SOURCE: Rouse, Richard H., and Mary A. Rouse. “John of Salisbury and the Doctrine of Tyrannicide.” Speculum 42, no. 4 (October 1967): 693-709.

[In the following essay, the Rouses explore the context and details of John's views on political assassination.]

The doctrine of tyrannicide is a well-known element of John of Salisbury's Policraticus.¹ Although John was not the first Western thinker to propose the legitimacy of tyrannicide, the fact that he was the first to expound the idea fully and explicitly entitles him to be called the “author” of the doctrine insofar as concerns twelfth-century Europe.² At various times from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century John is cited as authority by actual and would-be tyrannicides, and is condemned as such by their opponents.³

The fact, then, that John of Salisbury defended tyrannicide is undeniably true; however, it is not the whole truth. John's exposition of tyrannicide contains many reservations, qualifications, and outright contradictions, including his reiteration of the traditional view that a Christian owes submission to the powers that be. Unfortunately most of the writers on this subject, whether students of John in particular or of mediaeval political theory in general, ignore the contradictions and regard John as an unequivocal advocate of tyrannicide. This assessment appears in studies of John of Salisbury ranging from the full-scale biography by Schaarschmidt to Huizinga's brief essay.⁴ As one would expect, the treatment of John as a straightforward proponent of political assassination is emphasized in studies devoted to the history of the right of resistance;⁵ and by means of more general surveys of political theory, including such standard works as McIlwain, Sabine, and the Carlyles, this oversimplification of John's position has been given wide currency.⁶

Those writers who do take cognizance of the contradictions are in disagreement when they attempt to explain why John's statement of the principle of tyrannicide contains these inconsistencies. Dunning, for example, says that John “fully [commits] himself to the pagan principle” of tyrannicide, and then recurs “to the primitive Christian idea” of submissiveness; which is to say, John's contradictions are explained by the fact that they are contradictory. Dickinson is at least frank in admitting that, for him, the entire Policraticus, including the doctrine of tyrannicide, is composed of a “more or less confused mass of contradictory ideas.” Dal Pra notes that John places certain limitations upon the method to be employed, but states that he maintains the legitimacy and the obligation of killing a tyrant. On the other hand, taking a passage of John's out of context, Ullmann even concludes that John at last “cancelled his previous remarks on the justness of murdering a tyrant.”⁷

It seems reasonable to suppose that the problem of John's inconsistent treatment of tyrannicide to a large degree hinges upon the explanation of his motive for including the doctrine of tyrannicide in the Policraticus; since this doctrine was not, after all, a commonplace of twelfth-century political theory, there must surely be a reason why John took the trouble to raise the issue. Again, those few writers who deal with the subject present divergent views. For Webb, the question of motive is easily answered: the doctrine of tyrannicide is merely “a natural development of the republican rhetoric which [John] found in classical writers.” Liebeschütz feels rather that John was impelled by recent events, that the doctrine of tyrannicide is an expression of retrospective indignation at the tyrannical behavior of certain nobles and mercenaries during Stephen's reign. Wieruszowski agrees that John was moved by recent events; but she suggests that it was the ecclesiastical policy of Roger II of Sicily which “may have dictated to him the passionate terms” in which he deals with tyrants and tyrannicide. Spörl states that John was motivated in large part by bitter resentment against the “Teutonic tyrant” Frederick Barbarossa as a result of the latter's stand in the disputed papal election of 1159; but this idea can surely be dismissed as a chronological impossibility.⁸

The main question, then, is why John proposed the principle of tyrannicide; and its corollary, why his statement of that principle was inconsistent. Through an examination of John's definition of tyrant, of John's attitudes pro and con on tyrannicide, and of the significance of the tyrant in John's conception of the commonwealth; and through an evaluation of the political realities of Angevin England, it can be shown that John's doctrine of tyrannicide was written as pure theory with a practical purpose; and that John's self-contradictions have their reasons.

First of all, if John is to advocate tyrannicide, he must distinguish between the tyrant and the legitimate ruler, the prince: “Between a tyrant and a prince there is this single or chief difference, that the latter obeys the law” while the former “brings the laws to nought.”⁹ While John on one occasion suggests that only a usurper can properly be termed tyrant,¹⁰ he elsewhere makes it plain that a legitimate prince can turn into a tyrant if he uses his power to contravene the law.¹¹ So the distinction is clear-cut: a prince obeys the law, a tyrant does not. But John must be pushed for a further definition of terms: what does he mean by the law? Although John was never a formal student of law, his writings display a wide acquaintance with both Roman law and canon law.¹² The former he is presumed to have learned from the Bolognese master Vacarius, brought to England by Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury; and the latter either at the papal Curia or during his years in Theobald's service.¹³ However, it is neither the Corpus Juris Civilis nor the Decretum specifically which John has in mind when he says that the tyrant breaks “the law.” Rather, John describes law with a rhetorical flourish as “the gift of God, the model of equity, a standard of justice, a likeness of the divine will, the guardian of well-being, a bond of union and solidarity between peoples, a rule defining duties, a barrier against the vices and the destroyer thereof, a punishment of violence and all wrong-doing.”¹⁴ More succinctly, he defines it as “the justice of God … [Whose] law is equity,” equity being “a certain fitness of things … allotting to each that which belongs to him.”¹⁵ While this definition, as with all attempts at definition of the “higher law,” obviously invited dispute over interpretation and application in specific cases, it was nonetheless meaningful as a general concept. For in equating justice with equity—that “certain fitness of things” which consists of the prince's ruling impartially and rendering to each his due—John, for all his classical and biblical allusions, is essentially identifying justice with custom. When John writes that a tyrant rules contrary to the law, his readers understand him; he means a tyrant is a king who arrogates to himself powers, prerogatives, or possessions which have not traditionally belonged to the king. John does not use the words “customs of the realm” or “natural law” of course; rather, in the manner traditional for a Christian political theorist, he says that the law is “the gift of God.” These, too, are words his readers understand.

Given the foregoing definitions, that the law is from God and that the tyrant is a ruler who flouts the law, it logically follows that “it is the grace of God which is being assailed, and that it is God himself who in a sense is challenged to battle.”¹⁶ What then must a Christian do if his ruler is a tyrant assailing God? John replies, in the same passage, “the tyrant, the likeness of wickedness, is generally to be even killed.”¹⁷ John maintains the legality of tyrannicide “according to both temporal and divine law.”¹⁸ In addition to its basis on authority, the legality of tyrannicide is demonstrable by syllogism: a tyrant is judged an enemy of the human race; it is lawful to kill a condemned enemy; therefore, it is lawful to kill a tyrant.¹⁹ Not only is tyrannicide legal and logical, but it has a long-standing precedent in both secular and sacred history. John catalogs, first from Roman history, then from the Old Testament, the tyrants in turn and the violent end of each.²⁰ He has also, he says, written a book specifically “Of the Ends of Tyrants”, a work not extant but seemingly an elaboration of the chapter of the Policraticus devoted to Roman tyrants.²¹ Besides being legal, logical, and historical, tyrannicide is even a pious act, and one is justified in deceiving, flattering, and disobeying a tyrant, practices which constitute treachery if employed in dealing with a true prince.²² “It is not merely lawful to slay a tyrant but even right and just,” and, this is John's most extreme statement, he who does not take action against a tyrant “sins against himself and against the whole body of the secular state.”²³

