Thomas Cromwell's association with various writers has long been noted, but how these authors' writings might reflect his personal religious beliefs has not been closely studied. An examination of one such author, William Marshall, and of his work, reveals not only that Cromwell was likely a Lutheran, but that he used the press to promote doctrinal Protestantism in England. Through Marshall, Cromwell sponsored English translations of doctrinally radical texts by Martin Luther, Joachim von Watt, and Martin Bucer. And when these books got Marshall into trouble, Cromwell protected him. The picture that emerges substantiates John Foxe's description of Cromwell as a ‘valiant soldier and captain of Christ’, but also the charge made in his bill of attainder, that he had circulated heretical books.

This article examines the relationship between religious debate and constitutional conflict in the 1590s, focusing on the status of ecclesiastical law and the right of the church courts to impose ex officio oaths upon English subjects. It argues that Richard Cosin, a client of Archbishop Whitgift and the leading apologist for the government's use of ex officio oaths, used the issue to make a series of aggressive and controversial assertions of state power. These theoretical claims did not involve sovereignty or the powers of the monarch – the issues usually addressed by historians of political thought – but rather the much more theologically charged question of the line between public authority and private conscience. As such, Cosin and his supporters transformed the raw materials of conformity and anti-puritanism into a view of the state and its coercive powers that seemed to threaten both the common law and the Elizabethan regime's own claims that it did not make ‘windows into men's souls’.

This article, through a detailed examination of the private papers of the English landed elite, argues for the important place of anger in early modern society. It investigates the verbal expression of rage, from irritation to fury, in men and women: why it was aroused, how it was articulated, its effects, and in what circumstances anger was regarded as a legitimate response. Anger was a forceful invitation to renegotiate unsatisfactory aspects of relationships. It spotlighted deficiencies in duty, unacceptable conduct, disrespect, broken promises, and frustrated expectations. The article also challenges the prevailing approach to the history of emotions and suggests that we move from a model of linear repression to one of situated experience. Rather than postulating the gradual suppression of unacceptable emotions, historians should examine the conventions governing the expression of emotions in context, as well as the many perspectives on what was acceptable behaviour and what was not. Focusing on the situated use of emotions brings to light the different emotional mentality of the seventeenth century which linked emotions in unfamiliar ways. It also enables to us to uncover the interaction of emotions and how individuals engaged in daily life with cultural scripts, as well as bringing us closer to unravelling the emotional system of early modern England.

The historiography of English republicanism is dominated by the concept of classical republicanism. Its greatest shortcoming has been neglect of that subject's religious dimension. The consequent need is not simply to recover the radical protestant republican religious agenda. It is to explain why, when classical republicanism came to England, it did so in the moral service of a religious revolution. One context for the answer lay in Christian humanism. Another was the reformation, both magisterial and radical. Both informed the practical identity of the republican experiment as an attempted reformation of manners. So did the rational Greek moral philosophy, as indebted to Plato as to Aristotle, common to certain humanist and Christian political languages. In addition many of the themes of republican writing reflect the struggle by a traditional society to respond to unsettling forces, not only of political and religious, but also social and economic, change. Drawing upon all of these contexts, republican writers attempted to oppose not only private interest politics, embodied by monarchy or tyranny, on behalf of the public interested virtues of a self-governing civic community. This was part of a more general critique of private interest society; a republican attempt, from pride, greed, poverty, and inequality, to go beyond the word ‘commonwealth’ and reconstitute what Milton called ‘the solid thing’.

Through an analysis of the debate between Charles Davenant in England, and Arthur Dobbs, Thomas Prior, and Samuel Madden in Ireland, it establishes that the founders saw the society as a response to Ireland's dependent status in the emerging British empire. The Dublin Society distinguished itself from other improving societies in the British Isles because it explicitly represented a new principle of sociality. The article describes the cultural origins of that principle arguing that a diverse set of groups converged on the ideal of association as a new form of order. The article concludes with a consideration of Madden's understanding, derived from his commitment to improving associations, that Irish national life was best understood as the pursuit of happiness rather than justice or virtue.

