The Powder Keg of 17th-Century England

By 1679, England stood at a crossroads. The specter of Catholic absolutism loomed large, and political tensions reached a boiling point. The infamous “Pope-burning” processions—where effigies of the pontiff were set ablaze—drew crowds of up to 200,000, reflecting deep-seated anti-Catholic sentiment. At the heart of this turmoil was Anthony Ashley Cooper, the Earl of Shaftesbury, a master political strategist who weaponized public fear to challenge the monarchy itself. His target? The Catholic heir presumptive, James, Duke of York.

The stage had been set decades earlier. The English Civil War (1642–1651) and the subsequent execution of Charles I had shattered the myth of invincible monarchy. Though the Restoration of Charles II in 1660 returned the Stuarts to power, unresolved tensions simmered beneath the surface. The question of succession—specifically, whether a Catholic could inherit the throne—became the defining crisis of the era.

Shaftesbury’s Gamble and the Exclusion Bill

Shaftesbury’s campaign was nothing short of revolutionary. He orchestrated mass petitions, including the staggering “Monster Petition”—a 90-meter scroll bearing 16,000 signatures—demanding new elections to force Parliament’s hand. His goal: pass the Exclusion Bill, barring James and any Catholic heirs from succession. Instead, Shaftesbury championed Charles II’s Protestant illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth, spreading rumors that Monmouth was, in fact, legitimate.

The political theater reached Westminster, where Whigs and Tories clashed violently. The Whigs, dominating the House of Commons, pushed radical ideas echoing the Interregnum: that monarchy was a contract, not a divine right. Philosophers like John Locke (though his Two Treatises of Government would come later) and Sir Robert Filmer (Patriarcha) became ideological figureheads. Filmer argued kings derived power directly from God, while Locke’s nascent theories hinted at popular sovereignty.

Yet Shaftesbury, despite his ruthlessness, hesitated at the brink. Unlike Oliver Cromwell, he shied from outright rebellion. His reliance on public pressure—not force—proved his undoing. Charles II, ever the tactician, outmaneuvered him. By exiling James temporarily and offering token concessions (like promises to uphold Protestantism), the king diffused the crisis.

The Collapse of the Exclusion Movement

The turning point came in 1681. At the Oxford Parliament, Shaftesbury overplayed his hand. The House of Commons passed the Exclusion Bill, but the Lords rejected it decisively. Charles, now financially bolstered by secret French subsidies, dissolved Parliament and struck back. Whig radicals, some arriving armed, were painted as warmongers. Shaftesbury, charged with treason, fled to Holland, where he died in 1683.

The backlash was swift. The fabricated “Popish Plot” unraveled as witnesses recanted. Titus Oates, the conspiracy’s architect, was publicly whipped and imprisoned. The Tory counteroffensive saw purges of Whig sympathizers in local governments and courts, solidifying royal authority in ways Charles I could only dream of.

Legacy: From Crisis to Revolution

The Exclusion Crisis’s fallout reshaped England. Though the Exclusion Bill failed, its ideas endured. Locke’s theories on government by consent, nurtured in Shaftesbury’s circle, later fueled the Glorious Revolution (1688). The crisis also exposed the fragility of Stuart rule. James II’s subsequent reign—marked by his aggressive Catholic policies—proved so divisive that even Tories abandoned him, paving the way for William of Orange’s invasion.

Ironically, Shaftesbury’s tactics—propaganda, petitions, and political machine-building—were adopted by his enemies. Charles II’s government emerged stronger, wielding centralized power unseen since Cromwell. Yet the seeds of constitutional monarchy had been sown. The question of whether Parliament could dictate succession, once radical, became inevitable.

Modern Echoes of a 17th-Century Struggle

The Exclusion Crisis resonates today. It was a battle over national identity, religious tolerance, and the limits of executive power—themes still relevant in democracies worldwide. The Whigs’ failure in 1681 became their victory in 1688, proving that political revolutions often begin with ideas, not armies.

As for Shaftesbury, his legacy is dual: a cynical manipulator who nonetheless midwifed Enlightenment thought. His downfall was tragic, but his fight against absolutism helped define the modern world. In the end, the Exclusion Crisis wasn’t just about who would wear the crown—it was about who would hold the power to choose.