Moderation is the key to establishing and maintaining a secure, free, and prosperous society. Montesquieuian moderation is not the same, though, as the moral moderation we find in theories of virtue ethics. Montesquieu does not recommend that political actors embrace the moral or philosophical moderation found in Plato or Aristotle, for example. Montesquieu certainly does not think that political actors should attempt to inculcate citizens to adopt this kind of moral virtue. Rather, Montesquieu advises legislators to develop institutions and laws to produce moderate outcomes. Institutions should be structured such that different powers in the state check each other. The effect of these interactions and relations should be the establishment of security, liberty, and prosperity. Crucially, Montesquieu does not insist that only one form of government is capable of achieving a good, that is, free and moderate, political order. To the contrary, Montesquieu's politics of place presents four forms of government—aristocratic republics, federal republics, monarchies, and mixed regimes—as having the potential to produce moderate outcomes. Montesquieu also would have approved of liberal democracies had he had the chance to study them. Of all the forms of government Montesquieu studies, he only rules out despotisms and (ancient) democratic republics as incapable of producing a moderate political order.

This chapter will provide a deeper understanding of the institutions and practices Montesquieu thinks advance—or hinder—the establishment of moderate, free political orders. Here the focus is on what I call the “political variables.” The focus shifts to the “subpolitical” variables in chapter 4. We begin with the political variables because Montesquieu discusses them first, in parts I and II. He then moves, in parts III, IV, and V, to issues that are more particular, the subpolitical variables. Montesquieu's particularism comes out in his manner of proceeding. In the final sentence of book I he writes: “Then I will move to the other relations, which seem to be more particular” (I.3.238). Analytically, it makes sense to move from the more universal to the particularistic, and so we will proceed in this manner.

We set out first to examine Montesquieu's understanding of a moderate political order because this frames his analysis of different forms of government.

Montesquieu's political science is founded on the idea that each state needs a political, economic, and moral order best suited to that particular society. The keys to unlocking his political science are in the preface and book I of De l’Esprit des lois. Book I, chapter 3 is especially important, because here Montesquieu defines his enterprise and explains the order of EL. Montesquieu's goal is to explain how each state can overcome three “problems of politics”: conflict between states, between persons, and between state and person(s). States and citizens must be secure from internal and external threats to freedom and prosperity. To achieve this goal, Montesquieu introduces the framework that I call the “politics of place.” He insists that each state must discern which particular political order will address these problems most effectively. There can be no universal solutions to these matters. Rather, Montesquieu's recommendations are flexible and case sensitive. They take the particularities of a people into account when seeking to establish a good political order. Still, for “politics” to occur for Montesquieu, various conditions must be met; we consider them in chapters 1 and 2.

The key to addressing the problems of politics is Montesquieu's core concept of esprit. The esprit of a society is formed by a great many factors or variables. Montesquieu insists legislators must consider them carefully if they wish to understand and act prudently in a particular society. Esprit is so central because it defines—and is defined by—the society in which the politics of a particular place happen.

This reading of the “Introduction” to EL reveals the purpose and order of Baron de Montesquieu's magnum opus, something that has puzzled scholars since the work's publication. While some are tempted to skip ahead to Montesquieu's famous discussion of the forms of government in book II, the “Author's Foreword” (Avertissement de l’auteur), preface, and book I shed essential light on the order of a seemingly disorganized work. Montesquieu presents his project in surprisingly clear terms.

Lawmaking and the Politics of Place

The Introductory sections of EL culminate in Montesquieu's politics of place.

Is it possible to develop a universalistic account of the right political order? Many Enlightenment-era philosophers thought so. Consider the cases of John Locke and Jeremy Bentham. Locke, in his Second Treatise, develops a universal theory of political legitimacy. He asserts that men have natural rights, principally the right to life, liberty, and property. A government is legitimate, Locke claims, only insofar as it protects these natural rights. If a government does not protect these rights sufficiently, then the inhabitants of the country have a right, perhaps a duty, to dissolve the government. Sometimes, this dissolution must occur through force, as in a violent revolution. Locke's standards do not change over time and place— they are universal. Bentham's principle of utility is grounded in a universal imperative: to maximize the greatest good for the greatest number of people. This principle must guide all of our actions. Not following the principle is immoral and produces harmful consequences. Consider also G. W. F. Hegel, who follows in the Enlightenment tradition in important ways. Hegel, in his Lectures on the Philosophy of World History, identifies an endpoint toward which History, guided by reason and Geist, points. Hegel found this endpoint in the Prussia of his day. Many states will not reach this endpoint, and those that do will take particular paths to get there; nonetheless, it remains the universally best political order. We take these thinkers as emblematic of the universalistic thinking present in crucial parts of the Enlightenment including, on some readings, the American founding.

