Oded Y. Steinberg - Race, Nation, History - Anglo-German Thought in The Victorian Era-University of Pennsylvania Press (2019)

RACE, NATION, HISTORY
INTELLECTUAL HISTORY
OF THE MODERN AGE
Series Editors
Angus Burgin
Peter E. Gordon
Joel Isaac
Karuna Mantena
Samuel Moyn
Jennifer Ratner-Rosenhagen
Camille Robcis
Sophia Rosenfeld
R ACE , NAT ION,
HISTORY
Anglo-German Thought in the Victorian Era
Oded Y. Steinberg
Universit y of Pennsylvania Press

Phil adelphia
Copyright © 2019 University of Pennsylvania Press
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As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
—Cavafy, Ithaka, 1911
For my fellow and beloved travelers:

Rachel, Nadav, Ayala, and Carmel
Contents
Introduction. Racial Time 1
Chapter 1. The English Teutonic Circle 21
Chapter 2. Roman Decline and Teutonic Rejuvenation:

The Racial German and English Gemeinschaft of Scholars (1850–90) 50
Chapter 3. Racial History: The Convergence of Race

and Periodization 89
Chapter 4. The Unique Historical Periodization of E. A. Freeman 109
Chapter 5. Teutonism and Romanism: James Bryce’s

Holy Roman Empire 134
Chapter 6. The Illusion of Finality: Bury and the Unity of the East 157
Epilogue. Values and Interests 189
Notes 195
Bibliography 233
Index 253
Acknowledgments 269
introduction
Racial Time
History can only exist as a discipline if it develops a theory

of periodization.
—Reinhart Koselleck
Reinhart Koselleck h ere summarizes the method of history that materialized

in the Enlightenment and was further developed during the nineteenth
century. With this idea of the period, the division of historical time became
dominant. For the first time, according to Koselleck, concepts (Begriffe) such
as the M
iddle Ages or the Renaissance became associated with a unique and
demarcated historical era. Indeed, it could be argued that this development
in the classification of time contributed to the establishment of history as a
profession or even as an independent discipline. History suddenly possessed
borders. Th
ese “borders of time” defined the main division of history into three
demarcated periods: antiquity, M iddle Ages, and modernity. This Eurocentric
triad dominates our general perception of historical time and corresponds with
the division between antiquity, feudalism, and capitalism. It does not, as Jack
Goody notes, take into consideration other “spaces” or “times” of non-
European civilizations.1 In the modern era, to use this dominant Eurocentric
periodization, especially because of the tendency to trace modernity’s own
alleged origin, this division became almost sanctified and could be referred
to as the historiographical “Holy Trinity.”
Periodization arose as a concept in the nineteenth c entury simultaneously
with the emergence of two other, sometimes amalgamated terms: “nation” and
“race.” The significance of nationalism (as a concept), some argue, remained
almost unnoticed by nineteenth-century scholars. For instance, Isaiah Berlin
2 int ro du c t io n
argues that, with the exception of Moses Hess in his Rome and Jerusalem (1862),
no nineteenth-century contemporary thinker considered nationalism as the
political force of the future.2 W hether or not one accepts Berlin’s assertion,
his argument seems plausible in the sense that, for most nineteenth-century
scholars, nationalism was conceived as merely another stage in h uman pro
gress. This stage corresponded with the basic natural feeling of belonging to
a certain community, or Gemeinschaft. It could be argued that “race,” like
“nation,” was also not identified as a distinct concept until the twentieth
century. However, especially following the “Darwinian revolution” of the
1860s, a somewhat unique and allegedly scientific character was given to the
notion of “race” by late nineteenth-century scholars. Thus, it may be argued,
the concepts of “race” and “periodization” w ere transformed during the
3
nineteenth century.
The present book proposes a novel thesis as to how historical periodiza-
tion converged with racial, national, and religious themes and came to inform
the historical perception of certain notable English and German scholars
during the second half of the nineteenth century.4 The argument is developed
by way of the exploration of two interlinked themes: how a specific group of
English and German scholars employed the Teutonic notion to construct
their past and present communities; and, given this notion, how some of the
English scholars came to perceive historical periodization.
In light of t hese two themes, the book is divided into two interlinked
parts: “community” and “time.” “Community” engages with a particularly
close community—or Gemeinschaft—of English and German scholars that
emerged around the middle of the nineteenth century. On the English side,
this community included Edward Augustus Freeman (1823–92), William
Stubbs (1825–1901), John Richard Green (1837–83), and James Bryce (1838–
1922). On the German side, it comprised scholars deeply involved with En
glish scholarship, like Christian Karl Josias von Bunsen (1791–1860), Reinhold
Pauli (1823–82), and finally the renowned, almost English, Oxford scholar
Friedrich Max Müller (1823–1900). Building on the notion of Teutonic kinship,
this community of scholars founded an imagined community of belonging,
composed of several subnations that were nevertheless understood to be united
by racial, ethnic, and cultural bonds. Hence, England’s dominant Anglo-
Saxons—namely, the retrospective identification of the Germanic Saxons,
A ngles and Jutes as the nation’s ancestors (Chapter 1)—were imagined to have
racially united most of the British Isles’ inhabitants (excluding the autoch-
thonic Celts of Ireland, Wales, and Scotland) with the Germanic entities of
R ac ia l T im e 3
mainland Europe. From their historical work arose a vision of the English
and Germans as ultimately one people, an almost indivisible community. For
most of these scholars, the Teutonic notion was not a remnant of the past
but a present, living ideal determining their social, political, and religious
realities. Due to the Napoleonic Wars and, later in the century, the Franco-
Prussian War (1870–71), France was a key force in shaping these nineteenth-
century realities. For many, including the above-mentioned Anglo-German
scholars, France denoted the g reat as well as eternal “other” of both Ger-
many and England. Why eternal? Because since antiquity, according to
t hese scholars, France’s Celtic/Gallic, Roman, and later Catholic identities
have confronted the Teutonism and (later) Protestantism of Lutheran Ger-
many and Anglican England. Indeed, the book will illustrate how these
Anglo-German scholars studied the glorious tribal/barbarian past also in or-
der “to penetrate below the Roman surface of Western Europe.”5 Thus, their
mutual Anglo-Saxon/Teutonic and Protestant narratives mainly emerged in
response to France’s “Latinity” and Catholicism.
Through the idea of “race,” scholars categorized time with a more precise
criterion than hitherto, based upon scientific and philological reasoning.
“Race” was taken as reflecting the assumed “purity” of the community in the
most predominant way. The appearance of a certain race at a specific space
and time signified the beginning or the end of a period; in other words, a
certain correlation was now established between the method in which these
scholars divided time and their perception of the emergence of national com-
munities. For many, the beginning or end of a certain era also signified the as-
cent or descent of a race or of a nation. Scholars t oday tend to discuss race and
time prolifically, though usually as independent entities and without exploring
the explicit correlation between these terms. In this book, however, they are
incorporated, since the development of the modern racial doctrine, it is argued,
influenced the division of time. Throughout the discussion, I will refer to this
aspect as “racial time.” Note that I do not claim that, according to t hese schol-
ars, only racial characteristics demarcated history. Rather, I argue that racial
perceptions of time w ere dominant but not exclusive in the division of time.
The racial element, I assert, was especially prevalent in the modern perception
of the nature and significance of the invasions and wanderings of the Teutonic
tribes into the realms of the Roman Empire—a development that signified
for many the end of antiquity and the beginning of the M iddle Ages.
Teutonism, as part of this concept of “racial time,” thus gave shape to
scholars’ historical periodization. For some, the invasions of the Teutonic tribes
initiated a new period in world history. The year AD 476, associated as it is

with the fall of Rome, plays a crucial role h ere. During the nineteenth c entury,
“Roman” scholars emphasized the barbarism of and the devastation caused
by the tribes, which they contrasted with the glory of Rome, while “Germanic”
scholars highlighted the role of the Germanic tribes in rejuvenating a decaying
empire. For the latter, the tribes’ conquest of the Roman Empire was not
“ordinary” but “formative,” symbolizing the transformation from antiquity
to the Middle Ages by way of the injection of a new and dominant ethnoracial
character into the decaying empire. As w ill be shown, for both the “Romanist”
and “Germanic” schools, the fifth century became the ultimate “time border”
between antiquity and the Middle Ages.
Following this initial discussion, the first part of the book (the first and
second chapters) sets the Teutonic “community/Gemeinschaft” at the center
of the research. In this part both the common ground and the divergences
between individual scholars w ill be addressed. In the first chapter, I concen-
trate on the English Teutonic scholars and especially on the writings of
Thomas Arnold (1795–1842), Freeman, Stubbs, Green, and Bryce. The chapter
explores the shared Teutonic theme that dominated all their writings. These
scholars w ere connected with each other through both social and academic
ties. Some of them played a formative role in the construction of the historical
profession in England. Together with their Teutonism, the chapter explores
the “Anglo-Saxon” identity of t hese scholars. Through their Anglo-Saxonism,
which was similar but not necessarily identical with their Teutonism, some of
these scholars found affinity with American scholars such as Herbert B.
Adams.
Chapter 2 turns to several German scholars who maintained prolific re-
lations with t hese English scholars. Th
ere is, as I w
ill show, a “genealogy” of
German scholars who embraced the Teutonic theme and maintained long-
lasting links with E ngland. This scholarly genealogy begins with B. G.
Niebuhr (1776–1831), the g reat German historian of Rome, and continues with
Baron Bunsen, Max Müller, and Reinhold Pauli. As in the first chapter, the
Teutonic theme again sets the tone. This German “Teutonism,” as will be
shown, included a seminal anti-French and anti-Celtic tendency also evident
among the English scholars.
Chapter 3 merges the discussion of community in the first part of the book
with the idea of temporal periodization, which is the focus of the second part.
The chapter demonstrates how the perceived emergence and decline of a cer-
tain historical community/race/nation was pivotal in the periodization of
R ac ia l T im e 5
history. In concrete terms, the chapter discusses how the invasions of the
Germanic tribes signified, according to many nineteenth-century scholars, the
time border between antiquity and modernity. The chapter delves into the
works of “Roman” authors such as François Guizot (1787–1874), Numa-Denis
Fustel de Coulanges (1830–89), as well as others who named the period a fter
the fall of the Roman Empire the “Barbarian Era.” The chapter then engages
with a close reading of the Germanic position, prevalent among English
scholars, which identified the Teutonic tribes as active and creative agents
in a momentous historical transformation: the tribes defeated Rome, the
greatest empire of all time, paved the way for the Middle Ages, embraced the
Christian faith, and spread Christianity among the pagans.
While the first chapters are dedicated to the conventional periodization,
the second part of the book—Chapters 4, 5, and 6—examines the theme of
“time” in greater detail and delves into the distinctive periodizations of Free-
man, Bryce, and John Bagnell Bury (1861–1927). Although t hese scholars still
held to some aspects of the conventional triadic periodization, they mainly
adopted a vision of a historical continuum. Both Freeman and Bryce, as will
be detailed in the first part of the book, belonged to the Teutonic circle. Hence,
through their contact with and reading of German scholars, the Teutonic
notion was transferred into their historical perception. Indeed, the two men
were themselves good friends for over four decades and maintained a prolific
correspondence, a thorough examination of which provides a fair part of the
documentary evidence used in the book. Despite some divergence in their
respective attachments to the Teutonic idea, both highlighted the historical
significance of the Germanic tribes and celebrated their vast influence on the
making of the nations of modern Europe. Bury, however, was far less keen on
the notion of “Teutonism” and, although admiring Freeman, can be viewed
as a contrasting example to that of both Freeman and Bryce. In the case of
Freeman and Bryce, it is important to note that their creation of a unique
historical periodization did not contradict their Teutonic affinity. The three
scholars, discussion of whose work is at the heart of the second part of the book,
reveal important similarities but also major differences. Their unique historical
periodization, it is here argued, has not been recognized in the secondary
research literature. All three adopted a certain historical unity that signified
a departure from the conventional and time-hallowed division between
antiquity and the M iddle Ages. Thus, their concept of the “unity of history,”
initially developed by Thomas Arnold, while a central focus throughout the
book, is especially prominent in the second part. These scholars, it should be
noted, also left a substantial mark on the professionalization of the English

university system. All three were regius professors in Oxbridge and each
aimed to implement a certain innovative periodization within the Oxbridge
curriculum.
Starting with the unique periodization of Freeman in the fourth chapter,
I will focus primarily on his notion of the “unity of history” and its associ-
ated idea of a long-lasting historical continuum. For most of his life, Freeman
was an independent man of letters who published broadly on various histori-
cal matters. From 1884 to his death in 1892 he was regius professor of modern
history in Oxford. Although he at times admitted the role of religion and
language, in general, Freeman viewed historical unity and historical continuity
as pertaining to the history of a single race. As such, however, his unity theory
appears incompatible with his occasional use of periodization. Chapter 4
explores the interesting and idiosyncratic ways in which Freeman conceived
of a long historical unity that was nevertheless divisible into subperiods.
Chapter 5 concentrates on the distinctive periodization of the scholar and
politician James Bryce. At the center of this chapter is a study of Bryce’s
underresearched The Holy Roman Empire (THRE, 1864). Bryce offered an
innovative scheme that identified a long unity that had lasted within the
Roman Empire from its foundation by Augustus u ntil its dissolution in 1804–
6. The key to this this long historical European unity, he argued, was that the
original Roman institutional element had integrated with the new Teutonic com-
ponents. Together with emphasizing the racial fusion between Teutonic and
Latin races, Bryce also looked to an institutional, cultural, and juristic inheri-
tance that glued the empire together for centuries.
Chapter 6 explores the work of Bury, the Irish classicist and historian of
the “late” Roman Empire (i.e., Byzantium). Bury—in contrast to all the other
figures discussed in this book—was only lukewarm on Teutonism. In fact, he
opened up a whole new path of historical research that recognized the late
Byzantine Empire as the true successor of Rome. For him, Rome and, with it,
antiquity w ere not terminated in the fifth century, and there was a continuity
between the “old” Rome of the West and the “new” Rome of the East. This
periodization, as in the cases of Freeman and Bryce, partly resulted from Bury’s
adoption of a particular version of the “unity of history” idea. But, in part
due to his Irish Protestant background, Bury also dismissed Christianity—
or, more accurately, Catholicism—as a marker of historical unity. For Bury,
Catholicism stood in opposition to two notions central in his writings: reason
R ac ia l T im e 7
and progress. Thus, Bury turned his gaze to the Roman East as providing an
alternative to the “imagined” Catholic unity of the West.
These three scholars reveal similarities as well as major differences in their
writings. They all devised a method that signified a departure from the ac-
cepted and almost sacred division between antiquity and the Middle Ages.
Each from his unique point of view, presented an innovative scheme for the
division of time. In terms of the w hole book, “race,” as w
ill be shown, was the
cornerstone for temporal periodization. It was key in the establishment of
the triad periodization as well as in the unique periodizations of Freeman
and Bryce.
“Race,” “Language,” and “Periodization”:

Some Preliminary Remarks
Throughout this work, I s hall refer to terms such as “race,” “language,” and
“periodization,” and their role in the process of constructing the national
community by various scholars. In this introduction, I therefore turn to an
initial clarification of these terms.
From the mid-and especially late eighteenth century, following the pub-
lications of scholars such as the Scottish naturalist James Hutton (1726–97),
major debates had evolved regarding prehistory, the origins of mankind, and
the earth’s age. Hutton, for instance, refuted the time-honored belief in the
biblical narrative and replaced it with a scientific approach to the earth’s age.
The earth, according to him, was very old, millions of years older than bibli-
cal calculations. Thus, both God and men, as Jack Repcheck shows, were
omitted from Hutton’s today somewhat forgotten but unique and pathbreak-
ing scientific theory.6
While Hutton was challenging the biblical chronology, some of his En-
lightenment contemporaries followed a related path and contested the divine
origins of language. Th ese thinkers a dopted the ancient Epicurean theory
attesting to the linkage between language and reality. Language, they argued,
developed gradually through history. This claim differed from theories that,
mainly based on the Genesis narratives concerning Adam’s naming of the
animals and the Tower of Babel, posited the existence of a perfect original
language.7 As Maurice Olender aptly commented on this tradition, “the story
of Genesis is thus the story of language in action—first the language of God,
then the language of man.”8 A fter the Deluge, in a narrative that has received
multiple commentaries, the three sons of Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japheth,
scattered over the face of the earth and formed three distinct language (as well
as ethnic) families. According to the genealogies of the M iddle Ages: Shem
was the ur-father of the Asian p eople, the Europeans descended from Japheth,
and the Africans from Ham.9 Thomas Trautmann has named this Bible-
oriented genealogy the “Mosaic ethnology.”10 Its influence may be seen, for
instance, in the works of Sir Isaac Newton, who offered his own interpretation
of the Noachite scheme.11 Some scholars, including Rousseau, even attempted
to merge the biblical and Epicurean theories by claiming, for instance, that
human history (and the use of mundane languages) had only developed a fter
the Deluge, while between the age of Adam and the Flood had existed an
original divine language.12
In 1771 a famous contest on the origins of language was held at the Ber-
lin Academy.13 Johann Gottfried von Herder (1744–1803) won the first prize
with what would become a celebrated essay, Abhandlung über den Ursprung
der Sprache (1771), in which he argued that four natural laws (Naturgesetze)
define language. The third law states: “Just as the w hole h uman species could
not possibly remain a single herd, likewise it could not retain a single language
either. So there arises a formation of different national languages.”14 For Herder,
languages form a central part of the community’s identity and nurture the
community’s alleged superiority over other neighboring groups. Language, he
writes, was a “characteristic word of the race [Merkwort des Geschlechts], bond
of the f amily, tool of instruction, hero song of the f athers’ deeds, and the voice of
t hese f athers from their graves. Language could not possibly, therefore, re-
main of one kind, and so the same familial feeling that had formed a single
language, when it became national hatred, often created difference, com-
plete difference in language. He is a barbarian, he speaks a foreign language
[Er ist Barbar, er redet eine fremde Sprache].”15
Through language, the community constructs an attachment to the na-
tions’ forefathers and to a certain actual or even mythical past. As George
Mosse writes concerning the importance of ancient imagined or real narratives
for the establishment of national communities: “the roots determine the
firmness of the tree. ”16 Indeed, and as I w ill further trace throughout the book,
Mosse’s figure accentuates the importance of deep history in the writings of
many nineteenth-century scholars, including the Anglo-German circle.
Herder, in his essay, had asserted that language difference denoted cultural
and national variation.17 Friedrich Schlegel (1772–1829) absorbed Herder’s
R ac ia l T im e 9
insight into the relation between languages and national uniqueness.18 Turning
his gaze eastward in his On the Language and Wisdom of the Indians (Über die
Sprache und Weisheit der Indier, 1808), Schlegel praised Sanskrit, defining
this ancient Indian language as an Ursprache (protolanguage) that various
European languages had originated from.19 The study of India’s languages,
religions, and history supposedly validated not only the linguistic but also
the cultural and some argued racial continuity between the subcontinent
and Europe. The connection with India was especially evident in the north-
ern parts of Europe, in the German-speaking spheres.20 Schlegel, however,
did not necessarily identify the p eople who spoke these languages as physi-
21
cally superior in racial terms.
For some nineteenth-century scholars, however, language was an essen-
tial part of racial belonging. The notorious Arthur Comte de Gobineau
(1816–82) is perhaps the best known of those who attempted to blend racial
and linguistic origins. In his famous Essay on the Inequality of the Human Races
(Essai sur l’ inégalité des races humaines, 1853), Gobineau underscored a strict
association between language and race: “Where the mental development of a
race is faulty or imperfect, the language suffers to the same extent. This is
shown by Sanskrit, Greek, and the Semitic group, as well as by Chinese.”22
Correspondingly, language, he continued, could also mirror “the genius of a
race.”23 Race and language, for scholars such as Gobineau, became synony-
mous concepts.24 The importance of language in these considerations will be
seen throughout the discussion. The role of the philologist was hence no less
and sometimes even more important than that of the historian. It was
through language that one traced an alleged linkage to the ancient past of a
certain race.25
Other nineteenth-century scholars, however, perceived language and race
as separate. John Crawfurd (1783–1868), a Scottish ethnologist, declared in an
1862 lecture before the Ethnological Society: “I do not hesitate at once to affirm
that language, although valuable evidence of the history and migrations of
man, affords no sure test of the Race he belongs to.”26 As Thomas Trautmann
shows, Crawfurd insisted on a gap between language and race mainly because
he rejected the theory of the common racial origins of the Britons and the
Indians.27 Crawfurd and other scholars, such as Isaac Taylor (1787–1865),
insisted that while it was possible to acquire language, biological characteristics
were natural and fixed.28
“Race,” it must be noted, also included what in the post–World War II era
is defined as “ethnicity,” that is, a common ancestry with shared memories and
culture.29 Thus, in the nineteenth c entury, race and ethnicity w ere not en-
tirely distinct concepts, and in some cases it is futile to distinguish between
them.30 Indeed, it is rather difficult to form a clear and comprehensive def-
inition of “race” in nineteenth-century discourse.31 Race could mean either
“lineage” or “type.” As lineage, it usually took its meaning from the idea of
a common ancestry of all mankind and an evolving physical differentiation
that led to the division of mankind into races.32 Indeed, in modernity the
purported theory that physical difference separates human beings became
prominent. Already in the first half of the eighteenth c entury naturalists
such as the Swedish Carl von Linné (Linnaeus, 1707–78) divided mankind
into four races, distinguished by unique physiognomy and social structures
(Systema naturae, 1735).33 L ater in the c entury the scientific character of race
became far more prominent, especially through the development of cli-
matic theories. For instance, in his encyclopedic Histoire naturelle (1749–
1804), Comte de Buffon (1707–88) singled out climate as the main factor
determining the physiognomy of mankind. In this theory, it important to
note, race was not a fixed criterion but could change depending on differ
ent climates. Herder, influenced by Buffon’s work, also cherished the no-
tion of racial mutability.34 The En glish Charles White (1728–1813),
nevertheless, rejected Buffon’s (and Herder’s) stance. In An Account of the
Regular Gradation in Man (1799), White “sanctified” race and located it at
the heart of science. An unmitigated gap, he argued, separated the alleg-
edly superior white race from the black Africans.35
Some of these late eighteenth-c entury debates injected a prominent
physical-biological dimension into the nineteenth-century discourse about
“race.” The Scottish anatomist Robert Knox (1791–1862) wrote in 1850 that “race
is everything: literature, science, art, in a word civilization, depends on it.”36
Knox’s aphorism hinged on ostensible “scientific evidence” gathered from his
studies of the human body. As the title of his book—The Races of Man
(1850)—suggested, “race” separated human groups: “Men are of various Races;
call them Species, if you w ill; call them permanent Varieties; it m
atters not . . .
37
men are of different races.” Resembling the eighteenth-century Charles
White in his views, Knox believed that racial identity could not be altered.
But the most dramatic impact on the racial discourse of the nineteenth century,
especially in Britain, occurred following the publication of Sir Charles
Darwin’s On the Origin of Species (1859). As has been argued in many studies,
Darwin was no racist. Alas, the interpretation of Darwin’s writings became
central among many racist thinkers.38 Race, after Darwin, also received a
R ac ia l T im e 11
supposedly more scientific aura, as seen, for example, in the works of Darwin’s
half cousin Sir Francis Galton (1822–1911), the founder of eugenics.39
Over the course of the book these racial readings of Darwin w ill oc-
casionally surface. However, following the above preliminary account, the
scholars at the center of this research rather reflect a somewhat vague and loose
definition of “race” and “language.” Thus, occasionally, the distinction be-
tween “race” and “language” is clear in their writing, while in other cases
what we find is hazy, and the two terms are blended. Caution is therefore re-
quired when asserting that scholars followed a certain interpretation of lan-
guage and race. Still, and this is the main point, during the late eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries both race and language could play a vital role in
constructing new classifications of belonging, which either united or divided
communities.
The Pillars of Periodization
In the context of the present discussion, it is crucial to examine the theme of

historical periodization from a broader perspective. Together with the tech-
nical division of historical time, periodization seems to include an essential
meaning that influences the way we perceive the past. As the famous French
medievalist Jacques Le Goff (1924–2014) noted in his last book: “Periodiza-
tion is not only a way of acting upon time. The very act itself draws our atten-
tion to the fact that t here is nothing neutral, or innocent, about cutting time
up into smaller parts.”40 Racial classifications, it will be argued, should be
examined with this wider and long-standing drive to periodization in mind,
since through this discussion the modern distinctive features of the racial
classification w
ill emerge into light. Thus, I w ill now present other f actors,
besides race, that regulate historical periodization but also define communities.
These other factors are significant, since in many cases they converge with the
racial aspect in the works of various scholars. Furthermore, these categories
of periodization, I maintain, intertwined during the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries with the Germanist and Romanist arguments.
In conjunction with the racial division of time, which, as claimed, was
predominantly a derivative of modernity, it is possible to identify several other
leading methods of periodization. The religious division of time originated al-
ready in antiquity. Julius Africanus (ca. AD 160–240) devoted his Chronologia
(AD 212–21) to calculating the world’s (religious) time. His work, following his
conversion from paganism to Christianity, was heavily dependent on the Old

and New Testaments. For this reason, Africanus adopted a time scheme of six
thousand years that w ill elapse between the Creation and the Second Com-
ing of Christ.41 The Christian writer Dionysius Exiguus (Denis the Small) was
the first to allude to the distinct periods of BC (“before Christ”) and AD
(anno Domini, “in the year of the Lord”), which he did, according to his own
classification of time, in anno Domini 525. This binary division was later
employed also in the writing of the Venerable Bede (672–735).42 This concep-
tion of time was founded on a specific end event. The establishment of the
Christian community by Christ and his followers marked the beginning of a
new epoch. Bede adopted in The Reckoning of Time (AD 725, De temporum
ratione, chap. 66) the scheme of Augustine of Hippo (AD 354–430).43 Augus-
tine devised the most famous Christian time line by identifying six ages in
world history. Five of these ages, beginning with Adam in the Garden of
Eden, had already come to pass, while the sixth and final age commenced with
the birth of Jesus Christ: “With His coming the sixth age has entered on its
process; so that now the spiritual grace, which in previous times was known
to a few patriarchs and prophets, may be made manifest to all nations”) On
the Catechizing of the Uninstructed 22.39). Augustine himself relied on the
periodic construction of Eusebius of Caesarea, who, in his Kanones, men-
tioned six ages before the arrival of Christ. Hence, Eusebius identified seven
and not six ages. There are also other differences between the two periodiza-
tions. For instance, Augustine, following the genealogical list in the synoptic
Gospels, mentioned that each of the last three eras lasted fourteen genera-
tions. Eusebius, however, divided the last three eras differently. Nevertheless,
both church fathers emphasized the birth of Jesus as the monumental event
in the history of the world. This event transformed history forever and will
eventually lead to the redemption of the Christian community.
The biblical chronology that marked a six-thousand-year period between
the Creation and the Second Coming was cherished exclusively for over a
millennium. However, various writers gave different dates for the Creation.
Martin Luther applied the biblical scheme in the sixteenth century when he
wrote that the Creation had occurred in 3961 BC. In the seventeenth c entury,
the British archbishop James Ussher was even more specific when he elected
Sunday (noon) October 23, 4004 BC, as the start of everything. Sir Isaac
Newton also a dopted the biblical chronology and followed Ussher’s year of
creation (although not stating a specific day).44
R ac ia l T im e 13
Time, therefore, merged with a “holy sequence” and was even governed by
religion. Other similar examples are found in the Jewish notion of the Messiah
and the idea of the Mahdi in Islam.45 Time, or, more accurately, history, as
Mircea Eliade comments, will “cease to exist” when the Messiah appears.46
Hence, these religions look to a forthcoming miraculous appearance that will
initiate a new order that is almost out of time. The religious community of the
believers will become universal and obliterate its former structure. Thus, reli-
gious time is attuned to the transformation of the community and vice versa.
In a sense, this religious conception of time, especially as conceived by
contemporaries who look back into the past, emphasizes the idea that the past
was far more glorious than the present. This vision thus embeds a prominent
nostalgic feature that mythicizes the deeds of founding members or institu-
tions. The Jews flourished when the temple existed. Christianity reached its
zenith when Jesus and his disciples wandered in the Galilee and Judea.
Muhammad’s voyages and deeds in the Arabian Peninsula became a theme
that every Muslim wishes to emulate. As for the future, in all the monotheistic
religions it possesses the potential to be equal and even superior to the past,
yet this will only be achieved in a forthcoming era and only if the members of
the community obey certain rules. Thus, time moves downward from a past
peak, with the belief that in future times the members of the community will
be redeemed and even surpass the nostalgic-celebrated past.
The division between monarchies and reigns of kings, or the politic al
periodization, as I label it, also originated in antiquity. Possibly this is the
most conventional method of periodization. Until our own age, it was the most
commonly used scheme to delineate historical eras. The succession of kings
provided a definite time line that allows chronicles and books such as the Bible
to present a sequence that depends on one criterion only, the year of the king.
Bible chapters often begin with a verse stating the year or the era of a king. In
the New Testament, for example, the famous verse from the synoptic Gospels
states that Jesus was born during the reign of Herod (Matthew 2:1). This
example in fact located Jesus in a specific time, which allowed later writers to
develop the scheme of BC and AD. Despite its given name, the politic al
division of history is sometimes apolitic al, since it technically divides time
between rulers with no distinct political agenda. Nevertheless, in other cases
this periodization may depend on the political tendency of contemporary or
of l ater writers. In general, special stature was usually given to the last ruler in
the lineage. For example, the young Roman emperor with the ironic name of
Romulus Augustulus (merging both the name of the mythic father of Rome,
Romulus, and that of Augustus, the founder of the principate), signified the
end of the Roman Empire because he was the last emperor to rule in the city
of Rome before the barbarian invasion of AD 476. A similar stature was
attributed to the first monarch in the line of kings. This was also the case with
William the Conqueror who symbolized a new period in English history.
In antiquity, we find examples of a fusion between religious and political
periodizations. Perhaps the most prominent such example is the famous de-
scription of the four monarchies in the book of Daniel. These narratives ap-
pear twice in the book. In the first instance (2:31ff.) t here is a description of a
four-piece figure denoting the four monarchies that rule the world one after
another. These kingdoms w ill be followed by a fifth eternal monarchy repre-
senting the kingdom of God (2:44). Later in the book, this vision of Daniel is
repeated in a dream depicting four animals that surface from the sea succes-
sively (7:17–18). Once again, each of t hese animals symbolizes the four mon-
archies ruling the world successively. One of the main debates concerning
these prophecies is which monarchies they signify. One view, fitting to the
second century BC when the book was written, maintains that the kingdoms
represented are Babylon, Media, Persia, and Macedonia/Greece. Another view
argues that Media, Persia, Greece, and Rome are denoted. The difference
between the two interpretations derives from the fact that the second possibil-
ity was offered following the decline of Greece and before the establishment
of the promised kingdom of heaven. For this reason, the fourth kingdom was
thought to be Rome rather than Greece. The scheme of the four kingdoms was
the foundation of the medievalist concept of the translatio imperii. This idea
stressed the notion of imperial succession from the Roman Empire into the
later kingdoms of the Carolingians, France, Russia, and so on. According to
this interpretation, which later in the nineteenth c entury also received secular
interpretations by some of the scholars who are at the heart of this book (Bryce
and o thers), the “fourth kingdom,” Rome, never fell and in fact continued
to thrive through various political entities (Carolingians, Holy Roman Empire,
and so on).
Another interpretation of time may be defined as social time. This inter-
pretation, comparable with racial time, can also be regarded as the product of
modernity. It is epitomized in the development of the socialist and Marxist
schemes of history. Perhaps, in similarity with the dependency of religious time
on certain sacred texts, social time is predominantly based on several
nineteenth-century texts, such as the Communist Manifesto.47 This notion of
R ac ia l T im e 15
social time is reflected in the opening pages of the Manifesto, where Karl Marx
and Friedrich Engels assert their famous judgment that all history is but the
struggle of the classes.48 Class, therefore, governs time. In an added footnote,
Marx and Engels claimed that the impact of class on the course of history
was finally revealed in 1847 when “August von Haxthausen (1792–1866)
discovered common ownership of land in Russia.” In the same footnote, they
also mention the German legal historian Georg Ludwig von Maurer (1790–
1872), who argued that all the Teutonic races had devised a communal owner
ship that already originated in their natural stage.49 The significance of
Maurer is crucial. In his study, race and class merged in the history of Teutonic
races since t hose presented the communal concept in the most seamless way.50
What, then, is “racial time”? I identify it as a modern invention in which
certain scholars divided history subsequent to the emergence and fall of races
throughout history. The racial alternation is achieved through conquest, in-
vasion, or even peaceful migration that may eventually transform the politi
cal, religious, social, and economic conditions either of a whole civilization or
of a certain community and land. For instance, the case study of the wander-
ing of the Teutonic tribes provides one of the most explicit historical exam-
ples for the convergence of periodization and race.
Racial Boundaries: Between Time, Community, and Space
According to various writers, ancient as well as modern, natural borders such

as the Rhine, the Danube, the Alps, and the Pyrenees were considered bor-
ders that separated various cultures even during the times of the Romans.
What was natural was identified with what was authentic. Thus, Andreas
Alföldi defined the rivers Rhine and Danube as demarcating the territories of
the barbarians from the Roman Empire as “moral barriers”: “the frontier line
was . . . the line of demarcation between two fundamentally different realms
of thought, whose moral codes did not expand across the boundary.”51 At
the beginning of the first century BC, Julius Caesar and Strabo described
the regions beyond the Rhine as wild zones inhabited by barbaric peoples,
while referring to the rest of the Roman provinces as belonging to an established
civilization. In this, they expressed a common Roman perception according
to which Rome ruled the world (orbis terrarum) and therefore its rulers should
be accorded the title “the masters of the world” (dominus totius orbis). In
classical Greece, four hundred years earlier, a similar contrast was made
wherein the zone of culture was defined as the “populated world,” which was
an antithesis to the “wild” zone. The peoples who resided within the border
were sometimes attributed similar or identical characteristics. This contributed
to the formation of a comprehensive or stereot ypically generic perception in
which “whole nations are treated as a single individual with a single person-
ality.”52 Nevertheless, alongside this essentialist identification, there was
among the ancient writers a more nuanced perception that differentiated
between various ethnic groups in accordance with certain characteristics and
customs. Most ancient authors, it seems, held both perceptions.
The view that there existed a clear geographical boundary between the
Roman world and the barbarian one greatly enhanced both the attitude that
regarded the Germanic tribes as wild people who destroyed the ancient world
and the converse attitude that named them as the “knights of freedom” who
formed a better world. Th ese two opposite approaches are based on, among
others, the dichotomist view of the natural border already developed during
ancient times.
Following this, a substantial premise arose in which the ethnic/racial,
cultural, and geographic al boundary also outlined the boundary of the his-
torical era. In other words, the contrast between the barbarians and the
Romans determined also the periodization of antiquity and of the M iddle
Ages. While a clear geographic al boundary allegedly separated the two cul-
tures, it was regarded as one historical era. However, when the Germanic
tribes crossed the Rhine and Danube rivers from the fourth century and spread
all over the empire during the fifth century, t here came an end to the ancient
era and a new historical epoch began. For many scholars, as I w ill demonstrate,
there is no difference in the periodization of the end of antiquity between t hose
who observed the Germanic tribes as heroes and t hose who viewed them as
the enemies of civilization. Both approaches maintained that since the tribes
breached the old borders and upturned the conventional order, they should
be defined as the harbingers of the Middle Ages.
The crossing of the natural, almost mythic geographic al border also
denoted a racial change. Following the invasions, a new g reat mass of p eople
transformed the character and culture of the autochthonic societies. The
Rhine marked geographically one of these “racial borders,” and its crossing
by the tribes became seen as a dramatic event, in particular during the wars of
German unity and independence (1870–71). Th ese arguments concerning “racial
time” are particularly significant since they nourished the construction of the
racial English-German community of scholars. Through them it was possi
R ac ia l T im e 17
ble to construct a transnational racial affinity linking England and Germany.

The Teutonic (Vandals, Alans, and Suebi tribes) crossing of the Rhine (AD
406) and later the crossing of the Channel by the Anglo-Saxons (AD 449)
were part of the same great Teutonic expansion. As will be illustrated, for the
various scholars discussed, it was the racial emergence of the Teutons that al-
tered time and, even more significant, forever bonded Germany and England.
This, as I argue, is the main significance of “racial time.” It allowed new racial
communal demarcations to come into force, as well as dividing history and
influencing the construction of communities during the nineteenth century.
One example of the merger of blood (not necessarily using the term Rasse)
and periodization emerges from the arguments of the German philosopher
Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1762–1814). In his famous Reden an die deutsche Nation
(1808), Fichte portrayed the tribes as authentically German and as commencing
a new historical age: “The Germans are first and foremost one of the Teutonic
tribes [Stamm der Germanier]. As to the latter it w ill suffice h
ere to define them
as those whose task it was to unite the social order established in ancient Eu
rope with the true religion preserved in ancient Asia, and thus to develop out
of themselves a new age in opposition to the antiquity that had perished.”53
The w hole modern world must regard the Germans as such, since their belief
in the principle of freedom paved the way to the future: “To their stubborn
resistance the entire modern world owes the fact that it is as it is.”54 The Ger-
man nation was constructed thanks to the tribes because it inherited their
innate characteristics. For Fichte, the tribes determine the nature of the
German nation both at present and in the f uture:
If the Romans had succeeded in subjugating them also and, as the

Romans did everywhere else, in exterminating them as a nation,
then the entire development of humanity would have taken a
different—and surely not a happier—course. We, the immediate
inheritors of their soil, their language and their convictions, owe it
to them that we are still Germans [dass wir noch Deutsche sind ],
that we are still borne along by the stream of original and indepen
dent life; to them we owe everything that we have since been as
a nation [ihnen verdanken wir Alles, was wir seitdem als Nation
gewesen sind ]; and, unless it is now the end for us and the last drop
of blood descended from them has dried up in our veins [der letzte
von ihnen abgestammte Blutstropfen in unseren Adern versiegt ist], to
them we s hall owe everything that we shall yet become.55
The significant sentence here, which may be referred to as an emerging

racial discourse, is the statement that the modern Germans w ere connected
to their tribal ancestors not only through cultural, political, or geographical
links but also through an a ctual physical connection. Consequently, the blood
of the Germanic tribes flows in the veins (Adern) of the modern nation.
The German poet and historian Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860) also
signified the Rhine as an integral part of the German “racial” sphere.56 The
people who dwelled in the Rhine valley belonged to the Germanic tribe of
the Alemanni, as attested through their language, manners, and physical ap-
pearance. Despite their mingling with other races, causing a certain racial
degeneration, the ancient Germanic kernel of the people on both banks of the
Rhine was evident. Thus, the purity of the race was most vital for preserving
its merit and strength.57 The Franks, however, when entering Gaul in the fifth
century, became mingled with other races and lost their racial purity: “the
Frank in Gaul was soon contaminated by the corrupt, servile, and Romanised
Gaul, and became as cunning and faithless as he was brave and cruel.”58 This
was the origin of the French character, subsequently manifested in their ill-
deeds throughout history. The invasions of the Germanic tribes did not
exterminate the Gallo-Romans. Instead, a fusion occurred between the two
races, the result of which was France. The racial alternation in Gallia and the
ability of the Germanic tribes to prevent the Romans from conquering the
territory East of the Rhine, marked the emergence of a new racial order and
era that resulted eventually in the construction of the European states. The
same threat of racial dilution also endangered the purity of Germany in Arndt’s
times: “the Rhine, of which Germany was once so proud, w ill be shared with
the Franks, that this fine race w
ill be reduced to a hybrid set; that Germany, the
unconquered, w ill become the scorn of all nations.”59 Arndt explained how
animosity t oward another race was necessary for the freedom of the nation. If
Arminius had not pushed (getrieben) the Romans out of Germany’s natural
boundaries, the Germanic p eople would have been demolished. Arminius’s
courageous act, Arndt asserted, was the epic culmination of the love of the
Volk and hatred of others (Volksliebe und Volkshaß ).60
The discourse of race and time was not absent in the French sphere, and
thinkers such as Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès (1748–1836), famous for his essay
“What Is the Third Estate?” (Qu’est-ce que le Tiers-État?, 1789), identified the
people of the third estate with the Gauls and the nobility of France with the
Franks. For such anti-aristocratic thinkers, the Gauls were the true ancestors
of the French, while the Franks were mere conquerors and not “natives” of
R ac ia l T im e 19
France. Therefore, only the offspring of the Gauls, meaning the masses, are
fit to be called “French.” The Gallic myth thus served the philosophers of the
revolution. Here was a historical legitimation of the claim that the French
nobility did not deserve its old political and social status: “When our poor
fellow-citizens insist on distinguishing between our lineage and another, could
nobody reveal to them that it is at least as good to be descended from the Gauls
and the Romans as from the Sicambrians, Welches and other savages from
the woods and swamps of ancient Germany? ‘True enough,’ some will say;
‘but conquest has upset all relationships and hereditary nobility now descends
through the line of the conquerors.’ Well, then; we s hall have to arrange for it
to descend through the other line!”61
It is important to emphasize that this argumentation was a reaction to
the claim of some representatives of the nobility, such as Henri de Boulain-
villiers (1658–1722), who argued long before the French Revolution that the
nobles deserved their high social and political status because they were the
offspring of the Franks. For him, the Franks, following the conquest, deprived
the local Gallo-Romans of their superior rights and stature. Hence, there was
a racial struggle between the two social classes of the modern population. The
main attribute of the Franks was their love of freedom, a notion that originated
in Tacitus (AD 56–117). Boulainvilliers identified the Franks as an overclass.
For him, the Gallo-Romans were tyrannical and oppressive, as seen in their
legislation, tax laws, and governmental system. This split between the Franks
and the Romans reflected the political stance of Boulainvilliers, who wished
to endorse the power of the aristocracy and was opposed to the growing power
of the third estate.62
The idea of the ethnic struggle between the Gallic Romans and their
German conquerors became very significant during the nineteenth century.
Its effects can probably be discerned in the thesis of Marx and Engels about
the struggle between the different social classes and, as mentioned earlier, in
the racist views of Gobineau, who predicted the degeneration of European/
Aryan civilization due to the fusion between the world’s races. The perception
of the existence of a “struggle” was integrated also into the national-territorial
nineteenth-century confrontation between France and Germany. This insight
enabled French statesmen and thinkers to argue that some disputed territories
belonged to France and not to Germany, for they (the French) were the native
people of Gallia (France), while the Germans were conquerors who had in-
vaded this territory and therefore had no historic rights. The French dis-
course demonstrates the incorporation of the “racial time” with what I defined
earlier as “social time.” As in the case of religion and race, the two ideas
merge and construct a certain understanding of history.
In light of these examples of “racial time,” it may be asked how the racial
and national schemes differed from each other. Many nineteenth-century
scholars comprehended the concepts of nation and race as nearly identical and
therefore interchangeable. Thus, the main difficulty is to differentiate between
them, since, for some, such a distinction is only semantic. Indeed, it is possible
to claim that race is focused on the physical aspect, while the nation is more
concerned with language, cultural, political, and religious definitions. Yet, in
regard to nineteenth-century historiography, this distinction was less appar-
ent, since the physical aspect was occasionally adjoined with the discourse on
the nation, while other traits, such as language, were linked to race. Race and
ethnicity were intermingled.
Another perhaps more helpful way of approaching the distinction is be-
tween what each of the terms consists of and classifies. Race may include a
variety of nations, and for that reason distinct nations can be part of the same
race. The nation, alternatively, denotes a specific group usually living in a par
ticular land. For that reason, “racial time” is more general and includes a
more universal periodization. However, the national periodization concen-
trates on the time line of the nation itself. In many cases, there is a fusion
between the two, and the more general “racial time” is attached to the par-
ticularistic national time. The reason for this is due mainly to the fact that
before the “birth” of the nation in a specific historical event the p eople who
construct it belonged to a certain race. Therefore, to detect their origins t here
is a need to “invent” an earlier sense of belonging that precedes the nation.
As many scholars have demonstrated, the racial discourse emerged with
great vigor during the m iddle of the nineteenth century.63 Conversely,
sometimes the “new” racial units breached the singular national demarcations
and constructed other usually more generalized classifications. As w ill be
shown in the first part of this book, the Pan-Teutonic movement created a
shared transnational community that included E ngland, Scandinavia, Ger-
many, Switzerland, and the United States. The racial and the national dis-
tinctions added new and particularistic delineations to the division of
historical time. Thus, they not only divided time but w ere also used as a tool
for differentiating between merging people and communities. Suddenly,
every nation or race was conceptualized along with a unique time line that
was deemed essential for its creation.
chapter 1
The English Teutonic Circle
Now I have told you about Caradoc and Boadicea, and it is right
that you should know about them and care for them. But you
should care for Arminius a great deal more, for though he did not
live in our land, he was our own kinsman, our bone and our flesh.
If he had not hindered the Romans from conquering Germany,
we should not now be talking English; perhaps we should not
be a nation at all.
—Edward A. Freeman
ese words of Freeman, from his Old English History for C

Th hildren (1869),
epitomize his approach to the origins of the English nation. For Freeman,
the English are part and parcel of the German tribes and are distinct from
the autochthonic Celtic inhabitants of the isles. Therefore, English children as
well as adults should seek their past in the deeds of the people who inhabited
the German lands and be conscious of the linkage between the German
tribes and the English nation. This is not only a matter of the past; it also de-
termines the present and the future affinities between E ngland and the
Germany. For Freeman, a common English and German community, or
Gemeinschaft, that shared roots, territory, and ancestors was a viable and almost
present reality. As this chapter and the next aim to show, such a close Anglo-
German community emerged during the m iddle of the nineteenth c entury.
This community believed that to revive the unique bond between the German
and the English nations it was necessary, first, to write historical books and,
second, to establish English and German communities, beginning with a
community of scholars.
22 c ha pt er 1
In this chapter, the focus will be on the English Teutonic scholars and on
the question of how the idea of Pan-Germanism or Pan-A nglo-Saxonism
constructed the past and present perception of their community. Some En
glish historians, as Peter Mandler demonstrates, became obsessed with Teu-
tonic themes.1 This obsession was at times depicted by contemporaries as a
“Teutomania.”2 In its origin, the term “Teutons” referred to a Germanic tribe
from Jutland that, together with the tribe of the Cimbri, invaded the Roman
Republic during the end of the second c entury BC. Yet, with time “Teutonic”
became a generic name denoting the whole of the so-called Germanic nations,
including England. The affiliated German and English scholars were united
in their shared interest in the common Germanic origins of their p eople. In
contrast to the dec adence of Rome in the fourth and fifth centuries, the
Germanic tribes symbolized the regeneration of western Europe that led
eventually to the establishment of both England and Germany.
Together with “Teutons,” the term “Anglo-Saxons” also became dominant
among the writings of these nineteenth-century English scholars. The generic
title of the Anglo-Saxons was given to the Germanic tribes of the A ngles,
Saxons, and Jutes, who invaded the isles during the fifth century while defeating
the autochthonic Celtic inhabitants of Britain (the Britons). Thus, “Anglo-
Saxonism” as a distinct collective term denotes the particularity as well as the
alleged superiority of the Anglo-Saxons. The term, in some cases, is parallel to
“Teutonist,” especially as an antonym to “Celticism.”3 Yet, while “Teutonism”
includes all p eople of Germanic decent, “Anglo-Saxonism” mainly refers to
the English-speaking p eoples. In this study, in most instances, “Anglo-
Saxonism” and “Teutonism” are interchangeable terms. Anglo-Saxonism in-
cludes ancient as well as early modern and modern characteristics. According
to Allen J. Frantzen and John D. Niles, it signifies “the process through which
a self-conscious national and racial identity first came into being among the
early p eoples of the region that we now call England and how, over time,
through both scholarly and popular promptings, that identity was trans-
formed into an originary myth available to a wide range of political and social
interests.”4
In the following discussion, I refer to the modern aspects of this term, to
its racial connotations and the method by which it constructed modern com-
munities and time. As Reginald Horsman and others have asserted, affinity
toward Anglo-Saxonism existed in Britain since the sixteenth c entury. How-
ever, the racial aspect of Anglo-Saxonism and its alleged superiority over
Celtic identity became most prevalent during the eighteenth and nineteenth
T he Eng l ish T eu to nic Circle 23
centuries and was apparent in various fields such as history, philology, archae-
ology, and literature.5 This racial element was not only a feature of English
Anglo-Saxonism but also central in its North American manifestations.6
Before focusing on the English-Teutonic circle of scholars, I present,
briefly, the origin of the Anglo-Saxon racial theme among three early
nineteenth-century British scholars: John Pinkerton, Sir Walter Scott, and
Sharon Turner. Th ese scholars fused the notions of race and periodization
within their arguments. Their evolving interest in the Anglo-Saxon past and
its racial implications, it w
ill be argued, laid the foundation for the l ater views
of the English-Teutonic scholars.
The Forerunners of Anglo-Saxonism:

Pinkerton, Scott, and Turner
The Scottish historian John Pinkerton (1758–1826) delineated a clear separa-

tion between the Celtic and Germanic or, as he named them, the “Gothic
races.”7 Pinkerton asserted that all the g reat nations of Europe, including his
“imagined” ancestors, the Picts, had descended from Scythian or Gothic stock.
When the Scythians invaded Europe from their native land of Persia, they
pushed the Celtic people into the far western parts of Europe, t oward Gaul and
the isles. The Celtic influence remained notable until the modern age, espe-
cially among the Celto-Welsh, the Celto-Irish, and in the Highland communi-
ties of Scotland.8 Pinkerton described the Celts in degrading terms: “they are
savages, have been savages since the world began, and w ill be for ever savages
while a separate people; that is, while themselves, and of unmixt blood; I say
the contempt borne by those Celts for the English, Lowland Scots, and later
Irish (who are English and Scots) is extreme and knows no boundaries.”9
Pinkerton offered a secular chronological time line that epitomized the
deeds of a single ultimate race, the Goths. Other histories, he insists, pale in
comparison to that of the Goths. Their expansion was divided in his repre
sentation into two waves. The first portrayed their emergence from Persia
beginning in 3660 BC, when they defeated the Egyptians and conquered all
of Asia. In 740 BC the Scythians conquered Scandinavia, Germany, and large
parts of Gaul. In 300 BC the Belgae, who Pinkerton declares w ere a Germanic
people, entered the south of England and Ireland. At the same time, the Picts,
the forefathers of the Lowland Scots, sailed from Scandinavia and settled in
large parts of northern Britain.10 During the second wave of wanderings, the
24 c ha pt er 1
Goths once again entered the Roman Empire. Gradually, and especially from
the fourth c entury, they gained major success in their struggle against Rome and
ultimately defeated the Western Empire. Pinkerton, like many o thers, al-
though moving between AD 475 and 476, marked the end of Romulus
Augustulus’s reign as a crucial turning point in the history of the empire.
Pinkerton concluded his Roman chronology soon a fter this date, with the
conquest of Gaul by the Franks between AD 490 and 509.11
The uniqueness of Pinkerton and the main cause for his inclusion h ere is
that he presents a racial periodization of history. He adopted an original view that
attached the history of Europe, and in a sense the history of the world, to the
deeds of one race. In the case of the Scots and English, this marked a promi-
nent difference from the conventional thinking since their history began
eight hundred years earlier, at the end of the fourth century BC, and not in
AD 449. His main argument classified the English and Scots as belonging to
an identical racial community. As with the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons, and
the early Belgic and Pictish invasions, the Germanic race pressed the Celts into
the outskirts of the isles. Thus, one race gradually replaced another as the
majority inhabitants. A significant conclusion from Pinkerton’s treatise is the
usage of race as demarcating historical time. However, as will be discussed,
unlike the approach of many of his contemporaries and of the English-Teutonic
scholars, Pinkerton located the racial transformation in an earlier stage and
under a different racial classification. For Freeman and Stubbs, the Scots/Picts
were part of the Celtic race and were inferior to the Anglo-Saxon Germanic
race, which only arrived in the isles during the fifth century.
One of Pinkerton’s associates and fellow Scotsmen, the famous Walter
Scott (1771–1832), refuted his attack upon the Celts, specifically the Celts of
Scotland, who were regarded by Pinkerton as a “dishonoured, timid, filthy,
ignorant, and degraded race.”12 Scott defended the Celts of the Highlands and
named their merits. He also doubted the theory of Pinkerton that the Picts,
the supposed forefathers of the Scottish Lowlanders, had originated from a
Scythian/Germanic origin. Tacitus, Pinkerton’s main source, does not mention
that the Caledonians spoke a Germanic language, but writes only that a
physical similarity existed between the Caledonians and the Germanic tribes.
For Scott, the physical evidence was not sufficient to prove a v iable Germanic
linkage between the two p eoples. Language is the ultimate test for substan-
tiating an ethnic bond.13 The conclusion of Scott was that the Picts and Cale-
donians were in fact the same people. However, they were not of Germanic
but of Celtic descent and were driven to the north of Scotland by the Roman
peril.14 The faults of Pinkerton, Scott wrote, were that he wrote these words as
a young, inexperienced researcher, and, as such, one should not be too critical
of him.15 Scott himself, and this is his main relevance to the discussion, in-
corporated in his notable historical novel Ivanhoe (1820) another racial dis-
tinction that became a crucial factor in the national periodization of English
history. In Scott’s case, the decisive racial division that determined periodiza-
tion was between the Anglo-Saxons and the Normans. Hence, AD 1066
symbolized a monumental event in English history: “the sufferings of the
inferior classes, arose from the consequences of the Conquest by Duke Wil-
liam of Normandy. Four generations had not sufficed to blend the hostile
blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language
and mutual interests, two hostile races, one of which still felt the elation of
triumph, while the other groaned u nder all the consequences of defeat. The
power had been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility, by
the event of the b attle of Hastings.”16
The differences between the races were exemplified through language, man-
ners, class, and blood. The new noble aristocracy spoke Norman-French, while
the Anglo-Saxons used their Saxon-Germanic tongue. For Scott, language, it
seems, was the main factor in distinguishing between races and classes.
Scott’s influence may be regarded as pivotal since he inspired many later writ-
ers, both in Britain and abroad. Augustin Thierry (1795–1856), for example,
adopted the narrative of Scott in explaining the clash between the local
Anglo-Saxons and their new Norman conquerors.17 The main convergence in
Scott’s and Thierry’s narratives was between race, time, and class. History
changed when a new race entered the islands, a race that denoted a new so-
cial order in which the Normans became superior over the Anglo-Saxons.
However, the physical aspect was not omitted from Scott’s description, and
he quoted the poet James Thomson’s Liberty in the opening lines of his third
chapter: “The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong, and yellow hair’d,
the blue-eyed Saxon came.”18 Scott thus offered a clear racial-lingual boundary
between the Anglo-Saxons and the Normans. This boundary distinguished
between two epochs in the history of England. The first stretched from the in-
vasion of the Anglo-Saxons u ntil the Norman Conquest, while the second
originated a fter AD 1066 and lasted until the present.
The English historian Sharon Turner (1768–1847) was another critic of
Pinkerton’s ill-treatment of the Celts. In his History of the Anglo-Saxons (1799–
1805), Turner paved the way for a whole strand of nineteenth-century Anglo-
Saxon historiography. Scott himself, as he remarked in his preface to Ivanhoe,
26 c ha pt er 1
relied primarily on the scholarly efforts of Turner.19 Turner accepted the

division in Europe between the Celtic and Gothic/Germanic races. These races
were distinguished through language.20 To t hese two dominant European
races, Turner added the Slavonic race that inhabited the eastern parts of Eu
rope. Among humans there are two types of nations, he asserted: the settled
and the nomadic. The fact that the nomadic is characterized by constant
movement and has left no written texts does not mean that these nations are
more barbaric or savage. On the contrary, some of the nomadic p eople con-
tributed to the world far more than some of the settled nations. The ancestors
of the English belonged to the nomadic nations and included both the Celtic
and the Germanic races. For Turner, the English nomadic ancestry proved
that these nations w ere at least equal if not superior to the settled nations of
Egypt, Babylon, Greece, and Rome. Turner, unlike several of his contempo-
raries (notably Pinkerton) and other later scholars (such as Freeman and
Stubbs), did not identify only one ethnic group as the source of the English
nation. Thus, both the Celts and Anglo-Saxons formed the English nation:
“The Kimmerians [Cimmerians] and Kelts [Celts] may be regarded as our
first ancestors, and from the German or Gothic nations who formed, with the
Scythians, the second wave of population into Europe, our Anglo-Saxon and
Norman ancestors proceeded.”21 Races existed, but this did not prove that the
English had descended from one sole race. The melting pot of history even-
tually amalgamated all t hese races into one group.
Turner’s is a racial-lingual periodization of a different kind. Instead of iden-
tifying an enduring struggle between the races resulting in the ultimate victory
of one, there was fusion. This does not mean that these races were not involved
in various historical confrontations. In addition, one should not deduce that all
the races that have gone into making the English nation had an equal stature
and impact. Turner therefore divided the periods according to the different
races and identified a distinction between the Celts, Anglo-Saxons, and Nor-
mans. The Norman period should be separated from the earlier Anglo-Saxon
era by the fact that the Normans connected Britain with the Continent. They
functioned as a bridgehead between the two spheres. Links had been established
beforehand, yet the fact that the Normans developed their kingdom in Nor-
mandy on the coastal northwestern regions of Gaul and were deeply invested
with the Continent enabled them to enhance the bond. The connections with
Europe reached their zenith during the Norman era, but the Anglo-Saxons still
had the most dramatic impact on the evolution of the English nation. Further-
more, like the Anglo-Saxons, all the great modern nations of Europe belonged
to the same Germanic race.22 These nations began to rise into their noble posi-
tion during the fourth and fifth centuries, when the Anglo-Saxons first sailed
to the isles. Language, once again, testifies to the continuation between the
Germanic tribes and the modern nations of Europe. Nevertheless, and as in the
case of Scott, physical attributions also denote some significance in Turner’s
narrative. For instance, when illustrating the Celts, he wrote that the Britons
were taller than the Gauls and the Romans: “Their hair was less yellow than
that of the Gauls.”23 Further examples can be found for the usage of physical
criteria as classifying race, yet, in Turner’s opinion, language still provided
the main f actor for proving racial continuity and uniqueness.
The main conclusion to be drawn from the writings of these modern
“Anglo-Saxon” scholars concerns their linkage between race and time. They
divide English history following the appearance of different races in the isles.
Therefore, the national history of England was, among other factors, a conse-
quence of t hese racial alternations. Some or even most of t hese “Anglo-Saxon”
scholars belonged without a doubt to the “Germanic school.” For them, the
wanderings of the Anglo-Saxons and the founding of England were part of a
great Germanic awakening that stormed across the Roman Empire.
As I show, the English Teutonic scholars of the second half of the nine-
teenth century divided the history of the isles into the period preceding the
Anglo-Saxon invasions (AD 449) and the period following. They identified a
racial struggle between the newly arrived Anglo-Saxons and the local Roman-
Celtic society that resulted in the establishment of the English nation. This per-
ception of the racial difference between the autochthonic inhabitants and the
succeeding Anglo-Saxons became in fact a historical border between the time
prior to the invasions, when England had not yet been established, and the fol-
lowing era, when the Germanic race had founded England. Hence, their com-
prehension of the founding era of English history was partly through the prism of
race. According to them, race was sometimes, though not always, the pillar of the
nation. For Freeman, Stubbs, Green, and Bryce the construction of the commu-
nity was dependent on its racial homogeneity and the alienation of other races.
The Germanic Origins of E

ngland
The name “England” itself, as Freeman emphasized, derived from the tribe of
the A ngles (Anglii). This tribe, together with the Saxons and Jutes, invaded the
isles during the fifth century. The native lands of these people w
ere regions of
28 c ha pt er 1
what is now northern Germany and Denmark. Freeman accentuated the pre-
eminent national characteristics of these tribes: “The conquerors who
wrought this change w ere our own forefathers.”24 The “Teutonic heritage” was
not an exclusive assertion of Freeman, and, as John Burrow demonstrates in
his A Liberal Descent (1981), it can be found in the writings of many other
prominent Victorian scholars. Th ese mid-Victorian scholars a dopted the idea
of the freedom of the English people that was fixed already by their ancestors,
the Germanic/Teutonic tribes.25
Stubbs also advocated this notion. The Constitutional History of England
(1874–78) was one of the anchors of the “Teutonic heritage.” According to
Stubbs, the four central monarchies of Europe—Spain, Germany, E ngland,
and France—were based on a Germanic institutional heritage. The German
invasions destroyed part of the Roman system, and a clear dividing line sepa-
rated the Roman era and the era of Germanic tribal dominance in the terri-
tories of the former Western Empire, later evolving into the g reat European
powers.26 However, while in Gaul and Spain the central Roman influence was
fused with the German element, in both Germany and E ngland the Roman
“effect” was suppressed and almost unnoticeable. In Germania, no invasion
of another race occurred and there was almost a pure racial continuity founded
upon the tribes. The conquerors of the isles, the Saxons, A ngles and Jutes,
hardly inherited any laws from the Romans. In contrast to the Franks, their
laws were mostly dependent on Germanic mores; in a sense, England became
even more “Germanized” than Germany itself since it was much more
“protected” from external Roman influences.27 The English of t hese centuries
were almost identical with the Germans, as described by Stubbs, himself
following Tacitus’s Germania: “it is necessary to begin the story of the En
glish civilisation by comparing the state of Britain in the fifth c entury with
that of Germany in the first.”28 In terms of language, the Anglo-Saxons w ere
hardly affected by Latin, and they maintained their pure Germanic language,
as was also the case in Scandinavia. For this reason, when the Vikings invaded
England during the ninth century they were quickly integrated into the
existing society. This was also true for the Normans who, Stubbs argued, w ere
of similar German descent.29 For him, t here was a clear distinction between
the Anglo-Saxons and the local Britons-Celts of the isles: “The English are
not aboriginal, that is, they are not identical with the race that occupied their
home at the dawn of history. They are a p eople of German descent in the main
constituents of blood, character, and language, but most especially, in connex-
ion with our subject, in the possession of the elements of primitive German
civilisation and the common germs of German institutions. This descent is

not a matter of inference. It is a recorded fact of history, which those charac-
teristics bear out to the fullest degree of certainty.”30
Stubbs stressed that, in contrast to the growing unity and influence be-
tween the Franks and the Gauls, “from the Briton and the Roman of the
fifth c entury we [English people] have received nothing.”31 The national history
of E
ngland in the isles had commenced during the fifth c entury, but the birth
of the “race,” a term used by Stubbs,32 had begun in the forests of Germany.
The important point that Stubbs emphasized was that territory was not the
foundation of the nation but only another manifestation of its character. In
other words, the nation is dependent not on territory but rather on culture,
law, and institutions. It is a dynamic entity moving from place to place while
preserving its main features. Thus, the fact that the Anglo-Saxons wandered
westward to the isles did not alter their character, and a continuous history
linked them to their Germanic origins.
Green a dopted a similar idea. An Anglican clergyman and historian,
Green was a friend of Stubbs, but was especially close to Freeman, as witnessed
by the vast corpus of letters the two exchanged for a period of more than
twenty years.33 For Green, the emergence of the English people occurred in
the northern lands of Germany along the Baltic Sea: “Engle [sic], Saxon, and
Jute all belonged to the same Low German branch of the Teutonic family;
and at the moment when history discovers them, they w ere being drawn
together by the ties of a common blood, common speech, common social and
political institutions. Each of them was destined to share in the conquest of
the land in which we live; and it is from the union of all of them when its
conquest was complete that the English people has sprung.”34 Green’s view,
therefore, echoed the idea of Freeman that the origins of England were deeply
rooted in the tribal and ancient territories of Germany. In his Short History of
the English People (1874), Green wrote that the English people had belonged
to the Germanic race and had maintained the political and social institutions
as well as customs of the German people. The institution of the “freemen,” a
term denoting the right to hold land, sustained their society. Thus, there was
a close link between the members of the communities and the land.35 The
village members met regularly in councils deciding on the guiding principles
of the community. A historical continuity existed between these councils and
the English constitution: “as their descendants, the men of a later England,
meet in parliament at Westminster, to frame laws and do justice to the g reat
empire which has sprung from this little body of farmer-commonwealths in
30 c ha pt er 1
Sleswick.”36 Green himself referred to these people as “English.” Consequently,

when he described their society and religion he spoke of “English society.” The
conquest of the isles was also titled as “the English conquest.” Thus, for Green,
these tribes had already been English before invading Britain. The tribes, Green
argued similarly to Stubbs and Freeman, gained a decisive victory against the
Celtic Britons and became the dominant race in the isles: “the Briton had dis
appeared from the greater part of the land which had been his own, and the
tongue, the religion, the laws of his English conqueror reigned without a rival
from Essex to the Severn, and from the British Channel to the Firth of Forth.”37
Furthermore, the English conquest was unique, and differed from other
Germanic invasions, since it ruined all of Rome’s heritage. Following the
conquest, a “purely German nation”—to use Green’s words—emerged: “What
strikes us at once in the new E ngland is, that it was the one purely German
nation that rose upon the wreck of Rome. In other lands, in Spain, or Gaul,
or Italy, though they were equally conquered by German peoples, religion,
social life, administrative order, still remained Roman. In Britain alone Rome
died into a vague tradition of the past. The whole organization of government
and society disappeared with the people who used it.”38
The English Question
From the corpus of letters exchanged between Freeman and Green, the
question concerning English origins appears as far from trivial. There was a
continuous debate on what could be termed “the English question.” The
correspondence focused on the question of the exact time in which the
Jutes and Saxons could be referred to as “English.” Green, as one of his let-
ters to Freeman confirms, asserted that already before their invasion t hese
tribal communities belonged under the general name of the “English.”
However, Green was still willing to follow the arguments of Freeman and
Stubbs: “My own belief is that Engle is the older name of the w hole folk.
But I have no right to set myself against all you wise people on the point,
and above all in a popular book where I c an’t give my reasons. So I w ill
change m atters as Stubbs and you wish, for the present.”39 This might seem
to be a semantical matter of no great importance, since why should the title
“English” hold such significance? Here, however, is a fundamental example
of the convergence of the theme “community” with that of historical time,
or “periodization,” primarily b ecause, for these scholars, the time when
t hese tribes received their name was crucial for determining the “birth” of
the nation.
In another letter from Green to Freeman, sent three days after that just
mentioned, Green reaffirmed his decision to concede to the opinions of Free-
man, Stubbs, and Bryce:40 in his Short History he intended to refer to the
Jutes and Saxons as English only following their invasion of the isles. However,
Green still required some clarification as to when exactly the tribes became
known as “English”: “As I told you, I made up my mind to yield to you
[Freeman], Stubbs, and Bryce on the ‘English’ question; and I have been going
through my proofs resolving the word whenever it occurs into ‘Jute’ or ‘Saxon’
as the case may be. But I find I must have some rule to go by, and as yet I am
without one. I find myself without any sort of guide as to the date when it
becomes right to speak of a Jute or a Saxon as English-men.”41
At this stage, Green summarized some of his main views concerning the
time when the tribes had become English. He admitted that he was a bit or
even very confused regarding this issue. This is a noteworthy account, espe-
cially since it demonstrates how this question became prominent in the ideas
of Stubbs, Freeman, as well as other scholars. W ere the tribes “English” al-
ready in the lands of Germany? Or only following their invasion of E ngland
in AD 449? Or maybe they w ere still known u nder the separate names Sax-
ons and Jutes u ntil the ninth c entury, when Egbert, king of Wessex, and later
Alfred the Great united them u nder a collective name? Some even argued that
they became “English” only following the Norman Conquest:
The old rule was to state that in 800 Ecgberht made A ngle and
Saxon into Anglo-Saxon; and that in 1066 William made Anglo-
Saxon + Norman into Englishmen. Then came the Lappenberg era
which took them as Anglo-Saxon from the beginning till 1066, and
then made Anglo-Saxon + Norman into Englishmen. Then came
the early-Freeman-and-Guest time in which the Anglo-Saxon was
wholly abolished, and Englishmen w ere held to have been in the
beginning, are now, and ever s hall be. Now we have reached the
late-Freeman-and-Stubbs-and-High-Dutchmen-time in which
Englishmen are held not to have been in the beginning, but to
have come into being when?42
These scholars struggled with a question of national identity. They claim

an ancient continuity from the Germanic tribes living in west-central Europe
32 c ha pt er 1
during the Roman epoch down to the English people. Yet the facts do not
entirely comply with this perception, since the early sources did not name all
the tribes as “English.” This is not a minor issue since it can be argued that
between the English people and some of the old Germanic tribes there was
no direct linkage but only a fragile or nonexistent or invented genealogy.43 In
the eyes of t hese scholars, the inability to trace E ngland’s “original roots”
endangered claims that E ngland was a coherent and civilized entity before
modern times. In addition, an ancient origin is important because, supposedly,
the longer the history of the nation the greater the legitimacy it enjoys in the
present. Therefore, it was critical to writers like Green, who attempted to
illustrate the history of E
ngland, to prove or at least clarify when this com-
munity had been founded. While the A ngles testified through their name to a
certain ancient Englishness, the “problem” arose with regard to the Saxons
and Jutes:
As to the only p eople I really care about (for you know I was born
the right side of the Thames) there is no difficulty. Thank God they
always called themselves Englishmen (for with Baeda’s “Angli” staring
me in the face I w ill have nothing to do with making imaginary
differences between “Engle” [Angles] and “English,” making in other
words one people out of a substantive, and another out of an
adjective!). It is merely for those wretched Jutes and benighted
Saxons that I am concerned. When on the present theory am I
to take it that God gave them the grace to bear the name of
Englishmen?44
Freeman maintained that only from the time of Alfred the Great were
the Anglo-Saxons and Jutes named as “English.” He even told Green that he
would be most pleased if any evidence for an earlier usage of the term sur-
faced, but he was almost certain that none existed.45 Green, following his
conversations with Freeman, decided eventually to adopt in his book the term
“English,” mainly for after AD 449, in order “to express the after-unity of the
people at large, and our identity with them.”46
To conclude, the debate at hand was not artificial or formal but rather
one of essence. It was, for t hese two scholars, about the question of national
identity and w
hether t here was concrete evidence linking these tribal Germanic
groups with the English nation. Green embraced an educational role that was
aimed to construct a certain early as well as continuous English identity. As
he stated in his letter to Freeman: “My only aim is to drive into my readers’
heads from the very opening that they are not reading about ‘furriners’
[foreigners].”47 It was less significant that the sources did not corroborate
his opinion that the general title “English” had not described these tribal
groups prior to their conquest of the isles. What really mattered for Green
was to emphasize the vital connection linking the present English people
with their German ancestors.
As for Green, although he might be perceived as another Whig historian
with Teutonic affinities, this is only a partial explanation for his emphasis on
the linkage between the Anglo-Saxon tribes and the English people. Bryce,
already in 1883, a short while a fter Green’s death, commented that, despite
Freeman’s influence, Green “did not belong in any special sense to what has
been called Freeman’s school.”48 Freeman, indeed, resented the fact that Green,
whom he regarded as his follower, did not continue his (Freeman’s) political
and historiographical path.49 Green, Bryce asserted, followed the method of the
great Herodotus (rather than Thucydides). He was imaginative, wished to tell
a story, and was not especially “critical and philosophical.” Indeed, and in con-
trast to the more positivistic Freeman and Stubbs, he was sometimes at-
tacked for his inaccuracies.50 Anthony Brundage classifies Green as a unique
historian who departed from the Whig tradition through his adoption of a
more social and cultural observation of history, thus setting him apart from
conventional politic al labels.51 Historic developments, following Green’s
method, include social aspects and not only political or military events. As
Green puts it, in one of his letters to Freeman as well as in the first paragraph
of his preface to the first edition of his Short History, there was more to history
than “drum and trumpet.”52
Green himself was very much engaged with the social problems of con
temporary England. From 1861, after taking clerical vows, he served for al-
most a decade as a minister in London’s poor East End. His wish to assist the
less fortunate derived from, among other t hings, the influence of the Chris-
tian Socialists.53 His historical approach should certainly be seen in light of
his social activities. Following his rather more “social” historical method, he
received the esteem of several key figures among the Christian Socialists. For
instance, Thomas Hughes hailed him as “the first English historian who had
a proper conception of the true object of history.”54
Green diverged from other historians, who “have too often turned history
into a mere record of the butchery of men by their fellow-men.”55 Green also
refused to divide history by reigns of kings, since this presented a dull narrative
34 c ha pt er 1
that might be boring to c hildren.56 Freeman referred to this in one of his letters:
“You [Green] are writing a history in which you think good to divide wholly
by periods.”57 Indeed, this method was fulfilled in Green’s Short History after
he declared that he would write not the history of kings but the history of the
English people.58 Bryce, writing to Freeman in connection with Edith
Thompson’s History of England (1873), commented on this “social,” less politi
cal aspect of Green’s work:59 “J. R. G. [John Richard Green] would probably
say it [Thompson’s book] is too much a political history, and indeed a history
of England’s foreign relations. This seems to be a fair criticism. But it is again
very difficult in such narrow history to be ‘Social, economical and religious.’”60
Green did introduce several new notions into his historical writing. Yet
this was not his sole distinction. Green, according to Freeman, became “Lati-
nized,” especially after staying in Italy for extended periods of time.61 Free-
man even accused him of “forgetting” his Teutonic origins and hating “English
things and Teutonic t hings in general.”62 He went so far as to define Green at
one point as more “Southern than Teutonic.”63 Freeman, from his point of
view, stayed “loyal” to Teutonic history. This loyalty was also apparent in the
fact that, for Freeman, German history signified unity while in French history
there is a fixed incoherence between antiquity and modernity. Furthermore,
for Freeman, especially in the case of the Teutonic “race,” there existed a certain
“Teutonic sphere” that sustained the ancestral Germanic languages, mores,
and even racial purity.
The Fluidity of “Race”
At this point, before delving further into the distinction between Freeman and
Green, it is important to clarify what Freeman meant by the evocative and
multilayered idea of “race.” Freeman, himself, was often engaged with the
relation between “race” and “language.”64 It seems that over the years, Freeman
altered his conception of the relationship between the two notions. As Simon
Cook shows, during the 1870s Freeman argued that race merged language and
biological inheritance. Consequently, Freeman stressed that the Anglo-Saxon
invasion had almost exterminated the autochthonic Britons. Later, in the 1880s,
Freeman followed the younger generation of philologists who had begun to
insist on separating race and language. At this stage, Freeman argued that the
Britons had been adopted, culturally if not racially, into the dominant Anglo-
Saxon community.65 For Freeman, the expansion of the Anglo-Saxons had
not ceased in the ancient past but, as Duncan Bell demonstrates, signified pres
ent and f uture English conquest of new territories, such as America (see later
in the chapter). While these “English entities” formed a natural and integral
part of the homeland, Freeman rejected the full territorial and cultural as-
similation of other racial groups/colonies into England since this could “en-
danger” Anglo-Saxon dominance.66
Freeman’s repetitive use of racial terminology leads many to perceive him
as a crudely racist historian. C. J. W. Parker argues that the liberal and racial
attitudes of Freeman merged and complied with his political and ideological
dogma.67 Marilyn Lake follows this line of argument but also presents the
criticism of Freeman’s extreme Teutonic notions by his own contemporaries,
like the British-Australian historian Charles Pearson (1830–94). The latter, as
Lake illustrates, argued that his controversy with Freeman turned on the point
of w
hether any continuity had existed between the Romans/Celts and the En
glish or w hether the Anglo-Saxons had been the only legitimate ancestors of
the nation.68
A different interpretation is presented by Vicky Morrisroe, who has used
Freeman’s Comparative Politics (1873) to “rehabilitate” him, rescuing Freeman
from his reputation as a simplistic racial and nationalistic historian. Morris-
roe claims that Freeman, while employing a notion of race, mainly stressed
lingual and institutional factors as constructing Aryan history and supremacy;
“race” as “blood,” she argues, was not important for Freeman.69 G. A. Bremner
and Jonathan Conlin also argue that race denoted a cultural category. How-
ever, Bremner and Conlin argue, Freeman did not adopt a biological classifi-
cation of race (through craniometry and such) since it could not validate
racial purity.70
In most cases, as Morrisroe and Bremner and Conlin show, Freeman
emphasized cultural and institutional rather than biological supremacy. As
Max Müller told Freeman: “Race is built on sand—it may be very learned,
ill not stand a breath of harsh criticism.”71 Freeman, following Müller’s
but it w
advice, continued this line of argument in “Race and Language.”72 Nevertheless,
it must be noted, that in other, although less common, incidents, Freeman also
stressed “blood” as separating human communities. This is especially evident
in his attitudes t oward several particular groups: blacks,73 Jews,74 and Native
Americans.75
In the context of the aims of the following discussion and in relevance
to the w hole book, the important point is that “race” was a rather fluid
term. Sometimes, Freeman considered it as a fixed and essential criterion
36 c ha pt er 1
that prevented assimilation between communities. However, especially when

