A Malthusian episode revisited: the height of British and Irish servants in colonial America

Decadence or Crisis in the Luso-Brazilian Empire: A New Model of Colonization in the Eighteenth Century

REVIEWS

Although organic agriculture (OA) is praised unequivocally for its environmental and health benefits, its potential for food security is often questioned because of its perceived lower yield. Least developed countries (LDCs), which have a high prospect of conversion to OA, are underrepresented in the literature related to the yield potential of OA, and its impact on regional food security. This paper aims to assess food and nutrient (calorie, protein, and fat) supply, thereby contributing to food security, from OA using yield ratio (YR) in LDCs and to compare this with North America (NA). Literature is the main source of data to estimate YR. Food supply data available in FAOSTAT for 1963–2013 along with the YR is used to estimate food and nutrient supply from OA in 2013. YR of crops shows a higher yield from OA in LDCs compared to NA. The food supply in LDCs between 1963 and 2013 increased at a higher rate than in NA. However, per capita nutrient supply is growing at a meager rate in LDCs; calorie and protein supply are just above the minimum threshold level and fat supply is still below the threshold level. Cereal is the single most important food item contributing to nutrient supply in LDCs, indicating a lack of dietary diversity. Thus, with relatively higher yields and crop diversity, and localized production and distribution systems, OA will have important contributions in dealing with persistent food insecurity in LDCs. However, a concerted effort is necessary to achieve yield gain and wider acceptance of OA.

Bernard Bailyn's Barbarous Modernity

Introduction Part I of this book has presented a predominantly positive picture of long-run economic growth and development in Britain from the Black Death of 1348–9 until 1870. Between the early fourteenth century and 1700 GDP per head approximately doubled and it doubled again between 1700 and 1870. Before 1780 progress was fitful, with the greatest gains concentrated into the twin periods of demographic decline in the second halves of the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries, but, crucially, there was little erosion of these gains during the sequel episodes of population growth in the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. In fact, well before the industrial revolution got under way population and GDP per head were rising together. Malthus [1798], however, in his Essay on the principle of population , was convinced that the relationship between population growth and output per head was otherwise, since, sooner or later, diminishing returns to labour were bound to accrue. This is possibly exemplified by the inverse correlation between population and GDP per head that appears to have prevailed during the second half of the thirteenth century. It is without parallel over the next five centuries: later phases of population growth certainly brought their quota of socio-economic difficulties but, for the most part, declining GDP per head was not one of them.

Abstract. Data describing economic growth and the growth of human population in the United Kingdom are analysed. Contrary to the widely accepted interpretations, Industrial Revolution had no impact on shaping trajectories of economic growth and of the growth of population. Within the range of analysable data, there was also no Malthusian stagnation. Consequently, there was no escape from Malthusian trap because there was no trap in the economic growth and in the growth of human population. The United Kingdom was the centre of the Industrial Revolution and yet its data are in the direct contradiction of the currently accepted interpretations. It is fortunate that natural processes did not comply with our fanciful and wished-for explanations of the mechanism of growth. If they did, if the generally claimed takeoffs did occur, it would have been a disaster because economic growth and the growth of population would have been already unmanageable everywhere. Keywords. United Kingdom, Economic growth, Population growth, Income per capita, Malthusian stagnation, Industrial Revolution. JEL. A10 , A12, C12, Y80.

