviet historians regarded as the Ukrainian War of Liberation against Jan Casimir, King of Poland. In October 1653 the zemskii sobor (the Russian assembly) had voted for Ukraine’s incorporation into Russia, and at Chmielnitcki’s request, a meeting took place with Aleksei’s representatives at which an agreement was made whereby Russia accepted the sovereignty of the Cossacks, allowing them to remain self-governing with their own laws and social system. This treaty resulted in a joint attack on Poland in which Russia took Smolensk in October 1654 and advanced deep into Poland and Lithuania until the outbreak of the Northern War in 1655. In this, Charles X of Sweden invaded and temporarily took control of much of Poland, saving Gdansk and Lwóv (Lviv), forcing Russia to change its policy. In Moscow, there was always disagreement between those who favoured attacking Ukraine and those who favoured concentrating on the Baltic, and this time the latter won. Russia made peace with Poland and helped it fight Sweden. By the Treaty of Vilno (Oct-Nov 1656), Russia gained much of White and Little Russia from Poland.

The Northern War (1655-60), known by the Poles as ‘the Deluge’, submerged Poland, much weakening its control over Ukraine, particularly in the south and east, so that it was never again as secure as it had been before 1648. The further wars between Poland and Russia (1658-67) saw the Cossacks side with the Tsar against the Poles. In an effort to create an autonomous state for themselves, they switched alliances between Russia, Poland, Sweden and Turkey. This exhausted the patience of both Russia and Poland. The war also devastated the Cossack lands – it is a period known in Ukrainian tradition as ‘the Ruin’, but it also marked the emergence of Russia as a stronger military power than Poland. A joint Cossack-Tartar-Turkish invasion in 1667 was stopped by Hetman Jan III Sobieski, future King of Poland, but the continued threat of attack prompted Russia and Poland to make peace. By the Truce of Andruszów (1667), Poland lost much of Ukraine to Russia. The Treaty split Ukraine along the Dnieper River and Ukrainian Cossacks were known as Left-bank and Right-bank Cossacks. Muscovy gained Smolensk and Ukraine up to the Dnieper, as well as ancient Kyiv on the west bank. An autonomous region, the Hetmanate, was created on part of the territory added to Russia. The Cossacks of Zaporogia had autonomy within this area, which continued to apply to their lands when they were not under Polish or Ottoman control. Henceforth, Poland and Russia were jointly concerned with defence against the Turks.

Turning Points & Retreats:

By the early seventeenth century, the Turkish hold on central Hungary was weakening. Transylvania emerged during this period as an important and prosperous European power, ruled by Prince Gábor Bethlen (1613-29). He doubled the territory’s revenues and acted as a staunch defender of Calvinism in central Europe. His influence and that of his successor György Ráckóczi meant that the Habsburgs could not enforce the Counter-Reformation as brutally in the parts of Hungary they controlled, ‘Royal Hungary,’ as they did elsewhere in their empire.

Transylvania’s brief flowering ended after 1657 when the army of György II Rákóczi, Prince of Transylvania, a Calvinist who expected the second coming hoping it would make him King of Poland, invaded the kingdom with Cossack help. Rákóczy had to turn back at Warsaw with his army in shreds, destroyed by Tatars. As a result, Charles X had to abandon his war of Protestant conquest of Poland. Mehmet Köprülü, the Turkish Grand Vizier, took this chance to invade Transylvania and seized important parts of the principality in the west, including Várad. The Treaty of Hadiach (1658) left Ukraine and Poland joined in a personal union, but renewed Russian-Polish fighting meant its terms were never effectively implemented. The Habsburgs intervened and won a surprise victory against the Turks, but the peace settlement of Vasvár (1664) ratified most of the Ottoman gains. The apparent increase in Turkish power had encouraged anti-Habsburg plotting in Royal Hungary in the 1670s, and the savage Habsburg reaction had the effect of driving the malcontents to more extreme measures. In 1678, Imre Thököly, a young Transylvanian, raised the standard of revolt and occupied a large part of central Hungary.

The Turks took this opportunity to intervene and sent a huge army into Hungary in 1683. This laid siege to Vienna, putting the whole European balance of power. Although Polish troops led by Jan Sobieski played a decisive part in raising the siege, it was not Poland but the Austrian Habsburgs who ultimately benefited most from the defeat of the Turks. The threat of rebellion in Habsburg-controlled Hungary was reduced as the border with the Turks was pushed back to the south and east. By September, however, the siege had been lifted, and by 1699 Imperial forces had swept the Turks out of most of Austria-Hungary.

Distressed by his failure and the death of his wife, Jan Casimir abdicated in September 1668. In retrospect, however, he had done well to hold his kingdom together, despite the attacks from all sides. In that year, Poland had a population of only four million, almost half of what it had been in 1618, while its economy had suffered devastating damage. Its increasing weakness opened up a tempting vacuum that drew in states like Sweden and Russia, as well as the German principalities, all eager for territorial acquisitions. To the north, another succession crisis loomed when Charles XI of Sweden died in 1697, leaving his fifteen-year-old son, Charles XII, as his successor. Sweden’s neighbours eyed her territory greedily, and none more so than Augustus the Strong of Saxony, who had additionally ruled Poland in personal union since 1697. By 1699, Augustus was preparing for a campaign to seize Sweden’s territories to the south of the Baltic, despite direct opposition from the Polish ‘Diet’ (parliament). Meanwhile, the young Tsar of Muscovy, Peter I, had captured Azov on the Black Sea from the Turks in 1696, giving his previously land-locked empire an outlet to the sea. Peter managed to retain Azov, despite the weakening of his strategic position when Austria and Venice, his Holy League allies, made peace with the Sultan by the Treaty of Carlowitz in 1699.

Central-eastern Europe at the time of the Treaty of Carlowitz in 1699

The Eighteenth Century: Russia, Prussia, Austria versus Poland:

The Cossacks proved almost as unruly under the Tsar as they had been under the Poles. Under Peter the Great (1682-1725), Mazappa, the ‘Hetman’ (commander) of the Tsar’s Cossacks, tried to create an independent Cossack state in Ukraine, in alliance with the Swedes and the Zaporogian Cossack ‘Host.’ Peter’s victory in 1709, however, marked the conquest of the Cossacks. Many survivors were deported to the distant parts of the Tsar’s empire. By then, Peter had decisively altered the estimation of the previously vast but ill-organised Tsarist empire.

Habsburg Europe, 1699-1789, showing lands acquired from Poland-Lithuania in 1772 and 1775.

In central Europe, meanwhile, Charles VI’s reign (1711-40) saw the Austrian Habsburgs reach unparalleled heights of power, but by the end of it, Austria’s position was actually much weakened. By the 1730s, it became clear that there had not been any long-term increase in the strength of the Habsburg army. By the Treaty of Belgrade (1739), Charles VI was forced to surrender the city itself and its nearby Serbian territories back to the Sultan but was able to preserve the Hungarian territories in the Banat of Temesvár (Timisoara). This treaty also ended the hostilities of the five-year Austro-Russian–Turkish War (1735–39), in which the Habsburgs joined Imperial Russia in its fight against the Ottomans. Russia expanded its territories around the Black Sea, gaining Azov and the lands of the Zaporogian Cossacks. Meanwhile, as for any contemporary dynastic state, the absence of a male heir to Charles VI opened the widespread Habsburg lands to the threat of aggression from its neighbours.

The Rise of Russia to the Treaty of Nystad (1721)

Despite a defeat by the Turks which led to the loss of Azov on the Black Sea in 1711, by combining western techniques and technologies with ruthless autocratic methods, Peter created a military system for Russia capable of wearing down his gifted Swedish rival. By 1721, Russia dominated the Baltic region, gaining greatly from the Treaty of Nystad of that year, taking Estonia, Livonia, Ingria, most of Karelia and part of Finland.

In 1740, European affairs were completely changed by the deaths of Frederick William I of Prussia (pictured above) and of Emperor Charles VI of Austria-Hungary. The ambitious and unscrupulous Frederick II (‘the Great’) ascended the throne of Prussia; Maria Theresa then succeeded to the Habsburg territories. As a woman was not eligible for election to the Empire, her husband, Francis of Lorraine, was expected to become Emperor. Nearly all the Powers had guaranteed the Pragmatic Sanction, a document drawn up by Charles VI to ensure his daughter’s peaceful succession. Maria Theresa managed, however, to preserve the bulk of her father’s legacy, despite a Prussian invasion at the start of her reign which led to the loss of Silesia, gained by Frederick II as a result of the Austrian War of Succession (see the map above). Frederick began hostilities by invading Silesia, which he secured by the Battle of Mollwitz. This German and only Protestant province of Austria formed the basis of the Upper Oder. It was more fertile than any of the Hohenzollern territories, containing a flourishing linen industry and undeveloped resources of iron. Its seizure by Prussia, unchivalrous and unprincipled, provoked both the War of Austrian Succession and the Seven Years’ War.

The War of the Austrian Succession in central Europe, 1739-48.

Maria Theresa yielded the territory by the Treaty of Breslau, and Frederick coolly deserted his allies. Freed from Frederick, Maria Theresa was successful; her armies overwhelmed Bavaria. In 1744, Frederick, alarmed by her success, re-entered the war and compelled her to confirm his retention of Silesia by the Treaty of Dresden. Again, he deserted his allies. During the two wars, 1740-48 and 1756-63, Frederick proved himself to be the best general in Europe. By feats of endurance and military genius, he emerged exhausted but triumphant from conflicts with Austria, France and Russia. He had made Prussia not only the second great power in Germany but also one of the leading powers in Europe. Frederick succeeded in absorbing his new provinces, which also included Friesland (1744) which fell to him peacefully by succession on the extinction of the ruling family. Their inhabitants, having no barriers of religion, economic interests or national feeling, readily accepted Frederick’s ‘enlightened’ rule or ‘benevolent despotism’. He was one of the most progressive rulers of his generation, introducing penal reform (including the abolition of torture), religious toleration and schools for the sons of workers. To restore prosperity, destroyed by decades of war, he pursued a vigorous mercantilist policy. He assisted agriculture by draining marshes, lending seed to farmers, and insisting on their use of new methods. He built canals and fostered the silk industry.

At the end of 1757, Frederick saved himself by two remarkable victories, one against the French and the second against the Austrians at Leuthen in Silesia. The war between Austria and Prussia ended with the restoration to Frederick of all his territories, and no further changes were made to the map of Europe. After 1763, it was clear to Maria Theresa that Austria could not hope to recover Silesia from Prussia, so Vienna turned instead to plans to acquire other territories to “compensate” for its loss. By this time, Augustus the Strong’s ambitions to create a great Saxon-Polish power under his dynasty had come to nothing. The elective nature of the Polish monarchy combined with the fractious behaviour of much of the Polish nobility meant that the vast and strategically valuable lands between Poznán and Kyiv were an attractive target for other states’ ambitions. The three states of Austria, Prussia and Russia surrounded Poland, and their covetous rulers cast envious eyes over the declining state. Its internal weaknesses, resulting in disorder, gave them an opportunity and excuse for intervention. These internal weaknesses were fourfold. Firstly, Poland was an elective monarchy – the Poles inherited an old constitution under which the king was elected. Every election was accompanied by great disorder, produced by rival factions, and foreign rulers gained influence by supporting these factions. Secondly, there was the Liberum Veto, the procedure by which a single noble in the ‘Diet’ (parliament) could veto the proceedings. Thirdly, the nobles enjoyed great feudal privileges over their serfs, and there was a continuous and bitter feud between the two classes. Fourthly, the ‘true Poles’ were only one section of the population, which included Kyivan Rus, Lithuanians, Cossacks and Germans, among other ethnicities.

The Seven Years’ War

In the reign of Catherine II, ‘The Great’ (1762-1796), a further Russo-Turkish war in 1768-74 brought Russia Kerch and Yenikale in the Crimea and Kherson. The Treaty of Kutchuk-Kainardji which ended the war also gave the Tsar a vague duty to protect the Sultan’s Christian subjects, the cause of much future Russo-Turkish friction. Although the Great Powers avoided another great land war after 1763 for more than twenty-five years, possibly also offering smaller states greater protection, the First Partition of Poland in 1772 between Prussia, Russia and Austria was a foretaste of how cynically they could treat their weaker neighbours, carving out about a third of a helpless Poland’s territory. Announcing that she was liberating Russian subjects and uniting them with the ‘fatherland’, Catherine participated in the three notorious partitions of Poland of 1772, 1793 and 1795. In the First Partition, as ‘the ringleader’, Catherine obtained a large tract of land around Vitebsk, and a part of Lithuania, where there were many people of non-Polish ethnicity. Thus, Russia and Austria, the erstwhile enemies of Prussia, succeeded in detaching significant territories from the Polish Commonwealth. Frederick II of Prussia and Maria Theresa of Austria combined to seize territories in the north. Prussia took West Prussia, a province that had separated Brandenburg from East Prussia since 1618, though without the valuable port of Gdansk, which it only formally acquired in 1793. In the south, in 1772, Maria Theresa gained Galicia, including Lemberg (Lviv) although, according to Frederick, she “wept as she took it”. Nevertheless, weeping or not, she obtained the valuable province with much fertile land and important salt mines (she also acquired Bukovina from the Ottomans in 1775).

For the next twenty years, Russia was busy extending its territories towards the Black Sea at the expense of the Turks. It was confirmed in its possession of Azov and gained the Black Sea littoral between the Bug and the Dnieper. The Crimean Tartars became independent of Turkey and ripe for subversion by Russia. Russian merchantmen could sail the Black Sea and pass through the Straits, but Turkey kept Moldavia, Wallachia and the Greek islands. After being subjected to several years of subversion, however, Crimea was finally annexed by Catherine in 1783. The Austrian army had hardly covered itself in glory in the war against Turkey after 1788, fought in alliance with Russia. For Russia, Austria’s growing preoccupation with the French threat was quite convenient. It meant that Russia was in a better position to dictate terms to Turkey after the joint campaign. But by The Treaty of Jassy (1791-92), she finally gave up her hope of taking Constantinople and had to rest content with the annexation of Ochakov and the Black Sea coast between the Bug and the Dniester, as well as Turkey’s recognition of Russia’s possession of the Crimea.

