Jacques-Bénigne de Bossuet: Politics Drawn from the Very Words of Holy Scripture. Books IX-X. Patrick Riley translation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990.
The king’s chief support is God, who makes warrior-princes. In the Bible, God gave express commands to the Israelites to wage war, “order[ing] his people to make war on certain nations,” first of all the seven nations that lived in the land He had reserved for His chosen people (IX.i.2). God promised this land to Abraham and his posterity. That is why Saul was “punished without pity and deprived of royalty” when he ventured to spare the Amalekites (IX.i.2). These “were abominable nations, and from the beginning devoted to every sort of idolatry, injustice, and impiety” (IX.i.4). God had endured these nations with long-suffering patience, but in the end He “chased them from [the Promised Land] by a just judgment to give it to the Israelites,” to whom He gave laws restraining them from those evils. God initially did not will that the ancient inhabitants of these lands be dispossessed, or that blood-ties among them be counted as nothing, that their memory of ancestors be obliterated. But the giants who inhabited the wilderness across the river from Egypt were not only physically large but “bloody, unjust, and violent, oppressor and ravishers” (IX.i.6). They deserved to be conquered. In disobeying God after the founding of Israel, Saul was undoing what God had done.
Ordinarily, however, “God wills that men view these lands as given by him to those who first occupied them, who have remained in tranquil and immemorial possession” of them, reverencing their ancestors (IX.i.6). Esau was as much a son of Jacob as Isaac. Because God serves as “the father and the protector of human society,” no matter what their origins, “he wants to make all the ties of blood respected among men, in order (so far as possible) to make war odious in all sorts of ways” (IX.i.6). In this, Bossuet provides Scriptural confirmation of the principles of the Peace of Westphalia. There are, nonetheless, just motives for war, such as defense against unjust aggression, the refusal of safe passage on equitable conditions, and injury done to ambassadors.
Bossuet enumerates four motives for launching unjust wars. Ambition or libido dominandi is the first, as seen in Nimrod, the mighty hunter before the Lord who hunted men as well as beasts, “the first whom the love of power brought to invade neighboring land” (X.ii.1). Such men love war, undertaking it to satisfy their ambition by depopulating the earth, violating God’s command to multiply, to replenish it. If a conquered people shows resistance to the conqueror’s forces, if they dare to fight back against the invasion, he will “revenge himself for their resistance” (IX.ii.3). His pride inflamed, “he believes he has a legitimate right over everyone,” and “because he is the strongest, he does not view himself as an aggressor,” calling his “plan to invade the lands of free peoples” a matter of “defense” (IX.ii.3). They commit a sort of idolatry respecting their own flesh; “intoxicated by the success of their victorious arms, they call themselves masters of the world, and think their arm their God” (IX.ii.3). God will let them run, for a time, while “preparing a strict chastisement” for them” (IX.ii.4).
The other unjust motives for war are pillage or greed, envy of a prosperous neighbor, and the desire for military glory and “the sweetness of victory” (IX.11.7). And so, the Judean king Amasias, his taste for glory whetted by victory over the Edomites, provoked a war with the Israelite king Joas; Joas won. Similarly, Josiah fought the King Nechao of Egypt, with the same bad result. Bossuet teaches his readers not to be surprised at such outcomes. To undertake an unjust war, a war “without reason,” puts you at a disadvantage, whereas “a good cause adds, to the other advantages, of war, both courage and confidence”; “indignation against injustice augments power and makes one fight in a more determined and bold way” (IX.ii.9). One may reasonably believe “that one has God,” the “natural protector” of justice, “on his side” (IX.ii.9). After all, it was Jesus who said, “What doth it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and suffer the loss of his own soul?” (IX.ii.13).
Turning next to civil war, Bossuet offers six examples of such conflicts or near-conflicts. The first dispute began when the tribes of Reuben and Gad, along with half of the tribe of Manassa, erected a massive alter on their bank of the Jordan River; acting on the “false suspicion” that their brethren who lived in Israel proper imagined that the outliers were announcing a break with God (IX.iii.1). Once they were assured that the Judean tribes only wanted to reaffirm their allegiance, that for their part they worried that some day the Israelites might disown them, peace among the tribes remained intact. The second motive for civil war was exemplified when the tribe of Benjamin refused to hand over the murderers of a visiting Levite and his wife; in just punishment for this crime, the other tribes joined with the Levites in nearly exterminating the Benjamites. Another just cause of civil war is punishment of those who refuse conscription or refuse to give provisions to the army. To take from such “rebels and mutineers the fortresses which they abuse” “leaves an example to posterity of the punishment one gives them,” as “the public power must be armed, so that force always remains with the sovereign” (IX.iii.3).