This, in brief, is John's case for tyrannicide. If this were all he had to say on the subject, his doctrine would be truly anarchical, leaving every private citizen with the permission, indeed the encouragement, to be his own judge and executioner of any ruler who in his own opinion fits the description of a tyrant. But it is impossible to conceive of John of Salisbury as being in any sense a fanatic. To say that his moderation and lack of dogmatism are everywhere manifest in his writings, is scarcely too broad a generalization. John believes that moderation is the essence of virtue, whereas excess is a fault always to be avoided; and, in short, “nought is so splendid or so magnificent that it does not need to be tempered by moderation.”²⁴ This policy of moderation might in a sense be called his philosophy; he proclaims himself to be an Academic²⁵ (after the fashion of Cicero and the Later Academy)—i.e., one who suspends judgment “in regard to things that are doubtful to a wise man.”²⁶ But John cannot bring himself to be doctrinaire even in support of skepticism. He criticizes those Academics who were so skeptical as to doubt everything, even their senses and their memory; it is all right to “question as long as a matter remains obscure,” but “as truth on the bases of probability” appears, a man should acquiesce.²⁷ John evinces this same moderation vis-à-vis many of the conventional beliefs of his day: Hunting is a frivolous practice which is to be condemned; “the activity, however, is laudable when moderation is shown.”²⁸ Gambling is shameful; “there are, however, times when … games of chance are permissible.”²⁹ The making of promises is risky business, and “not conducive to virtue”; “it may be, however, not merely permissible but even desirable to make a promise.”³⁰ Concern with one's dress and appearance is vanity; “however, if moderation is displayed. …”³¹ And on and on, concerning use of food and drink, concerning frugality, education, the permissibility of suicide, the commendability of self-castration, the “universals” controversy, astrology, the worth of Aristotle—from topic to topic John proceeds to expound at length the traditional view of the Church (or of the schoolmen, whichever is applicable to the given topic), and then to conclude abruptly, often in the most startling non sequitur fashion, with a brief passage in which John the Academic appears and greatly modifies the overwhelming arguments assembled by John the Dialectician. As he himself says, the Academic “will not presume to state definitely what is true in each and every case.”³²

This non-dogmatic, or better anti-dogmatic, temperament is of course apparent in John's doctrine of tyrannicide just as in the rest of his writings. He does not present his case for tyrannicide in any consistent, integrated whole, as has been attempted above for the sake of demonstration. Instead, his remarks on tyrannicide are scattered in various parts of the Policraticus; and scattered with them are statements which soften, modify, or even contradict this doctrine. “None should undertake the death of a tyrant who is bound to him by an oath or by the obligation of fealty; use of poison as the instrument of death is unlawful; tyrannicide is to be effected “without loss of religion and honor.”³³ The stipulation about “oath” and “fealty” rather effectively nullifies the legality of killing any tyrant except the ruler of a country other than one's own! Particularly would this be true in England, John's own country, where in theory every free man owed primary fealty to the king, be he tyrant or saint. But to continue, ignoring this technicality, as John himself does, “it is not well to overthrow [tyrants] utterly at once, but rather to rebuke injustice with patient reproof until finally it becomes obvious that they are stiff-necked in evil-doing.”³⁴ So citizens are to wait until the last straw is added to their burden, and even then they are to kill tyrants only “if they can be curbed in no other way.”³⁵ For there is another way in which tyrants can get their due; “wickedness is always punished by the Lord,” sometimes through a human instrument, but sometimes with His own hand. Thus God has taken direct action in the case of such infamous rulers as the Egyptian pharaoh and Nebuchadnezzar and the emperor Julian, and others “whose very names would fill a book.”³⁶ If God is going to see to it that tyrants are punished, why does He bother to permit their existence in the first place? John's answer to this is the traditional one: tyrants are visited as punishment upon a sinful people, and only when the people repent are they permitted to “cast off the yoke from their necks by the slaughter of their tyrants.”³⁷ Indeed, “tyrants are the ministers of God” who will cause the wicked to be punished and the good to be chastened and exercised.³⁸ All power is good, since all power is from God; hence power is “worthy of veneration even when it comes as a plague upon the elect.” John quotes approvingly, “Who, therefore, resists the ruling power, resists the ordinance of God” (Romans XIII 2).³⁹ Surely, anyone attempting to put into practice John's advice regarding tyrannicide would, in the light of this last admonition, have qualms as to the safety of his immortal soul. Caught between the shame of sinning against himself and the state if he does not take direct action against a tyrant, and the spiritual disaster of resisting the ordinance of God if he does, this hypothetical Christian citizen might well sigh with relief upon reading that “the method of destroying tyrants which is the most useful and the safest, is for those who are oppressed to take refuge humbly in the protection of God's mercy, and lifting up undefiled hands to the Lord, to pray devoutly that the scourge wherewith they are afflicted may be turned aside from them.”⁴⁰

Seen in the context of the whole of John's concept of the correct Christian behavior toward tyrants, the doctrine of tyrannicide assumes a more cautious character, to say the least. And his entire discussion of behavior toward tyrants achieves its own proper perspective only when it is seen as merely a part of John's views on rulers in general. For the main literary function served by the tyrant in the Policraticus is as a foil to the prince; he is the “horrible example” of everything the prince is not. As to positive advice on what a prince should be, John cites two main authorities, one sacred, one secular. The first of these is Deuteronomy XVII 14-20, which John explains and elaborates in Book IV, chapters 4 through 12. The principal content of this discussion concerns itself with what might best be termed the private morality of the prince (though John himself would undoubtedly object to any distinction between “private” and “public” in a figure so essentially public as the prince). It consists of a series of admonitions: the prince should not be proud, nor adulterous, nor avaricious, nor too stern nor too lax; and he must know the laws in order to learn to fear God and keep His word.

Curiously enough, however, John does not mention tyrants, the opposite of princes, in this matter of individual spiritual development. Rather, the contrast between tyrant and prince is revealed when the relationship of the ruler to society—the prince in the commonwealth—is considered. John's exposition of this relationship is taken, he says, from the Institutio Trajani written by Plutarch for the edification of the emperor Trajan.⁴¹ The idea put forth by John's “second authority” is the well-known concept of the commonwealth as a body “endowed with life by the benefit of divine favor,” acting “at the prompting of the highest equity,” and ruled by “the moderating power of reason.” The head of the body is the prince; the soul, the clergy; the heart, the Senate (the prince's mature counselors); the eyes, ears and tongue, the judges and governors of provinces; the hands, the officials and soldiers; the sides, the prince's attendants or courtiers; the stomach and intestines, the financial officers and keepers of the privy chest (and to extend the analogy, John remarks with a twinkle in his eye that these organs are subject to indigestion and constipation); and the feet, the husbandmen.⁴² Certainly the microcosm-to-macrocosm analogy was not new in descriptions of the commonwealth; but “it is John of Salisbury who first attempts to apply and work out the comparison in detail.”⁴³ The centrality of this concept to John's entire political theory has always been recognized by students of the Policraticus; but the importance of the Institutio Trajani has been further enhanced, within recent decades. The nineteenth and early twentieth century scholars of John's writings have realized that the Institutio was not written by Plutarch, but by someone considerably later—whom, it was impossible to say, since there is no extant copy of the work. In 1943, however, Hans Liebeschütz argued convincingly that the “treatise” was an invention of John himself, a disguise donned to give the weight of classical antiquity to his own ideas. Saverio Desideri has contested this view, presenting a plausible case for fourth- or fifth-century authorship of the work; but even so, he concedes that John's use of it constituted a “rifacimento libero.”⁴⁴ Therefore, here, in the truest possible sense, is John of Salisbury's own description of the state: The commonwealth is an integrated, organic whole, as much so as the human body itself; and the well-being of the entire commonwealth depends upon the proper performance by each part of its own proper function, just as the body depends upon all its organs to stay in their places and perform the tasks for which they were created.