it suited his argument, Freeman also identified several groups that had inte-
grated into other races and had altered their racial classification. Hence,
racial belonging could also be mutable. W hether acquired or innate, “race,”
for Freeman, derived from an ancient past and was an essential building
block of communities as it fused the past with the present. Perhaps most
important, “race” signified a certain hierarchy that separated various groups
and assigned the Aryans an innate supremacy.
Teutonic Versus Latin-Celtic
Concerning his own Teutonic stock, Freeman regarded it as representing a

long historical racial purity and dominance. This dominance was not only
in comparison to other non-A ryan races but also in relation to other Aryan
people, such as the Celts and Latins. As part of this supremacy, Freeman
stressed the preservation of the ancestral Germanic languages as a testimony
for the innate character and longevity of the Teutonic stock. Freeman’s posi-
tion is illustrated in his discussions concerning Green’s never to be written
“Short History of France.” As we shall see, Green’s preference for Latin cul-
ture was what perhaps led him to an interest in the history of France and in
its links to Romanized Gaul. In a letter to Green (November 20, 1873), Free-
man asserted that modern France had emerged in 987 when Hugh Capet was
crowned as rex Francorum. As Freeman noted, some historians proposed al-
ternative dates, such as AD 843 (the treaty of Verdun) or the crowning of
Odo in 887. For Freeman, however, it was only with the coronation of Hugh
Capet as the king of France in 987 that the land obtained its unique national
identity and abandoned its “Roman and German” influences.76 The discus-
sion between the two historians emerged in the wake of Freeman’s request
that Green write a short history of France, as part of the former’s “European
history series for schools.” Green, however, advocated a much earlier date
for the foundation of France. He observed that the book in this series on
Germany commenced at a much earlier date and, in general, expressed sur-
prise toward Freeman’s stance in regard to France, especially since Freeman, as
editor, had decided that all the books in the series would begin in the ninth
century. However, the narrative of Germany, written by James Sime and ed-
ited jointly with Freeman and William Ward,77 began in the early days of
Arminius or, as Green defines it, “before the beginning of t hings.”78 Green’s
response was ironic: “I thought all the Wee Works w ere to start from 888, and
lo, I behold Arminius and a host of prehistoric critters! I am sure your origi-
nal plan was the right one, and I am sorry you h aven’t stuck to it, and warned
your Wee sub-workers to stick to it. One sub-worker [Green himself] at any
rate doth hereby strike against any ‘overtime’ before 988.”79 Despite Green’s
eventual declaration that he would comply with Freeman’s terms, in the end
he did not write the book.80 It seems that the differences in opinion, as evi-
denced in their vast correspondence on the scope and dates of the book, led
to this outcome.81
A very substantial conclusion, however, arises from this correspondence.
According to Freeman, Germany and E ngland possessed an ancient history
linking them with the tribal communities of antiquity. France, by contrast,
lacked this kind of history. Thus, a very fragile historical connection existed
between the “modern” France of the tenth c entury onward and the Gauls,
Romans, and Germans who had inhabited the same territory beforehand.
Freeman, in fact, hardly identified the prior centuries as belonging to France’s
national history. The explanation of Freeman’s opinion can be related to his
tendency to epitomize Teutonic motifs as noble while belittling Celtic, Latin,
and Semitic influences. He considered the Teutonic stock ancient and con-
tinuous, and other cultures and races less influential in history.
On November 17, 1871, Green told Freeman that his love of Italy was
not in conflict with his admiration of the Swiss political system: “I d
on’t feel
that my love for freedom clashes with my love for Italy, or that one’s interest
in liberty need sleep on this side of the Alps to wake so strenuously on the
other.”82 This was a response to Freeman’s accusation that Green preferred
Italian culture to the Teutonic culture of Switzerland. Green conceded that
he acknowledged the democracy of cities like Florence as superior even to the
Swiss model. While the Swiss depended on institutions and constitutions,
the Florentine democracy was one of “man”—namely, humane. Green, in
what would have seemed to Freeman almost blasphemy, attested that the
Teutonic model was narrow, since it only denoted the political aspect, while
the Italian (Latin) one introduced a humanistic approach that included po
litical, economic, and cultural influences. In another letter, Green mocked
Freeman, the ultra-Teuton, for falling in love with the charms of Italy a fter
they both visited Venice together: “Ah, cara Italia! I am afraid she takes the
light a little out of other lands; to me our own history has seemed a shade
narrow, aldermannic, unpoetic ever since I crossed the Alps. But even you,
Teuto-Teutonnicorum [my emphasis], yielded to the witchery of Venice and
38 c ha pt er 1
found your Capua in a gondola. Oh, how I triumphed on that memorable

day!”83
In Italy, Green, the “people’s historian,” found the historical verification
of his general social approach. For him, society as a whole came to life in the
city-states of Italy. Green was curious about Freeman’s account of Switzerland
and wished to learn more about its communities. In the meantime, he
conceded only that Switzerland was a beautiful place situated on his way
south, to Italy. Moreover, the model of Swiss cantons, as described by Freeman,
sounded to him more Italian than English. The implication of this statement is
that Green believed that there w ere some possible Italian-Swiss institutional
influences and not necessarily a separate Teutonic political model.
Freeman adored Switzerland and celebrated it as the birthplace of democ-
racy and of Teutonic institutions. Swiss federal history, according to Free-
man, was vital for the evolution of modern political systems, especially in
modern Germany and Britain. Freeman was very interested in Swiss federal-
ism and wished to write a whole book on the subject. Bryce, who knew of
Freeman’s intention, advised him in 1864 not to focus only on the federal aspect
but to also study general Swiss history.84 This advice was likely connected with
two articles Freeman had published a short while before, in which he mainly
concentrated on the unique federal character of Switzerland. In these arti-
cles, entitled “The Landesgemeinde of Uri” (1863) and “The Landesgemein-
den of Uri and Appenzell” (1864), Freeman, in what would turn out to be a
very central notion of his historical understanding, illustrated the democratic
features of the Landsgemeinden.85 The latter were politic al assemblies held
in a public open space. Freeman compared them to the Athenian ecclesia or
the Roman comitia (depending on whether one attended Uri or Appenzell).
Like an anthropologist living among tribesmen, Freeman briefed his readers
on his fieldwork in the Swiss Gemeinde. He visited the cantons and through
personal experience enriched his description of their political system. As he
told Green, when he visited Switzerland he was “Federalizing in Berne.”86 By
this, Freeman meant that he was discovering the federal institutions from
first sight. He attended the National Council (Nationalrat), visited several
Landsgemeinden, went to hear debates, and communicated with federal rep-
resentatives and with the local people.
The cantons that maintain the method of popular assemblies present a
unique case that was distinguished from other much larger cantons of the
Swiss Federation. Freeman wrote that six cantons still preserve this ancient
Teutonic democratic tradition.87 Freeman choose Uri, since it had acquired a
central place in the history of Swiss independence. In Uri, especially in the

months of the early summer of each year, the governmental system was pre-
sented through public gatherings and practices. At the heart of the system lay
the Gemeinde, or commune. The individual received the opportunity to par-
ticipate in the proceedings through hereditary rights, an institution comparable
to ancient Athenian democracy. If an individual settled in another Gemeinde,
he had limited ability to influence his new community. Freeman even ex-
plained this method to Green in relation to Oxford, a place they both knew
very well: “a stranger goes and lives in Oxford, he is not only short from any
share in port Meadow, but he has no vote for town, council, guardians . . . it is
such a charming medieval relic.”88
In 1875, Freeman commented that he had heard a rumor while traveling
in Normandy that the unique political system of Uri, the Landsgemeinde, was
about to be abolished, “as they have done in Schwyz.” He was relieved to hear,
however, that “die walsch Zung ist untru” (the French/Gallic tongue is false).89
The esteem Freeman showed for the ancient Swiss system is once again ap-
parent. Furthermore, his aversion toward the French can also be seen in his
comment that the Walsch/Welsch, or Gal-Welsh language (in French, Welsh
people are known as les Gallois, the Gauls), as Freeman referred to them on
many occasions, should not be trusted.90 Freeman’s concerns were not only
limited to Switzerland. Several years before, in an earlier trip to Normandy,
he told Bryce of his concern regarding the growing usage of French by the
locals: “I am more and more concerned of the extreme folly of the p eople here
in talking French. Why on earth did they forget their natural Danish, to say
nothing of the still earlier Saxon? It seems so absolutely ridiculous to hear the
Gal-Welsh jabber coming out of the fine Dutch carcases of so many of our
Normans hereabout.”91 Bryce, himself, on an earlier visit to Switzerland had
told Freeman that during his tour near Geneva he was disturbed by the grow-
ing Francophile affinities of the region: “Chamoni, thankfully not yet, let us
hope never to be Gal-Welsh, albeit the folk t here speak a tongue which is much
more Gal-Welsh than Italian.” Like Freeman, Bryce also “feared” the influ-
ence of the Gal-Welsh.92 The Swiss and the Normans, as p eople of Teutonic
descent, were corrupted by the language of the Gal-Welsh and were forget-
ting their Germanic origins. The change of language could also mean an al-
teration in the character of the people, and both Freeman and Bryce feared
such implications that meant the loss of German or even Teutonic identity.93
The significant point is that, according to Freeman, one could conclude that
both the language and the people who spoke it w ere unfaithful, as if there
40 c ha pt er 1
was a complete identification between the language and the nation or even
the race.
Freeman’s admiration of Teutonic Switzerland was also evident in his
associations with certain Swiss scholars. When he toured Switzerland in 1871,
he praised once again the Swiss politic al system while also mentioning the
faculty of the Swiss historians:
I have been several times in the Nationalrat and I am especially struck

with the singular order . . . so unlike our house of commons . . . I
have been talking also to some of their statesmen and scholars. The
mass of historical learning in Switzerland is something prodigious,
and its results are piled up as Alps on their wise men’s shelves. But
to the outer world they are simply buried under bushes, b ecause it
is only one or two like [Franz] Bopp who write books; other people
write their essays—most learned and elaborate ones—in the
transactions of societies which folk in general have no way of
getting at.94
One Swiss scholar Freeman was in contact with was the writer and poet
Alexander Baumgartner (1841–1910). In several of his letters, Baumgartner
praised Freeman for his interest in Switzerland and stated that it was a pity
Freeman had not visited his own canton of Glarus. In Baumgartner’s opinion,
Glarus symbolized a prominent example of the Swiss federal system: “ours is
the most lively and most primitive and republican and therefore the most in
teresting of all, since e.g. any Ehrenmann may on the spur of the moment rise
and ask for the word, which he cannot do in Appenzell.”95 According to
Baumgartner, Freeman’s books had influenced him immensely, and, as a tutor
of history, he depended on his books for teaching English history to his pupils.
To Freeman, Baumgartner also noted the parallel institutions between the
Swiss and the English, especially in terms of their governmental heritage. This
affinity between Freeman and Baumgartner epitomizes the central point
developed in the next chapter: a close relation among the scholars of the
Teutonic realm was established in light of their belief in a shared past and
present.
The politic al entities rooted in cantons such as Uri represented, for
Freeman, the most ancient republics in the history of the world, and they
had remained unaffected for a long time: “they can be traced back as far as
the people can be traced back at all.”96 It was not necessary to imagine the
Germans of Tacitus, since communities like Uri and Unterwalden had

preserved the same ancient modes of politic al engagement. In Uri, a genu-
ine democracy thrived and enabled e very citizen to be involved directly in
the politic al proc ess. The greatest deeds of kings and popes throughout
history w ere negligible compared to the historical force of the demos as
seen in Uri. Th ese people symbolized Swiss independence and were the
descendants of the heroes of the battles of Sempach and Morgarten.97
They were also the forerunners of the whole Teutonic race and therefore
signified Teutonic as well as Swiss liberty. The “Eternal Democracy” was
perhaps the most momentous term that Freeman used to define this politi
cal tradition. The use of this term contains an inner meaning. Analogous
to the “eternal city” of Rome (Roma eterna), and maybe even a contrasting
example to the Roman heritage, the democracy of Uri was almost timeless
and thus presented living proof for the unity of history of the Teutonic
realm. It was exactly this antiquity that provided the Swiss Gemeinde and
the Teutonic institutions their present authority. It also handed them su-
premacy over other communities, like those of the Italians, who did not
belong to the Teutonic race.
Hitherto, I have discussed how the formative period of the construction
of the community was vital to historians like Freeman and Green. It was vital
because the question w hether the French nation had been a product of the
tenth c entury or an evolution of earlier periods affected nineteenth-century
questions of identity and legitimacy. The superiority of the nation/race was
engrained in the historical past, and if the past was characterized by grandeur,
the present and future will be too. The continuum between modern England/
Switzerland and the ancient communities of the past that Freeman identified
could provide the nation with a powerf ul tool—t he authority of time and
heritage. The nation is akin to a family or individuals striving to validate their
stature through genealogical ties and relationships that stretch back to distant
and respected forefathers.98 The only difference between the individual and
the nation is that the nation denotes a bigger unit and includes ties between
multitudes. If nations are in reality only very big families, this means that t here
are genealogical ties between all the nation’s members. People who are outside
the group cannot become members out of their own free will, but only
through establishing blood links with the members of the family (e.g.,
through marriage).
Freeman and Green relied to some extent on the kinship theory of the
nation. It seems that Green, especially in his writings in f avor of Italian/Latin
42 c ha pt er 1
culture, offered a different, less ethnic or racial explanation. However, some

of his arguments lead to a different conclusion. For instance, in a letter he sent
to Alexander Macmillan (1818–96), cofounder of the famous publishing com
pany, Green submitted notes regarding Freeman’s General Sketch of European
History (1872).99 From the content, it is evident that Green observed the friction
between different races as crucial to historical development: “Would it not be
well to note that the struggle between Rome and Carthage was a war of races
that it gave the Aryan, and not the Shemite [sic], the empire of the world?
Freeman has done this in the case of the b attle of Chalons, a struggle for life
and death between the Aryan and Thracian races. Why not in that of the battle
of Zama?”100 Green included the Roman Empire as a vital part of the past
glories of the Aryan race. Consequently, it is clear why Green noted the
importance of Italian and even French cultures, since t hose continue the legacy
of the Roman Empire.
As I elaborate l ater in the book, the bond between the Aryan p eoples was
101
usually defined by common linguistic characteristics. Thus, according to
some, language proves that there is a unique Aryan race, which separates
Aryans from other races like the Semitic peoples.102 Following this reading of
the term, it is no wonder that in his letter to Macmillan, Green emphasized a
certain linguistic structure that allegedly supported his argument regarding
the clash between the Aryan and the Semitic races. He noted that in the names
of Hasdrubal and Hannibal, the leaders of Carthage, one can identify the
Hebrew word Baal [‫]בעל‬, which appears in the Bible and means god or master.
This, he argued, proved the Semitic origin of Carthage and its struggle with
Aryan Rome.103
Freeman also recognized the preeminence of the Aryans and the nations
of Europe over the Semites of the East. This superiority, he claimed, can be
observed in the institutions and especially in the power of the popular assem-
blies that thrived among the Greeks, Romans, and the Teutonic peoples. Con-
sequently, when describing the Swiss Landsgemeinden, Freeman compared the
various assemblies of these Aryan p eople and concluded that their unique
political method had derived from their Aryan origin. Following his emphasis
on language as the main common feature of the Aryan kinfolk, Freeman
identified an even greater resemblance between the various Teutonic nations.
It seems that the Teutonic subgroup was more important to Freeman and
Stubbs than to Green. Freeman claimed that the German language and En
glish had once been one and the same, and this could be seen in the similarities
that existed between the two languages t oday. Together with t hese languages,
Danish, Swedish, and Dutch also belong to the same Teutonic f amily. Th ese
nations, despite the relative differences between their languages, belong to the
same ethnic group.104
Teutonic Scandinavia
The English-Teutonic scholars, as we shall see, argued that the Scandinavian

nations were an organic part of their own Teutonic race. This Scandinavian
kinship was established not only on language affinity but also on the close
Scandinavian involvement with English history as well as on their physical
resemblance to the English people. Bryce, in a letter to Freeman, expressed
this idea of a special relation with Scandinavia. Yet in his case the admiration
was mainly toward the physical appearance of the Scandinavians: “I love the
northern places, and specially Norwegians, more than Swedes or Danes—I
suspect your Sicilian North men were chiefly from Norway. . . . They are still
tall good-looking fellows. The women not handsome, but with clear-cut
faces.”105 There was a reason why Bryce stressed to Freeman the resemblance
of the Scandinavians to the Normans, who had conquered Sicily in the elev-
enth c entury. Freeman, as elaborated in Chapter 4, was very interested in the
history of Sicily and argued for the common racial origin of the Normans, the
Scandinavians, and the English. Bryce also distinguished between the “supe-
rior” southern Scandinavians and the “inferior” races of the North: “In t hese
high latitudes . . . especially about Tromso, a good many Lapps. The race is
partly disappointing. . . . They are, albeit given to drinking when they have
money in their pockets.”106 According to Bryce, the Lapps from Lapland, also
known as the Sami people, were still superior to other more “primitive” races:
“They are of the least repulsive of the primitive races—superior to Red Indi-
ans and Polynesian, East Indian Todas.”107 Thus, Bryce adopted a hierarchy of
races. He differentiated between the Northmen and the Lapps and then be-
tween the Lapps and other “inferior” races. Bryce was very interested in the
region since the name “Goth” had been maintained in a region of southern
Scandinavia: “For a long time I wished to visit the one place which preserved
the name of the Goths, albeit there is little to show how its folks were ever
connected with our men of Alarich and Theodorich.”108 Bryce doubted the
alleged links between the Scandinavian p eople and the Gothic tribes who had
toppled the Western Empire. Yet, Bryce did refer to the Teutonic lords, Alaric
and Theodoric, as “his men.”
44 c ha pt er 1
Freeman, conversely, observed a long-lasting connection between his tribal

forefathers and the Northmen of Scandinavia. Within the nations of Europe,
the Swedes and Norwegians, because of their geographically isolated lands in
the north, were said to remain the purest of all the Teutonic p eople.109 For this
reason, according to Freeman, as in the case of Stubbs, when the Vikings
invaded the isles in the ninth c entury, they were easily assimilated with the
local Anglo-Saxons.110 Comparable to the A ngles, Saxons, and Jutes three
hundred years earlier, the Vikings were “people of [their] own race,” worshiped
the same gods, and, most important, understood the language spoken by most
of the inhabitants of the island.111 Although the Vikings w ere not Christians,
and indeed were bitter enemies of the church, once they converted, their
integration was immediate: “But when they had once settled in the land and
had become Christians, their language and manners differed so little from
those of the English that the Danes and the English soon became one people.
There is no doubt a great deal of Danish blood in all the north and east of
England, but the Danes and the English did not remain as two separate na-
tions in the way that the English and Welsh did, so that the Danes may
rather be said to have become another tribe of Englishmen just like the
A ngles and the Saxons.”112
Here a very important difference surfaces between the invasions of the
Anglo-Saxons and the Vikings. The former, when invading the island in the
fifth century, encountered the Welsh. In contrast to the Vikings, who even-
tually merged a fter a severe but relatively short b attle with the local English,
the Anglo-Saxons w ere not integrated into the Welsh communities. Freeman
echoed this argument repeatedly and maintained that hardly any Welshmen
had remained in the English parts of the country a fter the victory of the Anglo-
Saxons. The separation between the English and Welsh, he believed, was very
clear from the early settlements of the isles. The question h ere is why Freeman
insisted on distinguishing so ardently between the English and Welsh? Why
did he place such an emphasis on ethnic singularity?
First, Freeman wished to emphasize that there had been two different
races in the isles. The Welsh were and are Celtic, while the Anglo-Saxons and,
afterward, the Danes were and are of Teutonic stock. The prominence of the
language as a factor of race arises again with regard to the Welsh. The meaning
of the title “Welsh,” as Freeman explained, was those whose “tongue cannot be
understood”—in other words, foreigners. It was a name given to the local
ngland by the Germanic Anglo-Saxons.113 The Anglo-Saxons
Celtic people of E
had a long and fierce confrontation with the Celtic people mainly b ecause, ac-
cording to Freeman, they were and remain of a different race: “They met with
a degree of strictly national resistance such as no other Teutonic conquerors
met with.”114 The strong local resistance led the invading tribes to a horrific re-
venge that destroyed every trace of the local inhabitants belonging to Celtic
and Roman communities. The national pride of Freeman was playing a major
role here. Above all, he wished to prove that the English belong to the conti-
nental Teutonic f amily of tribes. In addition, the mighty resistance of the local
people was glorified, since this reflected well on the strength and glory of his
English tribal ancestors who succeeded in conquering the isles. This also at-
tested to the nature of the isles as a place that was and always will be difficult to
conquer. Freeman reveled in the fact that the newcomers had hardly mingled
with the autochthonic inhabitants, contributing to the formation of the En
glish nation as the purest Teutonic nation. Dissimilar to various other barbar-
ian peoples on the Continent, such as the Franks, who adopted many elements
from the Romans, the ancestors of the English were the most savage of all the
Teutonic nations. They were hardly influenced by the empire in their safe ha-
ven of northern Germany and could not find a common ground with the com-
munities that adopted Roman elements in Britain.115 This means that they
remained separate from both Celtic and Roman cultures.
However, especially following the Viking and then Norman invasions,
other ethnic groups assimilated into the English nation. Nevertheless, in
comparison with other nations, England had preserved its Teutonic character
in the most authentic way. Freeman argued that his motive was to research
the ethnic origins of England through the context of the broader developments
in western Europe during the fifth c entury: “If I am set in this chair [regius
professor of modern history] to strive to show that European history is one
unbroken chain, I am set in it also to strive to show that Englishmen are En
glishmen.”116 For this reason, Freeman argued that in the isles, Wales and
Scotland had no justification or even need for independence. They inhabited
the same geographical unit and had been dominated by the English race for
many years. Hence, there was no real necessity to advance any demands for
their independence. Ireland, however, embodied a different case, since it was
detached geographically from England. Following this, Freeman, as seen in
many of his letters, supported home rule for Ireland.117 In a letter to the
Reverend William R. W. Stephens, who later edited Freeman’s Life and Letters
(1895), Freeman drew the borders of his own homeland: “I have not bothered
myself much with Ireland, Transvaal, and other unpleasant parts of the world.
My creed is a simple one—the kingdoms of England and Scotland, the
46 c ha pt er 1
dominion of Wales, the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, and (two t hings which

are often forgotten) the kingdom of Man and the duchy of Normandy). Th ose
118
make up the extent of my geographical patriotism.”
It is evident through these quotations that Freeman also aspired to prove
that the theory of the “unity of history” also applied in the case of his home-
land, England. By separating the Anglo-Saxon tribes from the Welsh-Celtic
ones, he demonstrated that the former belonged to a long and continuous
ancestry of Teutonic descent. Although both nations belonged to the Aryan
race, the Anglo-Saxon/Teutonic stock was superior to the autochthonic Celtic
inhabitants of the isles. The two stocks could hardly coexist. For a mutual and
enduring existence one of the stocks must prevail. In the case of the isles, it
was the Anglo-Saxon dominance and the weakening of the Celtic character/
communities that allowed E ngland to control Wales and Scotland.
To conclude, it seems that Green promoted a rather “less Teutonic” narra-
tive in comparison to Freeman, Stubbs, and Bryce. Freeman also named the
Roman-Italians, French, and, in fact, most of the western European nations,
as Aryan. However, as illustrated, he identified several levels of “Aryanism.”
Thus, the Teutonic English and German were superior to the Latin p eople,
even though they all belong to the Aryan family. Stubbs also stressed the Teu-
tonic roots. He belittled the role of the Roman Empire and its Latin descen-
dants, while stressing the influence of the Teutonic nations especially on
modern history. For this reason, he differentiated between the ancient and the
modern periods. However, despite the distinctions between t hese historians, it
appears that mainly Bryce, Freeman, and Stubbs amalgamate the notions of
nation and race and regard language as a critical criterion in determining
them. Ethnogenesis is another notion that arises from the scholars’ arguments.
The shared ancestral community bonded the English with other Teutonic
communities. Accordingly, Freeman, Stubbs, and Bryce promoted the idea of
a transnational Teutonic community. Switzerland and the p eople of Scandina-
via were part of these sister communities. America, as discussed next, was an-
other prime example of the transnational ethnogenesis community.
“Germanic” America
The ties of race and language—of “blood and speech,” a phrase coined by
Freeman—linked E ngland with another Teutonic land, the United States of
Americ a. The true ancestors of the American nation, as Freeman declared
during his visit to Johns Hopkins University in 1881, had been the Anglo-
Saxons and consequently the English. The United States was, therefore, an-
other Anglo-Saxon entity originating from the Teutonic tribes. Th ere was a
gradual historical movement of the Teutonic nations westward, from their
lands in Germany, to E ngland and then across the Atlantic to the New World.
The Teutonic movement carried and spread the idea of democratic institu-
tions. The institutions of seventeenth-century Americ a had been even more
“Teutonic” than t hose that remained in contemporary England. A greater
closeness persisted between American and ancient Anglo-Saxon institutions
and the former echo nativity that waned in the old E ngland:119 “The old
Teutonic assembly, rather the old Aryan assembly, which had not long died
out in the Frisian sea-lands, which still lived on in the Swabian mountain-
lands, rose again to full life in the New E ngland town-meeting. Here we have,
supplied by the New England States, a direct contribution, and one of the most
valuable of contributions, to the general history of Teutonic political life, and
thereby to the general history of common Aryan political life.”120
Herbert B. Adams (1850–1901), an American historian from Baltimore and
Freeman’s friend, noted Freeman’s influence on his own historical under-
standing. Adams detected, following Freeman’s work, the close affinity
between the Swiss Landsgemeinden and New England’s town meetings. America,
for both Adams and Freeman, continued the Teutonic traditions of England:
“America is not such a new world as it seems to many foreigners. . . . Historians
like Mr. Freeman declare that if we want to see Old England we must go to
New England.”121 Freeman’s visit to the United States, as Adams testified, was
a great success.122 It contributed to the study of “local institutions,” inspiring
Adams to edit a volume published u nder this title. The volume included
Adams’s own article “The Germanic Origins of New England Towns” (1882),
which pointed to the mutual influences between the Germanic tribes, En
glish communities, and American towns.123 Through reference to Green’s
Short History, Adams argued for the kinship between the inhabitants of t hese
two separate geographical spheres: “The town and village life of New E ngland
is as truly the reproduction of Old English types as those again are reproduc-
tions of the village community system of the ancient Germans. Investigators
into American institutional history w ill turn as naturally to the m other
country as the historians of England turn toward their older home beyond the
German Ocean.”124
Federalism was a major component of this political heritage. Conse-
quently, Adams urged Freeman to complete his book on federal government,
48 c ha pt er 1
as it is “the grandest idea in past politics and present history.”125 Adams also
encouraged Freeman to stress the similarity between the northeastern
American territories and the old Teutonic institutions: “territorial union and
common dominion and national Mark. I am going to lead you up to the ager
publicus. The Folkland of the U.S. from the town commons of New-England
ngland.”126 Adams adopted the
which are after all but out-giving wastes of old E
term Mark from the very influential works of Maurer. The term, discussed in
the next chapter, broadly defined the shared public land, or ager publicus, of
the ancient Germanic tribes. Adams, as well as many other scholars, placed
the term at the heart of Germanic liberty since it was the cornerstone of the
constitutions of first E ngland and later the United States. The German-
Teutonic influence was not only explicit in Adams’s use of the term Mark but
also in his adoption of the term Folkland, or, rather, Volkland, that, like Mark,
retained a similar meaning as the “land of the people.” Adams’s use of certain
German terms and theories is evident. Like some of his English colleagues,
he a dopted German historical scholarship and aimed to disseminate it among
American scholars.127
Bryce also engaged in correspondence with Adams. Together with Free-
man, he visited Adams in 1881 at his newly founded history department in
Johns Hopkins University.128 In Bryce’s American Commonwealth (1888), dis-
cussing the unique American political system, he promoted the view linking
a certain ancient political system with the American Constitution: “American
Constitution is no exception to the rule that everything which has power to
win the obedience and respect of men must have its roots deep in the past.”129
The American political system is founded on a method of direct democracy.
This system resembles the direct democracies of Greece and Rome as well as the
existing scheme of several Swiss Landsgemeinde (Bryce at this point refers to
Freeman’s descriptions of the Swiss cantons).130 There was a direct institu-
tional lineage connecting the Teutonic tribes, our “forefathers” (according
to Bryce), with the English settlers and the American Constitution: “they
owed something also to those Teutonic traditions of semi-independent local
communities, owning common property, and governing themselves by a pri-
mary assembly of all free inhabitants, which the English had brought with
them from the Elbe and the Weser, and which had been perpetuated in the
practice of many parts of England down till the days of the Stuart kings.”131
Adams also identified a similarity between the American Pilgrims and
their Teutonic ancestors. Both were part of the Teutonic migration waves,
invading new lands, and annihilating the natives.132 With the word “natives,”
Adams referred to both the ancient Britons, defeated by the Anglo-Saxons,

and to the American Indians, who perished in the wake of the Pilgrims’ ad-
vent. He thus adopted the theory of Freeman concerning the devastating
impact of the Teutonic tribes on the native inhabitants of the lands in which
they settled. The racial differences between the invading people and the “lo-
cals” w ere clear. The invaders of the isles who later immigrated to America
were obliged to demolish the autochthonic p eople once again, as a necessary
stage in the establishment of their new communities.
Freeman and Bryce understood the current and future potential of
America and wished to emphasize the institutional and even racial common
ground between E ngland and the northern part of the New World. They
believed that through Anglo-A merican collaboration the Anglo-Saxon stamp
on h uman society would be strengthened. Thus, they urged the merger of the
old E ngland with the new one. As Freeman declared, after being described as
a foreigner by an American scholar: “I am not of a foreign nationality, but of
the same nationality [as you].”133
chapter 2
Roman Decline
and Teutonic Rejuvenation
The Racial German and English Gemeinschaft
of Scholars (1850–90)
ere is a g reat difference between nationality and race. Nationality

Th
is the principle of political independence. Race is the principle
of physical analogy, and you have at this moment the principle
of race—not at all of nationality—adopted by Germany.
—Benjamin Disraeli
There is an irony that t hese words w ere uttered in 1848 by one of Freeman’s
arch-adversaries, the f uture prime minister Benjamin Disraeli. For Disraeli
suffered from Freeman’s racial terminology, being named by him, especially
in his private correspondence, a “Jew,” a term wielded with clear derogatory
connotations.1 Freeman’s racial stereotyping arose in consequence of his
opposition to Disraeli’s persistent support of British-Ottoman connections,
itself a product of his fear of Russian dominance. As we have seen, the idea of
the “Teutonic race” became central in the writings of Freeman, Green, and
Stubbs, especially in their construction of an English-Teutonic community.
Note, however, that Disraeli, in the above quotation, characterizes the Ger-
mans as attributing physical traits to the term “race” in order to differentiate
between nations.2 This provides us with a cue, for this chapter, in addition to
further examining the discourse of the English scholars who form the back-
bone of the book, explores also the attitudes of several German scholars to
R o m a n Dec l ine a nd T eu to nic Re j u ve nat io n 51
Teutonic history, their relations with the English-Teutonic circle, and their
concept of race.
German scholars appear at this point in the narrative since the concern
in this chapter is with the close bonds forged between them and some of their
English colleagues. These bonds arose through several friendships formed
between English and German scholars, relationships that w ere themselves
predicated on a shared concern to construct a common Pan-Germanic identity
for their respective nations. This i magined identity emphasized certain ethnic,
racial, and cultural (linguistic and religious) commonalities. The Pan-German
community, as conceived by these scholars, incorporated a common myth of
the Germanic tribal past while stressing certain unique cultural traits, such
as the resemblance between the Eng lish and the German languages.3 The
fundamental aspect of Pan-Germanism hinged upon an i magined cultural
ancestry that later, especially from the 1850s, developed certain racial char-
acteristics. Furthermore, when discussing this common historical-cultural
narrative, it should be noted that considerable familial links had existed
between the English monarchy and German principalities since the crowning
of George I (1660–1727, originally of Hanover) in 1714. During the nineteenth
century this continued with the marriage between Queen Victoria (who had
a German mother and spoke fluent German) and her first cousin, Prince Albert
(1819–61) of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. L ater, the Princess Royal Victoria (1840–
1901), the eldest daughter of Victoria and Albert, married Frederick William
of Prussia (1831–88), the future emperor Frederick III.4 Despite these ties, or
maybe because of them, some of these royal figures were accused of maintain-
ing their allegiance to their original homeland.5
I will not aim to show that due to these links the German or British
scholars influenced each other directly in constructing a racial approach,
since one cannot follow the exact evolution of an idea in any one scholars’
writings. However, I will exemplify the interpretation of t hese issues by the
German scholars and the parallels and possible differences with the con-
cepts of their English colleagues. The main theme is twofold, incorporat-
ing, in addition to the German comprehension of race and of community,
the German scholars’ relations and attitudes toward E ngland and their spe-
cific appreciation of English scholars. I maintain that a close association
connects t hese two parts of the theme. For all t hese scholars, the idea of the
Teutonic community that had expanded from the wildernesses of northern
Germany to the isles, was not only an entity rooted in the remote past but
also part of present reality.
52 c ha pt er 2
Many scholars in both Germany and Britain w ere also involved in politi
cal, religious, and social activities. They acted as public officials, held religious
posts, and wrote regularly for newspapers as public intellectuals. In England,
this is witnessed in Freeman’s regular periodical columns (he wrote more than
seven hundred articles for the weekly London newspaper the Saturday Review
of Politics, Literature, Science and Art Review), in the role of Stubbs as bishop
of Chester and later Oxford, and in Green’s social work in East London. In
Germany (or among the German scholars), a similar mode of involvement is
evident in the political and diplomatic roles of Barthold Georg Niebuhr and
Christian Karl Josias von Bunsen and the participation of Max Müller in
public affairs.6 Müller, for example, acted as an unofficial mediator between
England and Germany, especially during the Franco-Prussian War.7 Through
such media, t hese scholars aimed, and sometimes w ere able, to strengthen the
bond between Germany and England and to form a thriving community that
exchanged mutual ideas. Based on the published works together with ex-
amination of private correspondence, some hitherto unstudied, this chapter
brings to light the construction of a shared community of scholars.
Contemporary Views
Connections between British and German scholars have been examined

through several prisms. Charles McClelland’s The German Historians and
England (1971) demonstrates that toward the end of the eighteenth century,
the idea of E ngland became almost an obsession for German historians who
sought to find common ground between Germany and England.8 A fter the
end of the Napoleonic Wars, argues McClelland, interest in English scholar-
ship and history among German historians declined.9 Johann M. Lappenberg
wrote a pioneering book on Anglo-Saxon E ngland promoting the notion that
the Anglo-Saxon period had been the most prominent epoch in English his-
tory.10 These tendencies, according to McClelland, were primarily racial and
derived from the attempt by the German historians to connect their own
“Germany/ies” with the achievements of the British Empire.11
A detailed account of the infiltration of German culture into the Victorian
cultural scene appears in John R. Davis’s The Victorians and Germany (2007),
which focuses on the cultural and religious links between Germany and
Victorian England. Davis shows, for instance, how the Broad Church
movement, which adopted liberal notions and fused High and Low
Church tendencies, was influenced by German Protestantism.12 In terms of

the study of history, Davis describes the intertwining connections woven
between German and British scholars. Davis is more concerned with capturing
wide-ranging links than discovering the mutual relationships between the
ideas of individual German and British scholars. For this reason, especially
in regard to the Teutonic idea and periodization, t here is a need for further
investigation.13
The mutual perceptions of German and English historians are also visi
ble in the work of Peter Wende, who concentrates mainly on two leading
historiographical journals, the Historische Zeitschrift and the English Historical
Review.14 In both journals appear a handful of reviews of books and studies
from Britain and Germany. The Germans, as Wende shows, w ere in general
interested in the works of French historians more than in those of the English
ones, while the English were more intrigued by German than French work.15
Wende asserts that most British historians acknowledged the supremacy of
German scholarship. The Germans themselves criticized the English histori-
ans’ method, yet appreciated that, unlike most of their German counter
parts, they were popular outside the academic sphere.16 Wende, like Davis,
while mentioning Freeman and Stubbs as the leading British historians, does
not concentrate on the reviews of their work but rather focuses on the mutual
links between the historians of the two countries.
Finally, we may note an essay on the influence of philology on British
scholarship by John Burrow, who demonstrates the significance of scholars like
Bunsen and Müller on the infiltration of this field into the English academic
sphere and, especially, into the studies of the English scholars of the Alter-
tumwissenschaft. Language, for t hese scholars, became the key to the under-
standing of humanity, history, and religion.17 As we shall see, such a
racial-linguistic bond was conceived by several scholars as linking Germany
and England.
Lineage of Historians—Early Influences
In The Liberal Anglican Idea of History (1952), Duncan Forbes was the first to
fully explore the influence of German scholarships on Liberal Anglican his-
torians such as Thomas Arnold, Henry H. Milman, and Arthur Stanley.18
The paragon of German scholarship in Britain during the 1820s was Barthold
Georg Niebuhr, one of the most famous historians in the German-speaking
54 c ha pt er 2
lands of the nineteenth c entury. Niebuhr, born in Schleswig-Holstein to a

f amily of Danish descent, was especially renowned for his research on the
Roman Republic. Like many historians of his age, he became involved in
politics, and from 1816 u ntil 1823 he was the Prussian ambassador to Rome.19
In his Römische Geschichte (1827), he concentrated mainly on republican Rome,
although he does make some reference to the later history of Rome.20 In regard
to the transformation from antiquity to the Middle Ages and the theme of
the fall of Rome, Niebuhr, following the dominant periodization, marked the
fall with the deposition of the last emperor, Romulus Augustulus. In the third
and last volume of his lectures on Rome, in the last chapter, after the descrip-
tion of the events preceding the year 476, he concludes: “So endigte das rö-
mische Reich (So ended the Roman Empire).”21 The later great German
historian of Rome Theodor Mommsen (1817–1903) was, like Niebuhr, reluc-
tant to write on the later Roman Empire. Mommsen declared that Edward
Gibbon had cast a large shadow over the Roman historians of Germany.22
Perhaps Niebuhr also feared Gibbon’s shadow; he certainly told the German-
American scholar Francis Lieber (1798–1872): “If God will only grant me a
life so long that I may end where Gibbon begins; it is all I pray for.”23
One of the most important contributions of Niebuhr was his separation
of the mythical and the historical elements of antiquity, a separation that re-
sulted in the conclusion that many narratives, such as that which told of the
foundation of Rome, were mere legends with no substantial historical proof.
From this followed a new threefold periodization, applying, however, not
to the whole of history but simply to its first stage, antiquity, which was now
to be divided between mythische (mythic), Mittelalter (a m iddle period),
and ächthistorische (real historical), the last era. Poets such as Homer character-
ized the first period. Between the mythic and the real historical era, a tran-
sitional m iddle age occurred. The last and most important period, due to its
authentic kernel, began in Greece and later in Rome with the “realistic” his-
torians, such as Thucydides and Polybius, who had left detailed accounts of
historical events. Thus, Niebuhr’s division was based on the quality of the
knowledge preserved and the substantial difference between legends and
historical evidence.24 For Niebuhr, periods w ere distinguished not only by
events but also by the sources and the historians who had lived in them.
Niebuhr had a g reat interest in the history of the English people, their
politics, and their scholars. In a letter written in 1823 to the founding father
of positivism, the French scholar Auguste Comte (1798–1857), he testified to
his attachment to E ngland:
On that country, I have a right to form an opinion; I have a right

to except against that of the English, and to criticize it, as much as
if the question related to my own country, and the opinion of my
fellow-countrymen respecting its state, for I know E ngland as well
as if I had been born t here. I was taught the language in my earliest
childhood, and from the age of ten years I was in the constant
habit of reading the English journals; my f ather sent me t here to
finish my studies, and to become acquainted with the political and
civil life of a free p
eople, as well as to study rural economy,
commerce, the application of chemistry to the arts, and lastly,
finance. . . . I was as if naturalized there; and, after having quitted
it, I continued to watch with the same interest the minutest details
of its circumstances, and have followed its moral, political, and
financial history.25
Niebuhr thus defined himself as virtually English. This may also explain
why most of the foreigners who visited Niebuhr in Bonn during the last de
cade of his life w
ere English. His prominent followers in Britain w
ere Con-
nop Thirlwall, Julius Hare, and Thomas Arnold. It was Hare and Thirlwall
who introduced Niebuhr to the wider British public through their translation
of his work.26 In 1819, both men read Niebuhr in German while studying at
Trinity College, Cambridge.27
In his letter to Comte, Niebuhr proceeds to argue that England had
preserved its institutions and freedom since the Middle Ages down to the
present. This uniqueness of E ngland was noticed by Niebuhr due to his vast
engagement with antiquity: “And the more I occupied all my leisure moments
with researches into the history of the institutions and laws of the nations of
antiquity, the more I was led to turn my attention to the history of E ngland,
among those states, where the free institutions of the m iddle ages have
maintained themselves for a more or less lengthened period, and where even
important changes—as, for instance, in the tenure of property—have been
brought to pass in the course of their natural development.”28
The history of England also showed a strong attachment to the institu-
tion of the (unwritten) English “constitution.” Niebuhr, who lived u nder
French occupation (1806–15) and consequently became a great advocate for
the liberation and freedom of the Germanic lands, argued that true liberty is
found within the English nation and not with the French, who claim to be
the “harbingers of liberty.” His resentment toward France was also evident in
56 c ha pt er 2
his attacks against French scholars. Niebuhr ardently criticized Guillaume

de Sainte-Croix (1746–1809) and regarded his study of Alexander the Great
(Examen critique des anciens historiens d’Alexandre-le-Grand, 1775) as “a work
very unsatisfactory to a German scholar, and [it] must be treated by us as if it
did not exist. The whole work must be done all over again. As regards to the
facts in the life of Alexander, we need not hesitate to follow Arrian.”29 Niebuhr,
in various places, also made parallels between Greece of the fourth century
BC and the condition of the German principalities during their war against
Napoleonic France. For example, the widespread dismay in the German
principalities following the defeats to France (Jena, 1806, and o thers) resembled
the condition of the Greek city-states a fter the destruction of Thebes by
Alexander (335 BC).30
For Niebuhr, Rome and E ngland converged. As he declared, it was dur-
ing his stay in England that he decided to write on Roman history: “I never
could have understood a number of things in the history of Rome without
having observed E ngland. Not that the idea of writing the history of Rome
was then clear within me; but when, at a later period, this idea became more
and more distinct in my mind, all the observation and experience I had gained
ngland came to my aid, and the resolution was taken.”31 Conversely,
in E
Niebuhr learned more about what he deemed E ngland’s true and noble essence
from the study of the early Roman constitution and republic. For Niebuhr,
most nations had a short life span. They withered away like human beings
and did not fulfill their potential. Only two nations had escaped this fate:
Rome in antiquity and England in modernity. Rome and England broke the
vicious circle of time and managed to expand and prosper throughout long
periods. As Niebuhr declared in his introduction to the lectures he held at
Bonn: “In modernity, only the English have endured like the Romans [die
Engländer eben solchen Verlauf erlangt wie die Römer]; from a cosmopolitan
point of view t hese two histories [of Rome and E ngland] are the most impor
tant.”32
In the introduction to Vorträge über römische Geschichte (1846–48),
Niebuhr argued that dominant empires like Rome had integrated many
nations that gradually became an integral part of the empire. Rome united the
inhabited world u nder its law, culture, and language. We, Niebuhr asserted,
and by that he meant “his” Germanic tribal ancestors, would not have ceased
to be barbarians without Rome.33 It is precisely this universal aspect of Rome
and its continuing influence on world history long a fter its fall that character-
ized Niebuhr’s conception of the relationship between Rome and the Ger-
manic tribes (germanischen Stämme). For him, the tribes, despite invading
Rome, were nurtured from Rome’s heritage. Hence, t here was more coopera-
tion and continuity than strife.
In general, Niebuhr defined the national aspect rather vaguely. He stressed
both universal and patriotic notions, as exemplified by his support of Prussia
and its territorial aspirations. Perhaps, this patriotic-universal dualism, as some
scholars have suggested, linked him rather to the ideas of the Enlightenment
than to the Romantic tendencies of the nineteenth c entury.34 As one of his de-
scendants claimed in 1977, marking the two hundredth anniversary of his
birth, Niebuhr could simultaneously be defined as Danish, Prussian, and
German, or simply as a citizen of the world.35
Nevertheless, a completely different appreciation of Niebuhr is perhaps
also possible. As Martin Bernal claims, Niebuhr acted as a pillar of nineteenth-
century racial thinking. For instance, Niebuhr, according to Bernal, argued
that the source of the split between the patricians and plebeians in Rome had
been a consequence of racial and not of class differences. Hence, the racial
aspect determined the division into classes.36 The physical aspect of race,
Bernal concludes, was crucial for Niebuhr’s definition of historical and pres
ent communities.37 Niebuhr, however, when describing the patricians and
plebeians or when referring to any other h uman collective, did not use the term
Rasse(n). Alternatively, when illustrating the plebeian-patrician split he denoted
these groups with the terms Stamm(-ë), Tribus (tribe), and Stand(-ë) (class).38
It seems, therefore, that within the contemporary historical literature there
is a debate as to w hether Niebuhr adopted a universal approach or rather a
more racial-hierarchical inclination t oward history. The point to note h ere,
however, is that while a narrative glorifying the early Germans as the shapers
of medieval Europe can indeed be discerned within his writings, it was not
especially important to him but became crucial for his successors. This part
of Niebuhr’s heritage also testified to the historical bond between Germany
and E ngland. Niebuhr’s historical method was initially seen in Britain with
unfavorable eyes. For example, in the Quarterly Review of 1829, John Barrow
launched a scorching attack on Niebuhr, presenting him as an ultraradical
liberal thinker who had a destabilizing effect on his students.39 English schol-
ars, E. B. Pusey (1800–82) in particular, regarded his critical approach to Ro-
man history as dangerous, since criticism of classical texts would eventually
lead to the criticism of biblical sources.40
Niebuhr’s attitude, however, found a counterpart in the work of Thomas
Arnold. Arnold in fact learned German by reading Niebuhr’s Römische
58 c ha pt er 2
Geschichte. Following his reading of the book, Arnold declared that, like
Niebuhr, his aim was to separate history from myth. Arnold, who met his
German mentor in 1827, emphasized a specific national feeling, which he
linked to a Pan-Germanic element that was dominant in the modern age but
absent in antiquity: “Half of Europe, and all America and Australia are Ger-
man more or less completely in race, language, or in institutions, or in all.”41
According to Arnold, the Germans and the English, together with the inhab-
itants of most of western Europe and America, belonged to a unified race rul-
ing most of the modern world. Arnold, who traveled extensively, illustrated
this on a visit to the Rhine on one of his tours. He considered the Rhine not
just as a natural boundary but also as a dividing line between two distinct
cultures. As he wrote in his journal on June 9, 1828:
The river itself was the frontier of the Empire—the limit, as it were,
of two worlds, that of Roman laws and customs, and that of German.
Far before us lay the land of our Saxon and Teutonic forefathers—
the land uncorrupted by Roman or any other mixture; the birth-place
of the most moral races of men that the world has yet seen—of the
soundest laws—the least violent passions, and the fairest domestic
and civil virtues. I thought of that memorable defeat of Varus and his
three legions, which for ever confined the Romans to the western side
of the Rhine, and preserved the Teutonic nation—the regenerating
element in modern Europe—safe and free.42
The defeat of the Romans in the Teutoburg Forest (AD 9) was not only
the victory of the Germans but also the triumph of England. It was “our
forefathers,” as Arnold wrote, who had managed to repel the Romans and so
preserved the f ree element of the German race. This defiance of Roman cul-
ture led eventually to the establishment of England, because, had the Romans
conquered the German lands, the Anglo-Saxons would never have crossed
the channel centuries later.43
Bunsen and the Establishment of the Community
Arnold maintained a long and close correspondence with Niebuhr’s protégé

Christian Karl Josias von Bunsen. The two met for the first time when
Arnold visited Rome in 1827, for Bunsen served as the Prussian ambassador
to the papal court a fter replacing Niebuhr in 1823. On March 20, 1831, Ar-
nold wrote to Bunsen words of condolences on the death of his mentor. In
this letter, he also noted the common interest of Germany and E ngland to
defy their common e nemy, France: “Germany w ill never forget the glorious
struggle of 1813, and will know that the tread of a Frenchman on the right
bank of the Rhine is the worst of all pollutions to her soil. And I trust and
think, that the general feeling in E ngland is strong on this point, and that the
whole power of the nation would be heartily put forth to strangle in the
birth the first symptoms of Napoleonism. I was at a party in the summer at
Geneva, where I met [Amédée] Thierry, the historian of ‘Les Gaulois’ and the
warlike spirit which I perceived, even then, in the French liberals, made a
deep impression upon me.”44
Bunsen stressed the importance of the Teutonic nations to world history.
The tribes revitalized Europe in the wake of the decaying Roman and Celtic
eras. In this he went beyond his mentor Niebuhr, who identified the end of
antiquity with the invasion of the tribes but was less focused on the Teutonic
aspect. Bunsen was a key figure in the relations between German and English
scholars, and his connection with Thomas Arnold initiated the emergence of
this scholarly community.45 From 1843, he occupied for over a decade the role
of Prussia’s ambassador to St. James’s Court and became the main carrier of
Niebuhr’s legacy in E ngland. This legacy also included a prominent religious
mission to unite the Lutheran and Anglican churches. Bunsen had commenced
to implement this objective in 1841 when he began, with the blessing of his
patron Frederick William IV, to manage the establishment of a Protestant
British-Prussian bishopric in Jerusalem.46 Bunsen is in fact one of the few
Germans who have an entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography,
which points to his long-lasting influence on the British scene.47
Bunsen promoted the notion of the unity of mankind. He traced, like
many other scholars before him, the origin of mankind to the three sons of
Noah: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. The Semitic race originated from Ham and
Shem, while Japheth was the ancestor of the Aryans. The third race was that
of the Turanians, and mainly included the nations of Asia. This race, even
though associated with Nimrod, the grandson of Ham, evolved in what Bunsen
named the ante-Noachian period.48 The differentiation into the Semitic,
Aryan, and Turanian races was above all a consequence of language diversity.
The language of Ham, spoken in ancient Egypt, was the primordial tongue
of all the Semitic languages, whereas the Aryan/Iranian tongues derived from
the Turanian f amily.49 The Semitic stock became the cradle of all monotheistic
60 c ha pt er 2
religions. The Aryan stock generated the leading politic al powers of history,
beginning with Greece, Rome, and the Germanic tribes. Throughout history,
even though they possessed different characters, the two races have been in-
divisible and have, together, constructed universal history. The merger of the
two races was best exemplified in one of Bunsen’s main subjects of inquiry—
ancient Egypt. For him, Egypt had been the world’s first civilization and, to-
gether with the future civilizations of Greece and Israel, had formed
Christianity. By underscoring Egypt’s antiquity, Bunsen entered the height-
ened mid-nineteenth-century debate concerning the “age of man.” Bunsen, al-
though changing occasionally his opinion as to the exact beginning of
Egyptian history, countered those who remained loyal to the perception that
the origin of mankind was rather recent.50 The fact that Bunsen was a Lu-
theran devotee was, in his eyes, not contradictory to his perception of man-
kind’s “extreme antiquity.” Together with many other Egyptologists of the
midcentury, he observed the Old Testament as presenting a rather flexible
time line, different from the popular biblical chronology of Bishop Ussher
and others.51 In the ancient Egyptian civilization the Semitic and Aryan ele
ments converged since the origin of hieroglyphs cannot be directly linked to
both the languages. It was thus through language that Bunsen classified
races, and, as he testified, it was his attempt to research Romance and Scan-
dinavian tongues that first led him to delve into the differences between
races.52
As Suzanne Marchand observes, Bunsen in his posthumously published
God in History (1868) somewhat neglected his earlier “Egyptomania.”53 In-
stead, he stressed the significance of Central Asia to the emergence of the
Aryan and Semitic races as well as religions. In this early period, Abraham the
Semite and Zarathustra the Aryan (active, according to Bunsen, around 3000
BC) had formed the early concepts of monotheism.54 Bunsen asserted, how-
ever, in both God in History and his earlier Egypt’s Place in World History
(Aegyptens Stelle in der Weltgeschichte, 1844), that the supremacy was still
given to the Aryans as they “carried on the main stream of history.”55 The
most noble among the Aryans w ere the Teutonic tribes, which, as portrayed
by Tacitus and Caesar, were free and independent from their origin: “The Ger-
mans prized and cherished their freedom [Freiheit], and were at all times
ready to sacrifice themselves for the common cause, and to follow the chief-
tains of their choice to b attle, so soon as the Assembly of the p eople had de-
clared for war. This was a people after Tacitus’s own heart. On the other hand,
they were intelligent and susceptible of culture, consequently were destined to
acquire ere long a most important influence on the future prospects of the
Empire.”56
Besides the concept of Freiheit, encountered repeatedly in the writings of
many German scholars, the argument regarding the future influence of the
Germanic tribes on the Roman Empire and hence on the history of the world
is most significant. For Bunsen, the German emergence marked the transi-
tion from antiquity to the Middle Ages. One of the most important of the
unique traits of the tribes was their racial purity, and this had a rejuvenating
effect on the course of history. The chief term Bunsen used was volksmäßigen
Grund (ethnic foundation), which denoted the rise of a new epoch with an
explicit uniqueness. This, according to Bunsen, was not only a political trans-
formation but was also characterized by a rejuvenating racial aspect. The
tribes w ere not contaminated by the burden of time and brought a totally new
spirit into world history: “with the advent of the thoroughly pure-blooded
Bactro-A ryan Teutons, a new outgrowth of Humanity in religion, as in all
else, should appear upon the theatre of the world. . . . The Teutonic tribes [Die
germanischen Stämme] w ere awakened by the Roman Empire and the Celts
out of the slumber of national infancy [Schlummer der Völkerjugend aufgeweckt].
They stepped out into the arena of history fresh and unenfeebled; the g reat
race-day and its struggles lay before them.”57
The tribes possessed an inherent racial superiority over the Romans and
Celts, and, as Bunsen told Ernst Moritz Arndt, the “distinction of race” among
the Germans had made them equal the greatness of the Hellenes and superior
to the Celts and Italians.58 In another letter to Arndt, Bunsen expressed his
admiration for the Anglo-Saxon race with even greater praise: “the fact in-
stantly arrests our eye, that the Anglo-Saxon race is that which has exhibited
the greatest amount of creative and constructive energy, and, moreover, in a
continually increasing ratio of importance to the history of the world at large.”59
Arndt, it is important to note, maintained close contacts and correspondence
with Bunsen and even dedicated his book on the wanderings of Baron von
Stein to him.60 Bunsen, Arndt, and Stein were all great admirers of the En
glish nation, while, at the same time, they scorned France. Arndt’s memoirs
were translated into English in 1879 by Sir John Seeley (1834–95), regius
professor of modern history at Cambridge.61 For Arndt and Bunsen, England
and Germany w ere of the same race. Both the English and the Germans
maintained their purity of race and did not incorporate new races into their
realm. The Germanic tribes held their original lands and prevented other
foreign races from infiltrating into their domain. The same racial “purity” was
62 c ha pt er 2
maintained after the Anglo-Saxons conquered the isles and pushed the Celts
to the periphery. In these arguments three main themes converge: race,
geography, and time; and in this convergence emerges into view a prominent
example of “racial time.”
Bunsen also acknowledged the contribution of the English scholars to
research into the Teutonic past. This field, he stated, had become rather ne-
glected, except in Germany where the Grimm brothers delved into the origins
of Teutonic mythology, and in England, where several scholars also engaged
with this theme: “How can we wonder, therefore, that, in the rest of Europe,
the greatest ignorance of these monuments, therefore of ancient Teutonic my
thology in general, should still prevail; notwithstanding Sharon Turner’s
praiseworthy efforts to open up t hese fields of research in E ngland, and [John
Mitchell] Kemble’s zealous imitation of him in the same direction.”62
There were indeed differences between the various tribes, but all were
classified u nder the generic name of “Germans.” Already in Tacitus it was
noted, according to Bunsen, that “the German cantons of Switzerland, the
Flemings, and the Hollanders, but also the Scandinavians, belong to the same
stock with all the other tribes of historical Germany.”63 To this list, Bunsen
added the Anglo-Saxons who had invaded the isles. Initially t hese last tribes
had been passed over, since in the age of Tacitus the “Germanic dominion”
had not yet reached the isles. Bunsen, however, did not neglect the Anglo-
Saxons and later wrote that even in his own days the Westphalian peasants
and Teutonic Englanders follow the same ancient “Germanic” way of life.64
In another letter to Arndt, Bunsen expressed his admiration of the Anglo-
Saxon race in even more hyperbolic terms: “if we take a comprehensive sur-
vey of the development of the human mind and Christian nations during the
last eleven centuries, the fact instantly arrests our eye, that the Anglo-Saxon
race is that which has exhibited the greatest amount of creative and construc-
tive energy, and, moreover, in a continually increasing ratio of importance to
the history of the world at large.”65 This letter, as in all the other letters to
Arndt, focused on the threat posed to religious liberty in Bunsen’s and
Arndt’s contemporary Europe following the turbulence of the 1848 revolu-
tions. In these letters, Bunsen argued, through historical and theological
explanations, in favor of liberal rights and their essential importance for Chris
tianity. Toleration, for him, did not defy Christian beliefs but strengthened
and approved them. One of the main clashes of the era concerned the tension
between the nation’s effort to gain greater freedom and the attempt by the
clergy to contain that desire and restrict other opposing religious beliefs.
fter delving into the history of the Anglo-Saxon race, he maintained that
A
their tolerance toward religious practices had been unprecedented. The Dutch,
or, as Bunsen named them by their tribal name, the “West Frisians,” had re-
volted against Spanish dominion and religious fanaticism and had become
the first state in Europe to adopt tolerance. Soon afterward, the “English
Anglo-Saxons” had sunk the Spanish Armada and thereby brought an end
to religious intolerance and oppression in both E ngland and Holland. This
mode of Anglo-Saxon religious liberty continued in 1688 when the Stuarts
were banished and the law of religious liberty became part of the constitution.66
For Bunsen, however, toleration was not always the rule of the Teutonic
races. In other letters, he showed how, following their conversion to Chris
tianity, the Teutonic races had persecuted their religious adversaries with even
greater zeal than their heathen forefathers. A trace of their former barbarity,
invoked in the letters between Bunsen and Arndt, can be observed in the
martyrdom of Saint Boniface by the Frisians in AD 754.67 Yet Bunsen’s words
suggest that even this event, which became a central theme in German history,
paled in comparison to some of the atrocities that had been executed by the
converted German nations. Nevertheless, despite t hese remarks, toleration in
general developed as a central pillar of the Teutonic nations of Germany,
England, and Holland.
Several conclusions can be drawn from the discussion so far. Perhaps the
most significant point is that Bunsen’s notions closely resembled those held
by several English scholars in the same period. This school of thought thus
crystallized into a community on the basis of certain shared notions of a
common racial past. But it is by now also clear that this association of scholars
sustained close personal connections as well as shared ideas. These historians
knew of each other’s work and often also knew each other personally. As we
have seen, Arnold valued his friendship with Bunsen and even dedicated his
work on Rome to him. They were both influenced by Niebuhr, and, as Arnold
stated, his decision to write on Rome developed a fter reading Niebuhr’s
monumental work on the subject.
The Core of the Community
Arnold had a vast influence on the historical method of Stubbs and Freeman,
as Freeman attested in one of his lectures. Freeman, as discussed in the previous
chapter, emphasized the superiority of the Aryans. Among the Aryan nations,
64 c ha pt er 2
the Teutonic p eople, and especially the Anglo-Saxons, w

ere the most distinc-
tive group, since they have preserved their racial purity.68 The maintenance
of the original state of the Anglo-Saxons resulted from the fact that ever since
their invasion of the isles from their north German homeland during the fifth
century, they had maintained their Teutonic mores. As we have seen, Freeman
and Stubbs proclaimed that even in the times of the Vikings, and later dur-
ing the Norman invasion, the core Teutonic element was preserved, since the
Vikings and Normans had also been of Teutonic descent. Freeman, Stubbs,
and others were in contact with the followers of Bunsen and particularly with
another famous “Oxfordian,” Max Müller. Thus, as I will now show, a com-
munity of scholars became a living reality.
Stubbs, as illustrated, referred to language as one criterion for the purity
of the Anglo-Saxons. He merged the notions of race and language and iden-
tified them as dependent on each other. Freeman, correspondingly and as
shall be demonstrated later in greater depth, depended on language but also
on race for proving the superiority of the West European Aryan nations.
Freeman relied on the comparative method devised by Max Müller from the
midcentury in essays such as Comparative Philology (1851) and Comparative
Mythology (1856).69 According to this method, a primal Aryan linguistic
community had been the source of all the European Aryan languages.
When staying in Germany in 1872, Freeman wrote to the famous anthro-
pologist E. B. Tylor (1832–1917) concerning the method of “comparative
politics” that he derived from him and Müller: “I have taken for my subject
one which I think follows very well on Max Müller’s and yours, namely
what, till I can find a better name, I call Comparative Politics. . . . W hat
I want to do is to carry out the same line of thought which you and o thers
have applied to the language, the myt hology, and the customs of different
nations to their politic al institutions, and to show that the forms of gov-
ernment of the Aryan nations . . . a ll spring from a common source, an
Urbrunnen.”70
Max Müller: The Supremacy of Language
The German scholar Friedrich Max Müller was in close connection with
Bunsen, as evident in a correspondence that includes numerous letters and lasts
until Bunsen’s death in 1860.71 Müller spent most of his adult academic life in
Oxford. In 1854 he was appointed full professor of modern European languages
and later in 1868 to the first Oxford chair of comparative philology.72 In

1878 Müller resigned his Oxford chair to manage the immense project of the
Sacred Books of the East (1879–1910, 50 vols.). Müller’s “comparative method,”
which made such an impact on scholars such as Freeman, was also the defining
factor of the Sacred Books. In the case of the Books, the focus was on “compara-
tive religion,” namely, the comparison between the religions and mythologies
of “the East,” which later, according to Müller, through the migration of
people and their ideas, shaped “the West.”73 Following Müller’s work on
this series, but also due to his other scholarly achievements, he became very
well known from the early 1860s. In 1886 Queen Victoria even wished to
knight him, a fter Müller presented her the first twenty-four volumes of the
series. Müller, for his own reasons, declined, but ten years later he was be-
stowed with a greater honor when he became a member of the queen’s Privy
Council.74 Despite these recognitions, it must be noted that when Müller first
arrived in England from Germany in 1846 he suffered great hardships. Bun-
sen, however, introduced him to the local society, offered patronage to his
academic work, and assisted in sponsoring Müller’s first edition of the Rig-Veda
Samhita (1849).75
The ancient Indian text of the Rig Veda, Müller asserted, pointed to the
philological but also religious source of the Aryan people.76 These Aryans
(ārya), who appeared in ancient Indian texts like the Rig Veda, initially de-
noted the p eople of northern India who had spoken Sanskrit.77 Müller, adopt-
ing the theory of the Ursprache (protolanguage), as well as Bunsen’s notion of
the unity of humankind, linked the Aryans’ languages and religion with the
Semitic languages and religions. Both the Semitic and Aryan languages had
fought and eventually gained supremacy against the “language of Tur”
(Turanians): “The Arian [sic]78 and Semitic languages occupy but four penin-
sulas of the primeval continent,—India, Arabia, Asia Minor, and Europe;
all the rest belongs to the family of Tur. But the countries reclaimed by Shem
and Japhet mark the high road of civilisation, and comprehend the stage on
which the drama of ancient and modern history has been acted.”79 Müller
attacked the Darwinian claim that humanity had been developed from a state
of barbarism. He opposed Darwin by claiming that languages and men
were in their purest state in their creation. He denounced the implication
of the evolutionary theory that language had been only basic and crude in
the beginning of humanity. For him, an impeccable language had existed at
the origin of h uman history, and since then a process of degeneration had
occurred.80
66 c ha pt er 2
In light of this position, Müller was attacked by the renowned French

scholar Ernest Renan (1823–92), who refuted Müller’s argument concerning
an affinity between the Semitic and Aryan languages. An expert of Semitic
languages, Renan expressed in books such as the History of the P eople of Israel
(Histoire du peuple d’Israël, 1887–93) the supposed supremacy of the Aryan
languages: “The languages of the Aryans and the Semites differed essentially,
though there w ere points of connexity between them. The Aryan language
was immensely superior, especially in regard to the conjugation of verbs.”81
On some occasions, also following the influence of Gobineau, Renan voiced
explicit anti-Semitic views. It is argued that Renan, in his hostility toward the
Semites (and particularly the Jews), even went further than Gobineau. The
latter, some argue, mainly due to his lengthy diplomatic missions in Persia,
seemed to adopt (in comparison to Renan) a rather more subtle observation
toward some of the “Oriental nations.”82 Müller, in any case, despised the
linkage that Gobineau as well as Renan had made between language and
race.83 Müller also accused Renan of criticizing him in an unfair manner.84
Müller even wrote a pamphlet against Renan, which, following the advice of
Bunsen, was never published. In this pamphlet, Müller claimed that, unlike
Renan, he did not fuse the physical traits of race with those of language:
“confusion between linguistic and ethnological race runs through all his
[Renan’s] arguments.”85 Furthermore, Renan, according to Müller, had
misinterpreted his argument, since the common origin of the Aryan and
Semitic languages did not point to a shared racial origin: “I look upon the
problem of the common origin of language, which I have shown to be quite
independent of the problem of the common origin of mankind.”86 When
speaking of the “common origin” of mankind, Müller pointed to a certain
racial-physical origin separated from the question of the origins of language.
However, as will be seen, Müller himself at times blurred the distinction
between language and race and so stumbled into the same “confusion” as
Renan.
For Bunsen, despite his theory of the unity of humanity, a distinct difference
still separated one race from the other. A certain supremacy, Bunsen believed,
was still given to the Teutonic branch of the Aryan race. For Müller, as his
criticism of Renan demonstrated and as several contemporary scholars argue,
the term “Aryan” comprised a distinctly linguistic meaning and did not refer
to racial, physical differences between p eoples.87 This may also be illustrated
from one of Müller’s letters to Bunsen, where he tried to detach the physical
study of race from the linguistic, and classified them u nder two different
titles—ethnology and phonology. Müller argued that scholars wrongly

confused these two scientific pursuits, even though each denoted a different
field of research: one focused on the study of skulls, color of the skin, and ad-
ditional physical characteristics, while the other concentrated on language.
The linguist must not study the physical element and the researcher of physi-
cal traits must not study linguistic origins, since a specialized scholar must
only delve into his subject of expertise:
The physiologist should pursue his own science unconcerned about

language. Let him see how far the skulls, or the hair, or the colour,
or the skin of different tribes admit of classification; but to the
sound of their words his ear should be as deaf as the ornithologist’s
to the notes of caged birds. If his Caucasian class includes nations
or individuals speaking Aryan (Greek), Turanian (Turk), and
Semitic (Hebrew) languages, it is not his fault. His system must
not be altered in order to suit another system. Th ere is a better
solution both for his difficulties and for t hose of the phonologist
than mutual compromise. The phonologist should collect his
evidence, arrange his classes, divide and combine, as if no Blumen-
bach had ever looked at skulls, as if no Camper had measured
facial angles, as if no Owen had examined the basis of a cranium.
His evidence is the evidence of language, and nothing e lse; this he
must follow, even though it be in the teeth of history, physical or
political.88
The Teutonic heritage of England was central to Müller’s discussions,

especially in his correspondence with the English “Teutonic circle.” The En
glish Teutonic element derived primarily from the fact that it belonged to the
Low German dialect. The physical expert can claim that the skulls of the
ancient English actually prove that the inhabitants of the island were Celtic
and not Teutonic, but for Müller, as a philologist, language and language alone
matters: “if e very record w
ere burnt, and e very skull pulverized, the spoken
language of the present day alone would enable the phonologist to say that
English, as well as Dutch and Frisic, belongs to the Low German branch.”89
Hence, High German adjoined the Scandinavian languages and all together
they formed the Teutonic f amily. This judgment of E ngland’s origins was part
of a broader argument, also including India, concerning the birthplace of the
Aryan languages. Müller, as we have seen, mentioned the prominent researchers
68 c ha pt er 2
of the physical racial doctrine, which identified several prototypes of h uman

races. From his reading of Johann Friedrich Blumenbach (1752–1840), who
recognized five different races, to Georges Cuvier (1769–1832) (three races)
and James Cowles Prichard (1786–1848) (seven races), he concluded that “it
was felt that these physiological classifications could not be brought to
harmonize with the evidence of language.”90 Thus, no correlation existed
between the spoken languages of people and their physical characters.
Furthermore, a fter consulting the writings of the famed Wilhelm von Hum-
boldt, Müller affirmed that even in terms of physical evidence one could
speak not of races but of “varieties of men.”91 There was a physical unity of
mankind identical to the rest of the natural world, and hence “the common
origin of the Negro and the Greek admits of as little doubt as that of the
poodle and the greyhound.”92
From Müller’s letters, it can be concluded that he rejected the relevance
of the core aspects of physical classification. Therefore, he strove to differenti-
ate between languages and not between races. This is also evident in the
notes he wrote for the first course of lectures he held on “comparative philol-
ogy” at Oxford in 1851.93 In the original notes, later published in several edi-
tions, he named seven subbranches that all belong to the Aryan family of
languages.94 Müller argued that one protolanguage was the source of all the
Aryan languages. Consequently, a long-lasting continuity existed from pre-
historic times to modernity. Müller reaffirmed this notion in three lectures
given in 1888. In his third lecture, Müller focused on the alleged connection
between the language p eople speak and their kinship to each other. In the
same lecture, he also emphasized that throughout his academic career he had
denied any linkage between race and language: “I have always . . . warned
against mixing up t hese two relationships of language and the relationship of
blood.”95
It is no coincidence that Müller wrote these words to Freeman, since
Freeman was probably one of t hose scholars who, in Müller’s opinion, wrongly
merged race and language. Despite this, Müller and Freeman, as we w ill soon
elaborate, saw eye to eye with regard to political issues such as the Franco-
Prussian War and the “Eastern Question.” For instance, following a harsh re-
view of Freeman’s work in one of the periodicals, Freeman wrote: “in this
very fortnightly article, though chiefly aimed at me, there is firing at Max
Müller also. Now I have learned so much of Max, and therefore feel so much
thankfulness to him, that I could never speak of him without the deepest re
spect, though I thought him never so wrong on any particular point.”96
A certain ambiguity, nevertheless, arises in Müller’s treatment of the term

“race.” Although, race and language are no longer identical, at the beginning
of history a closer bond had existed between the two: “Ethnological race and
linguistic race are not commensurate, except in ante historical times, or per-
haps at the very dawn of history. With the migrations of the tribes, their wars,
their colonies, their conquest and alliances, which if we may judge from their
effects, must have been much more violent in the ethnic than ever in the
politic al periods of history, it is impossible to imagine that ethnological
race and linguistic race should continue to run parallel.”97
The ambiguity is enhanced by the fact that Müller defined the people who
spoke the Aryan tongues as belonging to the Aryan race. For example, in his
Gifford Lectures, he referred several times to the Aryan tongue and race: “if
we take the Semitic and the Aryan religions, any coincidences between them
can be due to their common humanity only, except in cases where we can
prove at a later time historical contact between an Aryan and a Semitic race.”98
Only several pages later Müller states of the Aryan language in relation to the
Semitic languages: “The utmost we can say is that there is an Aryan atmo-
sphere pervading both philosophies, different from any Semitic atmosphere
of thought, that t here are certain deep grooves of thought traced by Aryan
language in which the thoughts both of Indian and Greek philosophers had
necessarily to move.”99 Therefore, the physical element could be easily confused
with the linguistic. Müller also spoke in the same lectures of Aryan and Se-
mitic thought. Hence, language embedded a deep influence in the m ental per-
ceptions of p eople. For him, it was the fusion of Aryanism and Semitism that
formed Christianity.100 Yet despite this fusion, Christianity was mainly de-
rived from Aryan thought: “the very life-blood of Christianity, is exclusively
Aryan, and that it is one of the simplest and truest conclusions at which the
human mind can arrive.”101 This dominance of the Aryans is also evident in
other places within Müller’s writings: “In continual struggle with each other
and with the Semitic and Turanian races, t hese Aryan nations have become
the rulers of history . . . their mission to link all parts of the world together
by the chains of civilization, commerce and religion.”102 A similar remark
could be easily attributed to Freeman, who has his share of statements glorify-
ing the supremacy of the Aryan over other races.
In 1870, when tension between France and Germany was at a height, Mül-
ler consistently defended the policy of the German chancellor Otto von Bis-
marck in the English public sphere. A fter the war broke out on July 19, 1870,
he wrote five letters to the Times emphasizing mutual German and English
70 c ha pt er 2
relations and the right of Germany to annex the territories of Alsace-Lorraine.

This belief in a special English-German bond was a dominant theme through-
out the letters: “There need be no formal alliance between England and Ger-
many. The two nations are one in all that is essential, in morality, in religion,
in love of freedom, in respect for law. They are both hard workers, hard
thinkers, and, when it must be, hard hitters too. In the whole history of mod-
ern Europe Germany and England have never been at war; I feel convinced
they never will be, they never can be. We have both our weak and our strong
points, and we know it; but it is neither English nor German to thank God
that we are not like other p eople.”103
With the heightened militaristic climate, Müller perhaps adopted a more
nationalistic stance regarding Germany’s policy and its natural Teutonic
superiority. He conducted a long correspondence with William E. Gladstone
hoping that the prime minister would support Germany’s effort in the war
against France. However, Müller was to be disappointed, as Gladstone rejected
the German annexation of Alsace-Lorraine despite his extensive connections
with German statesmen and scholars, including a personal friendship with
Müller himself.104 Müller’s failure to convince Gladstone that Great Britain
had to endorse the allegedly just German cause was expressed in a letter
he wrote to Freeman on November 12, 1870: “I am quite miserable about
Gladstone—England will never have such an opportunity again—now it is
lost. . . . With Germany as a friend, the Black Sea question would have been
solved amicably . . . now the sin is sinned.”105 Freeman himself, in the same
November of 1870, wrote several letters to the newspapers in which he argued
against the expansion of the “French Duchy” while supporting Germany’s
entitlement to the Rhine: “The war on the part of Germany is, in truth, a
vigorous setting forth of a historical truth that the Rhine is, and always has
been, a German river.”106
Thomas Carlyle also joined Freeman in the same November and published
a letter on the ongoing war (November 18, 1870). A lifelong supporter of
German culture and Teutonic notions, Carlyle’s affinities w ere obvious, es-
pecially in light of Germany’s victory at Sedan (September 1): “The German
race, not the Gaelic, are now to be protagonist in that immense world drama.”
Conspicuous, almost perpetual, differences separated the two nations, and it
was France that almost always held the upper hand while tormenting Ger-
many. Now, however, it was Germany’s time of glory: “That noble, patient,
deep, pious and solid Germany should be at length welded into a nation, and
become queen of the continent, instead of vapouring, vainglorious, gesticu-
lating, quarrelsome, restless and over-sensitive France, seems to me the hope-

fullest [sic] public fact that has occurred in my lifetime.”107
In his above letter to Freeman, Müller mentioned the “Black Sea question.”
As we shall see (Chapter 4), from the early 1870s Freeman became obsessed
with the “Eastern Question.” Freeman fiercely opposed the continuation of
the alliance of Great Britain with the Ottoman Empire. As he told Bryce
several years later, the Ottoman repression of the Slavonic race prevented the
Slavonic communities from achieving progress and escaping their miserable
state: “Now I d on’t say that Slavs could ever equal Dutchmen; but, poor dears,
how can they improve, as long as they have the Turk over them?”108 Thus, the
Teutonic nations were unmatched in their qualities, but other races such as
the Slavs could improve if only they were liberated.
Müller emphasized, in his letter to Freeman, that although the Liberal
Gladstone was then in power, British policy in the East continued to take the
same wrong path. Alas, Gladstone had not seized the moment and, instead of
aligning with Germany and gaining its support for British interests in the East,
had decided to denounce Germany for its conduct in the war. The personal
and the public spheres w ere intertwined in Müller’s letter. He felt personally
discouraged by Gladstone’s response and considered his position a grave
strategic m istake for G reat Britain and for the future of British-German
relations. In another letter to Freeman (November 27, 1870), Müller described
Gladstone as cherishing “Roman and Romance sympathies” for France, with
the result that he was “fully convinced in his heart that every German is a
heretic . . . Protestant, a barbarian and a villain.”109
The terms “Roman” and “Barbarian” in Müller’s letter are not acciden-
tal. In Müller’s eyes, Gladstone, with his High Church beliefs, held that a
cultural-historical chasm had alienated the Teutonic and the Roman worlds.
This was not only a struggle of ancient times. France of the Second Empire
symbolized the Roman Empire and Catholicism while Bismarckian Germany
represented the Germanic tribes and Protestantism. Müller’s perception of
Gladstone’s views reflected his own understanding of the ancient Teutonic-
Roman relations.
Müller approved of the theory that a deep-rooted animosity existed
throughout history between French and German cultures, and he adopted
such an explanation of current affairs even before the deterioration of the
Franco-Prussian relations. In this he again “joined forces” with the English-
Teutonic circle. Müller emphasized the historic alliance between the Anglo-
Saxon nations—an alliance retaining practical ramifications for the policies
72 c ha pt er 2
of both governments. Müller reaffirmed his belief in this blood bond years
after when, a short time before his death, he published several letters in the
German press supporting the British policy against the Boers in the Trans-
vaal. By this, Müller disassociated himself from the public German support
of the Boers in their struggle against British imperialism.110 In his opening
remarks, he tried to raise the support of the German public for British policy
by stressing their blood ties with the English people: “Germans, instead of
looking for true blood relations and allies for the f uture in E ngland and America,
have sought for them in France and Russia. They may look for a long time. I
hope they will discover, before it is too late, that blood is thicker than ink, and
that the Saxons of Germany, England and America are the true, manly and
faithful allies in all struggles for freedom in the future as in the past.”111
Charles Kingsley and Müller: The Collaboration

of Teutonism and Protestantism
Müller’s approach can also be noted in his association with another very
prominent figure of this period, Charles Kingsley (1819–75), an Anglican
clergyman, novelist, and regius professor of modern history at Cambridge
between 1860 and 1869. From the 1850s, Müller and Kingsley exchanged
multiple letters. Kingsley was related to Müller through marriage: his wife’s
niece Georgina Adelaide Grenfell (1834/5–1916) married Müller in 1859 a fter
long years of courtship by Müller, whose requests to marry Georgina had been
refused again and again by her father.112 A fter the final approval of their
marriage, Müller sent Kingsley, who was deeply involved in the proceedings,
the following words: “Can you believe it? I cannot, though I see her with my
eyes . . . you are not angry with me? Do not let us think of the past—it was
so dark and awful, and the world around us is so happy and bright . . . no
cloud anywhere. . . . I long to see my dear new aunt, my old dear friend,
Mr. Kingsley.”113 These words and the personal affinity between the two are
significant, since it likely helped determine the evaluation of Kingsley’s work
by Müller.
In terms of worldview, Kingsley was an Anglican engaged with the
Christian Socialists and a fierce opponent of the Tractarians and the Oxford
movement.114 Bunsen and the German Prince Albert, another great supporter
of Teutonic notions, admired Kingsley for his Protestantism.115 Because of his
admiration of Kingsley, Prince Albert even nominated him to be the queen’s
preacher in 1859. A year later, Albert also acted as Kingsley’s main advocate
for his election to the post of regius professor in Cambridge.116 Bunsen, after
reading several of Kingsley’s historical novels, praised him in an unprecedented
way: “I do not hesitate to call t hese two works, the Saint’s Tragedy and Hypatia,
by far the most important and perfect of this genial writer. In these more
particularly I find the justification of a hope which I beg to be allowed to
express—that Kingsley might continue Shakespeare’s historical plays. I have for
several years made no secret of it, that Kingsley seems to me the genius of our
century.”117
A religious Protestant-A nglican affinity unified t hese scholars. Kingsley
on the English side and Bunsen and Müller on the German resented Roman
Catholic and High Church inclinations.118 For instance, in a review (Macmillan’s
Magazine, January 1863) of the anti-Catholic History of England (1856–70) by
James Anthony Froude (1818–94), Kingsley fiercely attacked Catholicism.
Kingsley’s arrows were specifically directed toward the writings of the theolo-
gian John Henry Newman (1801–90), the famous founder of the Oxford
movement.119 Newman, who in 1845 converted to Catholicism, testified that his
doubts of the Anglican Church also developed in response to the 1841 English-
Prussian accord concerning the establishment of the bishopric in Jerusalem (see
above).120 Hence, Newman opposed the religious Anglican-Lutheran bond
that for figures such as Kingsley and Bunsen symbolized the shared affinity of
the two nations against the tyranny of Rome. Kingsley, elsewhere, also at-
tacked English women who converted to Catholicism in punitive words and
accused them of harming English unity.121 In Germany, especially a fter the
unification, there was a tendency for homogeneity around the Protestant
Prussian elements that w ere the leading force in the unification process. This
came at the expense of other groups that were under pressure to assimilate and
caused strife, as can be seen in the Kulturkampf against the Catholics.122
For Kingsley, Catholicism and the Roman Empire were almost synonyms.
For this reason, Kingsley and German scholars like Bunsen depicted the
separation from the Catholic Church during the Reformation as the second
awakening of the Germanic tribes against the tyranny of Rome. Already
during the Reformation, Luther and his predecessors, as w ill be discussed in
the next chapter, spoke in similar terms and elevated the myth of the Germanic
tribes as symbolizing the new forces of Protestantism. Catholic France of the
nineteenth c entury signified another version of imperial Rome, and therefore
the Anglican-Protestant allies of England and Germany should, in Kingsley’s
view, stand united in the face of the Roman oppressor.
74 c ha pt er 2
Müller and Kingsley converged in their shared insights concerning Prot-

estantism and Teutonism. In a letter to Kingsley written in 1867, Müller
wrote: “A man must dare to have friends, and dare to have enemies—and so
must a people. The natural ally of England is Germany, that is to say, a united,
sensible governed, protestant and Northern German. E ngland and Germany
will represent the Teutonic element in Europe, with all that is good and bad
in it; and, if united by common objectives, they will stand like a breakwater
between the Romans and Roman Catholics in the West and South, and the
Slavs and Greeks in the East and North.”123
Once more, though on this occasion before the Franco-Prussian War,
Müller connected E ngland and Germany through their shared Teutonic heri-
tage. Th ese Teutonic nations are destined, as they had been in the past, to
confront the Roman danger. The Roman “enemy” was embodied both in the
ancient empire as well as in its relatively “modern” heirs, the Catholic Church
and the nations of France and Italy. The struggle with the Roman power com-
menced in antiquity and proceeded into the present. It runs through history
and cannot be detached from it. From Müller’s letter, it is evident that the clash
was not only against Rome but also against the Slavs and the Greeks. In a letter
to the theologian and church historian Arthur P. Stanley (1815–81), Müller
repeated t hese arguments: “What savages we are in spite of all these centuries.
But surely the Teutonic race is better than the Latin and Slavonic, and the Prot-
estants are better Christians than the Romans and the German cause is surely
thoroughly righteous, and the French fully unrighteous.”124 The fact that the
Slavonic and the Latin races were part of the Aryan race does not matter, since
there was an inner hierarchy within the Aryan race also dependent on religious
affinities. Consequently, due to their Protestant beliefs, the Teutonic nations of
England and Germany w ere superior to the Latin and Slavonic nations.
The same ideas appeared in Kingsley’s The Roman and the Teuton (1864).
Müller, due to his personal association with Kingsley, penned the preface for
the second edition of this book. Kingsley’s book began with an allegory about
the relations between Rome and the Germanic tribes; within a wood lived a
group of children, who were nourished and subsisted from the surrounding
nature. At some point, the provisions of the wood w ere no longer sufficient
and the c hildren wished to enter a nearby fenced garden inhabited by trolls.
The c hildren relentlessly attempted to breach the fence, yet the trolls managed
to scatter them. Some c hildren w ere successful in their mission and settled in the
garden. The ones inside the garden w ere spoiled by its richness and wondrous
provisions, even though they suffered from the trolls, and became corrupted
by their way of life. The rumors from within the garden walls reached the
children outside, a fact that only urged the ones outside to reattempt entry.
Eventually the garden walls w ere breached and the c hildren broke in. Nev-
ertheless, once the abundance of the garden was in their hands, instead of
remaining united, the c hildren, to the joy of the trolls, began to fight against
each other and were divided into various factions. Consequently, all the spoils
of the garden were lost, everything remained in ruin, and the children returned
to the woods.125
The c hildren h ere signify the Germanic tribes while the Roman Empire
is represented by the trolls. The two are contrasted in terms of age as well as
race. The tribes w ere youthful and carried with them g reat vitality and freshness,
but also recklessness. Rome was not only of a different race but was old and
corrupted and too accustomed to fortune and wealth, yet it had gained vast
experience from years of dominance. With this fable, Kingsley launched his
first lecture as a Cambridge professor. The primary interpretation of the fable is
that the Teutonic tribes acted in a very irresponsible manner. Kingsley, despite
his admiration of the tribes, still criticized them and wished his students to
learn a lesson from the ill behavior of their ancestors. The tribes had neverthe-
less possessed a certain childish vitality, a promising potential, allowing them,
if guided, to conquer the Roman world: “To-day, I wish to impress strongly on
your minds this childishness of our forefathers. For good or for evil they were
great boys; very noble boys; very often very naughty boys—as boys with the
strength of men might well be. Try to conceive such to yourselves, and you
have the old Markman, Allman, Goth, Lombard, Saxon, Frank.”126 Diverse
characteristics were attributed to the various tribes, which have been, as in the
case of the Franks (France) and Visigoths (Spain), preserved until modern
times. According to Kingsley, these definitions included certain truths with
one glaring exception; his own Saxons-English were not cruel.127
Because of their inherent racial superiority, Kingsley insisted that previ-
ous attempts by Gibbon and others to compare the Teutonic tribes with the
“Red Indians” must be rejected. The Teutons have been in a constant state of
growth and expansion: “proving their youthful strength and vitality by a re-
production unparalleled, as far as I know, in history, save perhaps by that
noble and young race, the Russian,” while the American Indians w ere “a
128
decreasing race.” In addition, the modern Teutonic states and their creeds,
as in the case of the unwritten English constitution, are founded on Teutonic
laws and customs, while the American Indians left no heritage. He concluded:
“if Gibbon was right, and if our forefathers in the German forests had been
76 c ha pt er 2
like Powhattan’s p eople as we found them in the Virginian forests, the Romans
would not have been long in civilizing us off the face of the earth.”129 Kingsley
here referred once again to his fable. He attempted to preserve the vitality of
the tribes, while avoiding the corruptive effects of their transformation into
rulers. Nevertheless, he wished to prevent their Romanization. The key notions
here are t hose of survival and racial growth. The fact that the “Teutonic race”
was not only able to survive the might of the empire but also to topple it verifies
its racial predominance. The growth of the race, despite the unceasing dangers,
just adds a numerical proof that integrates a natural, physical prevalence, ab-
sent among other races.130
Kingsley, writing his book in 1864, was of course aware of Darwin’s Ori-
gin of Species. Before publishing his book, Darwin even sent the manuscript
to Kingsley, among o thers, for a preliminary review. Kingsley’s response was
very favorable, as he stated in a letter sent to Darwin.131 Later he reported to
his friend and fellow Christian Socialist F. D. Maurice that in Cambridge
“Darwin is conquering everywhere, and rushing in like a flood, by the mere
force of truth and fact.”132 Kingsley was also acquainted with Herbert Spencer,
whom he met in the 1850s. Spencer, who also received Darwin’s manuscript,
coined in 1864 the phrase “the survival of the fittest.” It is, therefore, probable
that certain notions in Kingsley’s explanation of Teutonic survival were
inspired by both Darwin and Spencer.133
The tribes, according to Kingsley, introduced a new vigorous era, which
replaced the waning tyranny of Rome. The decaying Rome should not to be
compared with the British Empire but with the contemporary Ottoman and
Chinese empires. In these empires, morality was absent while “cunning and
force” held the upper hand. Their ill-treatment of slaves, for instance, was unpre
cedented in comparison to all other historical eras. Thus, Kingsley claimed,
to compare the slavery of the blacks in the American South with t hose of Rome
would be erroneous: “Roman domestic slavery is not to be described by a pen
of an Englishman. And I must express my sorrow, that in the face of such no-
torious facts, some have of late tried to prove American slavery to be as bad as,
or even worse than, that of Rome. God forbid! Whatsoever may have been the
sins of the Southern gentleman, he is at least a Teuton, and not a Roman.”134
The fact that the Southern slave traders were of Teutonic descent reflected an
innate racial advantage. For Kingsley, this Teutonic aspect was also the main
strength of the British Empire. The British Empire originated from the early
Saxon settlers, who formed a safe haven of independent Teutonic culture with
no inner struggles of the kind that tore the other Teutonic nations apart.135
Müller, as mentioned, wrote the preface to one of Kingsley’s books and

thus showed his endorsement of the essence of the content, notwithstanding his
reservations. The beginning of his preface, however, was not complimentary.
He opened by stating that Kingsley’s lectures include many shortcomings.
They are not critical, original, or derived from long academic research. Nev-
ertheless, he declared, “I am not so blinded by my friendship to Kingsley as
to say that t hese lectures are throughout what academical lectures o ught to
be.”136 This may sound like a contradiction, but for Müller this was precisely
Kingsley’s intention. As Kingsley himself declared, he was not pretending to
teach history. Kingsley, Müller asserted, only desired to inspire his students.
The apologetic tone of Müller should not be surprising, since the publication
of the first edition of the book brought harsh criticism. Freeman, interestingly,
led the attack. In a scorching critique, Freeman argued that Kingsley was
unsuitable for his professorship at Cambridge since he lacked sufficient aca-
demic tools and professional stature. One detail that Freeman became pre-
occupied with was that throughout The Roman and the Teuton Kingsley
referred to the king of the Ostrogoths by the name of Dietrich, instead of
Theodoric.137 Less than a year a fter Kingsley’s death, on November 25, 1875,
Müller pleaded with Freeman not to judge the book too harshly: “the new
edition of the Roman and Teuton to which my preface belongs, is not yet out,
so please do not strangle the unborn baby. Kingsley was one of my oldest
friends and my wife’s uncle. If you had known him, you could have understood
why so many p eople were devoted to him.”138
It might appear from this letter, as also from parts of his preface, that
Müller “defended” Kingsley mainly b ecause of their personal ties. However,
the notion of Teutonic supremacy, echoed throughout Kingsley’s book, was
one Müller sympathized with. The perception that the Germans and the En
glish were part of the same historic and ethnic community became increas-
ingly prevalent among writers like Müller and Kingsley. However, as we will
now see, this view was not only relevant to the perception of the past, but it
helped form a present community of scholars.
Admiration and Criticism
Reinhold Pauli, another German historian, also belonged to the same mi-
lieu of English and German scholars. Pauli’s uniqueness, in comparison to
Bunsen, Müller, and other German scholars, was that he devoted his main
78 c ha pt er 2
research to Eng lish history. Pauli, although rather neglected in current

research, became in the nineteenth c entury one of the leading German his-
torians writing on English history. His preeminent work depicted the life of
the most celebrated individual in the early history of E ngland—K ing Alfred
139
the Great.
In a letter to Freeman, Bryce gave an account of his first ever meeting
with Pauli, who left a great impression on him as an expert on English affairs:
“coming back through Tyrol we met with a certain Dr. Reinhold Pauli, Pro-
fessor at Tubingen, author of a history of England which you prob ably
know. . . . He spoke English perfectly and seemed . . . very familiar with the
institutions.”140 Later, Freeman urged Bryce to introduce his work to Pauli,
since Pauli could contribute to the positive reception of Freeman’s work in
Germany: “Does he [Pauli] know anything about me? It might be no bad thing
if he did. I don’t know whether my Hist. Vol. has been noticed in any of the
German (as distinguished from Swiss) reviews, though I know it was sent to
several of them.”141 In a subsequent letter, Freeman, following Bryce’s request,
agreed to review Pauli’s work in one of the British periodicals. However, this
approval came with a “price”: “I shall [be] very glad to do [review] Reinhold
Pauli when I come back . . . you may as well introduce my Norman Con-
quest to Pauli. He may help it somewhat in Deutschland.”142 Eventually Free-
man, as he told Bryce, received the praise and recognition of Pauli: “Many
thanks for Pauli—may I keep him? If not, how can I get another? That is the
sort of thing one really values, though I hope I w ill do something in the
Zeitschrift also—perhaps now it may be better for him and for anybody else
to wait till vol. II is out . . . Ellis told me that he had read some high Dutch-
man judgment of me, that I was ‘ein sehr eingehender Mann’ [a very respect-
able man], which was very pleasant to know, but he could not tell me who it
was or where or what about.”143
Pauli thus added, probably following Bryce’s request, a positive review of
Freeman in the relatively newly established Historische Zeitschrift, founded by
Heinrich von Sybel in 1859. As Bryce wrote to Freeman: “The last number of
Sybel’s Historische Zeitschrift contains a review of the Norman conquest, Vol. I,
by R. Pauli which seemed to me, as far as I could make out in the two or
three minutes I had to glance at it, very satisfactory.”144 Freeman, despite the
favorable view and recognition by Pauli, was unsatisfied with the fact that his
books left a limited impression on the general German academic world. As
he wrote to Bryce: “I find my books in several libraries, but I rather think Fed.
Gov. is the better known of the two. [Historical] Essays seeing not at all—
notwithstanding Pauli’s review in Sybel—which I am sorry for.”145 Bryce

himself, like Freeman, albeit several years earlier, also criticized the German
papers, since they lacked interest in foreign affairs as well as in English politics.
He himself considered writing something for a German newspaper to “give
them more correct notions of our politics.”146
As it turned out, Pauli became the leading reviewer of works by English
historians, especially in the Zeitschrift.147 Among t hese reviews, as in that on
Freeman’s Norman Conquest, several were dedicated to the works of Freeman
and Stubbs. In his review of Freeman’s Historical Essays of 1872, Pauli praised
Freeman’s interest in German history and politics: “In these pages there is often
evidence for his [Freeman’s] basic German perception [germanistische
Grundanschauung], his enthusiasm for German history [seine Freude auch an
deutscher Geschichte] and the different political changes between the federal
and the centralized state [Einheitsstaat].”148 Pauli, writing the review a short
time after the cessation of hostilities between Germany and France, supported
Freeman’s stance that France championed a distorted historical narrative. One
of the alleged French falsifications was that Charlemagne was a French-born
emperor and the ancestor of Bonaparte. Another fabrication allegedly proved
that parts of Germany belonged historically to the natural bounda ries of
France. In light of t hese misrepresentations, France had acted violently for
hundreds of years, a conduct defined by Pauli as the “Gewalthandlungen der
Franzosen” (atrocities of the French).149 Pauli, in fact, accentuated Freeman’s
approval of Germany’s historical right to the newly acquired territorial pos-
sessions of Alsace-Lorraine.
The positive view of Freeman continued also with the German Jewish his-
torian Felix Liebermann (1851–1925), Pauli’s follower and another German
historian of Anglo-Saxon England. In an article written two years a fter
Freeman’s death, Liebermann portrayed Freeman as a most prolific individual.
Besides his vast knowledge of the history of antiquity and the M iddle Ages,
Freeman also held a well-structured ideology that combined a strong ethical
core with the love of freedom and of his fatherland.150 For him, politics and
history w ere welded, and for that reason Freeman should be valued for both
his academic and general achievements. Yet, according to Liebermann, it was
exactly this fusion between the political and the historical that made some of
Freeman’s arguments problematic. In his introduction to a book about the
Anglo-Saxon assembly, or witenagemot, Liebermann argued that the ultra-
nationalistic view of Freeman damaged his historical interpretations: “the
historian of the Norman conquest was seduced by fervent patriotism and
80 c ha pt er 2
democratic bias to vindicate the origin of parliament for the Old English
people alone.”151 Freeman ignored the significance of the witan in places out-
side England. Unlike Freeman, Liebermann noted in the same paragraph,
both Stubbs and the historian of Anglo-Saxon England John Mitchell
Kemble (1807–57) presented the concept of the witan in far less nationalistic
terms.
In his review of Stubbs’s Constitutional History, Pauli stressed the role of
the former as a bridgehead between the academic spheres of the two nations,
a role previously fulfilled by the scholarship of Kemble: “Besides Kemble, no
other English historian was so involved in German scholarship.”152 Kemble,
as Pauli rightly stated, was very much influenced by German scholarship
and was an expert in German philology. He had studied with Jacob Grimm,
and a fter his return to England retained close ties with him. He even mar-
ried Natalie Auguste, the d aughter of the German scholar Amadeus Wendt
(1783–1836).153 Stubbs, like Kemble, and contrary to the suspicion of many of
his contemporaries, became a great admirer of German scholarship. As he
specified, “[I do] not believe that they [German historians] want to take from
us anything . . . or that they want to engross to themselves by conquest the
whole domain of historical knowledge. But I am sure that they have a great
object to increase human knowledge . . . to perfect the instruments of histori-
cal study.”154 Freeman himself was rather more skeptical concerning Ger-
man scholars. Stubbs probably referred to him, when stating that several
English historians questioned the value of German scholarship. One major
difference between the two was that Stubbs insisted on adopting the German
historical method in full, while Freeman sought to preserve some of the
“uniqueness” of English historiography. In a remarkable passage, Freeman at-
tacked the habit of holding every German book almost sacred. He advocated
the independence of English scholars and emphasized their relative advantage
over their German counterparts:
I only demand the right to keep our independence, and to believe

that on many m atters of historical learning an Englishman—an
Englishman on either side of [the] Ocean—is better fitted to judge
than a German. A Swiss or a Norwegian may judge of the workings
of f ree constitutions in old Greece, in Italy, in any other land,
because he, like the Englishman, has daily experience of their
working in his own land. But these t hings are mysteries to German
professors, b ecause they are mysteries to German statesmen also.
The German scholar simply reads in a book of things which we

are always looking at and acting in. He therefore utterly fails to
understand many t hings at Athens or Rome or anywhere e lse
which come to us like our ABC. . . . A s [Leopold von] Ranke can
make so little of English institutions when he directly grapples with
them, so [Ernst] Curtius and a crowd of other German scholars
show in every page the lack of that practical understanding of f ree
institutions which can be gained only by living among them.155
The free institutions of England, Switzerland, and America granted their

historians enhanced comprehension of their true meaning. This direct and
intimate experience is vital for the historian, and one sometimes must live and
grow within a certain historical phenomenon in order to perceive its true
nature. For instance, the German historian and archaeologist Ernst Curtius
(1814–96), despite his great knowledge of Greece, misinterpreted the real
meaning of the Athenian assemblies, as perceived profoundly by the English
scholar George Grote (1794–1871).156
From Curtius, Freeman turned his focus to Theodor Mommsen, the man
he described as the greatest of all living historians: a great scholar, acquainted
with all fields of historical research, who wrote a masterpiece on the Roman
Republic.157 This appreciation of Mommsen can be seen in an article entitled
“Mommsen’s History of Rome.”158 In an appendix attached to his main article,
Freeman identified three primary assets of Mommsen’s work. In terms of
the knowledge of the facts, no scholar matched Mommsen; it is possible to
argue against Mommsen’s interpretation of the facts, but his learning was
almost unprecedented. Furthermore, Mommsen wrote clearly and knew how
“to tell a story,” a fact that distinguished him from Niebuhr, who “could not
tell a story.” For t hese reasons, Mommsen replaced Niebuhr as the main au-
thority for Roman history at Oxford.159
Nevertheless, Freeman deemed Mommsen’s book extremely dangerous.
Among several other less crucial faults, the main fault of Mommsen was that
he omitted from his Römische Geschichte the moral aspect that is crucial for
every historian for distinguishing between right and wrong in history. In the
eyes of Freeman, the fact that Mommsen did not judge the ethical implica-
tions of historical events and the deeds of individuals was highly problematic,
especially b ecause Mommsen’s g rand stature prevented or hindered criticism
of his judgments. Freeman also stressed that Mommsen, like Curtius, embraced
this immoral vision of history since he never lived in a society with free
82 c ha pt er 2
institutions. In both articles, Freeman maintained that Mommsen supported

the usage of force by the dominant powers in history while belittling the aspira-
tion to defy them. For this reason, Freeman, despite his esteem for Mommsen,
classified him as a “harmful” historian. In a letter to Bryce, while visiting Ger-
many, he commentated that his criticism of Mommsen was not only his own
opinion but reflected the observations of many German scholars: “I have been
drinking beer with many professors . . . everybody that I have talked to seems
to think of Mommsen as much as I do. . . . Waits [Georg Waitz], I take it, is
the really great man.”160
Freeman himself was at times criticized by German historians. Pauli ac-
cused him of ignoring the work of some pivotal German historians, such as
Lappenberg, who had already studied Anglo-Saxon E ngland in the 1830s. In
addition, Pauli continued, Freeman did not implement key methods of Ger-
man historiography. Th ese methods, conceptualized especially by the likes of
Leopold von Ranke and Johann Gustav Droysen, urged the historian to delve
into the research of unintentional sources found principally in the archives.
Freeman, it was argued, hardly consulted these types of sources and was known
for his excessive reliance on his own library.161
Most of all, Pauli resented Freeman’s Historical Geography of Europe (1881).
As he complained in a letter to Stubbs: “His Historical Geography has been for
years the stumbling-block between us, as I had told him openly that I did not
find much geography in the book, but rather a mess that had been made
especially on German matters and a vague predilection for Slav and other
barbarian stepchildren. . . . I rather expect that [The reign of ] William Rufus
[1882] is more in his line, though radicalism and republicanism will continue
to peep through the monarchical constellations of the twelfth century.”162 The
unfavorable views of Pauli and Stubbs t oward some of Freeman’s views are far
from surprising. While all three accentuated the shared Teutonic heritage of
England and Germany, Stubbs and Pauli held conservative political views and,
for instance, w ere less keen on Freeman’s and Bryce’s foreign policy attitudes.
Both Stubbs and Pauli supported a more conservative foreign policy, stressing
the need to cooperate with the Ottoman and Habsburg empires. In another
letter from Stubbs to Pauli, sent three days a fter Pauli’s death (of which Stubbs
was then unaware), Stubbs expressed his disagreement with Freeman: “Yes-
terday was Trinity Monday, and at dinner I sat next to our friend E. A. F.
[Edward Augustus Freeman]. But as he is at present furiously enraged against
the Emperor of Austria, and as you know I have no Dalmatian proclivities,
we w ere not able to do much sympathy.”163
In any case, it seems, especially from Pauli’s testimonials, that Stubbs’s

stature, unlike Freeman’s, remained unscathed by any criticisms from his
German colleagues. As Stubbs once remarked, his works were better received
in Germany than in England: “I can only say that I hope my work has not
been unworthy of Oxford, or of England. Judging from the reception accorded
to it, I think I should say that it has met with more appreciative and intelligent
reception in Germany than in E ngland.”164 Stubbs integrated the German
historical method and was considered a professional historian. In an obituary
written by a German scholar, Stubbs’s qualities, together with those of Free-
man and Carlyle, were highly praised: “His professional friends, especially
the Germans, whose nationality he, like Freeman and Carlyle, savored with
great sympathy, greatly appreciated Stubbs’s research and work, and as a his-
torian, he enjoys immeasurable fame as a result of his conscientiousness, dili-
gence, and objectivity.”165
Following the reception of Freeman and Stubbs by German scholars to-
gether with their own assessment of German scholars, the conclusion must
be that mutual appreciation thrived between t hese specific English and Ger-
man scholars. Yet there were also traces of criticism and suspicion. This, I
maintain, does not shatter the argument that certain German and English
scholars shaped a shared community that exchanged thoughts directly and
indirectly on the foundations of a mutual past and present. Within any com-
munity, and maybe as a sign of its strength, disagreements occur. These may
actually testify to the fact that this was a flourishing intellectual community
that included a variety of opinions. Thus, a common ground existed, and all the
members of the community, despite their differences, argued for a joint Teutonic
origin.
Stubbs probed into the writings of many leading German scholars. The
key figures among t hese, as Pauli noted following Stubbs, w ere Georg Ludwig
von Maurer and Georg Waitz (1813–86). In 1854, Maurer presented the con-
cept of Markgenossenschaft (land companionships).166 He argued that the
Mark signified a public shared land divided among the members of the
tribe. Only with the adoption of Roman law had the idea of privately owned
land arisen. Thus, before Roman law, there was no evidence of private
ownership among the German tribes. Maurer based his thesis on ancient
writers such as Caesar and Tacitus, who had mentioned that the tribes
lacked any possession of private lands. Therefore, when Tacitus mentioned
that the Germanic tribes possessed land, ager in Latin, he only meant public
land, the ager publicus.167
84 c ha pt er 2
The important point about the Mark was that it symbolized the core of
Teutonic society. The liberty and communal aspect of the Teutonic nations
emerged from the Mark. Subsequently, the constitutional system of E ngland
had also originated from the marshlands and forests of Germany. For Stubbs,
this meant that “the history of Germany is bound up with our national and
natural identity.”168 Rome, therefore, as in Kingsley’s position, remained de-
tached from the Teutonic sphere.
Stubbs was described by Freeman as the “Waitz of England.”169 This com-
parison resulted from the fact that Waitz’s magnum opus, the Deutsche Verfas-
sungsgeschichte (1844–78), correlated with Stubbs’s Constitutional History.170
Stubbs’s book was published shortly after Waitz’s, and both authors studied the
constitutional history of their own nations. Stubbs referred repeatedly to Waitz
in his Constitutional History.171 It is also likely that Stubbs initiated his own re-
search a fter reading Waitz, who concluded his first volumes of the Verfassungsge-
schichte prior to Stubbs. It appears there was a methodological compatibility
between the two authors in their works on the constitutions. In his eight-volume
work, Waitz presented the history of the growth of the German constitution
since Roman times, relying heavily on the Germania of Tacitus, till the modern
era. He obviously embraced the Teutonic interpretation and linked the Anglo-
Saxon branch with the early Germans. Waitz held close connections with
Stubbs, and the two historians even met several times. A circle was formed
around them, also including Pauli and his disciple Liebermann. The most fa-
mous scholar of constitutional history in E ngland, Frederic William Maitland
(1850–1906), could also be considered as part of this circle. Indeed, Maitland,
like Stubbs, was influenced by German scholarship especially by the works of
the jurists Otto von Gierke (1841–1921) and Rudolf von Gniest (1816–1895).
However, Maitland did not endorse Stubbs’s or Waitz’s notions about the deep
roots of the Teutonic law, from the village communities to modern Britain or
Germany.172 It was a very complex task to trace the link between ancient Teu-
tonic law and English law: “We must not be in a hurry to get to the beginning
of the long history of law. Very slowly we are making our way towards it. The
history of law must be the history of ideas. It must represent, not merely what
men have done and said, but what men have thought in bygone ages. The task of
reconstructing ancient ideas is hazardous and can only be accomplished little by
little. If we are in a hurry to get to the beginning we s hall miss the path. Against
many kinds of anachronism we now guard ourselves.”173
Stubbs met Liebermann in the library of Göttingen University while
visiting Waitz and Pauli.174 In a letter, written a short while a fter Pauli’s
death, Stubbs accepted Liebermann’s request to dedicate an article to Pauli’s

memory. Stubbs also told Liebermann about a certain future project he
planned with Pauli and Waitz: “When I saw Waitz last year at Würzburg, he
told me to correspond with you about it. But I am in total ignorance of Pau-
li’s plan of working; and, as I should be sorry to drop out of my share in the
great work, I will ask you to keep me up to the mark in the way of informa-
tion and preparation. Pauli, in his last letter, told me that he had a set of
sheets of the early Anglo-Saxon historians which he had prepared for Waitz,
which sheets he would send me when he had an opportunity.”175
The “great work” Stubbs mentioned was the Monumenta Germaniae
Historica. This project had begun already in 1819, when Baron von Stein founded
the Gesellschaft für ältere deutsche Geschichtskunde, which included many
prominent German scholars. In 1823 this became, u nder the editorship of
Georg Heinrich Pertz (1795–1876), the Monumenta Germanica Historica.176 The
scholars of the Monumenta wished to define the scope of German national
history and the geographical range of German cultural influence. This became
a national project promoted by the Prussian state, following its recognition
that national history can function as a powerful state tool. The fact that
historians like Waitz, who replaced Pertz in 1873–74 as the editor of the
Monumenta, w ere also involved with state affairs contributed, of course, to
this understanding. According to the historical vision of the Monumenta, all
of Merovingian and Carolingian history belonged to German history. The
implication with regard to the territorial influence was that historically the
German sphere included vast parts of the territories of nineteenth-century
France, Belgium, Italy, and Spain. Thus, tribes such as the Visigoths of Spain,
the Frisians of the Netherlands, and the Lombard’s of Italy, were all “Ger-
manized” by the Monumenta.177
While heading the Monumenta, Waitz commenced, together with Pauli,
with a plan to merge Anglo-Saxon history into the project. Stubbs, whom they
regarded as a g reat authority on English history, was asked to join the Mon-
umenta. Following the request, Stubbs observed that this was a great honor and
once again testified to the influence of German scholarship on the develop-
ment of English historical writing: “I may add that I believe that I owe to this
the honour, and a very g reat honour I esteem it, of an invitation to take part
as a fellow editor in the great series of German Historical Monuments, known
for the last fifty years under the name of Pertz, which has now passed into the
hands of a commission of which Dr. Waitz is the chief. I am proud indeed to
be an instrument, in the humblest way, in repaying the debt which English
86 c ha pt er 2
history owes to German scholarship.”178 The aim of incorporating Anglo-

Saxon history into the Monumenta followed the project’s initial goal of re-
searching Teutonic history. Eventually in 1885, Liebermann, who
approached Stubbs in the above-mentioned letter, edited together with Pauli
the twenty-seventh (1885) and later the twenty-eighth (1888) volumes of the
Monumenta under the title Ex rerum Anglicarum scriptoribus. Waitz, as
managing editor, honored Stubbs in the preface of the 1885 volume by ac-
knowledging his great contribution to the publication.179 The Monumenta
became a German project including the study of many nations that w ere all
considered as belonging to Germany’s national history. Consequently, t here
were constant connections between the scholars of “Teutonic Europe.”180
Community of Teutonic Heritage
This chapter has illustrated the emerging links between several English and
German scholars during the nineteenth c entury, beginning with the initial
contacts between scholars such as Bunsen and Thomas Arnold and following
the subsequent affinities between Kingsley, Müller, Pauli, Freeman, and
Stubbs. Through personal ties and common ideas, a Gemeinschaft of English
and German historians became a reality. Their main source of inspiration
emerged around the idea of a common Teutonic descent. It was believed that the
restoration of a shared Teutonic past would overcome the particularistic differ-
ences between England and Germany through common racial, ethnic, cultural,
linguistic, and religious traits. Hence, the scholars imagined a transnational
community of Teutonic nations. This Pan-German community was mainly
aimed at countering the historical enemy of the Germanic tribes: Rome. The
Roman Empire, despite its alleged fall in AD 476, continued to threaten the
Teutonic world through its inheritors—the Catholic Church and France. In
the nineteenth century, with the conflicts between France and the German
principalities and later the German state, the need to emphasize the common
ground of Protestantism and Teutonism became crucial, since the German
scholars sought to gain support for their political causes. A question, how-
ever, should be asked of the English scholars. Why were they so keen to em-
phasize their Teutonic past? One possible answer suggested by this chapter is
that the creation of a Pan-Teutonic community linking the English and
Germans enabled the English scholars to define the natural identity of the
English. With the Teutonic factor, they located the beginning of England in
the Anglo-Saxon invasions and identified France as the perpetual “other”

of England and Germany. They also argued that the Celtic communities of
the isles, especially the Irish, w ere not fused with the Teutonic English na-
tion. This aspect was perhaps intensified with the growing debate over home
rule in Ireland. In 1886 Gladstone proposed his First Home Rule Bill. Preced-
ing the Government Bill and following its failure, the Irish question be-
came central in the British political, cultural, and imperial discourses.181 In a
book he edited on home rule, Bryce, a member of Gladstone’s cabinet, wrote:
“For half a c entury or more no question of English domestic politics has ex-
cited so much interest outside England as that question of resettling her rela-
tions with Ireland, which was fought over in the last Parliament, and still
confronts the Parliament that has lately been elected.”182 Bryce and Freeman
(see discussion of Freeman’s letter to Stephens in Chapter 1) supported Irish
home rule also because they identified the Celtic and Catholic otherness of
Ireland as hindering its complete integration into Britain: “she [Ireland] is
not, either in religion or in blood, or in feelings and ideas, a homogeneous
country. Three-fourths of the p eople are Roman Catholics, one-fourth Protes-
tants. . . . Besides the Scottish colony in Ulster, many English families have
settled here and there through the country. They have been regarded as in-
truders by the aboriginal Celtic population, and many of them, although
hundreds of years may have passed since they came, still look on themselves as
rather English than Irish.”183 Also by stressing the Celtic–Teutonic distinc-
tion, these scholars constructed a broad racial/ethnic/cultural Teutonic alli-
ance in their search for “collective selfhood” and national identity.
The argument about the Teutonic realm was part of a wider polemic that
prevailed in Europe during the nineteenth century concerning two linked
issues: nationalism and borders. One can find its manifestation, among other
places, in the controversy that developed not only between individual
German and French scholars but also between the “German” and “Roman”
schools of historiography. The German school maintained that subsequent to
the invasions of the Germanic tribes, Europe entered into a new era with
unique and more meritorious characteristics; the Roman school argued that
a continuum existed between the two periods since the tribes a dopted the
Roman tradition and continued its heritage, the implication being that
the Germanic tribes had made no unique contribution but only “carried”
other traditions.
The supposed Teutonic collective exclusivity belongs, therefore, to a
broader debate, the dispute between the “Roman” and the “German” schools.
88 c ha pt er 2
The English Teutonic circle can be placed, without doubt, on the side of the
German school. For instance, many English scholars supported Germany in
the 1870–71 war against France. Yet, the English circle did generate new ideas
that distinguished it from the German school. One such idea was that of the
“unity of history,” constructed by Arnold and later elaborated in depth by
Freeman and Bryce. This idea, in contrast to the “conservative” periodization
of the German school, offered a new interpretation of the end of the Roman
Empire. As w ill be shown in the following chapters, this interpretation testi-
fies to the unique periodization constructed by Freeman, Bryce, and Bury.
chapter 3
Racial History
The Convergence of Race and Periodization
For many modern scholars, as well as for some scholars of the early modern
age and Renaissance, the fourth and fifth centuries marked one of the most
significant watersheds in terms of historical periodization. These centuries were
and are still considered by many as the time when the invasions of the barbar-
ian tribes caused the fall of the Roman Empire.1 The fact that even before
the invasions, Rome fought numerous battles against vari ous external
forces threatening its stability had not dramatically influenced the common
historical periodization. Already in 386 BC, Gallic forces had sacked the city
of Rome. At the end of the second c entury BC, the Romans suffered devastat-
ing defeats by the Cimbri and the Teutons who managed to advance in their
campaigns up to what is now northern Italy. At the beginning of the first
century, under the rule of Augustus (r. 27 BC–A D 14) and then Tiberius (r.
AD 14–37), fierce battles had occurred in the Roman provinces of Germany
between the Roman legions and the German tribes. Later, Marcus Aurelius
(AD 121–80) had to fight off the Marcomanni tribes that had posed a real
threat to the Roman Empire for more than a decade. These various examples
are but a small sample of the confrontations with the Germanic tribes, but
they point to the constant conflict between the empire and the tribes. As
mentioned before, t hese wars, which entailed the deep invasions of the tribes
into the empire’s dominions and even into the city of Rome itself, were not
considered by most eighteenth-and nineteenth-century scholars as marking
the end of antiquity.
In a rather recent book, Ian Wood presents the main views of modern
historians on the beginning of the M iddle Ages. Wood delves into the various
90 c ha pt er 3
views in chronological order from the seventeenth to the twentieth century.

Like some of his colleagues and predecessors, Wood divides the views of the
historians into three: the Germanist, Romanist, and Christian arguments.2
Dealing with t hese categories more extensively l ater, I w
ill here briefly reca-
pitulate the main characteristics of each argument. The Germanist school
emphasized the dramatic change that occurred after the invasion of the tribes.
The Romanist school focused on Rome itself and observed a continuity
between Rome and the barbaric kingdoms. While some of the historians who
belong to this school identify a decline, this is mainly related to internal social,
economic, and political problems rather than with the invasion of the Germanic
tribes. Besides t hese two arguments, another most significant occurrence in
the fourth and fifth centuries was marked by the victory of Christianity. When
Clovis (AD 466–511), king of the Franks, was baptized to Catholicism and
deserted his Arian beliefs, a union of sorts occurred between Rome and the
Teutonic tribes. This marked a w hole new age, defined by some as the “age of
faith.” For many historians, this was the substantial development of the period
since it overshadowed both the invasion of the tribes and the internal Roman
problems. Wood shows how individual scholars followed the Germanist,
Romanist, or Christian explanations in accordance with their national, re-
ligious, and professional affiliations. However, and this is a central point,
t here are many overlaps between the different schools and sometimes their
arguments merge.
In the following discussion, I mainly focus on the Germanist, or Teu-
tonic, school, or more accurately on the nineteenth-century reception of the
barbaric invasions. I do not intend to survey all the different writers and ap-
proaches, but I examine rather w hether and how the Germanic invasions
influenced the periodization of antiquity in the writings of several German,
British, and French scholars. The theme of periodization, I argue, although
echoed in Wood’s book, contains certain significant aspects that deserve fur-
ther research. The first aspect is what I have already defined as “racial time.”
The Teutonic notions, as demonstrated in the previous chapters, created a
community of scholars who argued that the common tribal Teutonic past
justified a shared present between nations. In this chapter, however, the focus
is on the question of how the perceptions of ethnicity and race, in particular
the alleged superiority of the Teutonic nations, defined the division of time.
Thus, the present chapter connects the first part of the work, which has
discussed scholars’ arguments about the racial dominance of the Teutonic
nations, with the second part, which focuses on temporal periodization.
R ac ia l Histo ry 91
Crucial to the following discussion is the notion of regeneration and de-

generation. Gibbon, who, according to Wood, merged the Christian, Ger-
manist, and Romanist narratives in one single work, saw the internal Roman
problems, the rise of Christianity, and the invasion of the tribes as the c auses
for the decline of Rome.3 In a famous passage, written in the final chapter of
his The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776–88), he de-
clared: “I have described the triumph of Barbarism and religion.”4 However,
and conversely, the fusion between the Christian and the Germanist elements
in the works of Herder and, later, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831)
depicted revival and not decline. In their view, the German tribes were tools
in the hands of God as part of the Christian expansion throughout Europe.
This split between the regeneration and degeneration approaches points to
another central aspect: notwithstanding this split, and as we shall see, most
ancient, medieval, and modern writers adhered to the prevalent periodization
of the fourth and fifth centuries.5 Thus, whether stressing decline or rejuvenation,
most writers subscribed to the same historical scheme.
Early Perceptions: The Winning and Waning of Rome
For two thousand years, many authors have tried to explain the secret of
Rome’s power, the empire that ruled the Mediterranean basin for nearly a
millennium. Polybius (202–120 BC), the famous Greek author of Roman his-
tory, portrayed in the sixth book of his Histories the development of
Roman grandeur in his own second c entury BC. For him, the “compromis-
ing” Roman regime, which incorporated democratic, aristocratic, and monar-
chic elements, instilled in the republic the strength to project its power over
most of the inhabited world (oikumene) in a course of a mere fifty-three years
(between 220 and 167 BC).6 The merging of the different governing systems
in Rome was manifested in the public meetings, which included a demo
cratic kernel, the senate, which represented the will of the aristocracy, and the
consuls, who spoke for the monarchy. Each of these institutions had the
power to restrain the others and thus established a balance between them.
For example, the public meetings could restrain both the influence of the
senate and that of the consuls because they wielded the power to approve or
to override statutes and to decide w hether to launch wars. In the Roman
Republic a system of “checks and balances” therefore prevented abrupt change
of regimes, coups (stasis), and instability. During the transitions between
92 c ha pt er 3
regimes, named by Polybius as “the cycle of regimes” (anacyclosis), one ruling

system replaced the other: democracy led to a tyrannical democracy (ochloc-
racy, government by the mobs), monarchy, tyranny, aristocracy, and finally
to oligarchy, and so forth. According to him, the different ruling systems can
be likened to living entities because they grow (anksesis), reach a peak
(acme), and wither away (phtora). Despite Rome’s temperate rule, Polybius
argued that it was destined to eventually wither away. When citing Scipio
Aemilianus, the “destroyer” of Carthage, Polybius wrote that the “fall” of
Rome, like other societies, was inevitable:
Scipio, when he looked upon the city as it was utterly perishing and
in the last throes of its complete destruction, is said to have shed
tears and wept openly for his enemies. A fter being wrapped in
thought for long, and realizing that all cities, nations, and authorities
must, like men, meet their doom; that this happened to Ilium,
once a prosperous city, to the empires of Assyria, Media, and
Persia, the greatest of their time, and to Macedonia itself, the
brilliance of which was so recent, either deliberately or the verses
escaping him, he said: “A day will come when sacred Troy shall
perish, And Priam and his p eople shall be slain.” And when
Polybius speaking with freedom to him, for he was his teacher,
asked him what he meant by the words, they say that without any
attempt at concealment he named his own country, for which he
feared when he reflected on the fate of all t hings human. Polybius
actually heard him and recalls it in his history.7
In the first c entury BC, Sallust (86–34 BC) depicted Rome’s f uture in
somber colors. This writer, who was harmed by the republic’s decline, used
the term inclinata res publica (the downfall of the republic), to describe the
crisis of his era (Sallust, Epistula ad Caesarem, 10.1). In AD 410, the Visigoth
ruler Alaric conquered the city of Rome. This conquest became the symbolic
date for Rome’s decline, as it was the first time that a foreign army had in-
vaded the city itself since the invasion of the Gauls in 386 BC. Following the
invasion of the Visigoths, Augustine wrote his famous City of God (De civi-
tate Dei contra paganos), in which he maintained that the cure for the distress
of man could be found in the spiritual city of God and not among men. Like
Augustine, other Christian writers of the same era, such as Orosius (ca. 375–418)
and Jerome (346–420), claimed that Rome was forever lost. Jerome explained
that Rome’s paganism had led to its downfall. In his commentary on the book
of the prophet Ezekiel he also claimed that the conquest of the city in 410
symbolized the decline of the whole empire: “the bright light of all the world
was put out . . . the whole world perished in one city” (preface, book 1).8
The fifth-century Greek historian Zosimus also offered a detailed descrip-
tion of Rome’s decline. In the beginning of his essay (Historia Nova, book 1),
he mentioned that while Polybius described the rise of Rome and its glory, he
himself would illustrate its demise. Zosimus admitted that the downfall of
Rome occurred in AD 410. However, he argued that the process of decline
had already commenced in the first c entury BC, with the republic’s collapse.
Among the reasons for the decline, he mentioned the worsening of the eco-
nomic situation, the invasions of the tribes, and, especially, the forsaking of
Roman religion and traditions. The tribal invasions w ere also mentioned in
the Historia Romana (14.2) of Paul the Deacon (720–799), who associated the
fall of Rome with the Hunic, Vandal, and Ostrogothic invasions of the fifth
century. Both Bede, in his Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation (1.11), and
the anonymous writer of the Franco-Burgundian Passio sancti Sigismundi Re-
gis, also pointed to the destruction of the tribes as causing the fall.9 In short,
the linkage between the emergence of the barbaric tribes and the fall of Rome
was central among ancient writers.
Tribal Degeneration and the Formation of the M

iddle Ages
Several of the c auses for the downfall of Rome, mentioned by ancient writ-
ers, were also adopted by later ones. During the Renaissance, attributing the
destruction of the ancient world to the tribes became even more prominent.
Petrarch (1304–74) claimed that the main reason for the collapse resulted from
Rome’s incompetent rulers. Following the arrival of the tribes, the whole of
Europe was submerged into a dark and ignorant era. For Petrarch, Rome was
the acme of h uman civilization; therefore its occupation led to a dreadful abyss
in the history of the world. Extrication from the darkness (tenebrae) engulfing
the entire world will only occur when the greatness of Rome and its culture
are fully realized again. In one of his essays, he even wrote that “what else,
then, is all history, if not the praise of Rome.”10
In the fifteenth c entury, the Italian humanists stressed the splendor of
Rome in comparison to the meagerness of the Germanic tribes. The historian
Flavio Biondo (1392–1463), in his Decades of History from the Deterioration of
94 c ha pt er 3
the Roman Empire (Historiarum ab inclinatione Romanorum imperii), studied

the disintegration that had taken place between the years 410 and 1453, the
latter date marking the conquest of Constantinople by the Ottomans. Another
Renaissance historian, Leonardo Bruni (1369–1444), chose, similarly to
Biondo, the fifth century as the end of the ancient era. Unlike Biondo, how-
ever, he identified AD 455 as the year of Rome’s fall, when the Emperor Val-
entianus III had been assassinated by his own foreign soldiers. According to
Bruni, following the assassination, Odoacer managed to overthrow the last
emperor of Rome, Romulus Augustulus. Mistakenly, Bruni attributed the
fall of Romulus to the year 455 and not to 475/6. The “fall,” in any case, was
still identified with the fifth c entury. Bruni continued and asserted that
Italy “recovered” only centuries later, when his own fifteenth-century soci-
ety developed a thriving culture.11
The argument so far leads to the conclusion that the historical periodiza-
tion crystallized during the Renaissance derived from a certain negative per-
ception of the Middle Ages. These fifteenth-and sixteenth-century Italian
humanists regarded themselves as reconstructing the glory of Rome and thus
considered the thousand years that had passed since the fall of Rome to their
times as an inferior era in the history of humanity. The barbarian inferiority
was manifested in all areas of life: in government, economics, and art. As the
Renaissance artist Filarete (1400–69) wrote: “Cursed be the man who inven
ted this wretched Gothic architecture; only a Barbarian people could have
brought it to Italy.”12
The idea that barbarians symbolized the end of the ancient period re-
mained central also in the works of eighteenth-century writers. For Gibbon,
the moral decline from republican to imperial Rome was the main impetus
that had put the decline of Rome into motion. Gibbon, like Zosimus,
1,400 years earlier, regards the first c entury BC as the period when Rome began
to lose its glory, reaching its lowest ebb during the fourth and fifth centuries.
A fter these centuries, the areas where the Roman Empire had thrived became
wastelands, while the Eastern Empire, with its capital, Constantinople,
survived u ntil it was conquered by the Turks in 1453. Considering Gibbon’s
attitude as to the failings of the imperial government, it is possible to question
his notable statement that the second c entury was “the period in the history
of the world during which the condition of the h uman race was most happy
and prosperous.”13 Gibbon, however, explained that the worthy Antonine
emperors had managed to conceal the shortcomings of the empire by their
clever governing. But when, by the end of the second century, weak emperors
like Commodus (AD 180–192) came to power, the empire suffered a lengthy
crisis that, together with the rise of Christianity, especially under Constan-
tine, led to Rome’s fall. Gibbon, quite uniquely, merged what he considered
as the negative impact of Christianity and the invasion of the tribes and
marked the fourth and fifth centuries as a devastating watershed for the clas-
sical traditions of the Greco-Roman world. Many subsequent writers did not
connect the two yet still acknowledged the invasions of t hese centuries as the
beginning of the M iddle Ages.14
Gibbon was perhaps influenced by Voltaire (1694–1778), who pointed to
the religious controversies and the conquests of the barbarians as the reasons
for the fall of the Roman Empire.15 In his Essai sur les moeurs et l’esprit des na-
tions (1756), he described how the Germanic tribes had ravished the Latin
language, the ancient supreme culture, and the material grandeur of Rome:
If we pass from the history of the Roman Empire to that of the

peoples who destroyed it in the West, we feel like travellers who
leave a splendid city to find themselves in thorny waste. Twenty
barbaric dialects are the heirs of the beautiful Latin language,
which was spoken from Illyria to the Atlas Mountains. Whereas up to
that time, wise laws had ruled over half of our hemisphere, now t here
are only savage customs. All the signs of civilization, amphitheatres,
circuses, and the rest, which w ere erected throughout the provinces,
are destroyed and lie in ruins, overgrown by grass. The excellent
roads, which had led from the capital itself to the distant Taurus,
are covered by stagnant pools.16
According to many thinkers in the eighteenth c entury, Rome was identi-

fied with the ancient era politically, culturally, and economically. Therefore,
the collapse of the empire in the West during the fourth and fifth centuries
symbolized the end of the ancient era. Citing Voltaire again: “A new order
of things began with the dismemberment of the Roman Empire in the
West, which is called the history of the M iddle Ages; barbarian history of
barbarian p eoples, who on becoming Christians did not become better for
it.”17 This perception was dominant for many years. It led to the accepted
historical periodization in which the invasions of the barbarians became a
mythical and formative event that caused the M iddle Ages, that terrible rift
between antiquity and the modern world. Thus, the Scottish historian
William Robertson (1721–93) could write: “In less than a century a fter the
96 c ha pt er 3
barbarian nations settled in their new conquests, almost all the effects of the
knowledge and civility, which the Romans had spread through Europe, dis
appeared. Not only the arts of elegance, which minister to luxury, and are
supported by it, but many of the useful arts, without which life can scarcely
be contemplated as comfortable, w ere neglected or lost.”18 This argument was
still prominent during the nineteenth c entury. Many researchers emphasized
that the ancient era ended with the arrival of the tribes and the collapse of
Rome. One prominent example is found in the views of the famous French
scholar and politician François Guizot,19 who named the period a fter the fall
of the empire as “the barbarian era” in which colossal chaos occupied Europe:
“A veritable deluge of diverse nations, forced one upon another, from Asia
into Europe, by wars and migration in mass, inundated the Empire and gave
the decisive signal for its fall.”20
The Noble Savage: Regeneration
Together with t hose who maintained that the Germanic tribes had inflicted
havoc all over Europe, there were also prominent voices praising the tribes as
one of the most vital and constructive forces in world history. The Germanic
tribes were seen as the emblem of freedom and boldness. They freed the West
from the “dying” empire and heralded a new age, surpassing Rome. The in-
vasions, therefore, were defined by many in the neutral and even positive
term Völkerwanderung (wandering of p eoples).
In 1425, the first copy of Tacitus’s essay Germania (De origine et situ ger-
manorum) was discovered in the monastery of Fulda, Germany.21 The essay,
written at the end of the first century (ca. AD 98), became a very important
source, since it supplies a unique ethnographic account of the ancient era. The
book’s main importance, however, is not necessarily in depicting the Germanic
tribes of the first century but in the modern reception of Germania in the West
and the racial as well as national implications resulting from its rediscovery.
For Tacitus, the Germanic tribes belonged to one ethnic group and hence
reflected a unity. The tribes possessed common characteristics distinguishing
them from other groups, such as the Romans: “The tribes of Germany are free
from all taint of intermarriages with foreign nations, and . . . they appear as
a distinct, unmixed race, like none but themselves. Hence, too, the same
physical peculiarities throughout so vast a population. All have fierce blue eyes,
red hair, huge frames, fit only for a sudden exertion. They are less able to bear
laborious work. Heat and thirst they cannot in the least endure; to cold and
hunger their climate and their soil inure them” (Tacitus, Germania, chap. 4).22
The fact that Tacitus distinguished the Germanic tribes based on their
physical features is of major importance. Following this paragraph, a series of
writers and even regimes, most notoriously the Nazis, argued for the racial
uniqueness of the Germanic tribes and, more important, of the modern Ger-
man Volk.23
Tacitus also testified to the freedom and equality prevalent among the tribes:
“About minor matters—the chiefs deliberate, about the more important—the
whole tribe” (Ger. 11). Thus, all the members of the tribe made decisions in a
democratic, communal manner. Tacitus added: “The chief fights for victory;
his vassals fight for their chief” (Ger. 14).
Nevertheless, alongside this praise, Tacitus mentioned the ferocity of the
tribes, some of their bad customs and their yearning for war. When the tribes
were not fighting against foreigners, they initiated battles among themselves
(Ger. 14), or spent their time idly, without cultivating the land: “Whenever
they are not fighting, they pass much of their time in the chase, and still more
in idleness, giving themselves up to sleep and to feasting, the bravest and the
most warlike doing nothing” (Ger. 15). Tacitus considered them as the most
terrible of Rome’s enemies, responsible for Rome’s severest defeats: “German
independence truly is fiercer than the despotism of an Arsaces. What e lse,
indeed, can the East taunt us with but the slaughter of Crassus, when it
has itself lost Pacorus, and been crushed under a Ventidius?” (Ger. 37).
In the wake of the “discovery” of Germania by German-speaking thinkers
at the beginning of the modern epoch, the perception of the vital strength of
the Germanic tribes wandering into the realms of Rome developed greatly.
Tacitus wrote three hundred years before the final fall of the Roman Empire.
However, in the eyes of some of these scholars this was unimportant because
the tribes causing the final demise of Rome were the descendants of the tribes
described by Tacitus. Furthermore, these ancient Germanic tribes were also the
ancestors of some of the kingdoms and nations of Europe. Thus, this ancient
Roman’s exaltation of the Germanic tribes carries a substantial weight in mo-
dernity. The acme of t hese discussions or arguments can be identified in rela-
tion to the rise of nationalism during the nineteenth century. But before
addressing the historiographical discussion in the nineteenth century, I discuss
briefly the myth of the “savage German” prior to the nineteenth century.
In the sixteenth century, important developments took place in research
into ancient Germanic history (deutsches Altertum). Essays w ere written on the
98 c ha pt er 3
sites, customs, and history of the early Germanic tribes. In 1557, the Austrian
Wolfgang Lazius (1514–65) observed that the Germanic tribes wandered all
over Europe (de gentium aliquot migrationibus) and that a connection existed
between them and the Austrian king of the House of Habsburg.24 Other
scholars, such as the German Ulrich von Hutten (1488–1523), emphasized that
the ancient Germanic tribes had symbolized the glorious past and present of
the principalities of Germany. Hutten, one of the early theorists of German
nationalism, based his essay on the wonders of the Germanic hero Hermann
(Arminius), the leader of the tribe of the Cherusci.25 Arminius led an attack
against Publius Quinctilius Varus, the governor of Germania under the
Emperor Augustus, and lost three Roman legions and his own life in the B attle
of the Teutoburg Forest (AD 9).26 The adoration of Hermann was based on
the perception that the value of freedom as it manifested itself in his revolt
against the Romans could serve as a symbol and model for the entire German
people. Hutten, who lived at the time of the Protestant Reformation, defied
the hegemony of the Roman papal church by glorifying ancient German
history.27
Martin Luther, the initiator of the Reformation, also denoted the tribes
as the ancestors of the Germans and the everlasting fierce enemies of Rome.
Luther, in his Commentaries on Psalms, explained the meaning of the name
Hermann, given to the brave German tribal leader: “For we find that our old
Germans gave their princes and lords unusually fine names. . . . Herman[n],
which the Latins have corrupted into Arminius, means ‘a man of the army,’ one
who is strong in war and battle, who can rescue and lead his own people, and
risk his life in doing it.”28 Luther was the first to call Arminius by the name
of Hermann, the name given to the Germanic hero in modernity. Luther’s
identification of the tribes as “our ancient German” ancestors resurfaces through-
out his writings. A noteworthy aspect of his words was the linkage between
the role of divinity in the Gothic invasion and in the Reformation. In both
events the Germans became the messengers of the wrath of God against a
corrupted Roman Empire. The Reformation, therefore, signified a second
awakening of the German people. In fact, these two German awakenings
construct a historical periodization. The Roman fall and the M iddle Ages
commenced with the Gothic conquest of Rome and concluded now, in Lu-
ther’s era, with the German’s second defiance against Catholic Rome. The
German people remained throughout this long period one and the same,
while the Roman Empire fell centuries ago: “There is no doubt that the true
Roman Empire, which the writings of the prophets foretold in Numbers

24[:17–19] and Daniel 2[:44], has long since been overthrown and come to an
end, as Balaam clearly prophesied in Numbers 24[:24]. . . . That happened
under the Goths, but more particularly when the Muslim empire arose almost
a thousand years ago. Then eventually Asia and Africa fell away, and in time
France and Spain. Finally Venice arose, and nothing was left to Rome of its
former power.”29
Despite the mention of the Goths as the initiators of the Roman decline,
it was the Muslim invasion that Luther identified already in the sixteenth
century as an even greater force to be reckoned with. Luther’s remark is impor
tant since, even though most writers labeled the Germanic invasions as the
cause of the Roman downfall, some noted the Muslim rise in conjunction with
Rome’s demise.
Protestant scholars, who mark the invasion of the tribes as a rejuve-
nating event replacing the corruption of Rome are faced with a perennial
problem. If a dramatic transformation had destroyed Rome during the
wanderings, how was it possible that Rome, through the church’s power,
allegedly dominated the sphere for another thousand years? For this reason,
many scholars, beginning with Luther, observed the Reformation as another
phase of the wandering and as the event that symbolized the final fall of
Rome. Thus, the seeds of the revolution had already been planted by the
wanderings of the tribes, but Catholic Rome managed to recuperate, and
only in the Reformation was Germanic freedom finally attained.30 The need
to consolidate these two events—the invasions and the Reformation—
resurfaces in the writings of many later historians as a central aspect of the
debate over the significance of the tribes in history. This also sheds light on
the theme of periodization. It is exactly t hese two events that are central in
the triple division of time—antiquity, Middle Ages, and modernity. For
some, the first event initiated the Middle Ages, while the second ended them
and marked the commencement of modernity. The main threads that con-
nect these two formative events are Christianity and Teutonism, or the
merger of the two. As for Christianity, a crucial transformation occurred in
both events. During the invasions, the barbaric kingdoms converted, ne-
glected Arianism and paganism, and disseminated Christianity across Eu
rope. In the Reformation, substantial parts of Europe deserted Catholicism
and returned to what Protestant thinkers defined as the original form of
Christianity. As for ethnicity, both developments were carried out by the
100 c ha pt er 3
Germanic people. For many German thinkers, those who promoted the dis-
engagement from the Catholic Church were the descendants of those Germanic
tribes who overthrew the Roman Empire. Hence, the two most dramatic
events in the history of the world, which in fact determine historical peri-
odization, were carried out by the same people.
The Formative Victory of Barbarism and Christianity
The Christian and Teutonic advents w ere also linked in “modernity.” Indeed,
Herder and Hegel, two of the most prominent German thinkers of the mod-
ern era, formed a fusion of Christianity and Teutonism.
For Herder, the demarcation line between antiquity and the Middle Ages
was the migration of the tribes. For him, the Germanic p eople had contrib-
uted the most to the establishment of the European kingdoms. They took the
dominion from the Roman Empire and in d oing so initiated such a transfor-
mation that the history of the world changed its course forever. The Roman
Empire had become so degenerate by the end of the fifth c entury that it could
no longer withstand the vitality of the Germanic tribes: “If the degenerate
Rome [ausgeartete Rom] managed to rule the world, why is not possible that
those who are mightier would achieve similar control?”31 More generally, the
notions of decline and regeneration in Herder’s argument can appear in e very
epoch and within any civilization. They do not paint the w hole history of the
nation with a single color. Hence, t here is no such t hing as the happiest nation
in history, since every nation has its era of prosperity and fortune.32 Alongside
the greatness of the nations, there are also major imperfect historical mo-
ments, yet greatness is possible even with these deficiencies. Thus, every nation
has a period of decline, which eventually leads to its final demise.33
Each age may manifest growth, transformation, and progression (Fort-
gang).34 However, this does not mean that one civilization surpassed the other.
It is essential for new civilizations to learn from former civilizations.35 Like an
adult who must acknowledge the fact that he too was once a child lacking ex-
perience, so the succeeding civilizations need to acknowledge their early ado-
lescent stages. The Greeks may have been the “cradle of humaneness,” but they
were still dependent on the previous achievements of the Egyptians and Phoe-
nicians. For this reason, the Greeks absorbed components of both cultures into
their own, despite their belief that they invented everything ex nihilo.36
The maturity of humankind became eminent with the Romans. Their

greatness was a consequence of their universalizing impact on the nations of
the world:
It was never the Romans’ main concern to compete with Greeks,

Phoenicians, Egyptians, and Orientals; but by putting everything
that had preceded them to manly use, what a Roman world they
created! The name [of Rome] bound p eoples and parts of the world
together that had never so much as heard of each other before.
Roman provinces! In all of them, Romans trod: Roman legions,
laws, ideals of propriety, virtues and vices. The walls that separated
nation from nation w ere broken down, the first step taken to
destroy the national character of them all, to throw everyone into
one mold called “the Roman people.”37
Since the influence of the Romans was so vast and imposing, their fall
from power was a monumental event. History, in fact, “restarted” after
Rome. The tribes w ere the ones who headed this revolution. If, beforehand,
there was a clear linkage between the East, Greece, and Rome, suddenly the
chain of history was broken, and time began to reset itself, carried on now by
the Germans and Christianity. The East and the Greco-Roman world re-
mained cohesive, while the tribes, Christianity, and the M iddle Ages repre-
sented another distinct phenomenon. This does not mean that there was no
connection between the ancient civilizations and the Germanic tribes, since
a “northern-southern” world did develop.38 Still, the mutual common ground
between Egypt, the Phoenicians, Greece, and Rome was far more substantial
than the connection between the Romans and the Germanic kingdoms.
The order and unity of the new world came from the power of Christian
ity because it had a civilizing impact on the tribes: “Indeed, ever since the
barbarians themselves became Christians, it [Christianity] gradually became
the real order and security of the world . . . it tamed the rapacious lions and
conquered the conquerors.”39 Herder saw the tribes as a tool in the hands of
God: “I am speaking of a historical event, a miracle of the human spirit, and
clearly an instrument of Providence!”40
Hegel, like Herder, also marked these centuries as the end of antiquity.
Hegel identified the tribes and Christianity as signifying rejuvenation and,
for that, he is considered one of the “forefathers” of the Teutonic-Christian
102 c ha pt er 3
periodization. In his Philosophy of History (Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der

Weltgeschichte, 1837), Hegel set out a nationalistic dogma based on the role of
the Teutonic tribes in history. He defined three epochs that had dominated
the world: the first, and the one representing “the childhood of history,”
commenced with the civilizations of the Near East. Then the world transformed
to its adolescence phase, where the formation of the body occurred under the
Greek civilization.41 The next era of the Romans was that of maturity, when
the universal goal surpassed individual needs. The last and most complete era
was that of the Germans, which began after the fall of the Roman Empire.
This era signified the old age of humanity, when the spirit of the world became
harmonized once again with its source or body.42
Hegel defined this last era through the concept of Gemütlichkeit (good
nature), which represented the purity of the heart among the early Ger-
manic tribes. The German spirit was the freest, happiest, as well as the most
superior. The history of the world, therefore, moves on a linear time line of
progress through civilizations and geographical spheres: the “world travels
from East to West, for Europe is absolutely the end of history, Asia the be-
ginning.”43 The notion of freedom is also transformed in between the peri-
ods of the world: in the East the “one is free”; in Greece and Rome, “some
are f ree”; and in the German world all became f ree.44 The supreme political
form was constitutional monarchy, since the world moved from the despo-
tism of the East to the democracy and aristocracy of Greece and Rome,
until it reached the monarchy of the German age. The thread of freedom
linked the ancient Germans with the modern ones: “The element of freedom
is the first consideration in their union in a social relationship. The ancient
Germans w ere famed for their love of freedom; the Romans formed a cor-
rect idea of them in this particular from the first. Freedom has been the
watchword in Germany down to the most recent times, and even the league
of princes under Frederick II had its origin in the love of liberty.”45 For
Hegel, the concept of fidelity was another feature of the German tribes. This
kernel had been absent from the Greco-Roman world. The free Germans
followed voluntarily one of the prominent individuals in the group and
bonded with him, while the Greco-Roman rulers imposed firm control over
the people, based on hierarchy and hegemony. These two pillars of freedom
and fidelity construct the modern European states.46
Hegel held, in a notion similar to Herder’s, that God chose the Germanic
tribes to carry Christianity through history and spread it among the nations
of the world. The tribes acted with great ferocity and barbarism and conducted
multiple sins in the age of Clovis and under the Merovingian kings. It was
exactly this character, which certainly was not free from faults, that made the
tribes such worthy candidates for the dissemination of Christianity.
Both Herder and Hegel drew a definite line between the Romans and the
Germans. However, there is a distinction between the two scholars. This
distinction is very significant since the two together denote two main strands
in eighteenth-and nineteenth-century scholarship. For Herder, the Germanic
tribes w ere not the epitome of humankind. They may have represented a new,
very different period and determined the development of the European modern
states, but they did not reflect the most noble stage of humanity. Hegel, in
contrast, described the whole period from the fall of Rome until his own days
as the “German epoch.” His own people and their spirit symbolized the apex
of civilization; they represented the telos, since no other age would ever surpass
them in the f uture. This signifies a g reat distinction between the two. Herder
observed a world divided horizontally by nations, each with a certain spirit
and uniqueness. For Hegel, the hierarchy between the nations in history was
far more evident, and the Germanic nations stood at the highest echelon. The
important implication, following Hegel, was that the emergence of Christian
ity and the ethnic Germanic tribes signified the beginning of a new era. This
is a prominent example of how in modernity the religious and ethnic-racial
time merged. Hegel, by placing the Germans on top of the pedestal, reflected
an emerging view among many German, French, and English scholars. This
periodization depended on a certain “racial time” and, hence, regarded the
invasion of the tribes as a racial watershed that separated antiquity from the
Middle Ages.
Roman Versus Germanic
The dispute concerning the end of the ancient era between the German and the
Roman schools arose partially as a result of the territorial-national controversy
between France and Germany. For many of the German Romanists, the fact
that the tribes were depicted as the harbingers of freedom, commencing a
new era in Europe, proved the ancient kernel and authenticity of the German
nation. For them, two historical events had defined the German nation
since antiquity: German tribal independence, as it was expressed in the resis
tance to Rome, especially under the leadership of Arminius, and the Völk-
erwanderung during the fourth and fifth centuries.47 This enchanted vision of
104 c ha pt er 3
the German past became entwined with the main events of the nineteenth
century: the wars of German liberation from Napoleon (1813–15) and, of
course, the unification of Germany in 1871. The German-French dispute in
the nineteenth c entury led some representatives of the German school to
attribute supreme importance to the tribes because they were the ones who
had separated antiquity from the M iddle Ages and thus influenced the
f uture historical development. The Roman school, headed by Fustel de Cou-
langes, opposed this claim. Fustel de Coulanges himself combined in a very
pronounced way the issue of periodization and the territorial-national ten-
dencies. The fact that he dismissed the importance of the Germanic tribes and
regarded them as wild tribes who had spoiled the Roman heritage was related
to his rejection of the German territorial claims of the nineteenth century,
especially concerning Alsace-Lorraine.
Despite the tendency to present the Roman-German struggle as a dichot-
omy and simply one part of the French-German nationalistic controversy, it is
important to note that the two schools stressed similar notions. In both
nineteenth-century France and Germany there was a revival of the ancient
tribal myth. In France, especially under Napoleon III, t here was a glorifica-
tion of the ancient Gauls led by Vercingetorix and their battles against Caesar.
As mentioned, in Germany too, the revolt of the Germanic tribes against
the Romans was deemed a courageous and noble act. Archaeology in both
France and Germany, as Bonnie Effros shows, also played a crucial role in the
reimagination of the tribes as the ancestors of the nation. The excavations and
the study of burial sites and skeletons was sometimes injected with racial
connotations, seen most prominently in the works of the Lindenschmit
brothers (Wilhelm, 1806–48; and Ludwig, 1809–93).48 Thus, the ancient tribes
became an important component in the historical national narrative of both
countries. On both sides, an attempt was made to prove the possession of
territories through certain historical, archaeological, physical, and cultural
evidence. Hence, the i magined events of the past justified present reality. The
return to the past as an authoritative source and the search for “ancient
ancestors” caused the two sides to adore the b attles of their alleged ancestral
forefathers against the Roman Empire. Most important, in both the Romanist
and the Germanist schools, race played a central part in constructing the
division of time as well as in the construction of their national communities.
Thus, both schools spoke of a prominent racial aspect determining the pe-
riodization of history.
The question is why, despite the monumental stature given to the ancient
Gauls, a school of thought developed in France that also emphasized the last-
ing influence of the Roman Empire. The answer to this, I argue, derives from
the historical narratives that took root in the research of t hose French and
German thinkers who belonged to the different schools. According to Caesar’s
Commentaries on the Gallic War, around 50 BC all the area of Gaul was
conquered by his legions in spite of the fierce fighting of the autochthonic
tribes. From the Roman conquest, Gaul remained u nder Roman rule for about
five hundred years u ntil the arrival of the Germanic tribes. The Roman impact
on Gaul was evident in physical changes, such as paved roads, construction
of fortifications and institutions, as well as in cultural-ideological influences.
According to some scholars, like Augustin Thierry, a unique Gallic-Roman
society merging Roman and Celtic characteristics existed for many centuries
after the Romans first came to Gaul. But in the fifth c entury, with the waves
of Germanic invaders, t here began to abide in Gaul two different communities
signifying different races and cultures: the Gallic-Roman and the German.
In some of his writings, Thierry observed that the Gallic-Roman community
had settled in towns and developed trade and culture, while in the countryside
prevailed the illiteracy and ignorance of the wild Germanic tribes. The off-
spring of this superb Gallic-Roman society were the third estate who led the
French Revolution in 1789.49 Thierry, it should be noted, developed his ideas
following his research on the Norman Conquest of the British Isles (His-
toire de la Conquête de l’Angleterre par les Normands, 1825). The confrontation
between the two ethnic groups in Gaul resembled, at least as he saw it, the
confrontation between the Anglo-Saxons and the Normans.50 The first w ere
“the conquered,” and they represented for hundreds of years the lower eche-
lons of the English society, while the latter w ere “the conquerors,” and they
wielded the reins of government and possessed the land.51
This perception of a continuous ethnic-territorial struggle in Gaul sup-
ported the periodization of the “Roman school.” Following the emergence of
a Roman-Gaulish society, the historical continuity of Gaul/France was not
devastated by the arrival of the German tribes. Instead, it remained part and
parcel of the French nation and defined its development until modernity. Based
on this narrative, the Roman school could argue that t here had been a Roman-
Gaulish continuity from antiquity to the M iddle Ages and that, therefore,
the German tribes had not played an important part in the transition between
the two periods. In other words, the Roman Empire was not necessarily
106 c ha pt er 3
perceived as a conqueror because the Gallic-Roman culture, which embraced

authentic Gallic traits, emerged from it. Thus, the Roman heritage had been
an integral part of the national history of France, in contrast to the German
tribes, which had not contributed to the economic and cultural development
of modern France.
Toward a New Periodization?
In 1973, the famous Italian historian Arnaldo Momigliano observed that since
the eighteenth c entury the fall of Rome had become an obsession in historical
research.52 As I have demonstrated throughout this chapter, numerous scholars
indeed dedicated many words to this historic phenomenon. Some, as we have
seen, defined the tribes and the fifth century in negative terms, others con-
sidered them as revitalizing Europe. The “revitalizers” can be grouped as the
“German school.” The perception of the tribes as either wild barbarians or
harbingers of freedom did not influence the historical periodization, for in
both perceptions the tribes were regarded as playing a very significant role since
their emergence brought an end to Rome. Furthermore, the racial aspect
became associated, especially in modernity, with the fall of the Roman Empire.
For many of the scholars from the German school, race marked the ultimate
proof of the decline of Rome and the rise of the Germanic kingdoms. Thus,
during the nineteenth c entury, the “Roman school” began to strive to minimize
the importance of the German tribes. The empire maintained its influence on
Europe, and the barbarian kingdoms a dopted various characteristics of Roman
culture. Therefore, the historiographical dispute during the nineteenth c entury
turned on the question of whether there had been continuity in the transition
from antiquity to the M iddle Ages (the Roman school) or whether t here was
a rupture (the German school). As shown, this dispute branched out into racial,
national, territorial, and cultural questions that were, in fact, related to the
politic al confrontations of the nineteenth century between France and the
principalities of Germany and, later, the united Germany. Throughout the
century, most scholars a dopted the conventional periodization and placed the
fall of Rome in the fifth c entury. It might have been expected that t hose who
backed the notion of continuity would have also offered a different peri-
odization, other than the fifth century. For, if t here is continuity, why, ac-
cording to the Roman school, did these centuries still epitomize the end of
antiquity?
I would like to suggest one possible answer. While the dispute between
the German and Roman attitudes was at its most ferocious, the “Roman”
scholars mainly focused on the question of historical continuity and its
prominent national aspect. Their study was not directed to possible global
explanations concerning different historical periodizations. This internal
scholarly view was focused primarily on refuting the German claims as to the
uniqueness and contribution of the Germanic tribes. I suggest that this long-
lasting national dispute formed a sort of smoke screen preventing scholars from
arriving at new conclusions. The conventional periodization, hence, was
awarded with a fixed, indeed almost sacred status.
The above discussion sets the framework for the following chapters, which
concentrate on several novel periodizations that were framed during the second
half of the nineteenth c entury, namely the historical schemes of E. A. Freeman,
James Bryce, and J. B. Bury. Th ese scholars, I w
ill argue, did not follow the
conventional periodization but constructed new interpretations for the
transformation between antiquity and the M iddle Ages. Despite Freeman’s,
Bryce’s, and Bury’s innovative approaches, it was only in the twentieth century
that several new periodizations became accepted within the academic sphere.
The most famous such periodization was that constructed by the Belgian
historian Henri Pirenne (1862–1935). In 1922, a few years a fter the end of World
War I, Pirenne published an innovative essay entitled “Mahomet et Char-
lemagne.” The essay, later published as a book, gave rise to a significant change
in the accepted historical periodization. Pirenne claimed that antiquity ended
not with the migration of the barbarians in the fourth and fifth centuries but
with the Muslim conquests of the seventh c entury.53
During the era following the barbarian invasions, Pirenne claimed, no
evidence for a massive transformation is to be found. Roman society, the Latin
language, law, administration, and economy w ere still prevalent in the Roman
West. Pirenne did recognize the tribes as responsible for the collapse of impe-
rial unity in the West, yet, in his eyes, the core structure of the empire and
above all the unity of the Mediterranean remained intact. Thus, the political
change that fragmented the Western Empire into several barbarian kingdoms
did not establish an “iron curtain” in the Mediterranean. Roman economic
and mercantile unity was maintained, and the Mediterranean remained
the Roman mare nostrum.54 Until the Muslim conquests, the Mediterranean
basin was the center of the ancient world, both commercially and culturally.
However, with the arrival of the Muslims, the geographic connection between
the different parts of the Mediterranean was severed. Following this, the
108 c ha pt er 3
Christian, European center of gravity moved north, while Islam ruled most of
the Mediterranean domains. The rapidity of the Arab conquests was attributed
to their new religion. Unlike the Germanic tribes that were assimilated into
Christianity because they did not possess a strong faith, the Muslims countered
Christianity with their own strongly defined beliefs. The Arabs, as Pirenne
writes, “broke the past” and transformed their new territories into Dar al-Islam,
the abode of Islam.55 The Arab conquests thus formed a new border in the
Mediterranean, and the unity of the old Roman world was shattered. The
Muslim influence was felt in the eastern, southern, and western parts of
the basin, while the north was still under the grip of Byzantium.56 Until the
publication of Pirenne’s thesis, most scholars—although not all, as the follow-
ing chapter will demonstrate—considered the fourth and fifth centuries as the
period of the fall of the Roman Empire.57 Pirenne, however, linked the Muslim
conquest of the southern Mediterranean with the emergence of the Carolin-
gian monarchy; as he famously asserted: “It is therefore strictly correct to say
that without Mohammed, Charlemagne would have been inconceivable.”58
chapter 4
The Unique Historical

Periodization of E. A. Freeman
It was from Arnold that I first learned the truth which ought to
be the centre and life of all our historical studies, the truth of the
unity of history.
—Edward A. Freeman
The idea of the “unity of history,” as Freeman later attested, first left its mark
on him in 1842, when he was a student at Trinity College, Oxford. This was the
year that he heard Thomas Arnold, then a regius professor of modern history,
stressing the importance of unity to the perception of history.1 Exactly three
decades later, Freeman summarized his thinking on this theme in a lecture at
Cambridge University.2 Here he explained that the historical process was uni-
fied and coherent and not limited to particular eras or phenomena. Traditions
and, most important, political institutions intertwine throughout ancient and
modern cultures. The idea of unity came to life through continuities of race,
language, and religion. For Freeman, there was no such thing as a “dead” race
or language or an obsolete civilization: the past was vividly alive in the present.
One of the most vital aspects of all this was the apparent abolition of conven-
tional divisions between antiquity, the M iddle Ages, and modernity, and a re-
lated denial of the alleged superiority of certain periods, such as classical
antiquity and the Renaissance.3 Thus, as will be substantiated further below,
Freeman revised historical periodization and embraced a long historical con-
tinuum. Subsequent to this argument, Freeman also wished to obliterate the
artificial division in the historical curricula that separated the schools of
110 c ha pt er 4
ancient and modern history.4 He urged students to broaden their knowledge

and not limit their specialization to a specific period or historical phenome-
non.5 For Freeman, the idea of the unity of history was intended to eliminate
hole.”6
false methodological separation and to foster the study of history “as a w
The idea of unity was indeed one of Edward Freeman’s most repeated
refrains. It was present in his writings from the beginning of his academic
career through to his last publication on The History of Sicily (1891). As shown
earlier in the book and as seen in other recent studies, the main scholarly fo-
cus has been on Freeman’s approach to universal history, extreme “Whiggish”
tendencies, contribution to the professionalization of history, and racial views.7
But while this recent research has paid much attention to Freeman’s thinking
on the “unity of history,” it has largely passed over his simultaneous emphasis
upon history’s ruptures and divisions.8 Freeman’s History of Sicily, for instance,
despite its impressive size, has been somewhat neglected in contemporary
scholarly literature.9 Therefore in this chapter, The History of Sicily will be
discussed at length, for it presents, unequivocally, Freeman’s intertwining of
his idea of the unity of history with his use of periods.
Freeman did not reject the use of periods. Time and again he a dopted
periods in order to distinguish between different historical changes. For
Freeman, as also his mentor Arnold and many other Victorian scholars, history
was divided into two main periods: antiquity and modernity. For most of these
scholars, the watershed between the two was marked in the fourth and fifth
centuries. The penetration of the Teutonic tribes into the Roman Empire
together with the emergence of Christianity as the sole religion of the empire
signified the transformation of antiquity into modernity. Yet h ere a g reat
difficulty arises. The very idea of the “unity of history” seems at odds with a
division between “antiquity” and “modernity.” How could Freeman argue for
a unified historical process and at the same time acknowledge the division
between periods?
This chapter argues that, in most cases, the key to resolving this apparent
tension is to be found in Freeman’s ideas of race. By “universal history” Free-
man actually had in mind a racial continuity that had existed throughout the
ages and linked the histories of certain nations or p eoples. Within this racial
history periods do exist, since certain fundamental politic al and religious
changes—such as the emergence of Christianity and Islam—had occurred; yet
the racial factor determines these changes and links the past, present, and
future. The Aryan race, which was at the center of Freeman’s concerns, had
enjoyed one unified history, yet this unified period could be divided into
Th e Un i qu e Histo r ic a l Per io diz at ion o f E . A. Fre e m an 111
several subdivisions. But the real division in history is primordial as well as in-
nate and separates one race from another. Specifically, throughout almost all its
history the Aryan race has waged a constant struggle against the Semitic
one—a struggle reaching its apex with the conquests of the Arab-Muslim
tribes. The struggle between Rome and the Teutonic tribes was, for Freeman, a
very different affair, the culmination of which was the merging of the tribes
into the Roman Empire as opposed to their destruction of it. This very differ
ent outcome reflected the fact that the Romans and the Teutonic tribes be-
longed to the same Aryan race. Nevertheless, the Teutonic invasions of western
Eu rope did give rise to a new period within universal Aryan history—
modernity. Yet modernity was not detached from the previous ages of Rome
and the Teutonic tribes; it was rather a fusion of Romanism and Teutonism.
Through his idea of race, it is possible to explain how Freeman combined
the notions of unity and distinct periods. However, as this chapter also ar-
gues, there are some exceptions. Through the adoption of Christianity, na-
tions such as the Magyars, who belonged to the so-called Turanian race, were
still able to become part of the Aryan/European sphere and its history. More
generally, Freeman identified several exceptional cases in which cultural and
political changes could transform racial belonging and “break” the predeter-
mined course of history. Furthermore, in his inner division of Aryan history,
Freeman is constantly torn between historical continuum (unity) and historical
rupture (periods). The source of this inconsistency, it is argued, was the fact
that sometimes Freeman stressed the endurance of Roman heritage within
Aryan history, while in other cases he identified its cessation and focused rather
on the emergence of the Teutonic kernel. This deep-rooted tension between
Roman continuation and Roman “fall” led Freeman to constantly alter his
opinion concerning the inner divisions of Aryan history.
Therefore, and although it has been rather neglected in recent research,
Freeman devised a unique periodization. He fiercely opposed several fixed
historical dates and repeatedly attacked several “imagined” and even “sacred”
ones. To use Penelope J. Corfield’s argument regarding the mutability of
periodization: “old labels and key dates for change regularly become outworn,
especially as the accumulating evidence of history changes perspectives upon
the past.”10 Freeman abolished the time-honored date of AD 476 as marking the
fall of Rome, pointing rather to several inconsistent events as symbolizing the
end of antiquity and the beginning of modernity: “So it was with that other
event of the latter half of the century [AD 476] in which so many have so
strangely seen the end of the Roman Empire, the boundary line between
112 c ha pt er 4
ancient and modern history.”11 To a certain extent, especially concerning the

history of Europe, Freeman anticipated the call of scholars such as Pirenne
(see Chapter 3), Geoffrey Barraclough (1908–84), and Garth Fowden to re-
form periodization.12
The Reception of Historical Unity
Many of Freeman’s contemporaries associated him with the idea of the unity
of history. For instance, J. B. Bury, in his preface to his famous edition of
Edward Gibbon’s masterpiece: “Not the least important aspect of the Decline
and Fall is its lesson in the unity of history, the favourite theme of Mr. Free-
man.”13 For the prelate and historian Mandell Creighton, Freeman was the
main representative of the unity theory.14 Freeman, nevertheless, admitted that
his theory would bear fruit only after a long and laborious process:
I have been told more than once, and in more shapes than one,
since I began my work in this chair, that I have been waging a
battle which t here is no need to wage, seeing it is already won.
Nobody, I am told, disputes my doctrine, let me rather say Arnold’s
doctrine, of the unity of history. I should be very glad to believe
this; but I cannot see the signs of it. A little time back that doctrine
had certainly not won for itself universal acknowledgement either
in Oxford or elsewhere, and I am not vain enough to think that a
lecture or two here can have carried this general conviction even
throughout Oxford, much less throughout the w hole world.15
Stubbs also took issue with Freeman’s “unity.” In his inaugural lecture as
regius professor of modern history at Oxford, Stubbs claimed that antiquity
was “dead,” while modernity resembled a living organism and included prac-
tical lessons: “Compared with the study of Ancient History it is like the study
of life compared with that of death, the view of the living body compared with
that of the skeleton.”16 Modernity, Stubbs continued, was a product of two
developments: Christianity and the dominance of the German tribes. The
world progressed b ecause of the breach that occurred in antiquity. Christian
ity and the Germanization of Europe did not reflect a negative process. Quite
the reverse: “It is Christianity that gives to the modern world its living unity
and at the same time cuts it off from the death of the past . . . such an influence
so wide in its extension, so deep in its penetration . . . so ancient in the past,
and in the future eternal, could by itself account for the unity, the life of
modern history.”17 Ecclesiastical history was intertwined with modern history
and symbolized its most prominent manifestation. The second pillar of
modernity was the Germanic heritage, described in Stubbs’s Constitutional
History. These two pillars merged and formed modernity through the es-
tablishment of long-lasting religious and political institutions.
Green, in his first ever published article, reviewed Stubbs’s lecture in the
Saturday Review.18 Green contested Stubbs’s opinion that ancient and mod-
ern history o ught to be divided, since marked periods w ere merely an artifi-
19
cial invention. Following Freeman, Green supported the unity approach as
originally introduced by Arnold. In light of Arnold’s influence on the Teu-
tonic historians, it was not surprising that in the opening paragraph of his
review of Stubbs, Green mentioned Arnold as the founder of the British his-
torical discipline.20 The true meaning of the unity theory was that no real
division existed between antiquity and modernity. H uman beings, Green
argued, construct clear marked periods for differentiating easily between
communities and times. In fact, our own connection with the ancient world
is similar to our linkage with the modern one: “The pre-Christian world is
not wholly dead to us, nor is the post-Christian world in necessity wholly liv-
ing.”21 Although institutions of states such as Germany and E ngland might
resemble the Christian Germanic sphere far more than the classical one, other
states, such as Italy and France, had preserved many classical Roman features
in their institutions and language.
Freeman, himself, endorsed Green’s article, mainly b ecause he wished to
include Green in the Saturday Review pool of writers. It seems, consequently,
that Freeman also criticized Stubbs’s speech against his theory of the unity of
history. At this stage, it should be noted, both Freeman and Stubbs had com-
peted but a short while before for an Oxford regius professorship in modern
history. Perhaps Freeman’s support of Green’s article, as well as his criticism
of Stubbs, stemmed from his discontent with Stubbs’s nomination. Stubbs,
in a letter to Freeman, responded to Green’s (and Freeman’s) criticism:
I do not think that you and J. R. G. mean the same t hing when
you talk about the unity of modern and ancient History. Stated as
you state it, I do not object to it—stated as he states, I do. I hold a
religious unity, he a philosophical, and you, I suppose, an actual
continuity; but he probably would deny my religious unity al-
114 c ha pt er 4
though you might accept it as a fact; whilst I can quite admit your
continuity, but deny in toto the Temple and Lessing Theory, which
is what Green states, though it may not be what he holds. All I
said, however, in the Lecture was that Modern History is the
history of the Modern nations—the Christianized barbarians.22
Stubbs thus differentiated between several “unities”: Green’s philosophi-

cal unity; his own religious unity; and the “actual continuity” of Freeman.
When referring to religious unity, Stubbs denoted a certain Christian unity
that linked the “Christianized barbarians,” as he named them, with the era
before the fall of Rome in the fifth c entury. Stubbs’s claim for his own consent
with Freeman, I argue, is not only hinged on the endurance of Christianity
but also dependent on the unity of the Teutonic nations. Hence, Stubbs, like
Freeman, mainly stressed the Teutonic historical dominance and unity.
Green, unlike Stubbs, when speaking of philosophical unity, and as illustrated
in his review of Stubbs, also identified a certain continuity of ideas among
the Latin nations, from Republican Rome to the M iddle Ages. Green’s ar-
gument may correspond with his general “Latin” affinity (see Chapter 1). In
any case, Green maintained that the “unity of history” was also pertinent
outside the Teutonic sphere.
Several posthumous reviews of Freeman’s work confirm Freeman’s pes-
simism concerning the future of his doctrine. Frederic Harrison, despite a
rather positive assessment of Freeman’s work in general, criticized Freeman’s
own implementation of the unity theory. According to Harrison, although
Freeman advocated continuous historical perception, he himself was mostly
engaged with the study of particular periods. Furthermore, unlike Freeman,
what Harrison identified was not a complete analogy between the present and
the past “but a development of the present from the past.”23 In response to
this article, the medievalist J. Horace Round published a harsh criticism of
both Freeman and Harrison. However, Round claimed that Harrison did not
fully grasp Freeman’s theory. Freeman’s meaning was not that all periods
should be studied equally, but that through meticulous study of specific
periods certain tools could be acquired that would enable the historian to
delve into less familiar periods.24
Freeman, in any case, perceived the spread of his method as his main task.
All t hose who assured him of his accomplishment misunderstood the practical
consequences of the theory. The dissenters still insisted on separating antiquity
and modernity. Their claim was that the distinction simplified the work of the
historian and any attempt to replace the conventional division would be too
arduous. Freeman’s response to this claim was that e very g reat change in the
thinking of mankind was achieved through a laborious effort. Most impor
tant, the historian should not pledge his affinity to an erroneous system: “It
will be found that there is no real convenience in keeping up arrangements
which, however much trouble they may save, have the slight inconvenience of
being wholly inconsistent with any clear views of the history of the world.
Meanwhile t here is nothing to be done but to show in every shape and at every
opportunity how much is lost by a division which tempts the students of one
period to try to begin where t here is no beginning, and which tempts the
students of another period to make an end where t here is no ending.”25
Students who study a certain period should not restrict their interest to
fabricated dates. They need to perceive history as a continuous narrative and
abandon false distinctions that, for instance, separate ancient from medieval
authors. Both “types” of authors, ancient as well as medieval, had written in
Latin and preserved the legacy of Rome. Therefore, despite the alleged differ-
ence between the authors, they had belonged to the same cultural and politi
cal sphere.26
Teutonic “Modernity” within Aryan History
While Freeman, Stubbs, and Bryce (as w ill be demonstrated in Chapter 5) w ere
not necessarily in harmony concerning the unity theory, they did belong, as
described in the beginning of this book, to the same “Teutonic circle.” These
scholars, as well as certain German scholars, became obsessed with the Teu-
tonic origins of their nations.27 For Freeman, the Teutonic stock, which was
part of the Aryan race, was stationed together with the Greeks and the Ro-
mans on the highest pedestal of human existence: “Now of all the branches of
the Aryan family which have settled in Europe, three have been, at different
times and in different ways, the leaders of all the rest. The first w
ere the old
Greeks; then the p eople of Italy, or more truly the one Italian city of Rome;
and lastly the Teutonic nations.”28 Teutonic supremacy was especially evi-
dent in what Freeman and other scholars defined as “modernity.” For Free-
man, according to some of his writings, “modernity” had begun with the
crossing of the Rhine at the end of December 406. This was not necessarily
due to the tribes that crossed (Vandals, Suebi, and so on), since those tribes
did not leave a long-lasting mark on the continent, but these invasions led
116 c ha pt er 4
other tribes, such as the Franks and the Goths, to act in a much more auda-
cious way against the Romans. This new attitude was represented in the most
decisive event of the century, the invasion of Italy by Alaric the Goth in AD
410. This event, together with the previous crossing of the Rhine, triggered a
chain reaction that eventually culminated in the Teutonic conquest of Gaul
and Iberia.29 In 1885, in a letter to Bryce, Freeman even used the word “revo-
lution” to describe the magnitude of the changes of this era, writing of “the
revolution of 406–419, the beginnings (if any) of modern European his-
tory.”30 In short, Teutonism ushers in modernity.
In England, the notion that the tribes had paved the way to modern Eu
rope originated mainly in the writings of Thomas Arnold.31 For Arnold, only
two periods existed in history: antiquity and modernity,32 and a real and
substantial transformation had occurred in AD 476, when the Western Roman
Empire fell and the Germanic tribes inherited the empire’s dominions. Arnold,
who defined himself as a modern historian, argued that the modern age was
the most complete age in history and that no other f uture age would replace
it. As he saw it, “modernity” combined the heritage of Greece, Rome, Chris
tianity, and the Teutonic race. Accordingly, in the modern age, when the entire
world has already been explored, a new race can no longer emerge and open
a new third age in the history of mankind. Such a situation contrasts with the
Roman era, when the tribes east of the Rhine w ere unknown to the Romans
and eventually replaced Rome as the new vital force of modernity.33
Here, however, we meet the same difficulty we have already encountered
with Freeman: how could Arnold, who devised the theory of unity, acknowledge
a long historical continuum and, at the same time, formulate this straightfor-
ward historical periodization? One possible answer is that Arnold’s identifica-
tion of AD 476 as a dramatic watershed actually separated two cycles within
one unified Western history: the complete cycle of Greece/Rome and the
currently incomplete Teutonic cycle. Thus, the unity of history was, for Arnold,
composed of two subdivisions or cycles, which “restarted” in 476.34
Nevertheless, this explanation contains a rather problematic kernel.
Arnold, in his History of Rome, identified the high point of the decadence of
Rome with the coronation of Charlemagne.35 Freeman himself testified to
Arnold’s precise date of Roman decline. In one of his first ever published
articles, Freeman was unable to place his finger on the exact date of the “fall.”
He was, however, certain that the “fall” had occurred long after the “invented”
date of 476: “The history of Rome dies away so gradually into the general his-
tory of the middle ages, that it is hard to say at what point a special Roman
history should end. Arnold proposed to carry on his History to the corona-
tion of Charles the G reat. Something may doubtless be said for this point,
and something also for other points, both earlier and later.”36 Interestingly
enough, when his article on Mommsen was republished in 1873 in his His-
torical Essays, Freeman added a new footnote.37 In the footnote, he confessed
that when the article had first appeared he was still reluctant to accept the
view of Arnold, yet now he had come to terms with him and supported his
opinion that with the coronation of Charlemagne a new political entity had
arisen. By name it was maybe Roman but in essence it reflected Germanic po
litic al characteristics: “I now feel that Arnold was right, and that the coro-
nation of Charles is the proper ending for a strictly Roman history. Before that
point it is impossible to draw any line. The vulgar boundary of AD 476 would
shut out Theodoric the Patrician and Belisarius the Consul. But when the
Roman Empire practically becomes an appendage to a German kingdom, the
old life of Rome is gone. The old memories still go on influencing history in
a thousand ways, but the government of Charles was not Roman in the same
sense as the government of Theodoric.”38
This footnote seems to settle the question of when Arnold, and following
him Freeman, thought that the Roman Empire had ceased to exist. Neverthe-
less, it seems that in Arnold’s and especially in Freeman’s writings the question
of these conflicting dates was only partly solved. For instance, in a letter to
Green, Freeman reaffirmed his opposition to the artificial date of AD 476, while
offering another alternative date for the “fall”: “I made a sudden leap from Licin-
ius and Sextius to Belisarius and Narses. I am most interested in the two ends of
the story—I say end—for the Gothic War is r eally the end of that Rome. As far
as I see, 476 made no practical difference h ere at all; the events of the next age as
39
of the age before made a g reat deal.” It seems, thus, that the Gothic War of 553,
following the conquest of Rome by the generals of the Eastern Roman Empire,
denoted another optional date for Rome’s demise. At this stage, however, what
is important to note is that, whereas Arnold ended his first cycle in the fifth
century or with Charlemagne’s coronation, he still observed a certain unity of
Western history divided by two periods. The division between the two periods
was not hermetic. Several ancient elements still flourished in “modernity,” and,
correspondingly, certain modern aspects had already existed in “antiquity.”40
For example, while visiting the Rhine, Arnold wrote in his journal that during
antiquity the Teutonic tribes had managed to preserve their distinctiveness in
the face of Roman influence. Consequently, in “modernity,” after the Roman
“fall,” they became the “regenerating element in modern Europe.”41
118 c ha pt er 4
Here it is interesting to note the divergence between Thomas Arnold and

his famous son, the poet and literary critic Matthew Arnold (1822–88). In his
lectures and later book On the Study of Celtic Literature (1867) Matthew aimed
to show the affinity between the Teutonic (Anglo-Saxon) and the Celtic
cultures. The two cultures shaped the British Isles and must coexist: “I like
variety to exist and to show itself to me, and I would not for the world have
the lineaments of the Celtic genius lost.”42 This was dissimilar to his father’s
stance, as Matthew recalled: “I remember, when I was young, I was taught to
think of Celt as separated by an impassable gulf from Teuton; my father, in
particu lar, was never weary of contrasting them.”43 Matthew, very much
influenced by Renan, asserted that beyond the known Germanic contributions
to English culture, the French-Celtic element (“imported” especially from
Brittany) must also be acknowledged. Hence, Matthew Arnold argued against
the anti-French inclinations of celebrated Victorians such as his own father
and Thomas Carlyle.44
Freeman, the contemporary of Matthew, adopted like Thomas (the father)
prominent anti-Celtic tendencies (Chapter 1). Freeman also cherished Thomas
Arnold’s notion of a unified history separated by periods. For Freeman, the
emergence of Teutonic “modernity” signaled a very important transformation
that was still part of a unified Aryan history. The term “Aryan,” however, points
to a divergence between Arnold and Freeman. In Arnold’s case the emphasis
was not on the unity of Aryan history but of Western history. In his writings,
he rarely if ever refers to the Teutonic p eoples as part of a larger Aryan group.
His emphasis is rather on what he called the “moral” links between Rome and
the Germanic tribes, while disregarding any physical connections: “We derive
scarcely one drop of our blood from Roman fathers; we are in our race strang-
ers to Greece, and strangers to Israel. But morally how much do we derive from
all three: in this respect their life is in a manner continued in ours; their influ-
ences, to say the least, have not perished.”45 Arnold did acknowledge a biologi-
cal continuation in the case of the Teutonic nations; for example the English
descended from tribal Germanic ancestors: “Our English race is the German
race; for though our Norman fathers had learned to speak a stranger’s lan-
guage, yet in blood, as we know, they were the Saxons’ brethren: both alike
belong to the Teutonic or German stock.”46 Freeman, unlike Arnold, also re-
peatedly accentuated not only Western but also Aryan continuation between
Greece/Rome and the tribes. This was a natural, almost predestined evolution,
which signified the progressive essence of Aryan civilization. According to
Freeman, this Aryan endurance was an ultimate proof of his theory of unity.
As a result of this natural Aryan unity, Freeman even averred in his inaugu-
ral lecture (1884) that no periods exist within Aryan history. Therefore, the real
beginning of “modernity” was found in the earliest histories of Aryan Europe.
Such a claim, Freeman declared, stood in stark contrast to the view of the Ger-
man scholar Baron Bunsen who began modernity with the “call of Abraham,”
and with others who identified “modernity” with the French Revolution: “We
may well agree to draw a line between ‘ancient’ and ‘modern,’ if we hold our
‘modern’ period to begin with the first beginnings of the recorded history of
Aryan Europe. . . . There alone can we find a real starting-point; a line drawn at
any later time is a mere artificial and unnatural break.”47 Freeman, thus, suddenly
presents a completely conflicting notion of “modernity.” If Freeman, indeed,
identified “modernity” as equivalent to all Aryan history, then why, as we have
previously seen, did he identify “modernity” as beginning in the fifth c entury?
One possible explanation was given by Freeman himself in his inaugural
lecture. He clarified h ere that he was obliged to follow certain rules of general
history and adopt the “conservative” periodization that associated modernity
with the wandering of the tribes.48 In short, due to constraints of the histori-
cal profession he was “forced” into a different opinion. This, I argue, is only
a partial explanation, since for Freeman the wandering of the tribes was not
at all artificial. He identified two substantial developments that had trans-
formed Europe from the fifth c entury: the dissemination of Orthodox Chris
tianity among the pagans and the planting of the Teutonic institutions as the
foundation for the modern European states. Both of these developments had
originated in antiquity; however, their adoption among the European Aryan
nations occurred in modernity.
“Modernity” was not detached from antiquity, but rather founded upon
it and fused Greek/Roman and Teutonic civilizations. Thus, Rome had maybe
changed but had not ceased to exist. This converged with Freeman’s notion
of the Teutonic dominance in modernity. The Germanic tribes w ere the ones
who received and carried on the torch from the Romans and the Greeks: “As
the Roman everywhere carried Greece with him, so the Teuton everywhere
carried Rome with him.”49 The tribes also passed this legacy into the f uture, and
they w ere the direct ancestors of the European Aryan powers and the moving
force of modern history. Hence, the transformation from antiquity to moder-
nity was possible because the Teutons, like the Romans and Greeks, belonged
to the same Aryan race. Therefore, although a dramatic change had been
instigated with the migrations of the tribes, the Teutonic tribes just marked
another stage of the unified Aryan history.
120 c ha pt er 4
The important role he ascribed to the Teutonic tribes in the making of

modernity fitted into Freeman’s vision of the general historical grandeur of
the Aryan race. All of the Aryan nations, he held, originated from one primal
source. As Freeman confirmed in a letter to the anthropologist E. B. Tylor:
“the forms of government of the Aryan nations—I suspect one may safely go
beyond the Aryan nations—a ll spring from a common source, an Urbrunnen
[original source/fountain].”50 The Aryans w ere unmatched in their elegance
and vitality. They were fundamentally superior and the natural inheritors of
Europe:
The original [Aryan] unity worked for ages before men knew
anything of its being; it bound men together who had no thought
whate ver of the tie which bound them. The Gaul, the Roman,
the Goth, had no knowledge of their original kindred. But that
original kindred did its work all the same. It enabled Gaul, Roman
and Goth, to be all fused together into one society, a society in
which the Hun and the Saracen had no share. First and foremost,
then among the common possessions of civilized Europe, we must
place the common possession of Aryan blood and speech. Throughout
Europe that which is Aryan is the rule; that which is not Aryan is
the exception.51
Freeman’s perception of a historical racial and linguistic unity among the

Aryans, which excluded other races, such as the Semites, is pivotal in his
historical scheme. As w ill now be discussed, it was especially evident in
his view of the history of Sicily. Since antiquity, Sicily had been the conflict
zone of the two races that dominated history: the Aryan and the Semitic. This
racial b attle also signified an almost perpetual geographic al strife between
the East and the West. Through Sicilian history, one can see how Freeman’s
idea of race enabled him to adopt a certain historical continuum that also
included an internal division into subperiods.
Sicily: The Historical “Racial” Battleground
Bury, who could be considered as Freeman’s follower, published in 1892 two

extensive reviews of Freeman’s History of Sicily.52 A short while before the
publication of the reviews, he explained to Freeman that, while he himself was

not an expert on Sicilian history, nevertheless he felt an urgent need to review
the work.53 In his reviews, Bury remarked that the history of Sicily had always
been regarded as fragmentary and lacking coherence, mainly because the
island constantly passed from the possession of one conqueror to the next.
Freeman, despite this alleged fragmentation of Sicilian history, argued that
Sicily had a unified history: “Mr. Freeman, taking it as his text, created a
completely new view of Sicilian history. He showed that Sicily has a drama of
her own, and that her history has a unity beyond the mere geographical unity.
She is the land of historical cycles. Her early history foreshadows her later his-
tory.”54 According to Bury, the greatest achievement of Freeman in this work
was his production of a unified history of Sicily that was not attached to one
period but reflected the entire history of the island.
Indeed, in his History of Sicily, Freeman expressed his idea of the “unity
of history” in the most explicit way. Sicily, for him, was the ultimate test case,
and its historical unity was primarily established upon race. In antiquity,
Carthage and Rome had fought over the control of the island. L ater, during
the Middle Ages, the Saracens conquered the island from Byzantium. Regard-
less of the date of the invasion, all the Western/Aryan conquerors of Sicily
were linked to one another through race, as were all the Eastern/Semitic con-
querors. The Normans signified another version of the Romans or Greeks,
while the Saracens represented a new cycle of Carthage. Hence, Freeman
acknowledged the existence of different periods/rulers in the history of
Sicily; yet these periods came u nder the roof of a unified Aryan or Semitic
history: “Look at Sicily, the meeting-place of the nations, the battle-field of
creeds and races, where the strife between Aryan and Semitic man has been
since fought out in all its fulness. That wonderful cycle of events loses all its
historic life, if we look at one fragment of it only; the strife with the Phoeni-
cian and the strife with the Saracen each loses half its meaning if either is
parted from the other.”55
In addition to his extensive History of Sicily, another, shorter book on
the island’s history by Freeman was published posthumously. This book’s
title, The Story of Sicily: Phoenician, Greek, and Roman (1892), signified the “racial
changes,” from Semitic (Phoenician) to Aryan (Greco-Roman), which Free-
man stressed as defining the history of Sicily.56 While in his History of Sicily
Freeman’s narrative continued u ntil 300 BC, in The Story of Sicily he very
briefly concluded with the Saracen conquest of Sicily (tenth and eleventh
122 c ha pt er 4
centuries), which marked “a wholly new period in the history of Sicily.”57

Although Freeman promised in his last sentence to continue his history of
the Saracens in another volume, his death prevented him from doing so.
However, his final remarks epitomize his argument concerning Sicilian
and even world history. The Saracens gradually tore Sicily from the posses-
sion of Rome, Europe, and Christianity. Yet, during the eleventh century,
Christian Europe retaliated and the Normans regained control of the island.
This Christian reconquista, Freeman asserted, exemplified another stage in
the eternal struggle between the two distinct races and creeds: “In all this
we have the old history of Sicily over again. The old struggle between Europe
and Africa, between Greeks and Semites, is fought over again, but it is this
time made more keen by the religious opposition between Christendom and
Islam.”58
Freeman claimed that even though the animosity between the two races
had seemed to intensify following the emergence of Islam, the struggle be-
tween Semitic and Aryan “dogmas” had already materialized in the begin-
nings of Sicilian history:
The strife of races was from the beginning made sharper by the strife
of creeds. . . . On no soil has the strife of West and East, the strife
which in its first days took the shape of the strife between Greek and
barbarian, been carried on more stoutly. It showed itself in all its
fulness as a strife of creeds when it took the shape of the g reat strife
between Christendom and Islam. But it was a strife of creeds long
before . . . Christendom and Islam came into being. . . . But in earlier
days, before Aryan Europe had adopted that Semitic faith [Chris
tianity] which the Semitic man himself despised, the creed of Aryan
Europe was already worth fighting for, and well was it fought for on
Sicilian soil. In days when no purer light had yet been given, it
was already a crusade to strike a blow for Apollon by the shore of
Naxos, for Athene on the island of Ortygia, against the foul and
bloody rites of Moloch and Ashtoreth. This calling, as the abiding
battle-field of East and West, is the highest aspect of Sicilian
history.59
The fact that even under different religious beliefs, before the foundation
of the two prevalent monotheistic doctrines, the Semites and Aryans were en-
gaged in a struggle proved that there was an essential and innate difference
separating the two races. Furthermore, for Freeman, the racial strife in Sicily
testified to the general inferiority of the Semites. While the Aryans improved
and developed throughout history, the Semites mostly brought decadence and
misery: “But nations and cities of the Semitic stock change less in the course of
ages than Greeks and Teutons. . . . They are set before us as bitter, gloomy,
obedient to rulers, harsh to subjects, most ignoble in their panic fears, most
savage in their anger, abiding in their purpose, taking no pleasure in joy or
grace. We thus see in them the Semitic nature in all its fulness, the nature of
which never puts forth its full strength till the strength of any other people
would have given way.”60
There were periods when the Semites achieved some worthy accomplish-
ments in Sicily and in general: “At the time when the Phoenician settlements
in Sicily and in other parts of Europe were made they were undoubtedly steps
in the path of progress.”61 The Phoenician civilization, through the develop-
ment of the alphabet, also managed to become “more European” in com-
parison to other barbarian entities. Yet, eventually, Freeman commented, “he
[the Phoenician] still remained barbarian.”62 In short, the inherent brutal
nature of the Phoenicians eventually surpassed their achievements.
This racial struggle did not characterize the relations between the Greek
“colonists” and the Sikel (Sicel) p eople, who w
ere the autochthonic inhabit-
ants of Sicily and awarded the island with its name. The Sicels and the
Greeks, according to Freeman, belonged to the same European sphere and
race. Therefore, the Sicels w
ere gradually assimilated into the superior Greeks.
An utterly different “encounter” came to pass between the English settlers and
the Native Americans:
The Sikel was not as the Red Indian. The English settler in Amer
ica had to deal with savages of another race, another colour, whom
no process of war or peace could turn into Englishmen. Their fate
was simply to die out before the advance of the more civilized
people. The Greek settler in Sicily came across men far beneath
him in all political and social advancement, but who were still
Europeans like himself, kinsfolk who had simply lagged behind.
The Sikel needed not to die out before the Greek; he could himself
in course of time become a Greek, and could contribute new
elements to the Greek life of Sicily.63
124 c ha pt er 4
Thus, racial unity allowed integration and historical continuation between

the Sicels and the Greeks. Due to racial differences, a similar assimilation was
neither possible between the Phoenician and Greek inhabitants of Sicily nor
between the English and the Native Americans. Concerning the English and
the Native Americans, Freeman a dopted a racial explanation based on certain
physical-biological characteristics. The main advantage of the barbaric p eople
within the Aryan race was their ability to learn and be integrated into the
superior Aryan nations. Freeman even wrote in one of his footnotes that,
contrary to the claim of François Guizot, the French historian and statesman
who compared the American Indians with the Germanic invaders of Gaul,
there is a great difference between the two, since “Aryans can at least be
taught.”64 For Freeman, once the superior English colonized a totally new and
alien racial sphere (America), they were destined to annihilate the inferior local
races.65 Somewhat—if not entirely—similarly, Freeman argued that following
the invasion of the British Isles by the A ngles and Saxons, the native Celtic
tribes had been expelled to the periphery (Wales, Ireland, the Scottish
Highlands, and so on) by the superior Teutons.66 However, unlike the Semites
or Native Americans, some of the Celts, being Aryan, had still managed to
assimilate into the dominant race.
In an article titled “Carthage,” Freeman had already asserted that many
assumed that this kingdom “had drunk in something of the spirit of the West,
and had almost parted company with the barbaric kingdoms of Asia.”67 But
in truth, Freeman argued, Carthage, unlike the great Aryan civilizations of
Greece and Rome, had left no substantial legacy to modern Europe.68 At this
stage in his essay on Carthage, Freeman raised another point. While Carthage
had hardly any influence on Europe, other Semitic entities, such as the Sara-
cens and the ancient Hebrews, had contributed to the formation of modern
Europe. Their influence, Freeman surprisingly observed, was equal to the im-
pact of Greece and Rome: “It is truly wonderful how, while other Semitic
races, the Hebrew and the Arab, have influenced the world on a scale equal to
that of Greece and Rome. . . . The Saracen who swept away the younger Car-
thage has been our master in some things. The Phoenician who founded the
elder Carthage has been our master in nothing.”69 Freeman’s recognition of
this Semitic contribution is rather remarkable, especially when considering
his numerous comments about the foul character of these specific Semitic na-
tions. The above quote perhaps testifies that Freeman formed a rather com-
posite and far from monolithic image of the Semites. However, this quote
notwithstanding, Freeman’s general view of Semitic and in particular Muslim
history was very negative. This negative perception, as I now aim to show,
adds another facet to our understanding of how, through race, Freeman
reconciled his unity theory with his use of periods.
The Christian Aryan Sphere and Islamic Emergence
Freeman wrote of a Christian Aryan unity that had stretched from the Atlan-
tic to Mount Taurus and had remained intact a fter the arrival of the Germanic
tribes.70 The main heritage of Rome continued in the church, where the “suc-
cessor of the Fisherman still in very truth sits on the throne of Nero, and
wields the sceptre of Diocletian.”71 The church was the true successor of the
empire in the West. In Byzantium, the emperor was dominant and fought for
the sake of the cross, while in the West the emperor was absent, so the bishop
of Rome took his place.72 The church was a positive force and not a negative
one. From the fourth c entury, Rome was unified u nder the church and not
divided by its growing influence, an approach that, in Freeman’s eyes, stood
in contrast to Gibbon’s monumental theory about the destructive force of the
church and the Germanic tribes.73
While Christian Aryan history was defined by progress, law, and monog-
amy, the Muslim East, in contrast, was “stationary, arbitrary, polygamous
and Mahometan.”74 The Saracens, like their Semitic Phoenician ancestors,
retained several periods of fame and glory. The Arabs had succeeded in gain-
ing independence during the course of history. No other nation throughout
history was as f ree as the Arabs, whose holy cities of Mecca and Medina w ere
never under the control of any foreign power.75 Furthermore, the first four
caliphs had ruled relatively justly.76 However, according to Freeman, this was a
rare exception and from the establishment of the Umayyad dynasty “we soon
begin to hear of the same crimes, the same oppressions, which disfigure the
ordinary current of eastern history.”77
Islam, for Freeman, was an opposite racial, ideological, and political force
to the Christian Aryan sphere. For that reason, the rise of Islam in the seventh
century transformed the Roman Empire and created a “new world order”: “it
was indeed a moment for Mahomet and his Saracens to change the face of
the world.”78 From then on, another cycle or period of racial strife between
“Aryan and Semitic man” had begun, and the East together with parts of the
West “became the possession of men altogether alien and hostile in race,
language, manners and religion.”79 In short, the Islamic conquest of the
126 c ha pt er 4
seventh century ruined Roman unity. Through this observation, Freeman

actually devised a unique periodization for the end of antiquity. This was
distinct from the conventional periodization that identified AD 476 as mark-
ing the Roman “fall.”80
Even more important, the status Freeman awarded to the seventh
c entury appears to “shatter” his own theory of historical unity. Freeman,
indeed, identified the Muslim conquest as one of the most dramatic events
in history. The Muslim conquest was unique since most former invasions
had been carried out by nations that, like the Romans, were Aryan. For this
reason, as explained above, the Teutonic tribes reinvigorated Rome rather
than destroyed it. Following the Muslim invasion, however, Roman unity
was lost forever. This event did not mean that Aryan history ceased to exist,
but rather denoted the final transformation within Aryan history from
Rome to the Teutonic nations. Once again, t here w ere ruptures in time, but
they exist under one unified racial history. The Saracen invasion primarily sym-
bolized another stage in the ceaseless struggle between Aryan and Semitic
races.
In an article published in 1855, at the beginning of Freeman’s career, he
already emphasized the differences between the East and the West. The arti-
cle, entitled “Mahometanism in the East and West,” argued, as would History
of Sicily thirty or so years later, that an inherent difference had separated the
East from the West since ancient times, long before Muhammad had begun
to preach his creed among the tribes of the Arabian Peninsula and even prior
to Jesus’s wanderings in the Galilee and Judea: “The struggle which for so
many centuries arrayed the Christian and the Mahometan against each
other, was but the continuation, under altered circumstances, and with al-
tered motives, of a struggle which had been waged for ages before the prom-
ulgation of either faith, and whose commencement has to be looked for in
times far beyond the reach of authentic history. It is the old internecine war
between East and West, between despotism and freedom, between a progres-
sive and a stationary social state.”81
Perhaps in this early publication Freeman’s theory of the unity of history
was set out in public for the first time. As in various later examples, Freeman
spoke of historical unity differentiated by subperiods. Nevertheless, in this
article the distinction was not between “Semitics” and “Aryans,” but between
the despotism of the East and the tolerance of the West. The Western entities
were the guardians of ideals and fought against the barbarity and tyranny of
the East. In Freeman’s age, the main representatives of “eastern despotism”

were the Ottomans. The Ottomans w ere a contemporary yet worse version of
the Saracens who preceded them.
The identification of the Turks as another expression of Eastern tyranny
attests, once again, how Freeman adopted a certain unity of history within a
particular race and divided it into several cycles or periods. However, the main
problem was that, according to racial classifications, the Saracens and the
Ottomans belonged to distinct races. The Saracens w ere Semites, while the
Ottomans were considered as Turanians and formed a distinct racial group.
This group had originated in central Asia and also included the Magyars,
Finns, and Bulgarians. Hence, the unity between the Saracens and Turks was
mainly founded on Islam. Possibly for this reason, Freeman mainly empha-
sized not race but the continuous religious inheritance from the Saracens to
the Turks. It seems, therefore, that Freeman’s theory of racial unity was not
generalizable to all cases.
Still, as seen above, a certain Eastern or Asian innate character, which was
pre-Islamic, linked the Saracens and later the Turks with the ancient East-
ern nations. This “Eastern character” was in many respects very similar to
Freeman’s idea of racial unity, since it embedded a primal core that distin-
guished the Asian nations from the Western ones. Through this Asian back-
ground, the two races (Semitic and Turanian) joined forces and opposed the
West, Christianity, and the Aryans. A native Asian connection also existed
between the Jews and the Turks. This, Freeman wrote, was the cause of Dis-
raeli’s pro-Turkish policy: “But we cannot sacrifice our people, the people of
Aryan and Christian Europe, to the most genuine belief in an Asian mys-
tery. We cannot have England or Europe governed by a Hebrew policy. . . .
Lord Beaconsfield is the active friend of the Turk. The alliance runs through
all Europe. Throughout the East, the Turk and the Jew are leagued against
the Christian.”82 Freeman did not only associate the Jews and the Turks on
the basis of religion, especially as the common enemies of Christianity, but
he also recognized them as sharing mutual “blood”: “But blood is stronger
than water, and Hebrew rule, is sure to lead to a Hebrew policy. Throughout
Europe, the most fiercely Turkish part of the press is largely in Jewish hands.
It may be assumed everywhere, with the smallest class of exceptions, that
the Jew is the friend of the Turk and the enemy of the Christian.”83 The
“fluidity” of race is most evident here. Sometimes, in explaining the long
historical unity, Freeman promoted biology, while in other cases religion
128 c ha pt er 4
was brought to the forefront. The main lesson is that the theory of historical
unity that connected the Saracens with the Turks was based on both “blood”
and religion.
Islam and Christianity had been developed under the Saracen and Ro-
man empires. Yet, later the Turks and the Franks, the new forces of history,
continued this religious and racial struggle with even greater zeal:
But the East was to supply a further spectacle, exactly analogous to

what had already taken place in the West. What the Roman Empire
was to Christianity, that of the Saracen was to Islam, its birthplace,
its nursery, the vehicle of its extension to other nations, but not the
power which should itself supply its most permanent or its most
zealous devotees. When the two creeds waged the fiercest struggle,
when the strife was most openly and consciously for the faith of
each, when the Cross and the Crescent met in the most deadly
conflict for the land held sacred alike by the votaries of both, the
warfare was no longer between the Roman and the Saracen, but
between their respective disciples, the Frank and the Turk.84
The strife, which had reached its apex during the Crusades, continued,
according to Freeman, down to the nineteenth century. The occurrences in
Freeman’s own era can further explain how and why he defined the Ottomans
as a new cycle of Saracen aggression. In contrast to a British foreign policy
that supported Ottoman interests, especially in the face of Russian expansion,
Freeman defined the Turks and not the Russians as the archenemy. The prime
example of this British support was apparent in the Crimean War, in which
the British fought alongside the Ottomans against the Russians. Nevertheless,
this was not the only case, and for the most of the nineteenth c entury British
governments maintained a similar foreign policy. For instance, during the
1870s the Turks fought and massacred insurgents and civilians in Bosnia-
Herzegovina and Serbia. In 1876, the Bulgarians joined the mutiny against
the Porte, and in response the latter commenced a bloodbath of Bulgarian
communities, especially in the city of Batak. Despite this, Britain did not
change its official stance toward the Eastern Question and maintained its
support of the Porte.85
Following Gladstone’s criticism of the Porte’s massacre of thousands of
Bulgarians during the so-called “Bulgarian horrors” (April 1876),86 Freeman
wrote harsh comments in the Times of London (September 8, 1876) against
Ottoman atrocities: “Europe is astounded to find that it has within its confines
a race . . . capable of worse t hings than even the African or the Red Indian. . . .
The Bulgarian details are a new chapter in human nature—new, that is to
say, to t hose who happen not to be versed in Tartar or Turkish history.”87 In
his third edition of The History and Conquests of the Saracens (1876), Freeman,
following the news from the Balkans, wrote a whole new preface, which
focused on the misdeeds of the Ottomans. Although he originally averred that
his book would not include the Ottomans but only the history of their Saracen
predecessors, most of the preface was dedicated to the former. Through the
past history of the Saracens and the current policy of the Turks, Freeman came
to the conclusion that the Ottomans and any other Islamic regimes could never
be reformed. Furthermore: “Even under the very best Mahometan govern-
ment, it is impossible that men of other religions than the Mahometan should
have real political equality with Mahometans.”88
The intertwining between the developments of Freeman’s days and his
view of the past is most explicit and can explain Freeman’s most renowned
saying, that “history is past politics and politics are present history.”89 In any
case, Freeman did follow the teaching of this saying, since he amalgamated
the two spheres, the political and the historical. The Saracens, as illustrated,
had separated the East from the West and had formed the division between
the two parts of Christendom. L ater, and in a similar way, their Ottoman
successors became another malicious force that prevented the Eastern Chris-
tian lands of Serbia, Greece, and so on from uniting with the rest of the
Christian world. Thus, the theory of the unity of history fitted the proposed
linkage between the Saracens and the Ottomans because of the long-term
religious, cultural, political, and racial affiliations that w
ere transmitted over
the course of history.
Religion and race bonded the Saracens and the Ottomans throughout
history. Racial and religious differences prevented t hese nations from blending
into Christian Aryan Europe: “the Ottoman Turks still remain as they w ere
when they first came, aliens on Aryan and Christian ground.”90 However, the
other nations of the Turanian race, contrary to the Ottomans, had been fused
into Aryan and Christian Europe through religious conversion: “The Bul-
garians, originally Turanian conquerors, have been assimilated, by their Sla-
vonic subjects. The Finnish Magyars have received a political and religious
assimilation; their kingdom became a member of the commonwealth of
Christian Europe, though they still keep their old Turanian language.”91 These
Turanian nations did not only enter the Christian sphere but became also an
130 c ha pt er 4
integral part of Aryan Europe. In their case, the terms “Aryan,” “European,”
and “Christian” were almost indistinguishable: “all the nations of Europe
belong to the one common Aryan stock. And those which do not, the earlier
remnants, the later settlers, have all, with one exception [Turks], been brought
more or less thoroughly within the range of Aryan influences. If not Euro
pean by birth, they have become European by adoption.”92 Thus, sometimes,
through religious adoption, racial belonging could be transformed. More
important, these nations did not have one unified racial history divided by
periods. Instead of continuing their regular historical course, as part of the
Turanian race, they became, through religion, part of the Aryan Christian
nations.
In his History of Sicily, Freeman mentioned another example of a nation
that had “transformed” its intrinsic racial classification. Following the “dis-
covery” of the Indo-A ryan languages, the Persians were identified as primar-
ily Aryans. This had awarded the Persians with an innate advantage over their
neighboring non-A ryan nations. Yet, over the course of history, following
Semitic influences, Persia “switched sides” and became an essential part of the
“Eastern” races.93 Therefore, like some of the Turanian nations that converted
into Aryanism through their adoption of Christianity, Freeman also provided
an opposite example of an Aryan nation assimilating into the Eastern sphere.
Predominantly, in relation to the Turanian Christian nations, Freeman
regarded race and language as “fluid,” less than binding concepts (see Chapter 1).
A more fixed definition would have undermined his anti-Ottoman stance.
While, the comparable element of race and language verified the ancient
origins of the Aryans and their unified history, concerning the Turanians
such comparability was problematic. In the opening paragraph of “Race and
Language,” Freeman presented an incident in which several Magyar students
came to the Turkish sultan in a quest to reinitiate the natural racial and lin-
guistic bond between the two nations. This act included symbolical and per-
haps po liti
cal implications. Despite religious and national differences,
Hungary, through an alleged native bond, might acknowledge the Porte’s
regional supremacy. This act, Freeman argued, was a product of the science of
philology, which stressed the similarities between the Turkish and Hungarian
languages.94 For Freeman, this example demonstrated the possible vulnerability
of the argument about the connection between race and language, since in
some cases it could undermine his own politic al agenda. Freeman’s stance
against the Ottomans and their control of the Christian countries might be
weakened if such “artificial” links w ere to be fostered. Alliances between
nations such as Greece and Bulgaria, which confront a common enemy

(Ottomans), could be endangered. While Christianity bonded them, race
could set them apart due to the fact that the Greeks were Aryans and the
Bulgarians w ere of Turanian origin.
Freeman even stated in “Race and Language” that not all Aryans were
necessarily part of the same “natural family” and that many individuals had
assimilated into the race:
They [Aryans] may have been more like an accidental party of

fellow-travellers. And if we accept them as a natural family, it does
not follow that the various branches which grew into separate races
and nations, speaking separate, though kindred, languages, w ere
necessarily marked off by more immediate kindred. It may be that
there is no nearer kindred in blood between this or that Persian,
this or that Greek, this or that Teuton, than the general kindred
of all Aryans. For, when this or that party marched off from the
common home, it does not follow that t hose who marched off
together were necessarily immediate b rothers or cousins. The party
which grew into Hindoos or into Teutons may not have been made
up exclusively of one set of near kinsfolk.95
Following this, Freeman even suggested that supposedly it could be

claimed that no Aryan race had ever existed, since it was never completely
“pure.” Moreover, one could almost state that race was an invention altogether:
“No living Englishman can prove with absolute certainty that he comes in
the male line of any of the Teutonic settlers in Britain in the fifth or sixth
centuries.”96 This argument, however, was accentuated not b ecause Freeman
regarded race as insignificant. Quite the reverse, Freeman strived to justify its
adoption by discarding various objections against the notion of race. Therefore,
he asserted that the understanding of race should be a “presumption of a
community of blood.” No definite proof existed for “purity” of blood, yet it
was assumed that races include some blood connections between most of their
members. In the case of the Teutons, the supposed blood connections con-
verged with their unique democratic institutions and both define the long as
well as unified history of the Teutonic race.
To conclude, Freeman’s clarifications in “Race and Language” were mainly
a reflection of the political and national conditions that existed in southeastern
Europe. According to him, these explanations were not required for western
132 c ha pt er 4
Europe but vital for eastern Europe. The difference between the two spheres
was that in the West a process of integration had occurred between the locals
and the invaders, while in the East this process had been absent. In the West,
in many places, the Teutonic element converged with the Roman or the Celtic
(they were all Aryan and Christian). However, the Christian Aryan nations
of the East, together with the converted Turanian nations, were distinct from
the Ottomans and could never merge with them. Following the religious
distinction, the rules of “adoption and assimilation,” as named by Freeman, do
not apply in eastern Europe. These rules contain the idea that any individual/
community can join a certain dominant race and, after several generations,
become an integral part of it. The political implication was that these Christian
nations must gain full independence from the Ottomans.
Freeman altered his notions of race in light of certain political and the-
matic considerations. In most instances, race was for him the independent
variable that governed history. Through race, I have argued, Freeman’s use of
periods did not necessarily undermine his theory of historical unity. Never-
theless, as his discussion on the Turanian Christian nations testifies, it was
not all about race. Religion, in some cases, changed the unified course of ra-
cial history. This suggests that, according to Freeman, the Magyars or Bul-
garians had retained two totally distinct histories: before and after their
conversion to Christianity. Hence, the “tension” between his unity of history
and periods was not always resolved through race and with regard to the his-
tory of the Christian Turanian nations the “tension” remained unsettled.
Freeman’s (and Arnold’s) theory of unity was not necessarily a compre-
hensive and coherent theoretical system that organized all events under one
set of definitive rules. Certain discrepancies, as seen above, surface in the idea
of the unity. Even within the periodization of Aryan history there w ere some
uncertainties. Freeman named different dates as marking the end of Rome
(early fifth century; Muslim invasion; coronation of Charlemagne). In some
places, he even dismissed any notion of the Roman “fall” and actually embraced
a certain Roman continuum. Following these divergent accounts, Freeman
could be and was criticized, since sometimes it seems that his views fluctuate
and alter from one book to the next. He wavered between two dominant narra-
tives: one stressed Roman-Teutonic continuance while the other emphasized
the Roman rupture. To a certain extent, Freeman’s fluctuation presents an-
other facet of the tension between his unity theory and use of periods.
These divergent dates of Roman decline perhaps resulted from Freeman’s
observation that the ending line of antiquity was a rather arbitrary or even
artificial notion.97 Thus, the specific dates for the Roman “fall” w ere less sig-
nificant and the four centuries between the invasion of the Germanic tribes
and AD 800 (Charlemagne’s coronation) denoted a “transitional stage” from
antiquity to modernity. Another alternative is to distinguish between two
notions: the end of antiquity and the beginning of modernity. One could argue
that they both mark the same period, since the end of one is the beginning of
the other. I maintain, however, that in Freeman’s writings these two concepts
did not always converge. He acknowledged that the Teutonic tribes had
symbolized the force that commenced modernity. Yet the coming of moder-
nity does not necessarily mean that antiquity ended. The contrary was true,
through Christianity the tribes merged into the empire and invigorated it
with a new life. Predominantly, this endurance was possible since both the
Romans and the Teutonic tribes belonged to the same Aryan race. In relation
to the end of antiquity, as illustrated, the real split in the unity of the empire
had materialized with the emergence of the Muslims, a foreign racial and re-
ligious power. The catalyst initiating the change was perhaps external (Mus-
lims), yet the transformation was completed with Charlemagne. The latter
established a German empire that continued the legacy of the Teutonic tribes
and was totally detached from the Eastern Romans (Byzantium). The political
and institutional distinction between the two Christian empires did not sig-
nify the termination of their shared Aryan history. Their innate Aryan bond
resurfaced with all its vitality when the Aryan nations of eastern and western
Europe struggled with the Ottomans. Race, thus, determined the historical
course of the Aryan nations.
chapter 5
Teutonism and Romanism

James Bryce’s Holy Roman Empire
Freeman’s Teutonic unity enduring throughout modernity was also exemplified

in the institutional legacy of the Holy Roman Empire (HRE). The interest in
the HRE had emerged in Freeman’s early writings. On November 19, 1865,
Freeman told Bryce: “I have believed in the H.R.E. much as you do for years.
Of course, it was [Francis] Palgrave who first set me really thinking.”1 James
Bryce, as Freeman noted and as will be illustrated throughout this chapter,
also accentuated the institutional Romano-Teutonic legacy of the HRE.
Bryce, born to a Presbyterian Ulster-Scot family, engaged in both academic
and politic al/diplomatic spheres throughout his long c areer. Following the
conclusion of his studies at Trinity College, Oxford, in 1862, he received a
fellowship at Oriel College that lasted until 1889. It was at the beginning of
his fellowship that Bryce began to write The Holy Roman Empire (1864),
which would eventually be published to great acclaim.2 From 1870 and until
1893, Bryce was regius professor of civil law at Oxford University. At the be-
ginning of his professorship, law and modern history were still incorporated
under the same honorary degree, but in 1872, with Bryce’s support, law and
modern history w ere finally separated. Bryce also enjoyed a thriving political
career. He was first elected to Parliament for the constituency of Tower Ham-
lets in 1880, and in 1885 he moved to the constituency of South Aberdeen. In
1886 he was nominated by Gladstone to the role of undersecretary of state for
foreign affairs, an appointment that lasted for only six months owing to the
dissolution of the Liberal government. Bryce remained in Parliament u ntil
1907, when he was appointed British ambassador to the United States, a role
he filled until 1913.3 Later, upon returning to Britain at the outbreak of World
T eu to nism a nd R o m a nis m 135
War I, Bryce headed two of the most significant investigations of the war.
One examined the German invasion of Belgium.4 The other, known by the
generic title of the “Blue Book,” reported on the Armenian genocide of 1915.5
This chapter highlights the similarities between Bryce’s and Freeman’s
historical perceptions. The two shared a mutual admiration of Teutonism (see
Chapter 1) and both cherished the HRE, which they deemed the “institutional
by-product” of Teutonic supremacy. Bryce, as an expert in constitutional law,
emphasized the institutional durability of the HRE and its central role in the
shaping of the modern “West.”6 The chapter elaborates Bryce’s long-term
historical scheme and its likeness to Freeman’s exceptional periodization. Due
attention, however, is also given to the differences in their views. One such
was that, while employing a notion of historical longevity in his Holy Roman
Empire, Bryce, or so I argue, did not fully accept Freeman’s unity theory, which
was anchored on the innate racial supremacy of the Aryan race. Bryce, it w ill
be shown, although including “race” in his scheme, mainly stressed the
endurance of Teutonic institutions.7 In exploring this difference, this chapter
will also delve into Bryce’s mutable understandings of the concept of “race.”
Freeman, although accepting the fluidity of any notion of “race,” remained
loyal to the narrative supporting Aryan and Teutonic dominance. Bryce did
implement racial explanations and usually adhered to the Teutonic narrative.
Occasionally, however, mainly in the 1900s, he also voiced other, less en-
thusiastic perceptions of “race.”
The “Legacy” of Sir Francis Palgrave
Before delving into Bryce’s Holy Roman Empire and his unique historical pe-
riodization, I return to the authority mentioned in Freeman’s letter—Sir Fran-
cis Palgrave (1788–1861). Palgrave apparently retained a vast influence on the
historical perceptions of both Freeman and Bryce. Palgrave, originally Co-
hen, was born to a Jewish family and converted to Anglicanism in 1823. As
the first deputy keeper of the Public Records Archive, Palgrave was thoroughly
engaged with historical and juristic themes.8 Two main themes dominated his
historical writings: Romanism and Teutonism and Palgrave moved between
the two, which he deemed the most significant forces in history. Freeman, as
seen in the previous chapter, advocated a similar but not identical historical ar-
gument. He a dopted Palgrave’s notion of Rome’s endurance a fter AD 476: “The
man [Palgrave] who discovered that the Roman Empire did not terminate in
136 c ha pt er 5
a.d. 476, but that the still living and acting imperial power formed an his-
torical centre for centuries later, merits a place in the very highest rank of
historical inquirers.”9 In a letter to George Finlay (1799–1875), the historian
of the Byzantine Empire, Freeman, once again, accentuated Palgrave’s influ-
ence on the insignificance of AD 476. However, on this occasion, Freeman
also voiced certain criticisms:
On Sir F. Palgrave’s Normandy and E ngland. Are you up in his

writings? I do not remember that either of you ever refers to the
other; I am not sure that you would appreciate one another but you
always go together in my mind. I make my historical system out of
a union of you two. Between you, you work out the fact that the
Roman Empire did not die in 476, but lived on as long as you
please after. You do the East, which has been forgotten, he the
West, which has been misconceived. But he does it only by hints
and fragments, and in his present book, he has gone half wild in
the form of his composition. I should rather like to write the
history of the Western Empire myself; i.e. not so much the history
of Germany or of Italy as the history of the Imperial idea.10
Palgrave, in Freeman’s eyes, was a pioneer in the study of the Western

Roman Empire, yet he was also inclined toward certain exaggerations. This
was especially evident in Palgrave’s overdramatization of Rome’s role in the
shaping of modernity. As seen, it was Teutonism rather than Romanism that
was for Freeman and his circle the dominant force of modern European and
world history. Palgrave, as Roger Smith shows, initially (until the late 1820s)
argued for Teutonic dominance in the establishment of the European states
and especially in the foundation of England.11 During these years, Palgrave,
like his contemporary, Thomas Arnold (Chapter 2), and John Mitchell
Kemble, a pioneer of Anglo-Saxon studies, was under the influence of Ger-
man scholars, such as the Grimm brothers and the poet F. H. von der Hagen
(1780–1856).12
However, from the 1830s Palgrave began to identify the Roman element
as the most dominant carrier in the history of Europe.13 This “Roman shift”
is evident in Palgrave’s History of England (1831).14 In his introduction to The
History of Normandy and England (1851), Palgrave commented that the Ger-
manic tribes had perhaps ruined physical Rome but in fact they “humbly
knelt before their Captive.”15 The tribes had embraced Rome’s culture and
heritage: “This devolution of authority from Rome, this absorption of Roman

authority by the Barbarians, this political, and more than political, this moral
unity, this confirmation of a dominion which they seemed to subvert . . . is the
great truth upon which the w hole history of European society, and more than
European society, European civilization, depends.”16 Rome, ruled by several
emperors of foreign descent, absorbed “external” influences for centuries: “The
Romans taught their Vassals to become their Lords. They educated Goth and
Celt and Teuton and Iberian for the Imperial throne.”17 The Teutonic barbar-
ians merged into Rome not only through political, institutional, and cultural
influences but also through a racial fusion. The blending of races, however, was
not equal and included a more dominant Roman/Latin character.18 For Pal-
grave, even the origins of the English nation w
ere not to be found in the German
woods but rather the Roman Capitol: “We have been told to seek in the Forests
of Germany the origin of the feudal system and the conception of the Gothic
aisle. We shall discover neither there. . . . Rome imparted to our European
civilization her luxury, her grandeur, her richness, her splendour, her exaltation
of h
uman reason, her spirit of free enquiry, her ready mutability, her unwearied
activity, her expansive and devouring energy, her hardness of heart, her intel-
lectual pride, her fierceness, her insatiate cruelty.”19 This intense pro-Roman
sentiment was, no doubt, at the bottom of Freeman’s belief, relayed to Finlay,
that Palgrave “has gone half wild.”
In another volume of his History of Normandy and of England, however,
Palgrave intimated that Rome’s victory over the Teutonic tribes was far from
decisive. In this passage, Palgrave, like many of his contemporaries, acknowl-
edged the direct transfer of power from Rome to the Teutonic tribes: “The
Teutonic races, succeeding as inheritors to the fierceness of the Roman Ea
gle, have in the later ages of the world been most fearfully predominant.”20
The key word here is “fearfully” because, in Palgrave’s view, the Teutonic
conquest had devastating consequences for other, non- Teutonic tribes:
“Gifted with mighty intellectual vigour, they reject, they punish all o thers
and themselves, by their intolerant, fanatic, and contemptuous pride, which
takes the sweetness out of their very kindness. Amongst the Teutonic tribes,
none so deeply involved in guilt as the ‘Anglo-Saxon race.’ ” The worst of the
Teutonic tribes were Palgrave’s “own” Anglo-Saxons: “In their treatment of
the Celtic nations, they have exceeded all o thers in iniquity, even degraded
Spain.”21 The ferocity, intolerance, and superior innate capabilities of the
tribes stood in contrast to the unifying and universal character of Rome.
While Rome integrated other cultures and races, the Teutons crushed them.
138 c ha pt er 5
A question, of course, arises concerning Palgrave’s remarks. His views on

the Teutonic emergence contradict his argument that Rome, rather than the
tribes, continued to shape European history, including England, during
“modernity.” Despite these last quoted remarks and when considering the full
scope of Palgrave’s writings, the inevitable conclusion is that Rome’s inheri-
tance was the cornerstone of his historical scheme. Yet, to claim that Palgrave
totally abandoned the Teutonic narrative is far-fetched, and it seems that he
imagined a certain unity between Rome and Teutonism. It is possible, of
course, that Palgrave’s narrative included certain inconsistencies, and there-
fore his scheme was not totally coherent. Hence, he sometimes interchanged
between Roman and Teutonic narratives. In any case, it is important to note
that the Teutonic scholars did not adopt Palgrave’s less favorable view of the
Teutonic tribes. However, his emphasis on the insignificance of AD 476 was
received as a seed and grew into the root of the periodization of both Free-
man and Bryce.
Palgrave’s periodization of world history was bound up in the famous
prophecy of Daniel.22 From the very beginning of his general introduction to
The History of Normandy and of England, he focused on the notion of
the “fourth kingdom.” This term, injected with a religious meaning, appeared
in the subtitle of the book’s introduction. Due to our ignorance of past
ages, Palgrave wrote, we must depend on the holy scriptures. In this case,
the prophecy of Daniel holds the key to historical understanding since revela-
tion, Palgrave stressed, is the foundation of universal history.23 The four em-
pires symbolize four consecutive world ages and include “all the history we
know, all we really need to know, all we can ever really know.”24 According
to Palgrave, the four monarchies had been Assyria, Persia, Greece, and Rome.
Thus, Rome represented the last of the monarchies and the period from its
establishment until Palgrave’s own days was in fact one single continuation of
Roman dominance: “We, therefore, all live in the Roman world: the departed
generations are not distinguishable in t hese reasonings from ourselves; the
‘dark ages’ and the ‘middle ages’ are merely bights and bends in the great
stream of Time.”25 The tribes, according to this perspective, preserved the
essence of Rome and so did not commence a totally new period. In his History
of the Anglo-Saxons (1831), Palgrave even criticized the beacons of the eighteenth
century, Robertson and Gibbon, for “missing” the linkage between the fourth
monarchy/Rome and modern Europe. Palgrave, however, did praise, in his
succeeding sentence, the works of Jean-Baptiste Dubos, Friedrich Carl von
Savigny, and John Allen, who all recognized the continuous influence of
Rome.26 Through the adoption of the four monarchies scheme, the coming
of the Germanic tribes in the fifth century became less prominent. One long
and unified historical period merged Rome with modernity. This vision, in
effect, amounts to an earlier variation on Freeman’s “unity of history.”
From our glance at Palgrave’s writings, several conclusions may be drawn.
Primarily, it is obvious why Freeman named him a source of inspiration.
Freeman cherished Palgrave’s innovative historical scheme, arguing for a
certain historical unity and the continuance of certain Roman mores among
the modern Teutonic kingdoms. Indeed, Palgrave’s “attack” on the false and
artificial division of AD 476 became central to Freeman’s and—as now w ill
be discussed—Bryce’s historical perception. But, to conclude, a major dif-
ference still separated Palgrave from the likes of Arnold and Freeman. While
the latter, especially Freeman, regarded Teutonism as superior, Palgrave, in
most cases, favored Rome’s heritage. For him, the “fourth empire” merged the
two elements, yet Romanism still prevailed.
Bryce: Imperial Unity from Augustus to AD 1804
Like Palgrave, Bryce stressed the fusion of Teutonism and Romanism. Un-
like Palgrave, Bryce continued to regard Teutonism as a central component
in the shaping of modernity. Together with Freeman, Bryce belonged to the
Teutonic circle of scholars. But where Freeman founded his arguments on
the alleged racial dominance of the Aryans, Bryce, primarily emphasized
the juristic-institutional inheritance of the Romano-Teutonic civilization.
While some scholarly attention has been given to Freeman’s historical
method (see Chapter 4), Bryce’s historical scheme remains largely forgotten.
There are, indeed, some studies focusing on Bryce’s prolific academic and
diplomatic/politic al c areer, but his Holy Roman Empire, including his per-
sonal correspondence and notes on this work, have never been thoroughly
studied, let alone examined in the context of what w ill be defined as his
unique periodization.27
Freeman regarded Bryce as an authority on the history of the German
lands. In a letter of October 22, 1864, he described Bryce’s Holy Roman Em-
pire favorably.28 This was not so surprising since a year or so before it had
been Freeman who had encouraged Bryce to submit an essay about imperial
Germany to the Arnold Essay Prize competition.29 In his letter, Freeman
mentioned two uncertainties regarding Bryce’s book: one concerning the style
140 c ha pt er 5
of reference (footnotes); and the other, Bryce’s “Germanism,” which was “bet-
ter anyhow than a Gallicism.”30 Freeman’s words illustrate, once again, his
aversion toward France/Celticism. More important, and like Freeman’s re-
view of Mommsen (see Chapter 2), together with his respect toward Germany,
Freeman also criticized German scholarship. His Teutonic affinity did not
mean that he automatically approved of all German scholarship. For Free-
man, since the English were the purest of all the Teutonic nations, they o ught
to preserve and cherish their original customs.
It is also possible that when Freeman criticized Bryce’s “Germanism” he
was not yet sufficiently acquainted with German scholarship because his
knowledge of German scholarship only developed later. This argument is
corroborated by the fact that in the early 1860s Freeman acknowledged Bryce
as an authority on German scholarship and asked Bryce to introduce him to
various German books. When Bryce traveled in Germany in 1863 he wrote
several letters to Freeman. The letters described contemporary German stud-
ies on federalism and the system of the German Mark. Among many Ger-
man works, Bryce mentioned the names of the scholars (mainly jurists) Karl
Friedrich Eichhorn (1781–1854), Waitz, Grimm, and Maurer.31 Due to his
German expertise, Freeman urged Bryce to pay him a visit in his house in
Wales, so Bryce could assist him with the study of Germany.32 Freeman, as
described earlier, while considering himself an English expert on Swiss feder-
alism, was e ager to acquire greater knowledge of German scholarship.
Bryce’s Holy Roman Empire is a clear example of his affinity and exper-
tise in the history of the German lands. The book presents a very long history
of the German-Roman imperial idea and may be viewed as Bryce’s own inter-
pretation of the “unity of history,” or at least his version of the link between
antiquity and modernity. Already in the opening pages of the book he included
a list of the emperors from Augustus (27 BC) down to the nineteenth century.
In the first editions, the list concluded with the abdication of the last Holy
Roman emperor, Francis II (ruled until 1806).33 However, in later editions,
such as the sixth edition of 1904, the list ended with the German emperor
William II.34 A long imperial continuum of almost two millennia had
dominated western Europe. In all editions, next to the name of Romulus
Augustulus and the year AD 476, Bryce wrote: “End of the Western line in
Romulus Augustulus. Henceforth, till a.d. 800, Emperors reigning at Con-
stantinople.”35 According to Bryce, the West had merged with the East u ntil
the final division occurred when Charles I (the G reat) restored the empire. For
that reason, since the imperial lineage had continued in the East, Bryce pre-
sented a list of the ruling emperors of Constantinople, beginning with An-

astasius I (ruled AD 491–518) and ending with Irene’s removal of Constantine
VI in the East (AD 797), which occurred almost parallel with Charles’s
coronation in the West (AD 800). From this stage, the emperors of Byzantium
were omitted from Bryce’s list and he names only the Western rulers. Thus,
in AD 800, the East and the West finally went their separate ways. This long
endurance of imperial rule is also apparent in another list in the opening pages
of The Holy Roman Empire, where Bryce lists the central events in the empire’s
history from the b attle of Pharsalus, when Caesar became tribune for life (48
BC), to the war of 1871 between France and Germany.36
For Bryce, the tribal leaders who conquered the West in the fifth century
had not become an integral part of the Roman Empire. Accordingly, Odoacer
and Clovis and other barbaric chieftains were not included in Bryce’s imperial
genealogy. Considering these tribal leaders merely as tribal kings, Bryce’s view
on this issue was common, and, indeed, most scholars did not classify the
Germanic barbarian rulers as continuing the imperial lineage. Freeman, in
one of his early letters to Bryce, asked Bryce why he mentioned Odoacer as
the king of Italy.37 Bryce in response wrote that this was an error, and in fact:
“Odoacer was merely rex . . . not [rex] Italiae,—I d on’t know how that can
have been in, unless it was copied from Gibbon when I just wrote the essay
and never corrected after.”38 Freeman responded that the barbaric kings who
had conquered Rome remained tribal kings without any additional title: “I
cannot find that e ither Odoacer or Theodoric formally called himself king of
Italy. They were kings, i.e., kings of their own people, and imperial lieutenants
as well, but not territorial kings. You d on’t find historical titles for ages.”39
Bryce did acknowledge the role of the tribes in the decline of the West-
ern Roman Empire. In handwritten comments (ca. 1863) preceding the pub-
lication of his Holy Roman Empire, he argued that the tribes w ere part of
Western decline: they had damaged the political structure and inflicted general
havoc. Yet, the tribes were only the symptom of a graver illness. The main cause
of the decline, Bryce argued, was an internal financial crisis that harmed Rome
for centuries. The crisis originated from inefficient governance and exhaustion
of resources. In addition, there was a general “social feebleness,” evident in
the absence of a true aristocracy, growing poverty, and want of troops.40 This
conclusion was recapitulated thirty or so years later in Bryce’s 1901 essay “The
Roman Empire and the British Empire in India.” Referring generally to the
decadence of empires in history, Bryce commented that empires die e ither from
“disease” or “violence.” In the case of Rome, it was a common mistake to single
142 c ha pt er 5
out “violence”—namely, the invasion of the tribes—as the sole reason for the
fall.41 However, it was mainly the “disease” of the Roman economy that insti-
gated the decadence. As Bryce describes the problem in his Holy Roman Empire:
The crowd that filled her [Rome’s] streets was composed partly of
poor and idle freemen, unaccustomed to arms and debarred from
political rights; partly of a far more numerous herd of slaves,
gathered from all parts of the world, and morally even lower than
their masters. Th ere was no middle class, and no system of
municipal institutions, for although the senate and consuls with
many of the lesser magistracies continued to exist, they had for
centuries enjoyed no effective power, and w ere nowise fitted to
lead and rule the p eople. Hence, it was that when the Gothic war
and the subsequent inroads of the Lombards had reduced the great
families to beggary, the framework of society dissolved and could
not be replaced.42
The “fall” was mostly a consequence of internal Roman anarchy. The

tribes only gave the final blow. Interestingly, both in his early notes and in his
1901 essay, Bryce included the Teutonic and the Arab-Muslim invasions as part
of the same external “violence.” For him, there w
ere two main barbarian waves:
the northern wave of the Germanic and Slavonic tribes, on the one hand; and
on the other, the eastern wave mainly including the Muslim hordes. Both
waves lasted for several centuries and constantly threatened the empire until
“the north [Teutonic] and the east [Muslims] ultimately destroyed Rome.”43
Yet again, for Bryce, it was mainly about the economy: “But the dissolution
and dismemberment of the Western Roman Empire, beginning with the
abandonment of Britain in a.d. 411, and ending with the establishment of the
Lombards in Italy in a.d. 568, with the conquest of Africa by the Arab chief
Sidi Okba in the seventh c entury, and with the capture of Sicily by Musulman
fleets in the ninth, were really due to internal causes which had been for a
long time at work.”44
Bryce’s views on Western Rome’s final destruction require further clari-
fication. Did Rome really “fall” with the arrival of the invaders or, as Bryce
stated in The Holy Roman Empire, had it been integrated with the Eastern
Roman branch prior to Charles’s restoration? It seems that Bryce’s arguments
were inconsistent. Bryce perhaps changed his opinion between the first ap-
pearance of his Holy Roman Empire (1864) and the publication of his Studies
in History and Jurisprudence (1901). This, however, is not a satisfactory ex-

planation, since in his new fourth edition of the The Holy Roman Empire
(1901), he maintained his original narrative of an enduring Eastern and West-
ern Roman unity. Thus, Bryce did not alter his opinion and another explana-
tion is needed for this supposed inconsistency.
Bryce, I argue, did acknowledge a certain physical destruction of the
Western Empire in the fourth and fifth centuries, which had forced it to unite
with the Eastern Empire. In The Holy Roman Empire, Bryce stressed that fol-
lowing the tribal invasions, the imperial line had continued in Constantinople.
The Western “destruction,” however, was both complex and gradual. In a letter
to Freeman, Bryce chose to describe the Western collapse as “disintegration
rather than destruction.”45 Most important, there was a continuation of the
imperial notion in the Eastern Roman Empire. Furthermore, even the Ger-
manic kingdoms adopted certain Roman mores and institutions. In a letter of
1862, where Bryce set down the fundamental notions of his future publication,
he told Freeman that cooperation and union, rather than devastation, defined
the relations between the Romans and Teutons: “I think of beginning with an
attempt at changing the relation of Roman and Teuton in the fifth c entury: How
to trace penetration of Romans from in Teutonic Kingdoms.”46 Bryce’s view
was unique, since in place of constant strife between the two entities, he a dopted
a less dichotomist approach. The tribes, hence, did not obliterate everything,
and as Bryce emphasized later in his book, they had adopted Roman law, titles
as well as some institutions. Most important, the tribes embraced Christianity,
the official Roman religion, while abandoning their ancient Aryan beliefs:
But the idea of a Roman Empire as a necessary part of the world’s

order had not vanished: it had been admitted by t hose who seemed
to be destroying it; it had been cherished by the Church; it was still
recalled by laws and customs; it was dear to the subject populations,
who fondly looked back to the days when despotism was at least
mitigated by peace and order. We have seen the Teuton endeavouring
everywhere to identify himself with the system he overthrew. As
Goths, Burgundians, and Franks sought the title of consul or
patrician, as the Lombard kings when they renounced their Arianism
styled themselves Flavii, so even in distant E
ngland the fierce Saxon
and Anglian conquerors used the names of Roman dignities, and
before long began to call themselves imperatores and basileis of
Britain.47
144 c ha pt er 5
Christianity became the main force defining the longevity of the Roman
Empire. Consequently, parallel to his list of emperors, Bryce introduced a list
of the popes. The list included all the “bishops of Rome” from Petrus down
to Pius IX (elected 1846).48 Hence, the church and the Holy Roman Empire
marched side by side. The two institutions, despite years of rivalry, could not
exist separately and both shaped Europe. It was a gradual development, but
eventually “Christianity as well as civilization became conterminous with the
Roman Empire.”49
The merger of state and church reached its zenith with Charles’s coronation
at Rome. Following the coronation, the West once again merged with the
church and empire: “The Frank [Charles] had been always faithful to Rome: his
baptism was the enlistment of a new barbarian auxiliary. His services against
Arian heretics and Lombard marauders, against the Saracen of Spain and the
Avar of Pannonia, had earned him the title of Champion of the Faith and De-
fender of the Holy See. He was now unquestioned lord of Western Europe.”50
From the reunification, both civilizations (Roman and Teuton), instead of en-
gaging in conflict, finally joined forces. For Bryce, one of the main c auses for the
sustainability of the HRE was the comingling of Rome and Germany u nder the
roof of the church. Charles became the heir of Augustus, and subsequently t here
was a “union, so long in preparation, so mighty in its consequences, of the Ro-
man and the Teuton, of the memories and the civilization of the South with the
fresh energy of the North, and from that moment modern history begins.”51 The
restoration of Rome, as Bryce named this event, had been the most dramatic
event in history. Other monumental events, such as the assassination of Caesar,
the conversion of Constantine and the reformation of Luther w ere significant,
but stood in the shadow of Charles’s Roman restoration. The convergence of
Teuton and Roman was only made possible through the acts of Charles. Indeed,
a transformation befell the empire with the invasion of the Teutonic tribes, but
with the new emperor Rome regained its control of the West. Most important,
Charles’s empire altered historical periodization as it carried a “new spirit” and
marked the “end of decaying civilization.”52
A direct line linked the Roman Empire with the HRE. Still, from the
coronation, a new era had commenced, which Bryce defined as the beginning
of modernity. This last point is crucial for the discussion, since Bryce, as in the
case of Thomas Arnold and Freeman, identified AD 800 as a monumental
date. Like Freeman, Bryce also asserted that too much importance had been
awarded to AD 476. Nevertheless, Bryce identified certain crucial develop-
ments that had begun in the fifth century, such as the integration of the
Western Empire into the Eastern one: “To those who lived at the time, this
year (476 a.d.) was no such epoch as it has since become, nor was any impres-
sion made on men’s mind commensurate with real significance of the event.
For though it did not destroy the Empire in idea, nor wholly even in fact, its
consequences were from the first g reat.”53
When visiting Aachen, the coronation site of thirty-one Holy Roman
emperors, Bryce stressed to Freeman the longevity of the imperial institution
and the linkage between Charles, Otto III, and later emperors: “The basilica
at Aachen, the stone bright u nder the dome inscribed Carlus Magnus, the
sarcophagus where his bones lay, the marble chair in which Otto III formed
his sitting . . . and in which e very king of the Romans was crowned till Fer-
dinand I, it is a singular building in e very way.”54 The cathedral in Aachen
connected not only Charles and Otto, but also Charles and Ferdinand I
(crowned in 1558), who w ere separated by more than seven hundred years yet
ruled the same political-institutional entity. More important, from Charles,
the heart of the empire moved to the north, into the German lands: “The
Teutonic Emperors . . . in the seven centuries from Charles the Great to
Charles the Fifth, have left fewer marks of their presence in Rome than Titus
or Hadrian alone have done.”55
Bryce noted in his handwritten comments that the Carolingians had re-
vived the Teutonic assemblies and that the empire had a Teutonic rather than
French-Celtic kernel. Teutonism, therefore, became the dominant factor in
the empire: “The inheritance of the Roman Empire made the Germans the
ruling race of Europe, and the brilliance of that glorious dawn has never faded
and can never fade entirely from their name.”56 Bryce also used the term “race”
to describe Teutonic prevalence. For that reason, he mocked the French claim
that their own “Charlemagne” (rather than Charles or Carl) and his empire
had been French. For Bryce, as seen in Freeman’s case, the French imperial
claim was an absurdity. Charles’s empire was “European not French.” Due to
their tribal Teutonic ancestry, which promoted the notions of freedom and
equality, the German states “have been little more successful than their
neighbours [France] in the establishment of f ree constitutions.”57
There was also an innate, rooted difference between the Teutonic and the
Romano-Celtic races. While the Teutons signified particularism, the Romano-
Celtic races w ere the carriers of universalism: “The tendency of the Teuton
was and is to the independence of the individual life . . . a s contrasted with
Keltic and so-c alled Romanic p eoples, among which the unit is more com-
pletely absorbed in the mass.”58 Bryce, I argue, is here wavering between
146 c ha pt er 5
these universal and particularistic tendencies. As shown, he admired the

Teutonic contribution yet on many occasions praised Rome’s influence on
world history, its homogeneous character, and its abolishment of racial differ-
ences. The empire, through law and culture, transformed gradually into a
unified entity. A process intensified by the spread of Christianity, uniting the
empire under one religion and morality: “The Roman dominion giving to
many nations a common speech and law, smote this feeling on its political
side; Christianity more effectually banished it from the soul by substituting for
the variety of local pantheons the belief in one God, before whom all men are
equal.”59 It was Christianity and not paganism that formed the notion of
human equality. This development benefited the “backward races” within the
Roman territory b ecause they w ere elevated to the “level of the more advanced
60
[races].” The HRE, which carried Roman law, religion, and notions to
modernity, signified fusion rather than strife. No continuous conflict per-
sisted between the Teutonic and Latin races. The empire, indeed, had suf-
fered physical and political destruction following the tribal invasions, but it
eventually remained intact and even prospered a fter the fifth c entury. Rome
symbolized a utopian model of just governance, which due to its universal
characteristics could never be demolished: Rome “was imperishable b ecause it
was universal.”61 The ideas embedded within the empire were far more power
ful than its military might. Paradoxically, when its political power dimin-
ished, its culture and values only became stronger: “When the military
power of the conquering city had departed, her sway over the world of
thought began . . . her language, her theology, her laws, her architecture
made their way where the eagles of war had never flown. And with the spread
of civilization have found new homes on the Ganges and the Mississippi.”62
The Roman and British Empires
The Romano-Teutonic civilization reached America (Mississippi) and India

(Ganges) through the expansion of what Bryce named the “English race living
on both sides of the Atlantic.”63 For Bryce, there w ere similarities and even
continuities between the Roman and British Empire (with its American sister
nation), despite the thousand or so years that set these entities apart. Through
this analogy, Bryce’s view of historical unity or the merger of antiquity and
modernity becomes mostly evident. British rule in India, he asserted, was espe-
cially akin to the Roman control of the provinces.64 Rome was the only an-
cient empire resembling modern empires. Naturally, some differences existed.

Rome, a territorial power, conquered the lands bordering the Italian penin-
sula and gradually expanded to other areas. England, on the contrary, was a
naval force, and its focus was on distant regions such as India, six thousand
miles away. Yet, a few central resemblances still linked Rome and England.
Neither empire had intended to conquer such vast lands, and both had ad-
vanced somewhat accidentally. But following their expansion, both civilized
the “barbarous or semi-civilized races,” as Bryce titled them, u ntil the savage
customs were neglected and the “old native life dies out.”65 Thus, Bryce
viewed the civilizing mission of Rome and Britain as constructive, since it
reinvigorated the life of the autochthonic inhabitants: “There is an imperial-
ism which is rash, boastful, and aggressive . . . and t here is also an Imperial-
ism which is reasonable.”66 A certain enlightened imperialism, resembling
John Stuart Mill’s vision, characterized the spirit of both empires.67
Apropos of the last point, Bryce did find a major distinction between
the two empires. Britain, dissimilar to Rome, could never fully assimilate
the Indians. This was due to major racial distinctions: “The relations of the
conquering country to the conquered country, and of the conquering race to
the conquered races, are totally different in the two cases. In the case of Rome
there was a similarity of conditions which pointed to and ultimately effected
a fusion of the peoples. In the case of England there is a dissimilarity which
makes the fusion of her people with the peoples of India impossible.”68 Rome,
as detailed here and above, incorporated most of the races living within its
territories. Several emperors had even been of non-Latin origin. For this rea-
son, the union of the Roman and Teuton even survived the physical devasta-
tion of Western Rome.
Bryce also asserted, in a point that w
ill be reemphasized, that “race” played
a totally different role for the Romans: “There was no severing line like this in
the ancient world.”69 The Romans, he continued, had hardly engaged with
other “dark races” (excluding the Egyptians and the Nubians). Even if they
had more frequently encountered t hese races, it is probable that the Romans
would have mixed with them. The Latins, as also seen in the Spanish and
Portuguese conquests of South America, had freely blended with members of
other races. This was almost an innate character of the Latins, absent among the
Teutonic stock: “the Romans would have felt and acted not like Teutons, but
rather as the Spanish and Portuguese have done. Difference of colour does not
repel members of these last-named nations. Among them, unions, that is to say
legitimate u nions, of whites with dark-skinned p eople, are not uncommon,
148 c ha pt er 5
nor is the mulatto or quadroon offspring kept apart and looked down upon
as he is among the Anglo-A mericans.”70 Bryce criticized the conduct of his
own Anglo-A mericans. Discrimination against the “darker races” was the
main source of slavery, which Bryce strictly opposed: “nothing did more to
mitigate the horrors of slavery than the fact that the slave was usually of a tint
and type of features not markedly unlike t hose of his master.”71 In his “Empire
in India” essay, Bryce referred to the tendency of t hose of Teutonic stock as
a force majeure because they could not resist their natural aversion toward the
“dark races”: “Now to the Teutonic peoples, and especially to the English and
Anglo-A mericans, the difference of colour means a g reat deal. It creates a
feeling of separation, perhaps even of a slight repulsion. Such a feeling may be
deemed unreasonable or unchristian, but it seems too deeply rooted to be
effaceable in any time we can foresee.”72 Bryce, therefore, attempted to
“distance” himself from such a clear racial- physical typology, mainly
because this contradicted his moral/Christian values.
Religion could also bond or separate races. Christianity was crucial in the
union of the Teuton and Roman. Religion, in general, he wrote: “held together
the Eastern Empire, originally a congeries of diverse races, in the midst of dan-
gers threatening it from e very side for eight hundred years. Religion now holds
together the Turkish Empire in spite of the hopeless incompetence of its govern-
ment. Religion split up the Romano-Germanic Empire after the time of Charles
the Fifth. The instances of the Jews and the Armenians are even more famil-
iar.”73 Race, nevertheless, was far more prevalent. In the Teutonic-Roman civili-
zation the minor racial variances allowed mixture, while in the case of the
English race in America or India, racial hierarchy separated the “civilized” from
the “barbarous”: “even if colour did not form an obstacle to intermarriage, reli-
gion would. Religion, however, can be changed, and colour cannot.”74 The
“Blacks” in America, for instance, despite their Christianity, w
ere still treated
unequally due to their different physical features. To the Anglo-Saxons, “race,”
dissimilar to religion, included an inherent stamp that divided h uman groups.
Nevertheless, other examples in Bryce’s writings testify to explicit racial
views. Despite his condemnation of the Anglo-A mericans, “colour” or “blood,”
it could be argued, was still very central to his approach.75 The fact that, even
in his rather more universal argumentation above, he stressed the natural
distinction between the Latins and Teutons concerning their assimilation with
the “dark races” points to a certain implementation of a racial reasoning that
assumes that various innate factors characterized the conduct of races from
the dawn of history. Another example of Bryce’s racial discourse appears at
the end of his “Empire in India” essay. Rome, he maintained, had either
integrated races with advanced civilization or stocks of “full intellectual force,”
such as the Gauls and the Germans, who had been “capable of receiving her
lessons, and of rapidly rising to the level of her culture.”76 Some races, following
their inborn qualities, could be “advanced,” while o thers, like the Indians, had
hardly any hope: “But the races of India were all of them far behind the En
glish in material civilization. Some of them w ere and are intellectually
backward; others, whose keen intelligence and aptitude for learning equals that
of Europeans, are inferior in energy and strength of will.”77 Race, together
with religious/cultural differences, formed a barrier between the British and
the Indians. In many other current examples the gap between the “civilized”
and the “semi-barbarous” was not as wide. For instance, the Siberians,
Georgians, and Armenians, Bryce commented, w ill most likely integrate with
Russia. A comparable example to the racial breach between the English and
the Indians was to be found in the American rule in the Philippines, where
the “cultivation” of the autochthonic races will probably never occur.
Bryce, therefore, shared some of the racial views that he himself con-
demned. Like other scholars (such as Freeman and Kingsley), Bryce was a
nineteenth-century liberal scholar opposing slavery who, in the same breath,
voiced racial sentiments. However, as I have argued before, despite Bryce’s
usage of certain racial-physical classifications, his approach also involved
dominant universal tendencies. For Bryce, especially in comparison with
Freeman, “race” was not especially crucial. While Freeman identified it as an
independent f actor signifying historical unity, Bryce thought that race was less
dominant in antiquity. In the above statements, mainly from his “Empire in
India” essay, Bryce expressed a mixed view: mostly criticizing racial expla-
nations, yet, in some cases, also adopting them.
In his Race Sentiment as a F actor in History (1915), a lecture Bryce deliv-
ered six months after the outbreak of World War I, he voiced a more skeptical
view toward “race.”78 In the essay, written eight years before his death, he
asserted that although many considered “race” as pivotal, it was not a major
factor in history. In Bryce’s Race Sentiment, which resembles his “Empire in
India” essay, he repeated with greater clarity that in the ancient world “race”
had mostly been ignored. During antiquity, it had been tribal and national
sentiments, which were distinct from race, that determined relations between
various groups, such as the Persians, Greeks, and Jews. Ancient civilizations had
no consciousness of belonging to a different race, and their struggles, dissimilar
to Freeman’s perception, had not being founded on innate racial animosities.
150 c ha pt er 5
Even the Völkerwanderung of the Teutonic tribes had not been identified by the
men of antiquity as signifying a racial conflict. Concerning this last idea, Bryce
himself, it should be noted, still described the tribal invasions as a “gigantic Race
Movement.”79 Thus, he did not dismiss the racial kernel altogether but only re-
futed the view of such contemporaries as Freeman that already in antiquity the
“wanderings” had been regarded as part of a racial strife.
When moving into the Middle Ages/early modernity, Bryce continued
to downplay the significance of “race” in various conflicts. In his opinion, the
lasting wars between the Turks and Christian Europe w ere chiefly founded
on religious differences rather than race. Furthermore, the internal European
rivalries of the eighteenth c entury, such as the conflicts between Spain and
the Dutch or between France and Britain, w ere not racial. The most interest
ing example in Bryce’s 1915 essay arises in relation to his own British Isles. As
previously mentioned, during the 1870s and 1880s Freeman, Stubbs, and even
Bryce shared a common view concerning the racial conflict between the
Anglo-Saxons and the Celtic inhabitants of the isles. Due to this conflict, the
Celts had been forced to migrate into the island’s periphery, that is, Wales and
Ireland and the Scottish Highlands. In his 1915 essay, Bryce denied any such
racial Teutonic-Celtic struggle. Th ere were some conspicuous religious dif-
ferences between Ireland and England, yet the races mixed and even the
Anglo-Normans who settled Ireland became “more Irish than the Irish
themselves.”80 In Ulster, Bryce’s homeland, there was less of a mixture between
Lowland Scots and the Irish, but this, following Bryce’s general argument,
was subsequent to religious and not racial differences. There is no such thing
as racial purity among the “two nations of Ireland” since: “neither of such
nations would consist wholly of Celtic, neither wholly of Teutonic blood.”81
In our own period, Bryce wrote critically, race became everything. Groups
merge or separate based on racial classifications. The change commenced with
the American and French revolutions, which had awakened the national
sentiment among the masses. These national sentiments were soon colored
with racial shades strengthened by the emerging scientific discourse about the
distinction between Aryan, Semitic, and Turanian origins. The fault was also
to be laid on the doorstep of poets and historians who “feed the flame of
national pride.”82 History, Bryce warned, was easily manipulated and served
the nation’s needs: “But the study of the past has its dangers when it makes
men transfer past claims and past hatreds to the present.”83 The new racial
phenomenon, following the words of the German Jewish poet Heinrich Heine,
signified backwardness rather than progress. In a footnote citing Heine once
again, Bryce mocked the German exploitation of the famous Teutonic victory
over Varus in the Teutoburg Forest. With t hese words, stated initially in a
public lecture during the first months of World War I, Bryce detached himself
completely from his former Teutonic affinity. If in the nineteenth c entury, as
elaborated above, Bryce was part of the Teutonic circle of scholars, his anti-
Teutonic as well as antiracial statements at the beginning of the war appear to
mark his disassociation from his former Teutonic association.84
But, as I demonstrated before and w ill further validate now, t here are earlier
signs of Bryce’s more moderate Teutonism. Already in the first edition of The
Holy Roman Empire (1864), Bryce expressed some less particularistic notions. For
instance, in a claim that Freeman would never have countenanced, Bryce
praised France for its imperial heredity. Although Bryce, like Freeman, attacked
France for its appropriation of Charles’s legacy, he did admire France for cher-
ishing Rome’s traditions: “No one can doubt that France represents, and has
always represented, the imperialist spirit of Rome far more truly than those
whom the Middle Ages recognized as the legitimate heirs of her name and do-
minion. In the political character of the French p eople, whether it be the result
of the five centuries of Roman rule in Gaul, or rather due to the original in-
stincts of the Gallic race, is to be found their claim, a claim better founded than
any which Napoleon put forward, to be the Romans of the modern world.”85
As with his argument about the linkage between the Teutonic tribes and
modern Germany, Bryce connected the ancient Gallo-Roman past with the
development of modern France. The Germans acquired their constitutions
from the tradition of their Teutonic forefathers, while the imperialist traditions
of France w ere a result of the long Roman conquest in Gaul. Bryce, there-
fore, acknowledged France’s contribution to world history and stated his
more “moderate” Teutonic notions from the 1860s. Indeed, like Freeman,
Bryce acknowledged the dramatic influence of Teutonism. Unlike Freeman,
he also recognized the contribution of other stocks, such as the Latins
(France). In relation to this difference, both scholars, it will now be shown,
also differed in their understanding of the unity of history.
Bryce View of Freeman’s “Unity of History”
According to Bryce, he and Freeman, w ere not in total consent regarding the
“unity of history.” Subsequent to an anonymous review in the Pall Mall Ga-
zette of his second volume of Historical Essays, Freeman complained to Bryce
152 c ha pt er 5
that the reviewer, probably “a narrow sort of classical man,” did not compre-
hend their shared notion of the unity of history “and the lasting on of the
empire.”86 Freeman, in other words, assumed that Bryce agreed with him on
the theory of the unity. In addition, the anonymous reviewer of Historical
Essays, Freeman complained, did not understand his (Freeman’s) sources of
inspiration. They w ere not, as mentioned in the review, Jacques-Bénigne Lig-
nel Bossuet, Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, or Carlyle, but rather Palgrave and
Sir John Seeley who “most likely he [the reviewer] has never heard of.”87 In
the review itself, this “classical author” claimed that Freeman in his first volume
on the Middle Ages did display originality. However, in the second volume,
while focusing on the classical world, Freeman “lost his way.” The reviewer also
recognized, correctly, that Freeman, following Thomas Arnold, “was fed
upon Niebuhr,” stressing again the German scholar’s influence on Freeman
(see Chapter 2). Concerning the unity theory and the long duration of the
HRE, the reviewer claimed this was not an original argument of Freeman
but had already appeared in the writings of historians such as Henry Hallam
and Carlyle.88
Six days a fter Freeman’s letter to Bryce and nine days following the
anonymous review, Bryce published his review of Freeman’s Historical Essays.
In the review, Bryce did not fully accept Freeman’s unity theory:
It is quite true, for instance, that all history o ught to be regarded as

one, and as far as possible studied as one, but there are limits to this
possibility, and for many purposes ancient, medieval, and modern
history may be treated of and worked out apart. Admirable service
has been done in mediaeval history by men who knew very little
either about Athens under Pericles or about Massachusetts under
Governor Andrew. Mr. Freeman’s views are sometimes so broadly
expressed on this matter that we feel inclined to ask him w hether he
finds that his ignorance of the early history of Egypt and Asia
Minor—countries which certainly had a great influence on
Greece—prevents him from understanding Homer and Herodotus.89
Thus, Bryce asserted that the division between periods may still possess
a certain validity. Freeman, in response, continued to insist that he and Bryce
shared a common view: “As for the unity of history, I can see no difference
between what you say in the second paragraph of the article and what I say in
the Rede lecture [Cambridge, 1872]. . . . I make here just the same limitations
which you do.”90 Freeman, unlike Bryce, did not identify a unity or even an
important connection between what he saw as two of the greatest civilizations
in history: Egypt and Greece. As Freeman continued in his letter: “I confess
my ignorance of Egyptian history: only is there any to be ignorant of? But I
will not believe that Egypt had any effect upon Greece. Surely you don’t believe
in Curtius’s Uinim or whatever the name is.”91 Freeman referred to Ernst
Curtius (1814–96), the German archaeologist and classicist, who asserted that
Egypt and Greece had maintained contact since the arrival of the Uinim
(Ionians) in Egypt.92 For Curtius, as well as for Baron Bunsen, some of the
Ionians had settled in Egypt u nder the pharaohs. Thus, t here had been cultural
exchanges between the two civilizations.93 Freeman and Bryce disagreed on
whether a unified Egyptian and Greek history had ever existed.
This difference, I claim, is embedded not only in the debate over the “unity
of history” but also in the discussion of race. The debate regarding early
Egyptian and Near Eastern influences on Greece became prominent from the
eighteenth century. As Suzanne Marchand clarifies, the main question was
when “real” history began: had it originated in Greece (West) or in the Ori-
ent?94 For Freeman, the debate had some prominent racial implications. If
Greece borrowed from Egypt, then this indicated that the Aryan Greeks
were not necessarily a “pure” race but had absorbed Semitic influences.95 For
this reason, Freeman, in response to Bryce’s criticism, refuted Curtius’s theory.
In a letter written eight years later, Freeman was still preoccupied with this
question and confessed to J. R. Green that the latest findings in the field had
“shaken” his strong belief in the Aryan origin of Greek civilization:
I sometimes get a little troubled as to any possible influence of

Egypt on Greek art. When I first learned t hings the old notion
about Kadmos, Kekrops had come out, and [Archibald Henry]
Sayce and the Hittites had not come in nor even [Austen Henry]
Layard and the Ninevites. So we believed that everything Greek
was original, pure Aryan—at most we learned our letters from the
Jew’s cousin. I want to believe the same still, but all t hese new
dodges puzzle me, and I don’t well know how to weigh them. But I
don’t believe that isolated columns from Beni Hassan looking like
Doric. . . . There are plenty of accidental likenesses.96
Freeman, despite the new evidence, was still reluctant to admit any an-
cient associations between Eastern and Western civilizations. The main point
154 c ha pt er 5
is that the discourse over the unity of history was amalgamated with ques-
tions of race and the origins of humanity. Hence, for Freeman the unity of
history did not necessarily designate the unity of humanity. On the contrary,
and as demonstrated previously (Chapter 4), t here is for Freeman a unity of
history but mainly within the same race. Bryce, however, seemed to be less
opposed to the notion that Egypt and Greece shared some common history.
While Bryce observed a possible historical unity between Egypt and
Greece, he denied Freeman’s claim that, following the coronation of Charles
the G reat, Rome had also endured in the East (Byzantium). For him, a fter
AD 800 the Roman Empire only continued in the West u nder the roof of the
HRE. Hence, the Eastern Empire had not been Rome’s successor. On Sep-
tember 14, 1891, Bryce told Freeman: “As for the South Slavs I cannot agree
with your view that Byzantium was the newest Rome—It was always an in-
ferior place in religion as well as in politics and all the churches that look to
it seem to be practically quite dead. L ittle as we may love the pope, he was
97
better than Panaroite Patriarchs.” This view also separated Bryce from the
view of J. B. Bury, another Irish Protestant scholar who can be regarded as a
follower of Freeman. Bury, who w ill be the subject of the next chapter, a dopted
and developed Freeman’s views about the infusion of Western Rome into the
Eastern Empire. While Bryce identified no institutional longevity in the East,
Bury acknowledged a religious, administrative, and legislative durability
between the West and the East lasting u ntil the conquest of Constantinople by
the Ottomans in 1453.
Bury, however, was much closer to Bryce in his cautious perception of
both “race” and Teutonism. Bryce, as seen most prominently in his Race Sen-
timent, became far less enthusiastic on these two themes. As mentioned, his
skepticism toward “race” and Teutonism might be explained through the
generational gap separating him from Freeman. Bryce, living thirty years after
Freeman’s death, was a man of two distinct periods. Regarding the Teutonic
narrative, during most of the second half of the nineteenth century Teutonism
was at its height among Freeman, Bryce, and their circle. In the first decades
of the twentieth century, however, Teutonism became more controversial,
mainly due to the competition and deteriorating relations between Britain and
Germany, reaching its lowest ebb in World War I. The naval arms race (Tripitz
Plan of 1898) and the emergence of Germany as a new colonial power were at
the heart of this competition. This was not only a competition over political,
economic, or militaristic resources, but, as Jan Rüger shows, it was fused with
cultural and symbolic meanings. For instance, in August 1890 Britain handed
Germany, in exchange for Zanzibar and Wituland (eastern Africa), the North
Sea island of Heligoland, a fter which Germany not only established Heligo-
land as a military bastion but also aimed to “Germanize” the island and to
mark its (and not Britain’s) control of the “German Ocean.”98
As w ill now be explained, although Bryce held a certain philo-German
stance u ntil World War I, he may still offer an example of the transformation
from Anglo-German affinity to estrangement. Until the 1890s and even be-
yond he was an admirer of Germany, wrote on Teutonic themes, and promoted
the connection between British and German scholars. This may be explicitly
observed in the association Bryce formed in the 1860s between the HRE and
the newly established German state, which he admired: “Then suddenly
there rises from these cold ashes a new, vigorous, self-confident German
Empire, a state which, although most different, as well in its inner character
as in its form and l egal aspect, from its venerable predecessor, is nevertheless
in a very real sense that predecessor’s representative.”99 Just before the Great
War, Bryce also argued that the Germans have the right to defend themselves
against Russian aggression, which was “rapidly becoming a menace to Europe.”100
Even a fter the war commenced, Bryce, in a letter to his close friend the jurist
A. V. Dicey (1835–1922), exonerated Germany from some share of the blame
and claimed that Great Britain also held some responsibility for the war: “it
is not on Germany that all the blame can fall, badly as she behaved. . . .
Why should England so far back as 1905–6 have made a special friendship
with France and begun to cultivate a special hostility against Germany? . . .
Ever since 1906 we [Britain] have been working against her.”101
However, during the war, the general attitude of Bryce t oward Germany,
especially following its conquest of Belgium, became more hostile. In a pam-
phlet he issued in 1916, he denied the assumption that Britain wished to
weaken Germany because of the economic threat it posed. The reality, he
claimed, was completely different since Britain prospered due to its thriving
trade with Germany. Britain, he stressed, stood for five core values: freedom,
national self-definition, respecting treaties, moral conduct, and peace.102 Bryce
conceded that some people in Britain acted against these values.103 However,
they w ere few, especially in comparison with the barbarity displayed by
Germany in the war. Its invasion of neutral Belgium violated all of Britain’s
core values and for that reason the latter had no choice but to declare war.
Bryce even chaired a committee that investigated German atrocities in Bel-
gium, which eventually found the Germans guilty of war crimes.104 For
Bryce, one of the last survivors of the Teutonic scholars, the war presented a
156 c ha pt er 5
fundamental dilemma. His adored Germany had become the mortal enemy
of G
reat Britain, and the national British interests clashed with his sense of
native kinship t oward Germany. Freeman and Stubbs, if they had lived to see
the war, would have been faced with a similar cognitive dissonance. World
War I thus eradicated almost any continuity with Bryce’s earlier Teutonic
affinity.
As illustrated, Bryce, a lawyer by profession, was keen on the judicial
inheritance of Roman and Germanic law throughout history. For Bryce, and in
distinction to Freeman, Teutonic dominance was primarily founded on free
institutions, not on racial superiority. Concerning “race,” during most of the
second half of the nineteenth century the term received growing scientific
legitimacy following the rise of Darwinism and the alleged innate linkage
between race and language.105 A fter 1900, however, as Simon Cook argues,
many English historians began to distance themselves from racial reasoning.106
For example, Bryce criticized racial perceptions in his 1915 Race Sentiment. As
the next chapter will illustrate, Bury, like Bryce and in distinction to Freeman,
also sought for institutional rather than racial reasons for the long imperial
dominance.
chapter 6
The Illusion of Finality

Bury and the Unity of the East
In this chapter I examine the ideas of J. B. Bury and explore how he departed
from the “old” and even conservative perception of Rome, illuminating the
shadowy history of the Eastern Roman Empire. I commence with the rela-
tionship of Bury to E. A. Freeman and, more specifically, the similarities and
distinctions between the two scholars. As explained in the introduction, the
reason Freeman, Bryce, and Bury are the protagonists of this book arises from
their new periodization. They all devised a method that involved a departure
from the accepted and almost sacred division between antiquity, the Middle
Ages, and modernity. In previous chapters I have discussed the racial historical
unity of Freeman and the enduring Roman-Teutonic institutional scheme of
Bryce. Bury, especially as distinguished from Freeman, hardly a dopted any
racial reasoning in his writings. He did, however, develop Freeman’s fascina-
tion with the Eastern Roman Empire, or, as Bury named it, the later Ro-
man Empire. Bury signified a different kind of late nineteenth-and early
twentieth-century scholar. He brought a “scientific” method to history that
mainly depended on Mommsen’s principles, while departing from the liter-
ary approach of Victorian historians such as Thomas Babington Macaulay
and his nephew G. M. Trevelyan.1 In addition to the positivistic aspect central
in Bury’s writing, I will refer later in the chapter to Bury’s “flexibility,” which
could denote a less scientific approach. Bury represents an interesting case
study. On one hand, he was linked through personal connections and notions,
such as the “unity of history,” to the English Teutonic circle. On the other
158 c ha pt er 6
hand, as far as his Teutonic and racial inclinations are concerned, he was not
an integral part of the circle.
Bury, Freeman’s Disciple?
Between E. A. Freeman and J. B. Bury one can identify a viable link but also
several major differences in both their general historical approach and their
view of antiquity. Bury was, in some respects, a disciple of Freeman and was
certainly vastly influenced by him. In 1893, Bury edited Freeman’s second
edition of The History of Federal Government.2 L ater, in 1903, he edited Free-
man’s Historical Geography of Europe.3 Bury evidently approved of some of
Freeman’s works. He also wrote in 1892 two very favorable reviews of Free-
man’s History of Sicily (see Chapter 4). Following the review, Bury ironically
assured Freeman that he expected no reward for his positive evaluation of the
History of Sicily: “I have been thinking a good deal about you lately as I have
been writing two notices of your Sicily . . . perhaps you may think me au-
dacious to write on a subject which I have not had my own speciality . . . at
all events my say will not be on the model of Isaac of York.”4 When Bury was
in the midst of reviewing the third volume of the History of Sicily, he heard
about the death of Freeman in Alicante, Spain.5 Therefore, he dedicated the
first pages of the review to a general account and evaluation of Freeman’s work.
Through t hese pages it is possible to obtain a less formal and maybe more
genuine view of both Bury and Freeman. This perhaps reflects the short time
elapsing between the death of Freeman and the publication. Bury insisted that
his opening remarks were not a eulogy. In some sense, he remained faithful
to his promise. He reminded his readers that Freeman’s style had been criti-
cized by many as “diffused,” by which he meant that Freeman used a
lengthy, indirect style. Bury defended Freeman from his critics but con-
ceded that Freeman’s style was unconventional. This stylistic issue aside,
Bury’s praise for Freeman was notable in t hese pages. Freeman, according to
Bury, had the ability to “awaken a sense of history” and alongside Bishop
Stubbs must be regarded a beacon of English historiography. Freeman’s cen-
tral asset was the fact that he invented the historical discipline that merges the
study of geography and history. His work on Sicily was, of course, a prime ex-
ample of this method.
In a letter of 1892, Freeman had expressed his gratitude for Bury’s review
of his History of Sicily: “I don’t know how to thank you enough for it. It is
T he Il lu sio n o f F inalit y 159
absurd to say that it is the best that has appeared: for t here has been no other
of the same class nothing but newspapers. . . . You understand me as nobody
else does. I specially thank you for what you say about my supposed diffuse-
ness, and repetition. They just say it because it is the regular thing to say.”6
Bury’s appreciation of Freeman was also seen eleven years later, in 1903, when
he gave his inaugural lecture as regius professor of modern history at Cam-
bridge. He here painted Freeman as one of the great historians of England in
the nineteenth c entury, especially since he advocated the notion of continuity
in history through the idea of historical unity. Continuity was very signifi-
cant, as it emphasized the importance of the w hole historical process. Bury
refuted the “eclectic view,” as he named it, that focused on certain periods in
history while neglecting o thers because of their alleged insignificance.7 It is
no coincidence that Bury recognized the element of continuity as the most
valuable in Freeman’s work. As I will demonstrate, Bury, with some resemblance
to Freeman and Bryce before him, partly adopted the notion that time borders
do not exist in history, and, therefore, it was necessary to grasp the wholeness
of history.8 As Bury stated, Freeman “broke down the venerable wall of
partition between ancient and modern history.”9
Bury endorsed the unity of history since it broadened the perception of
historians, enabling them to delve into less explored periods of history. For
instance, the continuation of the Roman Empire meant that the centuries a fter
the so-called fall are also important for its understanding. Through the idea
of unity, the primary common ground between Bury and Freeman is revealed.
The former continued the latter’s research on the Eastern Roman Empire. The
empire, conventionally regarded by historians, like Bryce, as an insignificant
factor in the periphery of Europe, came to be seen, following the work of
historians like Freeman and Bury, a vital force in the historical development
of Europe, North Africa, and the East. Bury, for instance, dismissed Bryce’s
argument that Charles’s coronation had in fact marked the movement of the
imperial line from the East to the West. Bryce, it must be stressed, resented
many of the Eastern emperors and described them as weak and evil.10 Bury
offered an opposite interpretation. From AD 800, the empire was divided into
two branches: the “true” Western Empire and the “true” Eastern Empire. U ntil
Charles’s coronation the empire had only endured in the East, but following
the coronation the two empires had coexisted while each had claimed to be
the “true” (authentic) inheritor of Rome.11 Like Sicily, the later (Eastern) Ro-
man Empire, which even ruled Sicily for a certain period, had been the link
that connected the East and West and functioned as a cultural, economic,
160 c ha pt er 6
and political hub. For both Freeman and Bury, the Roman Empire had also
continued in the East.
George Finlay, the British “Father”

of the Eastern Roman Empire
Bury as well as Freeman acknowledged (see previous chapter), another promi-

nent historian prior to both who had delved into the Eastern Empire by way of
a comprehensive method was George Finlay. According to Bury, Finlay had
been forgotten even though he was one of the first scholars to identify the
uniqueness of the East. To a certain extent, Freeman and Bury exalted Finlay’s
stature and identified him as one of their major sources of inspiration. Finlay’s
magnum opus was the history of Greece in seven volumes from the Roman
conquest of 146 BC to the mid-nineteenth century.12 The research focused on
the history of Greece under “foreign occupation” and the first five volumes were
alternatively titled by Finlay the History of Greece U
nder Foreign Dominion. The
volumes revealed an almost cohesive phase stretching throughout the period
when Greece was u nder external occupation. This phase joined the revival of
Greek independence in the nineteenth century with the ancient age of Greek
freedom before 146 BC. The Greeks, as Finlay noted, usually referred to their
history without independence as insignificant, since they regarded it as inferior
to the glorious days of classical and Hellenistic Greece. Yet, Finlay asserted, this
neglected period of Greek decay must be treated with greater esteem because a
direct link connected modern Greece with its less celebrated history:
The records of enslaved Greece are as much a portion of her national

existence as her heroic poetry and her classic history. The p eople
who sent out a hundred colonies, and who fought at Salamis and
Plataea, w ere the ancestors of the men who fled before the Romans,
and who yielded up their own land to be peopled by Sclavonians
and Albanians. The ancient Greeks purchased foreign slaves to
labour in their fields, the modern Greeks delivered up their own
children to form the janissaries, who held them in a state of slavery.
The modern Greeks turn with aversion from the study of their own
history. They take no interest in the fortunes of their ancestors, but
they claim an imaginary genealogy to connect their national
existence with the extinct races of privileged aristocratic tribes,
whose existence ceased as Paganism expired.13
Finlay inspired Freeman and Bury, not only through his writings, but also
b ecause he played an active role in the struggle for Greek independence. He
lived most of his adult life in Greece, wrote regularly on Greek issues for British
newspapers and tried to stimulate public awareness concerning the Greek
struggle for sovereignty. In all this, he anticipated the ideology that Freeman
endorsed during the emergence of the “Eastern Question”—the aid owed to
the suffering Christians of the Ottoman Empire. Finlay and Freeman acted
both as scholars and as public figures, thus operating in a similar method in
the academic and the public spheres. They moved between t hese two spheres
that, within their lives, constantly intertwined. Freeman and Finlay were
similar in another respect. Finlay argued, as Freeman would later, that the
demise of Rome came with the Saracen invasions during the seventh century.
According to Finlay, the Saracens wrought a major blow to the Eastern Roman
Empire. A fter their conquest, the empire ceased to be Roman and had to lean
on the Byzantine-Greek component: “the Saracen conquests had severed from
the empire all those provinces which possessed a native population distinct
from the Greeks, by language, literature, and religion, the central government
of Constantinople was gradually compelled to fall back on the interests and
passions of the remaining inhabitants, who w ere chiefly Greeks.”14
Evidence that Finlay’s stance functioned as the basis for Freeman’s thesis
is suggested by the fact that Freeman dedicated his book on the Saracens to
Finlay. In this book, as discussed in Chapter 4, Freeman explained how the
Saracens had caused Rome to fall. Thus, the impact of Finlay on Freeman is
notable.
The Later Roman Empire
In the preface to his first book, A History of the Later Roman Empire (1889), Bury
explained why he chose this particular name as the volume title and rejected
other possible titles, such as “Byzantine Empire” or “Eastern Roman Empire”:
ere is no period of history which has been so much obscured by

Th
incorrect and misleading titles as the period of the later Roman
Empire. It is, I believe, more due to improper names than one
might at first be disposed to admit, that the import of that period
is so constantly misunderstood and its character so often misrepre-
sented. For the first step t owards grasping the history of t hose
centuries through which the ancient evolved into the modern
162 c ha pt er 6
world is the comprehension of the fact that the old Roman Empire
did not cease to exist u
ntil the year 1453. The line of Roman
Emperors continued in unbroken succession from Octavius
Augustus to Constantine Palaeologus.15
A whole debate between Bury and his publisher, Alexander Macmillan,

had preceded Bury’s previous argument about the true essence of the empire.
As Bury told Macmillan, the reason he concluded his book at the beginning
of the ninth century was that “it would be less indefensible, if the period [of
the book] were from 800–1205 A.D., when there are rival empires in the
West, and the empire of the East had become more Greek in character.”16
Bury, as a result, limited the scope of his study to the years when the unity of
the Roman Empire had been more visible. As he later stated: “There was only
one Roman Empire u ntil 800—that is just the year in which I stop.”17 Mac-
millan rejected Bury’s proposal to label the book by the general name of “Ro-
man Empire” since, in the former’s view, it was not “distinctive enough.”
Bury, in response, disputed the names Byzantine Empire or the French title
“Lower Empire” (Bas-Empire), since “they put out of sight the continuity of
history and suggest a break between the Earlier Roman Empire and the Later
Roman Empire, which never existed.”18 Furthermore, the term “Byzantine
Empire” was a modern invention and never existed in antiquity, while the title
“Later Rome Empire, 395–800 A.D.,” which was eventually approved, denoted
both the original name of the empire and the continuity between the earlier
and the later Roman empires. In the book itself, Bury began by attacking the
historians who detached the Roman Empire from the later Roman Empire. In
his opinion, t here was no difference between the two: “and the historian who
adopts one line of division cannot assert that the historian who adopts a differ
ent line is wrong. For all such lines are purely arbitrary. No Byzantine Empire
ever began to exist; the Roman Empire did not come to an end until 1453.”19
Thus, he maintained that there had been many transformations in the Roman
Empire, and the final collapse had occurred with the Ottoman conquest of
Constantinople in 1453: “Every century of the Roman Empire differed from
the preceding and from the succeeding, but the development was continuous;
the Empire was still the Roman Empire, and I am not aware that it is usual to
give a man a new name when he enters upon a new decade of life.”20
Freeman, as elaborated, was a very different historian from Bury. He was
considerably involved within political debates and retained very strong views
especially on the foreign policy of the British government. He believed that

his knowledge of history granted him capabilities not attained by others. He
further felt an obligation to voice his views, since he had to act for the sake of
society. Freeman was also a nationalistic writer who stressed the uniqueness
of the English people and their role in history. While Freeman, as demon-
strated, located a major breach in antiquity during the times of the Saracen
invasions of the seventh c entury, Bury drew the ultimate line in 1453, even
though he accepted the tremendous changes that had occurred in the fifth
century and around AD 800 with Charles I.
Freeman, and h ere it is possible to locate the major difference between
him and Bury, classified the Germanic or Aryan tribes as the ancestors of the
English people. Consequently, the English and German nations belonged to
one unified extended family. Their racial origin determined their destiny as
great nations. Bury, however, was less keen on racial connotations. The term
“Aryan” was almost omitted from his writings, and he did not link the mod-
ern English with the Germanic tribes. While Freeman esteemed the tribes re-
petitively, Bury, as I aim to demonstrate, ascribed to them fewer merits, and,
alongside positive remarks, he referred to their barbarity. However, and this
is an important clarification, although he was less Teutonic, he did acknowl-
edge some aspects of the historical significance of the tribes.
Bury also criticized Freeman for his racial tendencies and his attempt to
construct a unified Aryan race based on the Indo-Germanic tongues. In his
prefatory note (1903) as editor of the third edition of Freeman’s Historical
Geography, Bury “warned” readers with the following words:
If Mr. Freeman were h ere to edit this book himself he might have
been induced to modify his language. It is his use of the word
Aryan. Though “Aryanism” was, if I may say so, one of the pillars
of his construction of history, I think he might have been induced
to substitute the phrase “of Aryan speech” in many cases when he
committed himself to “Aryan.” For the truth is that, in designating
a people as Aryan, speech was his criterion, and the inference from
Aryan speech to Aryan stock is invalid. How the Indo-Germanic
tongue spread is still an unsolved problem, but it is certain that all
the European p eoples who spoke or speak tongues of this f amily
are not of common race, and many of them probably have very
little “Aryan” blood.21
164 c ha pt er 6
These words of Bury emphasize again the points raised in the first part of
this book about the amalgamation between race/blood and language. As ob-
served, Freeman and other scholars consistently conflated the Aryan tongues
with the Aryan races. Bury noticed the term “Aryan” as problematic. Even if
Freeman meant to refer to the Aryan languages, in many instances his use of
the term “Aryan” was almost immediately linked to the racial discourse and
not limited to a philological investigation.
It is interesting to note that Bury, although far less keen on racial expla-
nations, referred repeatedly in his History of the Later Roman Empire from the
Death of Theodosius I to the Death of Justinian (A.D. 395 to A.D. 565) (1923) to
his German contemporary Otto Seeck (1850–1921), who implemented racial
argumentation in his writings.22 Seeck, a famous historian of Rome, argued
especially in his Geschichte des Untergangs der antiken Welt (6 vols., 1895–1920)
that the extermination of the best (Ausrottung der Besten) had caused Rome’s
fall.23 The civil as well as external wars of Rome since Augustus, he explained,
had eliminated the noble strata that had led Rome to glory. Instead of the
nobles, a group of degenerate men had risen to power and thus doomed Rome’s
fate: “So wurden die spärlichen Keime, aus denen ein edleres Geschlecht hätte
hervorwachsen können, wieder und wieder ausgetilgt, und die Rasse ver-
schlechterte sich immer mehr.”24 Despite the fact that Bury identified Seeck as
a great authority on late Roman history, he did not accept his theory that
Rome fell due to the “elimination of the best.” In a chapter on the reasons for
Roman decline, Bury wrote: “The depopulation of Italy was an important fact
and it had far-reaching consequences. But it was a process which had prob
ably reached its limit in the time of Augustus. Th ere is no evidence that the
Empire was less populous in the fourth and fifth centuries than in the first.
The ‘sterility of the human harvest’ in Italy and Greece affected the history of
the Empire from its very beginning, but does not explain the collapse in the
fifth century.”25
The “Decline and Fall”? Gibbon and Bury
Another very important name that resurfaced in Bury’s review of Freeman’s

History of Sicilty was that of Edward Gibbon. Bury compared the work of
Freeman with that of Gibbon and it is obvious that both writers were highly
significant for him. According to Bury, the History of Sicily was comparable
to Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire in the sense that both w
ere
conceived around a very long time span. In addition, neither focused on only
one nation but rather explored the fortunes of many nations.26 For Bury, the
important conclusion was that Gibbon and Freeman tried to promote a con-
tinuous view of history that was not limited to one era but constituted a long
historical process.
Furthermore, it was not clear when Gibbon really marked the end of Rome
in his Decline and Fall. The common argument, discussed previously, was that
Gibbon observed the “end” of the empire in the fourth and fifth centuries, when
Christianity had arisen simultaneously with the invasions of the barbarian
tribes. This, of course, was a view that most scholars accepted. Nevertheless,
there could be another interpretation. Gibbon concluded his enormous book
with the conquest of Constantinople by the Turks in 1453. If Gibbon held the
view that the decline of the empire had been in the fifth c entury, why did
he continue his magnum opus until the fifteenth century? Maybe Gibbon as-
sumed that the Roman Empire had still maintained its trunk in the East while
only its western branch fell. Therefore, a more appropriate method would have
been to separate the book into two different parts u nder two titles. The first
would be named “The Decline and Fall of the Western Empire” and the second
“The Rise and Decline of the Eastern Roman Empire.”
Bury indeed criticized Gibbon for marking the end of Rome in the fifth
century: “No Empire fell in 476; that year only marks a stage, and not even
the most important stage, in the process of disintegration which was going
on during the whole century. The resignation of Romulus Augustulus did not
even shake the Roman Empire; far less did it cause an Empire to fall. It is
unfortunate, therefore, that Gibbon spoke of the ‘Fall of the Western Empire,’
and that many modern writers have given their sanction to the phrase.”27
Nevertheless, Bury observed that Gibbon was one of the only historians
that, at least in the title of his work, anticipated Bury’s view of a continuation
between West and East.28 However, “in reading the later chapters [of the
Decline] one is apt to forget what the title is.”29 In contrast to Gibbon, who
placed emphasis on the Western fall, Bury was one of the first historians to
delve into the history of the l ater period of Rome in a comprehensive manner.
In his portrayal of Gibbon in the Encyclopaedia Britannica (1911), Bury warned
readers of the imbalanced character of the Decline and Fall.30 He divided
Gibbon’s book into two parts. The first, the account from AD 180 until 641
(460 years) was detailed and based upon multiple sources and evidence. The
second part, however, was lacking proof and details, although it described a
much longer period, since it stretched from 641 u ntil 1453. Moreover, Gibbon
166 c ha pt er 6
had wrongly portrayed the second period as a time of decadence and wretched-
ness. The greatness of the Eastern Empire and its function as “the bulwark of
Europe against the East” was absent from and almost unrecognized by Gib-
bon: “His eye rested only on superficial characteristics which have served to
associate the name Byzantine with treachery, cruelty, bigotry and decadence.”31
The two opening chapters of Bury’s Later Roman Empire were dedicated
to the Christian revolution of the fourth and fifth centuries. Christianity, for
Bury, had one foot rooted in the pagan past, while the other foot was step-
ping into the future, ushering in a new phase of history. Bury acknowledged
the contribution but also the faults of Christianity. The faith promoted the
notion of friendship and the responsibility of the individual for the commu-
nity. Christianity also gave hope for salvation and elevated human life to a
sacred degree, in contrast to pagans who participated in gladiatorial displays
that disgraced h uman lives.
Bury considered the Christianity of the first centuries a positive phase in
the progress of mankind. He accepted that the universal nature of Roman law
had an opposing character to the particularistic and individualistic traits of
the Christian religion. Yet he concluded that Christianity should not be blamed
for the end of the Western Empire: “And when we remember that in the East
the Church allied itself closely with the imperial constitution, and that this
union survived for many centuries, we must conclude that Christianity did
not contribute to produce what is loosely called the Fall of the Western Empire.
Its spirit revolutionised the condition of the whole Roman world.”32 As he
remarked at the end of his first chapter, only Gibbon together with Rousseau
reckoned that the “cost [of Christianity] was greater than the gain.”33 Bury
agreed with the argument that his animosity t oward the church and especially
the collision of the church with the ideas of the Enlightenment had prompted
Gibbon to name Christianity as the cause of the fall. The merger between his
personal stance and his interpretation of the past w ere not typical only to
Gibbon. Other g reat historians throughout history have brought their
personal, political, and cultural affiliations to the historical debate: “The in-
dictment of the Empire by Tacitus, the defence of Caesarianism by Mom-
msen, Grote’s vindication of democracy, Droysen’s advocacy of monarchism.”34
Bury almost implies that Gibbon deliberately “forgot” to properly research the
Roman East, since it had presented an “inconvenient” opposite and positive
example. According to Bury, Christianity protected Rome and acted as a
force that assisted in the creation of a vibrant empire and community in the
East. Gibbon knew perhaps that by focusing on the “New Rome” he might
reveal a constructive side of Christianity that would not accord with his
general resentment of the church.35 It should be noted that Bury’s view of
Gibbon reflected a rather common interpretation that Gibbon was hostile
toward Christianity. This question, however, has recently been opened by
research. Gibbon was perhaps more ambiguous in his view of religion and
especially Catholicism than Bury and others have generally considered.36 As
I will now show, ambiguity did not exist in the case of Bury, who was simply
very hostile t oward Catholicism.
Bury’s Anti-Catholicism
fter the constructive centuries of early Christianity, the Catholic Church of

A
the West became, Bury insisted, the bitterest enemy of human progress. Ca-
tholicism included an “ugly, inhuman side, from which the humanism of the
fourteenth and fifteenth century revolted, manifested in extreme and grotesque
asceticism, a sort of war with the instincts of humanity.”37 This anti-Catholic
tendency became prominent in Bury’s writings, especially during the 1910s,
when he seemed to fuse his personal anti-Catholic approach with his historical
analysis. In works such as A History of Freedom of Thought (1913) and The Idea
of Progress (1920) Bury aligned himself with Gibbon as the enemy of the
church.38 For instance, in his Freedom of Thought he praised Gibbon’s view of
the inquisitors of the church, who “defended nonsense through cruelties.”39
Bury considered himself a pure rationalist. He wrote against the divine source of
Christianity and refuted its supernatural influence on history: “The success
of Christianity has depended upon the transformation of the original doctrines
and upon the character and strength of the Christian organization. The history
of the Church is unique. So was the Roman Empire; so is the British Empire;
and so are many other t hings. None of them is miraculous, or e lse they are all
miraculous. And if they are all miraculous, Christianity ceases to be privileged,
and the argument from its success disappears.”40
The church, therefore, is mundane and comparable to other historical
institutions. In Bury’s eyes, reason, and reason alone, not miraculous beliefs,
must be the beacon of humanity: “There is nothing for it but to trust the light
of our reason. Its candle power may be low, but it is the only light we have.”41
The fundamental assumption in Bury’s History of Freedom of Thought was
that religions had played an uncreative and even a destructive role throughout
most of history. U nder the oppressive rule of the Catholic Church, progressive,
168 c ha pt er 6
f ree, and innovative ideas were precluded, since people lacked the essential
feeling of freedom and liberty. Nevertheless, it was not Christianity alone that
stood as a bulwark against the progress of humanity but also the other two
Abrahamic religions. Bury also attacked the Old Testament and the Jewish
scriptures, which “reflect the ideas of a low stage of civilization and are full of
savagery.”42 The pagan world, by contrast to the monotheistic religions, did
not suffer from t hese limitations: “The Greeks fortunately had no Bible, and
this fact was both an expression and an important condition of their freedom.”43
The liberty of the pagan world can also be seen in the policy of Rome, which
tolerated a variety of religions and beliefs across the empire. When Christian
ity became widespread and many around the empire adopted it, several (but
not many) Roman emperors began to persecute the Christian communities.
Christianity threatened religious freedom by denying the beliefs of other
religions. The early Christians who promoted religious tolerance before be-
coming rulers abandoned this approach after coming to power. For them,
salvation was possible only through Christianity and no other dogma could
redeem the individual or the community.44 The Christian subjugation was
almost innate in the religion, and it appears that Bury did not limit it to a
specific period in history. Again, maybe subsequent to Bury’s acceptance of
the long-lasting effects of ideas in history, or perhaps following the notion of
the “unity of history,” he characterized Christianity as inflicting a destructive
effect on the progress of mankind throughout the ages.
A certain difficulty arises from t hese statements of Bury. If Christianity
was, indeed, from its foundation the source of all this evil, how and why did
Bury praise the constructive role of the church in its first centuries, an ap-
preciation described above, in which Bury had defined the early church in his
Later Roman Empire as a vital force in the reconstruction of the West follow-
ing the destruction of the Germanic invasions? A partial but imperfect an-
swer is that Bury formed a distinction between early Christianity and the
later Catholic dominance of the M iddle Ages. He regarded early Christianity
as a composite era when the church had developed both positive and negative
principles. Later, however, reality altered, and the Catholic Church suffocated
the voices of reason, progress, and creativity. The Western church—and h ere
Bury’s different approach to Eastern Christianity must be noted—symbolized
decadence.
The darkness of the M iddle Ages was lifted slightly during the thirteenth
century, when the men of the Renaissance endorsed the concept of free
thought: “The individual began to feel his separate individuality, to be con-

scious of his own value as a person apart from his race or country . . . and the
world around him began to emerge from the mists of mediaeval dreams.”45
The Renaissance men differentiated between religion and humanism, and in
this their perception was unique. Nevertheless, Bury emphasized that they had
not been enemies of religion. L ater, with the sixteenth-century Reformation,
the repression of freethinking persisted. Both the Catholic and Protestant
doctrines were intolerant, and the main development of this era was that “they
replaced one authority by another. They set up the authority of the Bible in-
stead of that of the Church, but it was the Bible according to Luther or the
Bible according to Calvin.”46 However, the fact that the authority of the
Catholic Church was challenged led, although this was not the intention of
the Reformation, to the rise of rational and secular thinking. The signifi-
cant change came only in the seventeenth c entury when the clash between
religion and reason finally erupted, reaching its most critical point in the nine-
teenth c entury. Bury observed that during this last c entury it had been proven
that science and Christianity could no longer coexist: “the Christian scheme
based on the notions of an unscientific age and on the arrogant assumption
that the universe was made for man, has no suitable or reasonable place.”47
Bury’s anti-Catholic stance was fiercely refuted by the Anglo-French writer
and poet Hilaire Belloc (1870–1953). In his pamphlet Anti-Catholic History:
How It Is Written (1914), Belloc urged that the false authority of some “experts”
like Bury who had exploited their academic position to attack the Catholic
Church should not influence the public.48 While Bury painted the church as
the source of all evil, Belloc pointed to the church’s contribution to the Roman
Empire and defined it as “the soul of our Western civilization.”49 Belloc pointed
to what he referred to as Bury’s multiple errors and inaccuracies. Bury’s greatest
mistake, he argued, was shown by his vast generalizations, which testified to
his misunderstanding of the atmosphere of the times he was writing about.
For instance, to present the church as only about miracles and superstitions
was to ignore the prolific works of church figures such as Thomas Aquinas.50
As discussed earlier, Bury did not regard the church as accountable for
the fall of the Western Empire. Indeed, he presented the church as the core
that had bonded the Eastern Empire a fter the calamities of the fifth c entury.
Hence, at least in the very early centuries of Christianity, before corruption and
backwardness had ruined everything, Bury did recognize some positive factors
in the new religion. In addition, following Bury’s view, and pertinent mainly to
170 c ha pt er 6
the West, it is probable that he too embraced the conventional triple division of
history. The M iddle Ages were no longer a time of g reat accomplishments but
a period of decline and stagnation. In this period, Bury declared, “reason is in
prison” and the long hands of the church had strangled freedom. Modernity,
nevertheless, symbolized for him the emblem of progress.
The Dominance of Modernity
Bury’s The Idea of Progress reaffirmed the notion that during the M iddle Ages
Christianity had dominated the social sphere. Progress became inconceivable,
since the goal was the afterlife and not the enhancement of present society.
Augustine of Hippo established the basis of this doctrine through belief in
providence and original sin. Bury nevertheless asserted that the M iddle Ages
had shaped two important ideas that enabled the notion of progress to be
planted in modernity: the uniqueness of humanity and the idea of the universal
or the ecumenical community.51 The transformation of history and the full
enforcement of progress came to life in the seventeenth century. Progress and
freedom went hand in hand. Once freedom became a reality, progress followed.
René Descartes was the most influential figure in this development. The trans-
formation he initiated depended upon several conditions, which came to life in
the seventeenth c entury: the breaking of the authority of the ancient, and even
obsolete, thinkers, the recognition of the need to achieve improvement in the
human condition and the establishment of science on solid foundations.52
Besides Christianity and religion, Bury also attacked antiquity in The Idea
of Progress. In modernity (from the sixteenth century), he observed, men had
begun to “rebel against the tyranny of antiquity.”53 He claimed that the ancient
Greeks had lacked the idea of progress. This was partly b ecause they did not
possess sufficient evidence of the past and could not determine whether they
had achieved substantial progress. In addition, the Greeks developed the
concept that the gods created a perfect world that would last for 72,000 solar
years. However, as in any other living organism, once the world passed to the
second half of its history it would be in a state of decadence.54 The fact that
the Greek thinkers had recognized change as a symptom of decline and
corruption further explains why progress was not conceived in antiquity,
especially since “time was regarded as the e nemy of humanity.”55 The concept
of Moira (fate), dominant among the Greeks, also barred the emergence of
any idea of progress. For the Greeks, only the gods could control Moira, while
the notion of “progress” implied an ominous potential, for it suggested that

human beings held an equivalent godly ability.56
Bury, despite specializing in antiquity and in the Christian early M iddle
Ages, preferred modernity. He identified with modern writers and defined
figures like the French author Bernard Le Bovier de Fontenelle (1657–1757) as
agents of secularism and freethinking. Bury claimed that Fontenelle had been
the first scholar to fully define the notion of progress, since he had focused on
the future. Fontenelle held that the achievements of any period w ere dependent
on the period itself and on existing circumstances, because throughout the
ages there was no substantial change in the nature of humankind. Excessive ad-
miration of the ancient scholars had raised a major obstacle to progress. The
fact that humanity was old did not mean that it was in decline. On the con-
trary, in modernity humanity had gained experience and knowledge that sur-
passed the ideas of the ancients. Bury supported this argument especially
because of its secular leitmotif and the fact that it was founded upon an idea
of nature.57
In his lecture “The Place of Modern History in the Perspective of Knowl-
edge,” given at the Congress of Arts and Sciences in St. Louis (1904), Bury
announced explicitly that modernity must be at the center of historical re-
search.58 As distinguished from Hegel, who promoted the theory that man-
kind had fulfilled its destiny during modernity due to the supremacy of
reason, Bury saw many ages in front of mankind. Thus, the end of history is yet
to come: “Hegel thought that the final form of politic al constitution was
something closely resembling the Prussian state, that the final religion is Chris
tianity, that the final philosophy is his own.”59 There was no fixed model that
humankind was bound to and the f uture presents numerous possibilities. This
argument, I assume, derived from the contingency theory of Bury, which holds
that models cannot be applied to history because of its dominantly casual and
random essence. The great advantage of modernity is that it presents suffi-
cient data and proofs that are not attainable in the research of antiquity and
the Middle Ages. Modernity also sets a clear boundary to time. It ends in the
present and, distinct from other historical periods, its termination point is
not arbitrary but stands as a clear line. It is obvious why Bury, as a historian
who elevated the importance of evidence, characterized modernity as the most
vital asset for the understanding of the historical process. The richness of
knowledge in modernity broadens the understanding of history in general.
This does not indicate that history concludes with modernity; it only shows
that we must begin from modernity and only then move to the past: “The
172 c ha pt er 6
interpreter of the movement of history must proceed backward, not forward;

he must start from the modern period.”60
Historical Time
Throughout The Idea of Progress Bury illustrates how other scholars had con-
ceptualized the division of time. It is useful to sketch several of t hese theories
since they convey a deeper understanding of Bury’s scheme and how, through
the notions of progress and freedom, he endeavored to organize historical time.
Bury recognized Jean Bodin (1529/30–96) as one of the initiators of the new
progressive thinking. He observed that Bodin had divided history into three
periods. During the first era, the Near East dominated the earth (Assyrians,
Egyptians, Phoenicians). In the second era, the middle Mediterranean nations
(Greece, Rome) ruled. The last era belonged to the nations of the North, which
took the supremacy from Rome.61 Bodin also disapproved of the prevailing
division of the four monarchies of Daniel and especially the German claim
that the Holy Roman Empire was in fact the last of the four monarchies.62 As
Bury remarked, Bodin’s division was akin to the thesis of Hegel that separated
the Oriental, Greek-Roman, and Germanic periods. Bodin denied that hu-
manity was in constant decline from the days of the world’s golden age. He
recognized the inventions of his own time as superior to those of antiquity.
Nevertheless, Bodin was not positive that f uture achievements would exceed
the inventions of his own era, such as the compass and the printing press.63
Francis Bacon (1561–1626) also divided historical times into three: antiq-
uity, a mid-era that included Greece and Rome, and modernity (including the
Middle Ages). For him, the improvement of the state of mankind in the
world was the prominent goal of science, and through inventions the well-
being of humanity was achieved. Bacon shattered the dominance of antiquity
and asserted that it had signified only the beginning or youth of the world.
For this reason, antiquity defined the time that elapsed u ntil Bacon’s own age,
since it represented history down to the days when inventions became practical
for human beings. But, alas, Bacon, like Bodin, did not state that progress
would characterize future history, and both overlooked future evolution.64 For
Bury, the theories of both writers were significant since they had departed from
antiquity and concentrated on the achievements of humanity in later periods
and especially in their own days. This demonstrated how a certain progressive
process occurred in history. In addition, Bodin and Bacon separated religious
time from “earthly” time, and by that usurped periodization from the sole
control of the church.65 This, of course, appealed to Bury, and he saw both
Bodin and Bacon as sources of inspiration. However, for him, their view lacked
a central factor. To the “disappointment” of Bury, they did not recognize the
continuing improvement of humanity.
Bury disapproved of “locked” historical schemes that frame history ac-
cording to a definite end, leaving no place for f uture developments or progress.
For him, history is open-ended. Locked theories usually conclude in the pres
ent or, more precisely, in the time when the writer operates. They were preva-
lent among both historians and philosophers and seen, for instance, in the
writings of both Comte and Hegel. Comte, through a set of triple laws that
correspond with three periods, established the notion that the world had moved
from a theological phase, which lasted until the fifteenth century, to its meta-
physical phase. The latter ended with the French Revolution, and, a fter it, the
world began its third and last phase. This last period bears the name the “posi-
tive age” and will be based upon laws proving that the “science of society is
possible.”66 Although Comte endorsed the progressive impetus, Bury dissoci-
ated himself from him. The reason for this was that, according to Bury, Comte’s
third future period was too well structured, as if no flexible or casual factors
were in action and history/society is fixed upon strict and inevitable laws.
It seems that the theory of the third Hegelian “German phase” did have
some impact on Bury’s historical perception. In a very interesting passage from
The Later Roman Empire he acknowledges the invigorating influence of the
German spirit in the era a fter the collapse of the Roman West and l ater during
the Reformation:
The formation of independent Teutonic kingdoms in the earlier

period corresponds to the Reformation in the later; in both cases
the German spirit produced a mighty revolution, and in both cases
the result was a compromise or division between the old and the
new. The Roman Empire lived on in south-eastern Europe, even
as the Catholic Church lived on, confined to a limited extent of
territory; and t here was a remarkable revival of strength, or
reaction, in the fifth and sixth centuries at Constantinople, which,
following out the parallel, we may compare to the Counter-
reformation. And this analogy is not a mere superficial or fanciful
resemblance; the same historical principle is involved. Christianity
and the Renaissance performed the same functions; each meant the
174 c ha pt er 6
transformation of the spirit of the European world, and such a

transformation was a necessary precursor of the disintegration of
European unity, w
hether political or ecclesiastical. In the strength
of ancient ideas lay the strength of the Roman Empire; Christianity
was the solvent of these ideas, and so dissolved also the political
unity of Europe. In the strength of medieval ideas lay the strength
of the Roman Church; the spirit of the Renaissance was the solvent of
medieval ideas, and therefore it dissolved the ecclesiastical unity of
western and northern Europe.67
Although Bury wrote this passage many years before he discussed Bodin
and Hegel in The Idea of Progress, passage and discussion correspond, espe-
cially in the significance they both attribute to the third and last North/
Germanic age of the world. Bury acknowledged the impact of the two
“Germanic” revolutions that had occurred a thousand years apart. The begin-
ning of the M iddle Ages (or the end of Rome) and the beginning of moder-
nity (or the end of the Middle Ages) were in fact a consequence of the same
“German” need to regenerate the European world with new ideology. The Teu-
tonic element thus included a significant historical kernel. Furthermore, fol-
lowing this passage and the reading of The Idea of Progress, it appears, once
again, that Bury accepted the conservative division of history into three
periods. For him, and this is an important point, the division was mainly
applicable to the West, since the East continued the Roman Empire and there
was no time border between antiquity and the Middle Ages. However, even
in regard to the West, Bury presented a more moderate approach that identi-
fied the shift from Rome to the tribes as a gradual and even natural process.
The Tribal Role in the “Fall”
Unlike Gibbon, Bury argued that the Teutonic invasions were not too destruc-
tive. Ever since the times of Arminius, the “savior of Germany” in the begin-
ning of the first c entury, the Teutons had fought alongside the Romans, u ntil
they revolted and demanded greater rights, privileges, and especially land. The
“invasions” were actually internal rebellions within the Roman sphere and not
external threats. Like Freeman and Bryce, Bury represented Teutonic lords
like Alaric, Odoacer, and Stilicho as formed by a fusion of both cultures: “these
Romanized Teutons formed a link between Romania and Germania.”68
The Teutons even contributed to the course of European history, and as such
were dissimilar to the external threat of the Huns and their leader Attila who
sought to destroy, plunder, and exploit the empire.69 The “Germanization”
of the Roman army was not a negative process, since the tribes had injected
an invigorating energy to the decaying Roman system: “it was just the fresh
German spirit which was able to give some new life to the old forms and throw
some enthusiasm into the task of maintaining the Roman name of which they
were r eally proud. And it was this coa lition of Roman and German elements
in the army which made the dismemberment of the Empire in the West less
violent than it might have been.”70
In The Life of St. Patrick (1905), his account of Ireland’s most prominent
saint and of the infiltration of Christianity into his homeland, Bury explained
that the tribes had a great admiration for Rome:
The observant student who follows with care the history of the
expansion of Germany and the strange process by which the
German kingdoms w ere established within the Empire in western
Europe, is struck at e very step by the profound respect which the
barbarians evinced for the Empire and the Roman name through-
out all their hostilities and injuries. While they were unconsciously
dismembering it, they believed in its impregnable stability; Europe
without the Empire was unimaginable; the dominion of Rome
seemed to them part of the universal order, as eternal as the great
globe itself. If we take into account this immeasurable reverence for
Rome, which is one of the governing psychical facts in the history
of the “wandering of the nations,” we can discern what prestige a
religion would acquire for neighbouring peoples when it became
the religion of the Roman p eople and the Roman State.71
This fact had led the tribes to adopt and cherish Christianity. Without
the Roman recognition of Christianity, the barbarians, so Bury claimed, would
have never a dopted it as their faith: “Could a people find any more powerful
protector than the Deity who was worshipped and feared by the greatest
‘nation’ on earth? . . . It did not occur to them that the Eternal City had
achieved her greatness and built her empire u nder the auspices of Jupiter
and Mars. . . . If the step taken by Constantine had been postponed for a
hundred years, we should not find the Goths and the Vandals professing
Christianity at the beginning of the fifth century.”72
176 c ha pt er 6
This observation about the tribes reaffirms, to some extent, the ideas of
another famous British historian. In the second half of the nineteenth c entury,
Thomas Hodgkin (1831–1913), a banker by profession, wrote a work of eight
volumes u nder the title Italy and Her Invaders (1880).73 Bury reviewed the first
four volumes. In his review, he distinguished between the two leading views
of the role of the tribes in the process of the Western fall. The differentiation
was a general one and was made between the student of the classical era and
the student of general European history. The first admired the achievements
and thinking of the Greco-Roman world and regarded the period from classi-
cal Greece (500 BC) until the alleged fall as the most significant in the age of
humanity. The student of European history, however, looked from the fall
onward and did not regard it as a catastrophic phase but as a new beginning,
which paved the way out of a decaying world:
When he sees a Roman Augustus trifling with theological puzzles

in a synod-chamber, or beholds Rome herself under the mercy of
a barbarian’s army, he murmurs, “But oh, the heavy change!” And
soon, his interest unawakened by the d oings of the Goths and
Vandals, he turns back to t hose brighter ages in which the Goth
did not yet trouble the shores of the Midland Sea, and the
Vandal was still at rest in his northern home. . . . The student of
Teutonic—or the wider student of European—history starts with
hope to elate from the same group of events, amid which the
student of “Classical” history can hardly bear up against a feeling of
weariness and depression. Where the one is benighted and knows
that the end is near the other can see the dawn faintly quickening in
the east, and knows that a long day is still before him. Where the
classical student looks back to Pericles and Julius Cesar, the
historical student looks forward to Charles and Frederick.74
Gibbon was the ultimate representative of the classical type since “he is
ever looking back,” while Hodgkin symbolized the student of European his-
tory.75 For Hodgkin, the tribes represented an essential phase in the develop-
ment of the g reat European M
iddle Ages and w ere the carriers of a new
future and life. Hodgkin did not deny that the tribes had inflicted a horrible
chaos on the classical world. Yet, as Bury wrote, Hodgkin shed only the “tear
of a conqueror” over the destruction of the empire.76 The titles of the two
books reflect this variance in opinion: Gibbon spoke of “decline” while
Hodgkin had progress at the back of his mind when he concentrated on the
tribes and their wanderings.
The significant point is that Hodgkin’s view, despite his positive assess-
ment of the tribes, did not alter the periodization of antiquity. And in this he
followed most of the scholars in the wake of Gibbon. The fact that the tribes
contributed to European civilization did not mean that they should not be
blamed for the fall. On the contrary, their significance was in the fact that
they conquered a decaying empire and ushered in a new and better historical
phase. Bury, however, as I have shown, minimized the influence of the tribes.
In his eyes, the fall of the West was almost a false concept. The invasions had
not been as traumatic or dramatic as represented by most scholars.
Bury referred to himself as a student of Teutonic history, in which he fol-
lowed Hodgkin. He retained no interest in early Roman imperial history for he
deemed this era unfruitful and uncreative: “from Augustus to Augustulus [AD
476], poverty of ideas, incapacity for hard thinking, and excessive deference to
authority, characterised the Roman world.”77 Bury earlier voiced this view in an
article in the Saturday Review, where he harshly attacked the early Roman Em-
pire and claimed that, with the exception of the Roman law, from its inception
by Augustus to the victory of Christianity, there had not been even one worthy
achievement attributable to the empire: “From the days of Augustus to the
triumph of Christianity they invented absolutely nothing in political science or
in finance, in warfare or in mechanics, in religion or in literature or art. . . . In
fact under the early Roman Empire the human mind sluggishly vegetated on its
own past. Contrast this with the brain power which has operated in England
during the present century and helped to transform the world.”78
Bury’s essay, as the last sentence demonstrates, compared the accomplish-
ments of the Roman and British empires to conclude that the British Empire
was far superior. The most important point for our discussion is that, by in-
sisting on the insignificance of the early imperial period between the first
Emperor Augustus and the last emperor of the West, Augustulus, Bury seemed
to accept the regular periodization that terminated the Western Empire in AD
476. Therefore, it can be argued that, according to Bury, a new period had
commenced a fter the fall of the West and that no real linkage existed be-
tween the Western Empire and the Eastern Empire. This also contradicted
Bury’s own argument against Gibbon that “no Empire fell in 476.”
Additionally, in his Later Roman Empire, Bury, despite arguing in the same
book against the theory of the fall and in favor of continuation in the East,
dedicated his third chapter to “Elements of disintegration in the Roman
178 c ha pt er 6
Empire.”79 Bury noted several major c auses that had instigated the fall of the
Roman Empire. The most crucial element had been the shortage in manpower.
Anticipating the interpretation of Max Weber,80 Bury wrote (1889): “The most
obvious element of weakness in the Roman Empire was the increasing depopu-
lation. The vitality of a state depends ultimately on the people, and from the
time of Augustus, who was obliged to make special laws to encourage repro-
duction, to the time of Marcus Aurelius the population steadily decreased.”81
The shortage in manpower became critical in times of war when the o wners
of the small estates left their fields to fight, while most of the slaves still worked
and preserved the large, rich estates. For this reason, the owners of the small and
medium estates gradually became serfs. Th ese evils in the Roman economic
system were deep-rooted. The original sin was a law issued by the plebiscite of
Claudius in 218 BC. The law banned senators from investing their money in
trade. The senators, who became wealthier and wealthier through the new ac-
quisitions of Rome, now had no option but to invest their money in land. They
gradually seized control of many small estates and worsened the conditions of
the Roman free m iddle class.82 The grain imported from the provinces also
added to the problems of the free estates. The imported grain lowered the reve-
nues of the estates since it was bought for a cheaper price than the local grain
grown in Italy. The w hole Roman system deteriorated since most of the citizens
suffered from the same harsh conditions and poverty that led to depopulation.
In response to this shortage of manpower, the empire incorporated bar-
barians into its administration. These barbarians together with their families,
and in some cases even the whole tribe, were gradually assimilated into the
Roman Empire. Eventually, because of this development, the empire collapsed:
“The significance of t hese semi-barbarians is that they smoothed the way . . .
for the invaders who dismembered the Empire; not being attached by heredi-
tary tradition to Roman ideas and the Roman name, but having within them
the Teutonic spirit of individual freedom, directly opposed to the Roman spirit
of tyrannical universal law, they were not prejudiced sufficiently strongly in
favour of the Roman Empire to preserve it, although they admired and partook
of its superior civilisation.”83
These words seem to contradict the statement Bury makes several pages
later that the Germanic communities, which integrated into the empire func-
tioned as a “bridge” between the Roman and Germanic civilizations. Is t here
any explanation for t hese apparent inconsistencies? When, if ever, did the
empire fall, according to Bury? Was t here a continuation between the Eastern
and the Western empires or were t here two separate entities?
The fact that Bury discarded the “conventional” date of AD 476 (see the
earlier discussion on Gibbon) did not mean that he thought that the Western
Empire had not declined in the fifth c entury. On the contrary, he wrote
several times in different publications about the deterioration of the West.
Yet, for him, unlike for other historians, the fall of the West did not signify
the end of the empire. There was a clear distinction between the two parts of the
empire. For Bury, the heart of the empire was positioned in the East. The
civilization of the later Roman Empire denoted a continuation of ancient
Greece together with Rome.84 To a certain extent, in the East the fall had never
occurred, and the empire just moved to the new metropolis in Constantinople,
until its final fall a thousand or so years later. The inherent economic prob
lems of the West w ere at the root of its gradual fall. “Gradual” is a relative
term h ere, since the fall was not a consequence of a singular event, or even
related to the occurrences of an entire century, but must be attributed to
structural faults of the Western system. Following this, Bury de-emphasized
the corrosive influence of Christianity and barbarism, but elevated other
reasons: depopulation, heavy taxation, the corruption of the Roman admin-
istration, and the demolishing of the small estates.
The Rise of the East
The key question, and one of Bury’s great contributions, is why these prob
lems did not affect the East. Why did the Eastern Empire survive and not
suffer from a similar fate? If the decline during the M iddle Ages originated
from the role of Christianity in restraining freedom, how could Bury claim
that, in the same period, a thriving Christian culture existed in the Roman
East? The East, as the West, should have also been bounded by the limita-
tions of the church on freedom. Bury mentioned several basic reasons for the
divergence. The principal one was that the foundation of the city of Constan-
tinople, or the “new Rome,” bestowed a dramatic advantage to the East. The
city operated as a hub merging East and West. The geographic location en-
abled Constantinople to grow as a new thriving center and, most important,
to withstand the barbarian invasions. Before ravaging Rome, the barbaric
tribes passed through the eastern parts with the clear aim of sacking the
East, but the location of the city on the Bosporus, together with its high
walls, prevented them from carrying out their intentions. The failure in the
East drove different tribal leaders, like Alaric the Goth and Attila the Hun,
180 c ha pt er 6
to select more “suitable” targets—namely, the western provinces and the city of
Rome.85
The East also embraced one united religion and developed a coherent
national identity: “Christianity and the influence of the Church acted as a
cement.”86 In the West, inner struggles occurred due to religious and social
variables. The Christians with their Catholic doctrine, the Germans with their
Arian dogma, and the pagan Romans w ere all thrown into the same pot. To
this should be added that the East gained greater wealth than the West. In
the Western Empire, as noted earlier, Bury identified a decline in free land
ownership that had harmed the socioeconomic conditions of the middle class.
In the East, however, t here was a more equal “distribution of property” (see
below). The East also enjoyed a population growth, while the population of
the West underwent a decline.87 The capability of the Eastern emperors of the
fifth century in comparison to the weakness of the emperors of the West
signified another major advantage of the East. In the West, Germanic advisers
assisted the Caesars, and the ranks of the army w ere flooded with Germanic
soldiers. The Eastern emperors, however, led an economic reform and managed
to avoid the hazards of the West. As Bury argued, the latter disaster could
have been prevented “if an Adam Smith had arisen” among the Western
emperors.88 In his L ater Roman Empire, Bury made another clear distinction
between the two parts of the empire:
The western suffered more than the eastern provinces, a fact which
we must attribute primarily to a different economic condition,
resulting from a different history. The distribution of property was
less uneven in the East, and the social character of the p eople was
different. For while the East was u nder the more genial and
enlightened rule of Alexander’s successors, the West was held by
the cold hand of Rome. A fter the division of the Empire, 395 a.d.,
the state of the West seems to have become rapidly worse, while the
East gradually revived under a government inclined to reform.89
One important notion evident in this passage is that the separation

between the East and the West was already rooted in the Hellenistic era of
the third and second centuries BC. The fact that the Greek East benefited a fter
the death of Alexander from greater freedom, in contrast to the shackles of
Rome, also testifies to the fact that Bury a dopted the theory of “unity in
history.” That is to say, he observed a long linkage from the early split to the
much later East-West division in AD 395. Following this, another significant

conclusion comes to light. Bury, despite attacking other historians for their arbi-
trary division of the past, handed us a similar method. A new era in the history
of Rome began after Theodosius I (AD 347–395) died and his two sons, Arcadius
(377–408) and Honorius (384–423), ruled the two halves of the empire. Bury,
for this reason, also commenced his L ater Roman Empire with the division of
AD 395. The division marked a different stage in Rome’s history, but it did not
signify the end of Rome. The linkage between the East and the West still ex-
isted, and the fundamental change was that the center of gravity moved east-
ward. Until AD 800, sustainable relations between the two parts still endured.
Bury demonstrated how the Germanic lords of the West had treated the East-
ern Roman emperor as their superior lord. For instance, Theodoric invaded It-
aly u nder the order of Zeno, the emperor of the East.90 In addition, Justinian
managed to conquer vast parts of the West and tried to establish a unified em-
pire. Justinian’s attempt did not last for many years, but it still indicated that the
two empires w ere not totally detached. This could also be proved through the
joint issuing of laws by the two empires. Although Bury recognized the lan-
guage split between the Latin West and the Greek East, he still maintained that
these two parallel centers of control had not been totally divided: “The two parts
are often loosely spoken of as if they were two distinct empires—the Eastern
and the Western. That is a mistake against which we must be on our guard.”91
The final separation between the two empires only followed five hundred
years later in AD 802 with the deposition of Empress Irene (deposed Octo-
ber 31, 802). This date also marked the point at which Bury concluded his
Later Roman Empire. Thus, he did provide us with a termination date for the
later Roman Empire. From AD 802 on, a totally new period had com-
menced, and Bury depicted its course in A History of the Eastern Roman Em-
pire (1912).92 Bury’s justification for the division between the two periods was
that in AD 800 a final split between East and West had occurred when Char-
lemagne was crowned emperor. Finally, a worthy counterpart arose in the
West, and the domination of the East was constrained. As mentioned, Bury
actually accepted the periodization of Thomas Arnold, adopted later by Free-
man and Bryce, that concluded antiquity with Charlemagne. For Bury, how-
ever, and h ere unlike Arnold, AD 800 symbolized only the absolute
separation between the West and East; the final destruction of the Eastern
Roman Empire would not occur u ntil 1453.
Bury presented a complex view of the transformation of Rome and of
the ancient world. He stressed several historical developments that might be
182 c ha pt er 6
contradictory. Primarily, he acknowledged the destruction of Western Rome

in the fifth century together with the continuation of the empire in the East.
One can question how Bury conceived the era before and a fter the destruc-
tion as belonging to the same period. Furthermore, how, on the one hand,
he could emphasize that the East and the West had maintained close links
until the ninth century, yet, on the other hand, assert that the basic dissimi-
larities between the two had caused the West to fall and the Eastern Empire
to linger.
The Rule of Contingency and the Merit of Inconsistency
This comprehension of Bury’s interpretation of Roman history may also be

traced in a different place. In his writings, Bury promoted the notion that
history was governed by contingencies. The casual, random, and thus un-
predictable component determines the course of history, and therefore the
ability to explain events is limited and cannot be dependent upon a broad
theory or summarized by several general laws. Th ere are so many variants in
history. The roles of the individual, the psychological, the geographical, the
environmental, and other conditions, encompass a power to transform history’s
path at any given moment. The evolutionary theory of Darwin was, as Bury
admitted, the basis for this historical method, since he identified the ran-
domness in nature also in history:
The truth is that Darwinism itself offers the best illustration of the
insufficiency of general laws to account for historical development.
The part played by coincidence, and the part played by individuals—
limited by, and related to, general social conditions—render it
impossible to deduce the course of the past history of man or to
predict the f uture. But it is just the same with organic development.
Darwin (or any other zoologist) could not deduce the actual course
of evolution from general principles. Given an organism and its
environment, he could not show that it must evolve into a more
complex organism of a definite predetermined type; knowing what
it has evolved into, he could attempt to discover and assign the
determining c auses. General principles do not account for a particu
lar sequence; they embody necessary conditions; but t here is a
chapter of accidents too. It is the same in the case of history.93
Contingencies, Bury added elsewhere, are the core of history and are what
“make history so interesting and so baffling.”94 Some thinkers, as, for example,
Hegel, explain events in history as dependent on a predestined course con-
trolled by providence or attached to reason. Bury, however, supported the
notion of chance created by the convergence and collision of independent
arbitrary causes or events. Several contingent events determined the ultimate
fate of the Western Roman Empire. The invasion of the Huns into the realms
of the Germanic tribes forced the latter to move into Roman territory. The
Huns invaded the West because of independent internal developments in
the East. This means that the German tribes, even though they w ere for centu-
ries on the brink of entering the empire, eventually invaded only because of
the external threat of the oncoming Huns. Bury added also the ill-management
of the Visigoth settlements, the weakness of the young emperor Honorius, and
finally and most important, the power of Stilicho, the Roman general of
German origin and de facto emperor. For Bury, the dismembering of the West
was a matter of contingency, since several independent factors collided and
converged u ntil the empire fell.95
This contingency theory stood out from his previous publications of 1889,
The Later Roman Empire, and 1900, “Rome and Byzantium.” In another later
book the History of the Later Roman Empire (1923), he argued that no sole and
grand reason could explain the fall of the Roman Empire: “The truth is that
the success of the barbarians in penetrating and founding states in the western
provinces cannot be explained by any general considerations. It is accounted
for by the actual events and would be clearer if the story were known more
fully. The gradual collapse of the Roman power in this section of the empire
was the consequence of a series of contingent events. No general causes can
be assigned that made it inevitable.”96 This book, which mainly focused on the
developments in the West, did not present coherent economic reasons for the
Western destruction.97 Bury’s concern was rather to picture a domino effect that
validated the operation of the accidental aspect in triggering the Western fall.
The contingent occurrences that he identified as ruling history can also
explain why Bury frequently altered his opinions. As one of his later review-
ers noted: “he was sometimes hasty in changing his own views, and to staid
observers seemed inconsistent. But consistency as a virtue had no charm for
him . . . and indeed its only value to a historian is as a check on over-hasty
conclusions. The subject-matter of human history is so dominated by the bias
of witnesses and the accidents of survival that without continual revision no
progress toward truth is possible.”98 Some unexplained themes do appear
184 c ha pt er 6
within Bury’s arguments. However, as in the case of any scholar, and as il-
lustrated also in the cases of Freeman and Bryce it is possible to locate some
contradictions, especially if a scholar publishes so prolifically. Furthermore,
as Bury himself maintained, the obligation of the historian was to amend his
views from time to time: “One of the most important things that people have
to learn, and one of the hardest, is that consistency is not a reasonable rule of
life. . . . How irredeemably dull people would be if they were all consistent,
in thought, in speech, and in action! . . . The g reat charm of Mr. Gladstone
as a politician is that he has made inconsistency a fine art. . . . For the false
idea of consistency leads to the false idea of immutability, of never changing
one’s mind. Perhaps one should rather count that year as misspent in which
one has not modified all one’s opinions.”99
If the historian is a true follower of the scientific method, he must act
accordingly and fluctuate in his views. Archaeological, archival, and any other
new evidence must be the foundation of the historical analysis. Sometimes,
as in this critical question of the fall of the empire, Bury, it seems, even
presented two different opinions within the same book. It may be that his
emphasis on the contingency of history validated his own version of the unity
of history. His universal rule of contingency is, therefore, derived from the
fact that no independent f actors govern the historical course. Unlike other
historical methodologies, such as the Annales of the 1920s, which devised
schemes in which history is controlled by independent f actors, such as mentali-
tés (Lucien Febvre, 1878–1956) or geography (Fernand Braudel, 1902–85),
Bury only recognized “order” in the contingent element (disorder) of history.
In other words, the contingency as the consistent core of history.
His perception of Roman history also provides a glimpse into Bury’s
unique historical method. Bury, unlike the ancient Greek historians Thucydides
and Polybius, and the Cambridge professor of modern history John Seeley, did
not believe that history was only for the teaching of practical lessons to states-
men: “the statesman of the present cannot employ the distant past to help his
prognostications, because all decisive circumstances . . . must of necessity be
diff erent.”100 For Bury, as mentioned in his most famous quote from his inau-
gural lecture, “history is a science, no less and no more.”101 This quote, which
has garnered many critical comments, means that history is not an art or a kind
of literature that bears moral teachings but a science that can enrich us with
factual accounts of the past.102 Here it must be asked how Bury asserted that
history could be both scientific and contingent. One explanation is that Bury
merely altered his position and followed once again his “rule of fluctuation.”
He coined this quote in 1902, while his major writings on the contingent aspect
of history w
ere written a decade or so later. In his St. Patrick, Bury revised, to a
certain extent, his famous “scientific” statement: “In vindicating the claims of
history to be regarded as a science or Wissenschaft, I never meant to suggest a
proposition so indefensible as that the presentation of the results of historical
research is not an art, requiring tact and skill in selection and arrangement
which belong to the literary faculty.”103 A fter a lecture in 1909 on ancient Greek
historians, Bury was asked if he had abandoned his view on the scientific kernel
of the discipline of history. The question arose from the very different portrayal
of history that Bury had just presented in his lecture. Bury’s answer was that he
would be unfaithful to his profession if he had not changed his opinion from
time to time.104 Furthermore, as Doris Goldstein shows, for Bury the fact that
history was contingent was exactly what made it scientific, since it was natural
and part of this world. The accidental, Goldstein points out, “was not outside
the realm of cause and effect.”105 Bury, therefore, offered a scientific method for
explaining contingencies in history and, for example, differentiated between
what he called “pure” and “mixed” contingencies: the former being solely de-
pendent on chance, while the latter merged chance and h uman or prior inten-
106
tion. In other words, history is contingent in its unfolding, but retrospectively
the historian can analyze it through scientific methods.
From these arguments, several major peculiarities surface that separate
Bury from other historians, including Freeman. First and foremost, concern-
ing the teaching of practical lessons, Bury was not involved in the daily de-
bates of the statesman. He was not writing regularly for the newspapers or
voicing his political views on the public podium. Science and reason w ere the
key words for Bury, and in this he sustained the long tradition of German
positivistic historians such as Ranke and Mommsen. These German histori-
ans developed a new method in the study of history. Ranke, following his fa-
mous dictum that history must be studied “wie es eigentlich gewesen,” focused
especially on early modern Europe. He stressed the importance of archival
work in the understanding of historical reality. Mommsen a dopted a similar
method by emphasizing that one of the keys for researching the Roman Re-
public was material evidence, especially Latin inscriptions. In his inaugural
lecture, Bury praised Mommsen for his new method in historical investiga-
tion: “his greatness as a historian is to be sought far less in that dazzling work
[History of Rome] than in the Corpus and the Staatrecht and the Chronicles.”107
Bury’s anti-Catholic stance did not lead him to omit religious-national
tendencies from his writings. Consequently, his Irish Protestant origin was
186 c ha pt er 6
emphasized as part of his historical argumentation. One thing is certain, in

contrast to his proud national predecessors, like Freeman and Stubbs and other
Victorians who stressed a common Teutonic past, Bury had walked a long way
from Teutonic and racial explanations. He did not detect an eternal link
between the modern English and the ancient Germanic tribes and was less
than keen on the “special” connection of Britain and Germany.
Opposing Germany
In 1914, a short while a fter the eruption of the Great War, Bury published a
manifesto under the title Germany and Slavonic Civilization.108 The manifesto
criticized the German government’s aggression and held it responsible for
hostilities. The manifesto, also published in a shorter version as an article in
the New York Times, refuted the German claims that the war was a struggle
between Teutonic and Slavic “barbarism.”109 Bury took special issue with
certain German “spokesmen,” as he called them, who had urged that the
British had betrayed their historical and natural allies by joining the Eastern-
Slavonic barbarism led by Russia.
Bury began by showing the historic links between Russia and Prussia that
had been established and strengthened since the separation of Poland in 1772.
These connections were intensified through the family connections between
the czars and the Prussian monarchs. The policy of Prussia throughout the
nineteenth c entury and especially u nder Bismarck’s rule was to acquire new
territories and to “Germanize” the areas u nder its control, like Silesia. Th
ere
was a convergence of interests regarding this Prussian policy, as the Russians
also wished to amplify their influence in Poland and in the Balkans. However,
the century-long cooperation between Germany and Russia was harmed
following the dissolution of the Three Caesars’ Alliance (Dreikaiserbund, 1887).
Consequently, Germany feared that Russia would now adopt liberal policies,
especially in its Polish territories, which would also influence the Polish ter-
ritories of Germany. In addition, the interest of the two nations concerning
the Slavonic states u nder the rule of the Ottoman Empire w ere no longer
compatible. Russia, in general, according to Bury, became more and more
“European.” He even quoted Houston Stewart Chamberlain (1855–1927), the
racialist Anglo-German writer, to testify to this Europeanization process: “I
may refer to a writer, with most of whose views I disagree, but whose work,
‘Die Grundlagen des Neunzehnten Jahrhunderts’ [1899], has enjoyed a large
popularity in Germany. His subject is the ‘kultur’ of the ‘Germanic’ peoples,

and among the Germanic peoples he includes the Slavs. . . . He means that
the Slavs are one of the races which are b earers of what is commonly called
‘Western civilization.’ ”110
Bury relied on Chamberlain here to prove his point that even a “philo-
Teutonic” writer regarded Russia and the Slavs as part of Europe and not as a
foreign Eastern foe. A few months later, Bury’s reading of Chamberlain was
revalidated by the latter himself. In a pamphlet titled Who Is to Blame for the
War? (January 1915), Chamberlain wrote: “For my part, I disbelieve in the in-
born antagonism of Slavic and Germanic races. . . . History does not confirm
it, nor does my own observation.”111 Contrary to Bury’s scorching of Germany,
Chamberlain’s pamphlet, aimed at “all the readers in neutral countries,”
blamed England together with the other two states of the t riple entente (Rus
sia and France) for the war. While Germany “represents the cause of higher
civilization,” the entente members denote falsehood and despotism.112 In
Germany, he asserted, the w hole society is involved with the war efforts,
whereas in England a general apathy rules. Hence, despite their racial kinship,
a great difference separates Germany and England: “How widely contrasted,
in this respect, are the conceptions of peoples racially so nearly related.”113
Interestingly, a month later (February 1915) Bryce also referred to Cham-
berlain in his Race Sentiment: “a recent able and very learned Anglo-German
writer (Houston Stewart Chamberlain), in his Foundations of the Nineteenth
Century, argues that in the days of the old Monarchy Israel was already largely
Canaanitish. Indeed, he hints that King David was probably half an Amorite,
which means for him an Indo-European or Aryan, that is to say, in the last
resort a German, since the German is the highest specimen of the Indo-
European family.”114
Like Bury, Bryce aimed to show that even a racist thinker such as Cham-
berlain argued against racial purity. The problem, of course, was that Cham-
berlain argued against Jewish purity, while stressing Aryan dominance even
among the g reat kings of Israel. It seems that, unlike Bury, Bryce did not to-
tally distance himself from Chamberlain’s theories. This perhaps points to a
certain difference between the racial perceptions of Bryce and Bury. For the
latter, returning to his 1914 manifesto, it was primarily Germany that had
departed from Western values. The West, already from the beginning of the
nineteenth c entury, fostered, albeit not flawlessly, the idea of nationalism as
seen in the establishment of Greece, Bulgaria, and so on. Germany, however,
never promoted this notion. On the contrary, it opposed it on many occasions
188 c ha pt er 6
and in this held a shared interest with the Ottoman and the Austro-Hungarian
empires. In that sense, Russia belonged more to the West than did Germany.115
It is possible that not only the war but also his Irish Protestant background
turned Bury away from the Teutonic narrative. The Teutonic heritage was
predominantly the “reserved territory” of several scholars, who wished to
construct the English community upon an ancient Germanic past. For Bury,
Teutonism was less applicable. Remarks such as “our Germanic forefathers,”
which reappear time and again in the writings of the English-Teutonic circle
of scholars, are absent in Bury. His Irish Protestant origin also explains why
the strife with Catholicism was far more pertinent for him. As elaborated in
this chapter, his “personal” anti-Catholic opinions infiltrated his works, espe-
cially during the 1910s. Bury’s anti-Catholicism might also illuminate his ar-
gument about the long continuation of the empire in the East. Bury stressed
the way in which the Catholic Church prevented the development of the West
during the M iddle Ages, while depicting the opposing example of the Eastern
revival. In the West, the grip of Catholicism was only broken with modernity,
whereas in the East the imperial heritage and the Orthodox Church empow-
ered development and prosperity. Bury attempted to refute the common notion
that Catholicism had saved Rome after the fall. According to him, the con-
trary was true, and the East had saved Rome.
The “illusion of finality,” the title given to this chapter, was the phrase
Bury used to describe a common fallacy. E very generation believes that its era
fulfills the highest accomplishments in the history of the world and no fol-
lowing age can ever surpass its deeds since t here is no option for further pro
gress. The finality appears also within religious circles that attribute to their
faith the dichotomy of either imminent salvation or destruction. Progress based
on chance dominates history. For Bury, this made h uman development less
stable and much more fascinating. Bury, the scientific historian, considered
by some as dull, attempted through his theory of contingency to transform
the static perception of history. He tried to move beyond such entrenched
patterns of thought and offer a new, less firm concept. This, as I have tried to
portray, is not only seen in his writings on the philosophy of history but also
in his new perception of a later Roman Empire that thrived many years a fter
its alleged fall.
epilogue
Values and Interests
Past is past not b ecause it happened to others but b ecause it forms

part of our present . . . because, in short, it is our past.
—José Ortega y Gasset
Construction of a shared English-German past based on a common narrative

was the primary objective of the English-Teutonic scholars. Despite the monar-
chical (Hanoverian), religious (mainly Protestantism but also common Ca-
tholicism), and cultural (language) links between E ngland and Germany, the
attempt to construct a common narrative also faced certain difficulties since
the various scholars committed to this objective still had to bridge a certain
gap between two separated geographic al entities with (multiple) divergent
interests. As argued in this book, one of the means for overcoming the dis-
tinctiveness of each entity was through the formation of a new time line, one
that was not founded on particularistic aspects but on broader collective
traits. Most of the scholars discussed, in particu lar, Freeman, Stubbs, and
Kingsley, stressed the racial Teutonic past as a primary apparatus for merging
the history of the two nations. Thus, they tried to present Teutonic history as
an integral part of their nation’s “own” history.
Their interpretation has relevance for the more recent historiographical
debate surrounding the nature of Anglo-German relations during the second
half of the nineteenth century. Some, like Paul Kennedy, have stressed the
hostility that prevailed between the two nations between 1860 and World
War I.1 Others have challenged this negative and rather one-dimensional
perception of Anglo-German relations.2 As demonstrated throughout this
book, Freeman, Bryce, and Stubbs, that is, the English-Teutonic scholars,
190 epilo g u e
expressed affinity with the Germans. This affinity derived from two main
sources: shared origins—the supposed Aryan and particularly Teutonic
heritage, which was said to explain the cohesion of the two nations and was
constructed on linguistic, racial, and religious characteristics. For these
scholars, this was a natural and inherent structural bond. The other source
was situational, the result of politic al contingency: the English-German
scholarly circle also originated following what Freeman and o thers observed
as the shared political interests of the two states and the threat presented by
France, their mutual enemy. France, as the menacing “other,” denoted Roman,
Celtic, and Catholic characteristics. These characteristics, it was shown, con-
trasted the shared Protestant and Teutonic roots that formed the foundation of
the Anglo-German circle.
Thus, two main and perhaps distinct forces coexisted in the English-
Teutonic circle during the second half of the nineteenth c entury: one was
based on cultural-racial traits, the other founded on contemporary political
interests. Did the political interests hinge on the cultural-natural link, or did
maybe the geopolitical circumstances determine the development of a shared
cultural-racial sphere? Which of t hese forces was the dependent variable, and
which independent? It seems that the two were intermingled in the concep-
tion of the English-Teutonic circle and that neither of them embodied a
prior significance. In short, the common inherent values w ere fused with the
shared political interests of the two nations.
As illustrated, t here is a generational shift between Freeman and Stubbs
and Bryce and Bury in their later years. While Germany was still an emerg-
ing nation, many British scholars supported it and were encouraged to ex-
change ideas mainly based on German academic methods. But toward the
end of the century the impact of the Teutonic academic attraction seemed to
wane, and an estrangement gradually developed between scholars of the two
countries. Even Freeman, as described, came to resent some German influ-
ences during the 1880s.3 This generational shift, as illustrated, resulted from
Germany’s rise to ascendancy as a significant world power and culminated,
of course, in World War I.
The changing attitudes in Britain toward Germany might explain Bury’s
diminished Teutonic stance. Throughout his writings, he never showed g reat
enthusiasm for the Teutonic narrative. He did value the tribes and their his-
torical significance and was greatly influenced by the German historical
method, as seen, for example, in his multiple references to the works of Otto
Seeck. Yet, unlike Freeman, Bryce, and o thers, Bury did not identify the tribes
V a lu es a nd Int eres ts 191
as the mythical ancestors of the nation. For him, there was no acute conflict
between British political interests and essentialist ideas of a shared Anglo-
German past and present. In this he was distinct from the rest of the scholars
discussed in this book. Bury’s perception of Germany was less dependent on
the war or on a generational shift and more bound up in his aloofness from
essentialist notions about the Teutonic race.
The generational shift is also exemplified in the changing attitude of the
Saturday Review. For many years the periodical promoted Anglo-German
relations and, indeed, became a central publishing platform for the Teutonic
historians. During the 1890s, however, and in the context of German support
of the Boers in their struggle against the British, the periodical a dopted an
anti-German stance. This stance is epitomized in an article borrowing from
Cato the Elder’s saying “Carthago delenda est” (Carthage must be destroyed):
“be ready to fight Germany, as Germania delenda est.”4 The article was a racial
manifesto, an identification between the expansion of species in nature and the
foreign relations of the world’s nations. If Britain wished to preserve its Anglo-
Saxon racial superiority, the races that threatened it the most had to vanish.
Comparable to nature, t hese w ere the races that lived in the same habitat and
were intent on expansion. France, one would assume, answered to this crite-
rion, yet the author defined it an ally with a limited expansion interest. The
real enemy was Germany, mainly because it was so akin to Britain in race
and power. The two, therefore, could not coexist, and Britain, like Rome,
had to annihilate its Carthage.5
Naturally, as seen in the case of Bryce (Chapter 5), World War I was a
watershed that diminished almost any Teutonic inclinations. In an essay
published in the Scottish Review toward the end of the war (summer of 1918),
the author H. C. MacNeacail, a Scottish nationalist, described the transfor-
mation from Teutonic kinship to estrangement: “A few years ago, it was cus-
tomary, in England and elsewhere, to ascribe the origins of the English people
and of English culture to Germany. It was pointed out with perfect truth that
Germany was the original home of the English, that their language belonged
to the group of languages styled Germanic or Teutonic, and that the political
and social institutions of E
ngland had their birth in what many Englishmen
are now pleased to term the land of the Hun.”6 But with the eruption of
hostilities between the two once-friendly nations, “it was no longer the ‘correct
thing’ to claim relationship with the German.” Instead, the author asserted,
many in England began stressing their alleged Celtic roots.7 Why “alleged”
roots? Since MacNeacail, who aimed to protect his own Scottish-Celtic identity
192 epilo g u e
from “external” English-Teutonic takeovers, concluded by stating that de-

spite the war and the emerging Celtic attitudes in E ngland, “Germany is
the spiritual home of the Englishman, and, on the w hole, his anthropological
home also, whether he now likes to admit the fact or not.”8
It must be noted that, at least until the Great War, and despite deterio-
rating relations, some English scholars attempted to maintain a pro-German
view (see again Chapter 5 on Bryce). Even in 1914, on the eve of war, five
Germans received honorary degrees at the University of Oxford. In the speech
given at the ceremony, the words of the imperialist and fervent Teutonist Cecil
Rhodes (1853–1902) w ere quoted: “the w
hole of humanity would be best served
if the Teutonic peoples were brought nearer together.”9 H. S. Chamberlain
carried his extreme Teutonism into the war and beyond. In 1910 the first En
glish translation of Chamberlain’s Foundations received an enthusiastic in-
troduction by Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford, the first Baron (Lord)
Redesdale (1837–1916). The book, selling over 200,000 copies worldwide
between 1900 and 1930, received very positive reviews by John Bernard Shaw
in the leftist Fabian News, as well as from other periodicals such as the
Spectator.10 In his lengthy introduction, Lord Redesdale adhered to most of
Chamberlain’s notions and especially to his main thesis concerning the su-
premacy of the Teutonic stock: “It is to the Teuton branch of the Aryan
family that the first place in the world belongs, and the story of the nineteenth
century is the story of the Teuton’s triumph.”11
As in the above-mentioned article in the Saturday Review, Chamberlain
also pointed to the glorious Roman victory against Carthage. Chamberlain’s
conclusion in his book, together with Lord Redesdale’s later introduction, was
entirely different: it was not that Britain must annihilate Germany, but that
the Aryan race must defeat its Semitic adversary.12 If Rome had not burned
Carthage to the ground, the Semitic race would have prevailed, and history
would have been transformed:
The least mercy shown to a race of such unparalleled tenacity as the

Semites would have sufficed to enable the Phoenician nation to rise
once more; in a Carthage only half-burned the torch of life would
have glimmered beneath the ashes, to burst again into flame as
soon as the Roman Empire began to approach its dissolution. We
are not yet free of peril from the Arabs, who long seriously threat-
ened our existence, and their creation, Mohammedanism, is the
greatest of all hindrances to every progress of civilisation, hanging
V a lu es a nd Int eres ts 193
like a sword of Damocles over our slowly and laboriously rising

culture in Europe, Asia and Africa; the Jews stand morally so high
above all other Semites that one may hardly name them in con-
junction with these (their ancestral enemies in any case from time
immemorial), and yet we should need to be blind or dishonest, not
to confess that the problem of Judaism in our midst is one of the
most difficult and dangerous questions of the day; now imagine in
addition a Phoenician nation, holding from the earliest times all
harbours in their possession, monopolising all trade, in possession
of the richest capitals in the world and of an ancestral national
religion.13
Chamberlain echoed the words of Green (see Chapter 1) and especially

Freeman (Chapter 4), who both underscored the Roman victory against Car-
thage as one of the climaxes of the perpetual animosity between the Aryan
and Semitic races. Chamberlain, in fact, drew a “racial line” between Car-
thage and the later Islamic and Jewish civilizations. Freeman, as seen, also
marked the Aryan-Christian-European conflicts against the Saracens of the
seventh century and eventually against (his) present-day Ottoman-Turks as
belonging to the continuous racial strife determining the course of history.
Thus, although the Teutonic notion seemed to be less dominant by the
beginning of the twentieth century, Chamberlain, Lord Redesdale, and
other Edwardian scholars (some already active in the Victorian age) cherished,
at least until World War I, the Teutonism and racial historical perception of
their Victorian predecessors.
The article in the Saturday Review, as well as Chamberlain’s thesis, oscil-
lated between past and present. In the case of the Saturday Review, the Brit-
ish Empire, like ancient Rome, must crush its strongest adversary, Germany/
Carthage, while in the case of Chamberlain the modern Aryan nations o ught
to prevail over the Semitic race. These ideas reflect one of the central pillars of
this book, the idea of the “unity of history.” This idea, I have argued, trans-
formed the conventional periodization, presented new patterns, and constantly
amalgamated contemporary reality and ancient history. The English Teutonic
scholars, while not renowned for their innovative periodizations, nevertheless
altered the historiographical debate about the end of antiquity. They created
new historiographical approaches toward the Roman, Byzantine, and even
Muslim past. Most of these scholars, excluding Bury, aimed to validate the his-
torical dominance of the Teutonic race through various institutional, religious,
194 epilo g u e
and, most important, racial explanations. Race was a reoccurring theme

throughout their writings, and its mergence with the concept of periodiza-
tion was crucial in the construction of an aut hentic English-German Teu-
tonic community.
Race pointed to the founding of a complete and complex Teutonic civi-
lization that had not copied and imitated other heritages and cultures but
rather formed its own culture. This enabled certain scholars to rely on an in
dependent historical identity that, together with other ideas and developments,
assisted their reinvention and reimagination of their own communities in the
nineteenth century. Small wonder many of them pointed to the Germanic
tribes as their ancient forefathers. Their research into the past created a certain
historical narrative, which served as a historical and moral foundation for the
establishment of the community. This also led scholars to the conclusion that
the Germanic heritage was not limited to the geographic al realm of the
German principalities, because, already during the times of the tribes the
Germanic spirit was prevalent in many places in Europe. The deeper meaning
of this definition is that the realm of the German race, language, and culture—
and not the geography of the nineteenth century—defines the boundaries of
a community that, as well as being authentic, was large, powerful, and destined
to rule.
Notes
Works frequently cited have been identified by the following the abbreviations:
BL British Library
Bod. Bodleian Library, Special Collections
HOS Freeman, History of Sicily
HRE Holy Roman Empire
JRLM John Rylands Library, Manchester
LEAF Life and Letters of Edward A. Freeman
LJRG Letters of John Richard Green
ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography
RPA Rationalist Press Association
SR Saturday Review of Politics, Literature, Science, and Art
THRE Bryce, The Holy Roman Empire, 4th ed.
Introduction
Note to epigraph: Reinhart Koselleck, The Practice of Conceptual History: Timing History, Spac-
ing Concepts, trans. Todd Samuel Presner et al., forward Hayden White, Cultural Memory in
the Present (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2002), 4.
1. Jack Goody, The Theft of History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 12–23.
2. Isaiah Berlin, Selected Writings, ed. Henry Hardy (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1981), 337. Vis-à-vis this claim about the uniqueness of Hess, it is necessary to mention Lord Ac-
ton’s essay about the present and future influence of nationality written in 1862. See Lord Acton,
“Nationality,” in Mapping the Nation, ed. Gopal Balakrishna (London: Verso, 1996), 17–38.
3. For proto-racist perceptions that had “thrived” already in antiquity, see: Benjamin H.
Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,
2004). For proto-nationalism in antiquity, see Doron Mendels, The Rise and Fall of Jewish
Nationalism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1997).
4. Throughout the discussion, I focus on the alleged Teutonic origin of the English (not
British) and their affinity with Germany. Some of the “Teutonic” scholars, such as James Bryce
(Scotland) were indeed British rather than English. However, they still emphasized the Teutonic
kinship of the Eng lish nation, and, therefore, they w ill be referred to as Eng lish scholars.
Furthermore, although most of these figures were historians, I will, in most instances, label
them “scholars,” especially since Bryce (jurisprudence) and Max Müller (philology) w ere known
as major figures in other fields of study.
196 not es to pag es 3 – 9
5. These are the words of Arnaldo Momigliano in his essay “Eighteenth-Century Prelude
to Mr. Gibbon,” cited in Suzanne L. Marchand, Down from Olympus: Archaeology and Philhel-
lenism in Germany, 1750–1970 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2003), 152.
6. Jack Repcheck, The Man Who Found Time: James Hutton and the Discovery of the Earth’s
Antiquity (Reading, Mass.: Perseus, 2003), 4–8, 22.
7. Avi Lifschitz, Language and Enlightenment: The Berlin Debates of the Eighteenth C entury,
Oxford Historical Monographs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 17–22.
8. Maurice Olender, The Languages of Paradise: Aryans and Semites, A Match Made in
Heaven, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1992), 137.
9. Tuska Benes, In Babel’s Shadow: Language, Philology, and the Nation in Nineteenth-
Century Germany (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 2008), 9–13, 67; Stefan Ar-
vidsson, Aryan Idols: Indo-European Mythology as Ideology and Science, trans. Sonia Wichmann
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 14–17.
10. Thomas R. Trautmann, Aryans and British India (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1997), 42.
11. Jed Z. Buchwald and Mordechai Feingold, Newton and the Origin of Civilization
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2013), 148–50.
12. Lifschitz, Language and Enlightenment, 27. Even an expert philologist and ethnologist
such as William Jones (1746–94), who was the first scholar to observe the similarities between
Indian and European languages, argued that Adam and Noah had spoken a perfect language.
Jones, however, admitted that he was unable to recover this primal language. See Trautmann,
Aryans and British India, 51–52.
13. Lifschitz shows through his focus on the less studied 1759 prize contest on “language
and mind” at the Berlin Academy how the two contests w ere, in fact, part of the same theo-
retical framework. See Lifschitz, Language and Enlightenment, 12, 178–87.
14. Johann Gottfried von Herder, Philosophical Writings, trans. and ed. Michael N. For-
ster, Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2002), 147.
15. Ibid., 153.
16. George L. Mosse, Toward the Final Solution: a History of European Racism (London:
Dent, 1978), 47.
17. Benes, In Babel’s Shadow, 39–45.
18. Michael N. Forester, German Philosophy of Language: From Hegel to Schlegel and Be-
yond (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 109–12.
19. Johannes Endres, Friedrich Schlegel-Handbuch: Leben, Werk, Wirkung (Stuttgart: J. B.
Metzler, 2017), 218–24.
20. Chen Tzoref-A shkenazi, “India and the Identity of Europe: The Case of Friedrich
Schlegel,” Journal of the History of Ideas 67, no. 4 (2006): 731–32.
21. Suzanne L. Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire: Religion, Race, and
Scholarship (New York: German Historical Institute; Cambridge University Press, 2009), 61–
62; Robert Cowan, The Indo-German Identification: Reconciling South Asian Origins and Euro
pean Destinies, 1765–1885, Studies in German Literature, Linguistics, and Culture (Rochester,
N.Y.: Camden House, 2010), 120–22. Some studies do mark F. Schlegel as a proto-racial thinker,
merging between a hierarchy of languages and races. For example, Léon Poliakov, The Aryan
Myth: A History of Racist and Nationalist Ideas in Europe, trans. Edmund Howard, Columbus
Centre Series, Studies in the Dynamics of Persecution and Extermination (London: Chatto
[and] Heinemann for Sussex University Press, 1974), 190–92.
not es to pag es 9 – 12 197
22. Arthur de Gobineau, The Inequality of Human Races, trans. by Adrian Collins (Lon-
don: William Heinemann, 1915), 188–89.
23. Ibid.
24. Benes, In Babel’s Shadow, 197–99.
25. Mosse, Toward the Final Solution, 39.
26. John Crawfurd, “On Language as a Test of the Races of Man,” Transactions of the
Ethnological Society of London 3 (1865): 1.
27. Trautmann, Aryans and British India, 178–87.
28. Chris Manias, Race, Science, and the Nation: Reconstructing the Ancient Past in Brit-
ain, France and Germany (London: Routledge, 2013), 23–40.
29. John Hutchinson and Anthony D. Smith, Ethnicity (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1996), 6.
30. Michael Banton, The Idea of Race (London: Tavistock Publications, 1977), 8.
31. The anthropologist James Hunt (1833–69) declared in 1863 that “hardly two persons
use such an important word as ‘race’ in the same sense.” See James Hunt, Introductory Address
on the Study of Anthropology Delivered Before the Anthropological Society of London, Febru-
ary 24th, 1863 (London: Trübner, 1863), 8; Christine Bolt, Victorian Attitudes to Race, Studies
in Social History (London: Routledge, 1971), xi; Vicky Morrisroe, “ ‘Sanguinary Amusement’:
E. A. Freeman, the Comparative Method and Victorian Theories of Race,” Modern Intellectual
History 10, no. 1 (2013): 29. In a recent book, Theodore M. Vial argues that “race” as well as
“religion” have s haped our conception of Western modernity since the end of the eighteenth
and beginning of the nineteenth c entury. Both terms, Vial subtly notes, “are concepts that are
both so obvious and so slippery that it is hard to get a handle on them.” Despite their elusive
character, Vial argues, when we do encounter t hese concepts we immediately identify them.
See Theodore M. Vial, Modern Religion, Modern Race (New York: Oxford University Press,
2016), 2, 10.
32. Banton, The Idea of Race, 8.
33. Aaron Garrett, “Human Nature,” in The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century
Philosophy, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 185.
34. Olender, Languages of Paradise, 44–46.
35. Garrett, “Human Nature,” 187–92.
36. Robert Knox, The Races of Man (Philadelphia: Lea and Blanchard, 1850), 7.
37. Ibid., 9–10.
38. There is a vast debate on Darwin’s influence on the emerging racial discourse and on
slavery, which he ardently opposed. See, for instance, B. Ricardo Brown, U ntil Darwin: Science,
Human Variety and the Origins of Race (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2010), 99–148; Edward
Beasley, The Victorian Reinvention of Race: New Racisms and the Problem of Grouping in the
Human Sciences (New York: Routledge, 2010), 97–111; Adrian Desmond and James Moore,
Darwin’s Sacred Cause: How a Hatred of Slavery Shaped Darwin’s Views on Human Evolution
(New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009); Mosse, T oward the Final Solution, 72–74.
39. Francis Galton, “Eugenics: Its Definition, Scope, and Aims,” American Journal of
Sociology 10, no. 1 (1904): 1–25.
40. Jacques Le Goff, Must We Divide History into Periods?, trans. M. B. DeBevoise (New
York: Columbia University Press, 2015), 2.
41. Repcheck, The Man Who Found Time, 32–38.
42. Bede referred to this as “anno igitur ante incarnationem Dominicam” (before the
incarnation of the Lord), and “anno ab incarnatione Domini” (a fter the incarnation). See
198 not es to pag es 1 2 – 1 9
Bede, “Historiam ecclesiasticam gentis Anglorum,” in Historical Works, Liber quintus, trans.
J. E. King (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1930), 2:xxiv.
43. Bede, The Reckoning of Time (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1999), 355–56.
44. Repcheck, The Man Who Found Time, 41–42; Buchwald and Feingold, Newton and
the Origin of Civilization, 115; James Barr, “Pre-Scientific Chronology: The Bible and the Ori-
gin of the World,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 143, no. 3 (1999): 379–87.
45. The mainstream of the Shia believes that the Twelfth Imam, Muhammad al-Mahdi,
who disappeared in the ninth century, is the Mahdi who will return from occultation and save
the world from sin.
46. Mircea Eliade, The Myth of the Eternal Return; or, Cosmos and History (Princeton, N.J.:
Princeton University Press, 1971), 107.
47. David Cannadine, The Undivided Past: History Beyond Our Differences (London: Al-
len Lane, 2013), 176–77.
48. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto, trans. Samuel Moore
(London: Pluto Press, 2008), 33.
49. Ibid., 33n2.
50. Georg Ludwig von Maurer, Einleitung zur Geschichte der Mark-, Hof-, Dorf-und
Stadtverfassung und der öffentlichen Gewalt (Munich: Christian Kaiser, 1854).
51. Andreas Alföldi, “The Moral Barrier on Rhine and Danube,” in The Congress of Ro-
man Frontier Studies, 1949, ed. Eric Birley (Durham, England: University of Durham, 1952), 1.
52. Isaac, Invention of Racism, 3.
53. Johann Gottlieb Fichte, Fichte: Addresses to the German Nation [Reden an die deutsche
Nation], trans. and ed. Gregory Moore, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 47.
54. Ibid., 109.
55. Ibid., 109–10.
56. Today, t here is an ongoing debate in Germany about the legacy of Arndt. In 1933, the
newly elected Nazi regime named the University of Greifswald a fter Arndt and in honor of his
racial legacy. The current students of the university are engaged in a campaign to eliminate
Arndt from their university’s name. See “Uni Ohne Arndt,” accessed April 30, 2014, http://
www.uniohnearndt.de/.
57. Some argue that Arndt did not emphasize the notion of racial purity even though he
did advocate a racial argument. See Brian Vick, “Arndt and German Ideas of Race: Between
Kant and Social Darwinisim,” in Ernst Moritz Arndt (1769–1860): Deutscher Nationalismus—
Europa—transatlantische Perspektiven, ed. Walter Erhart and Arne Koch (Tübingen: Niemeyer,
2007), 65–76.
58. Ernst Moritz Arndt and John Robert Seeley, The Life and Adventures of Ernst Moritz
Arndt, the Singer of the German Fatherland (Boston: Roberts B rothers, 1879), 304.
59. Ibid., 105.
60. Ernst Moritz Arndt, Ueber Volkshass und über den Gebrauch einer fremden Sprache
(Leipzig, 1813), 13.
61. Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès, “What Is the Third Estate,” in Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès: The
Essential Political Writings, ed. Oliver W. Lembcke and Florian Weber, Studies in the History
of Political Thought, vol. 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 48–49; Krzysztof Pomian, “Franks and Gauls,”
in Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, vol. 1, Conflicts and Divisions, ed. Pierre Nora
and Lawrence D. Kritzman, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1996), 55.
not es to pag es 1 9 –2 3 199
62. Ian N. Wood, The Modern Origins of the Early M iddle Ages (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2013), 23–28.
63. Beasley, The Victorian Reinvention of Race, 2–5, 63; Gertrude Himmelfarb, Victorian
Minds (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1968), 218–21.
Chapter 1
Note to epigraph: Edward A. Freeman, Old English History for Children (London: Mac-
millan, 1869), 22.
1. Peter Mandler, The English National Character: The History of an Idea from Edmund
Burke to Tony Blair (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2006), 86–87.
2. The term denotes the keenness of nineteenth-century historians to research the alleged
Teutonic history of their nations. The term is attributed to Michael Burleigh and Wolfgang
Wippermann. See Michael Burleigh and Wolfgang Wippermann, The Racial State: Germany,
1933–1945 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 25. Nevertheless, the term was al-
ready used during the nineteenth century. For instance, the most notable Jewish historian of
the nineteenth century, Heinrich Graetz, wrote a chapter with this term in the title. See Hein-
rich Graetz, “The Reaction and Teutomania,” in History of the Jews, ed. and trans. Bellla Löwy
(Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1898), 5:510–35.
3. Oxford English Dictionary, s.vv. “Anglo-Saxonism,” “Saxonism,” and “Teuton,” accessed
June 6, 2018, http://w ww.oed.c om /v iew/Entry/7608?redirectedFrom=A nglo-Saxonism#eid;
http://w ww.oed.com/view/Entry/171573#eid24350726; http://w ww.oed.com/view/Entry/199961
#eid18732848.
4. Allen J. Frantzen and John D. Niles, eds., Anglo-Saxonism and the Construction of
Social Identity (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1997), 1.
5. Reginald Horsman, “Origins of Racial Anglo-Saxonism in Great Britain Before 1850,”
Journal of the History of Ideas 37, no. 3 (1976): 388–89; Hugh A. MacDougall, Racial Myth in
English History: Trojans, Teutons and Anglo-Saxons (Montreal: Harvest House, 1982), 45–48, 89–
103; Billie Melman, “Claiming the Nation’s Past: The Invention of an Anglo-Saxon Tradition,”
Journal of Contemporary History 26, nos. 3–4 (1991): 587; Howard Williams, “Anglo-Saxonism
and Victorian Archaeology: William Wylie’s Fairford Graves,” Early Medieval Europe 16, no. 1
(2008): 51–52. Some Victorians, like Matthew Arnold, presented a unique fusion of the two
identities; see discussion in Chapter 4; and Joep Leerssen, “Englishness, Ethnicity and Matthew
Arnold,” European Journal of English Studies 10, no. 1 (2006): 64–66.
6. Reginald Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny: The Origins of American Racial Anglo-
Saxonism (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981); Eric P. Kaufmann, “American
Exceptionalism Reconsidered: Anglo-Saxon Ethnogenesis in the ‘Universal’ Nation, 1776–
1850,” Journal of American Studies 33, no. 3 (1999): 447–49.
7. Horsman, Race and Manifest Destiny, 33.
8. John Pinkerton, A Dissertation on the Origin and Progress of the Scythians or Goths: Be-
ing an Introduction to the Ancient and Modern History of Europe (London: Printed by John
Nichols for George Nicol, 1787), 90. Following Pinkerton, another famous Scotsman, Thomas
Carlyle, continued to emphasize the difference between the Saxon Lowlanders and the Irish/
Celtic Highlanders. When put together with the ideas of Walter Scott, one could even claim
that Scottish writers invented the idea of English-Saxonism. See Robert Young, The Idea of
English Ethnicity (Malden, Mass.; Oxford: Blackwell, 2008), 30–31.
200 not es to pag es 2 3 – 29
9. Pinkerton, Origin and Progress of the Scythians or Goths, 92.

10. Ibid., 189.
11. Pinkerton was in contact with Edward Gibbon, who presented a rather similar scheme
about the significance of the fifth c entury. Gibbon wished Pinkerton to edit a book on the
English historians. However, the project was not implemented due to Gibbon’s death. See John
Pinkerton, The Literary Correspondence of John Pinkerton, Esq. (London: Henry Colburn and
Richard Bentley, 1830), 1:328–33; Sarah Couper, “Pinkerton, John [Pseuds. Robert Heron,
H. Bennet] (1758–1826),” ODNB, accessed May 1, 2014, http://w ww.oxforddnb.com/view/10
.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb9780198614128-e-22301.
12. Walter Scott, “Ancient History of Scotland,” in The Miscellaneous Prose Works of Sir
Walter Scott, Bart., vol. 20, Periodical Criticism, vol. 4 (Edinburgh: R. Cadell; London: Whit-
taker, 1835), 321.
13. Ibid., 325–32.
14. Ibid., 335–36.
15. Ibid., 327.
16. Walter Scott, Ivanhoe: A Romance (Edinburgh: Printed for Archibald Constable;
London: Hurst, Robinson, 1820), 1:4.
17. Wood, Modern Origins, 100–102.
18. Scott, Ivanhoe, 1:47.
19. Ibid., xiii–x iv.
20. Sharon Turner, The History of the Anglo-Saxons: From the Earliest Period to the Nor-
man Conquest, 6th ed. (London: Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longman, 1836),
1:4, 25.
21. Ibid., 23.
22. Ibid., 79–85.
23. Ibid., 69.
24. Edward A. Freeman, The Historical Geography of Europe (London: Longmans, Green;
New York: Scribner and Welford, 1881), 1:97.
25. John W. Burrow, A Liberal Descent: Victorian Historians and the English Past (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981).
26. William Stubbs, The Constitutional History of England in Its Origin and Development
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1874–78), 1:2–3.
27. Ibid., 10–11, 58–59.
28. Ibid., 63.
29. Ibid., 8–11.
30. Ibid., 2.
31. Ibid., 3.
32. In most places when Stubbs mentions the term “race” it seems identical to “nation.”
However, in some cases it does denote a certain kinship/blood relation between p eople. See,
for example, William Stubbs, The Early Plantagenets, 6th ed. (London: Longmans, Green,
1889), 230.
33. Most of t hese letters have never been published. Even though Freeman exchanged a
vast number of letters with Green, t here is only scattered evidence for this in Freeman’s edited
letters. The reason for this was that a fter Green’s death, when his wife Alice continued his work
and wished to publish his letters, Freeman refused to pass certain letters to her, since they
exposed “secrets” about Green’s early life. In response, Alice also refused to send the numerous
letters (from Freeman to Green) to Freeman’s family, and so they have never been published.
not es to pag es 2 9 –33 201
oday, most of t hese letters can be found in the Freeman Archives, JRLM; and in the archive
T
of Jesus College, Oxford, where Green studied. See also Anthony Brundage, The People’s
Historian: John Richard Green and the Writing of History in Victorian England, Studies in
Historiography 2 (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1994), 154–56.
34. John Richard Green, A Short History of the English People, rev. ed. (London: Macmil-
lan, 1889), 2.
35. Ibid., 3. On the popularity of this book, see James Kirby, Historians and the Church of
England: Religion and Historical Scholarship, 1870–1920 (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2016), 15.
36. Green, Short History, 4.
37. Ibid., 10.
38. Ibid., 11.
39. Green to Freeman, March 21, 1876, in Letters of John Richard Green [LJRG], ed. Leslie
Stephen (London: Macmillan, 1901), 431. Freeman’s argument can also be seen in another let-
ter to Green. See Freeman to Green, March 14, 1876, JRLM, MSS FA1/8/57.
40. Green to Freeman, March 24, 1876, LJRG, 432.
41. Ibid., 431.
42. Ibid.
43. According to some scholars of nationalism, a similar “labeling problem” does not ap-
ply to other nations, such as the Greeks, Jews, or Armenians who have preserved their names,
traditions, and language from antiquity to modernity. Hans Kohn, for instance, mentions the
Greeks and the Jews as possessing a distinct and ancient communal feeling. See Hans Kohn,
Nationalism: Its Meaning and History, rev. ed. (Princeton, N.J.: Van Nostrand, 1965), 11–12. L ater,
Anthony D. Smith also discusses the ancient kernel of t hese ethnic groups. See Anthony D.
Smith, National Identity (London: Penguin, 1991), 32–33.
44. Green to Freeman, March 21, 1876, LJRG, 432.
45. Freeman to Green, March 26, 1876, JRLM, MSS FA 1/8/58a.
46. Green to Freeman, March 24, 1876, LJRG, 432–33.
47. Ibid.
48. James Bryce, Studies in Contemporary Biography (London: Macmillan, 1903), 137.
49. Even in the obituary Freeman published a fter Green’s death he criticized him for not
researching the Angevin dynasty. See Brundage, The P eople’s Historian, 153.
50. Bryce, Contemporary Biography, 149–59; Ian Hesketh, The Science of History in Victo-
rian Britain: Making the Past Speak (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2011), 12–14, 36.
51. Brundage, The P eople’s Historian, 4–5.
52. Green to Freeman, September 30, 1878, LJRG, 475; Ernst Breisach, Historiography:
Ancient, Medieval, and Modern, 3rd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 306.
53. Stephen, LJRG, 51–60. The Christian Socialist movement was established in 1848 by
F. D. Maurice, Charles Kingsley, J. M. Ludlow, and Thomas Hughes. They were concerned
about the social essence of Christianity and in practice supported greater cooperation in the
economy and relief for the lower social strata. The movement established cooperative work-
shops in London and published several journals such as Politics for the People and the Christian
Socialist. See Bernard M. G. Reardon, “Maurice, (John) Frederick Denison (1805–72),” ODNB,
accessed December 10, 2014, http://w ww.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128
.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-1001732.
54. Edward R. Norman, The Victorian Christian Socialists (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1987), 147.
55. Green, Short History, xvii.

56. Green to Freeman, October 30, 1873, LJRG, 364.
57. Freeman to Green, November 20, 1873, JRLM, MSS FA 1/8/21a.
58. Green, Short History, xvii.
59. Freeman edited Thompson’s History of England as part of his Historical Course for
Schools. See Edith Thompson, History of England, ed. Edward A. Freeman, Freeman’s His-
torical Course for Schools (New York: Henry Holt, 1873). Edith Thompson (1848–1929) was a
historian. She met Freeman in 1867–8 and maintained lifelong connections with him. See
Amanda L. Capern, “Thompson, Edith (1848–1929),” ODNB, accessed May 20, 2016, http://
www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e
-64832.
60. Bryce to Freeman, May 15, 1871, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 172.
61. Stephen, LJRG, 215.
62. Ibid.
63. Ibid.
64. Edward A. Freeman, “Race and Language,” in Historical Essays: Third Series (Lon-
don: Macmillan, 1879), 173–230.
65. Simon J. Cook, “The Making of the English: English History, British Identity, Aryan
Villages, 1870–1914,” Journal of the History of Ideas 75, no. 4 (2014): 633–39.
66. Duncan Bell, “Alter Orbis: E. A. Freeman on Empire and Racial Destiny,” in Making
History: Edward Augustus Freeman and Victorian Cultural Politics, ed. G. A. Bremner and
Jonathan Conlin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 230–35.
67. C. J. W. Parker, “The Failure of Liberal Racialism: The Racial Ideas of E. A. Free-
man,” Historical Journal 24, no. 4 (1981): 825–46.
68. Marilyn Lake, “ ‘Essentially Teutonic’: E. A. Freeman, Liberal Race Historian; A
Transnational Perspective,” in Race, Nation and Empire: Making Histories, 1750 to the Present,
ed. Catherine Hall and Keith McClelland (Manchester: Manchester University Press 2010),
60–61.
69. Morrisroe, “ ‘Sanguinary Amusement,’ ” 27–56.
70. G. A. Bremner and Jonathan Conlin, “1066 and All That: E. A. Freeman and the
Importance of Being Memorable,” in Making History, 22–26.
71. Müller to Freeman, June 1, 1870, JRLM, MSS FA 1/7/592.
72. Freeman, “Race and Language,” 183.
73. In a letter to the famous geologist and paleontologist Sir William Boyd Dawkins,
Freeman described the “Blacks” as physically inferior, while referring to his own Aryan su-
premacy: “The really queer thing is the niggers who swarm h ere; my Aryan prejudices go
against them.” See Freeman to Dawkins, October 15–16, 1881, in William R. W. Stephens, The
Life and Letters of Edward A. Freeman [LEAF ] (London: Macmillan, 1895), 2:234.
74. “The Jews must be very nearly, if not absolutely, a pure race, in a sense in which no
European nation is pure. The blood remains untouched by conversion; it remains un-
touched even by intermarriage. The Jew may be sure of his own stock, in a way in which
none of the rest of us, Dutch, Welsh, or anything else, can be sure.” See Freeman, “Race
and Language,” 230.
75. Edward A. Freeman and Arthur J. Evans, The History of Sicily from the Earliest Times
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1891–94), 2:22–23.
not es to pag es 3 6–41 203
77. James Sime, History of Germany, ed. E. A. Freeman and A. W. Ward (London: Mac-
millan, 1874).
78. Green to Freeman, December 30, 1872, LJRG, 340.
79. Ibid.
80. Charlotte Yonge replaced Green as the author. Green was not Freeman’s first choice,
and he approached him only a fter it became apparent that Mary Arnold, the granddaughter of
Thomas and nephew of Matthew, would not be able to finish the project. Yonge took over in
1874, but, due to Freeman’s “harsh” editing, it was only published in 1879. See Susan Walton,
“Charlotte M. Yonge and the ‘Historic Harem’ of Edward Augustus Freeman,” Journal of
Victorian Culture 11, no. 2 (2006): 238–41.
81. See, for example, Green to Freeman, October 30, 1873, LJRG, 365: “but you must judge
for yourself w
hether you can bear to have ‘Little France’ written on the same principles on which
I have written my E ngland, and if you c an’t you had better give it over to Hunt.”
82. Green to Freeman, November 17, 1871, LJRG, 308.
83. Ibid., 333.
84. Bryce to Freeman, August 3, 1864, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 41.
85. Edward A. Freeman, “The Landesgemeinde of Uri,” SR 15, no. 396 (1863): 686–87;
Edward A. Freeman, “The Landesgemeinden of Uri and Appenzell,” SR 17, no. 447 (1864):
622–24.
87. The six cantons Freeman named w ere: Uri, Glarus, two halves of Unterwalden, and
two halves of Appenzell. See Freeman, “Landesgemeinden of Uri and Appenzell,” 623.
88. Freeman to Green, December 18, 1871, JRLM, MSS FA 1/8/7a.
89. Freeman to Bryce, October 8, 1875, Bod., MS Bryce 6, fol. 106.
90. The term Welsch in German has several meanings; it can denote the French-Swiss
language and people; the Latin language; or foreign people or language. In Proto-Germanic it
either referred to the Roman-Celtic or Roman-L atin people. See Oxford German Dictionary:
German-English, English-German, ed. Werner Scholze-Stubenrecht et al., 3rd ed. (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2008).
91. Freeman to Bryce, May 6, 1867, LEAF, 1:385.
92. Bryce to Freeman, September 20, 1871, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 173.
93. During the 1930s, Karl Keller-Tarnuzerr, a Swiss racialist writer, advocated a Swiss-
dominant ethnicity and unique ethnogenesis. See Oliver Zimmer, “ ‘A Unique Fusion of the
Natural and the Man-Made’: The Trajectory of Swiss Nationalism, 1933–39,” Journal of Con
temporary History 39, no. 1 (2004): 14–16. For a more recent discussion on dominant ethnicity
and the supposed tension between the latter and modern civic values, see Eric P. Kaufmann, ed.,
Rethinking Ethnicity: Majority Groups and Dominant Minorities (London: Routledge, 2004).
94. Freeman to Bryce, November 7–8, 1871, Bod., MS Bryce 5, fol. 284.
95. Baumgartner to Freeman, September 24, 1873, JRLM, MSS FA 1/7/20.
96. Freeman, “The Landesgemeinde of Uri,” 686.
97. These were two great battles in Swiss history. In the battle of Morgarten in 1315, near
the famous mountain pass of that name, 1,500 Swiss soldiers defeated a much larger Austrian
army led by Leopold I. The b attle of Sempach occurred seventy-one years later (1386). In this
later b attle the old Swiss confederacy (Alte Eidgenossenschaft) was victorious against the Aus-
trian troops of Leopold III. The two b attles symbolize g reat events in the establishment of the
f uture Swiss federation.
98. For instance, the genealogical list in the books of Luke (3:23–38) and Matthew (1:1–
17) link Jesus to King David, Abraham, Adam, and finally to God. The list was supposed to
prove that Jesus is a descendant of the messianic lineage of the house of David and hence the
son of God.
99. Edward A. Freeman, General Sketch of European History, Historical Course for Schools
(London: Macmillan, 1872).
100. Green to Macmillan, ca. 1872, LJRG, 319. The battle of Chalons was fought in the
summer of AD 274 between the Roman emperor Aurelian and Tetricus, the Gallic emperor.
The Roman army prevailed and brought an end to the Gallic empire. See John Drinkwater,
“Maximinus to Diocletian and the ‘Crisis,’” in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 12, The Crisis
of Empire, AD 193–337, 2nd ed., ed. Alan Bowman, Averil Cameron, and Peter Garnsey
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 52–53.
101. In Sanskrit ārya (Aryan) means “noble.” It was following the research of philologists
like F. von Schlegel, who regarded the Arier as “our Germanic ancestors, while they were still
in Asia,” that the term was first conceptualized by nineteenth-c entury scholars. The exact
implication of the term remained rather vague and scholars argued about its a ctual sense. For
instance, the origin of the Aryans was much debated among nineteenth-c entury historians,
philologists, and anthropologists. Nevertheless, most scholars argued that it referred to the
whole family of the Indo-Germanic people. In addition, the common view was that the
Aryan lands of origin had been situated in Asia, somewhere between Iran and the Indian
subcontinent. In a certain historical stage, these p eople had migrated to the West, and
many of the nations of Europe evolved from them. See Mosse, Toward the Final Solution,
39–45; Poliakov, Aryan Myth, 255–61; Sheldon Pollock, “Deep Orientalism? Notes on San-
skrit and Power Beyond the Raj,” in Orientalism and the Postcolonial Predicament: Perspec-
tives on South Asia, ed. Carol A. Breckenridge and Peter van der Veer, New Cultural Studies
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993), 86–91, 107–10. See also the discus-
sion (Chapter 2) of Max Müller and this term.
102. As Henry Maine declared in his Rede lecture: “The new theory of linguistics has
unquestionably produced a new theory of Race.” Cited in Christopher Hutton, “Race and
Language: Ties of ‘Blood and Speech,’ Fictive Identity and Empire in the Writings of Henry
Maine and Edward Freeman,” Interventions 2, no. 1 (2000): 60.
103. Green to Macmillan, ca. 1872, LJRG, 319.
104. Freeman, Old English History for Children, 5–6.
106. Ibid. In another letter, Bryce argued that the Finns were the noblest people of Scan-
dinavia: “the most superior people which have written admirably both in Scandinavian and
their own tongue; and are the calmest p eople in Europe.” See Bryce to Freeman, September 14,
1891, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 308.
109. Freeman, “Race and Language,” 209.
110. The term “Viking” appeared in English for the first time in 1807. The Victorians ac-
tually “invented” the term, and its first major use was in Walter Scott’s novel The Pirate. See
Andrew Wawn, The Vikings and the Victorians: Inventing the Old North in Nineteenth-Century
Britain (Woodbridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000), 3–4; Joanne Parker, “The Dragon and the Raven:
Saxons, Danes and the Problem of Defining National Character in Victorian England,” Euro
pean Journal of English Studies 13, no. 3 (2009): 258.
not es to pag es 4 4 –5 0 205
111. Freeman, Old English History for Children, 91.

112. Ibid., 91–92.
113. Ibid., 1–3
114. Freeman, Historical Geography (1881), 1:96.
115. Freeman, Old English History for Children, 26–28.
116. Edward A. Freeman, Western Europe in the Eighth C entury & Onward: An Aftermath
(London: Macmillan, 1904), 3.
117. Ibid., 204–5.
118. Freeman to Stephens, May 30, 1881, LEAF, 2:228.
119. Edward A. Freeman, “An Introduction to American Institutional History,” Johns
Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science 1, no. 1 (1883):15.
120. Ibid., 30.
121. Herbert B. Adams, “Methods of Historical Study,” Johns Hopkins University Studies
in Historical and Political Science 2, nos. 1–2 (1884): 22.
122. Adams, in a footnote, claimed that 163 p eople participated in Freeman’s seminar. See
ibid., 59n1.
123. Herbert B. Adams, “Germanic Origins of New England Towns,” Johns Hopkins
University Studies in Historical and Political Science 1, no. 2 (1882): 48–49.
124. Ibid.
125. Adams to Freeman, February 7, 1882, JRLM, MSS FA1/7/2.
126. Adams to Freeman, February 24, 1882, JRLM, MSS FA1/7/4a.
127. Herbert Adams himself was very knowledgeable in German scholarship and com-
pleted his PhD at Heidelberg in 1876. See John M. Vincent, “Herbert B. Adams: A Biographi-
cal Sketch,” in Herbert B. Adams: Tributes of Friends, with a Bibliography of the Department of
History, Politics and Economics of the Johns Hopkins University, 1876–1901 (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1902), 12–13.
128. Bryce, in one of his letters to Freeman, asked him for his view on Adams’s theory:
“What did you think of Herbert B. Adams theory about New England town meetings, w ere
not new creating t here but perpetuations of something [that] still living . . . in E
ngland?” [sic].
See Bryce to Freeman, October 14, 1886, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 256.
129. James Bryce, The American Commonwealth (London: Macmillan, 1888), 1:35.
130. Ibid., 2:33.
131. Ibid., 1:223.
132. Adams to Freeman, December 25, 1882, JRLM, MSS FA1/7/9c.
133. Freeman, “An Introduction to American Institutional History,” 21.
Chapter 2
Note to epigraph: Disraeli in a speech to the House of Commons on supply to navy,

August 9, 1848, accessed February 12, 2015, http://hansard.millbanksystems.com/commons
/1848/aug/09/supply-navy-estimates.
1. For instance, the term “Jew” can be seen in Freeman’s letter to Bryce, August 27, 1876,
LEAF, 2:141: “Meetings to denounce the Turk and the Jew are getting common.” In another
letter, to Edith Thompson, Freeman wrote: “How the Jews, Turks, and Tories do lie! . . . Still
they need not lie, but I suppose with the ‘Jew’ at their head [Disraeli] they really cannot help
it.” See Freeman to Thompson, December 24, 1876, LEAF, 2:144.
206 not es to pag es 50 – 53
2. It must be noted that Disraeli also developed a racial argument. See Simone Beate
Borgstede, “All Is Race”: Benjamin Disraeli on Race, Nation and Empire (Zurich: Lit, 2011).
3. Some of t hese aspects appear in current definitions of the nation and of the ethnic
community. For example, Anthony Smith’s definition of the “nation” and ethnos. Certain
features, such as a shared homeland or a common economy, which appear in Smith’s definition,
are absent from the Pan-Teutonic community. See Smith, National Identity, 14–21.
4. Frank L. Müller, Our Fritz: Emperor Frederick III and the Political Culture of Imperial
Germany (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011), 30–35; John Ramsden, D on’t
Mention the War: The British and Germans Since 1890 (London: L ittle, Brown, 2006), 8–17.
5. Müller, Our Fritz, 43–47. During the 1860s, Britain and Prussia (as later Germany)
were not only on good terms but also collided on several state m atters. For instance, Britain
harshly opposed the pact of Bismarck with Russia, Britain’s greatest rival, concerning the pursuit
of Polish insurgents in Prussian territory following the January 1863 uprising. See Frank L.
Müller, Britain and the German Question: Perceptions of Nationalism and Political Reform, 1830–
63 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), 192.
6. See the subsections on t hese individuals later in this chapter.
7. Müller held direct correspondence with William E. Gladstone as well as with Otto
von Bismarck’s personal secretary, Heinrich Abeken; see Lourens van den Bosch, Friedrich
Max Müller: A Life Devoted to Humanities (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 100–101. Müller was also
the first president of the rather influential Eng lish Goethe Society; see John R. Davis and
Angus Nicholls, “Friedrich Max Müller: The C areer and Intellectual Trajectory of a Ger-
man Philologist in Victorian Britain,” Publications of the English Goethe Society 85, nos. 2–3
(2016): 78–82.
8. Charles E. McClelland, The German Historians and England: A Study in Nineteenth-
Century Views (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971).
9. Ibid., 4, 48–49.
10. Johann M. Lappenberg, Geschichte von E ngland (Hamburg: F. Perthes, 1834). The book
was later translated into English in several editions. See, for example, Johann M. Lappenberg,
A History of England under the Anglo-Saxon Kings, ed. Elise C. Otté, trans. Benjamin Thorpe,
2 vols. (London: G. Bell, 1881, 1894).
11. McClelland, The German Historians and E ngland, 64–65.
12. John R. Davis, The Victorians and Germany (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2007), 140–43.
13. For instance, in the case of Freeman, Davis correctly argues that Freeman identified
the birth of E ngland with the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons. However, as I will demonstrate, to
claim that Freeman saw the beginning of modernity in AD 407, when the Germanic tribes
had entered the empire, is only partly true. Furthermore, the exact year of this crossing appear
to be uncertain. See Bryan Ward-Perkins, “407 and All That: Retrospective,” Journal of Late
Antiquity 2, no. 1 (2009): 75–78.
14. Peter Wende, “Views and Reviews: Mutual Perceptions of British and German His-
torians in Late Nineteenth Century,” in British and German Historiography, 1750–1950: Tradi-
tions, Perceptions, and Transfers, ed. Benedikt Stuchtey and Peter Wende (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2000), 173–90.
15. Ibid., 174–75.
16. Ibid., 182–83.
17. John Burrow, “The Uses of Philology in Victorian E ngland,” in Ideas and Institutions
of Victorian Britain: Essays in Honour of George Kitson Clark, ed. R. Robson (London: Bell, 1967),
199–200.
not es to pag es 53 – 5 7 207
18. Duncan Forbes, The Liberal Anglican Idea of History (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 1952).
19. Gerrit Walther, “Niebuhr, Barthold Georg,” Neue Deutsche Biographie 19 (1999), ac-
cessed February 12, 2015, http://w ww.deutsche-biographie.de/pnd118587773.html.
20. Barthold G. Niebuhr, Römische Geschichte (1827; Berlin: G. Reimer, 1853).
21. Barthold G. Niebuhr, Vorträge über römische Geschichte, an der Universität zu Bonn
gehalten, vol. 3, Von Pompejus’ erstem Consulat bis zum Untergang des abendländischen Reichs
(Berlin: G. Reimer, 1848), 346.
22. Theodor Mommsen, A History of Rome Under the Emperors, German ed., ed. Barbara
Demandt and Alexander Demandt, trans. Clare Krojzl, ed. Thomas Wiedemann (London:
Routledge, 1999), 21; Jan N. Bremmer, The Rise of Christianity Through the Eyes of Gibbon,
Harnack and Rodney Stark (Groningen: Barkhuis, 2010), 24.
23. Francis Lieber, Reminiscences of an Intercourse with Mr. Niebuhr, the Historian, Dur-
ing a Residence with Him in Rome, in the Years 1822 and 1823 (Philadelphia: Carey, Lea &
Blanchard, 1835), 63.
24. Gerrit Walther, Niebuhrs Forschung, Frankfurter Historische Abhandlungen 35
(Stuttgart: Steiner, 1993), 380–83.
25. Barthold G. Niebuhr, The Life and Letters of Barthold George Niebuhr, with Essays on
His Character and Influence, by the Chevalier Bunsen, and Professors Brandis and Lorbell, ed.
and trans. Susanna Winkworth (New York: Harper, 1854), 432–33.
26. Burrow, “The Uses of Philology in Victorian E ngland,” 183.
27. The college became a hub for German scholarship. See Davis, The Victorians and
Germany, 119–20.
28. Niebuhr, Life and Letters, 433. In the same year that the letter was written, Niebuhr
also published an essay entitled “Ueber E nglands Zukunft,” which described the political pos-
sibilities and upheavals facing E ngland. See Barthold G. Niebuhr, Nachgelassene Schriften:
B. G. Niebuhr’s nichtphilologischen Inhalts (Hamburg: Friedrich Perthes, 1842), 426–52.
29. Cited in Pierre Briant, The First European: A History of Alexander in the Age of Empire
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2017), 266.
30. Ibid., 267.
31. Lieber, Reminiscences of an Intercourse with Mr. Niebuhr, 61.
32. See Niebuhr, Vorträge über römische Geschichte, vol. 1, Von der Entstehung Rom’s bis
zum Ausbruch des ersten punischen Krieges (Berlin: G. Reimer, 1846), 2; my translation.
33. Barthold Georg Niebuhr, The History of Rome, vol. 1, trans. Julius Charles Hare and
Connop Thirlwall, 4th ed. (London: Printed by J. Wertheimer for Taylor and Walton, 1847), xxxi.
34. Peter H. Reill, “Barthold Georg Niebuhr and the Enlightenment Tradition,” German
Studies Review 3, no. 1 (1980): 9–26.
35. Robert James Niebuhr Tod, Barthold Georg Niebuhr, 1776–1831: An Appreciation in
Honour of the 200th Anniversary of His Birth (Cambridge: Printed by Nicholas Smith at the
University Library, 1977), 14.
36. Martin Bernal, Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization, vol. 1, The
Fabrication of Ancient Greece, 1785–1985 (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1987),
303–5.
37. Niebuhr’s racist historical perception, Bernal argues, is evident in: Niebuhr, The His-
tory of Rome, 1:xxix–x xx.
38. For larger units he a dopted Volk/Völker or Nation. See Niebuhr, Römische Geschichte,
231–35.
208 not es to pag es 57 – 6 1
39. John Barrow, “Dr. Granville’s Travels: Russia,” Quarterly Review 39, no. 77 (1829): 8–9.
The attack on Niebuhr consisted of only two paragraphs but was responded to in a lengthy
essay by Hare and can be considered as further evidence for Niebuhr’s influence on English
scholars. See Julius C. Hare, A Vindication of Niebuhr’s History of Rome from the Charges of the
Quarterly Review (Cambridge: Printed by J. Smith, for John Taylor, 1829).
40. Norman Vance, “Niebuhr in England: History, Faith and Order,” in Stuchtey and
Wende, British and German Historiography, 89–92.
41. Thomas Arnold, Introductory Lectures on Modern History . . . , 4th ed. (London: B.
Fellowes, 1849), 28.
42. Thomas Arnold and Arthur P. Stanley, Arnold’s Travelling Journals, with Extracts from
the Life and Letters (London: B. Fellowes, 1852), 28.
43. Arnold added that alongside the German race, the Slavonic race that became domi-
nant in the modern period, will have a greater effect in the future. See Arnold, Introductory
Lectures, 28.
44. Arthur P. Stanley, The Life and Correspondence of Thomas Arnold, D.D., Late Head
Master of Rugby School and Regius Professor of Modern History in the University of Oxford, 2nd ed.
(London: B. Fellowes, 1844), 1:406.
45. Evidence of the special connection between the two scholars can be discerned in a
letter sent by Bunsen to Julius Hare upon the death of Arnold in 1842, as well as in a hymn
Bunsen dedicated to the memory of Arnold. See Frances W. Bunsen, Memoirs of Baron Bun-
sen, Late Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary of His Majesty Frederic William IV
at the Court of St. James, 2nd ed. (London: Longmans, Green, 1869), 1:10–13.
46. Henry Smith, The Protestant Bishopric in Jerusalem: Its Origin and Progress (London:
B. Wertheim, Aldine Chambers, 1847), 41–53.
47. Susanne Stark, “Bunsen, Christian Karl Josias von (1791–1860),” ODNB, accessed
December 11, 2014, http://w ww.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001
/odnb-9780198614128-e-53760.
48. Christian C. J. Bunsen, Outlines of the Philosophy of Universal History, Applied to
Language and Religion (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1854), 1:21–23, 120.
49. Ibid., 190–91.
50. David Gange, Dialogues with the Dead: Egyptology in British Culture and Religion, 1822–
1922, Classical Presences (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 24–29.
51. Ibid., 36.
52. Bunsen, Outlines of the Philosophy of Universal History, 1:3–4; Christian C. J. Bunsen,
Egypt’s Place in Universal History: An Historical Investigation in Five Books, trans. Charles H.
Cottrell (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1848–67), 1:viii–x.
53. Suzanne L. Marchand, “Dating Zarathustra: Oriental Texts and the Problem of Per-
sian Prehistory, 1700–1900,” Erudition and the Republic of Letters 1, no. 2 (2016): 236–37.
54. Christian C. J. Bunsen, God in History; or, The Prog ress of Man’s Faith in the Moral
Order of the World, trans. Susanna Winkworth (London: Longmans, Green, 1868–70),
1:276–83.
55. Bunsen, Egypt’s Place, 1:xi; Christian C. J. Bunsen, Aegyptens Stelle in der Weltgeschichte:
Geschichtliche Untersuchung (Gotha: F. Perthes, 1844–57).
56. Bunsen, God in History, 2:392; Christian C. J. Bunsen, Gott in der Geschichte; oder,
Der Fortschritt des Glaubens an eine sittliche Weltordnung (Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1857–58), 2:601.
57. Bunsen, God in History, 2:394; Bunsen, Gott in der Geschichte, 2:603–4.
not es to pag es 61 – 65 209
58. Christian C. J. Bunsen, Signs of the Times: Letters to Ernst Moritz Arndt on the Dangers
to Religious Liberty in the Present State of the World, trans. Susanna Winkworth (New York:
Harper & B rothers, 1856), 170.
59. Ibid., 55–56.
60. Ernst Moritz Arndt, Meine Wanderungen und Wandelungen mit dem Reichsfreiherrn
Heinrich Karl Friedrich von Stein (Berlin: Weidmann, 1858).
61. Arndt and Seeley, The Life and Adventures of Ernst Moritz Arndt.
62. Bunsen, God in History, 2:406.
63. Ibid., 392.
64. Ibid., 405.
65. Bunsen, Signs of the Times, 55–56.
66. Ibid., 57–58.
67. Saint Boniface (672/5–June 5, 754) was born in England and given the name Wyn-
freth. He was known for his missionary work on the Continent. L ater he became the arch-
bishop of Mainz and died as a martyr while on a missionary expedition among the Frisians.
See Ian N. Wood, “Boniface [St. Boniface] (672 × 5?–754),” ODNB, accessed December 8, 2014,
http://w w w.o xforddnb.c om/v iew/1 0.1 093/r ef:odnb/9 780198614128.0 01.0 001/o dnb
-9780198614128-e-2843.
68. Edward A. Freeman, The History of the Norman Conquest of England: Its Causes and Its
Results (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1867–79), 1:16–17.
69. Friedrich Max Müller, Comparative Mythology: An Essay, ed. A. Smythe Palmer (1856;
London: Routledge, 1909); notes by Max Müller for his first course of lectures on comparative
philology, given at Oxford, 1851, Bod., MS Eng. d. 2353.
70. Stephens, LEAF, 2:57.
71. Evidence of this close relationship between the two scholars exists in the Bodleian.
The collection includes 273 pages of correspondence. See Bod. MS German d. 22, Letters from
Max Müller to Baron C. J. von Bunsen, in German, 1845–58.
72. R. C. C. Fynes, “Müller, Friedrich Max (1823–1900),” ODNB, accessed December 8, 2014,
http://w ww.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e
-1003518; Marchand, “Dating Zarathustra,” 235.
73. A very enlightening analysis of Müller’s Sacred Books and his implementation of the
“comparative method” is to be found in Arie L. Molendijk, Friedrich Max Müller and the “Sacred
Books of the East” (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 122–42.
74. Ibid., 9.
75. Davis and Nicholls, “Friedrich Max Müller,” 73–74.
76. Marchand, “Dating Zarathustra,” 237.
77. The term had been also in use in Eastern Persia (Iran is the “land of the Aryas”). Müller,
in an interpretation of the word Suispra (with a beautiful nose), from the Rig Veda also suggested
that a physical difference separated the “long nose” Aryans of northern India from the “flat-noses
of the aboriginal races” (southern Indians). See F. Max Müller, “The Last Results of the Re-
searches Respecting the Non-Iranian and Non-Semitic Languages of Asia and Europe, or the
Turanian F amily of Languages,” in Bunsen, Outlines of the Philosophy of Universal History, 1:346;
Trautmann, Aryans and British India, 13–14, 197; Davis and Nicholls, “Friedrich Max Müller,” 88.
78. T
oday, Arian (with an i) only signifies the ancient Christian sect of Arianism.
79. F. Max Müller, Letter to Chevalier Bunsen on the Classification of the Turanian Lan-
guages (London: A. & G. A. Spottiswoode, 1854), 224–25; Arvidsson, Aryan Idols, 31–32.
210 not es to pag es 65– 6 9
80. Burrow, “The Uses of Philology in Victorian E ngland,” 201; Olender, Languages of
Paradise, 88–89.
81. Ernest Renan, History of the People of Israel, vol. 1, Till the Time of King David, trans.
Joseph Henry Allen and Elizabeth Wormeley Latimer (London: Chapman and Hall, 1888), 7.
82. Arthur de Gobineau, Comte de Gobineau and Orientalism: Selected Eastern Writings,
Culture and Civilisation in the M iddle East, ed. Geoffrey Nash, trans. Daniel O’Donoghue
(Abingdon: Routledge, 2009), 7, 13.
83. Geoffrey Galt Harpham, “Roots, Races, and the Return to Philology,” Representations
106, no. 1 (2009): 43–46.
84. The two scholars were rivals until the middle of the 1850s, but then a certain shift
occurred, and Renan came close to Bunsen and Müller. See Joan Leopold, “Ernest Renan (1823–
1892): From Linguistics and Psychology to Racial Ideology (1840s to 1860s),” Historiographia
Linguistica 37, nos. 1–2 (2010): 31–61.
85. Bod., Max Müller Papers, MS Eng. d. 2358, fols. 1–25, F. Max Müller, “Reply to Mon-
sieur Renan’s Remarks” (London, 1855).
86. Ibid.
87. Athena S. Leoussi, “Myths of Ancestry,” Nations and Nationalism 7, no. 4 (2001):
475. According to Trautmann and later Van den Bosch and Arvidsson, some wrongly re-
garded Müller as the spiritual father of National Socialism. These studies argue that in the
context of the nineteenth c entury it is wrong to assume that the term “Aryan,” following
Müller’s definition, was similar in any way to the later perception of the Nazis. See Van den
Bosch, Müller, 204–6; Arvidsson, Aryan Idols, 48; Trautmann, Aryans and British lndia,
172–78.
88. Originally, t hese words w
ere written in a letter to Bunsen (1854). L ater, in 1891, Mül-
ler cited them in an article published in Science. See F. Max Müller, “Anthropology Past and
Present,” Science 18, no. 451 (1891): 171.
89. Müller, Letter to Chevalier Bunsen, 90.
90. Ibid., 91.
91. Ibid., 92.
92. Ibid.
93. Notes by Max Müller, Bod., MS Eng. d. 2353.
94. The seven are Sanskrit, Persian, Greek, Latin, Teutonic, Celtic, and Slavonic. See
Müller, Letter to Chevalier Bunsen, 90.
95. F. Max Müller, Three Lectures on the Science of Language (London: Longmans, Green,
1889), 46.
96. Freeman to Bryce, July 22, 1885, Bod. MS Bryce 7, fol. 181. In another letter, Freeman
told Bryce, “What reward should be given or love unto Max Müller? If Sir Jumbo is knight
and C.B.D. Max must be made R.C.B. the least.” See Freeman to Bryce, May 2, 1886, Bod.
MS Bryce 7, fol. 216.
97. Müller cited in Ralph A. D. Owen, “Christian Bunsen and Liberal English Theol-
ogy” (PhD diss., University of Wisconsin, 1924), 21–22.
98. F. Max Müller, Theosophy; or, Psychological Religion; The Gifford Lectures Delivered
Before the University of Glasgow in 1892 (London: Longmans, Green, 1893), 62.
99. Ibid., 77.
100. Ibid., 447.
101. Ibid., x.
102. Cited in Van den Bosch, Müller, 206.
not es to pag es 7 0 – 7 3 211
103. Thomas Carlyle et al., Letters on the War Between Germany and France (London:
Trübner, 1871).
104. Drey M. Schreuder, “The Gladstone–Max Müller Debate on Nationality and Ger-
man Unification: Examining a Victorian ‘Controversy,’ ” Historical Studies 18, no. 73 (1979):
561–62.
105. Müller to Freeman, November 12, 1870, JRLM, MSS FA 1/7/596.
106. Edward A. Freeman, “Correspondence,” Pall Mall Gazette, November 28, 1870; see
also an earlier opinion in the Gazette responding to a letter Freeman sent to the London Daily
News: “The Peacemakers,” Pall Mall Gazette, November 22, 1870.
107. “Mr. Carlyle on the War,” Times (London), November 18, 1870; Catherine Heyrendt,
“ ‘A Rain of Balderdash’: Thomas Carlyle and Victorian Attitudes Toward the Franco-Prussian
War,” Carlyle Studies Annual 22 (2006): 243–54.
108. Freeman to Bryce, May 12, 1876, Bod. MS Bryce 6, fol. 120.
110. Jan Rüger, “Revisiting the Anglo-German Antagonism,” Journal of Modern History 83,
no. 3 (2011): 589–91. On the Boer War as a turning point in Anglo-German relations, see Harald
Rosenbach, Das Deutsche Reich, Großbritannien und der Transvaal (1896–1902): Anfänge deutsch-
britischer Entfremdung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), esp. chap. 7, 302–3.
111. F. Max Müller, The Question of Right Between E ngland and the Transvaal: Letters, with
rejoinders by Theodor Mommsen (London: Imperial South African Association, 1900), 1; my
emphasis.
112. Georgina was also the niece of Charlotte Froude (Grenfell), the wife of the famous
historian James Anthony Froude. See Nirad C. Chaudhuri, Scholar Extraordinary: The Life of
Professor the Rt. Hon. Friedrich Max Müller (London: Chatto & Windus, 1974), 111–19; Mo-
lendijk, Friedrich Max Müller, 20–26.
113. Müller to Kingsley, August 1859, Bod., MS Eng. d. 2362, fols. 124–25.
114. The Oxford movement emerged in beginning of the 1830s through the activity of
several Oxford scholars, headed by Henry Newman. The movement pointed to the similarities
between the Roman Catholic belief and Anglicanism and strove to adopt sacramental wor-
ship. By turning to the notion of apostolic succession, Newman tried to demonstrate the lin-
eage between the church of the first centuries and the Anglican Church. On the intellectual
characters and roots of the movement, see: James Pereiro, Ethos and the Oxford Movement: At
the Heart of Tractarianism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 71–83.
115. Linda Colley illustrates how during the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth
century the significance of Protestantism was vital in the development of “Britishness.” This
feeling defined the French, Celts, and Catholics as the ultimate “other.” See Linda Colley,
Britons: Forging the Nation, 1707–1837, new ed. (London: Pimlico, 2003).
116. Norman Vance, “Kingsley, Charles (1819–75),” ODNB, accessed December 10, 2014,
http://w w w.o xforddnb.c om /v iew/1 0.1 093/r ef:odnb/9 780198614128.0 01.0 001/o dnb
-9780198614128-e-59874.
117. Cited by Müller in his preface to Kingsley’s The Roman and the Teuton. See F. Max
Müller, preface to The Roman and the Teuton: A Series of Lectures Delivered Before the Univer-
sity of Cambridge, by Charles Kingsley (1864; London: Macmillan, 1891), xiii.
118. On the influence of the different religious dogmas on the writing of history, see Kirby,
Historians and the Church of E ngland, 21–40.
119. Ian T. Ker, John Henry Newman: A Biography, new ed. (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2009), 533–37.
120. Ibid., 234–36.

121. Banton, The Idea of Race, 70.
122. There is a scholarly debate concerning the true essence of the Kulturkampf. The con-
ventional view observes a clear dichotomy and constant strife between Protestants and Catho-
lics. Oliver Zimmer, however, presents a rather more ambiguous picture in which Christianity
was key in bridging the gap between the Protestants and Catholics as exemplified in the Cor-
pus Christi processions in three German towns. See Oliver Zimmer, “Beneath the ‘Culture
War’: Corpus Christi Processions and Mutual Accommodation in the Second German Em-
pire,” Journal of Modern History 82, no. 2 (2010): 293–95.
123. Müller cited in Van den Bosch, Müller, 99.
124. Ibid.
125. Kingsley, The Roman and the Teuton, 1–5.
126. Ibid., 5–6.
127. Ibid., 7–8.
128. Ibid., 8.
129. Ibid., 9.
130. The Teutonic ability to expand despite numerous perils resembles the miraculous
experience of the Israelites in Egypt who became stronger and greater in numbers in the face
of growing Egyptian oppression. See Exodus 1:12: “But the more they afflicted them, the more
they multiplied and grew.”
131. Kingsley to Darwin, November 18, 1859, Darwin Correspondence Project, letter 2534,
http://w ww.darwinproject.ac.u k.
132. Charles Kingsley, Charles Kingsley: His Letters and Memories of His Life, ed. Fran-
ces Eliza Grenfell Kingsley (London: Henry S. King, 1877), 2:171. In another letter to Hux-
ley the influence of Origin of Species is again noticeable. See Jonathan Conlin, Evolution and
the Victorians: Science, Culture and Politics in Darwin’s Britain (London: Bloomsbury, 2014),
108.
133. J. M. I. Klaver, The Apostle of the Flesh: A Critical Life of Charles Kingsley (Leiden:
Brill, 2006), 246–48.
134. Kingsley, The Roman and the Teuton, 19n1.
135. Ibid.
136. Ibid., x.
137. Edward A. Freeman, “Mr. Kingsley’s Roman and Teuton,” SR 17, no. 441 (1864):
446–48.
139. Reinhold Pauli, König Aelfred und seine Stelle in der Geschichte Englands (Berlin:
W. Hertz, 1851).
140. Bryce to Freeman, October 17, 1863, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 32.
141. Ibid.
142. Freeman to Bryce, April 7, 1867, Bod., MS Bryce 5, fol. 148.
143. Freeman to Bryce, January 26, 1868, Bod., MS Bryce 5, fol. 179.
145. Freeman to Bryce, July 1872 [exact date unknown], Bod., MS Bryce 6, fol. 13.
147. Wende, “Views and Reviews,” 176.
148. See Reinhold Pauli, review of Historical Essays, by Edward A. Freeman, Historische
Zeitschrift 28, no. 1 (1872): 156; my translation.
not es to pag es 7 9 – 84 213
149. Ibid., 158.

150. Felix Liebermann, review of Historical Essays, by Edward A. Freeman, Historische
Zeitschrift 72, no. 2 (1894): 295–300.
151. Felix Liebermann, The National Assembly in the Anglo-Saxon Period (Halle a. S.: Max
Niemeyer, 1913), 2.
152. Reinhold Pauli, review of The Constitutional History of England in Its Origin and
Development, by William Stubbs, Historische Zeitschrift 33, no. 1 (1875): 128; my translation.
153. John D. Haigh, “Kemble, John Mitchell (1807–57),” ODNB, accessed December 11,
2014, http://w ww.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-978019
8614128-e-15321.
154. William Stubbs, Seventeen Lectures on the Study of Medieval and Modern History and
Kindred Subjects (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1887), 71.
155. Edward A. Freeman, The Methods of Historical Study: Eight Lectures Read in the Uni-
versity of Oxford in . . . 1884, with the Inaugural Lecture on the Office of the Historical Professor
(London: Macmillan, 1886), 289–90.
156. Heinz Kähler, “Curtius, Ernst,” Neue Deutsche Biographie, accessed February 12, 2015,
http://w ww.deutsche-biographie.de/ppn116766557.html.
157. Freeman, Methods of Historical Study, 291–92.
158. Edward A. Freeman, “Mommsen’s History of Rome,” in Historical Essays: Second Series
(London: Macmillan, 1873), 234–65.
159. Edward A. Freeman, “Mommsen History of Rome: Appendix from Saturday Review,
March 28, 1868,” in ibid., 267.
160. Freeman to Bryce, July 9, 1872, Bod. MS Bryce 6, fol. 13.
161. Wende, “Views and Reviews,” 276–77; Hesketh, Science of History, 118.
162. Pauli to Stubbs, August 8, 1881, in William Stubbs, Letters of William Stubbs, Bishop
of Oxford, 1825–1901, ed. William Holden Hutton (London: Constable, 1904), 184. William
Rufus, the book Pauli mentioned, was published by Freeman a year later. See Edward A.
Freeman, A. The Reign of William Rufus and the Accession of Henry the First: Making of Modern
Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1882).
163. Stubbs to Pauli, June 6, 1882, in Letters of William Stubbs, 185–86.
164. Stubbs, Seventeen Lectures, 32.
165. Ludwig Fränkel, “Zwei eben verstorbene anglikanische Bischöfe und Historiker,”
Anglia—Zeitschrift für englische Philologie 24 (1901): 398–99; my translation.
166. As Stubbs wrote when describing the Mark system: “The g reat authority on this is
G. L. von Maurer, who has collected and arranged an enormous quantity of material on the
subject.” See Stubbs, Constitutional History, 1:49n1.
167. Maurer, Geschichte der Mark, 93.
169. Freeman, Methods of Historical Study, 289.
170. Georg Waitz, Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte, 8 vols. (Kiel: Schwers; Homann, 1844–78).
171. Stubbs mentions Waitz thirty-t hree times in his Constitutional History. See James
Campbell, “Stubbs, Maitland and Constitutional History,” in Stuchtey and Wende, British and
German Historiography, 115.
172. Campbell, “Stubbs, Maitland,” 113–17.
173. Frederic William Maitland, Domesday Book and Beyond: Three Essays in the Early
History of England (1897; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 356.
174. Stubbs to Liebermann, June 4, 1883, in Letters of William Stubbs, 179–80.
214 not es to pag es 8 5– 8 9
175. Ibid., 142.

176. Patrick J. Geary, The Myth of Nations: The Medieval Origins of Europe (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2002), 26.
177. Ibid., 28.
179. Reinhold Pauli and Felix Liebermann, eds., Ex rerum Anglicarum scriptoribus
saec. XII et XIII, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores in Folio, vol. 27 (Hanover:
Hahn, 1885), vii. In this volume, to illustrate Stubbs’s contribution from the perspective of
German scholarship, he is mentioned/referred to 149 times (Freeman, in comparison, only
4 times).
180. These connections created links not only among German and English scholars but
also among English and other European ones. For instance, t hese links were evident in a book
from 1886 entitled Sigfred-Arminius and Other Papers, written by the Icelandic scholar Guð-
brandur Vigfússon (or Gudbrand Vigfusson, 1827–89) and his English colleague Frederick
York Powell (1850–1904). According to Vigfússon and Powell, thanks to the hero Arminius,
Germany and England crystallized: “Arminius the Cheruscan—t he man, but for whose hero-
ism and skill Germany would not now be Germany, nor England E ngland.” See Gudbrand
Vigfusson and F. York Powell, Sigfred-Arminius and Other Papers, Grimm Centenary (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1886), 6. However, many English scholars, especially during the turn of the
century but also before, took great interest in ancient Norse literature (Icelandic sagas and such).
This emerging interest offered a certain alternative to the alleged Germanic origin of the En
glish people. For instance, the Victorian author and traveller Samuel Laing (1780–1868) wrote:
“It is in these Saga, not in Tacitus, that we have to look for the origin of the political institutions
of England.” This “Norse heritage” continued with the works of the Cambridge scholar
Hector Munro Chadwick (1870–1947), who in his The Origin of the English Nation (1907) argued
that the Angli had been a “North Sea p eople.” See Elizabeth Baigent, “Laing, Samuel (1780–
1868),” ODNB, accessed June 27, 2018, http://w ww.oxforddnb.c om/v iew/10.1093/ref:odnb
/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-15891; H. Munro Chadwick, The Origin of the
English Nation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1907), 192–93, 205; Wawn, Vikings
and the Victorians, 98–106.
181. Paul A. Townend, The Road to Home Rule: Anti-Imperialism and the Irish National
Movement, History of Ireland and the Irish Diaspora (Madison, Wisconsin, 2016).
182. William E. Gladstone et al., Handbook of Home Rule: Being Articles on the Irish Ques-
tion, ed. James Bryce, 2nd ed. (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, 1887), 214.
183. Ibid., 218.
Chapter 3
1. This view is also advocated by contemporary historians. For example, Bryan Ward-
Perkins, The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).
In another book, Ward-Perkins stresses the transformation of power from Rome to Constan-
tinople: “Rome, by the early sixth c entury, was a city living on former, and now decaying, gran-
deur. Constantinople by contrast was a boom town.” See Bryan Ward-Perkins, “Old and New
Rome Compared: The Rise of Constantinople,” in Two Romes: Rome and Constantinople in
Late Antiquity, ed. Lucy Grig and Gavin Kelly (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 27. At
the same time, t here are substantial examples of opposing views, which examine the tribes
not es to pag es 8 9 – 9 4 215
in a different, far less “destructive” light. The most influential example of the latter view is
Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity: AD 150–750 (1971; New York: W. W. Norton, 1989);
in his opening pages, Brown summarizes his thesis:
The theme that will emerge . . . is the shifting and redefinition of the bounda ries
of the classical world a fter AD 200. This has little to do with the conventional
problem of the ‘Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.’ The ‘Decline and Fall’
affected only the political structure of the western provinces of the Roman
Empire: It left the cultural power-house of Late Antiquity—t he eastern Mediter-
ranean and the Near East—unscathed. Even in the barbarian states of Western
Europe, in the sixth and seventh centuries, as it survived at Constantinople, Rome
was still regarded as the greatest civilized state in the world: and it was called by
its ancient name, the Respublica. (19)
2. Wood, Modern Origins, 8; Guy Halsall, “Movers and Shakers: The Barbarians and the
Fall of Rome,” Review Article, Early Medieval Europe 8, no. 1 (1999): 131–45.
3. Wood, Modern Origins, 8; 13.
4. Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, ed. J. B. Bury
(1776, New York: Fred de Fau, 1906), 12:191.
5. For a detailed account of the narratives of the “fall” in the Renaissance and l ater in the
Enlightenment, see J. G. A. Pocock, Barbarism and Religion, vol. 3, The First Decline and Fall
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).
6. On Polybius, including the question of whether he incorporated the four world empires
scheme, see Doron Mendels, “The Five Empires: A Note on a Propagandistic Topos,” American
Journal of Philology 102, no. 3 (1981): 330–37; Frank W. Walbank, Polybius, Rome and the Helle-
nistic World: Essays and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 8, 196.
7. Polybius, The Histories, trans. W. R. Paton, ed. Frank W. Walbank, Christian Habicht,
and S. Douglas Olson (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2010), 38.22.
8. Jerome, The Principal Works of St. Jerome, trans. W. H. Fremantle, in A Select Library
of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, 2nd ser., vol. 6, ed. Philip Schaff
and Henry Wace (Oxford: Parker; New York: Christian Literature Company, 1893).
9. Walter A. Goffart, Rome’s Fall and After (London: Hambledon, 1989), 114–21.
10. “Quid est enim aliud omnis historia quam Romana laus?” This quote of Petrarch is
cited in an article by Theodor Ernst Mommsen, the grandson of the famous Roman historian
Theodor Mommsen and the nephew of Max Weber. Mommsen, who specialized in the study
of Petrarch, claimed that Petrarch had invented the term “The Dark Ages” in order to define
the era a fter the downfall of Rome. See Theodor E. Mommsen, “Petrarch’s Conception of the
‘Dark Ages,’ ” Speculum 17, no. 2 (1942): 236–37.
11. Bruni also stated that the destruction should not be perceived in a catastrophic way:
“we should not be saddened by the t hings which happened then but rather rejoice for them.
They are like the l abours of Hercules; he became more illustrious through them than he would
have been without them.” Bruni quoted in Santo Mazzarino, The End of the Ancient World,
trans. George Holmes (London: Faber, 1966), 82–83.
12. Filarte quoted in Alfons Dopsch, The Economic and Social Foundations of European
Civilization, condens. Erna Patzelt, trans. M. G. Beard and Nadine Marshall (London: Kegan
Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1937), 2.
13. Gibbon, Decline and Fall (1906), 1:99.
216 not es to pag es 9 5– 9 8
14. The term “middle ages” was incorporated into the major European cultures during
the seventeenth century: medium aevum appeared in 1604, moyen âge in 1640, and Mittelalter
in 1684. This, as Lynn Hunt comments, was part of the construction of the notion of progress.
Suddenly the scholars had to invent a concept that denoted a m iddle stage, preceding the pro
gress of their own time. See Lynn Hunt, Measuring Time, Making History (Budapest: Central
European University Press, 2008), 51.
15. There is an entire debate as to whether Gibbon and Voltaire held similar animosity
against the church or, in other words, how “Voltairean” was Gibbon. See David Womersley,
“Gibbon’s Religious Characters,” in History, Religion, and Culture: British Intellectual History,
1750–1950, ed. Stefan Collini, Richard Whatmore, and Brian W. Young (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2000), 70–71. Voltaire wrote: “Two flails at last brought down this vast Colos-
sus: the barbarians and religious disputes”; quoted in Frank W. Walbank, The Awful Revolution:
The Decline of the Roman Empire in the West (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1969), 14.
16. Quoted in Dopsch, Economic and Social Foundations, 4.
17. Quoted in Hunt, Measuring Time, 52.
18. William Robertson, The History of the Reign of Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Germany
(Philadelphia: Robert Bell, 1770), 1:15. Gibbon was inspired by Robertson’s work. Unlike Rob-
ertson, he did not only focus on western Europe but also on the East and on Byzantium. See
J. G. A. Pocock, “Edward Gibbon in History: Aspects of the Text in The History of the Decline
and Fall of the Roman Empire,” in The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, vol. 11, ed. Grethe B.
Petersen (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1988), 296.
19. The French statesman and historian Guizot served as the minister of education (1832–
37), minister of foreign affairs (1840–47), and finally as prime minister (1847–48). He was one
of the prominent harbingers of the new order following the revolution of 1830. As minister of
education, he introduced a revolutionary system by which the French p eople received free
education from the state. This included lessons in national history from the times of the Gauls
u ntil the new era. Guizot promoted the idea of a civilization governed by reason. See Ceri
Crossley, French Historians and Romanticism: Thierry, Guizot, the Saint-Simonians, Quinet,
Michelet (London: Routledge, 1993), 81–82.
20. François M. Guizot and Henriette E. Guizot de Witt, History of France from the Earliest
Times to 1848, trans. Robert Black (New York: Merrill and Baker, 1902), 1:105.
21. Already in 851, Rudolf von Fulda referred to the text in his Translatio Sancti Alexan-
dri. L ater, in the middle of the sixteenth century, it reached Rome for closer examination by
Cardinal Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, the f uture pope Pius II. See Bonnie Effros, Merovingian
Mortuary Archaeology and the Making of the Early Middle Ages (Berkeley: University of Califor-
nia Press, 2003), 26; Joseph T. Leerssen, National Thought in Europe: A Cultural History (Am-
sterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2006), 39.
22. Cornelius Tacitus, The Complete Works of Tacitus: The Annals; The History; The Life of
Cnaeus Julius Agricola; Germany and Its Tribes; A Dialogue on Oratory, trans. Alfred John Church
and William Jackson Brodribb, ed. Moses Hadas (New York: Modern Library, 1942).
23. There is an assumption that one of the Nurnberg laws (1936) prohibiting marriage
between Aryans and Jews was inspired from this paragraph. See Christopher B. Krebs, A Most
Dangerous Book: Tacitus’s “Germania” from the Roman Empire to the Third Reich (New York:
W. W. Norton, 2012), 23.
24. He was the court historian of Ferdinand I; see The Oxford History of Historical Writ-
ing, vol. 3, 1400–1800, ed. José Rabasa et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 309;
Goffart, Rome’s Fall, 122.
not es to pag es 9 8 – 10 4 217
25. Ulrich von Hutten, Arminius (1529), in Ulrichs von Hutten Arminius, Herrmann, ein
Dialog; und Georg Spalatinus, Geschichte des deutschen heerführers gegen die Römer, ed. Fried-
rich Frölich (Vienna: Doll, 1815).
26. The famous b attle was the theme of seventy-t wo publications between 1809 and 1900;
see Marchand, Down from Olympus, 158.
27. L ater writers, such as Daniel Casper von Lohenstein (1635–83), in his Großmütiger
Feldherr Arminius, and Heinrich von Kleist (1777–1811), in Die Hermannsschlacht (1808),
continued nurturing the tribal Germanic myth through the figure of Herman, whose character
even inspired the foundation of a cult. For a detailed account of the “Arminius myth,” mainly
dealing with the twentieth c entury, but also with the foundation of the myth in early modernity,
see Martin M. Winkler, Arminius the Liberator: Myth and Ideology (New York: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2016), 56ff.
28. Martin Luther, “An Exposition of the Eighty-Second Psalm,” trans. Charles M. Ja-
cobs, in The Works of Martin Luther (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1931), 4:307.
29. Martin Luther, Three Treatises, trans. Charles M. Jacobs, 2nd rev. ed. (Philadelphia:
Fortress Press, 1970), 100–101.
30. In the case of the Anglican historians, if one follows the controversial book of Her-
bert Butterfield, this was through the adoption of the Whig interpretation of history. The
Whig historians adopted the idea of progress and, due to the rule of the Catholic Church, they
defined most of the Middle Ages as a decadent era preceding the progressive phase of post-
Reformation Europe. See Herbert Butterfield, The Whig Interpretation of History (London:
G. Bell and Sons, 1931), 12–13.
31. Johann G. Herder, Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit, part 1, book 16
(1784; Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, 1842), 240; my translation.
32. Johann G. Herder, Another Philosophy of History and Selected Political Writings, ed.
and trans. Ioannis D. Evrigenis and Daniel Pellerin (Indianapolis, Ind.: Hackett, 2004), 27.
33. Ibid., 25.
34. Herder incorporated this German term instead of adopting Verbesserung (progress).
See Olender, Languages of Paradise, 41.
35. Herder, Another Philosophy, 13.
36. Ibid., 19.
37. Ibid., 22.
38. Ibid., 33
39. Ibid., 38.
40. Ibid., 39.
41. Georg W. F. Hegel, The Philosophy of History, trans. J. Sibree (New York: Cosimo,
2007), 105–6.
42. Ibid., 107–9.
43. Ibid., 103.
44. Ibid., 104.
45. Ibid., 353.
46. Ibid.
47. Martin Thom, “Unity and Confederation in the Italian Risogimento: The Case of
Carlo Cattaneo,” in Writing National Histories: Western Europe Since 1800, ed. Stefan Berger,
Mark Donovan, and Kevin Passmore (London: Routledge, 1999), 77.
48. Effros, Merovingian Mortuary Archaeology, 46–61.
218 not es to pag es 1 0 5– 1 09
49. Augustin Thierry, The Formation and Progress of the Tiers État, or Third Estate in France,
trans. Francis B. Wells (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1859), 16–20.
50. Augustin Thierry, History of the Conquest of England by the Normans: Its Causes, and
Its Consequences, in E ngland, Scotland, Ireland, & on the Continent, trans. William Hazlitt,
7th Paris ed. (London: David Bogue, 1847).
51. The Italian historians Alessandro Manzoni (1785–1873) and Carlo Troya (1784–1858)
adopted this theory as to the ethnic and status struggle that develops between the conqueror
and the conquered and applied it to the Lombard conquest of Italy. The Lombards enslaved
the local community, did not manage to assimilate into it, and therefore failed in their strug
gle against the Franks. See Thom, “Unity and Confederation,” 73–74; Ian Wood, “Barbarians,
Historians, and the Construction of National Identities,” Journal of Late Antiquity 1, no. 1
(2008): 66–68.
52. Arnaldo Marcone, “A Long Late Antiquity? Considerations on a Controversial Peri-
odization,” Journal of Late Antiquity 1, no. 1 (2008): 7–8n13.
53. Henri Pirenne, Mahomet et Charlemagne, 11 ed. (Paris: Félix Alcan; Brussels: Nou-
velle Société d’Éditions, 1937).
54. The British Isles offered a unique example since a different culture evolved t here. See
Henri Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne, trans. Bernard Miall (New York: Meridian
Books, 1957), 140–44.
55. Ibid., 152.
56. Ibid., 163–65.
57. Dan Diner, “Neutralisierung durch ‘Gesellschaft’—Henri Pirennes ‘Muhammed und
Karl der Große,’ ” in Gedächtniszeiten: Über jüdische und andere Geschichten (Munich: C. H.
Beck, 2003), 85–88; Garth Fowden, Before and After Muhammad: The First Millennium Refocused
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2014), 38–39.
58. Pirenne, Mohammed and Charlemagne, 234.
Chapter 4
Note to epigraph: Edward A. Freeman, The Office of the Historical Professor: An Inaugural
Lecture Read in the Museum at Oxford, October 15, 1884 (London: Macmillan, 1884), 9.
1. Arnaldo D. Momigliano, “Two Types of Universal History: The Cases of E. A. Free-
man and Max Weber,” Journal of Modern History 58, no. 1 (1986): 237. During the 1840s, Free-
man was also attracted to the ideas of the Oxford movement. Momigliano argues that
Freeman’s final detachment from the Oxford movement was due to Arnold’s writings, which
“showed the young Freeman a way out” of Catholicism. See Arnaldo D. Momigliano, “Liberal
Historian and Supporter of the Holy Roman Empire: E. A. Freeman,” in A. D. Momigliano:
Studies on Modern Scholarship, ed. G. W. Bowersock and T. G. Cornell (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1994), 199; Bryce, Contemporary Biography, 264n. For the early influence
on Freeman by both Arnold and the founder of the Oxford movement, John Henry Newman,
also see G. A. Bremner and Jonathan Conlin, “History as Form: Architecture and Liberal
Anglican Thought in E. A. Freeman,” Modern Intellectual History 8, no. 2 (2011): 306–8.
2. Edward A. Freeman, The Unity of History: The Rede Lecture Delivered in the Senate-
House before the University of Cambridge on Friday, May 24, 1872 (London: Macmillan,
1872).
3. Ibid., 11, 43.
not es to pag es 1 1 0 –114 219
4. Edward A. Freeman, Thoughts on the Study of History, with Reference to the Proposed
Changes in the Public Examinations (Oxford: John Henry Parker, 1849).
5. Herman Paul, “Habits of Thought and Judgment: E. A. Freeman on Historical Meth-
ods,” in Bremner and Conlin, Making History, 282–87.
6. In 1872, a syndicate at Cambridge suggested a revision of the historical tripos so to
study ancient, medieval, and modern subjects so they “will be placed before the student as a
whole.” See “Report,” Cambridge University Reporter, December 18, 1872, 131–36.
7. Parker, “Failure of Liberal Racialism,” 825–46; Momigliano, “Liberal Historian,” 197–
208; Lake, “Essentially Teutonic,” 56–73; Walton, “Charlotte M. Yonge,” 226–55; Anthony L.
Brundage and Richard A. Cosgrove, “Edward Augustus Freeman: Liberal Democracy and
National Identity,” in British Historians and National Identity: From Hume to Churchill (London:
Pickering & Chatto, 2014), 95–108.
8. Vicky Morrisroe shows that Freeman, heavily influenced by Thomas Arnold and the
comparative theories of Henry Maine, E. B. Tylor, and Max Müller, presented a meta-historical
view that identified the universal cycles of Aryan institutions and events. Yet while Morrisroe
presents a persuasive interpretation of Arnold’s and Freeman’s universal historical vision, she
has little or nothing to say about the tension between Freeman’s idea of unity and his use of
periods. See Morrisroe, “ ‘Sanguinary Amusement,’ ” 27–56.
9. The History of Sicily does receive some attention in a recent article by William Kelly;
nevertheless, Kelley’s focus is on Freeman’s perception of the “Eastern Question” rather than
on his periodization. See William Kelley, “Past History and Present Politics: E. A. Freeman
and the Eastern Question,” in Bremner and Conlin, Making History, 126–28.
10. Penelope J. Corfield, Time and the Shape of History (New Haven, Conn.: Yale Univer-
sity Press, 2007), 124.
11. Edward A. Freeman, The Chief Periods of European History: Six Lectures Read in the
University of Oxford (London: Macmillan, 1886), 95; in this book, Freeman also took issue with
Edward Gibbon’s periodization (74–76).
12. G. Barraclough, “Medium Aevum: Some Reflections on Mediaeval History and on
the Term ‘The Middle Ages,’ ” in History in a Changing World (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1955),
54–63
13. Bury, introduction to Gibbon, Decline and Fall, (1900), 1:xliv.
14. Creighton to Freeman, March 5, 1885, JRLM, MSS FA 1/7/122a.
17. Ibid., 18.
18. John Douglas Cook founded the Saturday Review (SR) in November 3, 1855. This
weekly newspaper incorporated both conservative and liberal writers. The paper did not state
an official support of any of the religious factions (High, Broad, or Low Church). See Bar-
bara Q. Schmidt, “Cook, John Douglas (1808?–68),” ODNB, accessed December 5, 2014,
http://w w w.o xforddnb.c om/v iew/1 0.1 093/r ef:odnb/9 780198614128.0 01.0 001/o dnb
-9780198614128-e-6145.
19. John R. Green, “Professor Stubbs’s Inaugural Lecture,” SR 23, no. 592 (1867): 278–80.
20. Ibid., 279.
21. Ibid., 280.
22. Stubbs to Freeman, March 5, 1867, in Letters of William Stubbs, 149.
23. Frederic Harrison, “Historical Method of Professor Freeman,” Nineteenth Century 44,
no. 261 (1898): 794.
220 not es to pag es 1 1 4 – 1 21
24. J. Horace Round, “Historical Research,” Nineteenth Century 44, no. 262 (1898): 1011–12.
26. Ibid., 194.
27. Burrow, A Liberal Descent, 113–22; Mandler, The English National Character, 86–87.
28. Edward A. Freeman, History of Europe, ed. J. R. Green, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan,
1876), 9–10.
29. Freeman, Historical Geography, (1881), 88; Freeman, Western Europe in the Eighth
Century, 12–13.
30. Freeman to Bryce, June 14, 1885, Bod., MS Bryce 7, fol. 163.
31. Kemble, as shown earlier (see Chapter 2), and Francis Palgrave (1788–1861), as discussed
in the next chapter, also wrote during the same years about the tribal contribution to modernity.
However, Arnold linked the tribes with modernity in the most explicit way. See Arnold,
Introductory Lectures, 1–60.
32. Already in the middle of the eighteenth century, Voltaire defined modern history as
the era “since the decay of the Roman Empire.” See Dietrich Gerhard, “Periodization in His-
tory,” in Dictionary of the History of Ideas: Studies of Selected Pivotal Ideas, ed. Philip P. Wiener
(New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1973), 3:477.
33. Arnold, Introductory Lectures, 23–31.
34. Morrisroe, “ ‘Sanguinary Amusement,’ ” 39.
35. Thomas Arnold, History of Rome, new ed. (London: B. Fellowes, 1857), 1:vii–v iii;
Thomas Arnold to Justice Coleridge, February 5, 1837, in Stanley, The Life and Correspondence
of Thomas Arnold, 2:73.
36. Edward A. Freeman, “Mommsen’s History of Rome,” National Review 8, no. 16
(1859): 315.
37. Freeman, “Mommsen’s History of Rome,” in Historical Essays, 237n.
38. Ibid.
39. Freeman to Green, April 24, 1881, JRLM, MSS FA 1/8/95a.
40. Thomas Arnold, “The Social Progress of States,” in The Miscellaneous Works of Thomas
Arnold (London: B. Fellowes, 1845), 108–9; Forbes, Liberal Anglican Idea of History, ix.
41. Stanley, The Life and Correspondence of Thomas Arnold, 2:377.
42. Matthew Arnold, On the Study of Celtic Literature (London: Smith, Elder, 1867), 14.
43. Ibid., 16–17.
44. Leerssen, “Englishness, Ethnicity and Matthew Arnold,” 70–74.
45. Arnold, Introductory Lectures, 26.
46. Ibid.
47. Freeman, The Office of the Historical Professor, 42.
48. Stephens, LEAF, 2:282–83.
49. Freeman, Chief Periods, 93.
50. Freeman to E. B. Tylor, July 20, 1872, in LEAF, 2:57.
51. Edward A. Freeman, The Ottoman Power in Europe, Its Nature, Its Growth, and Its
Decline (London: Macmillan, 1877), 5; my emphasis.
52. Bury, who was much younger than Freeman, edited several of Freeman’s books (see
Chapter 6).
53. Bury to Freeman, November 15, 1891, JRLM, MSS FA 1/7/51.
54. John B. Bury, “Art. II.—Freeman’s History of Sicily [Vols. 1–2],” Scottish Review 19
(1892): 26–27.
55. Freeman, The Office of the Historical Professor, 35.
not es to pag es 1 2 1 – 12 8 221
56. Edward A. Freeman, The Story of Sicily: Sicily, Phoenician, Greek, and Roman (Lon-
don: T. Fisher Unwin, 1892).
57. Ibid., 353.
58. Ibid., 353–54.
59. Freeman, HOS, 1:11.
60. Ibid., 291.
61. Ibid., 301–2.
62. Ibid.
63. Ibid., 2:22–23.
64. Ibid., 1:302n1.
65. The theory of Anglo-Saxon expansion became popular among American historians.
The main “carrier” of this theory was Freeman’s friend Herbert Adams (see Chapter 1). See
also Bell, “Alter Orbis,” 233–34; Stephens, LEAF, 2:181. Furthermore, for many British schol-
ars, America, as Duncan Bell demonstrates, became a new model for the f uture of the empire;
see Duncan Bell, “From Ancient to Modern in Victorian Imperial Thought,” Historical Jour-
nal 49, no. 3 (2006): 755–59.
66. Freeman, Historical Geography (1881), 96; Theodore Koditschek, Liberalism, Impe-
rialism, and the Historical Imagination: Nineteenth-Century Visions of G reat Britain (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 241–45.
67. Edward A. Freeman, “Carthage,” in Historical Essays: Fourth Series (London: Mac-
millan, 1892), 3.
68. Ibid., 13.
69. Ibid., 14.
70. Edward A. Freeman, The History and Conquests of the Saracens, 3rd ed. (London:
Macmillan, 1876), 14–17.
71. Freeman, “Mommsen’s History,” in Historical Essays, 236.
72. Stephens, LEAF, 1:156–59.
73. Freeman, Saracens, 21.
74. Ibid., 3.
75. Ibid.
76. Edward A. Freeman, “Mahometanism in the East and the West,” North British Re-
view 23 (1855): 459.
77. Freeman, Saracens, 72. For Freeman’s view of the East, see Vicky Morrisroe, “ ‘East-
ern History with Western Eyes’: E. A. Freeman, Islam and Orientalism,” Journal of Victorian
Culture 16, no. 1 (2011): 25–45.
78. Freeman, Saracens, 30.
79. Freeman, Historical Geography (1881), 112.
80. For a later original periodization, see Chapter 3; and Pirenne, Mohammed and Char-
lemagne, 234.
81. Freeman, “Mahometanism,” 450.
82. Freeman, Ottoman Power, xix.
83. Ibid., xx.
84. Freeman, “Mahometanism,” 453–54.
85. Kelley, “Past History and Present Politics,” 120–23; Morrisroe, “ ‘Eastern History with
Western Eyes,’ ” 30–32.
86. William E. Gladstone, Bulgarian Horrors and the Question of the East (London: John
Murray, 1876).
222 not es to pag es 1 2 9 – 1 35
87. Edward A. Freeman, “The Turkish Atrocities: Mr. Gladstone and the Turkish Em-
pire,” Times (London), September 8, 1876.
88. Freeman, Saracens, x.
89. For a discussion on this saying, see Ian Hesketh, “ ‘History Is Past Politics, and Poli-
tics Present History’: Who Said It?, ” Notes and Queries 61, no. 1 (2014): 105–8; Herman Paul,
“ ‘History Is Past Politics, and Politics Present History’: When Did E. A. Freeman Coin This
Phrase?,” Notes and Queries 62, no. 3 (2015): 436–38.
90. Freeman, Historical Geography (1881), 17.
91. Ibid.
92. Freeman, Ottoman Power, 4.
93. Freeman, HOS, 2:166–67.
94. Freeman, “Race and Language,” 173–77.
95. Ibid., 190.
96. Ibid., 191.
97. Freeman, Chief Periods, 138–39.
Chapter 5
1. Freeman to Bryce, November 19, 1865, Bod., MS Bryce 5, fol. 68.

2. James Bryce, The Holy Roman Empire (Oxford: T. & G. Shrimpton, 1864). The book
has been published in fifty-eight editions; subsequent references to editions of Bryce’s Holy
Roman Empire (1864; 1871; 1873; 1904) w ill be cited as THRE with relevant publication de-
tails.
3. H. A. L. Fisher, James Bryce, 2 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1927); Christopher Harvie,
“Bryce, James, Viscount Bryce (1838–1922),” ODNB, accessed June 5, 2018, http://w ww
.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-3798;
Edmund Ions, James Bryce and American Democracy, 1870–1922 (London: Macmillan, 1968);
John T. Seaman Jr., A Citizen of the World: The Life of James Bryce (London: Tauris Academic
Studies, 2006).
4. James Bryce, Report of the Committee on Alleged German Outrages Appointed by His
Britannic Majesty’s Government and Presided over by the Right Hon. Viscount Bryce (London:
His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1915).
5. The Blue Books w ere formal reports to the British Parliament, mainly but not solely on
matters of foreign affairs; see James Bryce and Arnold Toynbee, The Treatment of Armenians in
the Ottoman Empire (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1916). Various studies focus on Bryce’s
actions on behalf of the Armenian communities that suffered under the Turkish regime. See
Oded Steinberg, “James Bryce and the Origins of the Armenian Question,” Journal of Levan-
tine Studies 5, no. 2 (2015): 13–33; Michelle Tusan, “ ‘Crimes Against Humanity’: Human
Rights, the British Empire, and the Origins of the Response to the Armenian Genocide,”
American Historical Review 119, no. 1 (2014): 47–77.
6. James Bryce, Constitutions (New York: Oxford University Press, American Branch,
1905).
7. On “race” and the historic role of institutions in mid-Victorian thought; see Peter
Mandler, “ ‘Race’ and ‘Nation’ in mid-Victorian Thought,” in Collini, Whatmore, and Young,
History, Religion, and Culture, 234–36.
not es to pag es 1 3 5–140 223
8. David Evans, “Sir Francis Palgrave, 1788–1861: First Deputy Keeper of the Public Rec
ords,” Archives 5, no. 26 (1961): 75.
9. Stephens, LEAF, 1:205; Freeman’s comments w ere originally published in an article in
the Edinburgh Review (1859).
10. Freeman to Finlay, January 25, 1858, in LEAF, 1:237.
11. Roger Smith, “European Nationality, Race, and Commonwealth in the Writings of
Sir Francis Palgrave, 1788–1861,” in Medieval Europeans: Studies in Ethnic Identity and National
Perspectives in Medieval Europe, ed. Alfred P. Smyth (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), 234–35.
12. Following his Teutonism and again like T. Arnold, Palgrave a dopted an anti-French
stance. See ibid., 237–38.
13. Ibid.
14. “I may, perhaps, be allowed to add my opinion, that t here is no possible mode of ex-
hibiting the states of Western Christendom in their true aspect, unless we consider them aris-
ing out of the dominion of the Caesars.” See Francis Palgrave, History of England, Anglo-Saxon
Period (London: John Murray, 1831), 1:ix; Michael Stuckey, “The Study of English National
History by Sir Francis Palgrave: The Original Use of the National Records in an Imagina-
tive Historical Narrative,” Law, Culture and the Humanities (2015): 1–27.
15. Francis Palgrave, The History of Normandy and of England (London: J. W. Parker and
Son; Macmillan, 1851–64), 1:8.
16. Ibid.
17. Ibid., 9.
18. Stuckey, “Study of English National History,” 8.
19. Palgrave, The History of Normandy and of England, 1:34–35.
20. Ibid., 4:382.
21. Ibid.
22. It is significant that Stanley, Bunsen, Pusey, and many other of Palgrave’s contempo-
raries also adopted the four monarchies scheme from the book of Daniel. Pusey even dedi-
cated nine lectures (later published) to the book of Daniel, arguing that the four empires had
been the Babylonian, Medo-Persian, Greek, and Roman. Stanley considered Daniel’s scheme
as the first attempt at a philosophy of history. See Forbes, Liberal Anglican Idea of History, 65;
Edward B. Pusey, Daniel the Prophet (1864; New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1885), 115; Arthur P.
Stanley, Lectures on the History of the Jewish Church, new ed. (New York: Charles Scribner’s
Sons, 1893–95), 3:39.
23. Palgrave, The History of Normandy and of England, 1:5.
24. Ibid., 7.
25. Ibid., 30.
26. Francis Palgrave, History of the Anglo-Saxons, new ed. (London: W. Tegg, 1876), x.
27. For a short and excellent chapter that discuss Bryce’s treatment of “nationalism” also
by referring to his Holy Roman Empire; see Casper Sylvest, “James Bryce and the Two F aces
of Nationalism,” in British International Thinkers from Hobbes to Namier, ed. Ian Hall and Lisa
Hill (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 161–79.
29. The essay won first prize and led to the publication of the The Holy Roman Empire; see
Seaman, A Citizen of the World, 40–41.
224 not es to pag es 1 4 0 – 1 48
33. THRE, 4th ed., rev. and enl. (London: Macmillan, 1873), xxvii.
34. THRE, new ed., enl. and rev. (London: Macmillan, 1904), xxix.
35. Ibid., xxii.
36. Ibid., xxxi–lii.
39. Freeman to Bryce, October 30, 1864, Bod., MS Bryce 5, fols. 15–16.
40. Bod., MS Bryce 345, notes (ca. 1863), possibly for The Holy Roman Empire (1864).
41. James Bryce, “The Roman Empire and the British Empire in India,” in Studies in
History and Jurisprudence (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901), 1:81–82.
42. THRE (1873), 274.
43. Bryce, “Empire in India,” 15.
44. Ibid., 81.
45. Bod., MS Bryce 345, notes (ca. 1863).
46. Bryce to Freeman, November 25, 1862, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 6.
47. THRE (1873), 44–45.
48. In his 1904 edition he also named Pius X (1903); see THRE (1904), xxix.
49. THRE (1873), 13.
50. Ibid., 47.
51. Ibid., 49.
52. Bod., MS Bryce 345, notes (ca. 1863).
53. THRE (1873), 27.
54. Bryce to Freeman, May 13, 1863, Bod., MS Bryce 9, fol. 25.
55. THRE (1873), 287.
56. Ibid., 382.
57. Ibid., 380.
58. Ibid., 379–80.
59. Ibid., 92.
61. THRE (1904), 419.
62. Ibid.
63. James Bryce, “Methods of Law-Making in Rome and in E ngland,” in Studies in His-
tory and Jurisprudence, 2:321.
64. Bryce, “Empire in India,” 1–4.
65. Ibid., 1.
66. Quoted in Seaman, A Citizen of the World, 174.
67. John Stuart Mill, “A Few Words on Non-Intervention” (1859), in Collected Works of
John Stuart Mill, ed. John M. Robson et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1963–91),
21:118–21. W hether Mill meant to impose civilization or adopted a more “tolerant imperial-
ism” is a matter of debate; see Mark Tunick, “Tolerant Imperialism: John Stuart Mill’s De-
fense of British Rule in India,” Review of Politics 68, no. 4 (2006): 586–611.
69. Ibid., 64–65.
70. Ibid.
71. Ibid., 65–66. Bryce argued that slavery prevented any improvement in the condition
of the African Americans, especially in the South, but since the victory of the North: “Free-
not es to pag es 1 4 8 –15 3 225
dom has done for them [African Americans] in twenty-six years more than any one who knew
how slavery left them had a right to expect.” See James Bryce, “Thoughts on the Negro Prob
lem,” North American Review 153, no. 421 (1891): 643.
73. James Bryce, “The Action of Centripetal and Centrifugal Forces on Political Consti-
tutions,” in Studies in History and Jurisprudence, 1:266–67.
75. Bryce’s racial hierarchy was also mentioned earlier in relation to his views on the supe-
riority of the southern Northmen of Scandinavia over the Lapps of the North; see John Stone,
“James Bryce and the Comparative Sociology of Race Relations,” Race & Class 13, no. 3 (1972):
316 (especially footnote). This racial perception is also evident in Bryce’s correspondence with his
friend, the famous philosopher Henry Sidgwick; see Bart Schultz, Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the
Universe; An Intellectual Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 642–47.
77. Ibid.
78. James Bryce, Race Sentiment as a Factor in History: A Lecture Delivered Before the
University of London on February 22, 1915 (London: Published for the University of London Press,
by Hodder & Stoughton, 1915).
79. Ibid., 13.
80. Ibid., 22.
81. Ibid., 23.
82. Ibid., 31.
83. Ibid.
84. Bryce, Alleged German Outrages.
85. THRE, (1871), 376.
86. Freeman to Bryce, April 13, 1873, LEAF, 2:67.
87. Ibid.
88. “Mr. Freeman’s Historical Essays,” Pall Mall Gazette, April 10, 1873.
89. James Bryce, “Freeman’s Historical Essays,” SR 35, no. 912 (1873): 521.
90. Freeman to Bryce, April 20, 1873, Bod., MS Bryce 6, fol.32.
91. Ibid.
92. Ernst Curtius, Griechische Geschichte (Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1857),
1:37–38, 541–42.
93. Curtius and Bunsen, although identifying Egyptian influence, disagreed about the
first appearance of the Ionians in Egypt. See ibid., 538–39.
94. Suzanne Marchand, “Where Does History Begin? J. G. Herder and the Problem of
Near Eastern Chronology in the Age of Enlightenment,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 47, no. 2
(2014): 157–75.
95. Martin Bernal in his controversial Black Athena argues that due to racial reasoning,
especially during the nineteenth century, the leading opinion was that Egypt had no influence
on Greece; yet previously, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries t here was recognition of
Egyptian influence. For a lengthy, even harsh, criticism of Bernal’s book, see Mary R. Lefkowitz
and Guy MacLean Rogers, Black Athena Revisited (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1996). For the most convincing criticism, see Suzanne Marchand and Anthony Grafton,
“Martin Bernal and His Critics,” Arion 5, no. 2 (1997): 1–35. Bernal dedicated an entire book
to answering some of his many critics. See Martin Bernal, Black Athena Writes Back: Martin
Bernal Responds to His Critics, ed. David Chioni Moore (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press,
226 not es to pag es 1 53 – 1 5 9
2001). Several scholars, however, endorse some of Bernal’s arguments. For instance, the an-
thropologist Jack Goody even claims that the “breach” between the Aryan-European culture
and the East was not a consequence of nineteenth-century racialism but had commenced al-
ready in the seventh century, following the Arab invasion. See Goody, The Theft of History,
60–65.
96. Freeman to Green, April 24, 1881, JRLM, MSS FA 1/8/95a.
98. Jan Rüger, Heligoland: Britain, Germany, and the Struggle for the North Sea (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2017), 87–104.
99. THRE (1904), 447.
100. Quoted in Trevor Wilson, “Lord Bryce’s Investigation into Alleged German Atroci-
ties in Belgium, 1914–15,” Journal of Contemporary History 14, no. 3 (1979): 370–71.
101. Quoted in Gary S. Messinger, British Propaganda and the State in the First World War
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992), 72.
102. James Bryce, The Attitude of Great Britain in the Present War (London: Macmillan,
1916).
103. Ibid., 23.
104. Bryce, Alleged German Outrages.
105. Already during t hese years, as argued in the case of Freeman (Chapter 4), and as
Douglas A. Lorimer shows, “race” was not a fixed defined category among Victorian scholars.
Thus, in many cases, t here was a mixture of scientific and cultural racism. See Douglas A.
Lorimer, Science, Race Relations and Resistance: Britain, 1870–1914 (Manchester: Manchester
University Press, 2013), esp. chap. 3.
106. Cook, “The Making of the English,” 643–49.
Chapter 6
1. Linda Dowling, “Roman Decadence and Victorian Historiography,” Victorian Studies

28, no. 4 (1985): 601–5; Hesketh, Science of History, 161–62.
2. Edward A. Freeman, History of Federal Government in Greece and Italy, ed. John B.
Bury, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 1893).
3. Edward A. Freeman, The Historical Geography of Europe, ed. J. B. Bury, 3rd ed. (Lon-
don: Longmans, Green, 1903). Bury also edited an atlas that was attached to this book. See
Edward A. Freeman, Atlas to the Historical Geography of Europe, ed. J. B. Bury, 3rd ed. (Lon-
don: Longmans, Green, 1903).
4. Bury to Freeman, November 15, 1891, JRLM, MSS FA1/7/51. Isaac of York is a charac-
ter in in Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe. He is a Jewish moneylender who always expects a g reat
return of favor/money. See Scott, Ivanhoe, 1:215–20.
5. John B. Bury, “Art. IV.—Freeman’s History of Sicily, Vol. III,” Scottish Review 20
(1892): 301.
6. Stephens, LEAF, 2:453.
7. John B. Bury, An Inaugural Lecture: Delivered in the Divinity School, Cambridge, on
January 26, 1903 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1903), 22.
8. Interestingly, according to Bury, some events may disrupt historical continuity. In a
very short chapter on the great plague of Justinian (AD 542), Bury argued that plagues some-
times define the bounda ries between historical periods: “If we may speak of watersheds in
not es to pag es 1 59 – 166 227
history, this plague [AD 542] marks the watershed of what we call the ancient and what we
call the medieval age.” See John B. Bury, A History of the Later Roman Empire: From Arcadius
to Irene (395 A.D. to 800 A.D.) (London: Macmillan, 1889), 1:399.
9. Bury, “Freeman’s History of Sicily, Vol. III,” 301.
10. THRE, (1871), 58; Bury, Later Roman Empire (1889), 2:507n2
11. Bury, Later Roman Empire (1889), 2:508.
12. George Finlay, A History of Greece: From Its Conquest by the Romans to the Present Time,
B.C. 146 to A.D. 1864, new ed., revised by author, ed. H. F. Tozer, 7 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1877).
13. Ibid., 1:xvi.
14. Ibid., 352.
15. Bury, Later Roman Empire (1889), 1: v.
16. Bury to Macmillan, June 1, 1888, BL, Macmillan Archive, Add MS 55120.
17. Ibid.
18. Ibid.
19. Ibid.
20. Bury, L ater Roman Empire (1889), 1:vi.
21. Freeman, Historical Geography (1903), vi–vii.
22. Bury mentions Seeck forty-seven times, more than Gibbon and Mommsen. See
John B. Bury, History of the Later Roman Empire from the Death of Theodosius I to the Death of
Justinian (A.D. 395 to A.D. 565) (London: Macmillan, 1923), vol. 1.
23. Otto Seeck, Geschichte des Untergangs der antiken Welt (Berlin: Siemenroth & Tros-
chel, 1897), 1:269ff.
24. Ibid., 289: “This way the sparse origins, from which a more noble family could have
emerged, were extinguished again and again and the race worsened more and more” (my
translation). In a recent article it has been argued that, according to Seeck, the growing Semitic
influence had not necessarily “contributed” to the decline of the Roman race. See Eline
Scheerlinck, Sarah Rey, and Danny Praet, “Race and Religious Transformations in Rome: Franz
Cumont and Contemporaries on the Oriental Religions,” Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte
65, no. 2, (2016): 230–32.
25. Bury, L ater Roman Empire (1923), 1:309.
26. Bury, “History of Sicily I–II,” 28–29.
27. Bury, L ater Roman Empire (1889), 1:vii.
28. As editor of The Cambridge Medieval History (1911–36), Bury wrote in his introduc-
tion to the fourth volume that “it was one of Gibbon’s services to history that the title of his
book asserted clearly and unambiguously this continuity.” See John B. Bury, introduction to
The Cambridge Medieval History, planned by J. B. Bury, ed. H. M. Gwatkin and J. P. Whit-
ney, vol. 4, The Eastern Roman Empire (717–1453)(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1923), vii.
29. Bury, Later Roman Empire (1889), 1:vi.
30. John B. Bury, “Gibbon, Edward,” in The Encyclopaedia Britannica: A Dictionary of
Arts, Sciences, Literature and General Information, 11th ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1911), 11:927–36.
31. Ibid., 935.
33. Ibid., 16.
34. Gibbon, Decline and Fall (1906), 1: xlviii.
228 not es to pag es 1 67 – 17 1
35. As seen, for instance, in the end of his famous sixteenth chapter: “The church of Rome
defended by violence the empire which she had acquired by fraud; a system of peace and
benevolence was soon disgraced by the proscriptions, wars, massacres, and the institution of
the holy office.” See Gibbon, Decline and Fall (1906), 3:87.
36. In his youth Gibbon for a short period even converted to Catholicism. Besides his
negative comments in the Decline and Fall t here are also more neutral and even appreciative
remarks. For example: “While that g reat body [Rome] was invaded by open violence, or un-
dermined by slow decay, a pure and h umble religion g ently insinuated itself into the minds of
men, grew up in silence and obscurity, derived new vigour from opposition, and finally erected
the triumphant banner of the Cross on the ruins of the Capitol” (ibid., 2:1). For Gibbon’s
ambiguity, see Brian W. Young, “Preludes and Postludes to Gibbon: Variations on an Im-
promptu by J. G. A. Pocock,” History of European Ideas 35, no. 4 (2009): 421–22.
38. John B. Bury, A History of Freedom of Thought (London: Williams and Norgate; New
York: H. Holt, 1913); John B. Bury, The Idea of Progress: An Inquiry into Its Origin and Growth
(London: Macmillan, 1920).
39. Bury, Freedom of Thought, 51.
40. John B. Bury, “The Success of Christianity,” R.P.A. Annual, 1915, 5. The Rationalist
Press Association (RPA) was founded by Charles Albert Watts during 1884–85. The RPA and
its journal fostered the publication of secular books and ideas. The organization, now known
as the Rational Association, still exists and publishes the New Humanist. See New Humanist,
accessed February 22, 2014, https://newhumanist.org.u k/.
41. John B. Bury, “Playing for Safety,” R.P.A. Annual, 1920, 19.
42. Bury, Freedom of Thought, 53.
43. Ibid., 24.
44. Ibid., 52.
45. Ibid., 72
46. Ibid., 77.
47. Ibid., 190.
48. Hilaire Belloc, Anti-Catholic History: How It Is Written (London: Catholic Truth
Society, 1914), 1–3.
49. Quoted in Bernard Bergonzi, “Belloc, (Joseph) Hilaire Pierre René (1870–1953),”
ODNB, accessed November 30, 2014, http://w ww.oxforddnb.c om/v iew/10.1093/ref:odnb
/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-30699.
50. Belloc, Anti-Catholic History, 19. It is no wonder that Belloc, following his uncondi-
tional support of the church, also attacked Gibbon despite adoring his literary skills. See Ber-
gonzi, “Belloc.”
51. Bury, Idea of Progress, 21–24.
52. Ibid., 66.
53. Ibid., 33.
54. Ibid., 9–10.
55. Ibid., 11.
56. Ibid., 19.
57. Ibid., 107–9.
58. John B. Bury, “The Place of Modern History in the Perspective of Knowledge,” in
Selected Essays of J. B. Bury, ed. Harold Temperley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1930), 43–59.
not es to pag es 1 7 1 – 180 229
59. Ibid., 50.

