The Cromwellian Decade: Authority and Consent

1997 ◽  
Vol 7 ◽  
pp. 177-195 ◽  
Author(s):  
C. S. L. Davies

The 1530s always remained classic Elton territory, in spite of later and fruitful excursions into the Cecilian world and beyond. How distinctive were the thirties? Are we still justified in talking about a ‘Revolution’? In a historical climate which puts the accent on continuities, such talk has become unfashionable. Productive reform was characteristic of the Wolsey ministry, of the reigns of Henry VII and of Edward IV, and perhaps had its origin with Margaret of Anjou's regime. Equally historians are now very aware of the gap between aspiration and reality, the sheer difficulty of effecting real change, and especially in such areas as religious practice. They are also aware of how un-revolutionary in many respects were the succeeding years; of how many of the initiatives of the thirties were not followed up in the later year of Henry VIII or even in the otherwise revolutionary reign of Edward VI; above all of the Elizabethan regime with its avoidance whenever possible of confrontation and its attempts to recreate many of the ancient continuities. The thirties did represent a watershed in very many areas, did introduce changes which would be difficult if not necessarily impossible toreverse. But to try to make the thirties the fulcrum around which English history revolves is to invite refutation and the probability that the degree of real change will be underestimated as a result. Where, for instance, Tudor Revolution in Government deals with the particular it remains a remarkable work: inevitably sharpened by subsequent research, but none the less pointing in the right direction on changes in die financial departments, and above all in the evolution of a formal Privy Council.

1990 ◽  
Vol 22 (1) ◽  
pp. 39-64 ◽  
Author(s):  
David M. Dean

In his celebrated presidential addresses to the Royal Historical Society between 1974 and 1976 Sir Geoffrey Elton explored three “points of contact” between central authority and local communities: Parliament, the royal council, and the royal court. Parliament, he argued, was “the premier point of contact,” which “fulfilled its functions as a stabilizing mechanism because it was usable and used to satisfy legitimate and potentially powerful aspirations.” Elsewhere Elton, and other parliamentary historians such as Michael Graves, Norman Jones, and Jennifer Loach, have stressed parliament's role as a clearing house for the legislative desires of the governing class. The author of this article has recently drawn attention to the pressures which private legislation placed on the parliamentary agenda and the attempts by the government to control it. All of this supports Elton's contention that parliament, from the perspective of central government, was indeed a vital means of ensuring stability and channelling grievances.However, few studies have viewed parliament from the perspective of the local communities and governing elites who sought parliamentary solutions to their problems or even parliamentary resolutions to their disputes with others. The major exception to this has been London. Helen Miller's seminal study of London and parliament in the reign of Henry VIII and Edwin Green's on the Vintners lobby, have been recently complemented by Ian Archer's on the London lobbies in Elizabeth's reign, Claude Blair's on the Armourers lobby, and my own study of the struggle between the Curriers and Cordwainers. These not only reveal the broader context of such disputes, but emphasize that parliament was only one of many arenas available to participants. This important point has also been stressed by Robert Tittler in his study of parliament as a “point of contact” for English towns.


1971 ◽  
Vol 18 (4) ◽  
pp. 621-637 ◽  
Author(s):  
Adolf Holl ◽  
Hyacinthe Crépin