Great is the responsibility of the head in John's commonwealth, for it has the task of constraining the other parts of the body to behave properly. With great responsibility, of course, comes great power. “On the prince fall the burdens of the whole community. Wherefore deservedly there is [divinely] conferred on him, and gathered together in his hands, the power of all his subjects. …”⁴⁵ The prince is the representative of the commonwealth, “in whose place he stands.”⁴⁶ He is “representative” not in the democratic sense of the word, but rather in the sense that a guardian is the representative of his ward.⁴⁷ Since he “bears the public person,” the prince also bears a sword and sheds blood blamelessly in protecting the commonwealth from evil-doers.⁴⁸ Indeed, in all public matters “his will is to have the force of a judgment; and most properly that which pleases him therein has the force of law.”⁴⁹

Thus the powers of the prince are vast. In connection with this fact, much has been made of the point that, nevertheless, John places the prince in a position subordinate to that of the Church.⁵⁰ Undeniably he does so. For the clergy are the soul of the commonwealth, and John says (blithely mixing his analogy), “the soul is, as it were, the prince of the body.” The prince is subject “to those who exercise [God's] office and represent Him on earth,” whereas, as John has stated elsewhere, the Roman Church “is subject only to the judgment of God.”⁵¹ He takes the position, unusual for his time,⁵² that all authority belongs to the Church; she confers the temporal sword on the prince, or rather employs it by his hand, since it is “unworthy of the hands of the priesthood,” while she herself wields the spiritual authority.⁵³ Also in the troublesome question of interpretation of “the law”, John gives the clerics the dominant position. The prince is to read the law “through the medium of the priest's tongue,” and “in accordance with their preaching should the ruling power guide the government.”⁵⁴ It is a mistake, however, to judge from these statements that John conceives of the prince as being forcibly held in line by ecclesiastical authority. For the prince, by definition, voluntarily rules according to law, according to the divine principle of equity; and the clergy, through making the law clear and intelligible to him, are merely aiding the prince to do that which he wishes to do. Elsewhere, John even implies that the prince himself can understand the law, and can govern “guided solely by the judgment of his own mind.”⁵⁵ After all, in a properly-functioning body politic, the head and the soul are in concert, not at cross purposes. And the parts of the body shall certainly “function properly so long as they follow the guidance of the head, and the head remains sane.”⁵⁶

Upon this basic premise, the “sanity of the head,” rests the logic of John's entire concept of a Christian commonwealth; this premise denied, his theory of commonwealth becomes utterly unworkable. Herein lies the significance of the tyrant. Since John conceives of the prince as having great, and in a sense unlimited, power, it logically follows that the tyrant has, in direct proportion, great opportunity for evil-doing. A tyrant as head corrupts all parts of the body; and the result is a “commonwealth of the ungodly” aping the “civil institutions of a legitimate commonwealth,” with a sacrilegious priesthood as its soul, and “its heart of unrighteous counselors”; “its eyes, ears, tongue, and unarmed hand are unjust judges, laws, and officials; its armed hand consists of soldiers of violence whom Ciecro calls brigands”; and its feet are rebellious and disloyal husbandmen.⁵⁷ (John has been an eye-witness of the moral disintegration of a commonwealth afflicted with “insanity”; the reign of Stephen of Blois, which ended just five years before John is writing, can serve only too well as model for the sketch of the ungodly commonwealth.) The tyrant, using, or rather, abusing, the power of a prince, disregards right and justice.⁵⁸ He rules by force, not by law; and he is not satisfied until he has reduced the people to slavery.⁵⁹ As ward of the prince, the commonwealth is under his protection; but if the guardian be a tyrant, the commonwealth is at his mercy. The tyrant “will be the ruin of his people.”⁶⁰

What resolution for this state of affairs does John's concept of the commonwealth offer? In simple fact, it offers none. The commonwealth is a body with each part assigned its proper function; and John nowhere suggests that it would be “proper” for any presumptuous extremities or visceral organs to take it upon themselves to discipline the head. Such an idea is diametrically opposed to his political philosophy. Logically, if any part of the body were to discipline the head, it would be the soul, the Church. John has set up all the premises, but he does not draw the expected conclusion, either explicitly or implicitly. The closest he comes to doing so, is in his statement that the prince receives his sword from the Church, and that “he who can lawfully bestow can lawfully take away.”⁶¹ But with this quotation from Roman law, John lets the matter drop. He does not suggest any means by which the Church might effect the deposition of a tyrant; there is no plan for the taking away of the temporal sword, however “lawful” such action be for the Church. He certainly does not imply that the priesthood is commissioned, nor even permitted, to execute tyrants; wielding the bloody sword is “unworthy of the hands of the priesthood.”⁶² The explanation of the fact that John makes no claim that the clergy may discipline the tyrant seems to be this: that “the head is quickened and governed by the soul”⁶³ only in the legitimate, godly commonwealth, not in the topsy-turvy commonwealth of the tyrant.⁶⁴ It is the proper function of the soul to govern the head; but if the head is not sane, no part of the body functions properly.

Since a “sane head” is the sine qua non to the viability of John's concept of commonwealth as macrocosm; and since there is no provision, indeed no possibility, for the restoration of that sanity, once lost, from within the commonwealth; it follows therefore that the solution must come from without. To drop the analogy: God, and God only, punishes tyrants. “All power is from the Lord God”;⁶⁵ and tyrants, even non-Christian tyrants, are frequently the ministers of God.⁶⁶ In the light of this statement, who but God can possibly have the authority to punish tyrants? God is inexorably thorough in giving tyrants their deserts. But He takes action through varied means; sometimes He makes use of the forces of nature, sometimes He sends an angel to do the task, sometimes He strikes a tyrant with disease, sometimes He even permits a tyrant to live long and die naturally, only to find that his soul is damned to eternal punishment;⁶⁷ and sometimes He uses a human hand. Here is the doctrine of tyrannicide reduced to its proper size; it is one weapon from the entire armory at God's disposal. When the doctrine is seen in this perspective, the reason for John's self-contradictory statement of it becomes obvious. Citizens are not empowered to slay tyrants at their own discretion; that power is God's. John takes pains to prove that tyrannicide is permissible and even, at times, an unavoidable duty; but God, not man, will say whether and when and how. John the Academic, who “will not presume to state definitely what is true in each and every case”⁶⁸ for any given subject, certainly is not going to attempt to state definitely the will of God in each and every case of rule by tyrant.

