Echoing the many pessimistic predictions about the future arising from the frantic pace of urbanization throughout today's globe, the United Nations recently estimated that in 2008 the proportion of the global population living in urban areas had reached 50 per cent and further predicted that in 2030 six out of ten people on this earth will be city dwellers. Existing cities, the report continued, cannot absorb this influx of residents, and the ensuing crises will be particularly extreme in much of Africa and Asia, where governments are simply not equipped to address what will be overwhelming demands for housing, healthcare and employment.Footnote 1 The gloomy predictions may very well be justified, but it is perhaps also useful to recall that this is not the first period of rapid urbanization in history and not the first to provoke fears of socio-political disorder, moral collapse and demographic disaster. Urban history may reflect these fears, but it still reflects as well the hopes that urbanization has inspired. And, for this reason, it may be useful to gain insight into how historiography presents these shifts in how generations of historians have looked upon the urban phenomenon and have considered it, at given moments and in a given context, to be also a token of progress and of modernization. In what follows, I shall focus on this ambivalent vision and how it is contingent upon the changing paradigms in history itself. Since most of the examples and models have been designed on the basis of urban experiments in medieval western Europe, I will refer to cities from that part of the world in the first place, though many visions that their experiences have underpinned were designed to be applied on a broader and more general scale.
While historians have long acknowledged these cities’ importance in western European history, for they were the nodes of the commercial revolution that gave birth to the modern market economy, they have not consistently been interested in urbanity itself – what it meant to live in cities, why people so ardently sought to live as urban citizens and what rights and privileges attended their status.Footnote 2 The uneven history of their explorations reveals a great deal about the ideological underpinnings of much of our historiography, and the principal purpose of this article is to investigate the ways that the lives of historians themselves and the history of our profession have had a lot to do with the way scholars have told – or not told – the story of urbanity in this age.
This historiography is in many respects a reflection of bourgeois values and bourgeois ascendancy, and to enshrine it as the full story of Europe's urbanization is to write out the many horrors that attended the rush to cities in this or any other period of history, western or global, including our own age. At the same time, however, we would be unwise to dismiss either the history of medieval cities or the historiography that has given us the stories we have about them. For all our nostalgia about country values and rural pleasures, after all, westerners today choose to live in cities, and they have been making that choice for centuries, ever since that epoch over a half a millennium ago when people first made commercial cities powerful actors in European politics. By 1500, just after the first wave of European urbanization that allows for quantification, one can posit that about 15 per cent of the population in western Europe lived in cities. This number hides important ‘regional’ differences, for at the same moment the two most urbanized parts of Europe, northern and central Italy and the southern Netherlands, were up to 30 per cent urbanized, a proportion that as always needs to be put in context and to be critically examined regarding the standards used.Footnote 3 By 1800, the global figure for European urbanization had risen to about 21 per cent, but with industrialization the pace of urbanization increased dramatically so that already by 1910 just over 50 per cent of Europeans were urbanites.Footnote 4
My claim is certainly not that the late medieval city was simply an early version of western cities today, nor is it that they should serve as direct models for urban policy-making today. Some of the fears that medieval cities inspired amongst the secular and ecclesiastical powers of the day, and many of the attractions that drew people to cities in the later Middle Ages, are at work today.Footnote 5 That conflicted history of repulsion and attraction ineluctably returns us to historiography itself, where the city has alternately been portrayed as the hotbed of the evils associated with modernity, on the one hand, and on the other as the crucible where modernity gave birth to extraordinary innovation and creativity.
