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Thursday, June 02, 2005

Westphalia's New International Order:
On the Origins of Grand Strategy in Western Diplomacy

James Nathan

International Studies Association

March 18-21, 1998


The emergent post-Cold War international order is unique: for the first time since the invention of the diplomatic method, an international architecture is materializing without any post-war diplomatic charter. Moreover, order is now conditioned not on a Germany divided and distracted; on the contrary, if it is to be sustained, order requires Germany to be geopolitically coherent and competent: the reverse of the Cold War reality that the fragmentation of German power was an essential element of stability. Still, this radically new international structure, if it is to sustain itself and prosper, will have to reconcile those contradictory supports of order that were first adumbrated at Westphalia: collective security on the one hand, and the balance of power on the other. Like those well-fed mid-seventeenth century congregants who met in a bereft corner of Prussia, we have come to the crossroads of choice.

Let us recall first the origins of Westphalian order. By the mid-seventeenth century, the flames of the Thirty Years' War scorched the steppes of Transylvania, darkened Ireland, passed the Americas, touched the Cape of Good Hope, and licked at the Straits of Malacca. By 1648, Germans found their numbers reduced by a third. Much of the German countryside had been turned into a howling wilderness, and travelers reported vast stretches populated only by wolves.

The animus that characterized international politics prior to the mid-seventeenth century contradicted civility and denied diplomacy. In an age when religion defined politics, the purpose of war could only be the extirpation of wickedness. In that moral environment, peace treaties were not just impracticable, they were impermissible. The princes and potentates of seventeenth century, fired with chiliastic certainty, held compromise to be not merely wrong-headed, but godless and malign. This world view admitted no middle position: if one side fought with God, it followed that the other had sided with evil. For the hundred years that preceded the treaties of Westphalia, only truces were permissible. It was allowable to truck with heresy only to regroup and fight anew. The very essence of diplomacy -- the peaceful adjustment of conflicting interests by dint of reason and tact -- was perforce banished to the shores of a rising ocean of blood that would, it was believed, wash away misbelief or quite simply end the world in a final sanguinary flood.

Sometime in its third decade, it became clear that the Thirty Years war had become a struggle between contending visions of international order: one based on sovereign, independent dominions; the other on religious faith and universal authority. In the general defeat of the Hapsburgs, the latter theory was demolished. The formal settlement of the Thirty Years War at the Congress of Westphalia heralded the onset of what we now call the "classic" period of international diplomacy. Indeed, from the Westphalia meeting on, European diplomatic history can be seen as the mid-seven narrative of the consequences of diplomatic congresses.

The Congress of Westphalia was the first such meeting of its kind: great numbers of "accredited" diplomatic representatives, plenipotentiaries, and clerics, from over ninety-six entities, assembled in two cities, thirty miles apart -- Osnabrück and Münster. The whole area of Westphalia was a kind of demilitarized zone, surrounded by a hunger so pervasive that criminals feared their famished warders more than any jail. The envoys met continuously from 1642 to 1648. Years were consumed by squabbles over abstruse claims which served to befog their hope that on-going battles, raging on fronts as near as three days' hard ride and as distant as the coast of Ceylon, would compel terms which the negotiators would not otherwise concede.

Time was required to fashion what would be, in their words, a "once and for all" settlement. Diplomats seeking protocol stumbled over conflicting claims of precedent; this formality of the future validation of power was a threatening matter in an age where even "reputation" was valued as life itself.

The congregants at Westphalia knew they were preparing for a new kind of politics predicated on the evident geopolitical reality of a Germany first enervated by war and then divided by design. Most of the delegates' time and energy at the Westphalia Congress was consumed in devising what we would now call "collective security" arrangements for the 300-odd polities: principalities, bishoprics, leagues, duchies, and city-states of Germany. However, the more lasting mechanism for sustaining international order advanced at Westphalia was a rudimentary pan-European balance of power "system." Indeed, its broad outlines remaining at the core of "international society" until the summer of 1914, the Westphalia settlement was truly a stunning success.

There were two pillars to the Westphalia settlement: procedural and geographic. The first prerequisite of the post-Westphalian order was the legitimation of the diplomatic enterprise. But the more palpable element to the Westphalia settlement was the fragmentation of German power.

The Westphalia methodology seemed so successful that within 80 years, Europeans believed they had once again become bound-up in a wholly new, and now palpably secular, "international society." After 1648, Europeans started to become accustomed to dealing with large issues at major gatherings. Congresses composed of ambassadors would meet after wars to frame a peace based on an assumption of the legal "sovereign" equality of victors and vanquished alike. Indeed, the whole of the diplomatic history of Europe, as Sir George Clark once said, can be seen as the stride from one congress to the next. At each new conclave, diplomats assembled to beat out new permutations in the classic Westphalia formula. So common had this process become that, by Rousseau's time, Westphalia seemed to him to have become "the constitution of Europe."

The Spanish Recessional

Much of the Thirty Years' War parallels the Cold War. Both had their geo-strategic loci centered, ultimately, on the issue of the disposition of German power. Both were waged at a time when diplomacy was depreciated or nearly absent. Both were heated ideological contests. Both were waged by powers worried that concessions, although not significant unto themselves, might lead to a further unraveling of position; so it was better not to concede the paltry lest the critical be put into play. And both contests were fought with such bitterness that domestic well-being had to be placed behind the necessity of what many felt was becoming virtually a perpetual struggle.

By 1609, at the time of the signing of the Truce of Antwerp, Spain had spent five times the revenues of France, England, and the United Provinces put together in trying to put down the fifty year Dutch rebellion. To the pretenses of a substantially theocratic Hapsburg imperium that claimed much of Christendom and beyond as its own, the legitimation of the diplomatic Protestant Dutch republic was itself a challenge. 1 In the Truce of Antwerp, Spain "recognized" the Dutch Republic as if it were a sovereign power, and conceded the closure of the once great city of Antwerp; but the Truce hardly touched any of Spain's continuing irritants: the Dutch combined a ruthless commercial talent with a penchant for provoking their one-time overlords.