In summary, there are three basic factors in the relationship of the tyrant to John's concept of commonwealth: (1) that the commonwealth as an organism can operate properly only provided its head be a true prince; (2) that should the head, on the contrary, be a tyrant, an impasse results from the lack of any authority within the commonwealth qualified to remove him; and (3) that this conflict can be resolved only by God, Who may or may not choose to work through a human hand.

Finally, what was John's purpose in including a discussion of tyrannicide in the Policraticus? Obviously John had not the slightest intention that someone would read his book, be inspired thereby, and kill Henry II of England; aside from the fact that this would be a foolish and foolhardy notion for any subject of Henry's to propound, John still at this time (1159) had hopes that Henry, with the proper guidance, would prove to be the true prince that Stephen had so miserably failed to be. It is equally important to realize that John did not intend to suggest, even hypothetically, that assassination is the normal recourse against a wicked king; nor did he suppose that any such radical interpretation would be placed on his words by readers of the Policraticus. After all, John wrote the book for the royal chancellor Thomas Becket, Henry's closest and most trusted companion. And while John intended the Policraticus for Becket's personal edification, he hoped that his book would influence the king as well. As Liebeschütz says, John “desired that when the chancellor had been enlightened by study of his book, he would try to lead the youthful King back to the right path. …”⁶⁹ Moreover, John evidently intended that the Policraticus should influence the king directly. This is suggested in the Entheticus, the prefatory poem in which John instructs his book on its duties. For one thing, the form of the Entheticus is modeled on Ovid's introduction to the Tristia, which he was sending to Rome to plead his cause with Augustus; the analogy would seem to be that John hoped the Policraticus would reach his “Augustus,” Henry II.⁷⁰ Stronger evidence is the fact that one passage in the Entheticus umistakably reveals John advising his book on how to behave in the king's presence: “Do not display what may the prince's eye affront, on whom alone thy life and welfare hang; … what he forbids is wrong, what he enjoins is right; laws stand by him or fall. ‘Tis virtue only pleases him and so by virtue only shalt thou please. …”⁷¹ Mere prudence would dictate that John should not appear to the king as the proponent of a revolutionary doctrine; on the contrary, John was eager that his book should not offend at court. His dedication of the book to Thomas, and the passages in the Entheticus nominating the chancellor as the book's “guardian” against critics at court,⁷² suggest that John wanted Becket to see to it that the Policraticus was favorably received. As an added precaution, before dispatching the Policraticus to Becket, John sent it to his closest friend Peter of Celle for Peter to remove passages which might give offense: “I should not like it to make me an enemy to the courtiers. I beg you to start on its improvement without delay, and as soon as it has received your castigation, send it back to your expectant friend.”⁷³ These factors—the book's intended “reading public”, and John's desire to avoid offending—clearly prove that John was not, even in hypothesis, propounding the doctrine of tyrannicide as a plan of action. The book's discussion of tyrannicide should not distract attention from the obvious fact that the Policraticus is, after all, a prince manual, as scholars have readily recognized.⁷⁴ It is what its pseudo-Greek title proclaims it: The Statesman's Book.

The main portion of the political theory of the Policraticus is positive in tone, intended to describe to the king and his chancellor the kind of commonwealth John hoped they would govern and the kind of prince he hoped Henry would be. But there is always the possibility, on the negative side, that any true prince may become a tyrant by deciding to rule contrary to the law of equity. Unfortunately, this possibility was disquietingly apparent in John's own particular true prince; John was definitely apprehensive concerning Henry II's future intentions toward the Church. In order to explain these fears, it is necessary to examine briefly the relationship between the Church and the Crown during the first years of Henry's reign, and to note the prospects for the future.

At the time of the completion of the Policraticus (late summer 1159) John was secretary to Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury. John had held this post for a number of years (since 1154 at least, and possibly since as early at 1148),⁷⁵ and was a staunch supporter of the archbishop and of the rights of the See of Canterbury. From the very beginning of the reign, Theobald, who had used his quite considerable influence to promote the Angevin succession, had claims on Henry's gratitude. As added insurance of the king's goodwill Theobald secured the appointment of royal chancellor for his protégé, the Archdeacon of Canterbury Thomas Becket. There seemed to be good prospects for a period of amicable relations between Church and State; but the actuality proved disappointing to the Church.

For one thing, Becket's behavior disillusioned both Theobald and John. There is no need to detail once more the familiar story of Becket's shift of allegiance to his new royal master. His eager adoption of the more extravagant modes of court life seems to have dismayed his old friend John of Salisbury; for surely many parts of the Policraticus dealing with “the frivolities of courtiers” are friendly barbs aimed at Thomas.⁷⁶ The very elaborateness with which John exempts Becket from his criticism indicates a gentle irony: “I am not endeavoring to restrain you from clothing yourself gaily in gold embroidered raiment; from feasting sumptuously every day; from holding high office; … from humoring the times and even perverse morals, upright as you personally are in all matters; and from mocking a world which mocks its own cajolery. Though it has already caught many, you are too great to allow yourself to be caught by its snares.”⁷⁷ As for Theobald, his sentiments toward Becket were those of a father for a wayward son; the depth of his feeling is revealed in his last letter to Thomas, asking, commanding, pleading (in vain) that Becket come to see him once more before he dies.⁷⁸ But more serious than these purely personal considerations is the fact that Becket proved a disappointment to Theobald and John in their endeavor to maintain ecclesiastical liberties. Theobald's intent when he obtained the chancellorship for Becket was that Becket should guard the interests of the Church; but with Thomas now seconding the king's opinion in all things, he obviously could not be depended upon to oppose any royal encroachment on ecclesiastical rights.

The See of Canterbury, then, would have to depend upon its own efforts to resist royal interference. Assuredly Theobald had proved competent to protect the Church's interests even during the uncertainties of Stephen's last years; but Theobald had been ill continuously since 1156, and by summer 1159 he knew he was dying.⁷⁹ At the time when he was completing the Policraticus John doubtless had this question weighing on his mind: who will protect the church once Theobald is gone, if Henry should determine to violate the law of equity? In John's letters, whether written in his own or in Theobald's name,⁸⁰ he clearly reveals his anxiety for the future—his fears that the king may “bring the laws to nought,” tyrant-fashion, with regard to the Church.