Historians’ ambivalence
Like history itself, historians’ accounts of European urbanization have been an unstable mix of light and dark – celebration on the one hand, condemnation or suspicion on the other. This alteration reveals a great deal not just about our historiographical traditions but also about the history that gave rise to these traditions. Historians of the late nineteenth century saw medieval urbanization in a largely positive light, as the seedbed of modernity, and they understood modernity to mean a specific form of ‘democracy’, embodied by the driving and creative bourgeois forces of society. This understanding of urbanity was closely tied to the professionalization of history writing, the emergence of what is still called ‘scientific’ history writing in Europe.Footnote 6 What is particularly interesting here is that it was in the advanced industrialized and urbanized parts of Europe, limited at that period to western Europe, that what Peter Clark has characterized as a ‘town history’ with a ‘boosterism’ quality took root. In these texts, industrial and commercial advancement, communal cultural life and public resources, civic pride and civic identity were celebrated. In short, cities were beacons of modernity. And modernity was almost without blemish.Footnote 7
It is no wonder that one of the leading historians of that generation, indeed one of the greatest historians of medieval urbanity, was the Belgian Henri Pirenne (1862–1935). The son of a successful entrepreneur in textiles in the booming industrial town of Verviers and a firm believer in progress and liberal politics in the context of the nineteenth-century nation-state, he became the incarnation of renewed urban history and the voice of a generation of historians.Footnote 8 The history of the recently constructed Belgian nation-state (Belgium came into existence only in 1830 after having split from the united Netherlands), eager to justify its existence alongside ‘big’ European powers such as France and Germany, was to become Pirenne's best-known work: his Histoire de Belgique. Pirenne's personal ‘openness to innovation, the key sign of modernism’ made him, to cite further the qualification of Pyenson and Verbruggen, ‘an apostle of modernism’, just as the nation, whose history he so successfully described in a publication that made his reputation as a first-ranking scientist in the eyes of the bourgeoisie, incarnated modernity.Footnote 9 At the end of the nineteenth century, the same nation was, indeed, one of the strongest industrialized nations and hence a successful illustration of the collective energy unleashed by the bourgeois and capitalist spirit.Footnote 10 It was evident to Pirenne that such a story belonged to cities and that the history of urbanity in Europe had ineluctably led to this moment. Pirenne's fascination with cities began early in his professional life, with his Ph.D. thesis of 1883. Describing the constitution of the medieval town of Dinant, a city along the Meuse, he set the tone: ‘J'ai cherché à faire, pour une ville belge, ce qui a été fait, pendant les dernières années, pour tant de villes allemandes et françaises.’Footnote 11
Although known primarily as a social and economic historian, Pirenne was also an institutional historian, as Jan Dhondt perspicuously pointed out in a 1966 article entitled ‘Henri Pirenne: historien des institutions urbaines’.Footnote 12 In fact, a careful reading of Pirenne locates him as a predecessor to many of the scholars associated with the new Institutional Economics, and it is those studies rather than Pirenne's more famous Mohammed and Charlemagne that have best stood the test of time. Pirenne was also a beneficiary of the then dominant tradition of positivist and historicist scholarship, which emphasized careful analysis of sources, respect for ‘facts’ retrievable from them alone and the technical skill needed to extract that information. History was thus professionalized as a ‘science’, just as was announced by the banner behind which Gabriel Monod, the director of the influential Revue historique, marched in 1883 during the funeral of the French radical republican Gambetta: ‘l'histoire est la science maîtresse’.Footnote 13 That approach was evident even in Pirenne's early articles on urban constitutions, which appeared in 1893–98 in the same journal. These studies in urban history culminated in his 1910 Les anciennes démocraties des Pays-Bas.Footnote 14 If we now return to these studies, we are struck by how successfully the extent to which Pirenne was able to combine and bridge the best elements of the dominant schools of history writing of the day, the French and German. Pirenne had received part of his training in both Paris and Berlin (and Leipzig) and was very much aware that he was writing the history of what he called ‘le point sensible de l'Europe’ where the Germanic and Latin parts of the continent met and merged.Footnote 15 In the second phase of his career during the Great War, which broke out just when he had acquired international recognition, he would discover, however, just how ‘sensitive’ a place this was.Footnote 16 Despite that unhappy future, Pirenne's scholarship combined, as did none other, the best elements of both traditions and helped bridge stubborn divides between socio-economic, institutional and cultural history. This combination gave Pirenne an almost