Bossuet’s fourth example is the civil war between David, the divinely-chosen king of Israel, and Isboseth, son of a powerful warlord who had served under Saul and put his son forward as if he were the rightful king—essentially a coup d’état. Bossuet emphasizes David’s observation of jus in belo throughout this war, his “disposition to spare fraternal blood” and his refusal to enter any of the battles himself, by which decision he ensured that he would have no Israelite blood on his hands. “In a civil war a good prince must take great care of the blood of citizens. If murders happen, which might be attributed to him because he profits from them, he must justify himself o highly that the whole people is satisfied.” (IX.iii.4).
But David failed to rein in his ambitious eldest son, Absalom, who died in battle. Here, the motive for war was impatient ambition; with his father’s authority weakened by his adulterous affair with Bathsheba, Absalom moved to usurp the royal power. This example, which should not have been lost on the Dauphin, whose torpor and overall mediocrity made him an unlikely usurper in any event. Bossuet carefully veers away from this hint, concluding that the lesson to be derived from this example drawn from Scripture is that kings should always keep standing armies ready to defeat such schemes. [1]
His final example, like the first, highlights civil strife that ended well. The House of David faced a rebellion at a time when they were also being attacked by foreigners. [2] The rebels built fortresses and arsenals on Judaic territory. Despite this, God commanded that the Judahites make no war against “their brothers, rebels and schismatics though they were” (IX.iii.6). As always, God was right: the two sides eventually reunited in opposition to a land grab by the king of Syria, who counted on the division of the Israelites to keep them too weak to resist his aggression. “Through this one sees that, for the sake of peace and the stability of human affairs, kingdoms founded at first on rebellion are afterwards viewed as having become legitimate either through long possession, or through treaties and the recognition of earlier kings,” even though the rebels had defected from God Himself (IX.iii.6). Under such circumstances, the legitimate kings “should always show themselves most moderate, by striving to recover through reason those who had abandoned their duties” (IX.iii.6). And in God’s own time, He punished both sides, exiling to Babylon the children of Judah, who had fallen into sin after David’s death, and allowing the Kingdom of Israel to be conquered and assimilated by the Assyrians.
At those times God was pleased with the conduct of His people, He aided them in their battles. He nonetheless “wanted to harden them by giving them warlike kings and great captains,” lest their spirit soften into effeminacy (IX.iv). Hence “most of the battles of David were carried out in the ordinary way,” as indeed were most battles fought by most of the kings. “God wanted to make warriors and wanted to make military virtue shine brightly in his people,” lending “suitable resolution to the leaders, and intrepidity and obedience to the soldiers, on these occasions” (IX.iv.2). That was God’s reason for leaving some of the Canaanites alive, so that “Israel might be instructed by their resistance” (IX.iv.3). He gave them great captains and warlike princes in order to “shap[e] them for war,” and so they were shaped: “One cannot doubt that military virtue shone brilliantly in the holy people” (IX.iv.4). Even such women as Jahel, Deborah and Judith “excelled in courage, and performed astonishing acts” (IX.iv.5).
Although God does not love war, preferring peaceful kings to warrior kings (He did not allow David to present the Temple to Him, reserving that task to wise Solomon), war in defense of the people of God is not only just but “pious and holy” (IX.iv.6), an occasion “where the glory of dying courageously is worth more than victory” because it “leave[s] behind a reputation for valor which astonishes the enemy,” making such heroes “more useful to their country than if they remained alive,” so long as their love of glory aims at “defending one’s country and its liberty” rather than personal aggrandizement (IX.v.1). Soldiers so motivated will rush to certain death, as Samson did, but in so doing they make themselves more likely to gain the victory, as “anything is possible for him who knows how to despise his life” (IX.v.3). Yet heroics alone will not suffice. A just king will make war equitably and show moderation in victory, following the example of Abraham who gave his allies far more of the booty won in war to his allies than he kept for himself. Do not make yourself odious in a foreign land you have conquered.