In one letter to Henry there is a reference, with a vagueness no doubt deliberate, to unspecified persons “who, as is well known, are plotting” against Theobald and the Church; John goes on to say that Theobald, whose “days will be brief,” is anxious about the church of Canterbury and that it would be most laudable if the king would “preserve that church unscathed.”⁸¹ A slightly later letter to Henry is more pointed in its expression of fears for the future and of hopes that the fears will prove groundless: “If you desire, or rather, since you desire that Christ should be propitious to you,” seek the favor of the Church, for he who lacks the Church's favor “has the whole Trinity, his creator, for his foe.” John is especially outspoken in the passage which follows: “The sons of this world counsel you to lessen the authority of the Church that your royal power may be increased. But assuredly they wrong your majesty and, whoever they may be, bring down … the indignation of God … It is utterly iniquitous that you should impair the glory of your Benefactor and Lord. It is a sin that deserves punishment and assuredly its punishment shall be very bitter; or rather by God's blessing, the penalty shall be averted, since by God's blessing the crime shall be averted.”⁸² It is clear that John is not censuring Henry for a past breach of equity, but rather that he and Theobald are fearful for the future. Evidently they felt that Henry had designs upon the Church and was awaiting the proper moment to effect his plans—that he was, perhaps, simply biding his time until Theobald's death. (Modern scholarship, with the advantage of hindsight, would support their diagnosis.)⁸³ In fact, John explicitly suggests this to be the case, with regard to one specific matter: In a letter to Becket concerning an election to the vacant See of Exeter, John says, “If you delay to give effect to this petition until the king comes home, [the archbishop] will think that you are seeking to delay the matter until his death.”⁸⁴

An attempt to connect the views quoted above with the doctrine of tyrannicide in the Policraticus may seem to be weakened by the fact that these letters postdate 1159. However, they are all written within the twelve months following John's completion of the Policraticus, and it seems unlikely that there had been a sudden change in Church-State relations during this period.⁸⁵ Much rather, the opinions expressed in the letters represent a sentiment of disquiet and distrust of the Crown which had been growing at Canterbury for three or four years.⁸⁶ This sense of foreboding even appears in the Policraticus itself, in a cryptic passage which constitutes one of the very few topical references in that work: At the end of a chapter devoted to praising the past deeds of the young king, John concludes that his own talents will be unequal to describing Henry's greatness, “if his future course shall be long and prosperous according to the measure of the grace which has been bestowed on him in the past. However, the period which marks the end of a man's youth is looked upon by some with suspicion, and may it prove that the fears of the good are groundless!”⁸⁷

The precise reasons for these fears are hard to determine. Perhaps they represent in large measure mere surmise on John's part, based on his realization that Henry II, especially when compared with Stephen, was a strong king—strong, and thus potentially difficult, from the Church's standpoint. However, there are certain actions of Henry's prior to the completion of the Policraticus which may have seemed to John indicative of tyrannical tendencies. For one thing, John was in serious disfavor with the king from autumn 1156 until Easter 1157; while the exact cause of Henry's anger is unknown, John indicates in his correspondence that the king was indignant over John's defense of ecclesiastical liberties.⁸⁸ In describing his plight, John implies that Henry constantly interfered with the freedom of canonical elections and with the functioning of ecclesiastical courts: “If the English Church ventures to claim even the shadow of liberty in making elections or in the trial of ecclesiastical causes, it is imputed to me. …”⁸⁹ (While scholars today may dispute the validity of this accusation, particularly when applied to the first years of Henry's reign,⁹⁰ the only fact which is relevant for our purposes is that John believed the accusation to be true.) Besides the questions of Church elections and ecclesiastical jurisdiction, John was also concerned with Henry's infringement of the Church's financial rights, as exemplified by the levy of 1159. For the purpose of his Toulouse campaign Henry assessed not only the ordinary tax, the scutage, which the Church had paid previously in 1156 (with perhaps some minor grumbling);⁹¹ he also, “contrary to ancient custom and due liberty,” levied an arbitrary “contribution, or rather exaction” from the Church, which totaled four times the amount of the scutage proper. As John complained, the Church had not even the slim consolation of sharing this burden with the lay lords; the arbitrary tax fell on church fees only.⁹² Certainly if equity consists of “allotting to each that which belongs to him,” then John as a churchman considered Henry's action in levying this tax a breach of equity. Knowledge of these previous royal transgressions undoubtedly contributed to John's premonition of future royal assaults upon ecclesiastical rights.

Therefore, in writing the Policraticus, John felt it his duty to inform rulers in general, but obviously Henry II in particular, that princes do not break the law of God with impunity; that God always punishes wickedness, without fail. As it has been shown above, tyrannicide is but one of God's weapons. However, John is being realistic when he chooses this particular weapon to emphasize. Henry was no Louis VII, to be panicked easily into penitence. He was not one to quiver with terror over the threat of divine thunderbolts or the distant prospect of eternal damnation. But tyrannicide is something else again; to speak of God's directing possible human action against him was to speak in terms that Henry understood.

Thus, John of Salisbury's doctrine of tyrannicide is both theoretical and practical. The doctrine of tyrannicide is purely theoretical, in the sense that John was not proposing it as a plan of action. But it is theory with this practical purpose, that John hoped thereby to convince Henry that, for his own good, he must rule in accordance with the law. The doctrine of tyrannicide is a symbol (not the only one, but the one most easily understood in human terms) of the fact that, though God acts in mysterious ways—ways so mysterious that John cannot give a consistent, uncontradictory statement of them—He invariably does act against tyrants.

Notes

1. We wish to thank Professor R. D. Face of Wisconsin State College, Stevens Point, and Professor Brian Tierney of Cornell University who read this article in an earlier state and made suggestions for its improvement.

2. C. H. McIlwain, The Growth of Political Thought in the West (New York, 1932), p. 323.

3. For reference to specific instances, see J. Dickinson, trans., The Stateman's Book of John of Salisbury (Books 4-6, selections from 7 and 8 of the Policraticus; New York, 1927), pp. lxxiv-lxxv; E. F. Jacob, “John of Salisbury and the Policraticus” (pp. 53-84 in The Social and Political Ideas of Some Great Mediaeval Thinkers, ed. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, New York, 1923), pp. 81 f; W. Ullmann, “The Influence of John of Salisbury on Medieval Italian Jurists,” EHR, [English Historical Review] 59 (1944), 387.

4. C. Schaarschmidt, Johannes Saresberiensis … (Leipzig, 1862), pp. 160, 349; J. Huizinga, “John of Salisbury: A Pre-Gothic Mind” (pp. 159-177 in his Men and Ideas, trans. J. S. Holmes and H. van Marle, New York, 1959), pp. 172 f. In addition see M. Demimuid, Jean de Salisbury (Paris, 1873), pp. 102-107; Jacob, p. 69; D. D. McGarry, trans., The Metalogicon of John of Salisbury (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1955), p. xviii; R. L. Poole, Illustrations of the History of Medieval Thought and Learning (2nd ed. rev., London, 1920), pp. 208 f.; Dorotea C. Macedo de Steffens, “La Doctrina del Tiranicidio, Juan de Salisbury (1115-1180) y Juan de Mariana (1535-1621)”, Anales de Historia Antigua y Medieval 1957-1958 (Buenos Aires, 1959), pp. 123-133, esp. p. 129; M. A. Brown, “John of Salisbury”, Franciscan Studies, 19 (1959), 241-297, esp. p. 289. See also M. Chibnall, trans., John of Salisbury's Memoirs of the Papal Court (London, 1956), p. xv, where it is erroneously asserted that “to John only a usurper was to be regarded as a tyrant.”

5. See Johannes Spörl, “Gedanken um Widerstandsrecht und Tyrannenmord im Mittelalter” (pp. 11-32 in Bernard Pfister and Gerhardt Hildmann, Widerstandsrecht und Grenzen der Staatsgewalt, Berlin, 1956), pp. 21-26; Peter Meinhold, “Revolution im Namen Christi,” Saeculum, 10 (1959), 390 f.

