Monday


Akhenaten (formerly Amenhotep IV) worshipping Aten.

In The Elizabethan Conception of Civilization I examined some of the nomothetic elements of the otherwise idiosyncratic character of Elizabethan civilization. In that post I emphasized that the large-scale political structure of European civilization in the medieval and modern periods entails an ideology of kingship in which the monarch himself or herself becomes the reproducible pattern for his or her subjects to follow.

There is another source of nomothetic stability in the case of idiographic Elizabethan civilization, and that is the long medieval inheritance that was still a living presence in early modern society. The classic exposition of the Elizabethan epistēmē (as perhaps Foucault would have called it) is E. M. W. Tillyard’s book The Elizabethan World Picture, which emphasizes the medieval heritage of Elizabethan society. The elements of the medieval world view that Tillyard rightly finds surviving into the conceptual framework of Elizabethan England could be understood as the invariant and continuous elements that constitute the nomothetic basis of Elizabathan civilization.

Peter Saccio in his lectures Comedy, Tragedy, History: The Live Drama and Vital Truth of William Shakespeare (this was the first set of lectures that I acquired from The Teaching Company, which has since changed their name to The Great Courses, but it was as The Teaching Company that these lectures were first made available) briefly discussed Tillyard’s book and its influence, which he characterized as primarily conservative. Saccio noted that recent Shakespeare scholarship has focused to a much greater extent on the radical interpretations of Shakespeare. As goes for Shakespearean theater, so it goes for Elizabethan society. We could give a conservative Tillyardian exposition of Elizabethan society that portrays that society primarily in terms of its medieval inheritance, or we can give a more radical exposition of Elizabethan society that portrays that society in terms of the rapid changes and innovations in society at this time.

While Elizabethan civilization retained many deeply conservative elements drawn from the medieval past, the underlying theme of Elizabethan civilization — the consolidation of the Anglican Church as a state institution — was in fact among the most radical changes possible to a social structure within the early modern context of civilization, and may be compared to Akhenaten’s attempt to replace traditional Egyptian mythology with a quasi-monotheistic solar cult. But whereas Akhenaten’s religious innovations did not endure, with the kingdom reverting to traditional religious practices after Akhenaten’s death (i.e., the central project of Egyptian civilization survived Akhenaten), the religious innovations of Elizabeth I did endure.

Up until the Enlightenment, almost all civilizations had, as their central project, or integral with their central project, a religion (or, more generally, a spiritual tradition). If we regard the Enlightenment as a secularized ersatz religion (or, if you prefer, a surrogate religion), then this has not changed to the present day. Regardless, changing the religion that is identical with, or is integral to, the central project of one’s civilization, is akin to making changes to the center of the web of belief (to employ a Quinean motif) rather than merely making changes at the outer edges of the web.

The Protestant Reformation in England, then, can be understood as the opening of Pandora’s Box. While retaining the forms of tradition to the extent possible, the establishment of the Anglican Church demonstrated that even the central project of a civilization can be changed out at the whim of a monarch, and this was as much as to demonstrate that everything hereafter was up for grabs. Subsequent history was to bear this out. One might even say that regicide was implicit in the fungibility of early modern England’s central project, but it took a hundred years for that to play out (on civilizational time scales, a hundred years is a reasonable lead time for causality). If you can change your church, why not cashier your king?

Many years ago in the early history of his blog, I wrote some posts about Christopher Hill’s book The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas during the English Revolution (in The Agricultural Paradigm and The World Turned Right-Side Up; cf. also the links embedded in these posts), which book is a somewhat sympathetic history of the radical movements in early modern England represented by groups like the Ranters, the Diggers, the Levelers, and the True Levelers. Hill imagined that a much more radical revolution might have emerged from Elizabethan England and the revolutionary movements that followed. Now, in the spirit of what I wrote above, I can ask whether, if you can change the central project of your civilization, cannot you also go down the path of the kind of radical revolution that Hill imagined, toward communal property, disestablishing the state church, and rejecting the Protestant Ethic?

