This chapter discusses, through a detailed study of three periods – 1632,
1675–1677, and 1727–1729 – the wider effects of French subsidies on Swedish
society as well as the nature of dependency between Sweden and France. For
long periods during both the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Sweden
was dependent on foreign subsidies: in 1631–1680, it needed financial
support to uphold its armies in occupied territories in northern Europe; and
from the 1720s onwards, it needed subsidies to secure its own territory as
well. With subsidies periodically amounting to from 5 to over 20 per cent of
state revenue, in a country with very limited resources otherwise, they
offered opportunities for careers and social climbing, as well as financial
Therapeutic relaxation techniques proliferated in the twentieth century,
designed to counteract the myriad maladies popularly associated with the
pace and pressures of modern Western living. Practitioners advocated forms
of neuromuscular relaxation as safe, effective, drug-free therapies for
conditions ranging from high blood pressure to migraine, labour pain and
anxiety. However, the therapeutic efficacy of relaxation techniques relied
on them being expertly taught, conscientiously learned and persistently
practised. This chapter focuses on the pedagogy of twentieth-century
therapeutic relaxation methods in Britain, paying particular attention to
their material and audio-visual culture. Relaxation instruction and ideology
were communicated through numerous channels including self-help books, group
classes, correspondence courses, the mass media, teacher training forums,
cassettes and biofeedback equipment. As the chapter makes clear, efforts to
construct the self-balancing individual were deeply enmeshed with specific
modes, processes and networks of communication. By considering the
localised, socio-cultural specificities of relaxation therapies, it is
possible to move beyond governmentality frameworks and develop more nuanced
and culturally informed considerations of health education, health
management and expertise of balance in the post-war period.
The series of international statistical congresses ended somewhat abruptly with the Budapest gathering in 1876. Articles published in international statistics journals conveyed the urgency of the need for organisational reforms. Anyone who has followed the debate about the future of the European Union will have seen many parallels between contemporary events and the dealings of the international statistical congresses. The International Statistical Institute (ISI), which was established in London in 1885, was in many ways the congress's natural successor. The founders of the ISI emphasised the professionalism of the institute and limited membership to 150 to keep out the 'free-floating intelligentsia', who in the opinion of many experts had had a disruptive influence on the congresses. ISI publications, in particular the Bulletin de l'Institut international de statistique, addressed the subjects and methods of statistical research more systematically and with greater precision than the congress reports.
In 1855 Parisians believed that their city was the centre of the world. Carl Friedrich Wilhelm Dieterici, who represented the Prussian kingdom in 1855 as he had in 1853, observed a bellicose mood among the French. The absence of the peacemaker, Adolphe Quetelet, may be one reason for Dieterici's about-face and less-than-conciliatory attitude towards the French. Quetelet wrote about Charles Dupin's graphical innovation in his journal, Correspondance mathématique et physique, and announced that an education map of the Netherlands was being prepared. Dupin's linear progress diktat was well suited to the Napoleonic climate. In many ways, Napoleonic statistics foreshadowed the form that statistics would take as the nineteenth century progressed. By the time the second international statistical congress began in 1855, statistics had acquired a permanent place in the machinery of government, in the academies and in public opinion in France.
The chronicler Edmund Howes was interested in trade and, like his more illustrious contemporaries Francis Bacon (ch. 1) and William Camden (ch. 2), provided an analysis of the state's management of commercial affairs. Howes, however, had much closer connections with the workshops, warehouses and offices of the City than the other writers discussed in this book. And it was through describing the activities of individuals attached to these locales, the chapter argues, that he was able to develop a highly innovative account of English commercial history. In dealing with Howes's writing, the chapter begins by looking briefly at his life, before exploring the account of Jacobean immigration, manufacture and trading companies developed in the Annales (1615, 1632). The chapter's final section shows how Howes's work shaped the approach to Jacobean commerce of one of the most popular historical works of the seventeenth century: Richard Baker's Chronicle (1643).
This chapter considers the omnibus as a central urban site where class relations and class identity were articulated, debated, and contested. Contemporary writers noted that the name omnibus was particularly well-suited to a mode of public transport that was by law open to everyone regardless of class, rank, or social standing. In theory, this vehicle embodied democratic promise, class equality, and French Republican values. Yet a careful analysis of contemporary documents shows that the omnibus was a much more ambivalent class signifier than heretofore believed. While some works hailed it as a symbol of progress and democratic potential, a space in which social distinctions became irrelevant, and all passengers were treated equally, others bemoaned that the omnibus fell short as a vehicle of equality. Finally, some documents reveal a profound anxiety about class mixing aboard the omnibus, which for many symbolized the upending of existing social hierarchies. The omnibus was thus a locus for engaging with both class aspirations and class anxieties. Some urban observers perceived social mobility as a promise, while others saw it as a dangerous challenge to the social order.
History, time and temporality in development discourse
This chapter focuses on two areas in which history can make a contribution, conceptually and methodologically, to understanding constructions of time and the past in development policy. First, it explores the problematic way in which the discourse writes and conceals its history, and addresses how we can usefully engage an historical perspective to move beyond a bounded history that simply charts a linear chronology of events and sequential theoretical positions. Second, the chapter argues that how we understand, invoke and imagine time and temporality in development, particularly in relation to other people in different places, reproduces and embeds global hierarchies and distinctions. It suggests that a postcolonial historical analysis can offer ways of writing different histories and of moving beyond the problematic framing of time.
When economists analyze development policy, the first requirement is a description of the economy, of individuals, households, firms, farms and any other relevant entities, how they behave and how they interact. Having set up the 'non-policy' outcome the policy is introduced and the consequences are worked out given the model of the economy specified earlier. Clearly, history matters, and it matters in important and interesting ways for policy. History matters also to how a ruling elite perceives its objectives and its constraints. It should be clear that the way in which history matters is more than as a series of facts and events in the past related to the policy in question, say. Rather, what is equally if not more important is how and in what form these events of the past came to be embedded in the consciousness of the present generation.
This chapter begins with three different strands of intellectual history. First, there is a large 'business management' literature, the stuff about business one can buy in airports and read on airplanes. Second, the approach of economics is pithily expressed in the fact that the branch of game theory that deals with the possibility of allowing people to communicate during negotiations is called 'cheap talk'. The third element is a bit less intellectual history but a bit more pragmatic. Perhaps nowhere are these three points better illustrated than in the government ownership and control of schooling. Government-produced schooling is arguably the most wildly successful movement of the twentieth century. The shift towards government schooling is not that societies previously did not educate their young and now they do, but rather a contestation about what constitutes an education.
Can historians assist development policy-making, or just highlight its faults?
History can highlight previously successful strategies; aid reflection on the policy-making process itself; and expose the origins of current ideas. Development policy-making, in the broadest sense, is as old as society. At the simplest level, historians can reveal which brilliant new programs have actually been tried before, then buried, as well as what has worked in the past. Historians, uniquely, can examine circumstances before, during and long after particular interventions, and thus assess their multiple impacts over a far greater time period and in a more nuanced way than is possible for contemporary programs. It is possible for history to assist, positively, in the development of better policy, precisely by showing, negatively, where the obstacles have been to desirable outcomes, whether within policy-making processes themselves or in reactions to them. Public health policy is useful to consider in this respect, because its goals are uncontroversial.