The Partitions of Poland, 1772-95: Eastern losses to Russia, 1795.

Poland could only survive so long as its independence did not threaten the gains of the three powers. The Poles were setting their internal, domestic affairs in order by changing their constitution. But when serious reforms, including Europe’s first written constitution (of May 1791), got underway, Prussia and Russia acted to forestall any chance of a revitalised Poland reasserting itself. In 1793 they seized further territories in Poland. Catherine invited Frederick to join her in a second partition, knowing that Austria, deeply engaged in a war with revolutionary France, was in no position to advance its further claims in Poland. By the terms of this partition, Russia gained a larger share of Eastern Poland (including the former Lithuanian Ukraine). Besides the strategic port of Gdansk (Danzig), the Prussians also gained the Province of Posen. Influenced by the French Revolutionaries and seeing that their country was perishing, the Poles rose up to expel the invaders under Kosciusko in 1794.

The Triumphant Triumvirate:

After a brief, heroic resistance, they were swiftly defeated by the combined forces of the three powers, who then proceeded to divide what was left of the country among themselves. Austria and Prussia shared out what remained of Poland with Russia in 1795 when even Warsaw passed into Prussian hands. Russia took full possession of Lithuania; Prussia gained the area around Warsaw, which later became known as the Grand Duchy, and Austria received a large share in the south, including Cracow. One of the largest states in Europe had gradually disappeared from the map of Europe.

The Growth of Russia from the Fourteenth to the Eighteenth Century.

It was Russia that acquired the largest part of the original pre-1772 state of Poland. When Catherine died of a stroke at St Petersburg the following year, she had extended the Russian Empire by about two hundred thousand square miles. Catherine’s armies also conquered Moldavia, Wallachia and Crimea. By the Peace Treaty signed at Kutchuk-Kainardzhi in Bulgaria (July 1774), Russia made further important gains. During this half-century, therefore, Russia’s agricultural output expanded dramatically, not because of improved farming methods, which in the more advanced areas had reached only the level of the three-field system, but because of the enlargement of the cultivated area, especially after the Russian colonisation of Ukraine and the steppe lands down to the Black Sea. All sectors of the economy were stimulated by the expanding machinery of the Russian government and by the rise in population, which from fourteen million at the death of Peter I had grown to thirty-six million at the death of Catherine, including seven million from the annexed territories.

(to be continued…)


Bible Battles & The ‘Ascent of Man’: Nineteenth-Century Sceptics & Critics – Religion, Philosophy & Science.

British Prime Ministers of the mid-Victorian Age: Benjamin Disraeli (left) and William Gladstone (right).
Disraeli converted from Judaism and Gladstone was a keen Churchman.
Victorian Britain – An Age of Conformity?

For many people in the early twenty-first century, the title ‘mid-Victorian Britain’ conjures up an image of church-going, sabbath seriousness, packed pews and the head of the household, invariably the father, questioning his progeny on the points of the morning sermon. The very word ‘Victorian’ has passed into the English language as the epitome of grim, humourless authoritarianism, heavy-handed religion and ugliness. But there is another side to the picture. While the solemn Mr Gladstone (pictured above right) was observed to hang on the words of the rawest curate in the pulpit, and volumes of sermons found ready purchasers among the faithful, there were others who were less reverent. The Victorian age was one of authority and conformity for many, but it was also one of dissent, doubt and seething discontent. The seeds of doubt that had been sown by the rationalists of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were nurtured by sceptics and deists and came to fruition in the early nineteenth century. The whole fabric of Christianity was called into question as science, philosophy and history were all called upon to show that the Christian faith no longer had one leg to stand on, let alone two. It found itself challenged from all three directions at the same time. From science, in the shape of the theory of evolution, from philosophy in the form of alternative world-views intended to make belief in God obsolete, and from history in the guise of biblical criticism. If the truth of the Bible could be shown to be doubtful, then there would be nothing left on which Christian faith could stand, according to some of these critics.

A Continent Come of Age – God and the European Philosophers:

It is often the case with philosophers that what they hand out as a solution is only the old problem in another form. By the beginning of the nineteenth century, Immanuel Kant had put his finger on many of the weaknesses in the traditional arguments for the existence of God and the old approach of philosophy to religion. But to reject the traditional proofs for God’s existence is simply to see the flaws in the logic of particular arguments. It still leaves unanswered the question of whether God can be known in some other way. To say that our minds work in terms of time and space is not the same as saying that we can have no insight into what lies behind our existence in that time and space. It is inevitable that our language uses a great deal of symbolism. Jesus himself used picture language to convey truths that could not be put in any other way but by symbols. We do not have direct access to God, not even through the Bible. We do not see God directly as he is in himself. Our knowledge of him is always mediated by events, experiences and words. Without the words of the Bible, there could be no revelation.

God as a ‘world-spirit’:

The attempt to ‘outflank’ Kant was a major pre-occupation of nineteenth-century thinkers. In theology, Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768-1834) looked for a new approach that accepted Kant’s criticisms of the proofs for the existence of God and his strictures on the limitations of human thought. His solution lay in basing theology on religious experience. The ‘Absolute Idealism’ of G. W. F. Hegel (1770-1831) was also partly an attempt to provide an alternative understanding of God to that of orthodox Christianity. Instead of starting with the capital ‘I’ of individual faith, the Idealists began with the absolute ‘I’ in which all reality is the manifestation of the Absolute Spirit. God does not exist over and above the world, as in Christian orthodoxy, but is the ‘world-spirit’ that is to be found in the depths of the world-processes. Thus, the world is a manifestation of God. The end-product of this new understanding of God was a dynamic pantheism and these different philosophical approaches left their mark on the way in which Jesus Christ was understood. In the writings of Kant and in liberal Protestant theology, Jesus appears as an enlightened teacher of moral religion. In Schleiermacher and Hegel, Jesus appears as the supreme manifestation of the divine Spirit among men, and as the agent of the divine being in achieving the oneness of God and man.

When Hegel died in the cholera epidemic of 1831, his followers split into two camps. The ‘right wing’ was concerned to preserve the teachings of their master more or less as he had left them. The ‘left wing’ were revisionists and malcontents who ended up by ‘standing Hegel’s philosophy on its head.’ Ludwig Feuerbach (1804-72) had studied under Hegel. But whereas Hegel had regarded all reality as the outworking of the Absolute Spirit, Feuerbach argued that this ‘Spirit’ was equivalent to the whole of the natural world. He agreed with Schleiermacher that the essence of all religion is a sense of absolute dependence, but also argued that what man depends on is the whole of nature. For him, God is a projection of man’s own nature that has been freed from all limitations. Theology was simply anthropology, and the knowledge of God is nothing else but the knowledge of man. Feuerbach protested that he was not so much an atheist as an ‘antitheist’. This thought was, however, too subtle for masses, and his writings were only read by intellectual cliques.

Karl Marx, photographed in 1861.

The same could not be said of that other one-time devotee of Hegel, Karl Marx (1818-83). Born in the Rhineland to Jewish parents who became Lutherans, Marx became a student of philosophy who eventually reached the limits of that discipline: Philosophers only interpret the world; the point is to change it. After leaving university he became a journalist, but soon fell foul of the authorities on account of his radical political views. He was expelled from Germany at the age of thirty, during the ‘year of revolutions’ of 1848. Finding a ‘safe haven’ as a refugee in London among the expatriate German community, he met Friedrich Engels, who became his patron. Together, they wrote The Communist Manifesto (1848) in which they called upon the downtrodden ‘proletariat’ of Europe to unite in revolution to overthrow the existing order and usher in the new society:

Marx & Engels in the middle of their work (sketch by N. Zhukov)

In London, Marx divided his time between stirring up agitation and gathering evidence in the British Museum for what he intended to be a comprehensive critique of the capitalist system, Das Kapital (1867). By this time Marx had rejected not only Hegel but also Feuerbach as well. Neither the Absolute Spirit nor nature was the basis of reality. The basis of reality was to be found in matter. The history of mankind, then, is the history of how are related to material things. According to Marx, history is moving relentlessly forwards in the direction of the communist society. Up to that point, all history was the history of class struggle, but when communist society is reached, private property will be a thing of the past, and the state itself will manage everything until people have gradually learnt to manage these economic relations for themselves. Then it would whither away. The twentieth-century philosopher, Bertrand Russell, remarked that, although Marx claimed to be an atheist, he had an optimistic ‘outlook’ on the world and the eventual outcome of history which could only be justified by a believer in God. Political economy had its limits too.

Religion and Materialist Philosophy:

Two tendencies, one intellectual and one social, made for the collision in the 1860s, between scientific thought and religion. Religion of a fundamentalist sort was losing its utility as a social discipline it had possessed in the first critical period of the industrial revolution. The early performance of the industrial economy seemed to indicate the claims of individualism to provide a viable framework for social behaviour. Leslie Stephen wrote that his generation reared on John Stuart Mill,

… claimed with complete confidence to be in possession of a definite and scientific system of economical, political and ethical truth. They were calmly convinced that all objectors, from Carlyle downwards, were opposed to him {Mill} as dreamers to logicians; and the recent triumph of free trade {1846} had given special plausibility to their claims.

‘Some Early Impressions’, 1903, pp. 74-5.

The implication of this definite and scientific system was that codes of social behaviour were not affected by whether or not God existed. W. K. Clifford (1845-79), who at the age of twenty-six became Professor of Mathematics at University College, London, after a brilliant Cambridge career. In his lecture, ‘Body and Mind’, delivered to the Sunday Lecture Society in November 1874. Clifford put his position on the matter of ‘conscience’, which followed Kant’s view of the freedom of the will, politely but clearly:

The distinction of right and wrong grows up in the broad light of day out of natural causes wherever men live together; and the only right motive to act is to be found in the social instincts which have been bred into mankind by hundreds of generations of social life.Duty to one’s countrymen and fellow-citizens, which is the social instinct guided by reason … is in all healthy communities the one thing sacred and supreme. If the course of things is guided some unseen intelligent person (God), then this instinct is his highest and clearest voice, and because of it we may call him good. But if the course of things is not so guided, that voice loses nothing of its sacredness, nothing of its clearness, nothing of its obligation.

W. K. Clifford, ‘Body and Mind’, printed in Fortnightly Review, December 1874.

Clifford’s politeness masked a deep hostility to any notion of man’s ethical sense being derived from some innate, and presumably God-implanted, ‘conscience’. John Stuart Mill shared his position:

The notion that truths external to the mind may be known by intuition or consciousness, independently of observation and experience, is, I am persuaded, in these times the great intellectual support of false doctrines and bad institutions. By the aid of this theory, every inveterate belief and every intense feeling, of which the origin is not remembered, is enabled to dispense with the object of justifying itself by reason, and is erected into its own all-sufficient voucher and justification.

J S Mill, ‘Autobiography’, 1873, p. 191.

By appealing to ‘observation and experience’ the ‘materialist’ philosophers were able to marshal on their side the body of research in the sciences, which by the 1850s was undermining belief in the literal truth of the Scriptures and in any supernatural intervention in the physical world.

Was God Dead?

An atheist with a more individualist approach was Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900). Whereas Marx was the prophet of communism, Nietzsche was adopted as a prophet of their new order by the Nazis in the 1930s. Nietzsche regarded himself as a prophet of the death of God, and a spokesman for liberated man. Since God was dead, man must go it alone. He must make up his own rules and values as he went along. Virtues that were prized by Christianity had to be discarded, as they tended to preserve the weak and the ailing. What was needed is a reassessment of all values and a will to impose new values on others, whether they wanted them or not.

A thinker who saw clearly the dangerous way in which political and even church systems were developing was the Danish writer Soren Kierkegaard (1813-55). In his lifetime he was little known beyond the borders of his native Denmark. It was only in the twentieth century, as his writings began to be translated, that his real significance came to be appreciated. Kierkegaard had a horror of systems. He was also acutely aware of the danger of trying to manipulate God. We must never forget that God is other. He exists outside of our time and space and it is, therefore, folly to try to prove his existence through rational argument. To be known directly is the mark of an idol, not the living God. God is only known as he makes himself known, in the human person of Jesus Christ, but incognito. We can know him, but only through a faith that is willing to put all at risk for God and to lead a life of personal discipleship. This was Kierkegaard’s repost to the totalitarian schemes of idealist philosophy and of church politics, but one which has had to be re-learned in each subsequent century, if not every generation.

The Biblical Critics – Strauss, Vatke, Wellhausen & Baur:

David Friedrich Strauss (1808-74) argued that the effect of such historical criticism of the Bible was positive rather than negative. In 1835-6 Strauss, then a junior lecturer in the Protestant seminary at Tübingen published his Life of Jesus, Critically Examined. The book, which cost him his post, is 1,400 pages long and examines all the alleged incidents and sayings in the life of Jesus from the same perspective as Remarius, asking rational and historical questions which make the assumption that miracles do not happen. Strauss dismissed all the supernatural and messianic elements in the Gospels as myth. Similarly, he dismissed the miracle stories with naturalistic explanations. But, entirely unlike Reimarus, he argued that this was ultimately a vindication of Christianity since it cleared the ground of false assumptions about a miraculous faith and made possible an attachment instead to eternal truths. Jesus was not divine in any unique sense, yet his story, rightly understood, disclosed the divine in all humanity:

Let an audatious criticism attempt to what it will, all which the Scriptures declare, and the Church believes of Christ, will still subsist as eternal truth, nor needs one iota of it to be renounced. Thus at the conclusion of the criticism of the history of Jesus, there presents itself this problem: to re-establish itself dogmatically that which has been destroyed critically.