Previous articleNext article FreeIn an Ottoman Holy Land: The Hajj and the Road from Damascus, 1500–1800Nir ShafirNir ShafirUniversity of California, San Diego Search for more articles by this author Full TextPDF Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinked InRedditEmailQR Code SectionsMoreThis is the story of a holy land in the Middle East—but not the one you might expect. Cities like Jerusalem and Mecca might quickly come to mind, but Damascus was the key to the creation of an Ottoman holy land between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, because Damascus was the gateway to the hajj. As a recent flurry of museum exhibits reminds us, the hajj—that is, the pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina—has been a well-established part of Muslim religiosity for centuries.1 The Ottoman dynasty also celebrated the hajj's importance over the six centuries of its rule, even if no sultan personally undertook the journey.2 Yet the hajj's aura of timeless sanctity also hinders scholars from understanding its historicity. How did the hajj complement and compete with other forms of Muslim religiosity, such as saint worship/Sufism? Can we speak of an "Ottoman" hajj, and what significance did this pilgrimage carry for the many non-Muslim subjects of the empire? Approaching the hajj from the shrines of Damascus, no longer so holy today, rather than Mecca and Jerusalem's hallowed sites, allows us to scratch away a bit of the gilding of enduring holiness and find a history of choices and contingencies, controversies and contestations.3I argue in this article that between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries an Ottoman holy land emerged that comprised the traditional sanctuaries of Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem, as well as the lands of greater Syria. Following the conquest of the Arab lands in the early sixteenth century, the Ottoman dynasty turned Damascus into both the center of an Ottoman imperial cult around the grave of the medieval theosophist Ibn ʿArabī and the empire's primary logistical hub for the hajj in response to the challenges of its religious and political competitors. As tens of thousands of Rūmī—that is, Turkish-speaking—pilgrims used the new infrastructure to stream into and through Damascus, the hajj also became an extended pilgrimage to visit the numerous tombs of Syria, Palestine, and Egypt. Non-Muslims too began to use the same infrastructure to partake in their own pilgrimage to Jerusalem and its environs, which they also referred to as the hajj. These overlapping claims to the hajj brought Rūmīs, Arabs, Christians, and others into competition and collaboration over the significance of the Ottoman holy land.As the logistical hub for the hajj, Damascus offers a view onto how religion was shaped by the forms of mobility available at the time, especially due to the development of material infrastructure. I take inspiration from recent scholarship, specifically that on the hajj, that has emphasized how new technologies of travel, such as steam and jet power, transformed Muslim religiosity by expanding its geographical horizons in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.4 These works, with their focus on modern technologies, refrain from commenting on the premodern period, yet their insights can be applied to early modern forms of mobility. An unexpected complement to these studies is the recent book by James Grehan on everyday religion in greater Syria during the early modern period. He argues that an "agrarian religion" centered on saint worship flourished in rural parts of the Middle East among both Muslim and Christian communities. Although not explicitly framed as such, Grehan's argument is about mobility and materiality. According to Grehan, a shared religious practice of saint worship emerged from the timeless patterns of rural life and the inability of the "high" Islam of scholars and jurists to move into the countryside. Only the technological and infrastructural transformations of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries delivered the shocks needed to dismantle the material conditions underpinning saint worship, bring the high tradition of legalistic Islam to all areas, and make Muslim and Christian peasants realize that they belonged to distinct religious traditions.5 Grehan deserves credit for pushing scholars to pay attention to the difference between urban and rural religious life in the early modern Middle East. However, we should not assume, as Grehan does, that increased circulation inevitably homogenizes devotional practice and obliterates saint worship.6 As Nile Green has demonstrated, modern technologies like steamships and steam-powered printing presses actually fed a florescence of religious practices centered on saintly miracles.7 Moreover, I disagree with Grehan's presumption that premodern Ottoman society, even in rural areas, was static and immobile. People (and objects) traveled on camels, horses, and on foot rather than on steamships and trains, but the empire was always on the move, and these movements redefined its religious landscape. While the mode in which people traveled remained largely the same, there were particular circuits and forms of mobility unique to the Ottoman Empire; the road from Damascus was one of these.The second part of this article's argument is that the regime of circulation built on the road from Damascus gave rise to a specifically "Ottoman" lived religion in general and a shared culture of pilgrimage in particular. The hajj became a central component of the lived religion of many of the Ottoman Empire's inhabitants, Muslim and non-Muslim. Christian subjects of the empire, for example, came to refer to their pilgrimage to Jerusalem as the hajj, even integrating the honorific hajji—that is, someone who completed the hajj—into their names