6. McIlwain, pp. 322 f.; G. H. Sabine, A History of Political Theory (3d ed., New York, 1961), p. 247; R. W. and A. J. Carlyle, A History of Mediaeval Political Theory in the West, vol. III (New York, 1916), pp. 142-146. In addition see, for example, J. B. Morrall, Political Thought in Medieval Times (2nd ed., London, 1960), p. 44; F. Kern, Kingship and Law in the Middle Ages (trans. S. B. Chrimes, Oxford, 1939), pp. 108 f.; J. Bowle, Western Political Thought (London, 1954 [1947]), p. 192.

7. W. A. Dunning, A History of Political Theories (New York, 1923), pp. 187 f.; Dickinson, pp. lxvi-lxxxii; M. Dal Pra, Giovanni di Salisbury (Milan, 1951), pp. 140-142; Ullmann, p. 388. Hans Liebeschütz, Mediaeval Humanism in the Life and Writings of John of Salisbury (London,1950), pp. 50-52, presents probably the most straightforward description of these contradictions.

8. C. C. J. Webb, John of Salisbury (London, 1932), p. 66; Liebeschütz, op. cit., pp. 52 f.; idem, “Englische und europäische Elemente in der Erfahrungswelt des Johannes von Salisbury”, Die Welt als Geschichte, 11 (1951), 38-45, esp. p. 41; H. Wieruszowski, “Roger II of Sicily, Rex-Tyrannus, in Twelfth-Century Political Thought”, Speculum, 38 (1963), 46-78, esp. pp. 68-70; Spörl, op. cit., pp. 21 f.; idem, “La Teoria del Tirannicidio nel Medioevo”, Humanitas: Rivista Mensile di Cultura, 8 (1953), 1013. The Policraticus was completed July-Sept. 1159; John does use the term “Teutonicus tyrannus” with reference to Frederick, but only in letters written seven or eight years after this date; cf. epp. 218, 225, Migne, PL, CXCIX.

9. Unless otherwise indicated, the notes for John's words and ideas refer to book and chapter of the Policraticus. The authoritative edition is that of C. C. J. Webb, Policratici sive de nugis curialium et vestigiis philosophorum libri viii (2 vol., Oxford, 1909). The translations used are those of Dickinson, cited above, note 3; and J. B. Pike, Frivolities of Courtiers and Footprints of Philosophers (Books 1-3, selections from 7 and 8 of the Policraticus [Minneapolis, 1938]). IV, 1: “Est ergo tiranni et principis haec differentia sola uel maxima, quod hic legi obtemperat. …” Webb, I, 235; Dickinson, p. 3; VIII, 17: “… tirannus nil actum putat nisi leges euacuet …” Webb, II, 345; Dickinson, p. 335.

10. III, 15: Webb, I, 232; Pike, p. 211.

11. VIII, 18, 20: Webb, II, 359 f., 373; Dickinson, pp. 352, 367 f.

12. Webb has compiled an impressive list of citations in the Policraticus from both the Corpus Juris Civilis and the Decretum (II, 482 f., 486 f.). There are occasional citations from the former in the Metalogicon, and from both in letters John wrote during this period (John of Salisbury Letters …, vol. 1, ed. W. J. Millor and H. E. Butler, revised by C. N. L. Brooke [London, 1955]).

13. Letters, pp. xx-xxiii.

14. VIII, 17: “Porro lex donum Dei est, aequitatis forma, norma iustitiae, diuinae uoluntatis imago, salutis custodia, unio et consolidatio populorum, regula officiorum, exclusio et exterminatio uitiorum, uiolentiae et totius iniuriae pena.” Webb, II, 345; Dickinson, p. 335.

15. IV, 2: “Nec in eo sibi principes detrahi arbitrentur, nisi iustitiae suae statuta praeferenda crediderint iustitiae Dei, cuius iustitia iustitia in euum est, et lex eius aequitas. Porro aequitas … rerum conuenientia est … tribuens unicuique quod suum est.” Webb, I, 237; Dickinson p. 6. The sources of this definition of equity are discussed by Brooke, Letters, pp. xxi-xxii.

16. VIII, 17: “… planum est gratiam oppugnari et Deum quodammodo prouocari ad praelium.” Webb, II, 345; Dickinson, p. 335.

17. VIII, 17: “… tirannus, prauitatis imago, plerumque etiam occidendus.” Webb, II, 345; Dickinson, p. 336.

18. VIII, 17: “… tirannus secularis iure diuino et humano perimitur. …” Webb, II, 357; Dickinson, p. 349.

19. VIII, 19: Webb, II, 371; Dickinson, p. 364.

20. VIII, 19 and 20: Webb, II, 364-379; Dickinson pp. 358-374.

21. VIII, 20: Webb, II, 373; Dickinson, p. 367. Webb (John of Salisbury, p. 68) doubts that John ever got around to writing the book.

22. VIII, 20: Webb, II, 376 f.; Dickinson, pp. 370-372; III, 15: Webb, I, 232; Pike, p. 211; VI, 9: Webb, II, 23 f.; Dickinson, p. 201; VI, 12: Webb, II, 32 f.; Dickinson, pp. 212 f.

23. III, 15: “Porro tirannum occidere non modo licitum est sed aequum et iustum … et quisquis eum [tirannum] non persequitur, in seipsum et in totum rei publicae mundanae corpus delinquit.” Webb, I, 232 f.; Pike, pp. 211 f.

24. IV, 9: Webb, I, 266 f.; Dickinson, p. 43; VIII, 20: “… nichil tam praeclarum est aut tam magnificum quod non moderatione desideret temperari.” Webb, II, 373; Dickinson, p. 367.

25. Prologus: Webb, I, 17; Pike, p. 10; Metalogicon, ed. C. C. J. Webb (Oxford, 1929), Prologus, p. 4; McGarry, p. 6; Letters, p. 214.

26. Metalogicon II, 20, repeated IV, 31: “… in his que sunt dubitabilia sapienti. …” Webb, pp. 106, 199; McGarry, pp. 128, 251.

27. VII, 2: Webb, II, 95-98; Pike, pp. 219-21; VII, 7: “… dum res obscura est, quaerat; dum probabiliter elucescit ueritas, adquiescat.” Webb, II, 117; Pike, p. 239.

28. I, 4: “Is uero modus laudabilis est, cum moderatione adhibita. …” Webb, I, 33; Pike, p. 25.

29. I, 5: “Est tamen cum in aliqua specie sui [alea] licenter admittitur. …” Webb, I, 37; Pike, p. 28.

30. III, 11 (entitled, “De … promissariis, et quod promittere non expediat ad virtutem”): “Fit tamen ut non modo licitum sit promittere sed et conducibile.” Webb, I, 209; Pike, p. 190.

31. VIII, 12: “Verum, si moderatio adhibeatur, in his interdum sensuum uoluptate uersari sapienti non arbitror indecorum. …” Webb, II, 315; Pike, p. 373.

32. Metalogicon IV, 31: “Academicus uero fluctuat, et quid in singulis uerum sit diffinire non audet.” Webb, p. 199; McGarry, p. 251.

33. VIII, 20: “Hoc tamen cauendum docent historiae, ne quis illius moliatur interitum cui fidei aut sacramenti religione tenetur astrictus … Sed nec ueneni, licet uideam ab infidelibus aliquando usurpatam, ullo umquam iure indultam lego licentiam. Non quod tirannos de medio tollendos esse non credam sed sine religionis honestatisque dispendio.” Webb, II, 377 f.; Dickinson, pp. 372 f.

