War or Peace: Rebellion in Münster

The early 16th century was a time of radical religious reform in Europe. The Protestant Reformation led to a break with the Catholic church and a subsequent fragmentation of religious belief. Among the new Protestant sects were various forms of Anabaptism. While the Anabaptist movement is today associated with pacifism, one event in the 1530s shows that this path was not inevitable: the Münster Rebellion.

The town of Münster was located in Westphalia. Prior to the events of the uprising, an Anabaptist pastor, Bernhard Rothmann, declared that a prophet would soon be coming to liberate the people of Münster. Ultimately, two key names can be associated with leading the rebellion: Johann Matthys and Jan Bockelson.

In February of 1534, Matthys and Bockelson took control of the city without much difficulty, initiating what would become sixteen months of Anabaptist rule. Matthys in particular saw this control of Münster as an opportunity to create a "New Jerusalem." In taking political control of the city, the Anabaptists even established their own mayor, Bernhard Knipperdolling


Matthys prophesied that God's judgment would come on Easter Sunday in 1534. Conceiving of himself as a second Gideon, he surrounded himself with only 30 followers. In the end, they were cut off from the main group and killed. Matthys' head was mounted on a pole and displayed in the city.


Bockelson has become better known in history as John of Leiden. Claiming to be a successor of the Biblical King David, he was proclaimed king and governed with absolute authority, justified by heavenly visions. In the course of his rule, he introduced reforms to the city such as legalizing polygamy and instituting common goods.


As the rest of Europe became aware of the state of affairs in Münster, they felt compelled to act. The city was besieged by Francis of Waldock, the former bishop of the town in June of 1535 and fell that month. Significantly, Catholic and Protestant troops cooperated in retaking Münster. 


The leaders of the rebellion were tortured, and in January of 1536 were publicly executed. Their bodies were subsequently hanged from the steeple of St. Lamberti Church in cages which remain there to this day (photo found here). Followers who feared persecution fled to nations such as England which were more tolerant of their dissenting views.


The Münster Rebellion marked a change in the Anabaptist movement. Never again did they have such potential for political power. The uprising spread the Anabaptist name throughout Europe, and Anabaptists who had not supported the actions of the rebels were sure to differentiate themselves from the event. Thus arose the Anabaptist emphasis on pacifism which is known today.


Sincerely, Abigail Quinnley

Doukhobors and Democracy

Recently, I stumbled upon an interesting article while searching to learn more about the Doukhobors, a Russian religious sect who emigrated to Canada's West en masse in the 1890s. The name of this group means "spirit wrestlers," originally a derogatory term in response to what was seen as their fighting against a traditional interpretation of the Holy Spirit.

Facing persecution in their homeland Russia, over 7000 Doukhobors emigrated to Western Canada at the end of the 19th century. This migration was assisted by men such as Leo Tolstoy and Peter Kropotkin, admirers of their traditional lifestyle.

Shortly after their arrival in Canada, a radical group of the Doukhobors formed known as the Sons of Freedom. These men were in search of Christ and earthly paradise. As an act of demonstration, they walked naked through Doukhobor villages, apparently seeking the purity of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.

This early protest seems reflected in the opening line of an article written by Christopher Shulgan in The Walrus Magazine entitled "Taking the Cure: How a group of British Columbian anarchists inspired democracy in Russia." His piece begins, "It stands as one of the more unusual turning points of the Cold War, thanks mostly to the surprise appearance of several naked middle-aged women." The full text of Shulgan's article can be found here.

The article stems from Shulgan's research for a biography of Aleksandr Yakovlev, at that time the Soviet Union's Canadian ambassador who went on to become "Gorbachev's strategic adviser." Shulgan contributes to Yakovlev much of the influence behind Gorbachev's famous policies of perestroika (a restructuring of the Soviet Union's economic policy involving limited free enterprise and private property ownership) and glasnost ("openness," increased freedom of the press allowing discussion and criticism of the state of the Soviet Union). Remarkably, Shulgan argues that Yakovlev's ideals which led to these policies were greatly influenced by a visit he made to British Columbia's Doukhobors in 1980.

To what degree this group was in fact influential in bringing about Russian democracy I cannot yet knowledgeably say. Nonetheless, it appears that there is more to this radical and yet conservative group than meets the eye.Though slightly lengthy, I recommend Shulgan's article, as both his argument and his subject matter are highly interesting.

To learn more about Yakovlev, his obituary from the New York Times can be found here.

I hope that you enjoy the reading.

Sincerely, Abigail Quinnley

Authority and Impact

Having just finished studying the Great Schism, I thought perhaps that I would share some thoughts with you. For those not previously acquainted with this event, the Great Schism, in its crudest explanation, consisted of a historical religious dynamic which resulted at one point in the existence of three popes and accordingly the splintering of papal authority.

Countries obedient to Rome and to Avignon. (click to enlarge)

In 1378, Pope Gregory XI died and Pope Urban VI was elected. Pope Gregory XI had moved the papacy back to Rome from Avignon where it had been established from 1309-1377. Many of the cardinals wished for it to be moved back to Avignon, and in September of 1378 thirteen cardinals elected their own Pope Clement VII who was a cousin of the French king and who reestablished his papacy in Avignon. Papal allegiance split along national lines. Neither of the popes was willing to concede his position, either in favour of the other or a new pope entirely. In 1409, cardinals who represented both of the popes met at the Council of Pisa and elected an entirely new pope, Alexander V. Neither of the other two popes accepted this decision and until 1417 there were three popes in Western Europe.

While the Great Schism represents a time when the internal power struggle within the church was perhaps most manifest, the sentiments and issues which surrounded it were certainly not unique. Historically, there had been additional external conflict between the pope and various kings over numerous issues of authority and subordination. Reviewing this event, I could not help but question the nature of authority. In particular, whence is it derived? Certainly, there are myriad answers to such a question and no singular explanation can be given. It may not be difficult to accept authority, whether because it declares itself and is subsequently imposed or because one has voluntarily come to the conclusion that a source is authoritative. Yet what occurs when, as in the Great Schism, multiple authorities assert themselves in an equal yet conflicting manner? In such situations, to what degree do we decide for ourselves who, if any, we will believe and to what degree do we merely follow popular sentiment in our particular geographical or social realm?

The more ancient a historical event is, the more incredible it seems that it has been preserved in such detail and that we are able to study it today. Yet such a discussion begs questions as to who or what has fallen through the historical cracks. Is it only important individuals and their actions who are remembered, or does historical memory allow room for the hidden masses? Such questions are further complicated by the great man theory of history which sees in the past primarily, or even exclusively, the decisive influences of particular leaders. If this is true, is it nonetheless important to remember those who were voiceless?

I think that this relates nicely to the themes discussed in my last post of analytical versus imaginative history. Powerful individuals and organizations of the past have left us the luxury of concrete evidence. While this certainly has the potential to be problematic, it can also provide definitive answer. It is for the rest of society, those who left no record of their own but who experienced the very events and decisions which capture our interest, that we must employ our imaginative faculties. Though such speculation may never be confirmed, I feel that this will allow for a greater understanding of the past, and perhaps be an initial step in developing a sense of historical empathy.

Sincerely, Abigail Quinnley

Historical Empathy?

A professor mentioned today that the study of history largely consists of two parts: The intellectual, analytical angle frequently focused on in academic settings, yet also an imaginative, empathetic side. I found this to be an interesting assertion leading me to question what role empathy can play in the study of history.

That there is room for sympathy would likely be largely agreed on. I suspect that few can learn about the events and horrors of the past and fail to experience some degree of shock and pity in response to traumatic experiences that individuals must have encountered. The same is likely true even of the less horrific yet more chronic working and living conditions of various ages.

Yet even if one were overwhelmed by this sense of sympathy, would empathy be possible? To what degree can we envision life across temporal, physical and cultural barriers? Even when we remove the temporal aspect, how much can we relate to our contemporaries who live a life geographically and socially removed from our own?

In that same class we discussed the Bubonic Plague. In this instance, I do not think that I can imaginatively do the event justice. While the chaos and despair which inevitably ensued can easily be grasped in an intellectual and numerical sense, the reality of living at the time seems beyond my empathetic reach.

Nonetheless, I find this idea of historical empathy intriguing, and believe that it is something to be desired, if not attained.

Sincerely, Abigail Quinnley