and titles. Asking how the hajj became "Ottoman," in turn, opens a number of related questions for the study of religion. How did the Ottoman hajj differ from earlier iterations, given that the ritual itself did not change? What is the role of the state in the creation of common religious practices? And how does the religious practice of one community—in this case, the Muslim practice of pilgrimage—come to be a shared aspect of the lived religion of a diverse and multiconfessional early modern empire?To speak of an "Ottoman" hajj also requires probing the analytical valence of the word "Ottoman." In its most restricted sense, the word applies only to the actions of the ruling dynasty, the eponymous house of Osman. In the early modern period, the word was used largely in this limited sense, both by the dynasty itself and its observers. Modern historians, however, employ a more expansive definition of "Ottoman," in which the word is a blanket term that applies to anything and everything that occurred within the empire's boundaries. Moreover, many implicitly extend this idea conceptually and assume that every subject within the empire's boundaries also possessed a shared "Ottoman" mentality or culture, which in turn drove their political and intellectual choices.8 The mechanisms for the dissemination of a common Ottoman culture or mentality are rarely articulated, however. Most often, historians point to the actions of the state as creating an Ottoman culture. For example, the sociologist Karen Barkey argues that the Ottoman state intentionally promoted a policy of religious tolerance, one that broke from earlier and supposedly narrower iterations of Islam.9 Even if we accept Barkey's assertions of a state policy of ecumenicalism, they do not necessarily help explain how cultural practices like the hajj came to be shared by all the empire's subjects at the community or individual level. Like many premodern empires, the Ottoman government did not attempt to homogenize its diverse population under a single imagined culture. While the state actively intervened in the daily religious practices of Muslims and the institutional structure of Islamic law, it never contemplated the creation of shared "Ottoman" religious practices among its subjects.10 How then did the hajj become "Ottoman"?To understand how the hajj became a practice that left its mark on nearly all Ottoman subjects, we have to rethink our understandings of empire. Historians today, especially those focusing on the Ottomans, have often understood empire to be a set of institutions that govern by replicating or projecting the rules and culture of the imperial center onto its provinces.11 In other words, empire is regarded as a synonym for the state. Other scholars highlight the inherent social diversity of empires, using empire largely as a foil to the linguistic, ethnic, or religious homogeneity of the nation-state.12 I treat empire differently in this article. I see empire as a specific assemblage or network of heterogenous human and nonhuman actors connected in myriad relationships.13 The specific elements of the network, and their arrangement, varied in time and place. Thus, the "Ottoman" hajj was different from the "Mamluk" hajj, for example, not because the ritual radically differed but because it brought together an alternate set of material and social elements: the movement of Rūmī Muslims to the Arab provinces, the kilns of Iznik and Kütahya that produced the empire's ceramics, and especially the lines of pilgrim infrastructure centered in Damascus, among others. The shared "Ottoman" culture of the hajj was not the intentional construction by the state but an unintentional by-product of the interaction of these elements, a network that could only have existed with the empire's expansion and sustained presence.14This article traces the network that brought about the creation of an Ottoman hajj and holy land. Damascus functions not as the site of a fine-grained local study but as a gateway that illuminates the various connections streaming through it. My argument brings together a constellation of actors, both human and nonhuman, that connect to form a larger picture. Moreover, since I focus on the transformation of what Nancy Ammerman has termed "lived religion," I draw the reader's attention to the creation of an Ottoman pilgrimage culture from everyday practices rather than in theological works.15 The article jumps from Egypt to Hungary and the many places in-between, but it begins with the Ottoman Empire's conquest of Damascus in 1516, which first provided the Ottoman dynasty the possibility of administering the hajj. The centrality of the hajj in Ottoman religious life was far from assured, however, in these initial years. I situate the dynasty's first operations in Damascus in a wide array of other forms of state-sponsored Muslim religiosity available to the dynasty, such as the creation of a set of imperially sponsored saintly tombs. I then turn to the Ottoman state's eventual commitment to the hajj and its massive investment in the physical and textual infrastructure of pilgrimage. The hajj became progressively important in the daily lives of Rūmī Muslims from the empire's heartland, and it even expanded to incorporate visitation to tombs and shrines. Christians too used the same infrastructure to turn their pilgrimage to Jerusalem into what they themselves referred to as the hajj. The last section examines how this network led to a shared Ottoman culture of the hajj and also to competing claims by Arabs, Rūmīs, and Christians as to who could define the Ottoman holy land.Holy Lands, Old and NewUpon his return to Damascus, fresh from the victories against the Mamluks in 1517, Sultan Selim I (r. 1512–20) set out immediately to thank a saint.16 The sultan seems to have attributed his victory to the omens and intercession of Ibn ʿArabī (1165–1240)—an