The Dutch seemed to feel they were free to smuggle whatever they wanted into Spain, including enormous quantities of counterfeit coins, minted to a higher standard than the Spanish seemed capable of themselves. The practice made the Dutch the arbiters of Spain's money supply while reversing Gresham's Law -- driving the Crown's bad money out of the market with the "good," but counterfeit, coin of the cheeky Protestant rebels. 2

The Dutch also claimed that they had discovered a legal loophole that allowed them to continue to prey on Spanish trade out of European waters. As a result, ten years into the Truce, Spain had nearly lost its entire trade in spices -- a commerce so valuable that one successful delivery could retire a whole ship's company for life. 3 A more vexing activity, which even the most ingenious Dutch lawyering could not explain away, was the Dutch raids on Spanish ships within European waters. Virtually the whole supply of Baltic war stores, amounting to a third of Dutch wealth, was captured by armed merchantmen.

"The Truce," concluded Count Olivares, the Principal adviser to Philip IV, had become "an abomination." It was the view of Carlos Colima, the Governor of the Flemish city of Cambrai, that, "[i]f the truce is continued, we shall condemn ourselves to suffer all the evils of peace and all the dangers of war." 4

When the rebellion of 1618 in Bohemia came to be known to Madrid, the King's advisers viewed the revolt as inseparable from Spain's position in the Low Countries. Philip IV was told that if he did not aid his Hapsburg brethren in Bohemia, Spain would lose its position in the Low Countries; and then, soon, Spain itself would be lost to heresy and rapacious foreigners. A dramatic erosion in the impression of Spain's influence -- even if it occurred at the remote corners of an Empire controlled by an impoverished relative -- was posited as inextricably linked to Spain's overall position. Those who were for war knew that it would expand; and that the Dutch were likely to aid their Protestant coreligionists; and that war could not be confined since the Dutch would probably be abetted by the French and perhaps England as well. A far-flung war was, then, quite deliberately chosen by Spain not because the balance of power favored Spain -- the new King commanded, by his own reckoning, only seven battle worthy ships -- but because Spain had been losing the peace and hoped to recoup by a great roll of the iron dice. 5

The Defenestration of Prague

Even before the time of the Bohemian rebellion, the Holy Roman Empire was something of an anachronism. Imperial claims on the spiritual and temporal life of the whole of Christendom had been unreal since the death of Charlemagne. Outside Germany, the universal claims of the Holy Roman Empire were contradicted by the fact of Protestant states. Within Germany, the Empire was even more bedeviled by the reality of Protestant electorates, Protestant princes, and a rising class of Protestant worshippers.

By the end of the 16th century, most Bohemian nobility had turned Protestant. Catholic Emperors were largely content that their Protestant Bohemian subjects served up enormous revenues to the Emperor, who, by custom, had been a Hapsburg since the Thirteenth Century. But Imperial elections were genuine and by no means was any one candidate a shoo-in. Yet, in 1617, the Bohemian nobles, more or less reflexively, deferred to tradition and accepted Ferdinand, the Catholic Hapsburg, as their King of Bohemia. For Ferdinand, it was to be a time of apprenticeship, since he was also slated as the next Emperor.

Ferdinand, a profound bigot, felt no obligation to those who had given him a lock on the Emperor's throne. For unknown to the Bohemian nobles, Ferdinand had vowed that he would rather "be cut to pieces, or beg my bread outside the gates of my palace, than suffer their heresy." It was a conviction borne not of malice, for this strange fanatic was said to be of a kindly disposition. "[I]t is because I love heretics," the new Bohemian King explained with unfeigned, but peculiar, sweetness, "that I wish to convert them from the path of evil..." 6

Hardly a year past Ferdinand's accession to the Bohemian throne, Protestant churches in Bohemia were boarded up. Permits for new churches were denied; and the Protestant leadership of Bohemia began to have second thoughts about their new King. On the 21st of May, 1618, Bohemian nobles and gentry pushed their way into the Hapsburgs castle of Hardschin. Upon finding two senior officers and an inoffensive secretary, the Protestant leaders conducted a kangaroo court. "Were these Hapsburg officials guilty of treason against Bohemia?" The crowd shouted its affirmation, whereupon the three unfortunates were hurled from a window. Catholics maintained that the trio was born safely to ground -- some 75 feet -- upon the wings of angels. Skeptics and Protestants pointed to the moldering dung heap in which all three came to rest.

From death's door in Vienna, Mathias, the depleted and half-crazed Emperor, sent offers of amnesty; but the Bohemian rebels showed no interest in further Hapsburg rule. Within days, the senior Spanish representative to Vienna mustered an army for the Emperor's use in repressing rebellion. 7

Frederick and the Peace of Europe

Meanwhile, the Bohemian nobles met to strip Ferdinand of his recent crown and offer it to a fellow Protestant: Frederick of Palatine. Frederick appeared to be a logical candidate. The Protestant son-in-law of King James of England, Frederick was also related to William of Orange, the House of Denmark, and Sweden's Gustavus Adolphus. Young Frederick was one of the best- connected princes in Protestant Europe. 8 If he were King of Bohemia as well as Elector of the Palatinate, Frederick would then dominate the upper waters of the Elbe, the Oder, and the middle of the Rhine. Moreover, if Frederick accepted the invitation of the Bohemians, he would have two votes out of seven in the Imperial Diet.

Frederick found little support among his new fraternity of kings. England's James I was too troubled by rebellion and plots himself to be pleased by his son-in-law's exploitation of a Bohemian rebellion. James even forbade public prayer to be said on Frederick's behalf. In fact, no crowned government in Europe encouraged Frederick's accession to the Crown of St. Stephan. If Frederick accepted the Bohemian offer, he could reason that he would become one of the great princes of Europe. But when he contemplated the opposition, the twenty-one year old Frederick mused with uncharacteristic perspicacity: "This is risky business." 9 If Frederick was given to some hesitation, Frederick's wife was not. As the daughter of England's King, Elizabeth figured she and her husband were meant for grander things: "I would rather eat sauerkraut with a King than roast meat with an elector." 10 Emboldened by his wife's ambitions, buoyed by his astrologer, and steeled with a substantial Dutch pledge, Frederick rode defiantly from Heidelberg. Frederick's party left for Prague, taking with them 153 baggage carriages, a thousand soldiers, and the peace of Europe. 11

A year and a half later, on the outskirts of Prague, Frederick's army found itself trapped by Hapsburg forces. Just at the gates of the city, readying himself to visit his forces at what was to be the scene of the "Battle of White Mountain," Frederick and an English ambassador found themselves nearly bowled over by the first wave of fugitive Protestant forces. The panicked Bohemians shouted at the young King to flee for his life as they were most certainly fleeing for theirs. Frederick V and his queen heeded the advice of the mob.