holistic view of the positive effects of an urbanity that combined peculiarly urban institutions with the creative powers of generations of merchants and highly skilled artisans in the two most urbanized parts of Europe: northern and central Italy on the one hand, the Low Countries on the other.Footnote 17 At the centre of these histories were studies of communal organizations, guilds, confraternities, all of which were thought to express a set of values and a sense of collectivity that had almost religious inspiration. Pirenne's interpretations, although perhaps most clearly summarized in his Anciennes démocraties, reached their widest audience in the little book he published after his grand tour in the United States in 1923, Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade. Acclaimed as a classic from the start, it is still read in university classrooms throughout the English-speaking world.Footnote 18
Collapse of a paradigm
Yet after the Great War, it was impossible to sustain the optimism about cities and the modernity they represented. For Pirenne, as for almost all of his contemporaries, there were no more intellectual certainties. Just like the medieval monuments that were destroyed in the course of the war – the great drapery hall of Ypres, the old university library of Louvain, the cathedral of Reims – celebratory histories of cities were in ruin. Historical scholarship itself seemed illusory; it was ‘the end of a great illusion’ as the Italian medievalist Cinzio Violante has put it in describing the state of mind of Pirenne and his fellow historians after 11 November 1918.Footnote 19 Scepticism about society's foundations and especially about ‘progress’ and modernity was now the rule, doubt also about history's capacity to trace clearly any such development and thus to serve as a guide in making choices about the future. Urban history itself seemed beside the point, for it could no longer serve as the laboratory for studying progressive modernity. Speaking particularly of British historiography, Peter Clark has emphasized that it was not only that the German tradition, which had once so profoundly influenced the study of urbanity, was unpopular and unfashionable after 1918, but also that the aversion to urban history was intensified by what he characterized as a ‘growing trend against cities in British culture’.Footnote 20 The decades after 1918 thus saw an outpouring of publications and research on rural history; in this wave of nostalgia of the 1930s, scholars emphasized the culture of the countryside, a place of supposed simplicity and purity that had been almost destroyed in the trenches of World War I. Although we do not yet have similarly detailed studies of this trend in Belgian and German historiography, there is no doubt that there too rural history displaced to a large extent urban history. It was only in certain places like the Scandinavian countries that had kept out of World War I that urban history prospered.Footnote 21 In Germany, the much acclaimed book by Oswald Spengler on the fall of western civilization voicing the intellectual despair during the Weimar Republic situated twentieth-century Germany in the winter phase of human history, characterized by ‘tendencies of an irreligious and unmetaphysical urban cosmopolitanism’.Footnote 22
Rescue came indirectly, in the form of the French Annales school.Footnote 23 The Annales did not in the first place attach the same importance to urban history as had been the case in the preceding period of historicism, when books such as the classic handbook, even bible, of historicism, the Introduction aux sciences historiques of Charles Seignobos and Charles-Victor Langlois (1863), dominated.Footnote 24 Both Marc Bloch and Lucien Febvre, the founders of the Annales, had been at the front during the Great War, and both invested much scholarly energy, Bloch in particular, in rural history.Footnote 25 Gradually, however, the emphasis that Annalists put on economic and structural elements provoked a renewed interest also in urban phenomena – the urban economy, the effects of commercialization on social relations and the meaning of city space – all recalling the kind of history Pirenne had written (who, not incidentally, had originally been asked to head up the Annales). It was, however, the so-called second generation of the Annales, under the direction of Fernand Braudel, that made a clear ‘urban turn’. It began with regional studies such as Pierre Goubert's seminal book on the city and countryside of Beauvais in the early modern period (1960), which became a model for this approach. By then, the combination of rapidly accelerating urbanization in France and the intellectual exhaustion of rural studies put towns again on the (historical) research agenda. That Braudel himself was also significantly influenced by Pirenne and knew his work very well also helps explain the Annalists’ (tardy) ‘urban turn’.Footnote 26 In his Civilisation matérielle of 1967 (the first of the three-part series), Braudel thus described the essential function of cities: ‘Pas de ville sans marché et pas de marchés régionaux ou nationaux sans villes . . . Enfin, pas de villes sans pouvoir à la fois protecteur et coercitif.’Footnote 27 In other words: no city without market and no city without the power both to protect and to coerce. Pirenne could easily have written this sentence.
