A Remonstrance of the State of the Kingdom — Themes and Context

A Rhetoric of Disease and Decay

The remonstrance repeatedly figures political disorder as a sickness. The opening paragraph speaks of “great dangers and fears, the pressing miseries and calamities, the various distempers and disorders” that have “overwhelmed and extinguisht the liberty, peace, and prosperity of this Kingdom.” The word “distempers” carries both political and medical connotations, suggesting a body politic in fever. Later, the authors describe “the root of all this mischief” as a “malignant and pernitious designe.” The choice of “malignant” echoes contemporary medical language for cancerous growths. This organic metaphor extends to the remedies: the Parliament’s work is to “exterpate” (uproot) these evils, as if pulling a weed. The consistency of this imagery—root, growth, extirpation—gives the document a cohesive figurative language that reinforces its argument for radical intervention.

The Architecture of Grievance

The remonstrance is built around a five-part logical structure, announced explicitly in the text: 1) the root and growth of mischievous designs, 2) their maturity before Parliament, 3) the effectual means used for extirpation, 4) the ways of obstruction, and 5) the courses to be taken. This numbered framework gives the document a legalistic, almost procedural feel, as if the Commons were presenting evidence in a trial. Within each part, the argument moves from general accusation to specific example. For instance, the “root” is identified as a “malignant and pernitious designe of subverting the Fundamentall Lawes,” and then the “Actors and Promoters” are named: Jesuited Papists, Bishops, and corrupt courtiers. This movement from abstract to concrete recurs throughout, creating a rhythm of claim and evidence that lends authority to the Commons’ case.

Remedies as Structural Reform

The third section of the remonstrance catalogs what has already been achieved: the Star Chamber, High Commission, and the Courts of the President and Council in the North are “all taken away,” described as “so many forges of miserie, oppression, and violence.” The language here shifts from diagnosis to construction. The authors list specific legal reforms—the reduction of forest bounds, the regulation of the Stannary Courts, the abolition of compulsory knighthood fines—as tangible gains. They also mention laws “in preparation” for “removing the inordinate power” of Bishops and “reforming the pride and Idlenesse of many of the Clergie.” This catalogue of remedies is not merely a list; it is a demonstration of Parliament’s effectiveness, designed to counter accusations of obstruction. The repeated phrase “we may well hope” signals cautious optimism, but the emphasis remains on what has been done, not what is promised.

Obstruction and the Persistence of Opposition

The fourth part of the remonstrance identifies the forces that have hindered reform: “the malignant Partie whom we have formerly described” have “taken heart again.” The language of disease returns, but now with a sense of resurgence. The text describes how these opponents “have been able to preferre so many difficulties” that the Parliament’s progress has been “interrupted.” The remonstrance does not name individuals but speaks of “parties and factions” that “labour to cast aspersions” and “foment Jealousies betwixt the King and the Parliament.” This vagueness is strategic: it allows the Commons to accuse without risking libel, while still painting a picture of a coordinated conspiracy. The document thus creates a binary world of reformers and obstructors, with the King positioned as a potential ally whose “gracious intentions” are being thwarted by evil counselors.

Readers approaching this remonstrance should attend to its dual nature: it is both a political manifesto and a piece of parliamentary procedure. The numbered structure and legalistic language are not mere formality; they are arguments in themselves, asserting the Commons’ right to diagnose and remedy the kingdom’s ills. The recurring imagery of disease, fire, and building gives emotional weight to what might otherwise be a dry catalogue of grievances. To read it is to witness the construction of a political case that would help precipitate civil war.

That old document’s ache for order—how it names the rot, then hopes for repair—stayed with me. Reading A Compilation of the Messages and Papers of the Presidents. Section 1 (of 3) of Volume 10. — Reading Notes felt oddly familiar, like watching a different century reach for the same steadying hand, quiet and unfinished. Just a lingering sense of voices trying to steady a room.