Making their way to Holland, the exiles were sustained only by the jewels the queen was able to carry on her person. In one broadside after another, Frederick's departure was mocked. In Berlin, one wall poster read: "... His men and horses were quickly Struck down on the White Hill. ... He was very much frightened He applied this magical spell to his feet, And with his wife he hastily took to his heels." 12

A Hapsburg Indian Summer and Widening War

The Emperor offered Frederick the status quo ante bellum. If he had accepted, the matter would have ended. But the Dutch would not forgo the issue, nor, by then, could Frederick's father in law. Though one of England's least bellicose Kings, James I was forced by militant Puritan pressure to offer a modest stipend for the restitution of his son-in-law's Palatine estates. Meanwhile, among the advisors to both Hapsburg branches, but especially in Madrid, there was the hope that the moment had arrived to finally extirpate heresy: Fortune's top was set in motion. The Spanish army, only awaiting the end of the 1212 Years' Truce, occupied the whole of Frederick's lands; the Palatinate suffered frightfully; and Frankenthal was besieged for more than a year. The fortress capital of Heidelberg finally fell in the spring of 1623: much of the old city, including universities and libraries, was set to flames. 13 Seven years later, upon returning to his hereditary lands escorted by Swedish troops, Frederick found them "in ruins." Separated from his guards by battle, weary from wandering, Frederick picked his way up the road to the Hague where his exiled queen awaited him. Taking uninvited refuge from a storm, in the cellar of a merchant, Frederick died as unwelcome as the pest that felled him. 14

Meanwhile, Ferdinand himself returned to Bohemia to oversee a long night of Inquisitional terror. In the rooting out of heresy, a man named Debis was nailed by the tongue to the gibbet. Count Schlick, 80, a leader of the rebellion, had his right hand cut off, and was then beheaded. Protestant school masters were ordered to leave Bohemia in 8 days and to make the point, the Chancellor of the University had his tongue torn out before he was executed. University life ceased. One half of the property of Bohemia changed title so that Protestant landowning virtually disappeared. The mint was contracted to a foundry that produced coins so light and manifestly worthless that disgusted Imperial soldiers flipped their pay back at their officers. Protestants were denied wills, testaments, and marriages. When the citizens of Bohemia were given 18 months to accept Catholicism or leave, 180,000 people fled. In little more than two years, one of the brightest cultures of Europe had been eclipsed. 15

By 1624, the Bohemian rebellion had been resolved to the immediate satisfaction of both Hapsburg Houses. It could have ended then: Spanish troops had been confirmed again as the most formidable force in Europe; "The Spanish Roads," the passages from Italy to Flanders, were more secure than they had been in a hundred years; and France, the greatest potential continental adversary of Spain, was surrounded north and west by Spanish redoubts.

For Spain, however, the most serious irritation was not the Bohemian provocation, but the Dutch Republic: the Dutch would not turn away from the issue of the future of the Palatinate. When the Emperor Ferdinand decided to transfer Frederick's lands to Catholic-led Bavaria, it became certain that Holland and whatever allies the merchant republic might muster, would stand in opposition to Spain. England's Odd Man Out

King James I's general desire had been for peace. The King knew that Parliament's continuing demands to help Frederick were in contradiction to any dispassionate understanding of English interests. Any Machiavellian could have understood that England could only benefit if the Spanish and the Dutch exhausted themselves in war. After all, the Spanish were England's rivals in the Americas. In the Indies, English merchant ships involved in the pepper trade were subject to Dutch plunder. In more than a few oceans, armed Dutch merchantmen captured English crews, and even sold some of them into slavery. Finally, the King agreed to let the redoubtable Mansfield, Frederick's generally luckless commander, empty London's poor houses of a few thousand reluctant warriors, some of whom, anticipating the rigors of service, committed suicide.

So disreputable had Mansfield become, the Dutch did not even want his English forces to transit their soil. As a result, the English army was confined to their ships. Without water or provision, seventy-five per cent of the English troops, some 8,000 men, were lost at anchor in Dutch harbors. Mansfield's failure drifted back to London as James fell mortally ill, leaving the final determination for peace or war to his son, Charles 1. 16

Parliament had wanted war with Spain, but had not wanted to provide for it. Charles decided to provide the war, hoping that a great victory would make Parliament more compliant in confirming the King's revenues. A victory at sea, Charles was persuaded, would establish his position with the Commons -- although it was not clear what this would do for his long-suffering sister, Elizabeth, the wife of Frederick. 17

Since the days of Drake, raiding Spanish ports had a certain cachet. Charles sent the Navy to Cadiz where 15,000 English sailors managed only to secure the Spanish wine store. Blamed for the Cadiz disaster, the organizer of the Cadiz raid, Charles' handsome "favorite," Buckingham, was impeached in the Commons. But Charles sided with his companion and dismissed the House. Two years later, the Duke of Buckingham failed again in a naval expedition. Less than a third of the expeditionary forces returned to English ports. "That slime" Buckingham, became a common epithet:

"And now, Just God! I humble pray
That thou wilt take that slime away
That keeps my sovereign's eyes from viewing
The things that will be our undoing." 18

Charles was now without any more disposition for war: he paid off the army from his own purse, and had his forces stand down. As Thomas Crew wrote in 1630 of England's temper,

"...What thought the German drum
Bellow for freedom and revenge, the noise
Concerns not us, nor should divert our joys;
Nor ought the thunder or carbines
Drown the sweet air of our tun'd violins." 19

But Parliament's long recess made Charles susceptible to Spanish silver. In 1639, Charles enabled Spain, for a fee, to ship Spanish troops to Flanders by way of Dover, sometimes even transporting Spanish terceros in English ships. When, in 1640, the Irish revolt broke out (abetted, it was rumored, by Spanish priests and Spanish soldiers), the just reconvened Parliament would insist that any English forces raised to quell rebellious Catholics ought to be controlled by the Commons. Charles was forced into a compromise that soon broke down. Following a lengthy and destructive civil war -- beyond our scope in this essay -- Charles was captured by Parliamentary forces. A "Rump" Parliament brought the unfortunate King to a drum-head trial where it was resolved that Charles was a "tyrant, traitor, murderer and public enemy." 20 Three days later, Charles' head was detached from his body in a stroke. News of Charles' death reached the Hague as the just-ratified Peace of Westphalia restored the long-suffering Palatinate to the descendants of Charles' sister, Elizabeth.

The French Phase: Spain Brought Low

France prepared for war against its old Hapsburg rivals for years, and in the last days of 1634, French forces moved across the Rhine to take the much abused fortress city of Heidelberg. Not much later, Richelieu sent his heralds to Brussels to deliver the Spanish viceroys a copy of his after-the-fact declaration of war. 21 Catholic France had to align itself with its Protestant neighbors, Richelieu concluded, since Spanish power had "for its goal to augment its dominions and extend its frontiers" at French expense. 22 Richelieu would justify Protestant alliances to his King advancing "necessity of state," while employing an army of lawyers who argued that the Pope would have approved of his policies if he had been aware of the true facts.

In contrast to the national egoism suggested by Richelieu, Spain's Philip IV and his advisors saw themselves as Paladins of Catholic rectitude. The Spanish King had helped his brother-in-law, Louis XIII against the Huguenot challenge; indeed, Spain had extended herself beyond all proportion. Richelieu, Philip despaired, had repaid the Spanish badly. Soon the French and Dutch were working in close cooperation: the Spanish lost huge numbers of men and ships in engagements with the Dutch that extended from Brazil to Sicily. By land, French troops occupied key points astride the old Spanish Road. By the end of the 1630s, Spain, in its (almost Roman) attempt to eliminate the Carthage of the Zuider Zee, had come apart: in 1640, Catalonia and Portugal rebelled and went over to the French.

From Flanders, the Spanish, in a last desperate effort to reverse their fortunes, tried to move south on Paris with all their available strength, some 32,000 battle hardened veterans. But because horses had become too expensive, the Spanish marched without adequate cavalry. At the frontier fortress of Rocroi, in a single morning in February 1643, French cavalry and cannon tore into the Spanish positions. At the end of the day, Spain's military treasury had been captured and half the Spanish army lay dead or had been made prisoner. A French officer asked one tired Spanish officer, "How many of there are you?" "Count the dead and the prisoners, that is all," came the weary reply. 23 The great battle marked all but the formal end of Spain's position and its displacement by France. As Philip IV's new minister, Don Louis De Haro, put it later: Rocroi was "a defeat that gives rise in all parts to the consequences we feared." 24 Peace

Olivares, Philip IV's old war hawk, finding neither army fit to serve nor generals fit to lead, relented: "I propose peace, and more peace, ...we must certainly beg God to give us general peace, which even if it is not good, or even average, would be better than the most advantageous war." 25 In fact, Spain and Holland were able to agree on a peace on January 30, 1648, as Spain and France could not. But the Dutch refused to lift the siege of Antwerp and Spain was forced to concede much of its critical trade in the Indies. As Queen Elizabeth had forecast 100 years earlier, "you touch" the King of Spain, "in the Indies, you touche him in the apple of his eye, for you take away the treasure ... his ... bands of soldiers will soon dissolve, his purposes defeated, his power and strength diminished, his pride abated and his tyranny utterly suppressed." 26

Within France itself, with interest rates exceeding 24% and crown revenues pledged years in advance, there were hints of civil war. The French Advocate General wrote his young King: "We are told that it is not easy to conclude peace, that it is to the state's advantage not to neglect the King's victories....Whether or not it is true ... there are whole provinces where they live on nothing.... Taxes and duties are put on every imaginable thing. The only thing your subjects have left, Sire, is their souls, and if they had any market value they would have been put up for sale long ago." 27

With a shudder of horror at the door opened in England by the arrest of Charles I, Mazarin sped to make "peace at the earliest opportunity," if not with all the Spanish Hapsburgs, then at least with its Austrian branch. France was coming undone. The Austrian Emperor's honest loyalty to Spain could only seem lopsided when he learned of Spain's eagerness to make a separate peace with the Dutch. Abandoned by his Spanish cousins, his armies broken, the cannon of his enemies within earshot, the son of Ferdinand had no choice but to yield to the logic of peace.

For the rest of Europe, there was the hope of repose, signaled on Saturday, October 24, 1648, by sounds of cannons and bells, and endless Te Deums sung from the Russian Steppes to the Americas. As the Treaty of Münster put it: "the mishaps, destruction and disorders which the heavy plague of war has made men suffer for so long and so heavily" had ended. 28

The Meaning of the Westphalia Settlement

The geographic division of the conferences between Münster and Osnabrück was the empirical affirmation that international order was to be newly undergirded by an assumption that Germany, from then on, was not whole. Instead, Germany was defined, as a congeries of sovereign, autonomous states. A new organizing principle was offered to replace Hapsburg religious and political hegemony in Germany: each signatory to the Westphalia settlement would have the right to determine the faith of the realm. The Prince of a region, "the sovereign," was to make the rules. Once the Emperor acknowledged this formula, he recognized the Protestant states of Germany as morally valid objects of diplomacy and not secular subjects of a vast Christian realm.

Political relations from the periphery to the center are different from those politics that proceed along a horizontal plane of moral equality. Although both types of interactions may be called "diplomacy," one implies the politics of submission; and the other, the politics of compromise. One requires deference, and works best with orthodoxy, while the other specifies non-interference, and allows for pluralism and autonomy. In conferring a moral equality on hundreds of entities, the Westphalia settlement detailed the undoing of the Hapsburg-maintained Medieval hierarchy, and put in its place a new organizing principle based on the sovereign equality of states.

At a time of civil disorder that ranged from the Irish Sea to Turkey (and according to one diplomat at the conference, Savius, even to China), the Westphalia settlement was a self conscious effort to buttress domestic authority. By granting the right of each state to give the law and maintain order in its own realm without interference, the conference of Westphalia aimed to solve the problem of internal legitimacy and order while mitigating the animus that characterized the relations of warring states. The troublesome problem of domestic authority was eased by making religion an exclusively internal matter at the determination of the realm's ruling house.

Antinomies of Order: the Balance of Power vs. Collective Security

Although the Westphalia Treaties allowed the signatories to be "... free perpetually ... to make alliances with strangers for their preservation and safety," an alternative was presented in the form of a rudimentary "collective security" system. Article XVII of the Treaty of Osnabrück declared: "All and each of the contracting parties of this treaty shall be held to defend and maintain all and each of the dispositions of this peace, against whomsoever it may be, without distinction of religion."

Like the League of Nations and the Charter of the United Nations, the Münster treaty "outlawed" a recourse to arms: "It shall not be permitted to any State of the Empire to pursue his Right by Force and Arms; but if any difference ... happens for the future ... the Contravener shall be regarded as an Infringer of the Peace." 29

Within Germany, the Westphalia treaties sketched out the antinomies of a system based on armed self-help on the one hand, and a system based on mutual interests and diplomacy, on the other. States could either go their own way, secured by their own means and those of their allies; or, states could arrange for their collective defense, perhaps as Grotius had suggested (and the Westphalia treaty called for) in the context of great conferences. Outside the Holy Roman Empire, the Westphalia treaty pointed down a similar divide. The first led to a society of states that might compose their difficulties by negotiations and tribunals. The other way led to a self-centered system undergirded by the now undisputed right of each state to make alliances with foreigners and manage their own defense.

But collective security would prove the weaker thread with which to weave a fabric of stability. For any collective security would require the habit of subordination of conflicting interests to the common good. The problem with the notion of a common good is that it usually proves either quite elastic or ethereal -- or both. Even if the common good were knowable and fixed, it might require self-sacrifice. Nations without any higher authority to compel them to do otherwise would not prove themselves ready candidates for martyrdom. The Westphalia settlement thus resulted in a system predicated on a sovereign self-help. It limited war by dispersing power among a great number of states so that no single state, nor any combination of states, might gain more than limited objectives against adversaries.

Almost every study of the balance of power argues that it emerged as self conscious European strategy of order in the crucible of the Thirty Years' War. Indeed, as Cornelis Peiterszoom Hooft wrote at the time of Westphalia "Everything, indeed, has been due to the jealousy of Spain, France and England." 30 But the balance of power system was not just a matter of power unconstrained except by the counterweight of equivalent power, a kind of physics reified to the level of statecraft; for the post-Westphalia system embraced, on the one hand, the emergence of a new community of interests, and on the other, a new restraint borne from universal revulsion at the inhumane excesses -- and cost -- of war.

A Repelling Wall of Disgust

By 1635, hordes of plague-infested refugees were trampling crops. Depleted pastures were called on to support ever larger armies (Wallenstein and Gustavus fought with over 100,000 at their command; the French mustered over 180,000.) 31 While armies circulated faster to find their daily requirements, plague increased as a function of the velocity of armies on the move. Discipline broke: by 1640, war had achieved a general barbarity. Peasants were sawed, pierced, burned, and boiled. "He who had money," a contemporary saying went, "was the enemy. He who had none was tortured because he had it not." 32 A sport was made from wagering how many peasants or prisoners could be felled by a single bullet. Soldiers sprinkled gunpowder on the clothes of prisoners and set their garments alight. Children were kidnapped and held for ransom. Priests and burghers were tied under wagons and made to crawl until they dropped. Hunger was everywhere and there were reports that criminals were cut down from the gallows to be devoured, and graves opened so that the newly buried could nourish the still living. 33

Formerly verdant, Germany itself was in ruins. When Robert Monroe, a Scottish mercenary made way to the Rhine Valley with Gustavus Adolphus, he had written: "No country in Europe is comparable unto Germany, for fertility, riches, corn, and wine, traffic by land, pleasant sites, fair buildings, rare orchards, woods and planting, civility as well in the country as in the cities." Four years later, a secretary to an English ambassador traveling from Cologne up the Rhine came by "many villages pillaged and shot down." In Bacharach, "the poor people are found dead with grass in their mouths." In Metz, the party had to stay aboard ship and hurry away from the starving, who swam out to beseech the travelers for a scrap. From Cologne to Frankfort, "All the towns, villages and castles be battered, pillaged or burned." At Neustadt, "a fair city ... now burned miserably. One village in the Upper Palatinate had "been pillaged eight and twenty times in two years and twice in one day." 34

The Thirty Years' War itself had created a repelling wall of disgust. The percentage of people lost in Germany -- some seven million out of a population of twenty one million -- was far greater than the numbers lost even in World War II; and the material devastation was probably worse. On nearly every measure: duration, number of participants, severity of damage to the population, and battlefield deaths as a percentage of the population, the Thirty Years' War was the most destructive in history. During the period of continuous warfare between 1621 and 1639, out of a population of a million in Sweden and Finland, 100,000 were in the army, and of these, nearly half were killed or wounded. Between 1618 and 1659, about 300,000 men were lost from Castille out of a population of 6 million. 35

For ordinary people, peace had become a mirage, long promised, but seemingly extinguished by each near approach. So bad were conditions for the ordinary people of Germany that many thought the Thirty Years' War was but apiece with the imminent coming of the end of the world; and when, at long last, the news of the peace came, it was hard to believe. A Nuremberg poet, Johann Vogel wrote: "Something you never believed Has come to pass. What? Will the camel pass through the Needle's Eye Now that peace has returned to Germany?" 36

Novel Premises: Nationalism, Raison d' Etat, the Regularization of Diplomacy, and the Management of Force

The Thirty Years' War gave a great fillip to national consciousness, provoking Englishmen to hate Spaniards and Swedish antipathy to Russians. Brandenberg's chief religious authority, John Bergius, thundered: "Is there anyone with German blood in his veins whose heart does not ache when he sees and hears how our fatherland is plundered and ravaged by foreign invaders worse than the Turks and the Tartars?" Religion had become the bridge on which nationalism passed and prospered. In England, "Protestant" and "English" gradually became coterminous. The feelings in England expressed for James' exiled daughter, Elizabeth "the Winter Queen," could best be described as a patriotic sense of outrage. A kind of Jingoism even infiltrated the law courts where those who made light of Frederick's precipitous exit from Prague found themselves, notwithstanding their age or position, branded, fined, imprisoned, or worse. Some of Elizabeth's detractors were nailed by their ears, and others were recorded to have been nearly torn to pieces by angry mobs. 37

Much later, nationalism would become a constant in the life of states and even be married to state power. But for 150 years, patriotic feeling remained tamed and subservient to reason of state. In the absence of debilitating religious or national passions, a genuine diplomacy could develop that ascertained "the balance of interests" as well as the balance of forces available to support them. Those agreements that proceeded from this process went on to create their own constituencies, and the elaborate process of negotiation and treaty-making would endow some Europeans with more than the pious hope that international "society" might become a permanent feature of international relations. ****

Now that "reason of state" has prevailed, one wag observed after the Westphalia Congress, it seems to be ".. a wonderful beast for it chases away all other reasons." 38 The Westphalia settlement advanced reason of state, devising the notion from its religious garb. As Richelieu's confidant, Rohan wrote (somewhat optimistically), "princes rule the people and interests rule the prince." But if interests are to be rationally pursued they must be detached from zeal. As Rohan put it: "In matters of state one must not let oneself by guided by disorderly appetites, which make us often undertake tasks beyond our strength; nor by violent passions which agitate us in various ways as soon as they possess us; ... but by our own interests guided by reason alone, which must be the rule of our action." 39

"State interests" suggests proximate goals of a definable group that neither extend to the whole of humanity, nor are confined to a puny section of a community. Interests admit compromise whereas passionate truths obviate middle measures. Interests can be approximated. One does not have to achieve them at one fell swoop or risk damnation. A statecraft infused by interests necessarily places a premium on the tangible rather than the theological. An emphasis on interests hoists calculable advantage over transcendent purposes. Interests imply predictability, prudence, reason, and mutual gain. In itself, the notion of interests is a moderating idea. Passions are inconsistent, or as Hobbes put it, they are "insatiable." But in the mid-17th Century, the concept of interests became the means to exorcise caprice and instability in human affairs. Therein lay the burden of the mid-17th Century maxim "interests do not lie." 40

In the hundred years before Westphalia, the gulf between Catholics and Protestants contradicted civility, obstructed diplomacy, and defined the purpose of war as the extirpation of wickedness. If one fights with God, it follows that one's opponents are fighting iniquitously. The argument admitted no middle positions. Fired with chiliastic certainty, contestants denied compromises and adjustments short of war as being not merely wrong-headed, or injurious, but evil. In this kind of moral environment, the very essence of diplomacy -- adjudication of conflicting interests by dint of reason, persuasion, and tact -- was, perforce, banished.

The Westphalia settlement marked the start of a novel premises in international affairs: armed struggle was no longer defined as a contest between varieties of confessional truths, but rather, a dispute among secular "sovereigns." The final settlement of armed disputes, after Westphalia, was no longer the province of military contractors and theologians. Instead, the termination of war fell within the purview of an identifiable coterie of a new class: professional diplomats and warriors sworn to the service of a state.

Before the Westphalia settlement, there was no recognizable diplomatic profession. Spies, irregular envoys, and heralds citing scripture or handing out ringing declamations were the usual route that princes chose to alert one another to each other's demands and to sound the start of war. After Westphalia, the diplomatic craft was practiced by a kind of well-born guild, with members who were adept at melding reason, precedent, and law with quiet allusion to the implication of armed compunction.

Before Westphalia, soldiers were led by contractors, private entrepreneurs who garnered pay from their won estates or from the lands they plundered. After Westphalia, soldiers were led by military bureaucrats who raised armies year-round and paid for their keep through levies and taxes. After Westphalia, diplomats and warriors began to share a kind of regulatory synergy. Both diplomat and warrior sought less "victory," and more, the achievement of a favorable peace. War, after Westphalia, as the great observer Clausewitz put it, came to be a "stronger form of diplomacy," and the battlefield an extension of the conference chamber. 41

War itself was, to a degree, more tame as a result of the great mêlée. Gustavus Adolphus, the principal champion of Protestants during the Thirty Years' War, took to carrying a copy of Grotius' massive work on the rules of war and peace with him to battle. 42 To Gustavus, the model of the enlightened prince, moderating the savagery of battle, was part self-interest and Calvinist piety. But after the Thirty Years' War, armies throughout Europe started to review and publicize codes of conduct. The notion spread that there was a lawful way to conduct war and that it was a palpable interest of states to heed legal restriction. 43

The Thirty Years War had lasting effect. In Germany, neither religion nor Hapsburg imperialism ever produced another war. 44 In the hundred years after Westphalia, war had achieved a certain "regulatory function" in delimiting change and state ambition. But as the volume of violence available to combatants expanded, war's "legitimacy" as an instrument of statecraft began to erode. When, in the Twentieth Century, war began to approach its terrible and absolute form, the only compelling rationale for its employment came to be the defeat of the causes of war itself. As Raymond Aron put it, "as operations mounted...it was essential to inflate the purposes of victory..[P]eace would be durable only if dictated unconditionally after crushing the enemy. The demand for total victory was so not so much the expression of politics as a reflex reaction to total war." 45

In the present century, at the same time the expansion of violence tended to take "absolute" and "absurd" form (in Clausewitz' words), diplomacy abutted another zealous nemesis: the recrudescence of fervent, apocalyptic belief. Illustrative was Harry Truman's famous address to Congress in March 1947, when he argued that the West's struggle with the Soviets was over "two ways of life:" "One ... based upon the will of the majority, and ... distinguished by free institutions ... free speech ... and freedom from oppression ...The second ... based upon the will for a minority ... rel[ying] upon terror and oppression." 46

To the extent that Truman's analysis obtained, negotiation would be little valued. To be sure, conferences would still be staged; diplomats would meet; and communiqués could be issued. But meetings, in this kind of highly charged ideological atmosphere, would necessarily be little more than venues for mean spirited propaganda, or complex traps to lure Western innocents. In 1954, for instance, Secretary of State John Foster Dulles asked an aide if he would be satisfied if the Soviets accepted free elections and the reunification of Germany. "Why, yes," his aide acknowledged brightly. "Well, that's where you and I part company," Dulles retorted. "I wouldn't. There'd be a catch in it." 47

Associated with appeasement and grisly calamities for most of the Twentieth Century, ancient practices of European diplomacy fell into a swamp of disgrace. Diplomacy, especially in the Cold War, came to be known not so much as a method of ameliorating the clash of interests, but at best, as a self-defeating vestige of an ancient and irrelevant civility. Now, however, with the passing of Cold War passions, prospects for a renaissance of the Westphalian diplomatic patrimony brighten anew. The settlement of the Thirty Years' War at Westphalia marks the start of the new professionalization of diplomacy. And if, in fact, diplomacy has now been given a reprieve, it behooves us, therefore, to recall its painful beginnings, its achievements, and to explore its relevance to our collective future.

Note 1: By the early 17th century, there was a widespread sense that Spain was in a state of precipitous decline. "Never," in nearly 800 years of continuous war, "has Spain been as poor as is now.'' Louis Valle de la Cerda. Cited by JH Elliot "Self Perception and Decline" in Spain, Past and Present, number 74 page 53. Back.

Note 2: Charles Howard Carter, The Secret Diplomacy of the Hapsburgs:1598-1625, (N.Y. Columbia, 1964) page 31. Back.

Note 3: John Lynch, Spain Under the Hapsburgs, (Oxford, Basil Blackwell) Volume Two, 1598-1700, (second edition, 1981), page 65.; and Charles Howard Carter The Secret Diplomacy of the Hapsburgs: 1598-1625, (N.Y. Columbia, 1964) page 30 Back.

Note 4: In a letter written in 1629, cited by John Elliot, The Count Duke Olivares, the Statesman of an Age of Decline,(New Haven, Yale University Press,1986), page 66. fn57; also see Peter Brightwell various articles: 'The Spanish origins of the Thirty Years War, European Studies Review,(9) 1979; and "Spain and Bohemia, 1619-1621," European Studies Review (12)1982;"The Spanish System and the twelve years Truce," English Historical Review (12) 1982 pp.270-292. Back.

Note 5: Hugh Trevor Roper "The Outbreak of the Thirty Years War" in Hugh Trevor Roper, Renaissance Essays, University of Chicago Press, 1985, page 293; and Peter Brightwell,"The Spanish origins of the Thirty Years' War', European Studies Review, October 1979, Vol. 9, Number 4, pages 409-431. and HR Trevor-Roper "Spain-and Europe: 1598-1621 in J.P Cooper (ed) The New Cambridge Modern History,:The Decline of Spain and the Thirty Years War:1609-84/9, (Cambridge, 1970) page 281. Back.

Note 6: Cited by Lt Col J Mitchell, The Life of Wallenstein: Duke of Friedland, (New York: Greenwood Press), 1968 page 21. The defenestration of 1618 was, in fact, a well planned imitation of a famous defenestration two hundred years earlier that had started the Hussite revolution. Back.

Note 7: David Maland, Europe at War: 1600-1650, (Totowa, NJ: Rowan and Littlefield, 1980) page 64. Back.

Note 8: Geoffrey Parker and Simon Adams. The Indecisive War, 1618-1629, Chapter 2 page 52 and genealogical table on p.53 in Parker, The Thirty Years' War, Op cit. Back.

Note 9: Elmer A Beller, "The Thirty Years War," in JP Cooper, The New Cambridge Modern History, Volume IV, The Decline of Spain and the Thirty Years War:1609-1659 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press), 1970 page 311. Back.

Note 10: C.V Wedgewood, The Thirty Years War (New Haven: Yale University Press;1939, page 100; also Mary Anne Everett Green, Elizabeth: Electress of Palatine and Queen of Bohemia, (London, Methuen & Co.), rev. ed., 1909; p.129-130 for Frederick's hesitations. Back.

Note 11: C.V Wedgewood, The Thirty Years War, op cit page 85C.V Wedgewood, The Thirty Years War, op cit page 85ff Back.

Note 12: Elmer Beller, Propaganda in Germany during the Thirty Years War, (Princeton, Princeton University Press,) 1940, page 24 Back.

Note 13: Traveling south to the Rhine, disguised as a merchant, Frederick caught up with his com manding General, Mansfield who, at the moment of his encounter with Frederick, was actually engaged in talks about switching sides with a Spanish diplomat. Frederick would have been advised to release his mercenary to Spain; for Mansfield's record in the field was one of almost perfect failure. As for the army," Frederick wrote his queen as he fled from the battlefield, "... I think there are men in it who are possessed of the devil, and who take a pleasure in setting fire to everything." [Everett Green, Elizabeth: Electress of Palatine and Queen of Bohemia, Op Cit, p 93] and Elmer A Beller, "The Thirty Years War", in JP Cooper, The New Cambridge Modern History, Volume IV, The Decline of Spain and the Thirty Years War:1609-1659 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press), 1970 317. Back.

Note 14: On November 19 1632. Green, Ibid, page 299; Wedgewood, The Thirty Years' War, op cit, page 332. Back.

Note 15: Lt Col J Mitchell, The Life of Wallenstein: Duke of Friedland, page 74; and Wedgewood, The Thirty Years' War, page 143-169. Back.

Note 16: See Leopold Von Ranke, A History of England, principally in the Seventeenth Century, Vol 1, (Oxford, Clarendon Press), 1875, page 562ff Back.

Note 17: Leopold Von Ranke, Frederick, The Age of the Baroque, op cit, page p.129-130 fo21-213ff; and Cicely Veronica Wedgewood. Richelieu and the French Monarchy, (New York, Collier Books) 1962 pp. 50- 2 Back.

Note 18: Charles Carlton, Charles I: The Personal Monarch, (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul), 1983. page 96 Back.

Note 19: CV Wedgewood, History and Hope:: the Collected Essays of CV Wedgewood, (London, Collins, 1987) p.72. Back.

Note 20: CV Wedgewood, History and Hope, ibid, pp. 87 Back.

Note 21: Even his declaration was novel for a medievally trained man of the Canon. Indeed, Richelieu's policy would be recognized by any of the American "realist" architects of "containment." Back.

Note 22: Cicely Veronica Wedgewood. Richelieu and the French Monarchy, p63 and JH Elliot, Richelieu and Olivares, (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1984), page 67. But the calculations and techniques of Richelieu were only partly modern. On the one hand, Richelieu's view that France was divinely sanctioned to find lasting peace for Christendom was decidedly medieval. But Richelieu's view of political authority was distinctly modern. Papal authority was moral only; the Pope had no temporal rights in Richelieu's cosmos: "[T]he King," wrote Richelieu, "is the recognized sovereign in his state, not holding his crown but from God alone, there exists no power on earth whatever it might be ... which has any right over his kingdom ..." J. A. W. Gunn, "Interests Will Not Lie: A Seventeenth Century Political Maxim" Journal of the History of Ideas, (October-Dec 1968) pp.551-564 and JAW Gunn, Politics and the Public Interests in the Seventeenth Century (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul), 1969, page 36ff. Richelieu's argument for fidelity to treaties was also modern. As he told his King, even though "many political thinkers teach the contrary," treaties should be "religiously" observed. But to the cardinal, the rationale for solemnly honoring contracts with other princes was less the cause of international order and more the Baroque age issue of his Sovereign's "reputation." "A great prince," the cardinal wrote, "should risk even his person and the interests of state rather than break his word...CR Freidericks, "The War and Politics, " in Parker, et. al, The Thirty Years War, p219. In the end, Richelieu's insistence on talks with adversaries, no matter how remote the chance of settlement or hostile the confessional claims of one's adversaries, became the basis of modern diplomacy. Back.

Note 23: Archer Jones, The Art of War in the Western World, University of Illinois Press (Urbana and Chicago, 1987) page 293ff. Back.

Note 24: Robert Stadling, "Catastrophe and Recovery: The Defeat of Spain, 1639-1643" History Vol 64, no.211 June 1979, pp217ff. Back.

Note 25: Cited by Elliot, Olivares, page 601. Back.

Note 26: Geoffrey Parker, "The Dutch Revolt" In Geoffrey Parker and Leslie M Smith(ed) The General Crisis of the Seventeenth Century, (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul), 1978, page 69. Back.

Note 27: Georges Pages (trans by David Maland and John Hooper), The Thirty Years' War (New York, Harper and Row, 1939) page 226. Back.

Note 28: Geoffrey Parker, Spain and the Netherlands, the Military Revolution, 1560-1660, (Enslow Publishers, Short Hills, 1979) page 203. The list of contemporary disorders is impressive: England, Ireland and Scotland, Sicily, Naples, Paris, Catalonia, and Portugal. There were peasant uprisings in Sweden and rumors of revolt in Poland. See Herbert Langer, The Thirty Years' War, (Poole: Blandford Press) 1978, page 260. One well-informed diplomat, Savius, wrote that people everywhere had risen up, even in Turkey and China. Back.

Note 29: A complete text is available in C Perry (ed), The Consolidated Treaty Series, (Dobbs Ferry, New York, 1969). See RB Mowat, The European States System: A Study of International Relations, (London: Oxford University Press, 1923) page 16. As a function of the sheer cost of power, there was a drastic reduction in the number of states in the first rank. A standing army exacted an enormous price, and only well-organized and prosperous states could for long afford the expense of big battalions. The first sign of this winnowing process was the Westphalia settlement itself which reduced the number of sovereign entities within the German Empire from 900 to 234. Back.

Note 30: Geoffrey Parker, "The Dutch Revolt," in Parker and Lesley M Smith, ed The General Crisis, of the Seventeenth Century (London, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985) 72 and pp68-9. Back.

Note 31: It is hard to find parallels with the armies of this period. The Mongol army that stormed Samarkand in 1219 may have exceeded 200,000, but did not have the extensive support system of Wallenstein's armies. See James Chambers, The Devils Horsemen: The Mongol Invasion of Europe, (NY Athenaeum, 1985) page 9. Rome's regular legions are usually put at 160,000 to 175,000 although they may have had as many as 360,00 men under arms throughout the Empire; see Edward Luttwak, The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire, (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976) page 16; Robert L O'Connell, Of Arms and Men: A History of War, Weapons, and Aggression, (New York, Oxford University Press, 1989) page 75; and Philippe Contamine (trans by Michael Jones) War in the Middle Ages, (London, Basil Blackwell, 1984) page 306. Back.

Note 32: Charles Petrie, Earlier Diplomatic History, 1492-1713, (London, Hollis and Charter, 1949) page 147. Back.

Note 33: Wedgewood, The Thirty Years' War pages 257, 410-11, 419, and David Ogg Europe in the Seventieth Century, (London: Adam and Charles Black, 1961), (8th ed. rev.), page 168. Back.

Note 34: William Crowne, A true relation of all the remarkable places and passages observed in travels of the right honorable Thomas Lord Howard, Earl of Arundel and Surrey, 1636 (London, 1637) pp.5-17 cited by Elmer A Beller, The Thirty Years War, in the New Cambridge Modern History, Volume 1V, pp.345-346 Back.

Note 35: Evan Luard, War in International Society: A Study of International Sociology, (London, I. B. Taurus &Co., Ltd) and Hugh Trevor Roper, Spain and Europe, 1598-1621, The New Cambridge Modern History, vol iv, pp 357. Back.

Note 36: Cited by Parker, The Thirty Years' War, page 189. Back.

Note 37: Joycelyne G Russell, Peacemaking in the Renaissance, (London Duckworth, 1986) pages 228-229; Bodo Nischan, "Calvinism, the Thirty Years' War, and the Beginning of Absolutism in Brandenburg: The Political Thought of John Bergius," Central European History, Volume 15, Number 3, September 1982, page 216. Back.

Note 38: CR Freidericks, "The War and Politics, " in Parker, et. al, The Thirty Years War p.219. Back.

Note 39: "On the Interests of Princes and States of Christendom," cited by Albert I Hirschman, The Passions of the Interests: Political Arguments for Capitalism before Its Triumph, (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1977) page 34. Back.

Note 40: See also J. A. W. Gunn, "Interests Will Not Lie: A Seventeenth Century Political Maxim" Journal of the History of Ideas, (October-Dec 1968) pp.551-564 and JAW Gunn, Politics and the Public Interests in the Seventeenth Century (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1969) page 36ff. Back.

Note 41: Carl Von Clausewitz, On War, (ed and trans. by Michael Howard and Peter Paret, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), Book one Chapter two, and pages 488, 501. Back.

Note 42: G Teitler (trans CN Ter Heide-Lopy), The Genesis of the Professional Officers Corps, (Beverly Hills, Sage, 1977) pp.181-188. Back.

Note 43: Sir George Clark, War and Society in the Seventeenth Century, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) page 84. Back.

Note 44: The Westphalia settlement also helped to limit war by dispersing power among a great number of states so that no single state, nor any combination of states, might gain more than limited objectives against adversaries. The drastic reduction in the number of states to the first rank occurred as a function of the sheer cost of power. A standing army exacted an enormous and perpetual toll on any society, and only well organized and prosperous states could for long afford the expense of big battalions. The first sign of this winnowing process was the Westphalia settlement itself which reduced the number of sovereign entities within the German Empire from 900 to about 234. (The figure varies from 355 to 234. Geoffrey Barraclough's figures are at the low end but probably more accurate: The Origins of Modern Germany, (New York, Capricorn, 1963) page 385). Back.

Note 45: Raymond Aron, The Century of Total War, (Boston: Beacon Press, 1954), page 28. Back.

Note 46: Harry S Truman, "The Truman Doctrine: Special Message to the Congress on Greece and Turkey", March 12, 1947, 180th Congress, 1st Sess., March 24, 1947. Back.

Note 47: Richard Gould Adams, John Foster Dulles: A Reappraisal (New York, 1962), page 293. Back.