There were other moves in a similar direction, most notably among the Chicago school of urban sociology. In the years after the Great War and led by Robert Park (1864–1944) and colleagues, these scholars offered a analytical model for the study of cities from a socio-spatial perspective, thus pioneering an urban ethnography of social behaviour that focused less on classes and groups than on interactive behaviour among individuals and groups. Their interests lay in the affective dimensions of communities undergoing the abrupt transition from local place to urban grid: ‘The city is a state of mind, a body of customs and traditions, and of organized attitudes and sentiments that inhere in this tradition.’ Footnote 28 Their approach was first registered among British historians in the work of men like Asa Briggs and H.J. Dyos, but in the decades since has left its mark on all research on urban history, including medieval urban history.Footnote 29
The Germans: absent, then present
The Germans, once at the centre of western historiography and chief architects of nineteenth-century urban historiography, were, however, largely absent from these developments, isolated in traditions constipated by attacks on Rankean method and later contaminated by Nazism and its uses of historiography. European historical scholarship in the Pirenne tradition, once a brilliant merger of the French and German traditions, was now coming apart, and urban historiography suffered as a result.
The important German tradition reached back well into the middle of the nineteenth century. Focusing on the legal, political and economic institutions and on the constitutional authority that took root in the urban world, with works by historians Otto von Gierke (1841–1921), Gustav von Schmoller (1836–1917) and Karl Lamprecht (1856–1915) and by sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies (1855–1936), the Germanic tradition reached its apogee in the years before and shortly after World War I.Footnote 30 Lamprecht in particular had personally and profoundly influenced Pirenne, but their relationship would come to a dramatic halt during World War I when Lamprecht endorsed the ‘Aufruf an die Kulturwelt’, an apology for the German aggression against Belgium in 1914.Footnote 31 Lamprecht even came to Brussels in 1915 in order to convince his Belgian friends that it was Belgium's destiny to be part of a new German Empire.Footnote 32 But he came in vain: he did not even succeed in meeting Pirenne in person and got no closer than the office of Guillaume Des Marez, a direct student of Pirenne and by that period professor at the Free University of Brussels and city archivist.Footnote 33 The breach with the German tradition was a matter of intellectual divergence but also, and given the personal histories involved, a deeply felt event for people like Pirenne, Bloch and others who had suffered as a result of World War I.Footnote 34
On the German side, however, there were several different historiographic voices. The cultural science (Kulturwissenschaft) of Max Weber (1864–1920), and Georg Simmel (1858–1918), was fundamentally different from the cultural history (Kulturgeschichte) of Karl Lamprecht, which was positivist, developmental and finally nationalist, its nationalist bias becoming quite clear when Lamprecht acted as one of the 93 subscribers who signed the ‘Aufruf an die Kulturwelt’ on 4 October 1914.Footnote 35
Max Weber was probably the most influential representative of the German tradition, and it was his version of medieval urban history that would dominate after the crises of both world wars. Like Pirenne, he argued that the western city, born in the central and late Middle Ages, was identified not only by its market functions, but also by its corporative capacity to produce and execute its own laws. In effect the medieval coniuratio, which Weber understood to be an expression of what he called a herrschaftsfremde Charisma, was essentially a form of emotional community based on a mutual contract. In this, Weber owed much to Otto von Gierke's notion of free unity (Freie Einung), but he drew his prime examples from the Italian commune in its most classical form, which dated from the thirteenth century, the period of the so-called popular regimes.Footnote 36 His posthumously published and unfinished book Die Stadt (the city), drawn from the writings he had left in the journal Archiv für Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik under the title Die Stadt. Eine soziologische Untersuchung, made the argument crystal clear: the western city was simultaneously a defensive organization, a market, the independent generator of law and justice, and the possessor of rights to self-government.Footnote 37 Weber's ideas about the city were not always well understood, however, and his arguments are sometimes misrepresented in contemporary scholarly literature.Footnote 38