This question points to something important, I think, but I will not attempt at this time to give an exposition of what all is involved, because it has only just now occurred to me while writing this. While I have come to see the Protestant Reformation as opening Pandora’s Box in England, I think there is also a limit to the amount of revolution that a population can stomach. As wrenching as it is to replace the central project of your civilization, or to execute your king, it would be even more wrenching to attempt to uproot the whole of the ordinary business of life. Certainly you wouldn’t want to attempt to do both at the same time. If I am right about this, how then would be draw a line between the ordinary business of life, that is to remain largely undisturbed, and the extraordinary business of life, in which a population can tolerate violent punctuations and periods of instability?

. . . . .

signature

. . . . .

Grand Strategy Annex

. . . . .

project astrolabe logo smaller

. . . . .

. . . . .

Saturday


Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603)
The Armada Portrait, c.1588. Attributed to George Gower (c.1546-1596).

In his book and television series Civilisation, Kenneth Clark cast doubt whether there was anything that could be legitimately called an Elizabethan civilization, hence, I assume also, any possibility of an Elizabethan conception of civilization:

“I suppose it is debatable how far Elizabethan England can be called civilised. Certainly it does not provide a reproducible pattern of civilisation as does, for example, eighteenth-century France. It was brutal, unscrupulous and disorderly. But if the first requisites of civilisation are intellectual energy, freedom of mind, a sense of beauty and a craving for immortality, then the age of Marlowe and Spenser, of Dowland and Byrd, was a kind of civilisation.”

Kenneth Clark, Civilisation: A Personal View, Chapter 6, “Protest and Communication”

This might seem like a rather trivial passage to pluck out of a larger work and to use as a lens to focus on the concept of civilization, but there is much of interest here, so hear me out.

Firstly, let’s start with the implicit distinction with which I began between a civilization and a concept of civilization. It is entirely possible that the Elizabethans had a concept of civilization, even if they themselves did not measure up to this concept, but it is highly unlikely that this is the case despite the possibility. The term “civilization” was not explicitly introduced until much later — significantly for Clark’s observation, by a French writer, Victor de Riqueti, marquis de Mirabeau, in 1757 — and we will assume that the terminology was introduced to meet a need that was felt to express an idea for which there was, as yet, no terminology. Again, it is possible that the concept of civilization existed in Elizabethan England before the term was introduced, but, if so, that would be a separate inquiry, though what we will have to say here would be relevant to that inquiry.

Setting aside the concept of civilization for the Elizabethans, there is the simpler question of whether the Elizabethans themselves were civilized, and Clark allows that Elizabethan England was a kind of civilization (a kind of civilization perhaps, but not, it is implied, civilization proper). This remark in passing is worth noting. Clark himself seems to prefer his characterization of civilization as a reproducible pattern, but he also allows for the possibility that intellectual energy, freedom of mind, a sense of beauty and a craving for immortality may characterize a civilization even in the absence of a reproducible pattern. In other words, there may be several distinct kinds of civilization, such that Enlightenment France exemplifies one such kind, while Elizabethan England exemplifies another kind. This seems pretty sensible, and, moreover, I agree with it. But if there are several kinds of civilization, what are these kinds? In other words, what is, or what ought to be, the scheme of taxonomy for civilizations?

At this time I am not prepared to offer a taxonomy of civilizations (although this is implicit in my other writings on civilization — more on that another time), but I can make some observations relevant to a taxonomy of civilizations. Since Clark focuses on civilization as a reproducible pattern, let’s also focus on that for the moment. Here I am reminded of a passage that I quoted in Civilization and Uniformity from Sir Mortimer Wheeler’s classic work, The Indus Civilization:

“…the Harappans were, first and last, lowlanders, as befits a civilized folk. The diversity of the hill-divided village groups is in standing contrast to the widespread uniformity of the riverine civilization.”

Sir Mortimer Wheeler, The Indus Civilization, third edition, p. 2

For Wheeler, mountain peoples remained idiosyncratic in their isolation, while lowland agricultural peoples mingled and lost much of their uniqueness. The emergence of uniformity, hence a reproducible pattern, is a product of the evolution of certain societies, and once a society evolves in this direction the process reinforces itself. Uniformity lends itself to iteration, and iteration renders any idiosyncratic tradition uniform over time; uniformity is the chicken and reproducible pattern is the egg.