34. V, 6: “… non statim usquequaque deiciuntur, sed patienter corripitur iniustitia, donec fiat conspicuum eos pertinaces esse in malo.” Webb, I, 300; Dickinson, p. 85.

35. VIII, 18: “… honestum fuit occidere, si tamen aliter coherceri non poterat.” Webb, II, 364; Dickinson, p. 356.

36. And even as it is, John has filled a chapter chapter—VIII, 21: Webb, II, 379-396; Dickinson, pp. 375-393.

37. VIII, 20: “Licebatque finito tempore dispensationis nece tirannorum excutere iugum de ceruicibus suis. …” Webb, II, 374; Dickinson, pp. 368 f.

38. VIII, 18; Webb, II, 358; Dickinson, p. 350.

39. VIII, 18; Webb, II, 359; Dickinson, p. 351; IV, 1: “Si itaque adeo uenerabilis est bonis potestas etiam in plaga electorum, quis eam non ueneretur, quae a Domino instituta est. …” Webb, I, 236; Dickinson, pp. 4 f.

40. VIII, 20: “Et hic quidem modus delendi tirannos utilissimus et tutissimus est, si qui premuntur ad patrocinium clementiae Dei humiliati confugiant et puras manus leuantes ad Dominum deuotis precibus flagellum quo affliguntur auertant.” Webb, II, 378; Dickinson, p. 373.

41. The discussion of the Institutio Trajani is, in general, the basis of Books V and VI, and it is frequently referred to in the two concluding books. VII and VIII.

42. V, 2: Webb, I, 282 f.; Dickinson, pp. 64 f.

43. Jacob, p. 64.

44. H. Liebeschütz, “John of Salisbury and Pseudo-Plutarch,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 6 (1943), 33-39, argues thus: (1) that the plan of the pseudo-Plutarch fits John's schema just too perfectly; (2) that that which John claims to be Plutarch sounds no different from that which he admits to be John; (3) that no one else seems ever to have seen this mysterious document, since all who cite it quote it from John; and (4) that the ideas of the pseudo-Plutarch bear unmistakable similarity to those John learned from Robert Pullen, his former master. A. Momigliano, “Notes on Petrarch, John of Salisbury and the Institutio Traiani,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 12 (1949), 189 f. questions these conclusions, but Liebeschütz's reply (ibid., p. 190) seems satisfactory. Liebeschütz's arguments have convinced E. H. Kantorowicz, The King's Two Bodies (Princeton, 1957), p. 94, note 20, and they are accepted without question by Chibnall, p. XV, and by Brown, p. 287. S. Desideri, La “Institutio Traiani” (Genoa, 1958), feels that Liebeschütz's hypothesis is a slur on John's bona fides. He, too, cites the Petrarch reference, but admits that this external evidence is not conclusive (p. 28). His argument rests instead upon textual criticism of the fragments reproduced in the Policraticus; and on this basis he has concluded that the treatise did indeed exist, that it was written in the fourth or fifth century by a pagan author, was extensively reworked by a Christian writer of the post-Carolingian period, and was then freely redone by John of Salisbury. The question of whether the treatise did exist, but underwent a “rifacimento libero” by John, as Desideri maintains (p. 47); or whether instead John combined genuine ancient exempla, drawn from various sources, to compose the “treatise” himself, as Liebeschütz contends (loc. cit.), is largely a question of degree insofar as the present discussion is concerned.

45. IV, 1: “… principi onera imminent uniuersa. Vnde merito in eum omnium subditorum potestas confertur. …” Webb, I, 235; Dickinson, p. 3.

46. V, 2: “… cuius uice fruatur. …” Webb, I, 282; Dickinson, p. 64.

47. V, 7: Webb, I, 308; Dickinson, p. 95.

48. IV, 2: “… in eo personam publicam gerit. …” Webb, I, 238 f.; Dickinson, pp. 7 f.

49. IV, 2: “Eius namque uoluntas in his uim debet habere iudicii; et rectissime quod ei placet in talibus legis habet uigorem. …” Webb, I, 238; Dickinson, p. 7.

50. See, for example, W. Ullmann, The Growth of Papal Government in the Middle Ages (2nd ed., New York, 1962), pp. 420-26; Webb, John of Salisbury, pp. 170-178.

51. V, 2: “… anima totius habet corporis principatum. … Princeps uero … uni subiectus Deo et his qui uices illius agunt in terris. …” Webb, I, 282 f.; Dickinson pp. 64 f.; Letter 124: “… [Romana ecclesia] quae solius Dei reseruatur examini. …” Letters, p. 206.

52. The only other definite claim “that all authority, ecclesiastical or secular, belongs to the spiritual power” prior to John, is in the Summa Gloria of Honorius of Autun (Jacob, p. 79).

53. IV, 3: “Est ergo princeps sacerdotii quidem minister et qui sacrorum officiorum illam partem exercet quae sacerdotii manibus uidetur indigna.” Webb, I, 239; Dickinson, p. 9.

54. IV, 6: “Legat itaque mens principis in lingua sacerdotis … quia praedicatione eorum debet potestas commissi magistratus gubernacula moderari.” Webb, I, 255; Dickinson, p. 28.

55. V, 6: “Dictum est autem principem locum obtinere capitis, et qui solius mentis regatur arbitrio.” Webb, I, 298; Dickinson, p. 83; cf. IV, 6: Webb, I, 250 f.; Dickinson, p. 24.

56. IV, I: “… ut omnia recte moueantur, dum sani capitis sequuntur arbitrium.” Webb, I, 235; Dickinson, p. 3; italics added.

57. VIII, 17: “Habet enim et res publica impiorum caput et membra sua, et quasi ciuilibus institutis legittimae rei publicae nititur esse conformis. Caput ergo eius tirannus est imago diaboli; anima heretici scismatici sacrilegi sacerdotes … ; cor consiliarii impii, quasi senatus iniquitatis; oculi, aures, lingua, manus inermis, iudices et leges, officiales iniusti; manus armata, milites uiolenti, quos Cicero latrones appellat; pedes qui in ipsis humilioribus negotiis praeceptis Domini et legittimis institutis aduersantur.” Webb, II, 348 f.; Dickinson, p. 339.

58. VIII, 17: Webb, II, 347; Dickinson, p. 338.

59. VIII, 17: Webb, II, 345; Dickinson, p. 335.

60. V, 7: “Rex insipiens perdet populum suum … Cum in subiectos potestas saeuit, idem est ac si tutor pupillum persequatur, uel eum suo mucrone iugules, ob cuius defensionem ab eodem traditum tibi gladium accepisti.” Webb, I, 308; Dickinson, pp. 94 f.

61. IV, 3: “… eius est auferre qui de iure conferre potest.” Webb I, 241; Dickinson, p. 10.

62. IV, 3: Hunc ergo gladium [sanguinis] de manu Ecclesiae accipit princeps, … qui sacrorum officiorum illam partem exercet quae sacerdotii manibus uidetur indigna.” Webb, I, 239; Dickinson, p. 9.

63. V, 2: “… ab anima uegetatur caput et regitur.” Webb, I, 283; Dickinson, p. 65.

64. See for example, the incident of priestly submission to Attila; IV, 1: Webb, I, 236; Dickinson, p. 4.

65. IV, 1: “Omnis etenim potestas a Domino Deo est. …” Webb, I, 236; Dickinson, p. 4.

66. VIII, 18: Webb, II, 359; Dickinson, p. 351.

67. VIII, 21: Webb, II, 380-82; Dickinson, pp. 377 f.; VIII, 19: Webb, II, 362 f., 371 f.; Dickinson, pp. 355 f., 365 f.

68. Metalogicon IV, 31: “… quid in singulis uerum sit diffinire non audet.” Webb, p. 199; McGarry, p. 251.

69. Liebeschütz, Mediaeval Humanism, p. 17.

70. The Entheticus is described and discussed briefly in Liebeschütz, op. cit., pp. 19 f., and Webb, John of Salisbury, pp. 22-24.

71. “Non tamen ostendas, oculos quod principis urat, /A quo tota tibi uita salusque datur. / … Quod prohibet fieri, scelus est; quod praecipit, aequum: / Iuraque pro placito stantque caduntque suo. / Huic quia sola placet, sola uirtute placebis. …” Webb, I, 3, lines 3-9; Pike, p. 417. There is an abrupt shift here in John's narrative, for in the lines immediately preceding he has instructed the book to find Becket; however, the only conceivable interpretation of the terminology used in the lines quoted here and in those immediately following is that they refer to the king himself.

72. Webb, I, 2, lines 1-6; Pike, pp. 415 f.

73. Letter 111: “Nollem tamen quod me curialibus faceret inimicum. Precor ut eum incunctanter erudiatis, eumque expectanti amico remittite castigatum. …” Letters, p. 182.

74. See, for example, W. Berges, Die Fürstenspiegel des hohen und späten Mittelalters, M.G.H. Schriften II (Stuttgart, 1938); W. Kleineke, Englische Fürstenspiegel vom Policraticus Johanns von Salisbury bis zum Basilikon Doron König Jakobs I. (Halle, 1937).

75. C.N.L. Brooke presents the most convincing chronology of John's early years; Letters, pp. xii-xxiv.

76. E.g., the discussion of hunting (I, 4), gaming (I, 5), indulgence in feasting (VIII, 10), extravagance in dress (VIII, 12).

77. VIII, 25: “Nec inhibeo quin uestibus niteas deauratis circumdatus uarietate, quin epuleris cotidie splendide, quin primos honores habeas; … quin tempori sed et peruersis moribus, rectus tamen ut es ipse, in omnibus morem geras et suis lenociniis irridentem irrideas mundum. Maior enim es quam ut debeas aut possis (licet iam sic ceperit multos) capi tendiculis eius.” Webb, II, 423 f.; Pike, p. 410.

78. Letter 129, Abp. Theobald to Thomas Becket (c. Sept. 1160), Letters, pp. 224 f.; cf. A. Saltman, Theobald Archbishop of Canterbury (London, 1956), pp. 45, 168f.

79. Letter 22, Abp. Theobald to Thomas Becket (late 1156), contains many phrases showing that Theobald is already expecting death; Letters, pp. 35 f. and n. 2.

80. See Letters, p. xxxviii, for a discussion of John's role in the writing of letters ostensibly by Theobald.

81. Letter 116, Abp. Theobald to King Henry II (early 1160): “Et sunt nonnulli eorum, sicut celebre est, in insidiis personae aut ecclesiae nostrae. … Amodo enim iam breues erunt dies nostri. … Nec est quod uestram magis deceat excellentiam, quam ut eam [ecclesiam Cantuariensem] seruetis indempnem.” Letters, p. 191.

82. Letter 127, Abp. Theobald to King Henry II (June-July 1160): “Si uultis, immo quia uultis Christum habere propitium, sponsam eius (quae est ecclesia …) studeatis habere propitiam. Nam cui deest gratia ecclesiae tota creatrix Trinitas aduersatur. Suggerunt uobis filii saeculi huius ut ecclesiae minuatis auctoritatem ut uobis regia dignitas augeatur. Certe uestram impugnant maiestatem et indignationem Dei procurant quicumque sunt illi … ; poena dignum est et proculdubio poena acerbissima punietur, immo Deo propitio non punietur quia ipso propitiante non fiet.” Letters, p. 220. We know from John's own testimony that the language employed in this case is his own; see Letter 128, John to Thomas Becket (c. September 1160), Letters, p. 221.

83. Cf. Z. N. Brooke, The English Church & the Papacy (Cambridge, 1952), p. 189.

84. Letter 128: “Noueritis autem quia, si distuleritis usque ad aduentum domini regis petitionis effectum, eo ipso putabit quod in mortem eius dilatio quaeratur.” Letters, p. 223. In this particular case John's suspicion was unfounded; Theobald's candidate received royal approval just before the archbishop's death.

85. Of course, there is the papal schism dating from the double election in September 1159; while the concerns evidenced in the quoted passages refer specifically to the problems of the English Church, surely the anxiety at Canterbury must have been increased by the lack of a recognized head of the universal church.

86. That is to say, at least since the time of John's disgrace in 1156, discussed below.

87. VI, 18: “… si iuxta praecedentis gratiae cursum sibi diu successerint prospera. … Ceterum adolescentiae exitus aliquibus suspectus est, et utinam frustra a bonis timeatur.” Webb, II, 54; Dickinson, p. 237.

88. Letter 19, John to Peter abbot of Celle (autumn 1156), Letters, pp. 31-32. The dating of this fall from grace, a major revision in the chronology of John's life and writings, was accomplished by Giles Constable, “The Alleged Disgrace of John of Salisbury in 1159,” EHR [English Historical Review], 69 (1954), 67-76; Constable's findings are summarized by Brooke, Letters, Append. II, pp. 257 f.

89. Letter 19: “Quod in electionibus celebrandis, in causis ecclesiasticis examinandis uel umbram libertatis audet sibi Anglorum ecclesia uendicare, michi inputatur. …” Letters, p. 32.

90. Cf. Z. N. Brooke, pp. 189, 198 f.; H. G. Richardson and G. O. Sayles, The Governance of Mediaeval England (Edinburgh, 1963), Ch. XVI, “Church and State in the Twelfth Century,” especially pp. 302 f.

91. Letter 13, John to William bishop of Norwich (spring-summer 1156), indicates some sort of mild protest to the king on this occasion; Letters, pp. 21 f.

92. Ep. 145, John to Bartholomew bishop of Exeter (1166): “… Tolosam bello aggressurus, omnibus contra antiquum morem et debitam libertatem indixit ecclesiis, ut pro arbitrio eius, satraparum suorum conferrent in censum, nec permisit ut ecclesiae saltem proceribus coaequarentur in hac contributione uel magis exactione tam indebita quam iniusta.” Migne, PL, CXCIX, 134. It should be noted that John is writing here with the advantage of seven years' hindsight; however, Liebeschütz, Mediaeval Humanism, p. 14, believes that “this judgment is certainly not a projection into the past of experiences in the period of Becket's struggles with the king.” The details of the levy of 1159 are worked out by J. H. Round, Feudal England (London, 1909), pp. 275-79.