‘Dogmatically’ here means ‘theologically’, at the level of faith. Strauss argued that what seemed to most readers a devastating attack on the Christian faith was actually a defence of it, but no one believed him anyway. In 1839 he was offered a chair in Zurich, but there was a popular rebellion against the very idea, which brought down the government, and he was pensioned off. Strauss’s work, however, had lasting effects and may be said to have initiated the modern quest for the historical Jesus. Critically, he distinguished between questions of history and questions of faith, much as Spinoza had done. A belief in the divine nature of inspiration does not answer, he argued, the question of whether this or that event is recorded in the Gospels actually happened: the two issues simply occupy different spaces on the map. It can be argued that this is a mistake: that it was only because of miraculous events that the disciples were brought to believe in Jesus in the first place, or that the divinity of Jesus makes it possible to believe in him actions that we could not believe of any other human. In this way, historical enquiry and theology went hand in hand, but for Strauss that was wishful thinking.

The kind of critical enquiry represented by Strauss has influenced biblical study down to the present day, even though many contemporary biblical critics are much nearer to traditional Christian orthodoxy than he was. As the nineteenth century progressed, the Old Testament came under increasing fire. It was widely assumed that the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were mythical figures, or perhaps titles of tribes associated with particular names. Many questioned whether Moses ever lived. Rational enquiry into the Old Testament followed similar lines to those applied to the Gospels.

In the same year as the first volume of Strauss’s Life of Jesus was published (1835), William Vatke (1806-82) published his Biblical Theology: The Religion of the Old Testament. The inspiration for this was the philosophy of Hegel but on the historical level, it was highly innovative in arguing that the order of the books in the Hebrew Bible was not a correct guide to the development of the theological thinking of ancient Israel. The religion of the prophets, Vatke proposed, was older than that enshrined in the Pentateuch. It stood at the beginning of the development of a system of thought that had been read back into the Pentateuch from later times. In essence, this anticipated the arguments of Julius Wellhausen (1844-1910), who was the most influential critic of all. He held that Hebrew religion had undergone a development from the primitive stories of nomadic times to the elaborate, institutionalised ritualism of the period of the centuries before the birth of Jesus. He claimed to have found various behind the Torah, which he dated to different stages in the history of Israel. These arguments could all be dismissed as merely an application of Hegelian ideas of spiritual development to material, the Old Testament, that they did not fit. Vatke largely disappeared from view until Wellhausen revived his theory, shorn of its Hegelianism, in 1878.

Vatke’s and Wellhausen’s theory owed much to Spinoza’s theory that it is to Ezra, writing as late as the fifth century BCE, that we owe the ‘books of Moses’. Scholars of this outlook saw the Old Testament as a patchwork of pieces that owed their shape and texture to outside influences. They also applied this approach to the New Testament. In Catholic France, J. E. Renan’s Life of Jesus (1863), and in Protestant England, J. R. Seeley’s Ecce Homo (1865), both took a more positive view of the historical contexts of the Gospel stories. But both tried to eliminate the supernatural, and reduce Jesus merely to a magnetic teacher.

Perhaps the most ‘notorious’ of the nineteenth-century critics was Strauss’s former teacher, F. C. Baur (1792-1860). Baur, like Strauss, taught at Tübingen where he enjoyed, by contrast, a long and distinguished career. He laid the foundations of the study of Gnosticism, and his work on the New Testament was also innovative. He dated much of it to the second century CE – much later than the modern consensus – and argued that it could be seen as a struggle between two versions of Christianity, one indebted ultimately to Paul, and the other to Peter. Baur worked on the assumption that there had been a great conflict in the early church between Peter (who stood for a strictly Judaistic attitude to the law) and Paul (who held to a more liberal Greek approach, which set little store by the law and Jewish ritual). The Pauline mission was to the Gentiles, whereas Petrine Christianity was concerned with the Hebraic roots of the faith, rooted in the Jerusalem community led by James. This argument referred directly to Paul’s report in Galatians:

But when Cephas {Peter} came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood self-condemned; for until certain people came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But after they came, he drew back and kept himself separate for fear of the circumcision faction.

Galations 2: 11-12

On this basis, Baur set about deciding which books of the New Testament were genuine. Those which did not seem to reflect this supposed division were dismissed as later productions. Thus, only four of Paul’s letters could be regarded as genuine: Romans, Galatians and Corinthians I and II. The rest, according to Baur, were all later. He saw Acts as completely ahistorical, an early second-century attempt to reconcile Pauline with Petrine Christianity.

Arguably even more radical was Baur’s insistence that each of the four Gospels had its own theme or ‘tendency’ (Tendenz). This is now a commonplace view in New Testament studies but at the time it caused alarm because it separated the Gospels from the accurate recording of history and saw them as deliberately composed to make a particular point – which called into question their historical veracity. It also meant that they did not conform to a uniform system of Christian doctrine, due to the diversity among them. This diversity can be seen as between John and the synoptic Gospels, operating at both the historical and theological levels. The Jesus of Mark, for example, does not seem much like the Jesus of John: the former is clearly a human figure who sharply distinguishes himself from God, while the latter is ‘one with the Father’ and is described as the ‘Word of God’ who came down from heaven. Once each Gospel is brought into focus in its own right, the difficulty of reconciling their different pictures of Jesus becomes apparent. At the historical level, the narrative frameworks of John and the Synoptics are not compatible: in the latter, Jesus makes only one trip to Jerusalem as an adult, whereas John implies that he was there on several occasions.

What all these critics made clear above all, was that the New Testament does not unequivocally support traditional Christian doctrines such as the doctrine of the Trinty or even the divinity of Christ, any more than the Old Testament, studied critically, supports a traditional picture of the Mosaic origins of Israel. If we apply their critical approach to this same issue of ‘Christology’ – the nature of Jesus Christ – then the New Testament as a whole presents a mixed message. No book in the New Testament explicitly states that Jesus is God, and some of his own words seem to deny it (recall his question, Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone, in Mark 10: 18). Even in John’s Gospel, with its ‘high Christology’, Jesus prays to God. In Paul’s letters, the risen Jesus clearly has an exalted status:

God … gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend.

Philippians 2: 9-10.

His status is even more exalted in Colossians, which may or may not be genuinely Pauline. But Paul also seems to see Jesus as lower in status than God himself:

When all things are subjected to him, then the Son of Man himself will also be subjected to the one who puts all things in subjection under him, so that God may be all in all.

I Corinthians 15: 28

Christ is the head of every man, and the husband is the head of his wife, and God is the head of Christ.

I Corinthians 11: 3

The New Testament, therefore, supports at best a subordinationist Christology, that is, one in which Jesus as the Son is of lower status than God the Father. This is at odds with the later doctrine of the Trinity, in which Father, Son and Holy Spirit are of equal status. Furthermore, the Trinity is referred to explicitly only once in the New Testament, at the end of Matthew’s Gospel:

Jesus said, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

Matthew 28: 19.

But this passage is widely suspected of being a later addition to the Gospel. All this has been well known to biblical scholars since at least the work of Strauss, Baur and other nineteenth-century writers, though it remains unfamiliar to most Christians. Though Parish clergy have continued to learn it in their training, they have usually chosen to ignore it when preaching and teaching in the church. It has remained possible to believe unchallenged in Christ’s divinity and in God as a Trinity. But in the wake of the nineteenth-century critics, it became impossible to say that the New Testament clearly teaches these doctrines in anything like their later, developed forms. If the Bible is read in its own terms, it presents a range of ideas about Jesus and about God that cannot be systematised. That plurality of ideas is the clear implication of nineteenth-century biblical criticism. Strauss and Baur were not interested in questions of Church order and the obviously untenable reading of Scripture and even ancient authors that, from the time of the Apostles, there have been successive orders of ministers in the Church in the form of Bishops, Priests and Deacons. But these questions do indicate the kind of implications that follow once the New Testament is approached in a historically critical spirit.

Not all nineteenth-century biblical scholarship was negative, either in its contemporary impact or its longer-term outcomes. Among the gains was the less spectacular work of reconstructing the text of the Bible from ancient manuscripts such as the Codex Sinaiticus, discovered in a monastery on Mount Sinai. The discovery of new texts and the development of the scientific study of manuscripts confirmed the essential accuracy of the texts on which the older translations of the Bible, such as the King James’ Version (1611) were based. Prominent in the New Testament research were the Cambridge scholars B. F. Westcott, F. J. A. Hort and J. B. Lightfoot. Westcott and Hort’s Greek text of the New Testament surpassed all earlier versions. In their minds, the historical study of the New Testament was not intended to have a negative effect. The exploration of the language and background history of the New Testament threw fresh light on what the Bible was actually saying. Lightfoot’s study of early Christian literature after the New Testament period disproved Baur’s late dating of the New Testament books, showing that all of them must have been written by the end of the first century.

Archaeology, too, has confirmed the accuracy of a great deal of the information contained in the Bible. This can readily be seen in the writings of the scholar William Ramsay. His study of the geography and archaeology of the Roman Empire supported the picture of general events and locations evident in Luke’s account of the Acts of the Apostles.

The conclusions of Strauss and Baur highlight the danger of building a lot on a little – especially when that little seems to be preconceived. But if Christianity is a historical religion based on actual events in history, these events must be open to investigation by historians and other academics. Of course, for Christians, these events contain more than history, and the enquirer must not lose sight of their significance to believers, but they are also significant because they have their own historical dimension or ‘mystery’ which is also worthy of investigation. The work of the historians and archaeologists mentioned has shown that Christianity has nothing to fear from balanced historical scrutiny.

In terms of theological understanding, we cannot use our shared beliefs, however well-established, to decide what the New Testament authors meant, because that would be to confuse questions of belief with those of meaning. The New Testament does not prescribe any predetermined system for ministry, for example, because it ‘speaks’ with the many different voices of so many different witnesses. That does not mean that we should abandon all church traditions in these respects, but we should adopt these on the basis of earthly pragmatism, not on the basis of them being God-given. These are the effects of biblical criticism. Since the nineteenth-century biblical critics and theologians have danced around each other, trying to establish how a critical spirit can be reconciled with a desire to develop doctrine in a way that is true to the Bible. There has been a tacit understanding that students of theology have to study Biblical criticism, but the two areas have never coalesced, nor is it clear how they could.

A Sophisticated Ape? Darwin’s Theory of Evolution & its ‘Reception’:

We must, however, take note of one of the issues encountered by students of the Bible since the nineteenth century: its apparent conflict with science. The debates on science and religion more broadly occupied the centre stage of mid-Victorian Britain while the philosophical debates on the existence of God were taking place in the continental universities. The idea of evolution was not exactly new, even if the Victorian ‘crisis of faith’ came to a head in 1859 with the publication of Charles Darwin’s The Origin of the Species. It had had its advocates from the Greek philosopher, Anaximander, right down to Darwin’s own grandfather, Erasmus Darwin. In the 1830s, Charles Lyell had published The Principles of Geology, in which he argued that the present state of the earth’s surface had been brought about by a long and gradual development. The chalk cliffs of Dover were known to contain remains of sea creatures that had been deposited over many centuries. It was also claimed that the fossils found at places such as Whitby and Lyme Regis dated back an almost incalculable length of time. In 1844, the idea of evolution was extended from geology to the whole of plant and animal life in Robert Chambers’ The Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation.

Charles Darwin was attacked and ridiculed for his theory of evolution. This cartoon pictured him as an ape himself.

Charles Darwin (1809-92) had studied medicine at Edinburgh and theology at Cambridge, but in 1830 he sailed as a naturalist on HMS Beagle on a survey expedition to South America. For years, he pondered his theories but was finally stung into publishing them when he received a manuscript from A. R. Wallace outlining ideas similar to his own. They published a joint paper that paved the way for Darwin’s masterpiece. The creation story in Genesis 1 tells how God created in six days and rested on the seventh. The evolutionists were now saying that the world had evolved over millions of years, possibly from a single prototype being. To explain how life had developed, Darwin set out the principle of natural selection or, more bluntly, the survival of the fittest. In order to survive, he wrote, plants and animals have to prey upon each other. To cope with their environment they have to develop new capacities and capabilities. Where these become a permanent feature, new species evolve. This particular, the idea that plants and animals do not belong to fixed and unchanging species – but develop by a process whereby the mutant best adapted to the environment survives and transmits those characteristics that make it the fittest to survive – conflicted with the idea that God created each species as it is ‘now’ and set apart one species, human beings, with the gift of an immortal soul.

It is an understatement to record that Darwin’s work met with a mixed reception. Was Man really no more than a sophisticated ape? That is what the theory of evolution seemed to be saying. But more important was the reason why it was said. For ‘respectable’ Victorian middle-class church- and chapel-goers, it was bad enough to imply that man was ‘descended from the monkeys’. What made matters worse was that the reasoning behind it suggested that the world was not the work of a wise, loving Creator who had planned everything. Instead, the scientific claims being made seemed to many to be that all plant and animal life had just evolved naturally and that only the fittest had survived. In the new way of thinking, it also seemed that God was an unnecessary hypothesis. From the contemporary philosophical perspective, the reverse was also true. If the Creator could not be proved to exist, then there was no material ‘Creation’, only nature, ‘red in tooth and claw’. Philosophy and Science entered an almost ‘symbiotic’ relationship themselves, or to many an ‘unholy alliance’ in their advancement of rationality. The writer Charles Kingsley described the impact of Darwin’s theory:

Men find that now they have got rid of God – a master-magician as I call it – then they have to choose between the absolute empire of accident, and a living, immanent, ever-working God.

If man evolved from the lower primates through such a process of natural selection, then the same physical laws that governed their behaviour also governed those of mankind. Darwin himself was not free from nagging doubts about his theory. At the meeting of the British Association in Oxford in 1860, the Bishop of Oxford, ‘Soapy Sam’ Wilberforce, treated his audience to a display of sarcastic wit, ridiculing the ‘new’ ideas. But the bishop found more than his match in Thomas Henry Huxley (1825-95), who took the stance of a humble scientist facing facts rather than indulging in fine-speaking and dogma, and he persuasively argued the case for evolution:

The consciousness of brutes would appear to be related to the mechanism of their body simply as a collateral product of its working, and to be as completely without any power of modifying that working … Their volition, if they have any, is an emotion indicative of physical changes, not a cause of such changes …

The theological, or rather anti-theological implication of this was that if consciousness were an effect produced by changes in the substance of the brain, and was only known in this context, then notions of intelligence or volition – the modes of consciousness – occurring apart from a physically existent brain were untenable. Arguments for the existence of God, therefore, were not susceptible to scientific proof. Against what they regarded as an ‘assault’, the defenders of the religious establishment could have adopted a logical argument for God’s existence but chose instead to use grounds of ‘social psychology’. Even before Darwin had published his theory, in his ‘Bampton lectures’ of 1858, Henry Longueville Mansel (1820-71) argued that:

… in the universal consciousness of innocence and guilt, of duty and disobedience, of an appeased and offended God, there is exhibited the instinctive confession of all mankind, that the moral nature of man, as subject to a law of obligation, reflects and represents, in some degree, the moral nature of a Deity by whom that obligation is imposed.