Other examples of reproducible patterns would be the Hellenistic civilization that dominated the Mediterranean Basin during classical antiquity and the industrialized civilization that has emerged since the industrial revolution. Later iterations of Hellenistic civilization were highly uniform, but this pattern had its origins in the earliest societies of classical antiquity, which were likely highly idiosyncratic the closer we approach to their origins. E. R. Dodd’s classic study, The Greeks and the Irrational, highlighted the idiosyncratic nature of ancient Greek society as against the prevalent perception of Greek rationalism. Probably, like most peoples, the Greeks began with highly idiosyncratic institutions and evolved toward reproducible patterns. That others also took up the Greek pattern of civilization and reproduced it themselves probably contributed to wearing away of what remained that was peculiarly Greek in Hellenistic civilization.

I have previously discussed this contrast between iterable models and the idiosyncratic in terms of The Iterative Conception of Civilization and The Heroic Conception of Civilization. In my post on The Iterative Conception of Civilization I also implicitly reference Kenneth Clark in relation to the civilization of classical antiquity in the Mediterranean Basin. My implicit reference to Clark was to this passage:

“The same architectural language, the same imagery, the same theatres, the same temples — at any time for five hundred years you could have found them all round the Mediterranean, in Greece, Italy, France, Asia Minor or North Africa. If you had gone into the square of any Mediterranean town in the first century you would hardly have known where you were, any more than you would in an airport today. The so-called Maison Carree at Nimes is a little Greek temple that might have been anywhere in the Graeco-Roman world.”

Kenneth Clark, Civilisation: A Personal View, Chapter 1, “By the Skin of Our Teeth”

That Clark mentions the comparison with an airport today shows the relevance of a reproducible pattern not only to Hellenistic civilization but also to our contemporary industrialized civilization.

It has only occurred to me now, after all these years, that the distinction between the iterative conception of civilization and the heroic conception of civilization can be assimilated to the familiar historiographical distinction between the nomothetic and the idiographic formulated by Wilhelm Windelband:

“…the empirical sciences either seek the general in the form of the law of nature or the particular in the form of the historically defined structure. On the one hand, they are concerned with the form which invariably remains constant. On the other hand, they are concerned with the unique, immanently defined content of the real event. The former disciplines are nomological sciences. The latter disciplines are sciences of process or sciences of the event. The nomological sciences are concerned with what is invariably the case. The sciences of process are concerned with what was once the case. If I may be permitted to introduce some new technical terms, scientific thought is nomothetic in the former case and idiographic in the latter case.”

Rectorial Address, Strasbourg 1894, Wilhelm Windelband, History and Theory, Vol. 19, No. 2 (Feb., 1980), p. 175

Following Windelband, when a civilization is constituted by a form which invariably remains constant, it is a nomothetic civilization; on the other hand, when a civilization is constituted by the particular in the form of an historically defined structure, it is an idiographic civilization. Given this distinction, Clark’s implicit distinction between French civilization of the Enlightenment, which is characterized by a reproducible pattern of civilization, and Elizabethan English civilization, which was brutal, unscrupulous and disorderly, corresponds to the distinction between nomothetic and idiographic civilization.

But I would not go so far as to assert that there was nothing idiosyncratic about French civilization during the Enlightenment, and nothing nomothetic about Elizabethan civilization; it is a matter of degree, and degree of separation, between the nomothetic and the idiographic. Other civilizations that tended toward the idiographic would include, by my reckoning, Viking, Polynesian, Mongol, and Turkic civilizations (I mentioned all of these in a recent newsletter as instances of semi-nomadic societies); we have already seen other examples of highly nomothetic civilizations, viz. Hellenistic and industrialized civilization.

There are certainly nomothetic features of Elizabethan England… so what are they? Let us take a passage from The Life of King Henry the Eighth as an indicator of nomothetic structures of Elizabethan civilization, when Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, says the following in regard to the infant Elizabeth:

She shall be loved and fear’d: her own shall bless her;
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her:
In her days every man shall eat in safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.