Andalusia-born Sufi theorist whom the Ottomans believed had prophesized the rise of the dynasty in a pseudepigraphic work, Al-Shajara al-nuʿmāniyya—and thus decided to build an imperial tomb at the site. Sultan Selim ordered that the residences, bathhouses, and an already standing mosque in the Ṣāliḥiyya neighborhood be bought from their owners and quickly demolished. Within three months, a congregational mosque had been erected around the tomb of Ibn ʿArabī.Even today, Ibn ʿArabī is a notorious figure. Thanks to his pantheistic theories of the unity of being (waḥdat al-wujūd), he is regarded as either the greatest Sufi master or the master of the infidels.17 The residents of Damascus, however, knew little of Ibn ʿArabī before the Ottomans' entry. Despite the fact that it had been well known that he had died in the city, travelers who sought out his grave state that it was being used as a rubbish dump in the fourteenth century. In 1499, one apparently had to scale the wall of a bathhouse in order to access the neglected graveyard housing Ibn ʿArabī's unvisited tomb.18 Other observers, such as Ibn Ṭūlūn (d. 1546), the future imam of the mosque built at Ibn ʿArabī's tomb, tell us that the site was already the tomb of a certain Ibn al-Zakī.19While they knew little of Ibn ʿArabī, the residents were at the center of their own holy land, populated by the graves of local saints and holy men, many of them being ṣaḥāba, the companions of the Prophet. This Syrian holy land had been built up over centuries; the oldest surviving collection of the faḍā'il (virtues) of the area comes from the mid-eleventh century and reflects the traditions and stories that had been collected up to that moment about Syria's sacrality.20 The arrival of the Crusaders—who built at least four hundred chapels and churches in the Levant over the course of their two-hundred-year presence—prompted the resacralization of greater Syria.21 As the Ayyubids (under Salāh al-Dīn, r. 1174–93) and the Mamluks (under Baybars, r. 1260–77) reclaimed this land, they quickly began a campaign of creating a new Muslim holy land in southern Syria. Rulers, military men, and common townsfolk took part in rediscovering, often in an inspired dream, the locations of the tombs of early Islamic figures and heroes from the wars against the Crusaders and then contributing to their construction and upkeep. Older, smaller pilgrimage sites, such as the tomb of the patriarchs in Hebron, were greatly expanded, and non-Muslims were banned from entering them. Churches and monasteries were converted into Sufi lodges; revenues from villages that previously supported monasteries and churches were seized and reendowed to support the new shrines.22 Whereas earlier holy sites had predominantly stressed biblical events and urban locales, this new wave of shrine building saw the establishment of the graves of a wide variety of early Islamic figures, learned scholars, and military heroes throughout both the urban and rural landscape. Geographies and pilgrimage guides (pilgrimage to shrines, that is) of the period, like those of al-Idrīsī (d. 1165) and al-Harawī (d. 1215), included these shrines and sites. While the Crusader incursion might have spurred the renewed sacralization of the lands of Syria, the spread and establishment of shrines by themselves was part of the growing shift in the middle to late medieval period toward an Islam centered on saints and holy men—that is, Sufism.23The Ottoman government's warmhearted embrace of Ibn ʿArabī and its intervention in the sacred landscape of Damascus were not acts intended for the locals but rather for its competitors in Anatolia, the Balkans, and Iran. In the post-Mongol Turco-Iranian world, especially on the frontiers of Anatolia and the Balkans, there was a constant potential for holy men and saints' descendants to raise the flag of rebellion in their fortress-like lodges and become contenders for political power.24 Only a few years before his conquest of the Mamluk lands, Sultan Selim had quelled a serious rebellion in central and eastern Anatolia by the Kızılbaş followers of the Safavid Shah Ismail, a man who had used his holy ancestry to found a state in the late fifteenth century. Even cities like Cairo were not exempt from this particularly Turco-Iranian idiom of political sainthood. In the chaotic aftermath of the Ottoman conquest, a new holy man from Anatolia, Ibrāhīm al-Gulshanī (d. 1534), started gathering a following and consolidating power in Cairo.25 In these uncertain times, the Ottoman government took a distrustful stance against many Sufi orders and instead decided to turn Ibn ʿArabī into a "nondenominational grand master of spirituality from whose esoterism all Sufi orders could get inspired, and ideologized, in defense of the Sunni faith and its political patrons."26This type of experimentation was found in other early modern Islamicate empires throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The Mughal emperor Akbar (r. 1556–1605) developed a sort of Sufi order in which he was the holy shaykh and his courtiers and subjects were disciples.27 Later, when the Mughals conquered the Deccan, they the shrines of the Muslim The built massive tomb in around their in creating a cult of the around the other Sufi The Ottomans too with this throughout the sixteenth century, for example, a tomb shrine for Sultan on the Arab observers, however, saw the Ottoman government's of Ibn ʿArabī's tomb as an attempt by Muslims from the to and even the hajj and the holy sanctuaries of Mecca and The residents of Damascus referred to the many Ottoman as In its most sense, Rūmī a and someone who and came from the lands of the central lands of the Ottoman between the in the and the in the have of the medieval from however, is actually a of his or from the lands of This early modern at with its in both the medieval and modern In the