William Pitt the Younger died in 1806 but had a long afterlife in political argument. Historians have argued that a reactionary cult of Pitt in early nineteenth-century toryism died with Catholic emancipation, but this article suggests that invocation of Pitt's character was more widespread and durable, because linked to the assertion and defence of party identities. Whig hostility to Pitt remained strong even in the middle of the nineteenth century. Lord John Russell attacked his character flaws to celebrate the continued vigour and distinctness of Foxite political culture within the Liberal party. Conversely, use of Pitt in argument about what the tory party should be like did not end with reform. In the 1830s, traditional celebration of Pitt as a stern opponent of revolutionary agitation survived within a supposedly moderate conservatism. In Peel's second administration, arguments about whether Pitt had been firm or flexible, liberal or intransigent, reflected and added to disputes about how much religious and economic liberalism Peel should endorse. It was schism between Peelites and protectionists, the article suggests, which broke the clear link between celebration of Pitt's character and one party, allowing a more wide-ranging, because less politically charged, appreciation of Pitt to develop.

This article outlines Richard Wagner's conception of music-drama during the period in which he formulated his intentions for composition of the epic Ring of the Nibelung. Attempting to renew rather than to restore the communal, political nature of Attic tragedy, he wished to transform that model from celebration of the Athenian political order into a savage critique of the contemporary political order, indeed into an incitement to and celebration of revolution. Wagner was determined to restore the dignity of art, a dignity he believed to have been lost in the pursuit of base, commercial considerations; but this determination should not be confused with the idea of art for art's sake. Instead, he wished to renew art in a socialist, even communist, sense as the paradigm of free, productive activity. The direct revolutionary experience of participation in the Dresden uprising of 1849 bolstered his conviction of the necessity of such a transformation. With his magnum opus, Wagner wrote, he intended to ‘make clear to the men of the Revolution the meaning of that Revolution, in its noblest sense’.

One of the most profound challenges facing the Labour party in the post-war period was its ability to understand and make policy to reform the private sector. Before the Attlee government, Labour had little to say on this issue, but that government's experience exposed the dangerous ‘vacuum’ this involved. In the 1950s the nature of the capitalist firm ranked alongside the alleged ‘embourgoisement’ of the working class as an issue framing Labour's ideological and policy debate. The centrality of this issue reflected the fact that understanding the firm was inextricably linked to a raft of broader arguments within the Left about the nature of modern capitalism. The benign view of the corporation that flowed from the revisionist wing of the party was challenged by the ‘declinist’ politics of the 1960s, and in office after 1964 Labour pursued a modernizing agenda which centrally involved seeking to shape the behaviour of the private sector in order to deliver the higher economic growth that Labour so much desired. The failure of this growth to materialize led to great disillusion across the party about the policies pursued by the Wilson government, and this in turn led to a fundamental rethink of policy that was to underpin the radical agenda of the party in the 1970s.

This article examines the relationship between the consumer and the citizen from the eighteenth century to the present in Europe and the United States. Part I highlights the political narrative underlying the opposition between courtly consumption (absolutism) and the inconspicuous consumption of the middling sorts, and explores early formulations of the relationship between consumption and democracy. Part II looks at the first half of the nineteenth century, defined by the opposition between consumers (coded feminine, and as ‘despised’) and citizens (coded masculine, and as ‘restrained’). Part III goes from the 1860s to the 1930s. American historians have emphasized the positive political agency of consumers in this period, and their contribution to the notion of social citizenship. This article emphasizes the less democratic aspects of consumer politics, and the contributions of anti-liberal movements on the extreme left and right to a stronger tradition of social citizenship in Europe. Part IV takes Lizabeth Cohen's claim that a ‘Consumers' Republic' was forged in the US in the post-war period, and casts the Marshall Plan and the Cold War as the context that gave rise to an international negotiation over the relationship between consumption and democracy that continues to the present.