Not surprisingly, in the immediate aftermath of the Great War and during the Weimar period – not to mention the period of fascism – historical research was manipulated and subjected to ideological agendas that violated the terms both of older historicism and Ranke's positivism as well as ‘scientific’ history writing more generally and Weber's form of historical sociology.Footnote 39 In their place came an approach propagated by Stefan George and his followers, who provided a reductive reading of a great philosophical tradition reaching back to Nietzsche, which had argued that history was best considered a guide for the Volksgemeinschaft, the people's community – and that the job of historians was to provide lessons from the past, useful for both the present and future.Footnote 40 While Stefan George may have worked hard to make a revival of a ‘secret and eternal Germany’ reminiscent of the imperial grandeur of the past, and may even have contributed to undermine the Weimar Republic, his spiritual endorsement of the new nationalist movement of Hitler did not mean he engaged himself at the latter's side. For one thing: he never allowed himself to become a member of a nazified cultural organization. Since he died in 1933, he did not have to witness the reality of the new regime that had come to power in the same year.Footnote 41 In the cultural climate imposed on Germany in the years following the coming to power of the Nazis in 1933, history, and so too urban history, did not have to make claims to truth in either a Rankean or in Weberian sense; it had to be a servant of ‘life’. Hence, although Weber had distanced himself from Rankean positivism and historicism, his effort to replace that paradigm with a more holistic and cultural approach fell before this powerful criticism that, born of political ambition and a dominant ideological frame, easily trumped both Rankean historicism and the ‘objectivity’ it promised as well as Weberian abstractions.Footnote 42
In both Weimar and Nazi Germany, the anti-urbanism of historical scholarship was, in effect, a version of anti-modernity which in itself implied hostility to all things urban.Footnote 43 The result was a clear shift towards Landesgeschichte and agrarian and territorial history, an approach that would prove useful in laying claims to European territory.Footnote 44 Historians would thus easily be lost in what has been labelled the ‘Night and Mist’ (Nacht und Nebel) of the Nazi party. Already by the late 1920s, the Rhine had become a Schicksalsstrom (river of fortune); on its left bank, in France, was the Nouvelle Histoire of the Annales scholars with its interest in individuals, groups and their mental and social constructs, while on the German right bank the dominant tone in historical research was linked with notions such as Volk and Gemeinschaft – with their pernicious subtext of race and blood.Footnote 45 In reaction, after World War II and the Nazi period, there seemed to be a return to an ideal of Rankean objectivity and the explicit rejection of the idea that historical scholarship had direct relevance for contemporary society and politics. As in Ranke's day, historians returned to the study of the state and political history understood as the recitation (or recovery) of facts. The kind of history associated with Marc Bloch and the Annalists found few adherents.Footnote 46 That Bloch had been murdered by the Nazis surely had something to do with this, but, as we have seen, urban history was late to be put on the agenda by the Annalists as well. Clearly, however, the Germans would have done well to ask what they could learn from their French colleagues.Footnote 47
Urban history thus seemed to have no direct future in Germany and only in France under Braudel's generation of Annalists did there seem to be stirrings of new interest in urbanity. But it was in Western Germany, not France, that urban history, particularly medieval urban history, found new life, a life going back, directly or indirectly, to Weber and to another great German tradition, that of the history of law. In this particular respect, the work of Hans Planitz (1882–1954) Die deutsche Stadt im Mittelalter (dating from 1954) needs to be mentioned.Footnote 48 Planitz belonged to a tradition of legal historians who, in Germany and abroad, have dominated more specifically the research agendas concerning both the character and the origins of urban constitutions.Footnote 49 The general move in Germany is, however, best represented by Edith Ennen (1907–99), professor in Bonn. Although trained in the tradition of Landesgeschichte and a student of Franz Steinbach (1895–1964), she made her name internationally with Die Frühgeschichte der europäischen Stadt (1953). Gradually – very gradually – Weber's ideas found new life in what was beginning to be called Städtegeschichte (urban history), although at the still active Institut fur vergleichende Städtegeschichte (Institute for Comparative Urban History) at the University of Münster, founded in 1969 by Heinz Stoob (1919–97), a student of Hermann Aubin (1885–1969), the initial approach was neo-Rankean.Footnote 50 In keeping with that tradition's emphasis on fact gathering, objectivity and neutrality, the Institute produced urban atlases and the like. Although hardly useless exercises in a nation where most cities had been reduced to rubble and traces of the medieval past buried, the work nevertheless lacked interpretative power.Footnote 51 Ennen's book of 1953 was a follow-up to her Die europäische Stadt des Mittelalters als Forschungsaufgabe unserer Zeit (The European medieval city as research programme for our time) which had first appeared in 1941 but was subsequently re-issued in several editions. There, Ennen had first distanced herself from the Landesgeschichte that until 1945 had been conceived as a tool for the present and brutally put into service by the Nazis, under Franz Petri's (1903–93) Westforschung programme. Like both Aubin and Steinbach (both Ennen and Stoob were their students), Petri belonged to the war generation and had been at the front in World War I; their revisionist views made them hostile to Pirenne and his school.Footnote 52 During the occupation of Belgium the Nazis imposed this programme on Belgian universities.Footnote 53 Pirenne, long the bête noire of the Westforschung, would have turned in his grave.Footnote 54 The Westforschung project was devoted to the study of the border regions west of the Rhine, a project intending to offer historical and geographical insight that would legitimate a revision of the peace (Diktat) of Versailles that had been ‘imposed’ on Germany at the end of World War I.Footnote 55
Of course, German historians did not all embrace the crude categories of Nazi ideology that easily; many of them and certainly the representatives of the older generation continued to consider history as an apolitical subject, meaning essentially it was not tied to party politics. The professional organization of the historian's guild, however, was subject to a deliberate attempt to nazification.Footnote 56
But Ennen's book, whatever its murky origins in a tradition of highly politicized scholarship were, left a wake, inspiring a new body of work on the medieval city as a political body that uniquely combined individual rights with collective values. Cities in this mode were considered to have generated cultural interaction by facilitating the sharing of social space and thereby to have produced and protected artistic and socio-political experimentation. City dwellers were, in effect, ‘forced to be free’, and came to understand that their freedom was bequeathed by the community and won in community struggle. This insight was most prominently brought forward in yet another great tradition which after World War II revived in the former German Democratic Republic. It is probably not a complete surprise that the man who was responsible for the continuation of a certain view on urban history in the former DDR or Eastern Germany, though he himself never became a member of the communist party, was directly linked to Henri Pirenne. Heinrich Sproemberg (1889–1966) had indeed been formed in the great German tradition of among others Gustav Schmoller, and belonged personally to the liberal tradition of the Berliner bourgeoisie.Footnote 57 When he came to intellectual maturity, however, he saw his chances of an academic career thwarted, first because of his critical stance towards the military and political logic of Wilhelmine Germany, afterwards in the course of the Weimar Republic and during the Nazi period, for reasons of intellectual jealousy and racial prejudices, since he was partially of Jewish descent. He recalled this hesitant start in the profession in one of his last works, an autobiographical sketch in which he put his intellectual relationship to Henri Pirenne at the centre. Sproemberg had indeed written abundantly on subjects related to Belgian and Flemish history and in doing so had first established intellectual contacts with Pirenne in the months before World War I had started. Both men would continue a mainly epistolary relationship till very shortly before Pirenne's death in 1935.Footnote 58 Sproemberg, condemned to an existence in the margins of historical research till the end of the Nazi regime and the establishment of the German Democratic Republic, kept the bonds with Pirenne and with Marc Bloch and the French Annales historians alive, however.Footnote 59 His own scientific activities promoted first the study of religiously inspired social movements, and second in importance the study of the commercial organization of the German Hanse. Both were important items with direct links to urban history, though of course the latter was so in a much more explicit way. The Eastern German link to urban history evident in both Pirenne and Weber and in the study of societal modernism was advanced in several works, all of them inspired by Sproemberg or by his students’ scientific activity. This influence is clearly discernible in works by Erika Engelmann on the communal movement and by Evamaria Engel on the ‘German city in the Middle Ages’.Footnote 60 In a very bland mode, even after the German reunification after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, Engel acknowledged Marxist inspiration, referring to Marx's interpretation of medieval communal movements, an interpretation which he in turn had based on the analysis already made by the French historian Augustin Thierry (1795–1856).Footnote 61 Therefore both in Western and in Eastern German historiography, bridges were constructed to overcome the many gaps ahead: the conceptual one between Marxist and liberal historiography, the temporary one separating actual research from the great tradition of Max Weber and his predecessors, von Gierke, Schmoller and the like.Footnote 62
In a recent survey of German medieval research, Otto Gerard Oexle concludes that historians now agree that medieval society was as much a ‘communal’ society as a ‘feudal’ society. His prime examples – and there could be many more – were taken from the work of Gerhard Dilcher (who has also written extensively on Max Weber) and Eberhard Isenmann.Footnote 63 Both scholars emphasize the importance of brotherhood-like organizations in urban society: in the organization of burghers, of artisans, of religious and economic organizations, in the maintenance and inculcation of peace and control of behaviour.Footnote 64 Peter Blickle, inspired both by Weber and the Lamprecht tradition of the late nineteenth century, has pleaded for years, not least in a European ESF programme concerning the coming about of the modern state, that the notion of Kommunalismus, one of the key notions (he uses the word Elefantenbegriffe), captures the ethic of medieval society just as much as do other concepts like feudality, parliamentarianism and so on.Footnote 65
Of course, Blickle not only refers to urban movements when he speaks of communal movements, but the city played a fundamental role in the development of this concept. It is also important to understand that this principle cannot be extended to all European medieval cities, for they did not all meet this standard. Both Pirenne and Weber took cities of the southern Low Countries and northern/central Italy as their examples and tended to extend the model far beyond these boundaries. These were the two poles of what urban historians and geographers used to call the ‘blue banana’ – the urban belt stretching in the form of a banana over Europe, linking south-eastern England, the Low Countries, the Rhineland, western Switzerland to northern Italy. While hardly representative of all medieval cities, it is nevertheless true that they were centres of artistic accomplishment and economic energy of such a scale as to produce a cultural pattern that others sought to emulate.Footnote 66
Knut Schulz's synthesis of scholarship regarding the twelfth- and thirteenth-century communal movement in this so-called blue banana makes exactly this point and brings us close to the present. His too-often ignored book ‘Denn sie lieben die Freiheit so sehr’ (‘They loved liberty so much’ perhaps not a title apt to attract the right audience) was published in 1992.Footnote 67 A year earlier, the University of Leipzig had founded a ‘Karl-Lamprecht Gesellschaft’ – a significant move in a nation that had recently been unified and perhaps a signal of the return of an historiographic tradition that had been abandoned for almost a century.Footnote 68
The new historiography in historical context
As we enter the second decade of the twenty-first century, we perhaps have sufficient distance to assess these developments, now 20 to 30 years, even more, in the making. Seen from this perspective, the historiography just reviewed has led scholars to take up, anew, questions concerning the relationship between individual rights and political organization at the level of the city, region and state alike. Contemporary political developments surely helped fuel the interest – the collapse of the east–west divide and the end of the ‘cold war’, which had dominated European history since World War II, along with the discussions around the enlargement and institutional deepening of the European Union. These changes may be considered a European variant of larger processes involving globalization, the emergence of a modern communication society and the consequently ever more rapid mobility of people, things, ideas and diseases – the very issues that so concerned policy-makers at the United Nations when they warned of the dangers attending global urbanization today. For historians, an associated question is the following: are we prepared to keep the nineteenth-century nation-state as our frame of reference, or should we take much more seriously the different levels at which community, individual rights and duties and political order are constituted?