The framers of the US Constitution widely are believed to have worked within this Enlightenment-era ideal, too. The Declaration of Independence proclaims that it is a “self-evident” truth that “all men”—not just Americans— are “created equal.” Everyone is endowed “with certain unalienable Rights,” principally “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” Men institute governments to protect these rights. Whenever a government fails to do so, it becomes illegitimate and the people have the right “to alter or to abolish it.” In order to solidify these universal principles, the story goes, the founders crafted the US Constitution. Indeed, the writing and ratification of the US Constitution have been described as a “great rehearsal” toward what later thinkers would hail as the “end of history.”

The politics of place holds that, in order to establish and maintain a good society, it is necessary to examine the geographical, economic, and moral makeup of a society. Montesquieu demonstrates in parts III, IV, and V of EL that these are central aspects of any society; as such, it is necessary to consider how these factors function in a particular society in order to promote the ends Montesquieu identifies. I call these variables “subpolitical” because they are not necessarily directly political; but they impact politics and are critical components of any society. Physical factors such as climate and terrain inevitably influence the lifestyle of the inhabitants of a given place. Economic activity in the form of commerce has wide-ranging effects including the promotion of peace among nations. The religion(s) or beliefs of a people play a large part in determining how political actors can and must maneuver. Studying only the political issues will leave a political actor woefully unequipped to establish or maintain a good political order.

Legislators must consider the effects of the physical environment on the inhabitants of a place. Montesquieu argues that climate and terrain do more than simply impact a people's way of life; they change people biologically. Admittedly, some of his biological claims warrant skepticism. Turning next to commerce, Montesquieu sees it as a mechanism for effecting positive change in societies. Commerce helps make societies more secure, free, and prosperous. However, Montesquieu's approach to commerce remains particularistic insofar as he did not think that all states should engage in the same amount or type of commerce. Moreover, Montesquieu saw a darker side of commerce that some commentators tend to overlook. The case of Holland is illustrative, and so I examine the Dutch republic's commerce extensively. In the final part of the chapter I investigate Montesquieu's particularistic treatment of moral beliefs, or what he calls “religions.” He was an advocate of what I call “selective religious intolerance.” He thinks that there are instances when it is appropriate for a state to find nonviolent ways to marginalize, weaken, or remove a religion from a society. Montesquieu bases his judgments about the effects of a religion, and how the state ought to relate to it, on a deep consideration of how a particular religion fits into a particular place.

The politics of place affirms that all societies should be secure, free, and prosperous. These are universal goods in the sense that all states should establish and preserve them. The inclusion of prosperity in this list of Montesquieu's overarching goods is important, as scholars have barely treated prosperity in Montesquieu's thought. The three goods remain particularistic, though, because states should achieve and define them differently. That states should achieve these goods in their own way is unsurprising, given Montesquieu's insistence that myriad variables shape societies, and that these variables change over time. The claim that states can define these terms differently may appear more surprising at first glance. We will see, though, that Montesquieu thinks leeway is necessary when defining security, liberty, and prosperity. Still, the politics of place is not equivalent to relativism. Montesquieu is emphatic that not all political, economic, social, and moral orders are equally good, and that some are categorically bad. Montesquieu judges a state's goodness based on the extent to which it upholds these three goods. He singles out despotic orders as especially terrible. The politics of place is not the politics of any-old-place.

In this chapter, we will examine Montesquieu's particularistic understanding of security, liberty, and prosperity. We will investigate what he means by these key terms. We will identify general institutions and practices he finds conducive to achieving these ends, both generally speaking and within certain states. Montesquieu makes some recommendations that are universal in character but not in practice. For example, he thinks that all states need structural checks on various powers so that no person or group acquires too much power, but he contends that these checks should vary across time and place based on a careful study of a state's circumstances.

Security, liberty, and prosperity are Montesquieu's highest political goods. He views them as necessary for the establishment of a good political order. Only with all three goods can individuals live well and flourish. All three are necessary because being secure and free, but not prosperous, for example, means that a state still has significant work to do before its citizens can achieve their goals.

The core claim of the politics of place is that the politics, economics, and morals of a society must fit a particular place and its people. All states must commit to pursuing security, liberty, and prosperity. But they must have leeway in how they define and achieve these goods. This is a key reason why Montesquieu's particularism is more appealing than universalism. His claims are descriptive and normative. They are descriptive because factors differ significantly across time and place. The factors on which we have focused include laws, institutions, the environment, commerce, religion, and morals. These factors in turn form, and are formed by, the esprit or character of a society. Consider France and South Korea. Descriptively, they differ on many of these factors; consequently, they have distinct esprits. The politics of place assists us in understanding better how societies actually operate. This fundamental context defines the parameters of a society. What's more, it is dangerous to disregard the particularities of a place when attempting to make policies there. Legislators who do so often make undesirable, inappropriate, or harmful changes. The politics of place recognizes the fact that “one size does not fit all”; that is, the same regime (however good) is neither possible nor desirable in all times and places for all peoples. The politics of place is useful for analyzing and describing states independent of normative analysis. The framework allows us to understand better how societies operate. But it is the normative component that makes the framework more compelling.

The politics of place also tells us how societies should operate. By establishing that all societies must pursue security, liberty, and prosperity, the politics of place is useful for evaluating whether societies are “good,” “bad,” or somewhere in between. While some cases are clear-cut, the politics of place recognizes that there are many shades of gray when attempting to evaluate the goodness of states. A state might score well on some fronts, and not on others. For example, a state could be secure and free, but not prosperous. Rather than condemn the society in toto, the politics of place insists on a more nuanced evaluation. The politics of place thus is a mix of descriptive and normative analysis.

Montesquieu offers his readers a political education. This education teaches that both great and small esprits should favor particularism over universalism. Montesquieu intends for this framework to be useful for legislators as they seek to refound or enact changes in a state. Legislators gain tools to promote security, liberty, and prosperity. The politics of place also helps us evaluate better the nature and outcome of political events. We gain tools to judge the actions of legislators. Here we use the politics of place to evaluate a pertinent case: the American founding.

Montesquieu was undoubtedly the most influential philosopher during the American founding period. Recall that no other thinker was cited more from 1760 to 1805 in America; Montesquieu leads by a wide margin in the 1780s, the time when the founders were constructing institutions. Montesquieu is the only political philosopher delegates cited during the Constitutional Convention, according to James Madison's Notes on Debates in the Federal Convention of 1787. The founders turned to Montesquieu to develop the principles and structure of their government. They explicitly adopted Montesquieu's theory of a distribution (or, as they would call it, separation) of three powers, and then made it more republican. The American founding was a successful affair. Many subsequently hail the writing and ratification of the Constitution as a “great rehearsal” for the “end of history.” The American founding and its principles then appear as universal and, even, exceptional. And since Montesquieu was the philosopher to whom they turned more than anyone else, it seems that his teachings may be universal too.

In this chapter I use Montesquieu's politics of place to consider whether the American founding was exceptional. How are we to assess the accomplishments of America's Founding Fathers, above all the United States Constitution? To what extent, if any, should America—and its founding in particular—serve as an example to other countries? Might the founding be universally exceptional?

The question of whether or not America is exceptional goes back to the early colonists, and continues through today. America might be exceptional in religious, economic, or empirical terms. Christianity's central influence throughout America's history has led some to view America as religiously exceptional.

Introduction

Shortly after the return to peacetime in 1919, challenges to the reach of British medicine emerged that would persist throughout the interwar period. The national and imperial boundaries that had opened the world to British medicine during the war now shrunk in response to the preferences of reciprocating nation-states and Britain's evolving political relationships with territories and countries within and outside of the Commonwealth. These challenges varied in scale. On one end of the spectrum was the retraction of reciprocity with Belgium in 1922. This came as no surprise because Belgium had originally agreed to reciprocate only for the duration of the hostilities. The demands of Italy and the newly created Irish Free State did not so much undermine the influence of British medicine as underscore the political nature of reciprocity. Separately, they conditioned the continuation of reciprocal relations with Britain on replacing the British Order in Council—which facilitated the implementation of the reciprocity provisions of the 1886 Medical Amendment Act—with a bilateral agreement. This demand was more about the form of reciprocity than its substance. Neither agreement fundamentally altered the GMC's statutory authority in regulating admission to the medical register as originally set out in the Order in Council. For these two nation-states—one that had just come into existence after a prolonged civil war and the other now led by fascist nationalists— a bilateral agreement symbolized equality within the community of nations as much as the equality of professionals. For its part, Britain benefited as much as the other parties to the agreements. The creation of the Irish Free State may have territorially shrunk the United Kingdom. But the continuation of the regulation of the Irish profession through the GMC preserved the boundaries of British medicine. It also ensured the continuation of economic and social ties in the archipelago. The agreement with Italy ensured that resident British nationals would have access to British doctors. Correspondingly, Italian doctors operating within the boundaries of British medicine in the world would not be subject to differential treatment.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, conflicts in the Commonwealth increasingly called into question the legal rationale for the enforcement of the rights of registered doctors with third country qualifications to practice in another reciprocating territory or country. For most of the 1920s, the GMC defended the rights of registered doctors to local registration.

As James Calderwood, Louis Montrose, and others have reminded us, Shakespeare's plays are frequently self-referential, calling our attention to the fact that they are acts of performance. In so doing, they remind us of their artificiality, even as we are enjoying or being moved by the “reality” that actors create on stage through the practice of their craft. The customary way of exploring this dimension of Shakespeare's stagecraft is, of course, to follow Jacques in As You Like It by using the theatrical metaphor to describe our behavior in the world outside the theater. If the stage is a kind of world, then “All the world's a stage,” and, as the melancholy Jacques tells us, the traditional “seven ages” of a human life become, were we to apply to our own experience Jacques’ cognitive framework, “seven parts,” each with its own characteristic costume, voice, and movement (AYLI, 2.7.139– 66), and each, as Hamlet puts it, “actions that a man might play” (1.2.84–85).

But this way of thinking about the theatricality of life as analogous to the artificiality of theater preserves basic distinctions between the stage and the world, between art and life, between actors and audience. The prologue in Henry V reminds us, however, that the experience of theater is not well characterized simply as an audience's passively observing a group of actors create for that audience the illusion of reality, but instead is a collaborative experience in which the audience, along with the actors, has an active role to play. The prologue—a metadramatic role if there ever was one— begs “pardon” for the audacity of the efforts of those “flat unraised spirits” to “ cram / Within this wooden O the very casques / That did affright the air at Agincourt.” They clearly cannot do that, but must instead beg the audience to “let us, ciphers to this great accompt, / On your imaginary forces work”:

WHILE no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time, books, like graves, have a long history, as Donne describes it, of being “to more than one a bed.” Over time, scribal hands or printed texts come to coincide with individual inscriptions and marginalia, incorporating disparate times, places, and subjectivities within the book's inviting leaves. In these fields of materialized memory, discrete moments of engagement are preserved: the remains of reading as a lived experience of temporality, materiality, and recursive thought. Thus, the vicissitudes of reading, those instances of realization and change that characterize the cognitive act itself, shade into the frisson of recognition, a re-experiencing of something previously known. These coincident structures of signification invite “coincidental” structures of reading, raising questions about not only what we read but also how we may read it. Other physical features—bindings, damaged or missing pages, stray marks, or willful mutilation—also become recognizable features, constituting part of a given book's reading “matter.” Writing of the early modern commonplace book, Robert Darnton argues that reading and writing “belonged to a continuous effort to make sense of things, for the world was full of signs: you could read your way through it; and by keeping an account of your readings, you made a book of your own, one stamped with your personality.”

Examining mutilation and marginalia as opposed impulses that converge in the association of the material with the nominal, this essay explores questions of reading and recognition in the Durham First Folio, the prayer book of Lady Jane Grey, and a copy of Shakespeare's dramatic works mutually annotated by George Eliot and George Henry Lewes. In each of these instances an artifact aligns with identity, defining their association with one another in terms of the relationship to reading it occasions. For the Durham Folio, such association highlights the book as a commodity whose economic value is underwritten by the cultural capital of Shakespeare's name.