H. L. Mansel, Limits of Religious Thought: The Bampton Lectures of 1858, pp. 108-13.

Mansel was a fellow of St John’s College, Oxford, and later Dean of St Paul’s. He was notable in his time as a philosopher and theologian, and as a deft satirist. The following year, in the controversial scientific and theological context of 1859, he argued that scientists should…

… accept the traditional doctrines of the Church, because they have in practice endured and revealed a human need for them and… not attempt to question them by using methods of science.

At this point, the Establishment’s argument lapsed from the intellectual to the social and political. Mansel was a last-ditch defender of the prerogatives of the Church of England in the universities and an astute and active High Church Tory organiser; Clifford, Stephen and Huxley were all political radicals and secularists, campaigners for the removal of education from clerical domination. For them, the disestablishment of religious institutions that depended for their survival on prejudice or tradition was anomalous with advancing the values of rational investigation and discussion among the general public. Sir Leslie Stephen (1832-1904), a critic, biographer and editor, became an Anglican clergyman after graduating from Cambridge. Subsequently, he lost his faith and became an advocate of free thought. He was the first editor of the ‘Dictionary of National Biographer’ and the father of the novelist Virginia Woolf. In 1873, he wrote an essay, Religion as a Fine Art, in which he argued:

If the Bible states that something is a fact which is not a fact, it makes no difference to call it a ‘scientific fact’. It can hardly be seriously urged, that an inspired book is at liberty to make erroneous statements on all matters which may become the subject of accurate investigation – the only sense which can be made of the words. A reconciliation is required, founded on some deeper principle. The sacred images must be once and for all carried fairly beyond the reach of the spreading conflagration, not moved back step by step, suffering fresh at every fresh operation. The radical remedy would be to convey them at once into the unassailable ground of the imagination.

Admit that the Bible has nothing to do with facts of any kind, that theology and science have no common basis, because one deals with poetry and the other with prose; the sceptic’s standing ground will be cut away from beneath his feet. … The prevalent conceptions of the day will somehow permeate its poetry – if it has any – in spite of all that can be done to keep the out.

L. Stephen, ‘Essays in Free Thinking and Plain Speaking’, 1873.
Ongoing Controversies & Consequences:

In the years following the initial fifteen-year ‘furoré’, it was Huxley, as much as anyone, who gave the evolutionary theory the stamp of scientific orthodoxy. He had begun his career as a naval surgeon, a post that enabled him to pursue his inclination towards biological studies. He had become Professor of Natural History at the Royal School of Mines in 1854, but his eminence really dates from the early 1860s, when he supported Darwin energetically and went on to become a leading consultant to the British Government on scientific research and education. Although he did not fail to draw conclusions from scientific advances that were hostile to accepted religious thought, he coined the terms ‘agnostic’ and ‘agnosticism’ to describe his own religious beliefs. There were many -isms that claimed definite knowledge of all kinds of things. Huxley wanted a word to express the state of not knowing. Rather than adopt the point-blank denial of God of the atheist, Huxley said that he just did not know, and was not in a position to know. Towards the end of his lecture on The Automatism of Animals, delivered to the British Association in Belfast in 1874, extending his argument made in London in 1860, Huxley said he felt he was running no risk of either Papal or Presbyterian condemnation for the scientific views he had put forward, but that there were…

… so very few interesting questions which one is, at present, allowed to think out scientifically – to go as far as reason leads, and stop where evidence comes to an end – without speedily being deafened by the tatoo of ‘the drum ecclesiastic’ – that I have luxuriated in my rare freedom, and would willingly bring this disquisition to an end if I could hope that other people would go no farther. Unfortunately, past experience debars me from entertaining any such hope… It will be said, that I mean that the conclusions deduced from the study of the brutes are applicable to man, and that the logical consequences of such an application are fatalism, materialism and atheism – whereupon the drums will beat up the ‘pas de charge’.

… I venture to offer a few remarks for the calm consideration of thoughtful persons, untrammelled by foregone conclusions, unpledged to shore-up tottering dogmas, and anxious only to know the true bearings of the case.

It is quite true that, to the best of my judgement, the argumentation that applies to brutes holds equally good of men; and, therefore, that all states of consciousness in us, as in them, are immediately caused by molecular changes of the brain substance. It seems to me that in men, as in brutes, there is no proof that any state of consciousness is the cause of change in the motion of the matter of the organism.

If these positions are well based, it follows that our mental conditions are simply the symbols in consciousness of the changes which take place automatically in the organism; and that, to take an extreme illustration, the feeling we call volition is not the cause of a voluntary act, but the symbol of that state of the brain which is the immediate cause of that act. We are conscious automata, endowed with free will in the only intelligible sense of that much-abused term – inasmuch as in many respects we are able to do as we like – but none the less parts of the great series of causes and effects which, in unbroken continuity, composes that which is, and has been, and shall be – the sum of existence.

As to the logical consequences of this conviction of mine … the only question which any wise man can ask himself is … whether a doctrine is true or false. … if the view I have taken did really and logically lead to fatalism, materialism, and atheism, I should profess myself a fatalist, materialist and atheist; and I should look upon those who … should raise a hue and cry against me, as people who … preferred lying to truth, and whose opinions … were unworthy of the smallest attention.

But as I have endeavoured to explain on other occasions, I really have no claim to rank myself among fatalistic, materialistic, or atheistic philosophers. Not among fatalists, for I take the conception of necessity to have a logical, and not a physical foundation; not among materialists, for I am utterly incapable of conceiving of the existence of matter if there is no mind in which to picture that existence; not among atheists, for the problem of the ultimate cause of existence is one which seems to me to be hopelessly out of reach of my poor powers. Of all the senseless babble I have ever had occasion to read, the demonstrations of these philosophers who undertake to tell us all about the nature of God would be the worst, if they were not surpassed by the still greater absurdities of the philosophers who try to prove that there is no God.

T. H. Huxley, On the Hypothesis that Animals are Automata, and its History. A lecture delivered to the British Association, Belfast, 1874.

W. K. Clifford, addressing the Sunday Lecture Society in the same year, addressed the right of scientists like Darwin and Huxley to speak freely on matters of social instinct and conscience:

… it may be said that Science ought not to deal with these questions at all; that while scientific men are concerned with physical facts, … in treating of such subjects as these they are going out of their domain, and must do harm. … What is the domain of Science? It is all possible human knowledge which can rightly be used to guide human conduct. … It is idle to set bounds to the purifying and organising work of Science.

W. K. Clifford, ‘Body and Mind’, in Fortnightly Review, 1874.

In The Origin of the Species, Darwin had left room for belief in the Creator, but in its 1871 ‘sequel’, The Descent of Man, he was more openly agnostic. But in spite of all the controversy he faced, both internally and externally, when he died, Darwin was buried in Westminster Abbey. Public reaction to the theory of evolution ranged from outright hostility to wild enthusiasm. Philosophers and political economists adopted and adapted Darwin’s theories to support their own wider social theories. Karl Marx declared that Darwin had provided the biological basis for communism. But, equally, capitalists such as Andrew Carnegie and J. D. Rockefeller appealed to ‘evolution’ to justify the growth of ‘big business.’ Among Christian leaders, C. H. Spurgeon pronounced the theory of evolution a monstrous error, which would be ridiculed before another twenty years. In his 1891 address to the Annual Conference of the Pastors’ College, the leading Baptist preacher used the military language of the first letter to Timothy, to defend the Biblical account of creation:

The sacred Word has endured more criticism than the best accepted form of philosophy or science, and it has survived every ordeal. As a living divine has said, “After the present assailants are all dead, their funeral sermons will be preached from this Book – not one verse omitted – from the first page of Genesis to the last page of Revelation.” …

… We, brethren, are willing to ascribe to the Word of God all the inspiration that can possibly be ascribed to it … We are willing to be tried and tested by it in every way, and we count those to be the noblest of our hearers who search the Scriptures daily to see whether these things be so; but to those who belittle inspiration we will give no place by subjection, no, not for an hour.

… Do I hear someone say, “But still you must submit to the conclusions of science”? No one is more willing than we are to accept the evident facts of science. But what do you mean by science? Is the thing called “science” infallible? Is it not science “falsely so-called”? The history of that human ignorance which calls itself “philosophy” is absolutely identical with the history of fools, except where it diverges into madness.

If another Erasmus were to arise and write the history of folly, he would have to give several chapters to philosophy and science … I should not myself dare to say that philosophers and scientists are generally fools; but … I would let the wise of each generation speak of the generation that went before it … for there is little of theory in science today that will survive in twenty years, and only a little more that will see the beginning of the twentieth century.

We travel now at so rapid a rate that we rush by sets of scientific hypotheses as quicly as we pass telegraph posts when riding an express train … I believe in science, but not what is called “science”. … The fanciful part of science, so dear to many, is what we do not accept. … that part which is a mere guess, for which the gassers fight tooth and nail.

The mythology of science is as false as the mythology of the heathen; but this is the thing that is made a god of. … as far as the facts are concerned, science is never in conflict with the the truths of Holy Scripture, but the hurried deductions drawn from those facts, and the inventions classed as facts, are opposed to Scripture…

C. H. Spurgeon (1891, edn. 1982, 1999), The Greatest Fight in the World: The Final Manifesto. Belfast: Ambassador Publications.

As a ‘free churchman’, Spurgeon was noticeably more nuanced in his approach to science than many of the original ‘Establishment’ critics of Darwin who feared the attack on their privileges and authority which his theory seemed to present. Spurgeon was primarily concerned with maintaining the authority of the Bible for believers. Neither did he argue that scientists should not encroach upon doctrinal matters. Instead, he went on to argue that there were two sorts of people who were disqualified from making judgements in matters of science and religion. The first was the ‘irreligious scientist’ because he knew nothing of religion and therefore could not answer the question, Does science agree with religion? Obviously, anyone who would try to answer this query, Spurgeon said, would need to know both sides of the question. The second was the ‘unscientific Christian’ who will try to reconcile the Bible with science, without the scientific ‘tools’ and knowledge to do the job. Spurgeon suggested that he had better leave it alone, and not begin his tinkering trade. The mistake made by both these men, he argued, was that in trying to solve the problem they had only succeeded in twisting the Bible or contorting science. The solution had then been quickly shown to be erroneous after one side or another had declared victory prematurely.

Other Christian leaders were cautiously in favour of accepting the new theories. Frederick Temple, who later became the Archbishop of Canterbury, was fairly typical of this attitude. He held that the concept of evolution left the argument for an intelligent Creator and Governor of the earth stronger than ever. The world was not simply a series of accidents and the old argument from design to belief in God could be restated in a different way. The Scottish free churchman, Henry Drummond, applied the concept of the survival of the fittest in a novel way. Even in the animal world, survival is not simply a matter of stealth and strength. Care and compassion play an important part; the gospel of Christ was, therefore, also crucial to human survival. This was a similar observation to that made later by the Russian scientist and political theorist, Peter Kropotkin, who advanced the complementary theory of ‘mutual aid’ in nature by observing cooperation between species of plants and animals.

Genesis, ‘Gondwanaland’ & ‘The Garden’ – Geologists & Zoologists:

At first sight, however, the idea of evolution seemed to flatly contradict the book of Genesis. For centuries Christians had read Genesis 1 as if it had been a newspaper account of ‘The creation’, step by step. On the surface of the texts, the Hebrew Bible implies that the world was created in the fifth millennium BC: Archbishop James Ussher (1581-1656) calculated, using the figures in various books of the Bible, that the creation occurred on 23 October 4004 BC. Many Bibles were printed with marginal notes stating that the world was created on this date. This is, in fact, still believed by so-called young-earth creationists, but in the nineteenth century, a scientific evaluation of the age of the universe became entirely obvious in the light of scientific discoveries. The same century saw the assertion that in Genesis 1 God is shown to have created each species of plant and animal separately challenged by evolutionary science, in particular through the work of Darwin. As the Church historian, Owen Chadwick put it:

The Christian church taught what was not true. It taught the world to be six thousand years old, a universal flood, and stories in the Old Testament like the speaking ass or the swallowing of Jonah by a whale which ordinary men (once they were asked to consider the question of truth or falsehood) instantly put into the category of legends.

Owen Chadwick (1972), The Victorian Church, Part Two: 1860-1901. London: SCM Press, p. 2.

More recently, Philip Kennedy has commented:

The consequences of Darwin’s work are very far from being appropriated by officially sanctioned Christian doctrines. For example, the current ‘Catechism of the Catholic Church’ solemnly teaches that the biblical story of Adam and Eve, or rather the third chapter of the Book of Genesis, ‘affirms a primaeval event, a deed that took place at the beginning of the history.’ This teaching is solemnly declared. It is also false. Chapter 3 of Genesis is a myth. It does not provide any reliable information about the historical genesis of a human species. What it does say about human origins is false. To regard it as factually true is to violate its literary form as a myth.

Philip Kennedy (2006), A Modern Introduction to Theology: New Questions for Old Beliefs. London & New York: I. B. Tauris, p. 235.