The recent work on medieval urban history discussed in this article can help with this question. As Knut Schulz commented in the introduction to his overview of the different twelfth-century communal movements, the old discussion of whether medieval society was really ‘democratic’ is irrelevant. Rather, four issues should govern our study of these societies: the spatial organization of political activity and of public debate; how rule was legitimated; what duties and rights attended self-government; and individual rights and liberties. The first issue, that of the ‘public’ and ‘space’, recalls Jürgen Habermas’ Öffentlichkeit, a concept that has inspired work across fields and chronology.Footnote 69 Habermas of course spoke of another age and did not intend ‘space’ in quite the same material way as it is intended in studies of medieval cities.Footnote 70 Research ever since has made the medieval city one of the loci where such a political space was prominent.Footnote 71 Yet, another recent survey of medieval social history, this one focused on England, makes a similar argument. In discussing the question of whether the Middle Ages knew an ‘individual’ in the sense traditionally thought to have been produced during the Renaissance by a cultural process of ‘self-fashioning’, Miri Rubin argues that in late medieval society (and I would emphasize ‘urban’ society) growing individualism interlocked with participation in collective communal endeavours.Footnote 72 Similarly, Richard Britnell, in his discussion of economic life in Britain's comparatively modest urban settings (London is of course the exception), stresses that a commercial mentality necessarily produced or at least combined with a sense of collectivity because decisions about commerce had to be taken by the group as a whole even if individuals were to reap their separate rewards.Footnote 73 Herman Pleij's studies of Dutch vernacular literature in the late Middle Ages exposed the same issues: individual rights and freedoms were achieved – and understood to have been achieved – in collective action.Footnote 74
Thus, historians of the medieval city and of medieval culture more generally may be on to something. In a multitude of ways, the medieval commune was indeed an experiment in communal living, an effort to reconcile individual and collective needs. Schulz is also right: the question of whether these cities were ‘democratic’ is what the French call a ‘faux problème’, or yet another manifestation of a too simple Whig view of history, since in most parts of Europe centralized states made the dream of urban independence just a dream or, as was the case in Italy, most of the communes evolved into city-states dominated by a small group of elite families, eventually giving way to a ‘signoria’ under the princely authority of one family. The Italian example, in fact, gives the lie to the overly optimistic views of Robert Putnam's Making Democracy Work regarding the resilience of the medieval ideal.Footnote 75 Nevertheless, the medieval communes succeeded in launching a set of social and legal constructs which in the long run did have a fundamental influence in the search for an equilibrium between private interest and the commonwealth, the bonum commune. Footnote 76 As Aaron Gourevitch observed in his classic book on medieval culture, the fundamental input of medieval urbanity was a crucial one: the type of the ‘burgher’, member of a free and independent urban community. However highly developed on the cultural level the cities of both the Byzantine and Islamic world may have been, they failed to develop this social type, the basis for further social and economic developments that help to explain the European Sonderweg.Footnote 77 But more than the set of rules and texts, however important they may have been for further developments, the coming about of the first real Republic on Europe's soil (‘the fear of some, the envy of others and the wonder of all their neighbours’ as the famous quote from Sir William Temple in 1673 goes), the Dutch Republic, cannot be explained without referring to the centuries-old accumulation of urban ideology and political practices in the medieval communes of the southern Low Countries where so much began.Footnote 78
Although, as I hope to have demonstrated, the history of the medieval city has been consistently informed by the ideological predilections of its historians, it may nevertheless be worthwhile to return to the debates put on the agenda by preceding generations, by Pirenne, Weber and so many others. Urban history and urban studies are indeed booming in many respects: the number of new reviews and research programmes that focus on the city and the success of individual conferences bear witness to that energy. Reorienting history towards what distinguished it as urban offers a possible way out of the stalemate and suffocating specialization that historical research seemed to be heading towards in recent times. Historians and students of urban society have begun to understand that the medieval city was, if not the birthplace of ‘democratic modernity’ in the celebratory mode of nineteenth-century historiography, an experiment in social organization that produced a unique partnership between the individual and the collective. It will do well to consider what made that happen, made it work and made it fail, when thinking about the present.
In his famous Apologie pour l'histoire ou le métier d'historien (1941–42) Marc Bloch recalls a 1928 visit with Henri Pirenne to Stockholm following an international congress held in Oslo. Both men had just arrived, and Pirenne asked ‘Qu'allons-nous voir d'abord? Il paraît qu'il y a un hôtel de ville tout neuf. Commençons par lui’ (What will we see first ? It seems that they have a brand new city hall here. Let's start by visiting that). And Bloch adds that Pirenne seemed to want to prevent him from asking a question by adding ‘Si j’étais antiquaire, je n'aurai d'yeux que pour les vieilles choses. Mais je suis un historien. C'est pourquoi j'aime la vie’ (If I were an antique dealer I would be interested in old things, but I'm an historian, that's why I love life in all its diversity).Footnote 79 A lesson, perhaps, for historians today as they contemplate our urban past.