Behind Guy Fawkes: The Persecution of English Catholics

 V

“Please to remember the Fifth of November,

Gunpowder Treason and Plot.

We know no reason why Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.”

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So run the famous lines that the British know from Guy Fawkes Day, and which everyone else knows from V for Vendetta. Yet perhaps you have never noticed the ambiguity of this stanza, which V exploits in the movie. Why should the Gunpowder Plot never be forgot? V may take it as a reminder to oppose power whenever it wields its fist too absolutely, in order to make the government fear the will of a united people. But the lines can be interpreted differently.

I was not fully aware of the circle of devastation Guy Fawkes would have created had the plot succeeded. You can see below the damage he would have done—not only to the government buildings in Westminster, but to the surrounding area.

Blast areaDavid Cannadine, who wrote the introduction to Gunpowder Plots, says, “To be sure, the stakes were very high in November 1605: if the gunpowder had exploded, the entire Commons and Lords, plus King James I and his court, would have been blown to oblivion, in a destructive carnage that might have surpassed that of 9/11 in terms of numbers killed, and would certainly have exceeded it in terms of the collective might and power of those who had been taken out.”

Why then has this 400-year-old holiday persisted, a celebration of a terrorist attack? Most likely, because it was unsuccessful. Guy Fawkes, along with the rest of the conspirators, was Catholic. Those Christians who followed the Pope were seen to owe their allegiance more to Rome than the monarch, who was head of the Anglican church. As such, there is a long history of repression and persecution of Catholics in English history, including several conspiracies—both real and imagined by paranoid Protestants—in which Catholics struck back.

Henry VIIIIt could even be said that a small sect of radical Catholics, a minority within a minority, were the Islamicists of their own day. However, the eye of God had discovered Fawkes red-handed, according to Protestant polemicists; he and his fellow conspirators were betrayed, discovered, and summarily executed for treason. The failure and discovery of the plot was understood as divine deliverance, and it became a matter of English pride to remember how God had so delivered their nation from evil. Protestants knew “no reason why Gunpowder Treason / should ever be forgot.”

For centuries after, Catholics remained on the fringe of English society. Though Catholicism had been the state religion at the beginning of Henry VIII’s reign, he had changed it to Anglicanism in 1559, for political reasons and, of course, so he could famously divorce his queen, Catherine of Aragon. Certain historians have seen Catholicism as an accident of English history, an obstacle to be overcome in order for the “true” national character of a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP-ish) England to evolve.

If Guy Fawkes were among us, no doubt he would tell a different story. Which is why starting this week and ending 5 November, I will relate the history of the Gunpowder Plot and attempt to demonstrate how Catholic English history can offer a different perspective from the Whig (conservative Protestant) understanding of English history.

Problems started for Catholics in 1559 with the Act of Supremacy, which established the Protestant Crown. The Act removed foreign influence from the running of the English state, cutting off ties with Rome. King Henry VIII held jurisdiction over not only state matters but the ecclesiastical and spiritual policy of his entire nation. Was this hubris? Thomas More, a high-ranking ecclesiastical adviser, certainly thought so. He was executed for opposing the king’s divorce and his break with Rome. Later, More became a Catholic saint.

tintern abbeyHenry VIII was notorious for tearing down the monasteries in England after breaking with the Church. Have you ever seen a picture of Tintern Abbey? Abandoned Gothic walls standing in space, roofless, the stone floor replaced with grass: that was Henry’s doing. Monasteries were church property and so had to be seized. He gave the land to his favourite courtiers, tearing down walls, shattering windows that were seen as idolatrous, and even stripping the lead used in the roofing, which was useful and valuable. In consequence to the Dissolution of the Monasteries, many libraries and books were lost to Henry’s rampaging vandals, although a few cataloguers attempted to preserve what ancient knowledge they could.

ElizabethThe monks were gone, but it was time for the Pope to strike back: on 25 February 1570, he condemned Queen Elizabeth I in a bull (a “bull” is not a cow, but a papal document that has the force of church law). Since the Virgin Queen had decided, after a long deliberation, to remain Protestant and continue Henry’s work after the Catholic interval of Queen Mary’s reign, the Pope declared the Elizabeth a heretic. As I recall, this bull not only excommunicated her—a condemnation of her soul to hell—but gave the assassin who killed her a dispensation to commit murder.

The source of the many Catholic plots that were sprung afterwards have their origin in this bull of excommunication. Guy Fawkes and his crew were merely trying to fulfill the wishes of the papacy, and bring an end to the persecutions of so many of his compatriots who had suffered under the Protestants. Recusancy laws, for example, obligated Catholics to attend Protestant church services. Although many attended service in order to keep up appearances—some even genuinely converting—those who did not attend could be fined, or worse.

The Gunpowder Plot was certainly not the only attempt to kill Queen Elizabeth that surfaced—although many “plots” were the paranoid imaginings of terrified Protestants. When a real plot happened, it often confirmed those fears. None was ever successful, though some came close. Here are the names of a few famous plots:

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The Ridolfi Plot – 1571

Roberto di Ridolfi, a Florentine banker, travelled between Brussels, Rome, and Madrid while hatching a master plan to overthrow the Queen. He planned a foreign invasion to bring Queen Mary, Elizabeth’s cousin who had ruled briefly as a Catholic, to the throne. The Duke of Alba would invade with an army, stir the northern nobility into rebellion, kill Elizabeth, and marry Mary to the Duke of Norfolk. However, Elizabeth’s intelligence networks trapped them. Charles Baillie, a messenger for Ridolfi, was captured and tortured into revealing the plot. Ridolfi escaped because he was not in England at the time.

2.