medieval period, the both the and in the and fourteenth centuries, it began to refer to Muslims in the This and was by the development of Ottoman in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries into an and of competing with a that the Rūmī from that of the more or In the nineteenth century, however, the it applied to subjects of the empire, which is its In local Arab residents of Damascus saw the as with only a of Islam and its to build a tomb over the grave of Ibn ʿArabī being the of their of the of the events by the Ibn a number of omens for the future of Ibn ʿArabī's new the the bought the and to the general and that the had The as they the a and the the the man who the sultan to build the mosque and tomb in the first Only a had also were at the foot of Ibn ʿArabī's grave as the their to it into a holy site. they erected a a traditional of over the tomb and more but only under the of being of what the people might and that no one find out about While the sultan to the and a for a Ibn ʿArabī, the people of Damascus of high due to the and the of in their an of the Safavid one when an of the and the was into the by his to its As the shrine they from a building that a had that these had been from the tomb of saint the of the an to the of Ibn Selim and the Rūmī the tomb of Ibn ʿArabī on the of The of is the central of the hajj, when the stream onto the of and for the this a hajj Ibn Ṭūlūn that the Ottomans were to the hajj with pilgrimage to the new tomb of Ibn ʿArabī, as they had the pilgrimage to the and to against the significance or the might have with their of was however, because the of the Rūmīs, was so that he could not the and the of even with a In other words, he the a were to the and were throughout the sites of the the of the and were given out in the by the As he the it for a moment that he had built the shrine of a of holy on the eastern of the it was an it was at the employ of the of it spread among the the and the men of state. it was that it was the of one of the bathhouses, which became with and when the they believed it to be holy only did the to the locals but also few of the and of the to the were that as residents decided to because of the high brought on by the Ottoman Ṭūlūn a the when he was the and of the mosque at Ibn ʿArabī's While he with the that what is for few of his came to visit in his new The of the land to visit the tomb when he came to the more traditional tombs at the He was left with the Rūmīs, who had it their to visit the tomb during their and like a certain who came with his to the tomb to to be by one should us that it was not a that the Ottoman government both and into the hajj and the the Islamic world, there were a wide variety of that and saintly power, and the same the construction of Ibn ʿArabī's a cult centered on Ibn ʿArabī was not so Ibn take on Ibn ʿArabī's tomb the that the religious of the Ottomans immediately following the Other Arab scholars of the period a of the religious and the cult of Ibn the tomb and the cult among Rūmī scholars in as Rūmī scholars a of Ibn ʿArabī, for the saint needed to be among all the scholars in the imperial Although the tomb of Ibn ʿArabī remained a for Rūmī Damascus and the Arab lands become the center of a different holy Ottoman Ottoman government for a different of a state that did not on the creation of imperially tombs of holy men and The tomb of Ibn ʿArabī remained but the dynasty instead to become a of and a of Islam centered on following Islamic the course of the sixteenth century, it and in congregational in every and and that Muslims them as it to a particular of religiosity on practices such as and the The dynasty undertook these actions to itself from its imperial competitors like the and as had their own of shrines and but also with an toward the it had at greatest in a Sunni for the empire in its of the the of Mecca and that it had from the Even with these sites at their Ottoman in the hajj were a of for of the sixteenth For example, only toward the of the sixteenth century did the dynasty support for the tomb of Sultan in Hungary and order its shaykh to move to Mecca and focus his and on the grave of the to the the of Arab the government's shift toward the hajj was a In of over a hundred years the conquest of the Arab lands, the (d. a book in of The of the of the Ottomans were to other dynasty, or to set a number of and throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, known by their of of the or the of the house of The had their of Rūmī which them the site of an about the of imperial and in the Arab the Ottoman dynasty as a of both religious and a view to the the Ottoman and a century Whereas they had been as they were of especially to their massive investment in the religious sites of the hajj and the people who lived how they of thousands of on the of Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem, and Hebron, so so that they were never This was in to the on the military to the of the from The was by no an the from the seventeenth century that the and became and These imperial were by from the of the the which lands, and from both Muslims around the empire and of the dynasty The government also the around and Jerusalem, renewed of the area around the built and and all the in and hajj was a every which if not of thousands of through and massive infrastructure needed to be developed to bring to Mecca and Moreover, the pilgrimage had to be so that at the time in Mecca to the of the the left Damascus or there was not a to traveled on or horses, and a few were in However, the which included the many and that came traveled by The most was the between Damascus and Medina, the pilgrim were to the Syrian had been used during the Mamluk period, it no or infrastructure to to other than the few Thus, in the sixteenth century, the Ottoman dynasty began a of in the Syrian hajj The first was a