60. Ibid., 51.
61. Bury, Idea of Progress, 38; Jean Bodin, Method for the Easy Comprehension of History,
trans. Beatrice Reynolds (New York: Norton, 1969), 21–24.
62. Bodin dedicated a chapter to this issue, entitled “Refutation of Th ose Who Postulate
Four Monarchies and the Golden Age.” See Bodin, Easy Comprehension of History, 291ff.; Ma-
rio Turchetti, “Jean Bodin,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2014), ed. Edward N.
Zalta, http://plato.stanford.edu/a rchives/fall2014/entries/bodin/.
63. Bodin, Easy Comprehension of History, 301–2; Bury, Idea of Progress, 39–40.
64. Bury, Idea of Progress, 52–57.
65. Yehoshua Arieli, “Modernity and the Problem of Secularization” [in Hebrew], in His-
tory and Politics (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1992), 153–54.
66. Bury, Idea of Progress, 307.
67. Bury, Later Roman Empire (1889), 1:1–2.
68. John B. Bury, “Art. V.—The Wandering of the Nations,” Scottish Review 21 (1893): 343.
69. Ibid., 345.
71. John B. Bury, The Life of St. Patrick and His Place in History (London: Macmillan,
1905), 8–9.
72. Ibid., 9–10.
73. Thomas Hodgkin, Italy and Her Invaders, 8 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1880–99).
74. Bury, “The Wandering of the Nations,” 329–30.
75. Ibid.
76. Ibid., 331.
77. John B. Bury, “Art. VII.—Rome and Byzantium,” Quarterly Review 192, no. 383
(1900): 134.
78. John B. Bury, “The British and the Roman Empire,” SR 81, no. 2122 (1896): 645.
79. Bury, Later Roman Empire (1889), 1:25–36. For a similar assessment on the “dismem-
bering” of Rome, see Bury, “The Wandering of the Nations,” 339.
80. In his 1896 book Die sozialen Gründe des Untergangs der antiken Kultur, Weber wrote
that the shortage in slaves during the third century had been the cause of the Roman decline,
since slaves w ere the locomotive of the Roman economy. U ntil the crisis, he argues, Rome
developed several capitalist characteristics, but the slave shortage, combined with the termina-
tion of the Roman territorial expansion, generated a crisis that began the decay. See Max
Weber, “The Social Causes of the Decay of Ancient Civilization,” in Max Weber, Essays in
Economic Sociology, ed. Richard Swedberg (Princeton N.J.: Princeton University Press,
1999), 138–53; John R. Love, Antiquity and Capitalism: Max Weber and the Sociological Foun-
dations of Roman Civilisation (London: Routledge, 1991), 233–37.
82. Bury, “Rome and Byzantium,” 136.
84. Bury, introduction to Cambridge Medieval History, vol. 4 (1923), viii.
85. Bury, “Rome and Byzantium,” 147–49.
86. Ibid., 152.
87. Ibid., 146.
88. Ibid., 151.
89. Bury, L ater Roman Empire (1889), 1:29–30.
230 not es to pag es 1 8 1 – 1 8 6
90. Bury, “The Wandering of the Nations,” 339. Zeno even nominated him to be a Ro-
man consul, a patrician, and the head of soldiers (magister militum). See Maurice Dumoulin,
“The Kingdom of Italy Under Odovacar and Theodoric,” in The Cambridge Medieval History,
planned by J. B. Bury, ed. H. M. Gwatkin and J. P. Whitney, vol. 1 (New York: Macmillan,
1911), 438–39.
91. John B. Bury, The Invasion of Europe by the Barbarians (1928; New York: Norton,
1967), 29.
92. John B. Bury, A History of the Eastern Roman Empire: From the Fall of Irene to the Ac-
cession of Basil I (A.D. 802–867) (London: Macmillan, 1912).
93. John B. Bury, “Darwinism and History,” in Selected Essays of J. B. Bury, ed. Harold
Temperley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1930), 38–39.
94. Quoted in Norman H. Baynes, A Bibliography of the Works of J. B. Bury (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1929), 75.
95. For the contingent explanation for the fall, see John B. Bury, “Cleopatra’s Nose,” R.P.A.
Annual, 1916, 16–23. The title follows the famous saying of Pascal: “had Cleopatra’s nose been
shorter the whole face of the world would have changed.”
96. Bury, Later Roman Empire (1923), 311.
97. Several years a fter Bury, the Russian historian Michael Rostovtzeff (1870–1952) argued
that the tension and hostility between the Roman social classes had been the cause for the
transformation of the “ancient world.” See Michael Rostovtzeff, “The Decay of the Ancient
World and Its Economic Explanations,” Economic History Review 2, no. 2 (1930): 197–214.
98. William E. Heitland, “John Bagnell Bury and James Smith Reid,” Classical Review
44, no. 1 (1930): 38.
99. John B. Bury, “The Insurrection of Women: A Criticism,” Fortnightly Review 52, no. 311
(1892): 654.
100. Bury, “The British and the Roman Empire,” 645.
101. Bury, Inaugural Lecture, 7.
102. The famous British historian George Trevelyan, who was present at the lecture and
later replaced Bury as regius professor at Cambridge, was one of the most vociferous oppo-
nents of this notion. For him, history was also an art and not only a science. See Richard J.
Evans, In Defence of History, new ed. (London: Granta Books, 2000), 37–39; Doris S. Gold-
stein, “J. B. Bury’s Philosophy of History: A Reappraisal,” American Historical Review 82, no. 4
(1977): 897; Hesketh, Science of History, 161–64.
103. Quoted in John P. Whitney, “The Late Professor J. B. Bury,” Cambridge Historical
Journal 2, no. 2 (1927): 195.
104. Ibid., 192.
105. Goldstein, “J. B. Bury’s Philosophy of History,” 900.
106. Ibid.
107. Bury, Inaugural Lecture, 17.
108. John B. Bury, Germany and Slavonic Civilization (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode,
1914). This manifesto became rather popular and appeared also in Italian, French, Danish, and
Dutch. See John B. Bury, La Germania e la civilta slava (London: Thomas Nelson & Sons,
1914); John B. Bury, L’Allemagne et la civilisation slave (Paris: Payot, 1915).
109. John B. Bury, “Says Germany’s Fight Is Selfish; Strugg le of Teutonic Culture
Against Slav ‘Barbarism’ a Myth, Dr. Bury Asserts,” New York Times, November 29, 1914,
http://query.nytimes.c om /g st /abstract.html?res=9901E1D71738E633A2575AC2A9679D9465
96D6CF.
not es to pag es 1 8 7 – 19 3 231
110. Ibid.
111. Houston Stewart Chamberlain, Who Is to Blame for the War? (New York: German-
American Literary Defense Committee, 1915), 9.
112. Ibid., 2.
113. Ibid., 4.
114. Bryce, Race Sentiment, 4–5.
115. Bury, Germany and Slavonic Civilization.
Epilogue
Note to epigraph: José Ortega y Gasset, “History as a System,” in The Philosophy of History in
Our Time: An Anthology Selected, and with an Introduction and Commentary by Hans Meyerhoff
(Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1959), 58.
1. Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, 1860–1914 (London: Ash-
field Press, 1980).
2. An excellent review of scholarship that testifies on the composite nature of the British-
German relations can be found in Rüger, Revisiting the Anglo-German Antagonism, 579–617.
On the scholarly links between the two countries, see Heather Ellis and Ulrike Kirchberger,
Anglo-German Scholarly Networks in the Long Nineteenth Century (Leiden: Brill, 2014).
3. Davis, The Victorians and Germany, 188–89.
4. Biologist, “A Biological View of Our Foreign Policy,” SR 81, no. 2101 (1896): 120.
5. Ibid., 118–120.
6. H. C. MacNeacail, “Celt and Teuton in E ngland,” Scottish Review 41, no. 90 (1918):
204.
7. Ibid., 205.
8. Ibid., 238.
9. Keith Robbins, Present and Past: British Images of Germany in the First Half of the
Twentieth Century and Their Historical Legacy (Göttingen: Wallstein, 1999), 28n24.
10. “The Foundations of the Nineteenth C entury,” Spectator, February 25, 1911, 18–19;
Michael Biddiss, “Chamberlain, Houston Stewart (1855–1927),” ODNB, accessed June 5, 2018,
http://w w w.o xforddnb.c om /v iew/1 0.1 093/r ef:odnb/9 780198614128.0 01.0 001/o dnb
-9780198614128-e-32349.
11. Houston Stewart Chamberlain, Foundations of the Nineteenth C entury, trans. John.
Lees, with an introduction by Lord Redesdale (New York: John Lane, 1910), 1:xiii.
12. Ibid., xxi–x xii.
13. Ibid., 115–16.
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Index
Adam, 7, 8, 12, 196n12 Ages and, 4, 5, 7, 16, 61, 105–8, 174, 226n8;
Adams, Herbert B., 4, 47–49, 205n128, 221n65 Mittelalter (a middle period), 54;
Alaric the Goth, 43, 92, 116, 174, 179–80 modernity and, 5, 117, 119, 132–33, 140,
Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Prince, 146–47, 193; mythische (mythic), 54;
51, 72–73 periodization of, 11–14, 54, 90, 99,
Alexander the G reat, 56, 180 100–102, 104, 109, 110, 132–33, 157, 177, 181;
Alfred the Great, 31, 32, 78 separation of myth from history, 54, 58
Allen, John, 138–39 anti-Semitism, 66, 216n23
Alsace-L orraine, 70, 79, 104 Aquinas, Thomas, 169
America, 4, 35, 46–49, 81, 146–48, 221n65. Arabs, 65, 108, 111, 125, 142, 225n95. See also
See also United States Muslims
ancient history: modern history and, 111–14, archaeology, 23, 104
159; school of, 109–10. See also antiquity aristocracy, 19, 91, 92, 102
A ngles (Anglii), 2, 22, 27, 28, 29, 30, 32, 44, Armenians, 148, 149; Armenian genocide,
124 135, 222n5
Anglican Church, 3, 59, 72–73, 211n114 Arminius (Hermann), 18, 36–37, 98, 103, 174,
Anglican historians, 53–54, 217n30 213–14n180, 216n27
Anglo-German relations, 21–22, 189–91 Arndt, Ernst Moritz, 18, 61, 62, 198n56,
Anglo-German scholars, 2, 3, 189–90. 198n57
See also specific scholars Arnold, Matthew, 118, 202n80
Anglo-Saxons/Anglo-Saxonism, 2, 4, 17, 22, Arnold, Thomas, 4–5, 53, 55, 57–58, 63, 86,
24–29, 33, 35, 44, 47, 61–63, 71–72, 75, 191, 109–10, 136, 152; anti-French tendencies
206n13; America and, 47, 49, 221n65; of, 118; Bunsen and, 58–59, 63; fall of
Anglo-Saxon assemblies (witenagemot), Roman Empire and, 116–17; as found of
79–80; Anglo-Saxon historiography, British historical discipline, 113; Freeman
25–26; Anglo-Saxon period, 52; Celtic and, 63, 117–18; History of Rome, 116–17;
peoples and, 27, 44–45, 62, 150; expansion Matthew Arnold and, 118; on modernity,
of, 34–35; invasions by, 25, 27, 30, 34, 49, 116, 144; Pan-Germanism and, 58;
86–87; language and, 28, 64; Monumenta periodization and, 116, 181; separation of
Germaniae Historica and, 85–86; myth from history, 58; Stubbs and, 63;
Normans and, 25, 105; racial purity and, “unity of history” idea and, 88, 113, 116,
62, 64; Roman-Celtic society and, 27; 118, 132, 219n8
supremacy and, 46, 124; Teutonic heritage Aryan civilization and heritage, 42–43,
and mores of, 45–46; wanderings of, 189–90; endurance of, 111, 118–20;
26, 27, 29, 58; Welsh and, 44–46 progressive essence of, 118–19
anti-Catholicism, 167–70, 185, 188 Aryan history: modernity and, 115–20;
antiquity, 1, 3, 110, 172; ächthistorische (real periodization of, 110–11, 119, 120; shared,
historical), 54; Bury and, 170–71; M iddle 133; unified, 118, 119–20, 219n8
254 Index
Aryanism, 46, 69, 130, 163–64 Bodin, Jean, 172, 174

Aryans, 36, 42, 47, 59–60, 65, 74, 99, 124, Boers, 72, 191
127, 131–32, 150; as ancestors of English book of Daniel, 14, 138, 172, 223n22
people, 163; continuation of Greece/Rome British Empire, 72, 76; accomplishments of,
and Teutonic tribes, 118–19; conversion to 52, 177; America and, 146–48, 221n65;
Christianity, 119; Freeman on, 69, 119–20, India and, 146–48, 149; race and, 147–48;
123, 135, 202n73; Islamic emergence and, Roman Empire and, 146–51, 192–93;
125–33; language and, 42–43, 59, 64–66, Teutonic heritage of, 76
68–69, 163–64; Semites and, 65–66, 111, British Isles, 2; Anglo-Saxon invasion of, 45,
120, 125–27, 153, 187, 192–93; Sicily and, 124; coexistence of Teutonic and Celtic
120–25; supremacy and, 36, 42–43, 60, culture in, 118; Norman Conquest of, 105;
63–64, 66, 69, 119–20, 123, 126, 135, 139, Viking invasion of, 44
187; unified history of, 110–11; unity British scholars, 53, 90. See also English
among, 42, 120, 125 Teutonic scholars; specific scholars
Asia, 59, 60, 65, 66, 101, 127 Britons, 9, 27, 28–29, 30, 34, 49
assemblies, 42–43, 47, 79–80, 145 Broad Church movement, 52–53
Attila the Hun, 175, 179–80 Brown, Peter, 214n1
Augustine of Hippo, 12, 92, 170 Bryce, James, 2, 4–7, 27, 31, 33–34, 38–39, 43,
Augustus, Emperor, 6, 14, 89, 98, 140, 144, 71, 87, 107, 115, 134; as authority on
164, 176, 177, 178 German scholarship, 139–40; as British
ambassador to United States, 134;
Chamberlain and, 187; detached from
Bacon, Francis, 172–73 Teutonic affinity, 151; downplays
barbarian invasions, 99, 183; as beginning of importance of AD 476, 138, 144–45; on
Middle Ages, 94–96, 104; Constantinople Eastern Roman Empire, 159; foreign
and, 179–80; as racial watershed policy and, 82; Freeman and, 78–79, 82,
separating antiquity from M iddle Ages, 87, 116, 135, 139–40, 143, 151–56, 205n128;
103; Roman Empire and, 89, 95–96, 97 French imperial claim and, 145; genera-
barbarians/barbarism, 4, 15–16, 91, 94, tional shift and, 190–91; on German-
102–3, 126–27, 186; “barbarian era,” 5, 96; British relations, 146–47, 155–56;
Christianized, 99, 100–103, 114; Roman “Germanism” of, 140; historical scheme
Empire and, 15, 16, 90, 93, 141, 179; as of, 139; Holy Roman Empire (HRE) and,
symbolizing end of ancient period, 134–56; imperial genealogy of, 139–46;
94–96. See also barbarian invasions; inconsistent arguments of, 142–43, 184;
Teutonic tribes interest in judicial inheritance of Roman
Baumgartner, Alexander, 40 and Germanic law, 156; on M iddle Ages,
Bede, Venerable, 12, 93, 197n42 150; on modernity, 144, 150; opposition to
Belgae, 23, 24 slavery, 148; Palgrave’s influence on,
Belgium, 85, 135, 155 135–39; periodization and, 138, 139, 152–53,
Bell, Duncan, 35, 221n65 157, 181; philo-Germanism of, 155; on
Belloc, Hilaire, 169 physical destruction of Western Roman
Berlin, Isaiah, 1–2 Empire, 143, 146; on potential of America,
Bernal, Martin, 57, 225n95 49; praises France’s imperial heredity, 151;
the Bible, 7, 12, 13, 138, 168, 169. See also praises Rome’s influence, 146; race and,
New Testament; Old Testament; specific 43, 135, 147–50, 154, 156, 187, 224n71,
books 225n75; on role of Teutonic tribes, 146,
Biondo, Flavio, 93–94 151; Romano-Teutonic heritage and, 139,
Bismarck, Otto von, 69–70, 71, 186, 205n5, 146, 157; on significance of Charlemagne’s
206n7 coronation, 159; on Teutonic lords, 174;
blacks, 35, 202n73 Teutonism and, 46, 135, 151, 154–56, 191; as
Blumenbach, Johann Friedrich, 68 undersecretary of state for foreign affairs,
Index 255
134; “unity of history” idea and, 135, of, 178, 181–84; Irish Protestant back-
140–41, 146–47, 151–56; on unity of ground of, 185–86, 188; methodology and,
mankind, 88; universal and particularistic 157, 184–85; periodization and, 157, 165,
tendencies of, 145–46; visits Aachen, 145; 181; preference for modernity, 171; progress
visits Johns Hopkins University, 48. and, 167–70, 172–73; Protestantism and,
See also Bryce, James, works of 185–86; race and, 154, 163, 164; religion
Bryce, James, works of: American Common- and, 185–86; on role of Teutonic tribes in
wealth, 48; “Empire in India,” 148, 149; fall of Rome, 174–79; on Roman history,
The Holy Roman Empire (THRE), 6, 134, 165, 184–85; “rule of fluctuation” and,
135, 139–43, 151; Race Sentiment as a F
actor 184–85; Russia and, 186; as scientific
in History, 149–50, 154, 156; review of historian, 157, 188; Teutonism and, 154,
Freeman’s Historical Essays, 152–53; “The 174, 186, 188; “unity of history” idea and,
Roman Empire and the British Empire in 157, 159, 168, 180–81; unity of the East
India,” 141–42; Studies in History and and, 157–88. See also Bury, John Bagnell,
Jurisprudence, 142–43 works of
Buffon, Comte de, 10 Bury, John Bagnell, works of: editor of
Bulgaria/Bulgarians, 127, 128–29, 129, 131, Cambridge Medieval History, 227n28;
132, 187 editor of Freeman’s Historical Geography
Bunsen, Christian Karl Josias von, 2, 4, of Europe, 158, 163; editor of Freeman’s
52–53, 58–63, 64, 66, 72, 73, 86, 119; as second edition of The History of Federal
ambassador to Rome, 58–59; on Government, 158; Germany and Slavonic
Anglo-Saxons, 62–63; Arnold and, 58–59, Civilization, 186; A History of Freedom of
63, 208n45; “Egyptomania” of, 60; Egypt’s Thought, 167–68; A History of the Eastern
Place in World History, 60; France and, Roman Empire, 181; A History of the L ater
61; God in History, 60; Müller and, Roman Empire, 161–62; History of the
64–67; promotion of idea of unity of Later Roman Empire, 164, 183; The Idea of
mankind, 59–60, 65 Progress, 167, 170–72, 174; The Later
Burrow, John, 28 Roman Empire, 166, 168, 173–74, 177–78,
Bury, John Bagnell, 5, 6–7, 88, 107, 112, 180–81, 183; The Life of St Patrick, 175, 185;
120–21, 154, 156, 193, 226n8, 230n102; “The Place of Modern History in the
acknowledges “German spirit,” 173–74; Perspective of Knowledge,” given at the
anti-Catholicism of, 167–70, 185, 188; Congress of Arts and Sciences in
antiquity and, 170–71; attack on Roman St. Louis, 171; reviews Freeman’s History
Empire in Saturday Review, 177; Bacon of Sicily, 158–59, 164–65; “Rome and
and, 172–73; Bodin and, 172–73, 174; Byzantium,” 183
Christianity and, 167–70; contingency Byzantine Empire, 6, 7, 121, 133, 136, 141, 154,
theory of, 171, 182–86, 188; continuity 161–67, 193. See also later Roman Empire
and, 159; departure from “old” and Byzantium, 108, 125. See also Constantinople
conservative perception of Rome, 157;
diminished Teutonic stance of, 163,
190–91; disapproval of “locked” historical Caesar, Julius, 15, 60, 83, 104, 105, 141, 144
schemes, 173; English Teutonic circle and, cantons, 40–41
157–58; “flexibility” of, 157; Freeman and, Carlyle, Thomas, 70–71, 83, 118, 152, 199n8
157, 158–60, 163–64, 220n52; generational Carolingians, 14, 85, 108, 145
shift and, 190–91; German historical Carthage, 42, 121, 124, 191, 192–93
method and, 190; on German-Russian Catholicism, 3, 6–7, 71, 73, 179, 188, 190;
relationship, 186–87; Gibbon and, Bury’s hostility t oward, 167–70; Gibbon
164–67; Hegel and, 173–74; on historical and, 167, 227–28n36, 227n35; Roman
time, 172–74; historical unity and, 159; on Empire and, 73, 125, 173–74, 180. See also
history as science, 184–85; “illusion of anti-Catholicism; Roman Catholic
finality” and, 188; inconsistent arguments Church
256 Index
Celtic/Gallic identity, 3, 21, 22–23 merging East and West, 179; Ottoman
Celtic heritage, 22, 37, 45, 59, 118, 191–92 conquest of, 94, 162, 165, 179; Roman
Celtic peoples, 2, 23, 24–30, 35–36, 45–46, Empire and, 140, 143, 179, 214n1. See also
61, 87, 124, 132, 140; Anglo-Saxons and, Byzantine Empire
44–45, 62, 150; Teutonic tribes and, 61, 87 contingency theory, 182–86, 188
Chamberlain, Houston Stewart, 186–87, continuity, 5–6, 109, 114, 159, 226n8;
192–93 historical unity and, 159, 165; periodiza-
Charlemagne (Charles I; Carlos Magnus), tion and, 106, 116, 120; vs. rupture, 106,
Emperor, 79, 108, 133, 145, 151; coronation 111, 132
of, 116–17, 133, 141, 144, 154, 159, 181; Cook, Simon, 34, 156
restoration and, 140, 142, 144–145 Counter-reformation, 173–74
Christianity, 5–7, 13, 60, 62–63, 91, 111, 127, Creighton, Mandell, 112
169–70, 173–74, 177, 211n122; Aryans and, culture, 8–9, 16, 20, 106. See also specific
69, 125–33; barbarism and, 100–103; Bury cultures
on, 166–70; civilizing impact of, 101; Curtius, Ernst, 81–82, 153, 225n93
dissemination of, 99, 102–3, 119; early,
168; endurance of, 114; equality and, 146;
formative victory of, 100–103; founding Danes, 28, 43, 44
of, 12; freedom and, 179; as fusion of Daniel, 138. See also book of Daniel
Aryanism and Semitism, 69; Gibbon and, Darwin, Charles, 10–11, 65; On the Origin of
166–67; Hegel and, 171; HRE and, 144, Species, 10–11, 76; race and, 10–11, 197n38
166–67; Islam and, 108, 122, 126, 128, 150, Darwinism, 2, 65, 156, 182
192–93; modernity and, 100; Orthodox, Davis, John R., 52–53, 206n13
119; progress and, 166, 167–68, 188; racism degeneration, 65, 91, 93–96
and, 148; rejuvenating effect on course of democracy, 102; Athenian, 39; direct, 48; in
history, 101–2; rise of, 91, 95, 103, 110, 112, Florence, 37; in Roman Empire, 91–92;
227–28n36; Roman Empire and, 125, spread of, 47; Teutonic democratic
143–44, 166–68, 175, 179, 180; Roman- tradition, 38–39, 47; tyrannical (ochloc-
Teutonic culture and, 146, 148; schism in, racy), 92
129; Teutonism and, 100, 175; time and, Disraeli, Benjamin, 50, 127, 205n1, 205n2
12; tolerance and, 168; triadic periodiza- Dubos, Jean-Baptiste, 138–39
tion and, 99; Turanians and, 129–31; the Dutch, 62, 63, 150
universalizing impact of, 101, 114; Vikings Dutch language, 43, 67
and, 44; Western Roman Empire and,
166–67
Clovis, King, 90, 103, 141 the East, 101, 102, 159; “Eastern character,”
community/communities (Gemeinschaft), 2, 127–28; rise of, 179–82; unity of, 157–88;
3, 4, 13, 15–19, 22; common English and vs. the West, 126–28, 129, 132, 140–41.
German, 21–22; construction of, 17, 27, See also Eastern Roman Empire
41; definition of, 11; emergence and the “Eastern Question,” 68, 71, 128, 161
decline and, 4–5; land and, 15; language Eastern Roman Empire, 7, 94, 117, 140–43,
and, 8, 11; periodization and, 4–5, 30–31; 148, 157–88; Christianity and, 166–67,
“purity” of, 3; race and, 11, 27; religious 169, 180; economic and demographic
time and transformation of, 13; transna- stability of, 180; emperors of, 180; end of,
tional ethnogenesis, 46–49 181; geographical location of, 179–80;
Comte, Auguste, 54–55, 173 Germanic lords and, 181; Gibbon on,
Constantine, Emperor, 95, 144 165–67; national identity of, 180;
Constantinople, 94, 140, 154, 173–74; significance of, 159–60; wealth of, 180;
barbarian invasions and, 179–80; Western Roman Empire and, 154, 159,
geographical location protecting it from 174, 177–81, 182, 188. See also later Roman
barbarian invasions, 179–80; as hub Empire
Index 257
Edwardian scholars, 193 English settlers, Native Americans and,

Egypt/Egyptians, 23, 26, 59, 60, 100, 101, 123, 124
153, 172, 225n93, 225n95 English Teutonic scholars, 4, 21–49, 51, 139,
Engels, Friedrich, 14–15, 19 155–56, 188, 189–90, 194, 195n4; alter
England, 2, 20, 28, 41, 44, 47, 74; Anglo- historiographical debate about end of
Saxon invasion of, 25, 44, 86–87; antiquity, 193; “Anglo-Saxon” identity of,
Anglo-Saxonism and, 191; Belgae in, 23; 4; Bury and, 157–58; cultural-racial traits
“birth” of, 31, 206n13; Celtic heritage in, and, 190; German school and, 88; Müller
191; constitutional system of, 29–30, 55, and, 67–68, 71–72; new historiographical
63, 84; defeat at Teutoburg Forest and, 58; approaches created by, 193; obsession with
English law, 84; founding of, 27, 32; Teutonic origins, 115; political interests
France and, 59, 190; Germanization of, and, 190; pro-German views among, 192;
28, 30; Germany and, 17, 21–22, 37, 51–53, race and, 194; Teutonic narrative and, 115,
61–62, 69–72, 74, 77, 86–88, 90, 186–87, 189–91, 193–94
189–93; historical profession in, 4; idea of, ethnicity, 16, 20; fall of Roman Empire and
52; name of, 27; national identity and, Catholic Church and, 99–100; language
30–33; Niebuhr and, 54–56; Norman and, 42–43; perceptions of, 90; race and,
invasion of, 28, 31, 45; origins of, 21, 9–10, 20; time and, 90, 103. See also race
30–32, 67, 86–87; political heritage of, 40, Europe: Africa and, 122; Christianization of,
47, 55; political system of, 29–30, 40, 63, 112; Eastern Roman Empire and, 159;
84; racial composition of, 26; Rome and, Germanization of, 112; Greco-Roman
56, 146–47; Scandinavia and, 43; Teutonic contributions to, 124; Hebrew contribu-
dominance in foundation of, 136; tions to, 124–25; Saracen contributions to,
university system in, 6; Viking invasion 124–25; Semitic contributions to, 124–25;
of, 28, 44, 45. See also British Empire; transformation of, 174; unity of, 174.
British Isles; G reat Britain See also European states; specific nations
the English, 23, 24, 30, 35, 47; Aryans as European states, 44; Christian Germanic
ancestors of, 163; conquest of America by, heritage of, 113; construction of, 18–19;
35; Danes and, 44; freedom of, 28; Roman Empire’s role in shaping, 136–39;
French-Celtic heritage of, 118; Germans Teutonic dominance and, 136; Teutonic
and, 28; Roman origins of, 28, 137–38; institutions and, 119; two pillars of
Teutonic heritage and, 27–34, 45, 46, 67, freedom and fidelity, 102. See also specific
86–88, 118, 188, 163, 186, 189–93; Teutonic nations
notion and, 2–3; the Welsh and, 44–46 evolution/evolutionary theory, 65,
English-German community of scholars, 118–19, 182
16–17, 194. See also English scholars;
English Teutonic Scholars; specific scholars
English history/historiography: importance federalism, 38–41, 47–48, 140
of AD 1066 in, 25; national periodization Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 17–18
of, 25; Norman invasion of, 25; racial finality, illusion of, 157–88
periodization of, 27l ; “uniqueness” of, Finlay, George, 136, 137, 160–61
80–81 Forbes, Duncan, 53–54
English language, 42–43, 51, 67, 191 four monarchies scheme, 14, 138, 139, 172,
Englishness, 32 223n22
“the English question,” 30–34 France, 14, 18–19, 39, 41, 56, 71, 74–75, 79,
English scholars, 2, 80–81, 213–14n180; 85, 150, 191; anti-French tendencies, 4, 61,
Germanic themes and, 22; German 118, 140; archaeology in, 104; Bunsen and,
scholars and, 4; national hierarchy and, 61; Catholicism and, 3, 73; Celtic/Gallic
103; political, religious, and social activities identity and, 3; discourse of race and time
of, 52; race and, 50–88, 156. See also English in, 18–19; emergence of modern, 36;
Teutonic scholars; specific scholars England and, 3, 59, 150, 190;
258 Index
France (continued) kinship theory of nation and, 41–42;

Gallo-Roman heritage of, 151; Germany Liebermann on, 79–80; “loyalty” to
and, 3, 19–20, 59, 69–72, 79, 86, 103–4, Teutonic history, 34; merging of race and
106, 141, 190; Green and Freeman on, language by, 68; methodology of, 114–15;
36–37, 140; imperial heredity of, 73, 151; on modernity, 119–20, 206n13; on
imperialist traditions of, 151; Latinity of, Mommsen, 81–82; Müller and, 64, 68,
3; as menacing “other,” 190; Napoleonic, 70–71; nationalism and, 79–80, 163;
56; Niebuhr’s resentment t oward, 55; as Northmen and, 44; obsession with
perpetual other of E ngland and Germany, Teutonic origins, 115; on Ottoman
86–87; revival of ancient tribal myth in, atrocities, 128–29; Palgrave’s influence on,
104; Roman heritage of, 3, 42, 105, 106, 135, 138, 139; periodical columns by, 52;
113, 151 periodization and, 125, 132–33, 138, 144,
Franco-Prussian War, 3, 52, 68, 71, 74, 141 157, 181; on periodization of Aryan
Franks, 18–19, 24, 28–29, 45, 75, 90, 116, 128, history, 111; political, religious, and social
144, 217n51 activities of, 52; political views of, 162–63;
freedom (Freiheit), 60–61, 102, 103, 168–70, posthumous reviews of, 114–15; on
172, 179 potential of America, 49; promotion of
Freeman, Edward Augustus, 2, 4–7, 50, 53, idea of unity of mankind, 88; race and, 35,
64, 79, 86, 107, 158, 185, 189–90, 221n65; 50, 110–11, 115, 123, 127–28, 130–32, 149,
acknowledges Semitic contributions to 153–54, 157, 163, 226n105; reception in
Europe, 124–25; admiration of Teutonic Germany, 82–83; reliance on Müller’s
Switzerland, 39–40; adoption of comparative method, 64; reluctance to
“conservative” periodization, 119; on admit ancient associations between
Anglo-Saxons/Celtic conflict, 150; Eastern and Western civilizations, 153–54;
anti-Celtic tendencies of, 118; Arnold and, reviewed in Pall Mall Gazette, 151–52; on
63, 117, 118, 218n1, 219n8; Aryanism and, “revolution of 406–419,” 116; on role of
42–43, 69, 119–20, 123, 135, 139, 163–64, Teutonic tribes, 119–20; on rules of
202n73; on Aryan unity, 120; on birth of “adoption and assimilation,” 132; on
England, 206n13; Bryce and, 78–79, 82, Scotland, 45–46; Stubbs and, 84, 113–14;
87, 116, 135, 139–40, 143–44, 151–56, tension between unity and periods, 219n8;
205n128; Bury and, 157, 158–60, 220n52; on Teutonic lords, 174; on Teutonic
community and, 41; continuity and, 159; tribes, 42, 119–20; Teutonism and, 46, 50,
criticism of Kingsley, 77; criticisms of 64, 135, 186; theory of unity and, 118–20;
German scholarship, 80–82; criticized by unique historical periodization of, 109–33;
German historians, 82–83; on demarca- on “uniqueness” of English historiogra-
tion of modernity, 144; “Eastern phy, 80–81; on United States, 46–47;
Question” and, 71, 161; Eastern Roman “unity of history” idea and, 46, 109–10,
Empire and, 160; emphasis on insignifi- 112–15, 118, 121, 126–27, 132, 135, 139,
cance of AD 476, 138, 139; English 151–56, 159, 219n8; use of racial terminology,
Teutonic circle and, 21, 24, 26–35, 43, 34–36; view of Islam, 125–26; visits Johns
47–48; on ethnic origins of E ngland, Hopkins University, 47, 48; on Wales,
45–46; on fall of Rome, 111–12, 125–26; 44–46. See also Freeman, Edward
Finlay and, 160–61; foreign policy and, Augustus, works of
82, 163; on France, 36–37, 39, 140; French Freeman, Edward Augustus, works of:
imperial claim and, 145; generational shift “Carthage,” 124; Comparative Politics, 35;
and, 190–91; German scholars and, 80–81; General Sketch of European History, 42;
on Germany, 156; Green and, 113–14, 117; Historical Essays, 79, 117, 151–53; Historical
historical method of, 139; HRE and, 134; Geography of Europe, 82, 158, 163; The
on impact of Teutonic invasions, 44–46, History and Conquests of the Saracens, 129;
49; inconsistent arguments of, 184; on The History of Federal Government, 158;
Irish home rule, 45–46; on Italy, 37–38; The History of Sicily, 110, 120–25, 126, 130,
Index 259
158–59, 164–65, 219n9; “The Landesge- Germanic kingdoms, adoption of Roman

meinden of Uri and Appenzell,” 38–39; mores and institutions by, 143; as “bridge”
“The Landesgemeinde of Uri,” 38–39; Life between Roman and German civiliza-
and Letters, 45; “Mahometanism in the tions, 178
East and West,” 126; “Mommsen’s German(ic) language(s), 36, 42–43, 51,
History of Rome,” 81–82; Norman 69–72, 186, 191
Conquest, 78, 79; Old English History for “Germanic school,” 4, 27
Children, 21; “Race and Language,” 35, Germanic tribes. See Teutonic tribes
130–32; The Story of Sicily, 121–22; in Germanist narrative, 11, 22, 90, 91, 104, 140
Times of London, 128–29 German nationalism, 97–98
Freeman-Mitford, Algernon Bertram, Lord German principalities, 51, 56, 98, 106, 139, 140
Redesdale, 192–93 German Protestantism, 53
French Revolution, 19, 105, 119, 150, 173 German-Roman imperial idea, 140–41
French scholars, 53, 90, 103, 105 German Romanists, 103
Frisians, 63, 85 Germans, 37; English and, 28; Slavs and,
Froude, James Anthony, 73, 211n112 187–88; Teutonic notion and, 2–3
Fustel de Coulanges, Numa-Denis, 5, 104 German scholars, 2, 5, 80–82, 105, 115, 140,
213–14n180; English scholars and, 4, 136;
English Teutonic scholars and, 4, 50–88,
Gallia/Gaul, 18, 19–20, 24, 28, 36, 89, 105–6, 136; Freeman and, 80–82; “genealogy of,”
116, 124, 151, 190, 203n100. See also Gauls 4; German Teutonic scholars, 4; national
Gallo-Romans, 18, 19, 105, 106, 151 hierarchy and, 103; periodization of
Gauls, 18–19, 23, 26, 27, 29, 30, 37, 39, 92, antiquity and, 90; political, religious, and
104, 105, 149, 203n100 social activities of, 52; race and, 50–88;
Gemeinde, 38, 39, 41 Stubbs and, 80. See also specific scholars
Gemeinschaft, 2, 4, 21, 22, 50–88; admiration German school of historiography, 87–88,
of, 77–86; community of Teutonic 103–6
heritage, 86–88; contemporary views of, German spirit, 102, 173–74, 175, 178
52–53; the core of the community, 63–64; Germany, 17–18, 20, 28, 36, 47, 74, 89;
criticism of, 77–86; establishment of the affinity of English Teutonic scholars for,
community, 58–63; lineage of 189–90; archaeology in, 104; Bismarckian,
historians—early influences, 53–58. 71; changing attitudes towards during
See also community/communities World War I, 190–91; constitution of, 151;
(Gemeinschaft) France and, 19–20, 55, 59, 69–72, 79, 86,
Gemütlichkeit (good nature), 102 103–4, 106, 141, 190; Goths and, 23; G reat
Genesis, 7–8 Britain and, 17, 21–22, 37, 52–53, 59, 61–62,
geography, 15–17, 62, 184 69–72, 74, 77, 86–88, 90, 154–56, 187,
German era, 102, 103 189–93; HRE and, 155; nationalism and,
German heritage, 52–53, 194. See also 187–88; opposing, 186–88; Polish
Teutonic heritage territories of, 186; political system of, 38;
German historical method, 83, 190 Rome and, 28, 144; Russia and, 186;
German history, 34, 85 territorial claims to Alsace-Lorraine, 70,
Germania, 28, 98, 174–79 79, 104; unification of, 73, 104
Germanic heritage, 39; Germanic institu- Gibbon, Edward, 54, 75–76, 91, 138, 199n11,
tional heritage, 28; “Germanic” America, 215n15, 216n18; Bury and, 164–67;
46–49; Germanic law, 156; modern Christianity and, 167, 227–28n35–36; as
history and, 113; vs. Roman heritage, “Classical” historian, 176; on Eastern
103–6. See also Teutonic heritage Roman Empire, 165–67; The History of the
Germanic (ancient) history (deutsches Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 91,
Altertum), sixteenth-century develop- 94–95, 112, 125, 164–67, 176–77,
ments in, 97–98 227–28n36, 227n28, 227n35; 125;
260 Index
Gibbon, Edward (continued) High Church, 52–53, 71, 73

portrayal by Bury in Encyclopaedia historical unity. See “unity of history” idea
Britannica, 165; religion and, 166–67 historiography, 87–88. See also specific
Gladstone, William E., 70, 71, 87, 128, 134, schools
184, 206n7 Historische Zeitschrift, 53, 78–79
Gobineau, Arthur Comte de, 9, 19, 66 history: archival work and, 185; as art and
Goody, Jack, 1, 225n95 science, 230n102; as both scientific and
Gothic invasions, 98–100 contingent, 184–85; “Classical” vs.
Goths, 23–24, 26, 43, 116, 175 European, 176; class struggle and, 15; as
Great Britain, 23, 72, 142, 147; the Conti- continuous narrative, 115; as discipline, 1;
nent and, 26–27; control over Scotland end of, 171; European, 176; governed by
and Wales, 45–46; foreign policy of, 163; contingencies, 182–86; Marxist schemes
France and, 150; Germany and, 154–56; of, 14–15; material evidence for, 185; as
Ottoman Empire and, 50, 71; political open-ended, 173; philosophy of, 223n22;
system of, 38; Prussia and, 205n5. See also as profession, 1, 4; race and, 6, 24;
British Empire; E ngland “restarted” a fter Rome, 101; scientific
Greco-Roman civilization, 101, 119, 176, 179 method and, 184–85, 188; six ages of, 12;
Greece, 14–16, 26, 56, 60, 81, 101–2, 124, socialist schemes of, 14–15. See also
129–31, 172, 176, 179, 187; Aryan origins of historiography; periodization; time
Greek civilization, 153; democracy in, 48; Hodgkin, Thomas, 176
depopulation of, 164; Hellenistic, 61, 180; Holland, 63, 85. See also the Dutch
independence of, 160–61; as one of four Holy Roman Empire (HRE), 14, 134–56; as
monarchies, 138 last of four monarchies, 172; longevity of,
Greeks, 42, 74, 100, 101, 115, 122, 123–24, 152; marking end of decaying civilization,
168, 170–71 144; Roman Empire and, 144–46;
Green, John Richard, 2, 4, 27, 29–39, 52, 113, Romano-Teutonic legacy of, 134, 135,
124, 153, 202n80; Freeman and, 113–14, 140–43, 146, 154. See also Byzantine
117, 200n33; historical practices of, 33–34; Empire; Eastern Roman Empire; later
on Italy, 37–38, 42; kinship theory of Roman Empire
nation and, 41–42; “Latinization” of, 34, humanism, 37, 167, 168–69; Italian, 93–94
46; political, religious, and social humanity: decline of, 172; f uture of, 171, 172,
activities of, 52; “Short History of 173 (see also progress); maturity of, 101;
France,” 36–37; Short History of the origins of, 7, 154; uniqueness of, 170.
English People, 29–30, 31, 33, 34, 47; See also unity of mankind
Teutonic narrative and, 42, 50; “unity of Huns, 93, 175, 183
history” idea and, 113–14
Grimm, Jacob, 62, 80, 136, 140
Grote, George, 81, 166 imperial genealogy, 14, 140–41, 144, 162
Guizot, François, 5, 96, 124, 216n19 imperial institutions, longevity of, 139–46
India, 9, 65, 67, 146–48, 149, 203–4n101,
209n77
Hallam, Henry, 152 Ireland, 2, 45–46, 124, 150; Belgae in, 23;
Ham, 8, 59 home rule in, 87
Hare, Julius C., 55, 207n39, 208n45 Irene, Empress, 141, 181
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 91, the Irish, 23, 87, 150
100–103, 171–74, 183 Islam, 13, 107–8, 129, 192–93, 197n45;
Heine, Heinrich, 150–51 Christian Aryan sphere and, 125–33;
Herder, Johann Gottfried von, 8–9, 10, 91, Christianity and, 108, 125–33, 150, 192–93;
100–103 Freeman’s views of, 125–26; rise of, 110,
Hermann (Arminius). See Arminius 125–26; Roman Empire and, 125–26;
(Hermann) Sicily and, 121–22
Index 261
Israelites, 124–25; Teutonic tribes compared Latin nations, 36, 74, 114, 147–49
to, 211–12n130 Le Goff, Jacques, 11
Italy, 30, 34, 37–38, 41–42, 61, 74, 85, 94, 113, Liberal Anglican historians, influence of
116, 164, 178, 217n51 German scholarship on, 53–54
liberty, 102, 168. See also freedom (Freiheit)
Lieber, Francis, 54
Japheth, 8, 59, 65 Liebermann, Felix, 79–80, 84–85, 86
Jerome, 92–93 Lindenschmit, Wilhelm and Ludwig, 104
Jesus Christ, 12; birth of, 12, 13; lineage of, Linné, Carl von (Linnaeus), 10
203n98; Second Coming of, 12 Lombards, 85, 142, 217n51
Jews, 13, 66, 148, 193, 202n74; Aryans and, Luther, Martin, 12, 73, 98–99, 144, 169
216n23; Freeman on, 205n1; Freeman’s Lutheranism/Lutheran Church, 3, 59, 60
attitude t oward, 35; Jewish historians,
79–80; Jewish purity, 187; racial purity
and, 202n74; Turks and, 127 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 157
Jutes, 2, 22, 29, 44; as English, 30, 31, 32; Macmillan, Alexander, 42, 162
invasion by, 27, 28 MacNeacail, H. C., 191–92
Magyars, 111, 127, 129, 130, 132
Maine, Henry, 204n102, 219n8
Kemble, John Mitchell, 62, 80, 136, 220n31 Maitland, Frederic William, 84
Kingsley, Charles, 72–77, 84, 86, 189–90, Mandler, Peter, 22
201n53 Marchand, Susan, 60, 153
kinship, 47, 68 Mark, 48, 83, 84, 140
Knox, Robert, 10 Marx, Karl, 14–15, 19
Koselleck, Reinhart, 1 Maurer, Georg Ludwig von, 15, 48, 83, 140
Maurice, F. D., 76, 201n53
Merovingian history, 85, 103
Landsgemeinden, 38–39, 42, 47, 48 Middle Ages, 1, 3, 150, 176, 217n30; antiquity
language, 6, 7–11, 20, 27, 191, 196n12; and, 4–5, 7, 16, 105–8, 174, 226n8;
Anglo-Saxons and, 64; Aryans and, Christianity and, 90, 168–70, 174;
42–43; biological inheritance and, 34; demarcations of, 89–90, 94–95, 103, 104,
character and, 39–40; community and, 8, 109, 157; formation of, 93–96; genealogies
11; cultural and national variation and, of, 8; Germanist arguments on, 90;
8–9; definition of, 11; divine origins of, 7, negative perceptions of, 94; as period of
8; Epicurean theory of, 7, 8; ethnicity decline and stagnation, 170; progress and,
and, 42–43; “fluidity of,” 130–31; Herder’s 170; Romanist arguments on, 90;
four natural laws (Naturgesetze) defining, transition to, 61; triadic periodization
8; as key to understanding humanity, and, 99; tribal degeneration and, 93–96;
history, and religion, 53; kinship and, 68; use of term, 215n14
language diversity, 59; national identity Mill, John Stuart, 147
and, 8–9; nation and, 40; origins of, 7–8, Milman, Henry H., 53
9; race and, 9, 24–27, 34–35, 40, 42–47, modern history: ancient history and, 111–14,
53, 60, 64, 66–69, 156, 163–64; reality 159; ecclesiastical history and, 113;
and, 7–8; religion and, 65; supremacy Germanic heritage and, 113; school of,
and, 64–72; Teutonic tribes and, 42. 109–10; Voltaire on, 220n32. See also
See also specific languages history
Lappenberg, Johann M., 52, 82 modernity, 1, 10, 11, 110, 170; antiquity and,
later Roman Empire, 157–88. See also 5, 117, 119, 132–33, 140, 146–47, 193; Aryan
Byzantine Empire; Eastern Roman Empire history and, 119–20; as beginning with
Latin-Celtic heritage, vs. Teutonic heritage, Charlemagne’s coronation, 144; Bryce on,
36–43, 46 150; Bury’s preference for, 171;
262 Index
modernity (continued) Müller, Friedrich Max, works of: Compara-

Christianity and, 100, 112–13, 116, 188; tive Mythology, 64; Comparative Philology,
combining heritage of Greece, Rome, 64; first edition of Rig-Veda Samhita, 65;
Christianity, and Teutonic tribes, 116; Gifford Lectures, 69; manages Sacred
demarcations of, 5, 99, 109, 110, 117, 119, Books of the East project, 65; preface for
132–33, 140, 146–47, 157, 171, 193, 206n13; second edition of Kingsley’s The Roman
dominance and, 170–72; endurance of and the Teuton, 74, 77
Teutonic unity throughout, 134; French Muslims, 99, 107–8, 124–26, 133, 142, 161,
Revolution and, 119; as fusion of 163, 193. See also Saracens
Romanism and Teutonism, 111; Ger-
manic tribes and, 112; Greco-Roman
civilization and, 119; merging of religious Napoleon Bonaparte, 79, 104, 151
and ethnic-racial time in, 103; monotheism Napoleonic Wars, 3, 52, 56, 59, 104
and, 119; race and, 119–20, 150–51; Roman nation, 1–3, 41, 106; definition of, 205n3; as
Empire and, 136–39; Roman Empire’s role dependent on culture, not territory, 29;
in shaping, 136–39; social time and, 14–15; emergence and decline and, 4–5; kinship
Teutonic tribes and, 100, 118, 119, 133, 139; theory of, 41–42; language and, 40;
Teutonism and, 115–16, 119–20; triadic national hierarchy, 103; national identity,
periodization and, 99; two pillars of 8–9, 22, 30–33; national time, 20;
Germanic heritage and Christianity, periodization and, 2; race and, 20, 27, 46,
112–13; as vital for understanding history, 50; time line of, 20
171–72 nationalism, 1–2, 79–80, 187; Freeman and,
Moira (fate), 170–71 163; Germany and, 187–88; Hegel and, 102;
Momigliano, Arnaldo, 106, 218n1 “labeling problem” and, 201n43; race and,
Mommsen, Theodor, 54, 81–82, 117, 140, 157, 150–51; rise of during nineteenth c entury, 97
166, 185, 215n10 Native Americans, 35, 123, 124
monarchies, 13–14, 28, 91, 92, 102 Newman, John Henry, 73, 218n1
monot heism, 59–60, 119, 168 New Testament, 12–13
Morrisroe, Vicky, 35, 219n8 Niebuhr, Barthold Georg, 4, 52, 53–55, 57,
Mosse, George, 8 63, 81, 152, 207n37, 207n39; as ambassador
Müller, Friedrich Max, 2, 4, 35, 52, 53, 64, to Rome, 59; resentment toward France,
86, 195n4, 206n7, 209n84, 219n8; on 55–56; on Roman history, 54, 56–58;
Aryans and Aryan languages, 69, Römische Geschichte, 54, 57–58; Vorträge
209–10n87; attacked by Renan, 66; über römische Geschichte, 56–57
Bunsen and, 66–67; comparative method Noachite scheme, 8, 59, 65
devised by, 64–65; defense of Bismarck, noble savage, 96–100
69–70; English Teutonic scholars and, Norman Conquest, 25, 28, 31, 45, 79–80, 105
67–68, 69–72; Freeman and, 68, 70–71; Normandy, 26–27, 39
French-Germany animosity and, 69–72; Norman-French, 25–28
Kingsley and, 72–77; letters to Times, Normans, 39, 43, 64, 118, 150; Anglo-Saxons
69–70; as mediator in Franco-Prussian and, 25, 105; Sicily and, 121–22
War, 52; nationalism of, 70; National Northmen, 43, 44, 225n75
Socialism and, 209–10n87; opposition to Norway, 43, 44
Darwinism, 65; at Oxford, 64–65; political
and diplomatic roles of, 52; promotion of
idea of unity of mankind, 65, 66, 68; race Odoacer, 94, 141, 174
and, 68, 69; Roman Catholicism and, 73; Old Testament, 12, 168
supremacy of language and, 64–72; as Olender, Maurice, 7–8
unofficial mediator between E ngland and Ottoman Empire, 50, 71, 76, 82, 94, 127–32,
Germany, 52. See also Müller, Friedrich 133, 148, 154, 161, 179, 186, 188
Max, works of Oxford movement, 72, 73, 211n114, 218n1
Index 263
paganism, 93, 99, 168, 180 in seventeenth c entury, 170; Teutonic

Palgrave, Francis, 152, 220n31, 223n22; Bryce tribes and, 176–77
and, 138; emphasis on insignificance of Protestantism, 3, 53, 72–77, 86, 185–86,
AD 476, 135–39; “fourth empire” and, 139; 211n115. See also Protestant Reformation
Freeman and, 139; historical unity and, Protestant Reformation, 73, 98–100, 144,
139; History of E ngland, 136; The History of 169, 173–74; 217n30
Normandy and of England, 136–38; History Prussia, 57, 171, 186, 205n5
of the Anglo-Saxons, 138–39; HRE and, public land, shared, 48, 83
134; “legacy” of, 135–39; notion of “fourth Pusey, E. B., 57, 223n22
kingdom,” 138; periodization and, 138–39;
Romanism and, 139
Pan-Germanism, 20, 22, 51, 58, 86–88 race, 1–11, 27, 42, 57, 106, 127–28, 148–49,
Pauli, Reinhold, 2, 4, 77–80, 83–86 194; a fter Darwin, 10–11, 197n38; British
periodization, 1–2, 5–11, 16, 89–91, 94, 144, Empire and, 147; Bryce and, 135, 147–50,
177; arbitrary ending lines and, 132–33; 154, 156; Bury and, 154, 163, 164; class and
Arnold and, 181; Bryce and, 138, 139, racial differences in, 57; climatic theories
152–53, 157, 181; Bury and, 157, 181; of, 10; community and, 11; as cultural vs.
community and, 4–5, 30–31; concept biological category, 35; definition of, 9–10,
transformed during nineteenth c entury, 11; emergence and decline and, 4–5, 15;
2; conservative, 88, 119, 174; continuity English Teutonic scholars and, 194;
and, 106, 116, 120; conventional, 106–7, ethnicity and, 9–10, 20; fluidity of, 34–36,
109, 157; Freeman and, 110, 138, 157, 181; 127–28, 130–31, 132, 135, 226n105; Freeman
methods of, 11–12; mutability of, 111; and, 50, 110, 149, 153–54, 163, 226n105;
nation and, 2, 20; novel, 106–8, 109–33; geography and, 16–17, 62; language and,
Palgrave and, 138–39; pillars of, 11–15; 9, 24–27, 34–35, 40, 42–47, 53, 60, 64,
politic al, 13–14; race and, 2, 7, 15, 17–18, 66–69, 156, 163–64; as lineage, 10; Linné’s
20, 24, 89–108, 125, 132; subperiods, 6, division of mankind into four races, 10;
126–27; territorial-national tendencies modernity and, 150–51, 196–97n31; Müller
and, 103–4; Teutonic-Christian, on, 69; nationalism and, 150–51; nation
100–103; Teutonism and, 3–4, 53; and, 20, 27, 46, 50, 200n32; perceptions
transformation of conventional, 193; of, 90; periodization and, 2, 7, 15, 17–18,
triadic, 5, 7, 98–99; “unity of history” 24, 26–27, 89–108, 125, 132; physical
idea and, 20, 125, 132, 219n8. See also aspects of, 27, 50, 57, 67–68; racial
specific periods alienation, 27; racial alternation, 15, 18;
Persia (Iran), 14, 23–24, 130, 138, 203–4n101 racial bounda ries, 15–19; racial classifica-
Petrarch, 93, 215n10 tions, 11; racial continuity, 110; racial
philology, 3, 9, 23, 34, 53, 80 degeneration, 18, 19; racial discourse, 20;
Phoenicians, 100, 101, 123, 124, 125, 172, 193 racial dominance, 35, 36, 44–46, 49, 76,
physiognomy, 10, 27, 67–68 90, 103, 114, 119–20; racial fusion, 26, 137;
Picts, 23, 24 racial hierarchies, 10, 22–23, 36, 42–46,
Pilgrims, 48–49 49, 57, 60, 61–62, 75–76, 115, 123, 225n75;
Pinkerton, John, 23–27, 199n8, 199n11 racial historical unity, 89, 124, 126–27,
Pirenne, Henri, 107–8, 112 130, 157; racial terminology, 50; racial
Polybius, 54, 91, 92, 93, 184 unity, 124, 126–27; religion and, 130, 132,
Powell, Frederick York, 213–14n180 148; Roman Empire and, 147–48;
progress, 6–7, 102, 118–19, 125, 170, 172–73, Roman-Teutonic civilization and, 137,
215n14, 217n30; based on chance, 188; 148; scientific theories of, 10–11; time and,
Bury and, 167–70, 172–73; Catholicism 3–4, 11, 18–19, 27, 62, 90, 104; as type, 10;
and, 167–68, 188; Christianity and, 166, “unity of history” idea and, 121, 125, 154.
167–68, 188; Greeks and, 170–71; M iddle See also racial purity; racial time; racism;
Ages and, 170; religion and, 167–68, 170; specific groups
264 Index
racial purity, 3, 18, 35–36, 61, 150; Anglo- 140–42, 164, 172, 175–79, 183, 227–28n36,
Saxons and, 62, 64; Arndt and, 198n57; 229n80; democracy in, 48, 91–92;
Aryans and, 131; Bryce and, 187; Freeman depopulation of, 164, 178, 179, 180;
and, 153–54; Germanic tribes and, 61–62; economic problems in, 178, 179, 180, 183;
Jews and, 202n74; language and, 64; England and, 56, 146–47; fall/end of, 4–5,
Teutonic tribes and, 64, 131; “unity of 14, 24, 27, 54, 86–88, 89–99, 106, 111–19,
history” idea and, 153–54 125–26, 132–33, 138–39, 142–46, 159, 162,
racial time, 1–20, 90, 103 165, 174–83, 188; Gauls and, 104, 149;
Ranke, Leopold von, 81, 82, 185 German scholarship on, 54; Germany
reason, 6–7, 169, 170 and, 144; Goths and, 23–24, 98–99;
Reformation. See Protestant Reformation history “restarted” a fter, 101; HRE and,
regeneration, 91, 96–100 144–46; Hunic imperial genealogy of, 14,
religion, 6, 20, 93, 127–28, 148–49; antiquity 162; incorporation of barbarians into
and, 11–13, 14; Bury and, 185–86; administration, 178; internal financial
“comparative,” 65; Gibbon and, 166–67; crisis in, 141–42; invaded by Visigoths,
humanism and, 168–69; “illusion of 92; Islam and, 125–26; Kingsley on,
finality” and, 188; intolerance and, 73–74; “late,” 6; legacy in Italian and
167–69; language and, 65; modernity and, French culture, 42, 94; as maturity of
196–97n31; periodization and, 2; progress humankind, 102; modernity and, 136–39;
and, 167–68, 170; race and, 132, 148; racial Müller on, 71; Muslim invasion and, 99,
belonging and, 130; reason and, 169; 161, 163; Niebuhr on, 54, 56–58; “old” and
religious liberty, 62–63; religious unity, conservative perception of, 157; as one of
114; time and, 11–13, 103; victory of, 91. four monarchies, 138, 223n22; Ostro-
See also religious time; specific religions gothic invasion of, 93; paganism and, 93,
religious time, 13, 103 180; race and, 147–48; religious and social
the Renaissance, 1, 93–94, 109, 168–69, variables in, 180; Renaissance view of, 94;
173–74 restoration of, 144; rise of, 93; as root of
Renan, Ernest, 66, 118, 209n84 Gallic-Roman culture, 106; Sicily and,
Rhine river, 15, 16, 18, 58, 59, 115–16, 117 121; slavery in, 76, 229n80; “social
Robertson, William, 95–96, 138, 216n18 feebleness” in, 141; taxation in, 179;
Roman Catholic Church, 74, 86, 169, 217n30, Teutonic tribes and, 3, 17–18, 22, 50–88,
227n35; Bury’s criticism of, 167–70; 89–90, 98–106, 111, 116–18, 125, 133,
Middle Ages and, 168–69, 174; progress 136–38, 141–46, 149–50, 174–79, 206n13;
and, 167–68; Protestant Reformation and, transformation of, 181–82; universal
98–99; as true successor of empire in the aspect of, 56–57, 162; Vandal invasion of,
West, 125, 173–74 93. See also Eastern Roman Empire; later
Roman Empire, 14–15, 26, 41–42, 60, 84, Roman Empire; Western Roman Empire
93–95, 101–2, 124, 128, 172, 177–79, 188, Roman-Gallic culture, 105–8, 151, 190
193; Arab-Muslim invasion of, 142; Arian Roman heritage, 3, 45, 103–6, 111, 113, 125,
dogma and, 180; Arnold on, 116–17; 136–37, 190
barbarians and, 15, 16, 89, 90, 93, 95–97, Romanism/Romanist narrative, 4, 11, 90, 91,
115–16, 141, 179, 183; belittling of, 46; 104, 111, 134–56
British Empire and, 146–51, 192–93; Bryce Roman law, 83, 143, 156, 177, 178
and, 140–43; Bury and, 184–85; Carthage Romano-Celtic races, 145–46
and, 192–93; causes of downfall of, 93, Romans, 27, 29, 35, 37, 42, 45, 115–16, 132;
125; Christianity and, 73, 125, 143–44, Franks and, 19; Gauls and, 105, 203n100;
166–68, 173–75, 179–80; civilizing mission Germans and, 103; Teutons and, 61,
of, 147; class in, 57, 230n97; continuation 143–46; universalizing impact of, 101.
of, 111–12, 119, 132–33, 135–43, 159, 165, 174, See also Roman Empire
177–79, 188; “dark races” and, 148; Roman school of historiography, 4, 5,
decline of, 22, 59, 76, 91–97, 100, 116–17, 87–88, 103–7
Index 265
“Roman” shift, 136–37 socialist history, 14–15

Roman system, destroyed in E ngland, 28, 30 social time, 14–15, 20
Roman-Teutonic civilization, 13, 132, 136–39, space, 15–19. See also geography
144, 146, 148, 157 Spain/Spanish Empire, 28, 30, 63, 75, 85,
Romulus Augustulus, Emperor, 13–14, 24, 147, 150
54, 94, 140, 165, 177 Stanley, Arthur P., 53, 74, 223n22
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 8, 166 Stein, Baron von, 61, 85
Rüger, Jan, 154 Stephens, William R. W., 45–46
“rule of fluctuation,” 184–85 Stilicho, 174, 183
rupture, vs. continuity, 106, 111, 132 Stubbs, William, 2, 4, 24, 26–31, 33, 44,
Russia, 14, 50, 128, 149, 186, 205n5; 52–53, 80, 82–86, 112–15, 158, 189–91,
Europea nization of, 186, 188; Germany 200n32, 213n179; on Anglo-Saxons/Celtic
and, 186 conflict in British Isles, 150; Arnold’s
influence on, 63; attitude toward
Germany, 156; The Constitutional History
Saracens, 124–29, 161, 163; Ottomans and, of England, 28, 80, 84, 113; Monumenta
128–30; Sicily and, 121–22 Germaniae Historica and, 85–86; Teutonic
Saturday Review, 113, 177, 191, 192, 193, narrative and, 42, 46, 50, 64, 186
219n18 Suebi tribes, 17, 115
Saxons, 2, 22, 29, 44, 118, 124; as English, 30, Swedes, 43, 44
31, 32; invasion by, 27, 28 Switzerland, 20, 37–41, 46, 81, 203n97;
Scandinavia, 20, 23, 28, 43–46, 62, 204n106, democracy in, 38, 41, 48; as “Eternal
225n75 Democracy,” 41; federal system in, 38–41,
Scandinavian languages, 60, 67 140; political system of, 37–42, 47, 48,
Schlegel, Friedrich, 8–9, 203–4n101 140; Swiss cantons, 38–41, 48, 62
scholarship, free institutions and, 80–82
science/scientific method, 3, 157, 170, 172,
184–85 Tacitus, 19, 24, 28, 41, 60, 62, 83, 84,
Scotland, 2, 24, 45–46, 87, 124 96–97, 166
Scots, 23, 24, 150, 204n110 territory, 103–4, 106
Scott, Walter, 23–27, 199n8 Teutoburg Forest, defeat of Romans at, 58,
Scottish-Celtic identity, 191–92 98, 151
Scythians, 23, 24, 26 Teutonic civilization, 41; European states
Seeck, Otto, 164, 190, 227n24 and, 119; modernity and, 100, 115–20; race
Seeley, John, 61, 152, 184 and, 194; Teutonic democratic tradition,
Semites, 42, 59–60, 125, 127, 130, 150; Aryans 38–39, 47, 178; Teutonic expansion, 17;
and, 65–66, 69, 111, 120, 125–27, 153, 187, Teutonic law, 84; Teutonic political
192–93; as generating monot heistic model, 38
relations, 59–60; Semitic influences, 37, Teutonic community, 2–3, 46, 51, 87–88.
227n24; Sicily and, 120–25 See also Pan-Germanism
Semitic languages, 59, 65–66, 69 Teutonic dominance, 114, 119–20, 136–38,
Shem, 8, 59, 65 156
Sicily, 43, 121, 120–25, 142, 159–60 Teutonic heritage, 28, 34, 37, 39, 42, 74, 76,
Sieyès, Emmanuel Joseph, 18–19 188, 189–90, 194; community of, 86–88;
Sikel (Sicel) people, 123–24 England and, 76, 83, 86–88, 90, 191; vs.
slavery, 76, 148, 224n71, 229n80 Latin-Celtic heritage, 36–43; obsession
Slavonic tribes, 26, 71, 74, 142, 207n43 with Teutonic origins, 115; shared by
Slavs, 74, 154, 186, 187–88 England and Germany, 83, 86–88, 90.
Smith, Adam, 180 See also Teutonic civilization; Teutonism
Smith, Anthony, 205n3 Teutonic lords, as fusion of Roman and
Smith, Roger, 136 Teutonic cultures, 174–79
266 Index
Teutonic narrative, 2, 3, 5, 47, 53, 62, 64, 84, Germania, 96–97; unity of, 96–97, 119,
90, 189–90; Bryce and, 135, 151, 154–55; 134; Völkerwanderung (wandering of
Bury and, 174, 186, 188, 190–91; English peoples) of, 15, 48–49, 98–99, 100, 119,
Teutonic scholars and, 189–91, 193–94; 150. See also Teutonic race
Freeman and, 186; generational shift and, Teutonism, 3–6, 22, 86, 188; becomes more
190–91; Palgrave and, 138; periodization controversial in twentieth century, 154–55;
and, 53; Stubbs and, 186; Victorian Bryce and, 151, 154–55; Bury and, 154;
scholars and, 186 Christianity and, 100; diminished by
Teutonic nations, 71, 74, 90, 114, 118 World War I, 191–92; in E ngland, 4,
Teutonic race, 15, 41, 50, 131; Romano-Celtic 189–93; German, 4; historical periodiza-
races and, 145–46; supremacy and, 36, 46, tion and, 3–4; modernity and, 116, 139;
61–62, 70, 76–77, 115–16, 156. See also Protestantism and, 72–77; “racial time”
Teutonic dominance and, 3–4; Romanism and, 111, 134–56;
Teutonic tribes, 5, 16–18, 21–27, 31–32, 44, triadic periodization and, 99. See also
51, 60, 62, 89, 103–6, 123, 142; as ancestors Teutonic narrative
of English people, 163; bad customs and Theodoric the Patrician, 43, 77, 117,
warlike ferocity of, 97, 106; barbarism of, 181
4, 163; Bunsen on, 59; as carrying on Thierry, Augustin, 25, 105
torch of Greco-Roman civilization, 119; Thompson, Edith, 34, 201n59, 205n1
Celts and, 61, 87; Christianity and, 63, Thucydides, 33, 54, 184
101, 102–3, 108, 133, 143–44, 175; compared time, 2, 5–6, 15–19, 172–74; “borders of,” 1;
to Israelites, 211–12n130; compared to Christianity and, 12; classification of, 1;
“Red Indians,” 75; continued dominance divisions of, 1, 90, 172–74; ethnicity and,
of Roman Empire and, 138; contributions 90; geography and, 62; historical, 172–74;
to course of European history, 175; historical unity of, 172–74; race and, 3–4,
convergence with Romans and Celts, 132; 11, 18–19, 27, 62, 90, 104; racial division
crossing of Rhine river, 115–16; “dark of, 11; racial perceptions of, 3; religious
races” and, 147–49; domination and, 76; division of, 11–13; religious vs. “earthly,”
embrace of Roman culture and heritage 172–73; social time, 14–15. See also
by, 136–37; evolutionary theory and, 76; periodization
as force commencing modernity, 133; “time border,” between antiquity and
freedom of, 60–61, 84, 96, 97, 103, 106, Middle Ages, 4–5, 7, 16
117, 178; influence of, 173–74; invasion of tolerance, 62–63, 126, 168
Huns and, 183; language and, 42; transnational ethnogenesis communities,
modernity and, 112, 118, 119, 133, 220n31; 46–49
negative perceptions of, 97, 106; Trautmann, Thomas, 8, 9, 209–10n87
particularism and, 145–46; periodization Trevelyan, George M., 157, 230n102
of antiquity and M iddle Ages and, 61, 90, Turanians, 59, 65, 69, 111, 127, 129–30,
103–6, 107; physical features of, 96–97; 132, 150
political heritage of, 47–48; progress and, Turks, 94, 127, 128, 129–30, 150, 165, 205n1,
176–77; Protestantism and, 73; racial 222n5. See also Ottoman Empire
purity and, 61–62, 64; as revitalizing Turner, Sharon, 23–27, 62
Europe, 22, 50–88, 96, 101–2, 106, 117, Tylor, E. B., 64, 120, 219n8
126; rise of, 103; Roman Empire and, 3–5, tyranny, 92, 126–27
17–18, 27, 50–88, 89–90, 98–106, 111–18,
125, 133, 136–38, 141–46, 149–50, 174–79;
shared public lands of, 48; significance of, Ulster, 87, 150
163; Slavs and, 186; as stage in unified United States, 20, 46–47, 76
Aryan history, 119; symbolizing glorious “unity of history” idea, 5–6, 46, 109–10,
past and present of German principalities, 118–20, 127–28, 193; Arnold and, 113, 116,
98; Tacitus’s characterization of in 118, 132; Aryan endurance and, 118–20;
Index 267
Bryce and, 135, 140–41, 146–47, 151–56; Vigfússon, Gudbrand, 213–14n180

Bury and, 157, 159, 168, 180–81; continuity Vikings, 28, 44, 45, 64, 204n110
and, 159, 165; Freeman and, 112–15, 118, Visigoths, 75, 85, 92, 183
121, 126–27, 132, 135, 139, 151–56, 159; Volk, 18, 97
Green and, 113–14; origins of humanity volksmäßigen Grund (ethnic foundation), 61
and, 154; Palgrave and, 139; periodization Voltaire, 95, 215n15, 220n32
and, 125, 132, 219n8; race and, 121, 125, von Savigny, Friedrich Carl, 138–39
153–54; reception of, 112–15; Stubbs and,
112–14; subperiods and, 126–27; unity of
mankind and, 154 Waitz, George, 82, 83, 84–86, 140
unity of mankind, 59–60, 65–66, 68, Wales, 2, 45–46, 124, 150
88, 154 Weber, Max, 178, 215n10, 229n80
unity of the East, 157–88 the Welsh, 44–46, 203n90
universalism, 145–46 the West: Western history, 116, 118; vs. the
universal history, 60, 110, 138, 219n8. See also East, 126–29, 132–33, 140–41. See also
“unity of history” idea Roman Empire; Western Roman Empire
Ursprache (protolanguage), 9, 65 Western Roman Empire, 154, 159, 169,
Ussher, James, 12, 60 177–81, 182. See also Roman Empire
White, Charles, 10
William the Conqueror, 14, 25
Vandals, 17, 93, 115, 175 Wood, Ian, 89–90, 91
Varus, 98, 151 World War I, 134–35, 149, 151, 154, 155, 187,
Victoria, Queen, 51, 65, 72–73 189–93
Victorian English culture, German culture
and, 52–53
Victorian scholars, 28, 110, 118, 157, 186, 193, Zarathustra the Aryan, 60
213–14n180, 226n105 Zosimus, 93, 94
A c k n o w le d g m e n t s
In the opening pages of his ninth chapter, focusing on the history of the Ger-
manic tribes, Edward Gibbon wrote: “The subject [Germanic tribes], how-
ever various and important, has already been so frequently, so ably, and so
successfully discussed, that it is now grown familiar to the reader, and dif-
ficult to the writer.” Indeed, if the great Gibbon observed the subject, already
during the eighteenth c entury, as thoroughly researched and for that reason
challenging, what could a relatively young researcher think 230 years later?
However, through this project I learned that despite the prolific research on
the subject, one could point to certain under-researched paths by raising new
questions. These questions focus mainly on the method in which ancient as
well as modern narratives constructed the notions of community, race, and
periodization among certain nineteenth-century British and German scholars.
This fascination with history, periodization, and modern nationalism,
which derived probably from the fact that I read too many Asterix books (a
French comic series illustrating the adventures of a legendary Gaul fighting
the Romans) in my childhood, led to a complicated, yet awarding, project. It
was achieved thanks to the advice and support of many. First and foremost, I
wish to thank Oliver Zimmer, who supported this project from the start and
contributed to it immensely with his most constructive advice. I also wish to
thank Simon Cook, who has become my mentor in recent years and is always
helpful and generous. The assistance and friendship of many other colleagues
must be noted: Ilya Afanasyev, Arjun Appadurai, Avishai Bar-Asher, Neta Bar-
Yoseph Bodner, Guy Beiner, Daniel and Chava Boyarin, Arie Dubnov, Ben
Edsall, Yoni Furas, Abigail Green, Jonathan Gribetz, Rebekka Grossmann,
Anna Gutgarts, Oded Heilbronner, Nimrod Hurvitz, Athena Leoussi, Avi
Lifschitz, Suzanne Marchand, Paul Nolte, Steve Puttick, Sam Shearn, Nitzan
Rothem, Claudia Rosenzweig, Jonathan Rubin, Eran Tzidkiyahu, Peter van
der Veer, Marc Volovici, and Einar Wigen, who e ither read parts of this work
or supported me with various scholarly, friendly, and professional advice.
270 A c k now ledg m ents
I also wish to thank my teachers and colleagues from my alma mater, the
Hebrew University of Jerusalem: Ofer Ashkenazi, Yitzhak Brudny, Dan
Diner, Gili Drori, Ruth Fine, Bianca Kühnel, Doron Mendels, Elisheva
Moatti, Efraim Podoksik, Matthias Schmidt, and Atetet Zer-Cavod. The
guidance, professionalism, and encouragement of my editor Damon Linker,
and of Lily Palladino, Jennifer Shenk, and Gavi Fried from the University of
Pennsylvania Press are truly cherished. Of course, the responsibility for the
book contents rests solely on my shoulders.
As a father of three children, I must say that these last years were very
challenging, and I could not have written this book without the help of cer-
tain individuals and awarding bodies. I wish to thank and cherish the Hu-
bert H. Humphrey Center for Social Research, BGU and the Joint fellowship
of the Freie Universität and the Hebrew University for awarding me with
postdoctoral fellowships. I also wish to acknowledge the constant support of
two centers at the Hebrew University: the European Forum and the Richard
Koebner Minerva Center for German History. An immense contribution,
through the support of the Polonsky foundation, was also given to me in my
previous “home” at Lincoln College, Oxford. I also wish to show my greatest
gratitude to the following foundations: the Anglo-Israel, Anglo-Jewish, and
British Friends of the Hebrew University. I also wish to thank Cambridge
University Press for allowing me to reproduce (Chapter 4) some parts of the
following article Oded Y. Steinberg, “The Unity of History or Periods? The
Unique Historical Periodization of E. A. Freeman,” Modern Intellectual His-
tory, 2018 (published by Cambridge University Press, reproduced with per-
mission). Several individuals deserve special thanks. Raymond and Sandra
Dwek, David and Miriam Elbaz, and Carmella Elan-Gaston, who were our
guardians at Oxford and welcomed us as their own family. I cherish their
kindness and friendship, especially through the difficult, yet rewarding times
we experienced.
My parents Matti and Yael Steinberg always support and inspire me.
Thanks to them I learned to ask questions and to be interested not only in the
present but also in the past. Their encouragement and love are admired. I also
wish to thank my b rother Rafi and his wife Rona, my sister Orly and her
husband Menachem, and my sister Chen for their long-and short-distance
love and care. My parents-in-law, Lisa and Charlie Harvith, deserve special
thanks. Their constant assistance has been helpful to the utmost.
Finally, I wish to thank my family: my wife, Rachel, is my beacon and
without her endless care and love this project would have been unimaginable;
A c k now ledg m ents 271
my kids, Nadav, Ayala, and Carmel, give me magical moments e very day and
remind me constantly about the important t hings in life. This project is ded-
icated to them and to the memory of my grandmother Zita Kober and my
brother-in-law Yair (Yaya) Harvith, who both passed away while we were in
Oxford.

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RACE, NATION, HISTORY

Anglo-­German Thought in the Victorian Era

Universit y of Pennsylvania Press

All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used

Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca on acid-­free paper

A Cataloging-­in-­Publication record is available from the

For my fellow and beloved travelers:

Introduction. Racial Time 1

Chapter 1. The En­glish Teutonic Circle 21

Chapter 2. Roman Decline and Teutonic Rejuvenation:

Chapter 3. Racial History: The Convergence of Race

Chapter 4. The Unique Historical Periodization of E. A. Freeman 109

Chapter 5. Teutonism and Romanism: James Bryce’s

Epilogue. Values and Interests 189

History can only exist as a discipline if it develops a theory

Reinhart Koselleck h ­ ere summarizes the method of history that materialized

initiated a new period in world history. The year AD 476, associated as it is

noted, also left a substantial mark on the professionalization of the En­glish

“Race,” “Language,” and “Periodization”:

The Pillars of Periodization

In the context of the pres­ent discussion, it is crucial to examine the theme of

conversion from paganism to Chris­tian­ity, was heavi­ly dependent on the Old

Racial Bound­aries: Between Time, Community, and Space

According to vari­ous writers, ancient as well as modern, natu­ral borders such

ble to construct a transnational racial affinity linking ­England and Germany.

If the Romans had succeeded in subjugating them also and, as the

The significant sentence ­here, which may be referred to as an emerging

The En­glish Teutonic Circle

­ ese words of Freeman, from his Old En­glish History for C

The Forerunners of Anglo-­Saxonism:

The Scottish historian John Pinkerton (1758–1826) delineated a clear separa-

relied primarily on the scholarly efforts of Turner.19 Turner accepted the

The Germanic Origins of E

civilisation and the common germs of German institutions. This descent is

Sleswick.”36 Green himself referred to ­these ­people as “En­glish.” Consequently,

The En­glish Question

­These scholars strug­gled with a question of national identity. They claim

The Fluidity of “Race”

that prevented assimilation between communities. However, especially when

Teutonic Versus Latin-­Celtic

Concerning his own Teutonic stock, Freeman regarded it as representing a

found your Capua in a gondola. Oh, how I triumphed on that memorable

central place in the history of Swiss in­de­pen­dence. In Uri, especially in the

I have been several times in the Nationalrat and I am especially struck

Germans of Tacitus, since communities like Uri and Unterwalden had

culture, offered a dif­fer­ent, less ethnic or racial explanation. However, some

The English-­Teutonic scholars, as we ­shall see, argued that the Scandinavian

Freeman, conversely, observed a long-­lasting connection between his tribal

dominion of Wales, the town of Berwick-­upon-­Tweed, and (two t­ hings which

Adams referred to both the ancient Britons, defeated by the Anglo-­Saxons,

­ ere is a g­ reat difference between nationality and race. Nationality

Connections between British and German scholars have been examined

Church tendencies, was influenced by German Protestantism.12 In terms of

Lineage of Historians—­Early Influences

lands of the nineteenth ­c entury. Niebuhr, born in Schleswig-­Holstein to a

On that country, I have a right to form an opinion; I have a right

his attacks against French scholars. Niebuhr ardently criticized Guillaume

Bunsen and the Establishment of the Community

Anglo-German Thought in the Victorian Era

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

A Cataloging-in-Publication record is available from the

Chapter 1. The English Teutonic Circle 21

Reinhart Koselleck h ere summarizes the method of history that materialized

noted, also left a substantial mark on the professionalization of the English

In the context of the present discussion, it is crucial to examine the theme of

conversion from paganism to Christianity, was heavily dependent on the Old

Racial Boundaries: Between Time, Community, and Space

According to various writers, ancient as well as modern, natural borders such

ble to construct a transnational racial affinity linking England and Germany.

The significant sentence here, which may be referred to as an emerging

The English Teutonic Circle

ese words of Freeman, from his Old English History for C

The Forerunners of Anglo-Saxonism:

Sleswick.”36 Green himself referred to these people as “English.” Consequently,

The English Question

These scholars struggled with a question of national identity. They claim

Teutonic Versus Latin-Celtic

central place in the history of Swiss independence. In Uri, especially in the

culture, offered a different, less ethnic or racial explanation. However, some

The English-Teutonic scholars, as we shall see, argued that the Scandinavian

Freeman, conversely, observed a long-lasting connection between his tribal

dominion of Wales, the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, and (two t hings which

Adams referred to both the ancient Britons, defeated by the Anglo-Saxons,

ere is a g reat difference between nationality and race. Nationality

Lineage of Historians—Early Influences

lands of the nineteenth c entury. Niebuhr, born in Schleswig-Holstein to a

the Teutonic p eople, and especially the Anglo-Saxons, w

and later in 1868 to the first Oxford chair of comparative philology.72 In

titles—ethnology and phonology. Müller argued that scholars wrongly

The Teutonic heritage of England was central to Müller’s discussions,

of the physical racial doctrine, which identified several prototypes of h uman

relations and the right of Germany to annex the territories of Alsace-Lorraine.

lating, quarrelsome, restless and over-sensitive France, seems to me the hope-

research to Eng lish history. Pauli, although rather neglected in current

notwithstanding Pauli’s review in Sybel—which I am sorry for.”145 Bryce

I only demand the right to keep our independence, and to believe

The German scholar simply reads in a book of things which we

The free institutions of England, Switzerland, and America granted their

history owes to German scholarship.”178 The aim of incorporating Anglo-

the Anglo-Saxon invasions and identified France as the perpetual “other”

views in chronological order from the seventeenth to the twentieth century.

According to many thinkers in the eighteenth c entury, Rome was identi-

The Formative Victory of Barbarism and Christianity

perceived as a conqueror because the Gallic-Roman culture, which embraced

Toward a New Periodization?

Here it is interesting to note the divergence between Thomas Arnold and

The important role he ascribed to the Teutonic tribes in the making of

seventh century ruined Roman unity. Through this observation, Freeman

nations such as Greece and Bulgaria, which confront a common enemy

On Sir F. Palgrave’s Normandy and E ngland. Are you up in his