Military commanders should be ready to speak to their soldiers before battle, “to ensure that soldiers have nothing in their hearts save fighting, and nothing in their memory which could dampen their ardor” (IX.v.7). He should invite those still gripped by fear to leave, and they should lead their men by example. As Gideon told his troops, “What you shall see me do, do you the same” (IX.v.11). As a result of such leadership, many of the tribes of Israel complained when they were not the first summoned to fight the enemy, an excusable resentment prudent leaders mollified by praising their bravery. Kings should reinforce esprit de corps with material support, military exercises, and suitable alliances. Frequent victory in war will deter potential enemies.
Bossuet concludes Book IX with several miscellaneous observations on peace and war. The prince should honor brave men. “This is the means of drawing brave men to oneself. If you take on one, you gain a hundred more. When men see that it is merit and valor that you seek, they begin to recognize the good you have done to others, and each hopes for it in his turn.” (IX.vi.1). He should also work for cooperation among his military commanders (“there is nothing finer in war”) (IX.vi.2), for obedience to orders among the common soldiers, and for stability in command, as soldiers more readily obey a commanding officer they have come to trust.
Above all, however, “it is good for a state to be at rest”; “the peace of Solomon’s time secured the conquests of David” (IX.vi.5)—likely advice aimed at the Dauphin, who seemed destined to succeed his warlike father. Peace is necessary because it allows the country to rebuild its strength in preparation for wars to come—and they will come, so “one must never forget war entirely” (IX.vi. 6). Solomon rebuilt cities, established Israelite colonies on reconquered land, and raised new and well-fortified cities as well. When war does loom, do not rush into it, keeping in mind “the uncertainty of events” (IX.iv.7). “Pride yourself neither in your power, nor in your diligence, nor in your happy successes, above all in unjust and tyrannical enterprises. Death, or some frightful disaster, will come to you from the side that you least expect it; and public hatred, which will arm the feeblest hand against you, will crush you” (IX.vi.7). “One must among all things know and measure his [own] powers” (IX.vi.9).
In foreign wars, secure the vanquished peoples by disarming them and severely punishing any violations of the peace treaties. In instances of war precipitated by “horrible outrages, as when the Ammonites injured David’s ambassadors, the king “wanted to make an example of them, which would leave eternally in all nations a feeling of terror which would deprive them of the courage to fight, by causing chariots armed with knives to pass over their bodies, in all their cities” (IX.vi.10). Bossuet immediately cautions that Christian emperors should refrain from such sanguinary practices, despite their exemplary value: “A Christian conqueror must spare blood; and the spirit of the gospel on this point is quite different from the spirit of the law” (IX.vi.10).
Book X continues the topic of “helps” to royalty, beginning with the importance of material support, revenues, but quickly turning to human support—the prudent governance of counsellors and ministers—before ending with warnings against what Bossuet announces in its title, the “inconveniences and temptations which accompany royalty and the remedies that one can bring to them.”.
Regarding revenues, Bossuet recommends that kings distinguish between expenses of necessity (particularly the necessities imposed by war and war-readiness) and expenses which sustain “majesty in the eyes of peoples and of foreigners”—not a physical necessity but a necessity of maintaining the authority to exercise rule (X.i.1). Although a prosperous state has no shortage of gold and silver, “the first source of such riches is commerce and navigation,” as Solomon understood (X.i.3). Building prosperity is one of the things peace is for, and Solomon, knowing his subjects not to be accustomed to either commerce or navigation, “knew how to link himself with the ablest traders and the most assured leaders in navigation who existed in the world,” the Tyrians, forging treaties with them; once Israelites had learned “the secrets of commerce” from them, they no longer needed the alliance (X.i.3). Second in importance to raising revenue is the land the prince owns—his ‘natural resources’ as we now say; “true riches are those which we have called natural, because they furnish nature with its true needs,” the “fertility of the earth and that of animals” providing “an inexhaustible source of true goods,” gold and silver having been invented only “to facilitate exchange,” not to horde as if intrinsically valuable (X.i.10). Third is tribute imposed on vanquished kings and nations (Israelites softened the sting of these impositions by calling them gifts), and last of all taxes. Taxes are just, but they should remain the least important source of royal revenue. True enough, “in all states, the people contribute to the public expenses, that is to say their own preservation; and the part of their goods which they give up secures the rest to them, together with their liberty and their tranquility” (X.i.6). But the prince must not “overwhelm the people” with high taxes; Bossuet quotes Solomon as John Locke (no Catholic advocate of absolute monarchy) would also do: If you blow your nose too hard you will bring out blood in the form of rebellion—in itself wrong in Bossuet’s eyes but also understandable (X.i.7). In general, the king should recall Jesus’ monition about rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. “Religion does not enter into the details of establishing the public taxes,” as every nation can set them for themselves; “the sole divine and inviolable rule among all the peoples of the world, is that of not weighing down the people, and to proportion taxes to the needs of the state and to public burdens” (X.i.9).