Following Vatican II changes are rapidly taking place within Dutch Catholicism — the bishops no longer make decisions in an authoritarian way: religious practice is de clining ; priests and religious are decreasing in numbers and many religious and pastoral experiments have come into being. KASKI has the responsibility of keeping pace with the Church during this process of change. In order to do this it makes use of several modes of work — the production of statistics relating to the position of religion in Society, the planning of religious and pastoral institutions and the study of new forms of the religious life in orders and congregations. For the first task it has used the same instruments for twenty- five years and the censuses thus produced yield valuable infor mation. As far as pastoral planning is concerned, it works in the field, playing the role of catalyst for those who have to make decisions and the people who have to carry out these decisions. This was the case, for instance, in the pastoral planning of the town of Eindhoven. Finally, when dealing with the new forms of communal religious life it adopts the method of studying through participation so that two of its researchers working in this sector are themselves members of religious groups. Applied research poses important problems, both from the methodological and from the political points of view. Amongst them may be noted the difficulty of determining precisely what constitutes rapid change in religious life, and the political choice of the persons for whom the research is being con ducted; the latter inevitably imposes a certain degree of conformity upon the perspectives of the work. (For example, the choice of the Dutch hierarchy which was to follow the general lines given by a large majority of Catholic opinion when it was tested particularly on questions like the liturgical and parochial changes). The fact, also, that the director of KASKI himself has a personal commitment to what may be described as the « right of centre » position in Dutch Catho licism poses problems for the work of the Institute. Political and religious radicalism is not a strong characteristic of the more senior research workers. KASKI is a rare example of a centre which brings socio logists together and uses their professional competence to accompany change in religious institutions.


2021 ◽  
pp. 429-443
Author(s):  
Roddy A. Stegeman

When you store your belongings in a private locker, does the owner of the locker pay you? On the contrary, you pay the owner, for he is providing you with a service called safe-keeping. In effect, the owner holds your belongings safe until you take them back. So, why is it that you accept money from a bank to hold your money for you? The obvious answer is that the bank is not holding your money; it is lending it out and rewarding you with a portion of what it collects in interest. If you are happy with this arrangement, you have likely sought out a bank in your neighborhood that provides you with the greatest return on your deposit. Unfor tunately, there are several things very wrong with this type of transaction. Most important is that you are engaging in a tran saction that is commercially unsound. You and your bank engage in a legally non-binding agreement when, on the one hand, your bank promises to return your deposit on demand, and on the other hand, loans a portion of it to others for a specified period of time. Contractually, these two acts are incompatible, as the same money cannot be both a de-mand deposit and a loan simultaneously. Either, you deposit your money, reserve the right to de-mand it back at any moment, and pay the bank for holding it on your behalf. This is called a demand deposit. Or, you surrender your right to your money for a specific period of time, permit your bank to lend it to others, and receive interest for your risk and sacrifice. This is called a time deposit. Commercially, treating your demand deposit as money that can be loaned to others is not an enforceable contract, for the law insists that there must be mutual assent when two parties enter into an agreement. You and the bank are simply at odds when you expect to retrieve your money at any moment on demand, and the bank lends a portion of it to others for a fixed period. Legally speaking, both parties to the transaction do not agree to the same contractual terms in the same sense.


Author(s):  
Dushyant Kishan Kaul

Abstract This article explores how the Supreme Court of India, in applying the judicial doctrine of ‘essential practices’, has embarked on a dangerous exercise of determining whether a particular religious practice is significant enough to warrant constitutional protection under Article 25(1) or not. In tracing a string of judgments, it shows how courts have been guilty of making ill-founded observations about the validity of religious practices, thereby detrimentally affecting religious groups and minorities. Due to this constitutional transgression, the question of ‘what is essentially religious’ turned into the question of ‘what is essential in religion’. The court has neither the right nor the expertise to decide if the religious practice indeed is ‘essential’. State intervention is warranted only based on constitutionally stipulated restrictions of ‘public order’, ‘morality’ and ‘health’. The cardinal rule ought to be of limited state intervention but maximum protection.


Author(s):  
Dickson Brice

This chapter considers the performance of the Irish Supreme Court during the life of the Irish Free State (1922–37). It charts the way in which the right to appeal from the Supreme Court to the Privy Council was abolished (comparing the position in other Dominions) and shows that, despite the rhetoric of Irish politicians at the time, the judges were keen to uphold the British approach to the doctrine of parliamentary sovereignty. The chapter then describes some of the emergency legislation enacted in the Free State to combat republican violence and examines how it was viewed by the Supreme Court, most notably in the very deferential (albeit split) decision in The State (Ryan) v Lennon. The chapter sums up the Court’s performance during the existence of the Irish Free State as disappointing and uninspiring.