William Shakespeare, The Life of King Henry the Eighth, Act V, Scene v, lines 31-38

To reduce this passage to the skeleton of implied properties of a successful society, we get security, including food security, peace, religious truth, and moral edification. Just below this passage, in line 48, the above is reduced to the litany, “Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror…”

“Neighbours” in the above Shakespeare passage must be taken literally to mean neighbors in one’s immediate geographical vicinity, as the passage has already drawn a clear distinction between “her own” and “her foes.” It is only among her own that the happy picture of peace and plenty obtains; while no sketch is given of the condition of her foes, we can make an imaginative extrapolation that this was a life of conflict and hardship, in some measure imposed by the benevolent Elizabeth no less than the peace and prosperity of her subjects was bestowed as a kind of royal gift upon the people of England.

Even though England at the time was a monarchy (it is still a monarchy today, but a constitutional monarchy in which the queen reigns but does not rule), it is fascinating that there is in this passage an explicit renunciation of virtue claimed by inheritance, and, presumably, also by social position or condition. The passage opens with “her own” blessing their queen, so that the people of England have offered up blessings to their queen, and she, in turn, provides the model of virtue for her subjects to adopt and practice (in other words, the moral model provided by the Elizabeth I as a pattern reproducible by her subjects). This places the queen not only as the political and military leader of England and the English people, but also the moral leader of her people. Arguably, the moral unity of Elizabethan civilization being explicitly disconnected from inheritance (i.e., blood) is a device that allows for the iteration of the model beyond any narrow biological definition of civilization.

The moral unity of a civilization, as with religious truth and moral edification in the foregoing list of properties, is certainly among the most important reproducible patterns that transforms an undifferentiated mass into a coherent whole capable of carrying out great works in the realization on a civilization’s central project, as, for example, the defense of the realm against the Spanish Armada and the consolidation of the Anglican Church as a specifically English religious institution that has ever since defined the spiritual life of England.

Wherever or whenever an exemplar is raised to prominence and presented as an example for others to follow (as with the queen and the queen’s behavior) we know we are in the presence of an explicit model intended as reproducible pattern. Since the form that European civilization took after the collapse of the western Roman Empire was that of a multiplicity of small kingdoms, each idiosyncratic to some significant degree, the ideology of kingship (and queenship) played a crucial role in the iterative elements of medieval European civilization, of which Elizabethan England was one example. It is to be noted in this context that France was always the largest of the medieval European kingdoms, and therefore that kingdom that most nearly approximated the geographical extent and population size that could result in a more nomothetic civilization, as arose in France with the Enlightenment.

The Armada portrait of Elizabeth I, attributed to George Gower (reproduced above; there are several contemporaneous copies of this image — one might even say iterations of this image), presents the monarch as an idealized archetype in conformity with the ideology of kingship. Elizabeth I is shown in regal splendor, with paintings of the defeat of the Spanish Armada behind her, and her right hand on a globe of the world, covering North America as though protecting the personal property of the crown. Any number of allegorical elements of this painting could be characterized as exemplars for her subjects not merely to reproduce, but to extrapolate to the end of an imperial destiny for the English crown. This is no small invitation to the nomothetic elaboration of the Elizabethan English model.

The European model of geographically bound kingship was a personal appeal to the people of a given kingdom at a time when literacy was rare and the primary forms of conveying an ideology were through sermons and images. In so far as the subjects of the English crown could look to Elizabeth (or, rather, to images of Elizabeth) as an exemplar, the connection between monarch and subject was personal. This personal relationship to civilization might be considered a distinctive trait of idiographic civilizations, but we should not think of civilizations of this kind as somehow deviating from an ideal model, or as constituting a lesser form of civilization, but rather as an adaptation to particular conditions. Whereas the Hellenistic model was iterated throughout the Mediterranean Basin at a time when this geographical region had already been civilized for thousands of years, and the exemplars of this civilization therefore grew in fertile social soil, the civilizations of Europe were extending their conception of civilization into a wilderness where no previous knowledge of civilization could be assumed.

With this in mind, we should not wonder at the success of the early modern European powers in colonial expansion, since the conditions of European civilization entailed a model iterable under hostile conditions.

. . . . .

signature

. . . . .

Grand Strategy Annex

. . . . .

project astrolabe logo smaller

. . . . .

. . . . .

Tuesday


Civilisation Clark

At the present time I hold a view of civilization that is quite broad, and which pushes civilization back to the origins of settled agrarianism. As I see it, all of the essential institutions come into place quite early, although they are present in a very rudimentary form. The first few thousand years of civilization, given this broad conception, consist of a painfully slow and incremental refinement of these rudimentary institutions until they become undeniably civilization, and we find fully developed literature, monumental architecture, elaborate social differentiation and organized religion, another other social institutions.