The Throckmorton Plot -1583

Queen Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting Elizabeth Throckmorton had a cousin who became a conspirator, with the aim of restoring Queen Mary. Henry I, the Catholic Duke of Guise was to invade, backed by the Pope and King Philip II of Spain. Francis Walsingham, the Elizabethan spymaster, found out about it. In 1584, Sir Francis Throckmorton was executed.

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babingtonThe Babington Plot – 1586

Probably the most famous of all Catholic plots against Elizabeth, the Babingon Plot happened two years before the Spanish Armada, and ended with the beheading of the Queen Mary, who had for so long supported the Catholics while under house arrest. Catholic leaders in England condemned the plot. Sir Anthony Babington led the English Catholic forces and planned to assassinate the Queen, while Spanish forces prepared to invade the country and plant Queen Mary on the throne. Thomas Morgan and Charles Paget worked in Europe to organize Mary’s conspiracy. The whole thing came apart when Babington detailed the names of the conspirators and the nature of the plot in a secret letter to Mary—which was intercepted and deciphered. He was arrested while trying to secure travel on a ship to Spain. Babington was hanged, drawn, and quartered on 20 September 1586, while Queen Mary was beheaded on 8 September 1587.

4.

Lopez Plot – 1594

Francis Walsingham, Secretary of State, and the bane of numerous plots against the life of Queen Elizabeth
Francis Walsingham, Secretary of State, and the bane of numerous plots against the life of Queen Elizabeth

Doctor Roderigo Lopez was no Catholic. Though he was a Spaniard, he was exiled because of was a Marrano, or a closeted Jew. He attained an elite clientele once in England, acting as physician to Francis Walsingham and even Queen Elizabeth herself in 1586. For all appearances, he was a loyal Protestant. However, in October 1593 a plot was uncovered against Dom António of Portugal, who the English supported in favour of the present Spanish king. Robert Devereux, earl of Essex, accused Roderigo Lopez of conspiring to poison the Queen. The Lopez Plot may have been real, or it may have been only perceived; there is debate. However, Devereux, despite being the Queen’s favourite for a while, was known in the past to be a bold, reckless individual who disobeyed the Queen’s orders on military campaigns.

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After Elizabeth’s death from natural causes (24 March 1603), James VI of Scotland assumed the throne, becoming James I of England. Catholics around the country hoped that the change would bring more toleration. However, they would be disappointed. And a select group of men would dedicate themselves single-mindedly to the task of blowing up the entire court of King James I.

Persecution of Catholics did not relent after James I assumed the throne.
Persecution of Catholics did not relent after James I assumed the throne.

Next week: The Gunpowder Plot.

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Works Cited:

Buchanan, Brenda, David Cannadine, and Justin Champion, et al. Gunpowder Plots. London: Penguin, 2005.

Haynes, Alan. The Gunpowder Plot: Faith in Rebellion. Dover: Alan Sutton, 1994.

Marotti, Arthur F. Religious Ideology and Cultural Fantasy. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005.

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Picture Credits:

Anthony Babington: http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/TUDbabington.htm

Francis Walsingham: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Walsingham

The Guy: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-489089/Bonfire-night-cancelled-Guy-Fawkes-home-town-health-safety-killjoys.html

Henry VIII: http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/tudor.htm

King James I: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:King_James_I_of_England_and_VI_of_Scotland_by_John_De_Critz_the_Elder.jpg

Queen Elizabeth: http://www.behindthename.com/name/elizabeth

Tintern Abbey: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tintern

V: http://wall.alphacoders.com/by_sub_category.php?id=172190

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Ancestral Memory Point of View Experiment

Miles Desmond, in Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, sitting in an Animus: a machine that enables you to revisit ancestral memories and travel through time. But how to represent the experience of entering such a memory in fiction?
Miles Desmond, in Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood, sitting in an Animus: a machine that enables you to revisit ancestral memories and travel through time. But how to represent the experience of entering ancestral memories in fiction?

Over the summer, I was debating what kind of new short story I should write, when I found myself gravitating towards the technical challenges and experimentalism that the Assassin’s Creed franchise might inspire in fiction. What really got me thinking was how to represent the experience of entering an Animus in fiction.

Altair
Altair

The Animus machine in Assassin’s Creed splices two consciousnesses. Tracing ancestral memories through a subject’s DNA–an intriguing bit of pseudoscience–an animus can make you re-experience the memories of distant ancestors. In the game, the modern-era protagonist Desmond Miles revisits worlds of Crusade-era Jerusalem as his distant ancestor Altair, then sees Renaissance Italy through the eyes of Ezio Auditore, before experiencing the American Revolution through the eyes of Connor, a Mohawk.

There are certain rules to the Animus. For example, the bleeding effect: too much time spent in the Animus can cause your visions of the past to appear, ghostlike, in the present. This can lead to madness, as it does with Subject 16 in the game. Also, it is (or should be) impossible to view later memories of an ancestor, if he or she conceives or bears the next child in the subject’s bloodline. The child’s DNA would contain the ancestral memories of both parents, but later memories of his or her parents would be lost, since chromosomes are obviously not given to children after conception. The possible conflicts inherent in this conundrum are not explored in the game. In fact, they are outright ignored in Revelations.

The synchronization bar essentially serves as the life meter in Assassin's Creed.
The synchronization bar is the life meter in Assassin’s Creed.

Thirdly, there is the entire concept of “synchronization.” In the game, Desmond’s DNA grants him access to certain early memories, but only through completing memory sequences can he uncover later, or even repressed, memories. Synchronization is an organic way to explain why Desmond must progress through a series of “levels” in the game. But is Desmond passive to Ezio’s memories, or does he engage actively with them? Most of the time, it seems that Desmond is only seeing through Ezio’s eyes what happens. However, if you kill a civilian, fail to complete a level, or die in the game, you “de-synchronize” with Ezio’s consciousness. Desmond has to repeat all the actions Ezio performed in real life. But he does them in a kind of liminal space between history and the player’s failures to “synchronize” perfectly. For example, when you die in the game, especially by doing something stupid like falling off the top of a church steeple, a common reaction is to sarcastically groan, “And so that’s how Ezio died…” and slam the controller on the ground. The skill of players–and Desmond himself–must coincide with Ezio, or all is lost.

Ezio in Venice
Ezio Auditore conspicuously breaks through a crowd in Piazza San Marco, Venice, in Assassin’s Creed II. To what extent does Desmond control what Ezio does?
Connor, aka Ratonhnhaké:ton: the first Native American Assassin
Connor, a.k.a. Ratonhnhaké:ton: the first Native American Assassin

All this to say, there is a nonlinear nexus where Ezio’s actions can coincide with Desmond’s or not, a kind of free, Matrix-like world created in the universe of artificial experience that the animus creates. This space not only causes us to ask, “Is this the real world, or just an illusion?” but even makes us ponder, “Is Ezio’s history real, or is the world created by the Animus itself, only an illusion, like a computer game?” (Perhaps Abstergo Industries, the all-powerful organization that invented the Animus, controls perceptions of the past in this way. THAT would make waves. A dilemma never addressed in the game.)

Now that those who may be unfamiliar with Assassin’s Creed have an idea of how the Animus is supposed to work, let me address my initial question: how can literature represent the unique consciousness of a subject like Desmond in the Animus? Two minds vying for the same stream of consciousness make it a challenge to write well–even omitting the whole paradox of synchronization.

Dumbledore extracts his memories through magic, to store in a pensieve.
Dumbledore extracts his memories through magic, to store in a pensieve.

Before I get into my analysis, I must clarify that the challenge of the Animus POV extends much, much farther than the world of Assassin’s Creed and its novelizations (none of which use experimental language). One common science fiction and fantasy trope, to cite one example, involves aliens and other creatures who are able to share memories instantly with other organisms, at touch. I believe Vulcans and Na’vi fall under this category, neither of which are limited by the paradoxes of the Animus technology. Furthermore, a fantasist can imagine an infinite number of other ways in which memories can be stored inside inanimate objects and reproduced in the character’s consciousness when activated. I recall Harry Potter’s adventures in the pensieve, for example–not to mention Kimberly Ford’s flashes of Seer insight in Fionavar Tapestry. The great virtue of revisiting memories is that you can make characters re-experience backstory and elide much of the drawl of re-telling history.

Looking into a pensieve, you can revisit your own memories or those of others, walking through them as if through a world that doesn't see or hear you.
Looking into a pensieve, you can revisit your own memories or those of others, walking through them as if through a world that doesn’t see or hear you.

My method of representing the Animus viewpoint is as follows: I wrote a story where I began with one consciousness that exists in normal circumstances, made it pass through a transitional phase through the Animus, and then found some way to represent the nexus of consciousnesses within the Animus itself.  First person “I” and third person “he/she/it”: these pronouns each create a certain effect when used with either the present or past tense (I left out ‘you’ because the second person is too experimental and thus an unstable ground on which to test this already-experimental strategy). Perhaps it is best for Desmond’s consciousness to be distinct and separate from Ezio’s, which would be a clean, clear reading experience. If we want to experiment with synchronization, however, we might try to keep Desmond’s mind somehow in dialogue with Ezio’s viewpoint, like some kind of self-conscious narrator in Ezio’s story. A happy in-between may also be possible…

If you try to combine the first person with the third person perspective, then make both either present or past tense–and then repeat them again, to form the total number of possible combinations–then you end up with 16 possibilities. These combinations do not employ the synchronization paradox (that, later), but some have the benefit of clarity. I have included the list of aesthetic effects I observed below:

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Desmond – Ezio

I am – I was: This combination causes Desmond’s viewpoint to become lost in an ancestor’s voice, who retells his story in the past tense, as though it has already happened. The voices are distinct, but the perspectives do not synchronize.

I am- I am: Smooth transition from POVs. Immediacy, in-the-moment. Subjective, so close to a direct experience. Desmond is perfectly synchronized to the second POV to the point where he seems to transform into Ezio and acquire his sense perceptions.

I am- He was : I found that this combination distanced Desmond from Ezio. Desmond ends up describing Ezio’s viewpoint after-the-fact, as though he left the animus and is now explaining what he saw. Or perhaps the narrative’s camera follows the ancestor over his shoulder.

I am- He is: Really postmodern effect. The character loses control of his own narrative, stops telling us his direct experience, and another unknown, possibly non-participant narrator begins telling his story from above.

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I was-I was: This effect is like ‘normal’ literature. Desmond is simply revisiting a memory in his own past, in a flashback where he imagines himself revisiting his past experiences.

I was -I am: Decent synchronization effect, and a reasonably smooth transition. To my ears, at least, it did not feel so much that Desmond’s POV became Ezio’s or that Desmond’s POV was replaced by Ezio’s, but that Desmond was wearing the skin of Ezio for a while, as though he was playing his part, a bit like an actor. Not perfect synchronization, but does present an interesting effect that can absolutely work.

I was -He was: There is no direct synchronization, Desmond watching Ezio from a detached, almost God-like or narrative standpoint. Unless explained in the text, we do not necessarily understand their minds to be melded in one; he could simply be watching a video of Ezio moving.

I was – He is:  Like ‘I am-he is,” the character loses control of the narration of his own story. However, the transition between past tense to present, which is a bit arbitrary, threw me off and sounded clunky. Not recommended.

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He was – I was: Ezio ends up speaking about himself, but it runs a bit clunky. Not immersive: there are two viewpoints being juxtaposed.

He was – I am: Tense difference can be choppy, but it requires the ancestor to have a distinct, immediate voice.

He was – He was: Like normal literature. Desmond is simply reliving his past.

He was – He is: An interesting effect. The synchronization is such that it feels like though Desmond is playing Ezio’s role, (as in “I was-I am”) only it is told with more distance, so the effect of role-playing is reduced. Also, since the Ezio POV is so immediate, it is not necessarily true that it is presenting a linear narrative–only a series of immediate sensations and experiences. This can enable you to scramble the order of the ancestor’s story.

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He is – I was: The effect of this is like a retelling in Ezio’s journal. It is strange to use to create the illusion of synchronization, but still viable as a technique. Desmond’s experience of Ezio seems second-hand.

He is – I am: Feels more synchronized than if past tense was used. Ezio ends up speaking about himself in a separate viewpoint, but a clever person might be able to make it clear Desmond is somehow integrated into Ezio’s consciousness, since the experience is in the present-tense with both characters.

He is – He was: Feels like Desmond is visiting his own memory. But the difference in tense makes it awkward, like a failed transition into a normal flashback.

He is – He is: Perhaps the easier, most viable, though one of the least experimental, of these options. The present tense makes it immediate and the consistent third person makes the transition smooth. It is almost as if Desmond has physically turned into Ezio. In fact, this point of view might be effective for metamorphosis stories. Unless we are reminded that Desmond’s own body is still lying in the animus, it will seem to be a complete transformation.

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When Desmond and Ezio’s scenes are told from either the same tense or same person, it is generally more effective–although there are some interesting effects that can work where there is a difference. Now, there is one last problem: accurately describing the synchronization process–how Desmond’s mind might occasionally conflict with Ezio’s memory. One solution is to elide this dilemma entirely.  After all, losing synchronization does not have to be a danger in a fictional world in the way it must be in the Assassin’s Creed video game. Your readers cannot “lose” a story, unless you’re writing a Choose Your Own Adventure. However, if I were to encounter this dilemma head-on, I might write something like this:

“Desmond sat down in the Animus as Rebecca’s fingers clacked over the computer keys.  The pulse of electricity surged up his spine as he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was no longer in the cave, but in New York, in the midst of a crowd of merchants. It was a market day in 1781. Connor felt angry today and Desmond could see why: the man in the blue coat standing near the bench on the other side was Haytham. I don’t have to see him yet, thought Desmond, and walked into an alleyway. His body was not sore, refreshed from Connor’s last fight, so he climbed onto the roof of the print shop when he spotted a piece of Ben Franklin’s almanac flying in the wind.”

Chasing the almanac page is literally a side-quest in the game, translated directly to the page, and threatens only to be a distraction, however. For a tighter narrative, either Desmond would have to search for something important that he would have motivation to find in 1781 New York, or he would go right towards activating the next memory, by speaking with Haytham.

“”Connor,” said Haytham. “You’re late.”

“I came as quickly as I could,” said Connor.

“Follow me. We have a matter at the brewery.”

Desmond remembered Rebecca and Shawn had found something in the Abstergo database about the Old Brewery.  He followed Haytham, keeping an eye out as Connor made an angsty sound in his throat, at his father who cared nothing for him. Perhaps he and Connor had more in common than he’d thought–he’d been riled up against his own father, William Miles, earlier.”

If this style of writing satisfies, then my job is done.  In conclusion, I have isolated five types of perspectives that can be written, which have resulted from this experiment:

-Split Synchronization (as above)

Straightforward Transformation of Consciousness: “I am/I am, “he is/ he is,” and “I was/I was,” “he was, he was.”

Remembrance of things past: “I was /I was” and “he was/ he was.”

Non-linear/Timeless animus effect: “He was / He is,” “I was / I am.”

Journal memories: “He is/ I was,” “I am/ he was” “He was / I was” “I was/ I was”

The following are some examples of these last four types, made essentially by taking the first paragraph of Desmond’s above story and changing the tense and person accordingly.  Taste the effects like a subtle wine.

What would it be like to be Ratonhnhaké:ton?
What would it be like to be Ratonhnhaké:ton?

Transformation of Consciousness: “I am sitting down in the Animus as Rebecca’s fingers clack over the computer keys.  The pulse of electricity surges up my spine. I close my eyes. When I open them, I am no longer in the cave, but in New York, in the midst of a crowd of merchants. It is a market day in 1781. I am angry today: Haytham Kenway, my father, is standing there in his posh blue coat over by the bench on the other side. He looks restless, expectant.”

Remembrance of things past: “Desmond sat down in the Animus as Rebecca’s fingers clacked over the computer keys.  The pulse of electricity surged up his spine as he closed his eyes.

He was in New York, in the midst of a crowd of merchants. It was a market day in 1781. He felt angry today: Haytham Kenway, his father, was standing there in his posh blue coat over by the bench on the other side. He looked restless, expectant.”

Non-linear, timeless Animus effect: “I sat down in the Animus as Rebecca’s fingers clacked over the computer keys.  The pulse of electricity surged up my spine as I closed my eyes.

I am no longer in the cave, but in New York, in the midst of a crowd of merchants. It is a market day in 1781. I feel angry today: Haytham Kenway, my father, is standing there in his posh blue overcoat by the bench on the other side. He looks restless, expectant.

Rebecca’s voice in my ear tells me to prepare for step back in time. The cityscape vanishes into blue squares and formless shapes while the Animus knits the world back together. Suddenly it is 1776. I’m younger, staring at my father as he waits below the State House, whispering to Charles Lee. The Boston Massacre is about to begin.”

Journal memories: “Desmond sat down in the Animus as Rebecca’s fingers clacked over the computer keys.  The pulse of electricity surged up his spine as he closed his eyes…

I was angry today: Haytham Kenway, my father, was standing there in his posh blue overcoat by the bench on the other side of the market. He looked restless, expectant. What could I do, if the Templars have a chance of winning this war? Benjamin Church must pay for his crimes.”

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Which passage most pleases the ear? I leave that up to you decide…

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Photo Credits:

Altair: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Alta%C3%AFr_Ibn-La%27Ahad

Connor1: http://www.idigitaltimes.com/articles/10594/20120802/assassins-creed-iiis-anvilnext-creating-unprecedented-experience.htm

Connor 2: http://wiiudaily.com/2013/02/assassins-creed-3-wii-u-review/assassins-creed-3-connor-fighting/

Desmond in Animus: http://www.neoseeker.com/Articles/Games/Reviews/acb_360/

Ezio: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/File:AC2_Ezio_in_crowd.jpg

Pensieve: http://www.evercurious.com/2010/01/11/a-memory-catching-pensieve-for-muggles/

Pensieve 2: http://www.thinkboxsoftware.com/krakatoa-in-production/

Synch bar: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Synchronization

Eternal Guarantee

salesEvery once in a while, two events in your life happen simultaneously and in their juxtaposition, a humorous situation appears in your imagination. I had just finished reading Guy Gavriel Kay’s The Fionavar Tapestry and started a job as a salesman. Anyone familiar with the myth of King Arthur, especially as retold by Kay, and the cliches of the sales pitch will find the following short story’s concept amusing.

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Eternal Guarantee

Nine Worthies
The Nine Worthies of Medieval Legend: Hector of Troy, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Joshua, David, Judas Maccabeus, King Arthur, Charlemagne, Godfrey of Bouillon. Part of Avalon Enterprises’ Premiere Set of Heroes. Customers can also buy individual warriors.

“We’ll sell you a High King, and if he is ever damaged or killed in battle, just send him back to Avalon, and we’ll return him. That’s our eternal guarantee.”

Morgan le Fay of Camlann Marketing, the sales branch of Avalon Enterprises, smiled with her pearl teeth at the customer, a prophet with a white beard by the name of Merlynn. They were sitting at a stone table in the middle of her grove, while she spun her webs and charms.

“I see,” said Merlynn, arching his eyebrows. “And when would that be?”

“There will be a prophecy in the end. He’ll wait on the island for when he is needed once again. Now,” she said, opening her illuminated codex. “Let me show you the wide variety of saviours Avalon Enterprises has in its collection of Worthies.”

Merlynn nodded and pressed his forefinger above his eye, to furrow his brow. Morgan le Fay was always troublesome, but when she’d asked for him to listen to her presentation, for the sake of the nation he could not have refused. Uther was dead and Wales needed a king. He listened to her litany of saviours, as she pointed to a picture of a warrior in bronze armour.

“Hector of Troy,” she said. “Customers like him, because he is strong, agile, and versatile for mostly every occasion. However, he is not stronger than Achilles. He’s perfect as a strongman, but his temper makes him poor for politics, which means you might want King David. He killed the giant Goliath with a slingshot when he was only a young man, and thereafter ruled as a great king. However, he was not resistant to the sin of adultery with Bathsheba, which means you might need Godfrey of Bouillon. A French crusader sworn to the ideals of chivalry, he took Jerusalem from the Saracens and ruled as king, although he refused the title. However, though a virtuous knight, he was not the ruler of a kingdom that endured, which means you might need Frederick Barbarossa …”

“The German makes are never quite as good,” said Merlynn, shaking his head sadly. “And I don’t see this country moving in that direction.”

“That’s all right,” said Morgan le Fay, lending him another pearl smile. “Besides, maybe what this land needs is another sort of king. Not an Alexander the Great, but perhaps a Christ, a Buddha, or a Gandhi?”

“Gandhi?” asked Merlynn. He closed his eyes and focused on the name. Threads of time, centuries of civilization, wove themselves through his synapses and he tasted the future. “Not the violent type of man, I see. But it’s my impression that all these saviours have some fatal defect or another. Either that, or they die a martyr.”

“There is always a price,” said Morgan le Fay, sounding concerned. “But if the weight of that knowledge sounds like too much at once, you can make three equal payments. And if you find you don’t like him, you can return him during our free-trial period.”

“A free hero does not sound like much of one,” said Merlynn, folding his arms. “But what about the payments?”

“Your saviour will endure an even amount of grief over his or her lifetime,” she said. “You might be interested in Hercules, perhaps: that’s a twelve payment plan.”

Merlynn sighed with such a deep longing that he could not encompass just how much he wished for the world to be different. But the earth was still there, in so much need. “You know … I don’t think Wales can pay such a hefty price for a saviour. In this age, after all, who needs a hero who causes so much more grief? Sure, these heroes legends, but I really don’t think Wales is ready for this investment.”

Morgan le Fay nodded and smiled. “That’s why we have our free-trial period. If you are in any way dissatisfied, we can return your hero to Avalon for a full refund.”

Merlynn cursed himself for a fool. He wanted heroes to lead Wales as they had in the days of old, but time had moved on and the every year brought a steeper decline in glory. He supposed it was simply not possible in this age, for heroes to be born the way they used to be. Ever since the goddesses had formed Avalon, their corporate machine had experienced unprecedented successes, selling high-quality heroes to lands bereft of them. This was the way of the future, and the past was done.

He grumbled from behind his white beard, a throaty old-man sound. When had he gotten so old?

“Him,” he said, pointing to an illumination in Morgan le Fay’s codex. A golden crown rested heavily on a man’s bearded head, a silver sword sheathed by his side and a red-tipped spear in his hand.

“That is the dux bellorum, lord of battles,” said Morgan le Fay. “He is expensive, but it’s worth it, because he comes with Caliburn, his famous sword, Ron, his great spear, and a host of eight other gallant knights. Is this who you want?”

“I’m on the verge,” said Merlynn, nodding, and trying not to think of the cost. “But I cannot justify saturating this world with so many heroes. There could be glory in it, but evil as well.”

Morgan le Fay squeezed her lip together. “I can give you a deal. If you agree to rid the world of one or two of your more common heroes, I can give you the Knights of the Round Table—which, by the way, includes the world’s greatest knight, Lancelot du Lac.”

Merlynn wondered what her game was, but there was no doubting that she was giving him an excellent deal. He thought he would surely weep later, if he passed up the chance for such a bargain.

He smiled. The promise of future glory, the shortcut history could take towards remaking the social cohesion of the pax romana, was too tempting. It was an investment in the future. He owed his decision to succeeding generations.

“He will be called Arthur Pendragon,” he said, and signed by Avalon’s wax seal.

merlin and morgan.

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Photo Credits:

Morgan le Fay: http://www.howarddavidjohnson.com/arthurian.htm

Nine Worthies: http://www.scotiana.com/the-nine-worthies-on-the-oak-heads-medallions-at-stirling-castle/

Salesguy: http://www.zerotimeselling.com/confuse-activity-with-selling/

Machiavelli and the Problem of Memory in Tigana

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“Tigana, let my memory of you be like a blade in my soul.”

-Guy Gavriel Kay, Tigana

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Guy Gavriel Kay, author of Tigana
Guy Gavriel Kay, author of Tigana

Alessan’s mantra for his beleaguered nation, erased from history by the tyrant sorcerer Brandin of Ygrath, forms a central node in the theme of exile and memory in Guy Gavriel Kay’s Tigana. A novel set in the Peninsula of the Palm, a landmass that more or less corresponds to Italy, Tigana borrows much of its inspiration from the Italian Renaissance era of warring city-states.

Brandin’s court is like that of the Medici or the Borgia. Ygrath and Barbadior’s conquests can be compared to the expansion of the empires of Spain and France, which were drawn into Italy by unwise allies who wished for them to intervene in their internecine rivalries with city-states such as Florence, Venice, Genoa, and the Papal States. The allies paid for this by being overcome by kings and emperors much more powerful than their own states.

Famously, one man who advised against taking such action was Niccoló Machiavelli. He wrote The Princea notorious book, one of the first on pragmatic political science—to advise Lorenzo de’ Medici (grandson of Lorenzo the Magnificent) on how to act wisely as the governor of Florence.

In his final chapter, he exhorts Lorenzo to liberate Italy from “the barbarians,” likely a reference to the foreign armies of France and Spain who have taken up permanent residence on Italian lands. It is my observation that Machiavelli’s ideal to for Italian unification—something never accomplished until the efforts of Garibaldi in the nineteenth century—stems from the same national pride as Alessan feels in Tigana.

Which led me to wonder. If Guy Gavriel Kay used Machiavelli in his research, then in what ways could a reading of The Prince enrich our understanding of the conflicts in Tigana? Or a more precise question: is how Machiavelli understands memory and history the same as how Tigana understands it, or is there a difference?

Florence

On the surface, Machiavelli’s world—in ways I have already described—greatly resembles the world of Tigana. Brandin himself is a Machiavellian figure, a real Prince interested in establishing his authority across the Peninsula by driving out his rival Alberico of Barbadior. He superficially agrees to the terms of a peace treaty, while scheming to destroy Barbadior the moment it becomes convenient to break the agreement. Alberico, of course, plans to do the same, in a kind of polarized Cold War scenario where only the province of Senzio (perhaps a surrogate for Venice) remains neutral.

Machiavelli has several things to say about memory in The Prince. Some advice that he gives to Lorenzo may as well have been given to Brandin. For example, read the following paragraph from Chapter 5 on “How you should govern cities or kingdoms that, before you acquired them, lived under their own laws”:

“Examples are provided by the Spartans and the Romans. The Spartans took Athens and Thebes, establishing oligarchies there. However, they lost them again. The Romans, in order to hold on to Capua, Carthage, and Numantia razed them and never lost them. They sought to govern Greece according to more or less the same policies as those used by Sparta, letting the Greek cities rule themselves and enforce their own laws, but the policy failed, so in the end they were obliged to demolish many cities in that territory in order to hold on to them. The simple truth is there is no reliable way of holding on to a city and the territory around it, short of demolishing the city itself. He who becomes the ruler of city that is used to living under its own laws and does not knock it down, must expect to be knocked down by it. Whenever it rebels, it will find strength in the language of liberty and will seek to restore its ancient constitution. Neither the passage of time nor good treatment will make its citizens forget their previous liberty. No matter what one does, and what precautions one takes, if one does not scatter and drive away the original inhabitants, one will not destroy the memory of liberty or the attraction of old institutions. As soon as there is a crisis, they will seek to restore them. That is what happened in Pisa after it had been enslaved by the Florentines for a hundred years” (17, my Italics).

san gimignano 2Brandin, after conquering the province of Tigana after the Battle of the River Deisa, destroyed its main cities: Avalle of the Towers and the capital Tigana. Avalle, which was inspired by San Gimignano, once had many towers that stretched to the sky. But Brandin’s forces knocked them down, in order to ensure the city’s submission to his rule. Tigana itself (based on Florence, perhaps) was demolished as well, and renamed Lower Corte—Corte having been its bitterest enemy. Avalle was renamed Stevanien, after Brandin’s son, who was killed in battle. These policies seem to be directly inspired by Machiavelli’s advice to Princes in Chapter 5.

The tyrant’s spell adds an extra layer to the political-military strategy of Machiavelli: he uses magic to erase the very name of Tigana from memory and make its name unpronounceable. One particular difference from Machiavelli’s dry strategy and Brandin’s motive to demolish Avalle is that the Tiganese killed his son and he wanted revenge. This does not mean that Brandin acts on his emotions, however. He only knows where to direct his temper. Machiavelli advises on several occasions that a Prince should “lose his temper” deliberately under certain circumstances, such as when he is being lied to (105). The demolition of Avalle would have been one such well-advised occasion for Brandin to become angry.

Machiavelli may have also unknowingly given Brandin the idea to create his spell of obliteration, if the two had ever met in some other dimension. In Chapter 1 of The Prince, Machiavelli remarks how hereditary principalities—territories where it is traditional for a particular aristocratic family to inherit power—are by far the easiest to hold, compared to republics. “Because the state has belonged to his family from one generation to another, memories of how they came to power, and motives to overthrow them, have worn away,” he advises (7).

Brandin was not necessarily planning to share or to pass on his rule. But the implication of how enough time passing eventually legitimizes the rule of a Prince may have attracted to him. Since sorcerers can live to advanced age in Tiganas world, he plans to outlive all the Tiganese exiles, who alone carry the memory of their homeland. Once they die, Lower Corte would know no better than that Brandin is the right and honourable ruler of the land.

Cesare Borgia: possible analogue to Brandin of Ygrath?
Cesare Borgia: possible analogue to Brandin of Ygrath?

In addition to these specific remarks about the ability of a ruler to hold onto power by controlling memory, Machiavelli has an understanding of history’s usefulness in deciding policy. He constantly draws upon the patterns of the past in order to find examples that can advise rulers on present courses of action and on their future ambitions. The exploits of ancient Greeks and Romans—some real, others fictitious—are on par with those of other Renaissance Italian Princes, such as Cesare Borgia, Alexander VI, and Savanarola, as examples of what-to-do or what-not-to-do. He assumes the past serves as a map for the unknown.

Kay would use the metaphor of a mirror. “With bronze as a mirror one can correct one’s appearance; with history as a mirror, one can understand the rise and fall of a state; with good men as a mirror, one can distinguish right and wrong”: the epigraph from Under Heaven (by Li Shimin, Tang Emperor Taizong) can apply just as much to Machiavelli’s understanding of political history, as to how Kay invites us to understand history.

giucciardini
Francesco Guicciardini

That being said, Machiavelli has his detractors, to say the least. Francesco Guicciardini, a contemporary and a friend of Machiavelli, questioned even the usefulness of bringing the past to bear upon the present, although the patterns might be there for anyone to observe. Who, after all, can say they have ever successfully predicted the future, simply by looking at the past? He also believed that all men, though subject to sin, were essentially good—which Machiavelli’s pessimistic yet pragmatic philosophy seems to deny. “This is how it has to be,” says Machiavelli, “for you will find men are always wicked, unless you give them no alternative but to be good” (73).

Friedrich Nietzsche
Friedrich Nietzsche

Which brings to mind another cynical philosopher and his ideas of history and morality—Friedrich Nietzsche. Notorious in the twentieth century for his belief in Social Darwinism, which inspired the racialist ideas of Adolf Hitler, Nietzsche argued in Geneology of Morals that men behave good because they were given no other alternative.

Like Machiavelli, Nietzsche believed that the autonomy of the sovereign was mutually exclusive with morality. He also believed that all morality developed out of primitive ideas of punishment—that morals were literally beaten into our forefathers, so that as we evolved, we came to obey the laws better. For example, the brutal uses of capital punishment in the past—strangulation, hanging, drawing and quartering, beheading—produced the more civil society we live in during the present day.

I seriously doubt his conclusion on that last point. Nietzsche’s perception is affected by his retrospective analysis. I believe modern “civilization,” as he calls it, emerged because we rejected the brutality and absolutism of the past, not that brutality shaped our modern civilization. However, the idea that morals come from the memory of punishment is interesting in relation to Tigana: the idea that memory is directly tied to pain:

“Tigana, let my memory of you be like a blade in my soul.”

When Alessan speaks these words, it could be said he engages in a (somewhat) Nietzschean understanding of memory—and by extension, perhaps of history and morality as well. He must recall the pain of his exile in order to force himself to remember his nation—and then take moral action.

Nietzsche and Machiavelli exist simultaneously in Tigana: memory (problematically) is both ingrained by pain and an intellectual tool with which to gaze into the past. The heroes of Tigana do not let their fear of punishment lead them to submit to tyrants, but they do wish to experience pain, if it preserves the memory of their homeland. And that experience of self-inflicted pain guides their self-defined morality, to do anything they can to liberate themselves from Brandin’s yoke.

But does morality itself suffer under Alessan’s model? If we can determine our own morality by deciding what to remember and forcing ourselves to remember it—carrying all the pain that memory can bring—can we be expected to reach rational decisions that respect our fellow human beings? Or could this kind of morality cause us to act according to our passions and, more importantly, our self-interest—one of the guiding human principles that Machiavelli (and notably, Thomas Hobbes) understands as the source of all human endeavour?

Just as Brandin is a tyrant, Alessan is literally a Prince. Brandin’s morality—if he has any—is almost driven entirely by the interests of himself as ruler, and those of his state. But behind this self-interest is the burning memory of Stevan’s death at the River Deisa. Prince Alessan, like Brandin, carries the Deisa in his memory, but for different reasons. His father Prince Valentin died in battle, leaving Alessan without a principality to call his own. Is Alessan simply motivated by jealousy for Brandin and his own interest in becoming ruler? Is his nationalist rhetoric only a facade?

Kay intentionally makes Brandin a foil of Alessan, adding good qualities to Brandin and evil qualities to Alessan. For example, Alessan must enslave Erlein di Senzio as his wizard servant, in order to for his master plan to work. Should a man so preoccupied with liberty be damned for making a slave of one man? (Perhaps someone ought to have asked the leaders of the American Revolution this same question, many of whom owned slaves.) Furthermore, Brandin, however ruthless, also has feelings. Dianora, his favourite woman in his saishan and a Tiganese herself, notices that he cared an enormous amount for his son and that he never forgave himself for sending him to fight in battle. She intends to kill Brandin to avenge her country, but finds herself loving the man she has schooled herself so long to hate—even saving him once from an assassin.

Guy Gavriel Kay’s George Seferis epigraph sums up his own beliefs in the ambiguity of holding onto memory:

George Seferis
George Seferis

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“What can a flame remember? If it remembers a little less than necessary, it goes out; if it remembers a little more than is necessary, it goes out. If only it could teach us, while it burns, to remember correctly.”

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A long enough memory can produce a desire in you to avenge all the wrongs ever done to your kind. Witness the damage that extensive memories wreck in Middle East daily. Even Nationalism, which seems a noble enough ideology until you remember the twentieth century, can go too far. Yet having no memory at all utterly robs you of any identity. I like imagining all the whitebread kids lost in the suburban USA being asked what their heritage is, and being unable to answer “English” or “Irish” or “Welsh” or “Scottish.” Assimilation into a melting pot can do as much to erase memory as Machiavellian attempts to snuff it out all at once.

Does Alessan remember correctly? Does Brandin? The answers are ambiguous, although most readers will probably side with Alessan. But it cannot be ignored that Alessan may have easily turned into the villain in Tigana. Nietzsche argued sovereigns were above morality. Yet, following one’s own painful memories might have caused Alessan to think himself above morality while rebelling against the sovereign Brandin, in an effort to fight fire with fire.

The Ismaili Assassins
The Ismaili Assassins

Tyrant and rebel: an age-old conflict. Each obeys no law and each is the antithesis of the other. Yet, they are, in so many ways, the same. Nietzsche believed the laws we live by were oppressive. Yet, he also (quite famously) saw a way to rebel against such authority. The creed of the Ismaili Assassins said, “Nothing is true; everything is permitted.” Truths established by tyrants create a certain morality, so disbelieving in those truths frees one to perform any action suitable to overthrowing that power.

Does Alessan follow a similar creed, or does he too have a belief in truth, in morality? It would be worth a re-reading of Tigana to see just how much Alessan uses ends to justify means.

But turning away from Tigana now, other questions emerge. What are the dangers of the Assassins’ creed? If everything is permitted, do we have Hobbes’ State of Nature on our hands? Would followers of the creed then become self-interested, build up social contracts, and then begin punishing others when the contracts are breached, beginning the process of moral development all over again?

Let these questions stand as food for thought. It is not my place now to answer them, and I’ve rambled on enough as it is. But I believe it’s safe to say that memory can be a dangerous thing, especially when it forces us to disregard morality. Perhaps it depends on what we choose to store in our memory as well: if we keep hoarding pain, the fire of memory will grow so large it will consume us.

Feed the fire, but not to excess.

flame
What can a flame remember? -George Seferis
Machiavelli ac
The character of Machiavelli from Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood attests to the popularity of the duplicitous Machiavel figure in contemporary popular culture. Is he, as a friend of Cesare Borgia, a Templar, or is he the friend of Ezio Auditore, the Assassins’ Mentor?

 

Works Cited:

Kay, Guy Gavriel. Tigana. Toronto: Penguin, 1992. 1-793.

Kay, Guy Gavriel. Under Heaven. Toronto: Penguin, 2010. 1-710.

Machiavelli, Niccolò. Selected Political Writings. Ed. David Wooton. Indianapolis: Hacket, 1994. 5-80.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. “Morals as Fossilized Violence.” The Prince. Transl. Francis Golffing. Ed. Robert M. Adams. New York: Norton, 1977. 253-275.

Rudowski, Victor Anthony. The Prince: A Historical Critique. New York: Twayne, 1992. 12-17

Wikipedia.

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Photo Credits:

Flame: http://pdphoto.org/PictureDetail.php?pg=8381

Nietzsche: http://pasolininuc.blogspot.ca/2011/11/friedrich-nietzsche.html

Assassin: http://www.sickchirpse.com/2011/01/13/origin-and-myth-the-mashed-assassins/

Guy Gavriel Kay: http://profunduslibrum.blogspot.ca/2012/10/guy-gavriel-kay-ysabel.html

Tigana: http://evenstarwen.com/category/books/

George Seferis: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giorgos_Seferis

Machiavelli: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niccol%C3%B2_Machiavelli

Machiavelli AC: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Niccol%C3%B2_Machiavelli

Guicciardini: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francesco_Guicciardini

Cesare: http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cesare_Borgia

San Gimignano: http://www.italiautleie.no/tilleggstjenester/guidedebyturer

Florence: http://bonesdontlie.wordpress.com/2012/06/21/bones-abroad-visiting-the-famous-dead-in-florence/