In all, “the true riches of a kingdom” are its people. “The pinnacle of felicity and of richness” consists of each one eating and drinking “the fruit of its hands every one under his vine and fig-tree, rejoicing”—the last phrase a quote from Proverbs (X.i.11). To increase this true wealth the king should, as per Aristotle’s advice, make the people “somewhat comfortable,” that is, middle-class. Discourage idleness, strengthen marriages, “make the education of children easy and pleasant” (X.i.12). Ban prostitution (which causes sterility by disease and abortion) and luxury, which elevates the rich at the expense of both middle class and the poor, providing the whole country with a bad example to emulate.
Along with their military commanders, guards, financial and secretarial assistants, the kings of Israel had priests and men of letters among their highest officials—a point that the learned Bishop of Meaux does not hesitate to emphasize. “The dignity of their priesthood was so eminent, that this splendor made it be sad that ‘the children of Israel were priests,'”—although, Bossuet hastens to add, they could not be real priests (X.ii.1). Even some of the military commanders were called men of letters, showing that “great men did not disdain to join the glory of learning with that of arms” (X.ii.1). And of course erudition among the Israelites meant first and foremost knowledge of God’s law. “Care for religion revealed itself not only through the part which the great priests had in the public business but also through the office of the king’s priest,” likely the overseer of “religious affairs in the house of the king” (X.ii.1).
Bossuet also esteems historical learning, made possible by the maintenance of accurate public records. Since there really is nothing fundamentally new under the sun, records of past events serve as a way to “consult the past, as a faithful mirror of that which passes before our eyes” in the present (X.ii.3). Still, circumstances change; hence the need for prudent counsel. The king must “join the histories of past times with the counsel of the wise,” men who know “the ancient customs and laws” but also “know how to make application of them to the matters that must be regulated in their times” (X.ii.3). “Such ministers are living records who, always brought to preserve ancient practices, change them only when forced by unforeseen and particular necessities, with a mind to profit simultaneously from the experience of the past and the circumstances of the present” (X.ii.3). The wisest kings are the readiest to take counsel from counselors chosen among men of discretion, having subjected them to the tests of experience and even suffering. Princes like Roboam, who listened to young men given to flattery, pleasure, cupidity, and undue haste, brought about political disunion. Yet, “whatever care the prince may have taken to choose and test his counsel he should not deliver himself over to them,” as this breeds contempt (X.ii.8). He must be alert to cabals among his counselors, as well as those in which they play no part. Although the counsel of men of importance, aristocrats, needs to be accommodated in order to give them no just cause for rebellion, a king should recall the example of the priest Joiada, who counseled King Joas of Judah for years; after his death, Joas listened to the princes of the kingdom, and they ruined him. Kings “have nothing to fear so much as bad counsels” (X.ii.15).
Even the Gentiles, even the Romans who persecuted Jesus and His apostles, won praise from the Holy Spirit when they conducted “wise policy” (X.ii.16). “Bellicose as they were,” the Romans seldom rushed into wars, preferring to “advance and secure their conquests still better through counsel and patience, than by force of arms” (X.ii.16). They also took care to hold up their end of their alliances; “their friendship was reliable” (X.ii.16). They cultivated their well-earned reputation for military prowess among distant countries, since an intimidated people is more readily conquered, later on. And they usually avoided petty personal rivalries, attending “only to the fatherland and the common good” (X.ii.16). While a republic, “they kept to the equality and modesty suitable to a popular state,” a point suggesting that the inequality and and tendency to immodesty suitable to a monarchy or an aristocracy—a regime of modern French characteristics—will need to address. Therefore, “be careful of the personal qualities and of the hidden interests of those from whom [you] take counsel”; “the Holy Spirit teaches us to take men through their most eminent qualities,” so don’t ask an atheist about religion or a coward about war (X.ii.17-18).