The last sentence in this quote points to the practical effect of scientific knowledge on Biblical Studies: it made scholars and readers alike see that the Bible contained myths and legends, which might be full of wisdom and insight of many kinds but which did not provide any scientific information or historical account of human origins. The effect was not limited to claims made in the Old Testament. When Paul affirms that death entered the world because of sin (the sin of Adam: Romans 5: 12), this too is rendered clearly untrue through the observation that human beings, and their hominid predecessors, have always been mortal, as are all other organisms. This is important because it challenges a major element in the Christian story of the fall of man and his redemption, which John Barton (2019) calls ‘God’s rescue mission’, in which Adam’s sin plays a central role. This too, and not just Genesis, has to be understood in a non-literal way or relinquished as a complete fabrication, or ‘fairy tale’. On the whole, by the end of the nineteenth century, biblical scholars had made this transition, with varying degrees of enthusiasm; but ecclesiastical authorities, and Christians of a conservative disposition, have in many cases still not made it today. Biblical literalists continue to defend the historicity of the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve, Jonah’s big fish and Balaam’s talking donkey, to the delight of atheist critics of Christianity.

Map showing how ‘Mesopotamia’ and ‘Canaan’ came into being and helped to shape the history of Abraham and his descendants.

At the heart of the whole area sometimes called the ‘Near’ East, sometimes the ‘Middle East’ lies the plateau of Arabia. This was once part of a large block called ‘Gondwanaland’ by geologists. To the north and west of this lay the sea which they call ‘Tethys’ of which the present Mediterranean is a remnant. The coastline of this sea fluctuated, sometimes extending far into what is now the land east and south-east of the Dead Sea, and leaving behind on top of the sandstone layers a layer of limestone, which formed the hills around Jerusalem. Another layer of softer limestone was formed, which was worn away to leave some of the mountain passes of modern Israel. On top of this came a third, harder layer of limestone, now seen between Mount Carmel and Samaria, and in the mountains east of the Jordan. Further geological shifts led to Mesopotamia and Canaan being brought together as one geologically-related area. However, in the Tertiary period, the seabed of Tethys, based on less resistant rock than Gondwanaland, was forced up by pressure acting from the north and was pushed and folded into mountain chains against the unyielding edge of Gondwanaland. At the same time, the plateau shattered in several places, dividing roughly to create the ‘boundaries’ of Africa and Arabia, and producing the shape of ‘Canaan’. The Meditteranean coast of this area became famous as a bridge between Asia and Africa, and clearly helped the rise of its civilisations. As a result, ‘Mesopotamia’, the land between the two rivers of the Tigris and Euphrates, is composed of two geographical regions; the northern region is the ‘island’ between the two great rivers, and the Delta region of the south, comprising ancient Sumer and Akkad, Babylon, biblical Shinar with Elam away to the east.

Mesopotamia and Canaan in the time of Abraham

After Darwin, there were many who continued in their belief in the Bible, not just as the ‘inspired Word of God’, but as scientifically and historically accurate in every detail. A popular manual much used by potential clergy in mid-Victorian Britain, at a time when the Church had a virtual monopoly on education, gave a clear verdict that, in the Bible, every scientific statement is infallibly accurate, all its history and narrations of every kind are without any inaccuracy. Doubts might be stirring, particularly as science began to raise serious problems, but a similar view was held by the vast majority of Christians. For them, the Bible was nothing less than the inerrant word of God. To challenge this view publicly in Britain was to invite personal abuse, dismissal, even legal action. Essays and Reviews, a collection of essays by Oxford scholars, was condemned after a petition of eleven thousand clergymen and over 150,000 laypeople when its most provocative essay merely urged those that the Bible should be approached like any other book. But others did begin to ask whether their reading had been too rigidly literal. As they gained experience in dealing with such objections, scholars learnt to match their own questioning to the world they were investigating. They learnt that they had to do more than look at the Bible by itself; they had to recreate the world in which it was composed, whether that was Palestine in the tenth century BCE or Babylon in the sixth or Corinth in the first century CE (AD). Only when there was better knowledge of how people in these places and times lived and thought and spoke would the relevant parts of the Bible take their place in the new picture. A useful illustration of this development was given in the 1960s by Dr Leonard Hodgson:

… modern zoology began when, instead of relying on Aristotelian and heraldic representations of animals in traditional bestiaries, men based their research on the observation of the actual nature and behaviour of living creatures. … As a result of this last century’s biblical studies, we are at a similar turning point in the history of Christian theology. … A hundred years ago our forefathers looked to the Bible as in the same way that medieval zoologists looked to Aristotle… To their successors’ substituting of observation of actual animals corresponds our attention to the historical provenance of the biblical writings.

Quoted by John Bowden (1970), (see ref. below), The Biblical Scholar and his Tools, p. 6.

This meant cultivating a historical sense. That too was developed over the century since Darwin’s theory, so it affected almost any arts subject, from music to languages, and even some of the sciences. The way we begin to understand anything is by looking at its roots, its origins, and discovering how it came to be as we observe it now. Biblical criticism had been in progress for some time before this point became clear. When it began, it was in no position to reconstruct past ethnographies, geographies and ecologies because it did not have sufficient sources of evidence to do so. But this did not mean that useful and lasting research could not be done on more limited, though still valuable issues. Even before archaeology began to make its impressive contribution to our contemporary understanding of events, contexts and developments referred to in the ancient texts, a great deal had already been established about those texts of both the old and new Testament books from their literary characteristics.

The change to a more modest assessment of the Bible happened over the course of a little more than a century from the publication of Darwin’s theory, not a long time compared with the whole history of the Bible as a ‘library’ of various books. It came about because questions were asked quite unlike those of any other previous period. They were questions prompted by a scientific revolution that affected not only the Bible but the entire modern world. Most believers long ago accepted that Genesis 1, for example, is not true in the sense of being an accurate, scientific account of the creation of the world, so that scepticism about the details of the narrative books can also now coexist with continuing to respect the texts as religiously inspiring and informative. We can follow a critical path while at the same time retaining our connection with the traditional use of the Bible by understanding the value of its profound narratives. John Bowden, in his article for the (1970) publication A Source Book of the Bible for Teachers (see the reference above), concludes that the ‘tools’ required by the biblical scholar are the same as those employed by other studies, including history, philosophy, languages, even science, in which disagreements are not uncommon, together with an approach of genuine openness. So biblical scholarship does not stand entirely apart. Where it differs is in the importance attached to its conclusions.

Inspiration, Metaphorical Meanings and Rational Reality:

So much in the past had been based on the belief in the fundamental truth and infallibility of the Bible that changes in perceptions, understanding and interpretation were felt, and still are by many, to have very far-reaching significance. Neither the Old Testament nor the New Testament books themselves contain any claim by their authors to have been dictated or even directly inspired, by God. The chief passage relevant to the inspiration of texts (as opposed to people) is II Timothy 3: 16-17:

All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.

In this passage, ‘Scripture’ must surely refer to the books of the Old Testament, though by the time II Timothy was written some of Paul’s letters seem already to have been regarded as such, as in II Peter 3: 16. However, both these letters were unlikely to have been written by Paul, and both seem to be among the last-written books of the Bible. It also seems unlikely, had Paul had a hand in these letters, that he would have claimed that ‘hand’ to have been directly ‘inspired’ or dictated to by God. ‘Inspired’ literally meant ‘God-breathed’ in the Greek of that time, which would imply that God was the author of the biblical books in a way not otherwise asserted within the books themselves. In Judaism, it has been customary to see the books of the Hebrew Bible as given by the spirit of God, though the exact mechanism is not much discussed. Despite the paucity of references within the Bible itself, Christians have often quoted II Timothy and described the Bible as the product of divine inspiration. Dictation theories are unusual today: even very conservative Christians allow that the biblical authors contributed much from their own minds. But accepting this makes it difficult to exclude the possibility of human error, inaccuracy or interpretation in the writing of the biblical texts, which conservatives are concerned at all costs to avoid admitting.

Some ‘conservative’ Christians do indeed continue to hold that since Genesis 1-2 says that the world was created in six days, it must have been so created – a literal interpretation. Others are more concerned with the Bible’s infallibility than with reading all of it literally, and will sometimes accept metaphorical readings if that will preserve the fundamental truth of the texts. Some will maintain that ‘day’ does not literally mean a period of twenty-four hours, but a vastly longer ‘period’. Since God inspired the writers, they cannot have been in error; and since we know that the world formed and life evolved over billions of years, that must be what Genesis really means. Some have also been heard to insist that there must have been six periods in the creation of the earth, and that even that this is supported by science, in an effort to avoid accepting that – in purely scientific and historical terms – Genesis is simply wrong. Darwin’s contemporaries also witnessed many similar attempts to reconcile biblical texts with scientific discoveries. In his ministerial Conference address of 1891, for instance, Spurgeon described a good brother who writes a tremendous book to prove that the six days of creation represent six great theological periods:

… he shows how the geological strata, and the organisms thereof, follow very much in the order of the Genesis story of creation. It may be so, or it may not be so; but if anybody should before long show that the strata do not lie in any such order, what would be my reply? I should say that the Bible never taught that they did. The Bible said, “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” …There is nothing said about long ages of time…

… I do not here lay down any theory, but simply say that if our friend’s great book is all fudge, the Bible is not responsible for it. It is true that his theory has an appearance of support from the parallelism which he makes out between the organic life of the ages and that of the seven days; but this may be accounted for from the fact God usually follows a certain order whether he works in long periods or short ones. I do not know, and I do not care much about the question

… {but} if you smash up an explanation you must not imagine that you have damaged the Scriptural truth which seemed to require the explanation… Believe everything in science which is proved: it will not come to much. And then believe everything which is clearly in the Word of God…

C. H. Spurgeon, The Greatest Fight in the World, loc. cit. , pp. 41-42.

On the other hand, a purely historical-critical style of reading the Bible would see the stories as reports of alleged actual events, but then go on simply to deny that such events actually happened. After all, there were two creation narratives in Genesis, both giving very different slants. Could it be that we are not intended to take these stories as exact, literal and scientific descriptions of what happened? Do they not rather present profound insights into man’s relationship with the world and his God, in terms which could be understood by pre-scientific man? Could it not be that, in describing the origin of the world, Genesis had to use a certain amount of symbolism, just as the last book of the Bible uses symbolism to describe the cosmic events of the end of the world? It is commonplace in modern discussions of religion and science to argue that the story of creation in Genesis 1 was never meant to be taken literally, and this was picked up by the Catholic Pontifical Biblical Commission in their short book entitled The Inspiration and Truth of Sacred Scripture: The Word that Comes from God and Speaks of God for the Salvation of the World:

The first creation account (Gen. 1: 1 – 2: 4a), through its well-organised structure, describes not how the world came into being but why and for what purpose it is as it is. In poetic style, using the imagery of his era, the author of Gen. 1 … shows that God is the origin of the cosmos and of humankind.

Inspiration and Truth, p. 74.

It seems to John Barton highly likely, however, that the author of the first account was trying to describe how the world came into being, in other words, that the text is, or was, meant to be taken literally. The problem with this way of understanding it is that, unless you are a ‘fundamentalist’, you have to go on to admit that the author was mistaken, and this comes very hard to many conservative Christians, especially when they are dealing with what became ecclesiastical documents. The metaphorical reading of the creation story is a ‘forced’ or ‘strained’ reading, designed to ensure that the narrative can continue to be seen as true in some sense. And perhaps it is true in that sense – but it foists on the authors what some readers believe is the best way we have of extracting benefit from the passages. Such readings are not a modern undertaking, but reveal a dependence on the view that, because the text is ‘inspired’ it must be ‘true’ according to our understanding of how the world is and how it came to be. Nonetheless, there is an alternative, which is to read it at face value, and then recognise that it is not true. If we do that, then the idea that the text is inspired becomes harder to hold on to. Perhaps, as John Barton suggests, it is better not to make the high claim that it is inspired or, at least, to understand ‘inspiration’ differently. Perhaps, also, the use of the word ‘fundamentalist’ to describe ‘conservative Christians’ who read the Bible literally, is not an appropriate usage. A Christian must be able to hold to the ‘radical truth’ of the Creation myths and sagas without accepting them as historically or scientifically factual.

The Ancient of Days’ by William Blake (1757-1827), from Europe, a Prophecy, 1794.

At the time, since the habit of reading Genesis 1 literally (and often at the expense of Genesis 2 which tended to be ignored) was deeply ingrained it was consequential that the battle should rage over creation versus evolution. Another consequence was that many people exchanged an uncritical view of creation for an equally uncritical view of evolution. Today, we can take a more objective view. For most Christians, it is not so much a case of either/or, but of seeing God’s creative action in the processes of evolution. To do this requires an understanding of modern science, but not an extensive knowledge of it. It means relating Christian beliefs, not only to an evolutionary time-scale but also to relative values. In the past, people have thought of God as God-of-the-gaps. God and nature were quite separate. For most of the time nature functions quite adequately on its own. God comes into the picture only where there is a break in the processes of nature. The trouble with this view is that the more science is able to explain our life in terms of natural processes, the less room there is for God. In the end, God is squeezed out altogether. But God is not a term of scientific explanation. He is not one cause alongside other natural causes. Rather, he is there working in and through all that goes on in the world. The believer knows from the Bible and in his experience that this is so. It is the inherited task of twenty-first-century theology to show us more clearly how we can think of God against the background of a scientific view of the world.

‘Conclusions’ – Continuing Questions, Doubts and Assurances:

But if, as is so often the case, there is just not enough evidence to come to any definite conclusion, then living with questions and doubt would seem to be the only answer. As in other areas of life, perhaps we just have to get used to that as the modern condition of mankind. But then, the believer may ask, can we be sure of anything? It might be wrong, or misleading, to collect a set of ‘assured results’ and present them by saying of this much, at least, we may be certain. All results are only probable, though some may be more probable than others, and many assured results of the past have since been overturned. A good deal of the tension between doubt and assurance is evinced by the question of what can we be sure? This tension may slacken once the distinction between ‘proof’ and ‘understanding’ has been made. The Bible bears witness to God through the whole life of a particular people and the way in which it looked at the world. That life had many aspects, and when we acknowledge that, a great many of its patterns and processes will fall into place of their own accord. On the vexed question of Biblical authority, Robert C Walton has concluded:

The Bible is self-authenticating. Its authority cannot be imposed, its significance cannot be demonstrated by using time-honoured phrases like ‘Holy Scripture’ or ‘the word of God’. … Yet it has been the experience of millions in the past and today that the Bible has the power to transmit to men the mystery and majesty, the power and loving-kindness of God: and also the mystery, the majesty and loving-kindness of Jesus. It makes its own claims on upon men’s minds and imaginations and consciences, but this self-authentication… is often built up slowly; it may take years, decades, or perhaps a whole lifetime.

Robert C Walton, Has the Bible Authority? in his (1970) Source Book of the Bible for Teachers.

Philosophical approaches, biblical criticism and the theory of evolution threw the church onto the defensive in the late Victorian period. All three seemed to be saying that man was only a superior ape, that philosophy put things in a clear light and that there is nothing but the material on which to base belief. Included in these secular views was the ultimate critique of the Bible as ‘fancy’ or as ‘fairy tales.’ As so often in the past, however, the challenge of opposition brought out the best in the Church. What these intellectual movements did was pose problems and there were those within the Church who rose to the challenge and propose solutions. But each generation must provide fresh solutions, and the twentieth century was to present problems for the church of a different order entirely.


John Barton (2019), A History of the Bible: The Book and Its Faiths. London: Allen Lane (Penguin Books).

Tim Dowley (ed.) (1977), A History of Christianity. Berkhamsted: Lion Publishing.

Robert C Walton (ed.) (1970, 1982), A Source Book of the Bible for Teachers. London: SCM Press Ltd.

C. Harvie, G. Martin & A. Scharf (eds.) (1975), Industrialisation and Culture, 1830-1914. Basingstoke: Macmillan (for The Open University).

C. H. Spurgeon (1891, 1999), The Greatest Fight in the World: Conference Address. Belfast: Ambassador Publications.


Scenes from Baptist History, 1814-1914: Missionaries, Mechanics & Manufacturers.

Includes a scene from Regent Street Baptist Church, Smethwick, Birmingham, from November 1897, ‘The Church in Meeting Assembled’ by Rev. A. J. Chandler, Minister of Bearwood Baptist Church, Birmingham, 1965-79.

Revival, ‘Respectability’ & Reform in Britain, 1814-1859:

In 1814, there was an evangelistic revival at Redruth in Cornwall which continued for nine days. An eye-witness described what happened:

Hundreds were crying for mercy at once. Some remained in great distress of soul for one hour, some for two, some six, some nine, twelve and fifteen hours before the Lord spoke peace in their souls – then they would rise, extend their arms and proclaim the wonderful works of God with such energy that bystanders would be struck in a moment and fall to the ground and roar for the disquieture of their souls.

By 1826, a complete change had come over the social habits of Britain, or so many contemporary witnesses have told us in their diaries, journals and letters. In that year, one writer wrote of the courtesy of the people of Petticoat Lane in London. He walked there with his wife without hearing or seeing anything objectionable. Fifteen years earlier he had been blackguarded from one end of the lane to the other. But not everything was not a marker of progress and moral improvement. The cult of respectability among the emerging business classes was not the same as real Christianity, and there was also a great deal of hypocrisy among evangelicals. Most of them observed Sunday strictly, but the Victorian evangelicals were strictest of all. The Lord Day’s Observance Society was founded in 1831. Numerous letters and articles in the evangelical magazine, The Record, protested against Sunday opening of parks, museums and zoological gardens. For six years, the evangelical minister at Cheltenham managed to prevent all passenger trains from stopping there on a Sunday.

Evangelical societies made it their business to supply Anglican evangelical ordinands and endow evangelical parishes where they might serve. The most important patronage trust was that begun by John Thornton and taken over by the Rev. Charles Simeon. When he died, the Simeon Trust had the right to nominate the clergy to twenty-one Anglican positions. These were mainly in large towns such as Bradford and Derby. By 1820, one in twenty of the Anglican clergy were evangelical; by 1830, it was one in eight. But Anglican evangelicals gained high office only slowly. Henry Ryder became Bishop of Gloucester in 1815 and Charles Richard Sumner became Bishop of Winchester in 1827, but the commanding heights of the Church were not ‘taken’ until John Bird Sumner became Archbishop of Canterbury in 1848. These three men presented a new kind of bishop. They were much simpler in their lifestyles than their predecessors. They visited all parts of their dioceses and took more care over confirmations and ordinations. Their example was followed in the fifties by the ‘Palmerston bishops’, who were mostly appointed on the advice of the evangelical, Lord Shaftesbury. The English evangelical social reformer, pictured below, supported numerous causes, including improved factory conditions for the working classes, the regulation of child and female labour and slum schools.

Lord Shaftesbury

1833 not only saw the Abolition of Slavery within the British Empire, but also the first effective Factory Act passed by Parliament. It had often been suggested that Wilberforce and his associates in the Clapham Sect were only concerned with liberating black slaves overseas and not with the ‘white slaves’ of industrial England. This claim, also made ever since by some historians, ignores the fact that Wilberforce had been one of the first few reformers to complain that the ineffective Factory Acts of 1802 and 1818 did not go far enough. The specialists in the industrial problem were, however, the Yorkshire evangelicals, such as Wilberforce’s friend Thomas Gisburne, Richard Oastler of Huddersfield, Michael Sadler MP, their parliamentary spokesman, and John Wood, a Bradford textile manufacturer. Wood put the issue of ‘white slavery’ to Oastler in 1830 in terms of the ongoing campaign against Afro-Caribbean slavery:

You are very enthusiastic against slavery in the West Indies: and I assure you there are cruelties practised in our mills on little children, which, if you knew, I am sure you would strive to prevent.

A few months later, Oastler wrote a famous letter to the Leeds Mercury entitled ‘Yorkshire Slavery’ in which he represented the disappointment of his fellow northern campaigners with the lack of support received from dissenters and the more pietistic of their fellow evangelical Anglicans, who appeared content to leave the plight of the distressed working classes to the operation of so-called ‘natural laws’. Shaftesbury was also often criticised by more heavenly-minded evangelicals for being too concerned with the earthly conditions of the Victorian working classes. He had his own answer for their criticisms which he presented to a Social Service Congress held at Liverpool in 1859:

When people say we should think more of the soul and less of the body, my answer is that the same God who made the soul made the body also … I maintain that God is worshipped not only by the spiritual but the material creation. Our bodies, the temples of the Holy Ghost, ought not to be corrupted by preventable disease, degraded by avoidable filth, and disabled for his service by unnecessary suffering.

Continental Revival and Reaction, 1815-65:

Meanwhile, following the fall of Napoleon and state-sponsored atheism, between 1815 and 1848 a series of popular religious awakenings arose throughout Protestant Europe. The awakening (Réveil) in French-speaking Europe had its origins in Geneva, in the ministry of the Scot, Robert Haldane (1764-1842), who led an early mission to French-speaking Europe in the 1820s and 30s. In 1802, Chateaubriand’s Génie du Christianisme (The Genius of Christianity) was published in France, an immensely popular and powerful argument for Christianity, based on its aesthetic values. In Denmark, Nicolai Grundvig (1783-1872) initiated a pietistic movement by openly opposing liberal theology. The revival in Sweden resulted from the ministry in Stockholm of an English preacher, George Scott. In Norway, the awakening was largely a lay movement, connected with Hans Nielsen Hauge (1771-1824). These revival movements were not closely related to each other and were largely the work of ‘ordinary’ Christians. In 1848, there were outbreaks of revolution in France, Italy, Austria-Hungary and Germany. By December, the five hundred representatives from the German kingdoms, Austria and Bohemia attending an assembly at Frankfurt to create a constitution for Germany, for the whole Empire, produced a Declaration of the Rights of the German People which included a guarantee of religious freedom for dissenters. The ‘Old Lutherans’ who had rejected the Prussian Union of 1817 with the Calvinists, were allowed freedom of conscience. Nonconformists who had appeared in Germany as a result of missionary activity from English-speaking nations also gained toleration. But these gains were, however, short-lived.

Democratic institutions made little further progress in Germany and by 1850 most republican reforms, including those of the Frankfurt Assembly, had lapsed into disuse. In 1862, political reaction and religious autocracy had returned across Europe with Pope Pius IX’s encyclical, Quanta Cura naming political liberalism as one of the chief ‘modern errors’. The Syllabus of Errors also condemned rationalism in all its forms, including liberal theology, freemasonry and religious toleration itself. Even the Bible Societies, which had entered the European continent from Britain after 1815, were ejected. In 1816, Pius VII had rebuked the Societies for distributing the Scriptures without the comments of the church ‘Fathers’. In the 1830s, Pope Gregory XVI further condemned them as daring heralds of infidelity and heresy. So the Syllabus simply consolidated earlier opposition. The pope also issued a strong attack on the separation of church and state, fearing the continued strength of republicanism in France. In response, the French state prohibited the publication of the Syllabus of Errors in 1865.

Evangelical ranks in Britain divided from the 1820s, partly in reaction to developments on the continent. Edward Irving convinced many evangelicals that they were far too optimistic about the conversion of the world; in fact, the day of judgement was at hand. Christ’s second coming would precede the millennium. He believed that the missionary societies were deceiving the elect by talking of the conversion of the world. At the same time the Calvinist, Robert Haldane, won his campaign against Simeon to prevent the Apocrypha from being included in Bibles published by the Bible Society. Haldane’s nephew, Alexander, shared his uncle’s views. When the younger Haldane became the chief owner of the twice-weekly Record in 1828, he propagated these strong ideas. Haldane gave strict Calvinism a foothold again in Anglican Evangelicalism. The Record also adopted Irving’s views on biblical philosophy and the millennium, its policy becoming ultra-conservative in both politics and theology. Its strongest condemnation was for Sabbath-breakers and Roman Catholics, but ‘the Recordites’ also became a strident minority within the Evangelical party. ‘The mainstream party’ continued the tradition of Simeon and the Clapham Sect. Among their leaders were Edward Bickersteth, Henry Venn and J. W. Cunningham. Their journal, which stressed loyalty to the church, was the monthly Christian Observer, which had begun in 1802. In spite of theological differences, however, there was no open rift with ‘the Recordites’.

Missionary Societies, Colonies and Imperial Trade:

William Carey (1761-1834) achieved much in various areas during his time in India, including Bible translation and production, evangelism, church planting, education and medical relief, as well as social reform and linguistic and horticultural research. More specifically, he initiated mission schools, conceived the idea of Serampore College, founded the Agricultural Society of India (1820) to promote agricultural improvements, studied botany (being awarded a fellowship of the Linnaean Society in 1823), and took a leading part in the campaign for the abolition of widow-burning (sati), which succeeded in 1829.

William Carey, the untiring English Baptist pioneer missionary.

Carey’s devotion to India, which he never left, and his practical wisdom in his encouraging Indians to spread the gospel themselves. In this respect, he defined his chief object as follows:

“… the forming of our native bethren to usefulness, fostering every kind of genius, and cherishing every gift and grace in them; in this respect we can scarcely be too lavish in our attention to their improvement. It is only by means of native preachers (that) we can hope for the universal spread of the Gospel through this immense continent.”

The Evangelical Revival had revolutionised preaching and its objectives. Churchmen regarded the parish priest’s task as nurturing all the baptised members of the parochial church and could not easily adjust to the thought of preaching in tribal and nomadic societies. At the same, Calvinists with a rigid doctrine of predestination and ‘the Elect’ saw no reason to concern themselves with the conversion of the heathens. When God wanted to convert them, Carey was told by a fellow Baptist, he would do it without your help or mine! But the evangelical felt a personal responsibility to do this and saw no difference between the ‘baptised heathen’ in Britain and non-Christians overseas. But it was only in the 1820s and 1830s that interest in overseas missions become a regular feature of British church life generally. This was due partly to the success of the Evangelicals in influencing British life. Many of the values of the evangelicals were adopted outside their own circles. In particular, the idea of Britain as a Christian nation with a global mission took root. Bishoprics were established in India, though none had ever been established in colonial America, and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel enlarged its operations to those of a general missionary society. In Scotland, moderate presbyterian churchmen joined with evangelicals to promote missions, strongly educational in character, under the umbrella of The General Assembly of the Church of Scotland.

The birth of the missionary societies, however, had nothing to do with the protection of British trading interests abroad. The earliest missions were in fact intricately associated with evangelical Baptists and supported by people with known revolutionary instincts and sympathies, such as Robert Haldane, the Genevan-based Scot. It was also the evangelical groups who led the continuing campaign against slavery in the British Empire. This caused some in the Anglican establishment to fear that they were basically subversive. To this was added the fear that in India, missionary preaching would offend Hindus and Muslims, upsetting a volatile colonial relationship and harming British trade. The semi-official Honourable East India Company, through which British administration and trade were exercised, was not initially favourably disposed towards Carey and his colleagues, so much so that the missionaries had to sail in a Danish ship and work from Danish territory. The antithetical attitude of the East India Company changed when in 1813 the Company’s charter came up for renewal, and the Evangelicals of the Clapham Sect denounced some aspects of its policy. Not only did the Company hinder missionary work, they argued, it positively profited by means of a tax on native temples and similar institutions of idolatry. They won a qualified victory through the abandonment of the tax, the appointment of bishops, and the enlargement of the system of government chaplains. Missions were largely unhindered and often favoured, though nineteenth-century evangelicals soon stopped asking for ‘official’ backing for them.

When planning his first missionary enterprise, Carey had asked: what would a trading company do? From this, he proposed the formation of a company of serious laymen and ministers with a committee to collect and sift information, and to find funds and suitable men. The voluntary society, of which the missionary society was one early form, was to transform the nineteenth-century church. It was invented to meet needs rather than simply to propagate doctrines, but in doing so it undermined all the established forms of church government. In the first place, it made possible ecumenical activity. Churchmen and dissenters or seceders cut off from church business could work together for defined purposes. It also altered the power base in the church, by encouraging lay leadership among ordinary members who came to hold key positions in important societies, the best of which made it possible for many people to participate. The enthusiast who collected a penny a week from members of his local missionary society and distributed the missionary magazine was fully involved in the work of the society. It was through the work of such people that missionary candidates came forward. The American missionary, Rufus Anderson, put their achievements in dramatic context when he wrote in 1834:

It was not until the present century that that the evangelical churches of Christendom were ever really organised with a view to the conversion of the world.