Is it possible to marshal sufficient historical evidence to render plausible the proposition that households worked more and worked harder in the course of the long eighteenth century? And further, can it be shown empirically that these household members – on their pilgrimage from a leisure-rich society to one inured to constant labor – were motivated in their industrious behavior more by new consumption aspirations than by bitter necessity? That is, can it be shown that households worked more in order to consume more, and consume differently? These are the questions that will concern us in this chapter. Pre-history of the Industrious Revolution How the peasant lost his leisure time . In the study of predominantly agrarian societies, production is generally seen as the result of the interaction of labor, land, and technology. If technology is slow to change and available land is fixed in quantity, the addition of progressively more labor quickly faces diminishing returns. At the societal level this raises the specter of inadequate food supply as population grows. Thomas Robert Malthus expressed this as an inherent propensity for population to grow faster than food supply. Population, he reasoned, had the capacity to grow exponentially while food supply could grow, at best, arithmetically, a situation that would lead inexorably to recurring subsistence crises unless population growth could be held in check by other means.

The Concept of "Early Modern" Mitchell Greenberg (bio) The editors of this journal have posed a series of questions the answers to which would hopefully offer a more comprehensive understanding of what we mean by that catch-all concept, the "early modern." Given the very fact that the questions asked are so varied both temporally and conceptually, hopefully I will be forgiven for couching my own thinking in terms that are both general and personal. Although it would be intellectually more satisfying to be able to pin down so broad a concept as the "early modern," I am afraid that my own inability to do so cogently is directly tied to what I perceive to be the defining mark of the concept, its inherent ambiguity. To my mind, the concept of the "early modern" is elusive in a temporal sense (where do we situate it historically—beginning in the sixteenth century and extending up to the French Revolution of 1789, or is it more limited in time, say from the mid-sixteenth to the late-seventeenth centuries?) And is it not a concept whose temporal limits can shift depending on its geo-political location? (Elizabethan England, Neo-Classical, i.e., mid-seventeenth century, France, or "baroque" Rome, Madrid [Mexico City!], or Vienna?) Are the different socio-cultural productions across Europe part of the same phenomenon? What of the differences in religious expression and persecutions, scientific discoveries, extra-European exploration, exploitation, and colonization? It would appear at first hand that any over-riding conceptual framework is intellectually risky especially when we are faced with the often contradictory academic disagreements between historians, literary scholars, philosophers, sociologists, theologians, anthropologists, and many others whose differences about any single definition of the concept are varied and heated. Unable to find any one definition that would embrace so large a socio-cultural phenomenon, I rely on what appears to me to be a common thread [End Page 75] among all these varied phenomena and that thread is double. Although almost any historical period may be described as inherently traumatic, I find that the period between 1550 and 1700 is marked by both a generalized European fear that chaos is about to descend upon the world and a desire for some force, some leader who would be able to waylay that chaos, establish order and put things that seem askew, aright. We hear echoes of this fear resounding across the European continent from England to Poland, from Paris to Naples in what historians have called the "crisis of the Seventeenth Century" (Trevor-Roper). So, for starters I would start by circumscribing the concept of the "early modern" as a generalized crisis of European civilization and the various responses, political, social, and aesthetic that arose in a limited historical period (1550 to 1700) as an attempt to deal with this crisis, and in so doing ushered in new ways of configuring the place of the human subject in a radically changing symbolic system—a system that eventuates in reformulating those parameters of subjectivity that we now define as our own. It would appear that when we talk about the "early modern" for however extended or narrow our definition of it may be, it is the seventeenth century that figures as the pivotal, transitional moment where those systems of representation that had dominated, that had coalesced into a "master narrative" that had defined the period from the late Middle Ages up to and through the Renaissance, were gradually being transformed into what was to emerge in the eighteenth century as a new configuration of subjectivity that would be the mark of the "modern." In his seminal early study Les Mots et les Choses, Michel Foucault argued for seeing the seventeenth century as a liminal period separating and joining one representation of the configurations of human subjectivity—the analogical—that, he claims, was the principal episteme up to and through the Renaissance, to the "transparency of Classical representation," which established its firm hold on the West in the eighteenth century. The seventeenth century would figure the moment of passage between these two epistemes, participating in both, seeing (but not, of course, in any clearly articulable fashion) the gradual, inexorable disappearance...

Ontwerpen en bouwen in de Hollandse stad

From the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, the heraldry of the nobility of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was influenced by local, Polish, and other European heraldic traditions. The coat of arms became one of the most important elements representing the culture and identity of the nobles. It reflected their family and marital ties, titles, positions, and other important aspects in the life of the nobility. The coats of arms that have survived to this day act as a reminder of the past lives of their holders. The article explores the heraldry of the noble Gruževskis (Grużewski) family from Samogitia between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries and its actualisation in the twenty-first century in the manor estate in Kelmė that was formerly owned by this family. The analysis revealed that the Gruževskis, a Polish noble family, who moved to Samogitia in the sixteenth century, enriched the heraldic tradition of the region’s nobility with the Lubicz coat of arms originating in Poland. The Lubicz coat of arms depicts a white horseshoe on an azure field with two crosses, one cross inside the horseshoe and the other outside with a crest of three ostrich feathers. The article looks at the heraldic seals held by the members of the Gruževskis family be­tween the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, the seventeenth-century coat of arms of Jurgis Gruževskis in the joint coat of arms in Kelmė Evangelical Reformed Church, and the eighteenth-century coat of arms of the Gruževskis family above the entrance to the manor house they used to own. It has been observed that the members of the Gruževskis family preserved their coat of arms from the sixteenth century up to the second half of the eighteenth century and that it was passed down from generation to generation. The analysis of the records shows that the family’s heraldic tradition featured both single-field and combined coats of arms. The emergence of the former in the seventeenth century is traced back to Jurgis Gruževskis. Today, the Kelmė Regional Museum is one of the main memory institutions that preserve and actualise the legacy of the noble Gruževskis family. While the coat of arms of this family is not forgotten by the museum and receives relatively comprehensive attention, there are few attempts to provide more detailed information or more critical insights about it. The heraldry of the former owners of the manor estate is usually presented using easy-to-understand visual resources such as illustrations, stands, interactive materials, and souvenirs. It is believed that visitors could be offered a more detailed picture of the heraldic traditions of the Gruževskis family and a more critical approach to these traditions could be developed by drawing upon a relatively extensive range of heraldic sources and scholarly materials. The possibility of showcasing the copies of the sources featuring the family’s heraldic traditions or developing thematic educational activities is to be considered.

Catholic Christianity and its imagery broke in on Mesoamerica suddenly in the 1520s and has been a pivot point of living and dying there ever since. But there is no simple story of an early formative stage and late decline in the history of Christian image shrines in New Spain. They began in the sixteenth century, haltingly; and with many shrines eventually scattered over a vast, broken terrain, local histories of Christian practice were bound to depart from models and prescriptions in Rome, Madrid, Mexico City, or less remote capitals and style centers. The weight of the European past and present in the development of Christianity and religious practices in New Spain was great, and diffusion from Catholic Europe lends some coherence to the history of image shrines, whether following European trends or working against them. But Europe, too, is a moving target, neither uniform nor fixed and finished in its religious culture. What, then, can be said with some confidence about the impact of European beliefs and practices on the development of those shrines? What changed where and when?

1. Introduction: The history of the family Peter Laslett 2. Some demographic determinants of average household size: An analytic approach Thomas K. Burch 3. The evolution of the family Jack Goody 4. Mean household size in England since the sixteenth century Peter Laslett 5. Mean household size in England from printed sources Richard Wall 6. A note on the household structure of mid-nineteenth-century York in comparative perspective W. A. Armstrong 7. Household structure and the industrial revolution mid-nineteenth-century Preston in comparative perspective Michael Anderson 8. A southern French village: the inhabitants of Montplaisant in 1644 Jean-Noel Biraben 9. Size and structure of households in a northern French village between 1836 and 1861 Yves Blayo 10. Household and family in Tuscany in 1427 Christiana Klapisch 11. Structure of household and family in Corsica, 1769-71 Jacques Dupaquier and Louis Jadin 12. Variations in the size and structure of the household in the United Provinces of the Netherlands in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries A. M. van der Woude 13. Size of households before the industrial revolution: the case of Liege in 1801 Etienne Helin 14. The zadruga as process E. A. Hammel 15. Houseful and household in an eighteenth-century Balkan city. A tabular analysis of the listing of the Serbian sector of Belgrade in 1733-4 Peter Laslett and Marilyn Clarke 16. Town and countryside in Serbia in the nineteenth century, social and household structure as reflected in the census of 1863 Joel M. Halpern 17. Small families, small households, and residential instability: town and city in 'pre-modern' Japan Robert J. Smith 18. Size of household in a Japanese county throughout the Tokugawa era Akira Hayami and Nobuko Uchida 19. An interpretation of the size and structure of the household in Japan over three centuries Chic Nakane 20. The average size of families and households in the Province of Massachusetts in 1764 and in the United States in 1790: an overview Philip J. Graven, Jr 21. Demography and psychology in the historical study of family-life: a personal report John Demos 22. Rhode Island family structure: 1875 and 1960 Edward T. Pryor, Jr.

Abstract. A simple but useful method of reciprocal values is introduced, explained and illustrated. This method simplifies the analysis of hyperbolic distributions, which are causing serious problems in the demographic and economic research. It allows for a unique identification of hyperbolic distributions and for unravelling components of more complicated trajectories. This method is illustrated by a few examples: growth of the world population during the AD era; growth of population in Africa; economic growth in Western Europe; and the world economic growth. They show that fundamental postulates of the demographic and economic research are contradicted by data, even by precisely the same data, which are used in this research. The generally accepted postulates are based on the incorrect understanding of hyperbolic distributions, which characterise the historical growth of population and the historical economic growth. In particular, data used, but never analysed, during the formulation of the Unified Growth Theory show that this theory is based on fundamentally incorrect premises and thus is fundamentally defective. In this theory, distorted representations of data are used to support preconceived and incorrect ideas. Precisely the same data, when properly analysed, show that the theory is incorrect. Application of this simple method of analysis points to new directions in the demographic and economic research. It suggests simpler interpretations of the mechanism of growth. The concept or the evidence of the past primitive and difficult living conditions, which might be perhaps described as some kind of stagnation, is not questioned or disputed. It is only demonstrated that trajectories of the past economic growth and of the growth of population were not reflecting any form of stagnation and thus that they were not shaped by these primitive and difficult living conditions. The concept or evidence of an explosion in technology, medicine, education and in the improved living conditions is not questioned or disputed. It is only demonstrated that this possible explosion is not reflected in trajectories of the economic growth and of the growth of population. Growth trajectories were increasing monotonically during the generally claimed epoch of stagnation and during the claimed explosion. Keywords. Hyperbolic distributions, Reciprocal values, Economic growth, Growth of human population, Industrial revolution, Unified Growth Theory, Growth regimes, Gross Domestic Product. JEL. A10, A12, A20, B41, C02, C12, C20, C50, Y80.

and W. A. Cole have made impressive strides along a new path of inquiry into the still unresolved question of the relationship between industrialization and population change in eighteenth-century England. In examining regional variations in the growth and migration of population, they are surely on the right track for finding new evidence, and for formulating and testing new hypotheses about the direction and mechanism of causality which relates population increases and industrial expansion. Deane and Cole advance some very interesting hypotheses, but, to use their own words: explanations of the differences in the pattern of demographic evolution in the major industrial counties are largely speculative, and it is not at present possible to check the assumptions on which they are based.2 The purpose of this note is to examine the properties of the statistical technique they use to estimate the amount of population increase in each county which is attributable to migration and how much is due to natural increase. It is then shown that these properties of the statistical technique, rather than the body of data which is worked over by the technique, help to generate the intriguing result of Deane and Cole's work-lthat the bulk of population increase in the industrial counties commonly associated with the Industrial Revolution came from natural increase rather than from migration. It is not the defects in the underlying statistics which are the object of concern in this note, if by statistics Deane and Cole mean the raw data which they use. Rather, it is the statistical technique which they use to work the raw data into usable form which is called into question. I The raw data which Deane and Cole have for each county are estimates of baptisms, marriages, and burials as recorded for each parish in response to census inquiries. These exist for i699-I70i and I749-5I, to give benchmark figures for