Know your counselors. Although “good counsel does not give intelligence to him who has none…it excites and wakens one who has it” (X.iv.4). Bossuet’s first example of a good counselor was a man whose counsels were despised: Samuel, who humbly acceded to popular demands to appoint a king other than his sons, whom the people distrusted, then retired to a life of neglect, a life in which he was not permitted to advise but only to pray for the king. “So fine a retreat left the people of God with an eternal souvenir of a magnanimity which till now has known no rival” (X.iii.1). Another model advisor was Nehemias, sent to govern Jerusalem by King Artaxerxes of of Persia, and who faithfully set out to repair the city and to establish justice there. “What is finest of all, is that he did all of this in the sight of God and his duty alone,” owing his conduct to “a solid piety, a perfect disinterestedness, a lively attention to duty, and an intrepid courage” (X.iii.2).
Samuel and Nehemias were entirely good men, a type perennially in short supply. Joab, the son of David’s sister, exhibited both great virtues—courage, piety, optimism at those times when David despaired, and loyalty. But he was also vengeful and ambitious, “one of those who will the good, but who want to accomplish it alone under the king” (X.iii.3). A sound counselor himself, he would not in turn take counsel from others; his loyalty bled over into jealousy.
Holofernes, the leading general of King Nebuchadnezzar, ruler of Nineveh and Assyria, numbers among the evil or decidedly unhelpful ‘helpers’ of a monarch. He invaded Israel at his king’s commands, destroying all temples that did not dedicate themselves to the worship of Nebuchadnezzar. “It is useless to expect religion in ambitious men,” as “the god of proud souls is always the one who contents their ambition” (X.iii.4). Such was Holofernes, who “dreamt only of satisfying his desires,” allowing himself to be seduced by Judith, who got him drunk and beheaded him in his stupor. The Assyrian troops were driven back, Holofernes in effect having permitted a woman to rout the Assyrians “by a single blow of her weak hand, more easily than a hundred thousand fighters would have done” (X.iii.4).
Aman (or, more usually, Haman), adviser to King Assuerus of Persia, was raised above all the great of the kingdom by his king. Only the Jewish Mordechai dissented. “What flatters the ambitious is the idea of omnipotence, which seems to make gods of them on earth” (X.iii.5). Infuriated at his one detractor, Aman intended not merely to murder Mordechai but to destroy all Jews, simultaneously “cover[ing] private vengeance with a more general order,” attacking the religion “which inspired Mordechai’s refusal,” giving the world “a more striking sign of his power,” and “because the hanging of a single individual was too little food for his vanity” (X.iii.5) “The happy favorite is full of himself alone” (X.iii.5), full of anything but the Holy Spirit. Assuerus’ Jewish queen, Esther, learned of Aman’s plot and devised a stratagem of her own, inviting the king and his favorite to a feast (which Aman was only too flattered to attend), then exposing the counselor’s intention to the outraged king. “Men do not know their destiny. The ambitious are easy to deceive because they themselves aid in the seduction, and because they believe all too easily those who favor them” (X.iii.5). When Aman got on his knees to beg mercy of Queen Esther, the king, entering the room after storming out of it, interpreted this as an attempt at seduction, sealing his counselor’s death warrant. “Confidence, once injured, carries itself to the most extreme feelings,” as seen in Assuerus’ mistaken but just sentence; his adviser, “deceived by his own glory,” became “the architect” of his own destruction,” hanged on the gibbet he had prepared for Mordechai (X.iii.5). Lesson for the Dauphin: Do not elevate one counselor over all the others, as you may corrupt his soul, destroying the virtues you esteem in him.