Within Wesleyan Methodism, Thomas Coke was anxious to extend Methodist missions on a worldwide scale and tried several times to get the Methodist Conference to approve his plans for an extension. The objections were mainly financial, so Coke worked towards forming local auxiliaries and by 1814 these were recognised by the Conference. In 1818 it brought together the auxiliaries in a Methodist Missionary Society. Eventually, every member of the Methodist Church was automatically enrolled in the Society. In Scotland, the Kirk took direct responsibility for missions in 1824 and appointed its first missionary, Alexander Duff. By that time evangelicals and moderates agreed on the importance of this work, with its emphasis on education, which became the hallmark of successive Scottish missions. When the Kirk was split by the ‘Disruption’ in 1843, the missionaries all joined the Free Church and the Church of Scotland had to begin again recruiting missionaries. The founding fathers of the early British societies clearly did not expect many missionary recruits from among ministers – or the normal sources of supply of ministers. Carey, a self-educated cobbler turned minister, was an exception. Most of the early recruits were craftsmen or tradesmen, who would be unlikely to seek or obtain ordination for the home ministry.

The first few years’ experiences of the London Missionary Society (LMS) showed the importance of the careful preparation of missionaries. Though many of the candidates had little formal education, their training, superintended by David Bogue, was impressive. Much of the early LMS study material on languages and tribes is strikingly scholarly. There was little appetite in the first half of the nineteenth century for the acquisition of new territories and in the 1840s there were pressures and plans to abandon as many as possible of such expensive luxuries. The missionaries also played an important role in the eventual emancipation of the slaves within the British Empire, which did not come about until 1833, after a long campaign led by Fowell Buxton.

Buxton was aided by direct eye-witness accounts from the missionaries as to how slavery continued to dehumanise the lives of Africans, Afro-Caribbeans and Afro-Americans. Even after Abolition, the missionary societies also argued that Britain owed a debt to Africa for slavery and to India for the wealth derived from it. From 1841 to 1856, the Scottish doctor, independent missionary and explorer, David Livingstone, (1813-73) served with the LMS, exposing the horrid facts of the Arab slave trade in central Africa. His strategy was not to exploit but to liberate and in this he contrasted sharply with Cecil Rhodes. Though a missionary for only half of his thirty years in Africa, Livingstone saw all his work in the context of a providential plan in which gospel preaching, the increase of knowledge and the relief of suffering were all closely connected. The Anglican Universities Mission to Central Africa owed its inspiration to this Scots Independent and after his death, the Church of Scotland and the Free Church of Scotland came together to open Central African missions which reflected his ideals and breadth of vision.

The greatest difficulties in recruiting were met by the Church Missionary Society (CMS) since their principles required the use of ordained men and very few came forward. These were eased by transcontinental collaboration with seminaries in Germany elsewhere. Of the first twenty-four CMS missionaries, seventeen were German and only three were ordained Englishmen. This imbalance was eased when the bishops became more involved with the society’s activities, and also as it became more rooted in the parishes. Following the lead of Carey and the Baptists, Indian missions continued to stimulate the British missionary societies, but by the middle of the century, there was an increasing involvement in Africa.

By mid-century, the importance of training ‘native ministers’ was better and more widely recognised, and an increasing number were serving on the staffs of the societies. The CMS Niger Mission, begun in 1857, was staffed entirely by Africans. In the last third of the century, missionary recruitment expanded enormously. This was largely due to the effects of the 1859 Revival, the Baptist Keswick Convention and other movements. The ‘Cambridge Seven’, ex-Cambridge undergraduates who set out for China in 1885, were only the first of hundreds to follow. These decades – the period of high imperialism – not only produced many more missionaries but a different type of missionary. The same influences were at work in producing new forms of society. These maintained the voluntary society principle and were directed towards particular regions, for example, the China Inland Mission (1865) or the Qua Iboe Mission (1887).

Others met particular needs, like the Mission to Lepers (1874). The photograph below shows women suffering from leprosy in a ‘mission compound’ at Champa, India in 1903.

The nineteenth-century missionaries, and the societies which called and directed them, were a major factor in transforming Christianity into a truly global religion. The number of volunteers, together with the technological and political developments of the age, led to the prospect of the evangelisation of the world in this generation. Those hopes of further Christian advancement were dashed by the outbreak of the First World War in 1914 and its ongoing effect on faith. But by the time European manpower was reduced, the great African and Indian native mass movements had begun.

Religious Responses to Industrialisation & Urbanisation in Britain:

‘Work’, a painting by Ford Madox Brown, the original of which can be viewed in Birmingham City Art Gallery. The artist depicts many of the skills and occupations of the working-class Victorian world, attempting to show both the dignity and degradation of labour in capitalist society.

Industrialism and urbanisation strengthened the factory system which had already begun with the ‘mills’ of the north of England. It was not so much the long hours and low wages that workers objected to. They were used to these in the countryside and urban slums were not much worse than rural hovels, and agriculture depended as much on the work of women and children as the new industries. With the invention of the steam engine, the manufacturer, at last, had a source of power independent from climate and season. This was a change of universal significance and with the development of the canal systems and the railways, the limitations of location were removed from major industries. The real tyrant was the substitution of the rhythm of nature by that of the machine, for the hated threshing machines were only irregular ‘interruptions’ in rural labour. In the new urban areas, machines were a constant accompaniment to everyday life. The Church of England was particularly slow to respond to these developments, finding it difficult to do so. As the state church, it needed an act of Parliament for a new parish to be created, a process that was both time-consuming and costly.

As a consequence, the Church found itself unable, at least until the 1840s, to adapt to the new industrial England and Wales. The new urban masses consequently grew up very often beyond its care: there was often simply no physical room for them in church, and all too often no clergyman to care for their spiritual needs. The parish church, in both rural and urban areas, all too often represented the Tory Party at prayer. In the 1830s, for example, the ‘Chartists’ found little support in the established church. They frequently marched on the parish churches, requesting the vicar to preach on some congenial text, such as: Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries which are coming to you. The rebuff they got from all the churches led them to establish separate Chartist churches in certain areas, and there was even a Chartist hymn book. Many of the Chartist leaders of the thirties and forties were Christians and church members. There is little firm evidence of the extent and class nature of church attenders in Victorian times. England’s one and only census in which church attendance was recorded took place in 1851. The deduction was made that roughly thirty per cent of those who could have attended service on Sunday did not do so. Dissenting churches were found to be approximately as strong as the Anglican churches; in fact, stronger in urban England. Church absenteeism was highest in the new northern towns.

Under the Viaduct’ (1872) by Gustave Doré (1833-83). Over a hundred thousand people were displaced from their homes in London alone as a result of railway building, and many were crowded even closer in the centres of cities because they could not afford to travel to work on the railways that had effectively evicted them.

Methodism did not have the same difficulties. With its simple barn-like preaching places, its itinerant ministers, and its local preachers it was admirably designed to go where the established church was unable to go. Other Dissenters, too, expanded into the towns and cities of industrial England and engaged in missionary work there with some success. But there always remained many more people beyond, in the unchurched, unreached, jungle of ‘darkest England’ as General Booth described it. Part of the difficulty was that the churches were dominated by class divisions. Many congregations became middle-class preserves – the Wesleyans and Congregationalists tended to attract a middle-class attendance, while the Baptist ‘Tabernacle’ and the Primitive Methodist ‘Bethel’ were more likely to have a largely working-class congregation. The other small but influential nonconformist group was The Brethren, (or open Brethren). They had a strong emphasis on missionary work, at home and abroad, and their most distinctive characteristic is that the ministry and gifts of the church are distributed to all believers. They had few full-time pastors and their full-time evangelists travelled widely. Local churches governed themselves and were free to apply the teachings of scripture in the light of local and contemporary needs. Their founding fathers were mainly Anglican evangelicals who felt that the Evangelical Movement was not going far enough, but there were also many nonconformists among them who deplored certain features of their original churches. Their best-known social reformer was Thomas Barnado, pictured below helping to feed some of the hungry homeless boys of Victorian London. Barnado (1845-1905) set up a huge institution to care for the homeless children of England.

Figures of two children from George Müller’s orphanage in Bristol. Müller was one of the earliest Brethren, who never made a public appeal for the funds with which to run his orphanage, but his pottery figures, made in Stoke-on-Trent, heéped with this.

Joseph Arch

In the countryside, meanwhile, the Primitive Methodist lay-preacher Joseph Arch of Tysoe (depicted in a contemporary cartoon, right) established the Warwickshire Agricultural Labourers’ Union in the early 1870s. This was the first union of unskilled workers, and their local strike found support from the Nonconformist British Quarterly Review, which in 1872 expressed the view that…

… the movement which commenced a few months since in Warwickshire, and which is spreading gradually over the whole agricultural region of south and mid-England, is not unlike the first of those upheavals which occurred five centuries ago. Like that, it is an attempt to escape from… an intolerable and hopeless bondage, with the difference that… the present is an attempt to exact better terms for manual labour. Just as the poor priests of Wycliffe’s training were the agents… by whom communications were made between the various disaffected regions, so on the present occasion the ministers or preachers of those humbler sects, whose religious impulses are energetic, and perhaps sensational, have been found the national leaders of a struggle after social emancipation.

A religious revival has constantly been accompanied by an attempt to better the material conditions of those who are the objects of the impulse… A generation ago the agricultural labourer strove to arrest the operation of changes which oppressed him… by machine breaking and rick burning. Now the agricultural labourer has adopted the machinery of a trade union and a strike and has conducted his agitation in a strictly peaceful and law-abiding manner.

Above: A Family evicted for supporting the National Agricultural Labourers’ Union 

As legal restraints were lifted in the 1870s, it became easier for trade unions to spread to ‘unskilled’ groups, such as the agricultural workers, led by Arch, whose Warwickshire union spread quickly and grew into the National Agricultural Labourers’ Union. The growth of waterfront and related unions in the great seaports helped to change the geography of the trade union movement, although their strength ebbed and flowed with the trade cycle. In 1891, on the crest of the cycle, officially recorded trade union membership had penetrated deepest in Northumberland, Durham, industrial Lancashire, Yorkshire and Derbyshire, and South Wales. It remained at a very low ebb across the Home Counties, southwest England, the rest of Wales and most of East Anglia, despite the rise in agricultural trade unions. The same geographical pattern applied to the development of consumer cooperatives. ‘Coops’ divided profits among their members and were based on the doctrines of the mill owner Robert Owen, whose great discovery that the key to a better society was unrestrained co-operation on the part of all members for every purpose of social life. They attempted to build virtuous alternative societies based on a fair distribution of the rewards of labour, whose superiority to corrupt competitive capitalism would gradually and ultimately prevail. To raise funds for these Owenite communities, shops were established, with the surpluses going towards the next stages of cooperative manufacturing and agriculture. Wherever traditions of self-help and trade union commitment coexisted with hard-working, thrifty Nonconformity, cooperation took root.

Distant Dissenters, Morality & Social Justice:

A Victorian family on their way to the chapel. In this period, it became ‘respectable’ for the middle classes to attend chapel.

How to evangelise among the working classes was an ongoing problem, partly because the children of working-class Christians tended to join the middle classes. There was something ‘bourgeois’ about revivalist ethics in practice; gone was the expenditure on drink; new priorities included the family, self-improvement and Sunday school attendance. So there came to be a distinction between ‘chapel working class’ and the ‘brute working class’ of the back alleys. From the 1840s onwards most city churches boasted a cluster of satellite missions in the poorer areas of the cities. These mission halls were often far more than preaching stations and provided their respective areas with a kind of all-purpose relief station, complete with clothing societies, penny banks, tontine clubs, soup kitchens and other agencies. They paralleled the many-sided activities of the institutional church of the suburbs which apparently provided a total ‘chapel culture’ for its adherents. The old Puritan concept of the covenant community gave way to a Christian presence, represented by a range of Christian societies engaged in various aspects of missionary work. In the late nineteenth century, people’s concerns broadened and many agencies of the church became more concerned to offer a social gospel than the old dogmatic one. The Christian minister was becoming a social organiser more than a pastor of the local body of Christ.

Against this ‘backdrop’, the attitudes towards the poor of the more distant and ‘conservative’ Nonconformist leaders, were well illustrated from the pens of those who patronised them, those who preached to them and from those amongst the poor who discovered in the Nonconformist pulpit a means for calling their colleagues to self-realisation. It was significant that Andrew Mearns, William Booth and Charles Booth were all Nonconformists, but Dissenters were also prone to facing accusations of espousing philanthropy divorced from a sense of social justice, and even of outright hypocrisy in their attitudes towards the poor. Sometimes large congregations gathered together in great solid temples of middle-class respectability, possessed neither the common life of the meeting-house nor the urgent need to rescue the lost. Instead, they seemed to perpetuate themselves by some self-justifying principle. Church-building programmes increased in every decade of the century, and many full churches, both in city centres and in the suburbs, were presided over by princes of the Victorian pulpit. They conveyed an impression of progress and advance was often conveyed. In fact, the churches were failing to keep pace with the expanding population.

A cartoon by George Cruikshank on Victorian middle-class morality.

By the end of the century, however, the factory system also demanded an emphasis on precision, scrupulous standards, the clock and the bell, and the avoidance of waste. For many of the leaders of nonconformity, especially the many employers among them, the greatest industrial sin was drunkenness, which challenged all the values of the new industrial capitalist system. A new morality was needed and this was provided by the fruits of the evangelical revival. All too easily, as Briggs and Sellers (1973) noted, the phrase ‘the Nonconformist conscience’,

could lapse into an unlovely onslaught from a determined, Puritanical middle-class sectarianism against the drink, gambling and thriftlessness of the classes below and above it to the ignoring of the deeper social problems which afflicted the nation.