Hardly two decades old, historians of gender and colonialism might well claim to have invented a whole new field of scholarship: gender and colonialism specialists draw as much of their intellectual inspiration from each other as they do from the nation- or region-bound fields in which they research and teach. As the field of gender and colonialism has developed and expanded, it has been faced with two significant challenges. One is whether the concerns of gender and colonial history have affected the concerns of older fields in history, such as economic, political, labour, and military histories; recent assessments of imperial history suggest that gender is considered a marginal category of analysis. Another challenge is how to define and study gender and colonialism so that it does not replicate the inequalities and hierarchies of colonialism, so that we study colonizing and colonized societies in equal measure.

Intellectual developments since the mid-1960s have served to assist the efforts of those responsible for American policy in the Vietnam war subsequently to empty the history of that conflict of ethical critique. This article argues for the necessity of ethically informed historical enquiry and, with respect to Vietnam, proposes that there now exists the best opportunity for a generation for scholars to construct a fresh and credible moral history of the war. Increasingly, we have access to the perspectives of the ‘other side/s’: the revolution in the south, the Democratic Republic of Vietnam regime in Hanoi, the People's Republic of China, and the USSR. An examination of the motivations and interactions of these parties, combined with the continuing exegesis of American policy debates, makes clear just how critical concerns (and failures) of ethics were to the development of the conflict. In particular, it clarifies the manner in which US leaders abdicated responsibility in exaggerating the relatively limited strategic challenge that they faced in south-east Asia. Vietnam was not a ‘necessary war’; nor can the decision to fight it – given its predictable consequences for south Vietnamese civilians and American soldiers alike – simply be explained away through the discourse of the honest ‘mistake’.

The Lancashire working classes, c. 1880–1930. By Trevor Griffiths. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Pp. viii+390. ISBN 0-19-924738-2. £55.00.

Labour in crisis: the second Labour government, 1929–1931. By Neil Riddell. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999. Pp. xi+267. ISBN 0-7190-5084-7. £45.00.

Classes and cultures: England, 1918–1951. By Ross McKibbin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Pp. xiii+324. ISBN 0-19-820853-3. £18.99.

The Labour party in Wales, 1900–2000. Edited by Duncan Tanner, Chris Williams, and Deian Hopkin. Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2000. Pp. xiii+324. ISBN 0-7083-1586-0. £35.00.

Labour's first century. Edited by Duncan Tanner, Pat Thane, and Nick Tiratsoo. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Pp. x+418. ISBN 0-521-65184-0. £25.00.

Red Flag and Union Jack: Englishness, patriotism and the British Left, 1881–1924. By Paul Ward. Woodbridge: Royal Historical Society/Boydell Press, 1998. Pp. viii+232. ISBN 0-86193-239-0. £35.00.

Austerity in Britain: rationing, controls and consumption, 1939–1955. By Ina Zweiniger-Bargielowska. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Pp. xiii+286. ISBN 0-19-820453-1. £40.00.

Publishers and historians have been unable to resist the opportunity provided by one hundred years of ‘Labour’ to subject the history of the party to fresh scrutiny. Centenary history, however, must rest upon an assumption of continuity. In this case, it is assumed that there is a clear line of descent from the Labour Representation Committee formed in February 1900 to the ‘New Labour’ of the present. There is nothing improper about writing the history of a political party on this basis. Yet, as with other social movements, it is no vast discovery to observe that parties change through time as circumstances and conditions change. The accompanying rhetoric, however, has often skated over such disconcerting realities. When Labour celebrated its half-century, for example, its rise was presented by its chroniclers as a ‘forward march’ in which were enrolled ‘those of all ages and all classes’ who were not afraid to fight for the progress of mankind. Mr Attlee, in his foreword to the volume by Francis Williams, put the matter somewhat differently. Labour's story, he claimed, was very characteristic of Britain. It recorded ‘the triumph of reasonableness and practicality over doctrinaire impossibilism’. It was to be only a decade later, however, that various contemporary observers asked themselves whether the ‘tide of history’ had turned against the party. In the 1970s and 1980s, indeed, commentators and academic writers almost invariably reached for words like ‘crisis’ or ‘decay’ as they contemplated its fate. It looked, indeed, as though the ‘forward march’ might be going nowhere.