Know your counselors but, more generally, “know men well” by understanding the several human ‘types’ (X.iv). This is “one of the most necessary kinds of knowledge in a prince” (X.iv.1). Again drawing his examples from Scripture, which has the advantage of divine authority combined with historical accuracy, Bossuet identifies fifteen bad kinds of persons, ranging from “those who find nothing good except what they want, nothing just except what they want,” to the self-important, with gullible, lying, scoffing, braggartly, greedy, impatient, lazy, frivolous, indecisive, rash, obsequious, and rumor-mongering sorts in-between. The worst sort of all, who might be characterized by any number of these vices, is the false friend (X.iv.2). He “is the one who must be watched the most,” a “badly brought up soul with a corrupt heart” (X.iv.3). The best guarantee of genuine friendship is a shared fear of God, since “good faith is maintained under those eyes which penetrate everything” (X.iv.5). That goes for the statesman as much as for his counselor. “The evenness of his conduct is a sign of his wisdom, and causes him to be viewed as a man who is certain in all his undertakings,” as “neither humors nor prejudice alter him” (X.iv.6). Even unstatesmanlike, evil kings may credit the advice of a religious man, for “religion causes fear even in those who do not follow it,” whereas “superstitious terror which is without love makes men weak, timid, defiant, cruel, bloody—everything that passion wills” (X.iv.7). In still another suggestion that kings should heed the advice of men like himself, Bossuet remarks that many of the ancient kings surrounded themselves with a Council of Religion.
Even nearer to the prince, and indispensable to an orderly succession, his family must remain unified, as Solomon and Job succeeded in doing and as David attempted to do, with mixed results. And he must take care of his own person. Unlike more fanatic Christians, who regarded medicinal treatment as a blasphemous compromise of reliance on God, God Himself “has not condemned medicine, whose author he is” (X.v.2). What God does forbid is putting undue confidence in medicines and in physicians, exclusive of God, “who alone blesses remedies,” the maker of them and the true director of their use” (X.v.2).
Bossuet concludes Book X by describing the disadvantages and temptations royalty is heir to, along with remedies for those disadvantages and temptations. Pride, disobedience to God and His law, lust (e.g., David with Bathsheba), self-delusion, and “attachment to one’s will” are the (as it were) occupational hazards of royalty (X.vi.1). Absolute power wielded by one man can be very good, so long as the one who wields it understands that there is “no barrier against it,” no built-in guard against shamelessness and rapine (X.vi.1). “There is no temptation to equal that of power, nor anything so difficult as to refuse oneself something, when men accord you everything, and when they dream only of even exiting your desires” beyond what you yourself imagine (X.vi.1). Authority is both necessary and easily abused. Given the absolute character of the monarchy Bossuet favors, he needs to offer effective guards against arbitrary rule.
There are remedies for the temptations of monarchic rule, fifteen remedies “which God himself has ordained to kings against the temptation of power,” the power He has given them (X.vi.2). First, princes should know the upper and lower limits of their power: not only does every ruler rule under a “superior empire, which is the empire of God,” who prepares “a more rigorous justice and a more exquisite torture” for those who defy His rule than any tyrant can devise (X.vi.3), but princes should remain mindful of their own mortality, which “throws together the prince and the subject,” making “the fragile distinction between them” far “too superficial and fleeting to merit being counted” (X.vi.4). Scripture shows that God even punishes His favorites, such as David, making an example of him for all monarchs by showing that the only road back to royal glory is penitence. God’s love is corrective before it is restorative. Impenitent princes—Saul, Belshazzar of Babylon, Antiochus of Syria—all were struck down by God in His justice.
The prince must respect God, but also “respect the human race,” especially the judgment of posterity (X.vi.9). And he must respect the future regrets of his own conscience, which punishes evil acts unknown to history.
Ask yourself, King, “Does God fear my power?” If not, “what mortal is hidden” from His justice? (X.vi.11). Blessed are the poor in spirit—not those materially poor, who may be as arrogant as the wealthy, but the humble, those “who know how to detach themselves from their riches” and “to deposit themselves before God through a true humility” (X.vi.12). King David himself prayed to be “humbly minded” (X.vi.13, from Psalm 130). And, acting under God, the king should “make himself attentive to all his duties,” as forgetting God “is the greatest of all evils” (X.vi.14). His private conduct should match the goodness of his public actions, setting an example for family and subjects alike.
Bossuet concludes with an account of “the true happiness of kings,” which he humbly draws not from his own reflections but those of Augustine, who reminds kings that their good fortune is God’s gift, their happiness found in “rul[ing] with justice,” yearning not “empty glory” but animated by “the love of eternal blessedness” (Conclusion: Augustine, The City of God I, V, xxiv).
Notes
- Such armies need not be large and burdensome, since a king can conscript additional troops, as needed (IX.vi.12).
- He later remarks that revolts are most likely during times of transition between one king and another. This is “a moment of weakness that one must always watch with extra care, if one wants to ensure the public peace” (IX.vi.11).
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