That is not to say that Nonconformity’s sympathies rested upon calculation alone. The growing call for the preaching of a ‘social gospel’ was, at least, the ‘child’ of a more positive definition of individualism, standing as a proper, practical and involved corrective to the implicit pietism of the tradition of conscientious separation. Nonconformists also felt the tensions involved in the relationship between church and evangelism. Victorian nonconformity blended Puritan churchmanship and revival evangelism. The revivalist strand was reinforced by the experience of the 1859 Revival, and later by the visits of American revivalists such as Moody and Sankey, and Torrey and Alexander. In his address published in the Congregational Year Book in 1885, Dr Joseph Parker began by envisaging a speech by one of that suffering community of ignorance, misfortunate, misery and shame who had spent a year observing the Unions, Conferences, Assemblies and Convocations held among Nonconformist ‘leaders’:

“We have had a full year among, and we cannot very well make out what you are driving at. We do not know most of the long words you use … We do not know what you are, or what you want to be at. From what we can make out you seem to know that we poor devils are going straight down to a place you call hell. … We read the inky papers which you call your ‘resolutions’ but in them, there is no word for us that is likely to do us real good. They say nothing about our real misery; nothing about our long hours, our poor pay, our wretched lodgings.”

… our evangelism is in danger of devoting itself almost exclusively to what is known as ‘the masses’. I must protest against this contraction, on the ground that it is as unjust to Christianity, as it is blind to the evidence of facts. If the city missionary … is wanted anywhere, he is specially wanted where … conscience is lulled by charity which knows nothing of sacrifice, and where political economy is made the scapegoat for oppression and robbery. …

There is only one class worse than the class known as ‘outcast London’, and that class is composed of those who ‘have lived in pleasure on the earth and been wanton’. The cry is ‘bitterer’ in many tones at the West End than at the East; … the thousand social falsehoods that mimic the airs of Piety … these seem to be distresses without alleviation, and to constitute heathenism which Christ himself might view with despair.

The ‘Prince of Preachers’ and the Paupers:

Spurgeon’s sermons drew many thousands to his churches, first at New Park Street Chapel and then at the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London (shown below). When printed, the sermons were also sold in their millions to people in the streets, and have since been distributed in more than two hundred million copies worldwide, giving some indication as to the continuing appeal of his thoroughly Biblical expositions. At the heart of Spurgeon’s desire to preach was a strong desire to develop a pastoral ministry. He did not regard people simply as souls to be saved, but loved them and wanted the best for them. His concern for their welfare extended to those involved in Christian ministry in all its forms, not just to ordained pastors. His book, Lectures to my Students was produced for those training for full-time ministry, but Counsel for Christian Workers was published for other people involved in a variety of Christian work. It contains Spurgeon’s clear-sighted viewpoints, advice and wisdom on the practical issues facing such people in their ministry.

Spurgeon himself had been born into a very modest home at Kelvedon in Essex. As early as 1861, following the opening of the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London, the great Baptist preacher warned against the atmosphere of snobbery which he perceived was increasingly prevalent among his flock:

There is growing up even in our Dissenting churches, an evil which I greatly deplore, a despising of the poor. I frequently hear, in conversation, such remarks as this:

“It is of no use trying in such a place as this: you could never raise a self-supporting cause. There are none but poor living in this neighbourhood.”

… You know that in the city of London itself, there is now scarce a Dissenting place of worship. The reason for giving most of them up and moving them into the suburbs is that all the respectable people live out of town, and of course they are the people to look after. They will not stop in London. They will go out and take villas in the subsurbs where it may be maintained.

“No doubt,” it is said, “the poor ought to be looked after: but we had better leave them to another order, an inferior order. The city missionaries will do for them; send them a few street preachers.”

In 1865, in a bid to increase the numbers giving ordained ministry to the poor in the developing towns and cities, Spurgeon inaugurated the Annual Conference of the Pastors’ College. The foundation stone for the College building was laid eight years later. During his lifetime he gave twenty-seven addresses as President at the Conference. Many hundreds of ministers and students would gather each year to hear the ‘Governor’ at his best. He also became directly involved in setting up institutions to combat pauperism. He founded Stockwell Orphanage for Boys in 1867, followed by a Girls’ Orphanage in 1879. In April 1891, he gave his address, The Greatest Fight in the World (taking as his text I Tim. vi: 12 – “Fight the Good Fight of Faith”). While preparing this, he wrote to friends at the Tabernacle, “My soul is on fire with a desire for a special blessing from the Lord…” Little did he know that this would be the last conference he would attend. His address was one of the most powerful he delivered and was rapturously received by the vast assembly. Following the Conference, the transcript was revised and promptly published, later translated into many languages, passing through several editions.

As if he knew that his influence would continue after he had departed, Spurgeon said:

“Those preachers whose voices were clear and mighty for truth during life continue to preach in their graves. Being dead they yet speak; and whether men put their ears to their tombs or not, they cannot but hear them…”

The most noted evangelist of the age, the great American preacher D. L. Moody (1837-99), was inspired by Spurgeon’s preaching. He first heard the Baptist pastor during a visit in 1867, but it was his own tour of Britain in 1873-75, sponsored and encouraged by Spurgeon, that launched his career as a renowned evangelist. It started unpromisingly but by the time he returned to America, he was a preacher of international fame. By then, he had already teamed up with Sankey, and Harry Moorehouse had taught him how to preach. When he left England it was to devote his life to conducting revivalist campaigns. Though never as polished a preacher as Spurgeon, the style and organisation of campaigns were to have an enduring influence on both sides of the Atlantic. In 1892, Moody spoke at Spurgeon’s Jubilee Services, following the great pastor’s death at the end of January in that year:

“Twenty-five years ago, after I was converted, I began to read of a young man preaching in London with great power, and a desire seized me to hear him.

“In 1867 I made my way across the sea. The first place I came to was the Metropolitan Tabernacle. I was told that I could not get in without a ticket, but I made up my mind to get in somehow and succeeded. As Pastor Spurgeon walked down to the platform, … my heart’s desire for years was at last accomplished.

“I have been at the Tabernacle many times since, and when I looked down at those Orphan boys, when I think of the six hundred servants of God who have gone out from the college, of the two thousand sermons from his pulpit that are in print, and of the multitude of books that have come from the Pastor’s pen I would fain enlarge on all these good works…

“I say, ‘Go on brother, and God bless you.’ You are never going to die. John Wesley lives more today than when he was on this earth… Bear in mind, friends, that our dear brother is to live forever. We may never meet again in the flesh, but by the blessing of God I will meet you up yonder.”

D. L. Moody at Spurgeon’s Jubilee Services.
Moody and Sankey conduct a mass rally in Brooklyn, New York. Ira D. Sankey, the hymn-writer and musician, is sitting at the harmonium on the right.

For the burial, Spurgeon’s body was returned to London from the south of France, where he had died. The greatest crowds ever seen in the Tabernacle were on 8 February 1892, when Spurgeon’s body lay ‘in state’. Over sixty thousand people passed before the coffin, and a similar crowd again the next day. On the 10th, the day of the funeral, the building was filled to overflowing. His body was interred at Norwood Cemetery the following day, with thousands lining the streets to pay their respects as the cortege passed by on its route, as pictured below (bottom right).

The Salvation Army and other Home Missions:

One organisation that attempted to keep in touch with the working classes was the Pleasant Sunday Afternoons (PSA) Movement, formed in the 1880s with the motto Brief, Bright and Brotherly. Its meetings were for men only and were held on Sunday afternoons so that men would not feel ashamed to come to the meeting in working clothes. The Sunday afternoon programme was part entertainment, part evangelistic and part political, with some of the early Christian Socialists as frequent guest speakers. The Salvation Army, too, came into being to serve the working classes through urban missions. Catherine Booth claimed We can’t get at the masses in the chapels, so in 1865 she set up a Christian Mission in a tent in Whitechapel, east London, with her husband, William Booth. He had already had a varied career, having preached for the Wesleyans, the Wesleyan Reformers and then the Methodist New Connexion, by whom he was ordained in 1858 after being disciplined in the previous year for his regular itinerant preaching. He stayed with the New Connexion for only three years before again becoming an irregular itinerant. The Salvation Army soon became known for its uniforms and music. The Salvation Army band shown below was from Penzance in Cornwall, photographed in the 1880s. General Booth can be seen in the back row, with his trademark top hat and a long beard.

The Whitechapel Mission grew into the Salvation Army, to the irritation of many churchmen. Even the evangelical reformer, Lord Shaftesbury, in extreme old age, concluded that the Salvation Army was a trick of the devil, who was trying to make Christianity look ridiculous. It also met with violent opposition from a ‘Skeleton Army’ which parodied Booth’s activities and was supported by brewers who were opposed to the Army’s teetotalism as a threat to their trade. Contrary to the popular image of the early Salvationists, they were more concerned about moral and spiritual matters than social conditions among the working classes. In fact, Booth spoke out against attempts to deal with the latter, arguing that they were simply due to a lack of bricks and mortar. The first thing to be done to improve the conditions of the wretched was to get at their hearts. The Salvation Army did not see itself as being engaged in a war against poverty and oppressive political philosophies. Moreover, Booth himself was authoritarian in his attempt to achieve results. He gained control of the Mission in 1877 by what was virtually a military coup. After that, the military emphasis was developed, with uniforms, corps and citadels, and the magazine, The War Cry. But this did not worry the ordinary Salvationist, for, as Booth remarked, the Salvation Army made every soldier in some degree an officer, charged with the responsibility of so many of his townsfolk. It offered them not only a force with which they could identify but also a task to which they were committed. The Salvation Army officers filed regular reports on ‘slum work’ in their towns and districts:

Mrs W. – of Haggerston slum. Heavy drinker, wrecked home, husband a drunkard, place … filthy, terribly poor. Saved now over two years. Home A1, plenty of employment at cane-chair bottoming; husband now saved also.

A. M. in the Dials. Was a great drunkard, did not go to the trouble of seeking work. Was in a slum meeting, heard the Captain speak on ‘Seek ye first the Kingdom of God!’ Called out and said “Do you mean that if I ask God for work, he will give it to me?” Of course she said “yes.” He was converted that night, found work and is now employed in the gas works, Old Kent Road.

Jimmy is a soldier in the Borough slum. Was starving when he got converted through being out of work. Through joining the Army he was turned out of his home. He found work, and now owns a coffee-stall in Billingsgate Market, and is doing well.

A Salvation Army ‘farthing breakfast’. The officers are at the back of the room.

The Army was perhaps the only Christian movement to reach the masses on their own terms in Victorian and Edwardian Britain. They understood the need to use modern means of mass communication and, in particular, the techniques of religious advertisement. To begin with, the Salvation Army continued in the tradition of revivalist evangelism, adding its own military dimension, which fed the appetites of an increasingly imperialist and jingoistic nation. But Booth’s friendships with Congregationalist theologian J. B. Paton, and W. T. Stead, editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, led him to engage with a wider range of social concerns and problems. When he published In Darkest England and the Way Out in 1890, The Methodist Times exclaimed, Here is General Booth turning Socialist. The book, widely believed to be mainly the work of Stead, was designed to show that the submerged tenth of the British people was as much in slavery as certain African tribes. This produced a rift in the ranks of the Army. On the one hand, Frank Smith wrote a column for The War Cry under the unfamiliar heading ‘sociology’, pressing for further social action. On the other hand, more conservative officers feared that the social scheme was a turning aside from the highest to secondary things.

A collage from the front cover of the 1973 book by John Briggs & Ian Sellers, Victorian Nonconformity, designed to illustrate different facets of the movement, part of the Pugh Collection of Staffordshire figures.

The Booths had found themselves unable to reach the masses from a position within mainstream Methodism. In the nineteenth century the Wesleyan Methodists, led by Jabez Bunting, became a staid, respectable denomination. It imposed upon itself in the nineteenth century a ‘no politics’ rule, and until the late 1880s, it was suspicious of open political discussion. But Methodism had within itself its own nonconformity where this restraint was missing. For example, the Staffordshire Primitive Methodists produced several Chartist leaders. Involvement in chapel affairs made them into natural community leaders. They learnt organisation based on local church government and public speaking skills based on preaching and participation in church meetings and congregational worship. The local lay-preacher, like Joseph Arch in Barford, Warwickshire, could step readily from the pulpit to the strike platform. As a result, the Primitive Methodists developed a close connection with the growth of the mass Trade Union movement, both in urban and agricultural areas. John Wilson, the leader of the Durham miners, described his conversion at the age of thirty-one at a Primitive Methodist Class Meeting:

I took my seat, and when the class leader came to where I was sitting and me to tell him how I was getting on (meaning in a spiritual sense), I was speechless. The others, in response to his query, had replied readily but my eloquence was in my tears which I am not ashamed to say flowed freely … All was joy, and not not the least joyous was myself, even while the tears were chasing down my cheeks. This change made, I began seriously to consider how I could be useful in life.

This conversion experience led to a search for education, enrolment as a local preacher, an office within the Miners’ Union, and election to Parliament in 1885, as one of the earliest Labour MPs. Many other ‘Lib-Lab’ and independent Labour leaders, especially in the northeast of England and South Wales, had similar stories to tell.

A Sunderland slum, circa 1889. Squalor was all too often the fate of the industrial working class in Victorian times. In the later decades of the nineteenth century, local by-laws were used to regulate new housing, but clearing slums like the one shown here took longer.

In November 1886, the Revd. Samuel Francis Collier was placed in charge of the new Methodist Central Hall, Manchester, built at the then prodigious cost of forty thousand pounds. Magnificent though the Hall was, the dynamic evangelist, with a social as well as a spiritual conscience, soon launched a programme of practical help for the poor, using the motto ‘Need not creed’ in his daring new ministry. Nobody in need was to be refused help, regardless of belief. In 1891, an old rag factory was established at Ancoats, salvaging the waste of the city, old bottles, jars, empty tins, cotton waste, pails and clothing all being sorted for re-use and sale, destitute men being given a good bed and three square meals a day for their labour. From that venture in social rehabilitation grew the most complete set of social service premises possessed by any church in Britain. By the early 1900s, a Men’s Home, Labour Yard, Women’s Refuge, a Maternity Hospital for unmarried mothers and a Labour Advice Bureau had all been developed together with educational clubs, prison visiting services and holiday funds. The picture below shows the boys in the Labour Yard of the Manchester and Salford Wesleyan Missions. Outcasts of industrial society, they were welcomed by Collier and provided with clothes, food, shelter and hope in exchange for ‘honest toil’.