2017 ◽  
Vol 32 (3) ◽  
pp. 470-490 ◽  
Author(s):  
Enyinna S. Nwauche

AbstractUsing examples of ritual slaughter recognized by different religions in Africa, this paper examines the regulated and unregulated exercise of the right to ritual slaughter as a manifestation of the right to freedom of religion in three constitutional traditions in Africa.This article commences with an evaluation of the existence of the right to ritual slaughter either as a freestanding right or a derivative right from the right to freedom of religion in the bills of rights of African constitutions. The article argues that the ritual slaughter at this stage of constitutional development in Africa is at best a derivative right partly anchored on the communal dimensions of the right to freedom of religion. The article closely examines the bearers and content of the right to ritual slaughter through a brief overview of the practices of ritual slaughter recognized by African traditional religion and Islam. In addition, the syncretic nature of religious practice in Africa identified as the multiple or concurrent witness to different faiths is also considered to provide a realistic account of ritual slaughter in Africa.Since the right to ritual slaughter is identified as a derivative right from the right to freedom of religion, the article examines different constitutional traditions in Africa to determine how religion is conceived in constitutional governance that in turn affects the feasibility of the right to ritual slaughter within constitutional designs and capacity of other public interests such as animal welfare to limit the exercise of the right to ritual slaughter.Three constitutional designs of the role of religion in constitutional governance are identified in this regard. The article concludes on a number of points, including the recognition of the importance of the articulation of the human rights that underpin animal welfare concerns and the fact that a regulated right to ritual slaughter appears feasible in a number of African countries.


Author(s):  
Michael A. Norko

This chapter represents a first effort at exploring ethics concerns at the intersections of forensic psychiatry and religion. It surveys several areas where this convergence occurs: criminal cases in which religious delusions of the defendant figured prominently in the defense; civil cases involving the right to refuse treatment secondary to religious beliefs; the complexities of applying empathy to forensic evaluations where the physician’s task is not focused on healing the individual; the challenges of permitting certain forms of religious practice in maximum security forensic hospitals; and the interplay of constructs of forgiveness, reconciliation, remorse, and insight in treating persons found not guilty by reason of mental illness of serious, violent crimes. The choice of these particular topics is not meant to exhaust the conjunction of these interdisciplinary interests but hopefully provides a place to begin their consideration.


Archaeologia ◽  
1953 ◽  
Vol 95 ◽  
pp. 107-121 ◽  
Author(s):  
C. J. P. Cave ◽  
H. Stanford London
Keyword(s):  

St. George's Chapel as it now stands was begun in the reign of Edward IV and finished in that of Henry VIII. It took the place of an earlier chapel. St. John Hope considered that the first part of the chapel to be vaulted was the north aisle of the choir ‘because one of the keys or bosses bears the arms of Thomas Fitzalan as Lord Maltravers, which dignity he held from 1461 until he succeeded to the earldom of Arundel in 1487, while another has the arms of William Lord Hastings who was beheaded in 1483'. But these arguments are of no weight. The Hastings boss may be posthumous like the Bray heraldry in the nave, whilst the arms on the Fitzalan boss are those of the head of the house, perhaps William, the 9th earl of Arundel (K.G. 1471, died 1487), but more probably his son Thomas, the 10th earl (K.G. 1474, died 1524). They cannot be Thomas's arms ‘as Lord Maltravers' for so long as his father was alive he must have differenced those arms in some way, and in fact at least two contemporary manuscripts show that he added to his paternal arms a silver label, then as now a common difference for the eldest son.2 Hope also says that ‘the greater part of the vault of the south aisle of the quire was put up in the time of Henry VII and probably before 1502, since one of the keys has the arms of Arthur Prince of Wales who died in April of that year'. Here, too, Hope is mistaken. The arms may just as well be those of Henry VIII as prince of Wales; he was so created on 18th February 1503, and would have taken the plain white label of the eldest son on the death of his brother.


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