21-social-ancientMesopotamiaLiving

I did not always hold this broad conception of civilization, and I would say that it was a study of prehistory that was decisive in the evolution of my broad view of civilization. Yet I do not doubt or deny that there are many persons who know much more about prehistory than I do and who nevertheless deny to the efforts of prehistoric humanity the title of civilization. It was once customary (that is an unsatisfactory word in this context) to identify civilization with the historical period, and to identify the beginning of the historical period with the invention of written language. While written language did play an important role in the organization of civilization, it must be accounted a coincidence (or, at most, as loosely-coupled association) that fully developed civilizations of antiquity appeared at about the same time in the historical record as written language. I suppose that my own view, before I became critical of my own presuppositions, was to more or less identify civilization with the emergence of written history, so that I formerly accepted this historiographical convention.

Does civilization begin with written records?

Does civilization begin with written records?

In many of my posts on civilization I have referenced Kenneth Clark’s book and television series Civilisation: A Personal View, and in this work we can find hints of a very narrow conception of civilization, which stands out as all the more interesting to me as it contrasts so sharply with my own views at present. This narrow conception of civilization is most apparent in the discussion of England in Chapter 6, in the context of the Protestant Reformation. Early in the chapter Clark mentions in passing, “…the barbarous and disorderly state of England in the fifteenth century,” and later in the same chapter he wrote:

“I suppose it is debatable how far Elizabethan England can be called civilised. Certainly it does not provide a reproducible pattern of civilisation as does, for example, eighteenth century France. It was brutal, unscrupulous and disorderly.”

Kenneth Clark, Civilisation: A Personal View, New York et al.: Harper and Row, 1969, p. 163

Certainly any conception of civilization that would deny that Elizabethan England — for some, a high point of civilization — constitutes a civilization is a narrow conception indeed, but Clark immediately goes on to add a number of intangible considerations in the characterization of civilization:

“…if the first requisites of civilization are intellectual energy, freedom of mind, a sense of beauty and a craving for immortality, then the age of Marlowe and Spenser, of Dowland and Byrd, was a kind of civilisation.”

Ibid.

Here Clark concedes that Elizabethan England was a kind of civilization; in other words, there are distinct varieties of civilization, some of which we would unproblematically identify as civilization, and some marginal cases, like Elizabethan England, which might be plausibly interpreted as a civilization if we judge the period sympathetically. This is still a rather narrow conception.

An engraving by Hogarth, Midnight Modern Conversation, of which Clark said, “Plenty of animal spirits, but not what we could, by any stretch, call civilisation. ”

An engraving by Hogarth, Midnight Modern Conversation, of which Clark said, “Plenty of animal spirits, but not what we could, by any stretch, call civilisation. ”

I don’t have any interest in either defending or criticizing this particular judgment, but I am interested in the principles implicit in this judgment, as the contrast of narrow and broad conceptions of civilization may be considered comparative concepts in the study of civilzation, which can contribute to a more scientific understanding. Early in the book Clark disclaims any idea of civilization and offers no definition, but as his exposition develops a number of principles manifest themselves in the narrative. The example of eighteenth-century France comes up several times, so that we may conclude that, for Clark, this constituted a paradigm of civilization.

“La Lecture de Molière” Jean François de Troy, which Clark contrasted to the Hogarth, “...one can't deny that the de Troy is a picture of civilised life.”

“La Lecture de Molière” Jean François de Troy, which Clark contrasted to the Hogarth, “…one can’t deny that the de Troy is a picture of civilised life.”

Strangely enough — strange because it seems like it comes out of an entirely distinct scholarly context, or, one might say, out of a different civilization — this seems also to have been the view of Michel Foucault, who frequently in his historical writings (by which I mean the earlier books thaat are narrowly focused case studies of madness, prisons, clinics, and the human sciences) uses the term “The Classical Age” (l’âge classique), which for Foucault seems to mean the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries — though Foucault no more offers a definition of l’âge classique than Clark offers a definition of civilization. For Foucault, l’âge classique constituted a particular épistème in the development of civilization, and one superseded by the emergence of the modern world.

Michel Foucault's Histoire de la folie à l'âge classique established the idea of a classical age without defining it.

Michel Foucault’s Histoire de la folie à l’âge classique established the idea of a classical age without defining it.

Though Clark and Foucault give us no definitions, Clark does offer the intriguing hint that eighteenth century France provides a pattern that can be reproduced, whereas Elizabethan England does not. This idea of a reproducible pattern of civilization I have called (again, drawing on references to Clark) the iterative conception of civilization, and I have contrasted the iterative conception to the heroic conception of civilization. If this contrast holds good in this context, then, if Elizabethan civilization, as Clark allows, is a kind of civilization, it is an heroic civilization. And certainly Shakespeare is an heroic figure in literature, a singular genius who transformed the language thus creating the conditions of a civilization of the word — another idea that Clark introduces, and contrasts to the civilization of the image, i.e., the civilization of medieval Catholicism.

Sir Christopher Michael Wren

Sir Christopher Michael Wren

By the end of Chapter 8, Clark specifically singles out England as an exemplar of civilization, a new paradigm, as it were, to set next to the salons of eighteenth century France, though this is the England of Christopher Wren rather than the England of Shakespeare. Of Wren’s Royal Naval hospital at Greenwich and its dining hall Clark wrote:

“…the result is the greatest architectural unit built in England since the Middle Ages. It is sober without being dull, massive without being oppressive. What is civilisation? A state of mind where it is thought desirable for a naval hospital to look like this and for the inmates to dine in a splendidly decorated hall.”

Kenneth Clark, Civilisation: A Personal View, New York et al.: Harper and Row, 1969, p. 215

While I don’t reject Clark’s characterization of civilization in this passage, I think it should be acknowledged that this is no less singular and no less idiosyncratic that the earlier England of Shakespeare. What Clark does not say, but which is implicit in his remarks, and in his overall point of view, is that there is an element of democratization involved in building a magnificent naval hospital where residents could dine in splendor. While this is not democracy as we have come to think of it more recently, in comparison to the extremes of poverty and luxury that marked the “civilization of the image” of medieval Christendom, this is in comparison enlightened and magnanimous to spend so lavishly for an institution intended for individuals who were in no sense the elite of agrarian-ecclesiastical civilization.

V0013271 Royal Naval Hospital, Greenwich, with houses either side, sh

Thus the idea of narrow and broad conceptions of civilization must itself be broadened to account for the possibility of a civilization that only accrues to the benefit of the most privileged members of society (a different conception of a narrow conception of civilization) and a civilization that accrues to peoples of a society across social classes and irrespective of privilege and hierarchy (a different conception of a broad conception of civilization). Earlier in his exposition of the Reformation Clark noted how Protestantism became an excuse for uneducated individuals to take out their fury on a higher culture in which they did not share. One might argue that this is a consequence of cultivating a narrow conception of civilization in which the benefits of civilization are not distributed widely.

The dining hall of which Clark wrote, often called The Painted Hall.

The dining hall of which Clark wrote, often called The Painted Hall.

Nearer to our own times, communism, like Protestantism before it, was often used as an excuse for the uneducated, lower strata of society to release its fury against a high culture in which it did not share. We have all heard the stories of the horrors of communism, and I would not wish to minimize them, having often written on the topic. On the other hand, there were moments in which the communist leaders grasped that it was an opportunity for them to demonstrate their concern for the masses in whose name they undertook the revolution by lavishing resources on the people that once would have gone into Tsars palaces. The most famous example of this is the Moscow Metro, the stations of which were designed as “people’s palaces,” which the working class could enjoy during their commute.

Moscow Metro station

Moscow Metro station

Of course, the idea of a broadly based civilization is distinct from the idea of a broadly conceived civilization, as the idea of a narrowly based civilization is distinct from the idea of a narrowly conceived civilization. Yet in the case of narrowness we can see that narrow conceptions foster narrow bases, and narrow bases foster narrow conceptions, so the two are not unrelated. Probably also a broadly based conception of civilization fosters a broadly conceived civilization, but this is not as intuitively striking as the coincidence of narrowness.

. . . . .

signature

. . . . .

Grand Strategy Annex

. . . . .

project astrolabe logo smaller

. . . . .

%d bloggers like this: